♰

Your footsteps were faint as you walked gracefully through one of the stone hallways in Ashford Castle; the torchlights flickered across the stone-carved walls and across your face, illuminating your purple eyes even more. The hemline of your robe brushed against your ankles with every step you took closer to his room. Closer to him. 

A satisfied feeling spreads across your body when you see your sworn shield standing outside the door, meaning he had succeeded in the command you had given him. He never did like to make his princess angry. One of his hands was resting on the pommel of his sword, the torchlight flickering across his handsome face. The corner of your lips almost twitches up into a smirk when you notice the way his posture immediately straightens up when he notices your presence.  

“Princess.” He bowed his head deeply in respect as you stopped in front of him. His eyes had no shame as he admired your form; it's not like you minded it anyway. You loved the attention. You were used to his wandering eyes and his touch. Ser Roland Crakehall had been your sworn shield for years; he knew some of your darkest secrets—the ones you allowed him to know at least. 

The two of you shared dark secrets of your own. 

“Be easy on him, princess. He won't survive any more of your cruelty." Ser Roland gave you that charming smirk, his tone teasing as he stepped to the side and quietly opened the large wood door to the prince’s private chambers. His eyes slowly raked up and down your body, a look you were all too familiar with in his eyes. 

Your eyes sparkled with mischief, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you brushed past him and stepped into the doorway, looking back at him over your shoulder. Your tone was dangerously soft but filled with seduction as you batted your eyelashes coyly at him, “Maybe that’s what I desire.” 

You drew your eyes away from your sworn shield as he quietly closed the door behind you, your eyes taking in the room. It was smaller than the one you were given, of course, Lord Ashford wouldn’t dare to insult the princess like that. The scent of the herbal healing medicines and the faint smell of blood lingered, mingling with the smoky scent from the lit fireplace. 

The chambers were faintly lit by the flickers of the few candles in the wall holders, along with the moonlight. The contrast of the warm ambers danced with the cool blue hues of the night, creating a chiaroscuro ambiance. 

Your eyes moved from the fireplace, following the glow of the moonlight to the large bed in the middle of the room, when you heard the sound of the furs rustling, accompanied by a weak groan. Your eyes found his pathetic figure in the dimly lit room. You took a few steps deeper into the room, your sharp and piercing eyes not leaving his still form. 

“He won’t stop asking for you.” 

Those words were indelibly etched in your mind over the past couple of days following the pathetic excuse of a trial of seven. Aerion was pathetic—letting everyone see how desperate he was, having the servants see him in such a way. Maybe if you were a better person, you might have felt a little sympathy for the servants who had to go back to Aerion, facing his wrath when he noticed you were nowhere in sight. 

But you weren’t, and you were tired of their constant pestering. 

Even that useless maester dared to stop you in one of the hallways, spewing some nonsense about how it could do some good for the injured prince if you went to see him, you stopped listening to the cunt when he said something about uplifting Aerion’s spirits. 

From the servants to the maester, pestering you—you were utterly displeased. 

You honestly couldn’t care less about the state Aerion was in and had no desire to see him—In your eyes, he deserved everything that had happened to him; he deserved worse. He embarrassed them all. It was amusing that Aerion had the gall to make a farce about Daeron having others clean up his messes, but then have 6 others fight his battles for him, instead of facing the hedge knight himself—but then your uncle came to you. 

“Please, sweet girl, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think I’d help.”

It was unnatural to see your stern uncle in such a way when he had come to see you late in the night. You could see it in his posture that he hadn’t come for you to kiss all over his cuts and bruises; he wasn't searching for that addictive high and peace he always got while in your presence. He was silent as he poured him a goblet of wine, his footsteps heavy and slow as he limped over to the bed. A heavy grunt left his lips as he sat on the edge. 

You had quietly pushed the thick blankets off of you, the bed creaking as you crawled over to where Maekar sat. The hem of your short nightgown raised to the top of your thighs as you shifted to sit up on your knees. You were careful as you hugged your tense uncle from behind, placing the softest kisses to where his neck and shoulder met. When he uttered those words, your jaw clenched, you knew you couldn’t say no to Maekar…not him…not when he was like this. 

That was the night before, and you were just now coming to see the hurt prince. You wanted to make him suffer more; he was never one for patience. The more desperate he was, the better it was to toy with him. And Gods did you love to toy with him. He was good at taking it, a rare compliment from you in your own sick way. 

“I asked for you...days ago—“ Aerion managed to speak through clenched teeth, every word costing him. He bit off a groan, cutting himself off with a pained cough as he slowly turned his head to find you, his eyesight blurry, but he could see your glorious figure moving closer to him. 

He let out a sharp exhale before he continued in a strained voice, “And you come now?” 

