smashc

“You want me to—” Maekar’s brows pinch together, eyes narrowing at you as he tries to make sense of what you’re saying. “Explain again.” 

You crane your neck, eyes suddenly finding interest in the sheets beneath the both of you. 

“Don’t get shy on me now.” 

Your eyes look up at him then— really look at him. His flushed complexion, red splotches running up along his neck all the way to the top of his cheeks. His hair is sticking in his clumps against forehead from his sweaty skin. 

He's not entirely sure how you can get shy on him now, especially after the hours he’s spent fucking you— well if he’s being honest, the hours you’ve spent using him as your personal dildo. 

Yet you're still too shy to repeat what you said, crawling on top of him and hiding your face in his chest. 

“Need you to use your words, or you won’t get what you want,” Maekar tells you, fingers fiddling with bits of your hair. 

You say something then, a mumble of words into his chest before looking up at him again.

His eyebrows raise, giving you a pointed glare. “Don’t be a brat.” 

You bite down on your lips then, trying to cover a smile as you ask him clearly, “I want you to fuck me in a headlock?” 

He heard you the first time but he likes making you say it again and although he gets the jist of what you mean, he thinks it might need help getting into the position. 

“Please.” 

“Promise me after this you’ll calm down,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “Promise.” 

You pout at him, lips pressing against the tip of his finger without an answer because as you pretend to bite down on his finger, he’s already got the answer he’s not looking for. 

“Show me,” he grunts with a roll of his eyes. 

You’re eager, pressing your back flush against his chest and positioning your legs on either side of his like you’re ready for him to fuck you. You help him, guiding his arm around your neck, and sitting your throat just between his bicep and his forearm. You clench when it flexes against you and your stomach stirs with need when he tightens the arm against you ever so slightly. 

“You’re already dripping,” he points out, feeling your slick spilling out on top of him. “I cleaned you up just a few minutes ago.” 

“Can’t help it,” you whine on top of him, wiggling your hips and guiding your soaked pussy against him. “It’s your fault.” 

“My fault,” he grunts then, voice low and sharp like he’s warning you. Then you feel it, his free hand lining you up against his tip. 

“You get me like this,” you whimper, need dripping from your lips. “Just need you to fuck me like this.” 

His tip thrusts in you then, long and deep as he penetrates you easily. It’s bad how wet you are already for him, how after hours of fucking it’s so easy because you’re practically moulded to his dick, stretched out perfectly for him. The squelching sounds of your pussy filling the entirety of the room. 

It’s not long before his thrusts pick up, unforgivable as he fills you up. It’s also not long before you’re crumbling, thighs shaking and pussy clenching around him pathetically quick. It’s not easy to hide either, walls squeezing him like you want to milk him dry and pussy gushing all over him. 

You’re embarrassed, hiding your face into the beefyness of his arms and hoping he didn’t realise you just came that quickly. 

But his hips stop, cock slipping out of you before he states, “You just came.” 

He stifles a laugh, biting on the inside of his cheek as you try to cover your embarrassed face. 

“I fucked you for less than three minutes and you actually came,” he snorts, throwing his head back with a wide proud grin across his face. 

“Stop smiling, old man.” 

“Never going to let this go.” 

You eye him then, slipping out the restraints of his arm before turning to face him. You want to be mad, want him to drop the situation and yet you can’t when you catch the way he smiles at you, chuckling like you cumming on top of him so fast might be one of his proudest moments. 

“Want me to clean you up?” He asks, fingers running down your stomach soothingly as his smirk fades into something softer. 

“No.” You shake your head, before biting on your bottom lip again. 

His brow twitches and his eyes narrow at you like you can’t actually be serious. 

You feign innocence, raising your brow at him like he’s the crazy one. 

“Aren’t you tired?” 

“Can fuck you if you’re so tired, old man?” 

You smile then, sickly sweet and he thinks there must be some sort of God testing him. 

“You didn’t even cum.” 

“I think I might actually be shooting blanks.” 

It’s your turn to laugh now, giggling as you fall against his chest. 

“I’m serious.” 

You can’t help but smile then, looking up at him as his hand falls to the small of your back. You want to fuck him but you can genuinely see how tired he is, huffing out a deep sigh as he rubs his face and you think the man does deserve some sort of rest. At least for a little while anyway. 

When he offered you up as consolation, you were shocked. Not only by your father’s absurd boldness, but also by that fact that King Daeron had seemingly accepted the offer.

You’ve met Prince Maekar before years ago when he and Prince Baelor made an appearance for your wedding tourney.

Prince Maekar, while handsome, also looked distasteful. He always kept a frown on his face, seemingly appeared bored of anything and everything that occurred.

You two exchanged pleasantries once. You spoke informally, jesting about one of the champions and it made him hum in amusement.

It was an uneventful tourney that lead up to an uneventful wedding. Lord Darreth Campforth wasn’t extraordinary or incredibly handsome. He was rather plain, but still kind. He grew ill, ten moons after your marriage and eventually died. You’d been a widow ever since.