Your hands gathered the fabric of your robe and nightgown at your hips as your steps paused before the rug, stepping out of your slippers and onto the hand-woven rug. You clicked your tongue in disapproval, clearly irritated by his words. “If you truly wanted to see me, you would have gotten up and found me yourself.” 

You took a few more steps closer to the bed, scrunching your nose up at the ghastly sight of the cuts and bruises decorating his skin, the more serious ones covered by bandages. The blanket was pulled up to his waist, his skin covered in moonlight kisses. 

You shook your head mockingly, stopping your lips from twitching into a smirk as you leaned against the wooden bedpost. Your eyes raked over him slowly, a dramatic sigh leaving your lips as you continued, “But of course you had to get others to do it for you.” 

”You didn't want me enough, is that it?” You accused him with a breathy whisper, your lips twisting into a faux pitiful pout. Your fingers slowly unbutton the top buttons of your robe to expose more skin as the words left your lips. You knew he would fall right into your palms after a little emotional guilt-tripping and skin showing. 

It was pathetic how easy he was, and you loved it. 

Aerion’s breath hitched, and his fingers weakly gripped the sheets, wishing his hands were gripping your hips instead. His mouth watered at the sight. He begged himself to move, to touch you and show you how much he truly wanted you, but he couldn’t, and you knew that. He grunted with a hint of a whine, “Stop.” 

“Stop undressing? I thought you liked it when I’m all bare for you?” You taunted him with a tilt of your head, giving him a sultry view of the top of your chest and your neck—that dangerous pout still on your lips. You loved to use his own words against him, showing him how pathetic he truly is. 

A pathetic whimper slipped past Aerion's lips, “Please….” 

You swallowed the insults you wished to belittle him with, but remembering your uncle's defeated face caused you to stop. You let the robe slowly fall from your body and fall to a pile on the floor by your feet, showing your white—nearly sheer lace nightdress. Your hair was natural down your back in waves, the moonlight kissing along your skin. You looked enchanting under the moon and candlelight, Aerion’s breath hitching at the sight. 

You hitched up your nightdress as you climbed up on the bed, the bed creaking from the movement. Your eyes never left his as you slowly crawled across the bed and closer to him on your hands and knees. He felt his mouth water at the sight of your chest, the way your tits pressed against the fabric so perfectly from the angle. 

You noticed where his eyes fell, you purred tauntingly sweet, "Isn't this what you wanted? To see me?” 

You stopped at his side, your hair falling down your back as you perched up on your side, holding yourself up with your elbow. Aerion’s brain instinctively told himself to move closer to you, but the strain on his body forced him to stay still. For the tiniest moment, you wondered what was wrong with you when you felt no sympathy at the sight of his injuries so up close. 

You didn't feel sympathy, but you sure knew how to fake it. 

“I don’t smell milk of the poppy,” you mused airily, just now noticing the lack of that nauseating smell of the thick white liquid in the room. Your free hand lifted, the tips of your fingers were feather-light as you slowly moved them up his thigh and lower abdomen. 

His mouth dropped in want from the feeling of your delicate touch, something he’s never felt and something he didn't know he desired so much until he felt it in that moment. He didn't deserve the softness you scarcely showed. Every detail from your previous moment together and the cruel words you had spoken had played over and over in his head as he lay there for days. It was a beautiful nightmare that he couldn’t escape. 

He didn't want to escape it. 

“I wished to be myself when you came,” he whispered breathlessly as he tilted his head to look up at you better. You noticed the way his chest rose and fell faster, the corners of your lips just begging to twitch up into a smirk at the sight of him already so overwhelmed. He had been fully enthralled with you for as long as he could remember. 

You felt disgust at the feeling of your heart fluttering from the pure devotion Aerion was once showing you again. Your fingertips were teasingly grazing against his sensitive nipples as you moved your fingers closer to his collarbone. Fluttering your eyelashes charmingly, you cooed breathlessly, “How devoted of you.” 

“It was sweet of you,” You started as you broke the several beats of silence that filled the room, along with the faint sound of the fire crackling. The words you had murmured tasted bitter leaving your lips, but you knew it was necessary…your uncle better get you the prettiest dress or jewels as a reward for this. 

You’d prefer his cock to a dress and jewels…and he knew that. 

“You coming to me—wanting me, in moments you thought were your last,” you purred, your voice soft with honeyed satisfaction as you looked down at him through your eyelashes with your riveting gaze. Your fingers continued their journey across his chest, dancing around the bruises and cuts. Sweet wouldn’t have been the word you would choose if you were being honest; you hated how a small part of you found it desirable. 