But not anymore it seems.

“I wasn’t chosen. I was offered up like a lamb for slaughter,” you practically hiss at your mother, pulling your hand away from hers.

You glare up at your father, “I will never forgive you for this.”

Your father runs a hand down his face, “Believe me, I am well aware of your distaste about this arrangement. You’ve only told me about hundreds of times during our travel here.”

“And I will tell you a hundred times more: I. Will. Never. Forgive. You. For. This.”

Your father clenches his jaw and you know he’s restraining himself from striking you, “You listen here you ungrateful brat, if it wasn’t for me you’d still be back in Clear Port, a lonely widow with no prospects!”

“I liked it that way! I had my freedom!”

“Well now you will have everything you could want and more. I’m sure Prince Maekar will see to it that you’ll be happy so he doesn’t have your deal with your incessant whining. You aren’t a child anymore, Y/N. We all have a role in this life. This is yours.”

____________________

Your meeting with the prince was brief when you arrived to Summerhall. He, as well as his brother, Prince Baelor, and his children, were there to greet you at arrival.

In his gruff voice, he bowed and greeted you, "Welcome to Summerhall, My Lady."

You curtsied to him, "Thank you, You Grace. I am honored to be here," you state through nearly gritted teeth.

Baelor stepped forward and greeted your father and mother, eventually whisking him and Maekar away to further discuss the betrothal. Meanwhile, you and your mother were given a tour of Summerhall. Maekar's two eldest sons left you to it while his three youngest children, Daella, Aegon, and Rhae had accompanied you during the tour. The three curious about you, rambled off various questions.

You found that those three were rather funny and mischievous. If anything, you'd enjoy spending time with them, as they reminded you of your own siblings back home.

"Would you like to call you 'mother'?" Rhae, the youngest of Maekar's children, asked you as the small group of you headed to the dining hall.

"If the young princess desires it, although, know that I cannot nor do I want to replace your mother," you softly looked down at the young girl.

"If we're not comfortable calling you 'mother' what shall we call you?" Aegon asked.

"Y/N or, I suppose, Princess Y/N, since I will be marrying your father in a week's time."

________________________________

The welcoming feast is...awkward, to say the least. You can tell that Prince Maekar isn't fond of this arrangement forced upon him. You could obviously say the same, but still. If you two are to spend the rest of your lives together, you must make the best out of the situation.

"Your children are a delight, Your Grace," you state softly to him.

He scoffs, "Which ones?"

"Your youngest three. They accompanied me during the tour of your home. They're quite the mischievous bunch."

He rolls his eyes, "You have no idea."

"I hope to make more acquaintance with your eldest sons, if it so pleases you?" you remain polite but guarded when you ask the question.

"Do what you will, but I have no doubt that they won't give the time of day. My eldest son, Daeron has trouble with the bottle. Aerion is a little prick and Aemon is away at the Citadel becoming a Maester."

The prince's answer leaves a heaviness in your heart, for him and his sons, "Oh, well, hopefully they will grace me some of their time. I wish not to be a stranger to them."

"Good fucking luck," he murmurs into his goblet of wine.

You go back to eating your dinner, an uneasiness filling you. You don't think Prince Maekar will make this alliance easy between you two.

__________________________

Maekar watches you from his solar. One of the windows gives the perfect view of the training grounds where some of the knights train. There, you are teaching his three youngest archery.

You've spent a lot of time with his youngest children. His daughters and son clinging to you since your arrival. It stirs something in him, seeing his youngest ones seemingly craving a mother figure. They had been young when Dyanna died. There hasn't been a woman to fill her role, until you, that is.

Maekar continues to watch you as you demonstrate how to shoot. You nock your arrow and pull back, you pause, saying something to the children and then release.

You don't hit the dead center, but it's close. Maekar sees the excitement in his children as all three nock their own arrows. Each one pulling back and you have them make pause.

You have Daella widen her stance. You lower Aegon's elbow. You have Rhae switch arms. Then you step away and yell, "Fire!"

Three arrows land on the target in various areas of the straw target. All three look dejected but you softly smile. You crouch down and relay some words that Maekar can't hear.

His heart tugs at the softness and kindness you're already bestowing his children.

"You've been watching her for some time, brother," Baelor calls from the desk that Maekar usually occupies.

"She's teaching Daella, Rhae, and Aegon archery."

"Is she?"

"Aye and she's so...patient with them."

Baelor eyes his brother and leans back in the chair, "I did tell you this would be beneficial to you in ways you would not have expected."

"Beneficial to my children more than I."

"Who knows, brother, you may grow fond of your betrothed. Perhaps sooner than you may have hoped," he says with a smirk which causes Maekar to roll his eyes.

"I didn't hope for anything. This was forced upon me by Father. I had no choice in the matter."

"While it may not have been a love match, there is nothing wrong with falling for your beloved, Maekar. It was the same with Dyanna and look. She blessed you with six children. Make the best of it. If not a lover, then maybe she can be another companion, a friend."