An unfamiliar warmth spreads across his chest as your words sink in, stabbing him right in the heart. His eyes filled with unshed tears as he felt you place your hand over his heart. The gesture was so tender and so out of your character that it made his heart race. All he ever wanted was for you to feel that same desire, that same yearning he had for you, for him. 

You’ve always been the same, even as a young girl. You’ve always had everyone wrapped around your finger, had everyone eating out of the palm of your hand. He wasn’t blind to it; he knew you liked everyone’s attention, he just wanted to be the only one you loved. 

He was delusional enough to believe he would get it, as long as he was good for you…as long as he showed you pure devotion.  

A mixture of a whimper and a whine left Aerion’s lips as you removed your hand from his chest, his eyes never leaving your hand. Your touch was light, almost teasing, as you slowly traced down the curve of your shoulder and down to the line of your collarbone, your eyes never leaving his. 

“Y-you do?” He stammered in disbelief, his weak but proud tone trailing off into silence as he got lost in following your hand. The tension in his body slowly disappeared, and it was replaced by want and desire as he watched your hand lower. The tips of your fingers moved down to the swell of your breasts. 

His mouth watered as he watched your nipples press against your nightdress as they hardened. You wanted to roll your eyes at how desperate he sounded for your approval, but you kept that faux look of adoration on your face as you hummed “Mhm.” 

“I thought I’d give you a reward for your valiant actions,” you whispered in that sweet tone you had mastered over the many years. He watched as you sat up on your knees, your hands slowly moved down your stomach and thighs to gather the soft linen hem of your nightgown. 

You slowly pulled up your nightgown, inch by inch, slowly revealing more of your skin. First, it was your plush thighs and then the little sneak peek of your Venus mound between your thighs, the curves of your body, the soft skin of your stomach he’d love to trail wet kisses down. 

You paused for a torturous moment, taking notice how Aerion’s breathing paused with you as the hemline paused just perfectly so he could see the undersides of your breasts. You didn't wait any longer before you pulled the nightgown over your head, your hair strands tickling your back. Aerion’s eyes didn't linger long on your breasts before his eyes fell to your thighs as you slowly spread them, giving him a look at what he’s always wanted. 

You tilted your head to the side as one of your hands slowly moved down your stomach, stopping right above where he wanted to touch the most. You purred in that seductive tone you did so well, “Give you a real taste of what you desire.” 

Aerion’s chin jutted weakly as he tried to nod; his arm brushed against the blankets as he moved his hand towards you, not being able to lift his arm. His fingers gently brushed against the soft skin of your knee, his tongue parted his lips as he slowly licked them, faintly tasting the metallic blood from his cut. He wished to touch you more, but the lack of your permission had him stop. 

He begged with a breathless whine, “Please…” 

You raised your eyebrow as you repeated his words as if you were testing him, “Please?” 

“Please, princess,” he was quick to correct himself with wide eyes. He didn't wish to upset you…not when he was so close. You could see the panic in his eyes, cute. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” you cooed as you batted your eyelashes down at him, not wasting any more time to give him what he wanted. The faster this was over, the faster you could find your way to Maekar’s bed. 

Aerion’s eyes filled with desire, never leaving your body as you crawled up to his face, the bed creaking from the actions. He tried to ignore how natural the movements came to you, not wanting to think about how you’ve done this many times before with others. 

One of your hands gripped the carved dark wood headboard as you adjusted your position. Your wet pussy hovering inches over his desperate tongue. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked down at him, holding back the gasp you wanted to let out at the feeling of his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. 

Even with the cuts and bruises decorating his face, Aerion looked undoubtedly ethereal between your thighs. His eyes filled with pure longing, a consuming desire to feast on you. 

“Thank you.” A weak, wistful sigh left his lips as you finally lowered yourself to his mouth, his tone showing how pleased and relieved he was for not being denied your taste any longer. His tongue slipped through his parted lips, Aerion’s eyes rolling back as his tongue delved into your folds, your wetness coating his tongue and lips. 

He moaned lewdly against you in pure bliss, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body. He licked and sucked eagerly at you with a desperate and insatiable hunger, savoring your taste because he didn’t know the next time he would be blessed with it.

“Mmph, just like that,” you gasped softly, biting your lip to hold back any louder noises. You didn't wish to praise him too much and have his ego get any bigger. But it was too late, as soon as he heard those sweet noises leaving your lips, it lit a fire in his chest. The praise went straight to his cock, making it twitch under the loose breeches. 

The sound of your moans and the taste of you on his tongue was driving him wild, making him forget all of his injuries and the throbbing pain he felt all through his body as he lifted his hands to grip the plush of your thighs and hold you down on his face. Your breath hitches, a loud moan catching in the back of your throat as his tongue presses into you harder. 

He held you in place as he sucked on your clit with hard sucks, flicking his tongue back and forth over your sensitive pearl rabidly. The wet sounds of him feasting on you, the muffled sounds of pleasure coming from him, and your enchanting moans filled the chambers. Your sworn shield smirked at the faint sounds of your pleasure through the wood door, standing up straighter and squeezing the hilt of his sword harder.  

“Oh, Kessa—tolī jaelan!” You moaned louder in your mother language, feeling his teeth graze against your sensitive flesh, his tongue and lips ached, but he had no care for it. The sounds of his mouth on you and the moans he was letting out were completely indecent and utterly delightful. You start to move your lips in slow circles, grinding yourself against his mouth with a desperate hunger. (Oh yes—I want more!) 

Neither of you was worried about crushing him; he would be honored to die between your soft thighs. It was a death he would happily welcome with open arms and an even more open mouth. His grip on your thighs was bruising; he ate you like a man possessed—as if you were his last meal. 

“Say it.” Your breath catches in your throat as you command him with a low moan, fluttering your eyes open to look down at him. Your half-lidded eyes locked eyes with his glazed pleading eyes, still so needy that he was begging for more. You smirked and pressed yourself more down onto his mouth. You seductively crooned as you finished your command, “Tell me how good I taste.” 

His violet eyes glisten up at you, filled with desperation and devotion as your mound presses harder against his eager mouth. He lets out a desperate, muffled whine against you, the vibrations nearly having you bucking against his bruised face. You bring your hand down, your fingers tangled into his hair. 

”I can’t hear you,” you taunted him with a cruel smile as you gripped onto his silver strands and pulled him away from your cunt. A pained gasp left his lips, and a whine followed closely after at the feeling of you tugging at his hair. His mouth instinctively tried to move back to your cunt, but you just tug harder, your heart fluttering at the sound of his pained whine. 

“Mmmph…divine—you taste divine,” He moaned pathetically, his tongue darting out to lock his lips, desperately trying to savor every last drop of your taste. His hands itched on your thighs; he used all the power he had to stop himself from pulling you back down on his mouth. He could feel it, the way your thighs trembled; you had been close. 

He needed to feel you come apart on his tongue. 

Your grip on his hair loosens as you pull him back towards your burning heat, right where he wanted to be. The moment your grip slackened, he was surging forward with a desperate, grateful moan. His mouth latched onto you with an insatiable hunger, his tongue delving back deep inside you, eager to bring you to the peak you deserved. 

His tongue slides between your lips, finding your clit with a happy moan, circling it in wet, worshipful strokes that make your thighs tremble. The headboard creaked as you gripped it tight, your hips bucking against his mouth with little care for him, grinding yourself harder into his ruined but beautiful face. 

Your thighs trembled and quivered around his face, your walls clenching around his tongue as his nose pressed into your clit. One of your hands stayed in his hair while the other kneaded your breast, your fingers rolling and twisting your nipple. You tried to hold in your moans, but the closer you got, the less you cared. Let his ego get better, let him become even more desperate and devoted to you. 

You would give him this. 

“F-fuck—!” You threw your head back as you let out a loud moan that would play over and over in his head for years, finally giving into the pleasure that had been building inside you as he feasted on you, cumming hard on his tongue. He moans loudly as your nectar floods his mouth, the vibrations extending your orgasm, a bigger wave of pleasure washing over your body. 

Aerion loses himself completely as he greedily drinks and laps at your convulsing cunt, desperate to catch every drop of your sweet nectar. His eyes rolling back with a choked-out moan against you as his own hips buck involuntarily against the air between his legs, the hot burst of pleasure he felt was accompanied by the sharp pain coursing through his body. 

Making his release even better. 

You pushed yourself back up, gripping the wood headboard with two hands as you hovered over his mouth with shaky thighs, his hands on your thighs falling to the bed limply. You smiled down at the ruined sight of Aerion, a small cry leaving his lips as he felt you pull away, as if he wasn't done with you. You found it cute, he couldn’t even breathe properly—his whole body trembling, and yet he still wanted to feast on you. 

Your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath. You reach down and grip Aerion's chin roughly. All that faux kindness was long gone in your eyes as you looked into his own watery eyes, tears rolling down his face, mixing with your nectar. You gripped his face harder, a pained gasp leaving his bloodied lips—the cut on his lip opened from his vigorous feasting. 

You leaned down, your eyes filled with such cruelness it nearly took his breath away. Those pathetic tears kept rolling down his face, his chest rising and falling faster as he felt a sense of panic go through him. What did he do wrong? He intently begged you to give him another chance; he could do better, he swore it. 

The sound of your cruel, sharp hiss breaks the silence of the chambers. 

“Next time, come get me yourself.” 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙖𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 & 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Ი𐑼 guys guys I knowww i’m so sorry for how long this took to get out , I struggled with trying to keep the readers personality just like how it was in the first part but I’m excited with how to turned out !! please tell me all your thoughts it really motivates me to keep writing !! reblogs and comments are my best friend <3

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Maekar was floating in that peaceful half-awake, half-asleep realm that he wasn't blessed to feel often. Between work and his children, sleep used to be a rarity, but then you came into his life with the sweet smiles and polite words. His nephew, Valarr, was the one who introduced the two of you; you were a close friend of his and had a background in babysitting. Maekar wasn't too fond of the idea of a college student watching his children, but then you walked in with that pretty smile and smarts. 

His eyes were heavy-lidded as he lay sprawled out on his back, his body sinking comfortably into the expensive mattress. Only clad in a pair of black briefs that clung lowly on his hips, showing off his happy trail, God, you had such a strong urge to tug them off. You could tell by his slow, heavy breaths that he was so close to falling asleep. 

You stood in the bathroom doorway, admiring how handsome he looked under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. How could you not want to go and bother him when he looked that good?

As soon as he felt the mattress dip under your weight and the feeling of you crawling up between his legs, your hands moving up his legs with your movements, he let out a dramatic groan. You roll your eyes playfully and move to straddle his lap, his warmth spreading to you. 

“No, don’t,” he groaned sleepily in protest as he felt you press against him, already knowing that your sticks would keep him up. His body betrayed his protest, his hands instinctively moving to rest on your bare thighs, his thumbs gently caressing your warm skin. 

“M’not even doing anything.” You purr, giving him a faux innocent smile when he looks up at you with his half-lidded eyes; he clearly doesn’t believe you. You slowly leaned down, moving your hands to rest on the side of his shoulders to keep yourself from completely falling onto him. 

You felt his breath hitch as you placed a feather-light kiss on his shoulder, before leaving a trail of soft kisses across his chest and up his neck, leaving goosebumps across his skin in your wake. Your lips twitched up into a smirk as you felt his body react to your touch. You place a soft kiss on his forehead before moving down to his cheeks and then the tip of his nose. You smirked and whispered, “I’m so hungry I could eat you….wait fuck I did the trend wrong.” 

He felt a sense of confusion at your words and the mention of a trend; he never did understand the ‘silly’ videos you and his daughters showed him. ‘What the fuck am I looking at?’ was a common response. His hands squeezed your shirt as he sighed tiredly, “Doll, please, I need to sleep.” 

You pout playfully and move off his lap to flop down on your side next to him, holding your head up with your hand so you can look down at him. You bit your bottom lip absentmindedly as you admired his side profile, his defined nose, the faint scars across his face that you loved to place soft kisses on, and his maintained beard, which you loved to run your fingers through. 

The warm glow that reflected on him disappeared as he reached to turn off the lamp—a tired groan leaving his lips at the movement—but it was quickly replaced by the deflection of the moonlight that slipped through the curtains to his floor-to-ceiling one-way windows. 

Maekar let out a mixed sigh of relief and tiredness as he rested his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes once again as he tried to relax and fall asleep now that you were by his side and the room was silent and peaceful. But you, of course, had impeccable timing, breaking the silence after a couple of minutes. 

Your voice was soft and airy as you mused over it, “Would you love me if I were a cow?” 

Maekar turned his head to look at you, his face ridden with tiredness and his eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion and slight worry at your absurd question. Was this another one of those ridiculous trends? If he remembered correctly, Daella had asked Daeron the same thing, but if she was a worm. It had ended with a crying Daella and Daeron, who was ducking from Aegon's blocks she was throwing at him. And maekar with a headache. 

Maekar grunted, “Is this a trick question? That feels rude—“ 

“Omg wow, calling me rude now?” You gasped dramatically as you brought one of your hands up to rest on your chest, shaking your head in faux disappointment and hurt. He rolled his eyes and gave you an unimpressed look, making you bite your lip to hold in your giggles at how cute and grumpy he looked. 

He stretched one of his arms behind his head while his other hand rested on his stomach as he tried to blink the sleep away, already knowing that there was no use in trying to fall asleep until you got the talkativeness out of you. He’d go along with it…just for you. 

“I’d take you to the farm land, get that white fencing you like, and put a big umbrella because I know you hate being in the sun for too long, you get all bratty,” Maekar mumbled tiredly, not even sure why he was even entertaining the topic, but it was entertaining you, so he did what he must. He watched as a big smile spread across your face. 

”That is like one of the most romantic things you have ever said to me.” You cooed with a big smile as you moved one of your hands to grab his that rested on his stomach, interlocking your fingers with his warm ones, squeezing softly. 

You leaned in to place a kiss on his lips, an annoyed huff leaving him when you pulled away before your lips could touch. Your eyes widened, and you quickly asked, “You wouldn’t let anyone else milk me, right?” 

Maekar nearly choked on his spit in shock at the absurd question, exclaiming in disbelief, “Darling, what?” 

“You heard me.” You poked at his chest a few times, making him raise his eyebrow. Both of you must be delirious because what was happening? He grabbed your hand before you could poke him again, pulling you so you were fully lying down, head on his shoulder, as he moved his arm from behind his head. He mumbled tiredly into your hair, “Enough of this, please.” 

You pout but nonetheless listen to him, watching as he let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, his body relaxing as you placed a few kisses on his jaw. You blink a few times, not liking how sleepiness had crept up on you now that you were in his warm hold. You hum and move around a little to get more comfortable, tilting your head on his shoulder so you can still admire him. 

“You’re getting tired,” Maekar whispered after a couple of minutes of silence. It was more of a statement than a question. Fluttering his eyes open, watching as you slowly blinked and nuzzled the side of your face against his shoulder, he could see and feel how your body was relaxing against his.

You hid your face in your shoulder as you yawned, your voice muffled, “No, I’m not.” 

“Liar” 

“My pants aren’t on fire,” you feign innocence with a smile as you tilt your head to look up at him. Maeker rolled his eyes at your sassy response, wrapping his arm around you tighter so you were fully pressed against him, your legs intertwined. 

His eyes fell to your bare legs before giving you a pointed look, “You’re not wearing any.”

“Oops, you caught me,” a sarcastic smile decorating your lips, soon followed by a small laugh. The corner of Maekar’s lips twitched up into the faintest smile at the sound of your laugh and silliness, the bed squeaking as he moved to lie on his side, adjusting so he could hold you more comfortably. He brought his hand up to fix your slightly messy hair from moving around, resting his hand on the back of your head as he leaned in.

He kissed your cheek, your temple, then your neck, then your nose as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you before he pressed a tender kiss to your waiting lips. You bring your hand up to cup his warm cheek, melting into the kiss. He slowly pulled away and placed a long and soft kiss on your forehead before you nuzzled your face into his neck, the sleepiness finally getting to you. 

Maekar hummed lowly and closed his eyes, stroking your back softly, knowing that it would help make you fall asleep. His lips twitched up in amusement as he thought back on the silly things you asked him. You truly did bring something special into his life. Making him feel things he never thought he’d feel again.

He whispered sleepily in your ear, “I wouldn’t let anyone else milk you.” 

“Promise?” You asked quietly, a sleepy smile on your lips, happy that he went along with your silly antics. Maekar grunted tiredly as he squeezed you, mumbling into your hair, “Promise.”

You smile and finally allow yourself to fall asleep, knowing that the morning will come soon, along with the sounds of footsteps and sleepy children. Maekar’s warmth and soft touch lull you into a sweet sleep. 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧! 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 & 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

Ი𐑼 GUYS SOFT MAEKAR 😵‍💫😵‍💫 i actually need him so bad , the amount of edits that i have of him are actually insane and i keep rewatching them , i need to make a playlist for him !! this is short but sweet , i really hope you guys enjoyed this. please please let me know your thoughts , it helps me stay motivated. reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

۶ৎ taglist is open

you stood before the mirror in your plush white bathrobe, skin still glowing and damp from the shower. with practiced rhythmic motions, you began dabbing face cream onto your cheeks.

across the room your husband offered a distracted hum, the sound of a page turning from where he held a book in his hand.

he was propped up against the headboard, deep into his current read.

"yes, my love?" he replied, his gaze finally flickering away from the text toward your silhouette.

from his vantage point on the marital bed he watched the careful, almost meditative way you lathered your skin.

"do you ever feel… bothered? that i am so much younger than you?"

the question caught him entirely off guard and his eyes paused on the passage he was reading.

your tone was awfully casual; the kind of forced nonchalance that suggested this wasn't a passing thought. but a seed that had been growing for some time.

he didn't answer immediately. instead, he closed his book and set it aside on the satin sheets. he padded across the floor; leaning his frame against the doorframe to bridge the distance between you.

your eyes met his through the glass for a fleeting second before you quickly snapped them back to your own reflection.

it was a classic deflection technique.

but baelor’s greatest asset had always been his ability to read people. a skill honed in high stakes environments that now served a much softer purpose: understanding the silent language of his wife.

"and what would make you think that?" he asked softly, crossing his arms over his plain white t shirt.

you shrugged, trying to act as unbothered as possible. your focus was suddenly very intent on twisting the lid off a bottle of lotion.

"i don’t know. just a thought." your voice trailed off into a whisper.

baelor didn’t move; he simply watched you with those piercing, mismatched eyes until the weight of his stare became too much to bear.

you finally turned, huffing a small, breathless laugh at the amused tilt of his head.

"what?" you asked, defensive but softening. he always had this effect on you.

"you are a terrible liar, my heart," he chuckled.

"it's not funny," you muttered, turning back to the counter to tidy your bottles with unnecessary precision. "now you’re just making fun of me…"

you tried to brush past him into the bedroom, feigning offense. but his arms caught you. his hands — steady and grounding, circled your hips to anchor you in place.

"baelor let go. i need to change," you chided; alas your tone lacked any real authority, sounding more like a fond complaint than a command.

"and i need to know why my beautiful wife thinks she is 'too young' for me." a persistent smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

he wasn't going to let this go.

you groaned, leaning your head back against his chest.

"or is it mayhaps that i am too old for her?" he countered, arching a brow and giving your hips a playful squeeze. you giggled, the ticklish sensation breaking your resolve.

"baelor targaryen, please." you leaned forward, trying to slip his grasp. to no avail — he was utterly immovable.

"no," he stated calmly, shaking his head. "i will not let you go until you tell me what it is that occupies your mind."

you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut your short.

"the truth please. and not the version of it you think I want to hear."

you sighed, your posture finally slumping in his embrace. there was no point in lying to him. he always knew.

"fine. i was talking to a colleague today..."

baelor’s expression tightened instantly. hanging onto your every word. "and?"

"she brought up our marriage. i told her it was unprofessional and none of her business,"

you explained, watching his expression relax into a flicker of pride.

"but then I heard her at lunch... she was telling the others... awful things. that i was a gold digger. that I had 'issues…''"

you swallowed hard, the sting of the words returning. "she said you were dishonorable. for taking a second wife." the words stumbled from your lips in a whisper. there was no taking them back now.

the room grew silent for a moment as Baelor took a sharp breath, processing the insult.

"i know it’s stupid," you hurried to add, "it just got under my skin—"

"these people do not know us," he interrupted, his voice firm and resonant. if slightly irritated.

he reached out, his large hands framing your face. "they do not know our history. they do not know our souls . or the quiet moments like this. their need to comment on our lives says everything about their character and nothing about us."

the muddy uncertainty that had clouded your day finally began to settle. your baelor had a way of returning the world to its proper axis just by speaking.

"i love you baelor." you whispered, your fingers brushing through the coarse grey-white hairs of his beard.

"and i you, my heart," he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours. in his embrace, the outside world simply withered away.

"now... will you let me change?" you asked with a small smile.

he finally stepped back, though his eyes followed you with unabashed interest as you swapped your robe for silk pajamas. you caught him staring and shot him a pointed look over your shoulder.

"i am merely admiring my wife," he defended innocently, retreating to his side of the bed. "hardly a crime."

"excuses baelor. always excuses."

"it's not like i'm looking at anything i haven't seen before…"

"baelor!"

you softly climbed into bed beside him, clicking off the overhead light. the bedside lamps remained, bathing the room in a warm, honey-colored glow that made the shadows dance. you tucked yourself against his side, resting your head on his chest while he picked his book back up.

for a while neither of you spoke. the only sounds were his steady heartbeat and the rhythmic turning of pages. your eyes grew heavy by the moment. the fatigue and emotions of the day finally catching up to you.

"baelor... i'm turning out the light," you announced quietly, reaching for the switch. he hummed a soft affirmation, though he was clearly lost in his prose.

as the room plunged into darkness, you settled into the pillows. you knew the ritual. and a moment later, you heard the soft thud of his book hitting the nightstand and the click of the final lamp. the bed shifted as he slotted himself against your back, pulling you close. his arms encapsulating you from behind as you melted into his embrace.

"goodnight my love." he whispered into your hair.

"goodnight baelor." you breathed, finally drifting off to the land of dreams in the safety of his arms.

©padmespetal 2026: I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

His own niece, his solace of happiness beneath the broken man. As Baelor’s only daughter, you are adored, by your brothers, by your cousins, by your father, even by the realm. But to another degree you are, by your uncle.

It begins in secret, for the most part it always is, confined and private, but not to be hidden, if he could he would proudly tether himself to you, but honour and reputation says otherwise. So instead you fall into each other’s arms, sneaking away to his chambers after the castle falls quiet, lingering touches in the halls, the ones that make his jaw tick and brow harden. The longing looks across the feasting table that he makes up for later with you pinned beneath him and your mouths locked together, tugging you through corridors, often times not making it to your chambers.

He feels a deep guilt for it, as he harbours a lot within himself, especially after the death of Dyanna and handling the children on his own he is often unsteady. He has a lot of pent up anger and restraint, ones that can push into him being more rough, heavy hands smoothing over your body, gripping just enough, but it isn’t malicious. As much as he buzzes with desire, he takes it slow, he is careful and above all, reverent. To him you are his angel, his saving grace, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maekar works you down slowly, every step calculated. The way he backs you to the wall when you have teased him, or hooking an arm around your hip to swiftly pull you from a crowd. His hands are on you then, the scratch of his beard teasing against your lips as his tongue slips into your mouth. He melts at closeness, feeling your warmth against him, he groans at the feeling, removing every layer tenderly as his lips trail down your body.

“Beautiful, my beautiful girl..” He whispers against your skin, silver hairs flickering in the candlelight, your back to the plush of his mattress. Maekar prefers it this way, in the comfort of his chambers, the ones you’d spend hours in conversation in, curled up beside the hearth where no one could bother you. And it also gives him all the time in the world to worship you.

Though he isn’t easy on you. He makes you beg for it, drawing whines and gasps from you with his fingers, teasing his mouth at your core, fingers pinching at your nipples just to rile you up. He waits on you, until you’re arching into his grip and near crying for him to take you, and only then does he. Part of it is to know you feel the same, that you want it as bad as he does, the hardened imprint of his cock through his breeches evident as are the lust blown violets of his eyes.

When you’ve been worked open onto his fingers, juices dripping from his mouth from coming undone over and over again, onto then does he pull from you, pressing a sharp, lustful kiss to your swollen pearl and rising above you. He prefers you on him, in any way that you can be, whether that’s with you tucked underneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, pressed between him and another surface, or his hands gripping you down onto his cock. His body is aligned with yours, working you both carefully as he inches into you.

“By the Seven.. fuck, you are mine.” Maekar is all claiming, hushing your cries with his mouth or his finger, a thumb pushing past your lips to quieten you as you whine around it. He breathes you in, face shoving into your neck, breathing roughly into your ear with every thrust that stretches you open. The pace he sets is unrelenting, but tender, his hips rolled into yours steadily, braced up on his forearms as he fucks into you. His palm plants onto your cheek, wiping away the tears that threaten your eyes with the building pleasure, your head dizzied and mind clouded.

He does his best to keep up, to pretend that your nails raked down his back, or your heel digging into him, or the breathless wanton moans spilling from your mouth don’t falter him, but they do. A part of him breaks every time he takes you, part of him curses himself for sullying you, for defiling you in such a way, and yet he cannot keep himself from you. And he wouldn’t dare. Nor would he happily hand you to the arms of another, in fact the mere thought makes his hips snap into you harder, deeper.

A finger circles at your clit just as he feels you clench, tightening around him where he feels he is about to explode. He muffles your moan as you crash, tongue slipping through and over yours, coveting the vibrations and the jolting of your body. Only then does he let himself follow, body rocking into yours sloppily, seed spilling feel inside of you as he begins to fuck it back in. His.

But no matter how hard it gets, if you’ve riled him up, or worse, someone else has done something to spur him on. He makes love, he is loving in his touches, peppering your body with soft kisses afterwards, pulling you up into his arms as you’re blissed out. His pants become less ragged, slowing as he hesitantly pulls from you.

He cradles you onto his chest, fingers rubbing at your beck, holding you tightly as he check on you in that gruff way. Two fingers either side of your jaw making you look at him or a palm tilting your head up just as your eyes grow lidded with a weary smile. “Are you with me, my girl?” He doesn’t rest until he hears it, or feels that gentle nod as you collapse onto him.

A reminder as sure as any, through the aching in his chest that prevails, you are his undoing, entirely. And just as you begin to drift off, a hand rubs through your hair, pulling you just closer as he tugs the sheets over you both.

even as his own grief haunts him, a somewhat visible figure shaped like his older brother standing behind him at every turn, at every moment. still, maekar thinks perhaps the answer is, in fact, you.

the maesters say grief must run its course and that in due time, all wells must eventually run dry. the septons say only time can heal the wound that the departed create on their way to the grave.

perhaps they should be the ones to tell you those lies to your face, in my stead.

maekar cannot decide if had been better at the start or now. better. a cursed word, though he can think of no other way to describe the situation at hand. right after his brother’s death, you had been inconsolable, as he had expected.

you were all of baelor’s heart. he knew the two of you loved each other, perhaps even more than what was ever revealed to maekar. he only saw some parts of it—the affection that rose beyond politeness, the lingering gazes. the way you two would be at each other’s side every time he entered the room, only separating because you were no longer alone.

maekar knew there was even more, hidden from the world, reserved for the privacy that a closed door provided. he knew, and yet—

you had collapsed when the maesters told you there was nothing to be done for baelor. you had not even been with him at the moment of his death, though perhaps, it is for the better.

there is nothing to be happy for, but he is glad you did not have to see it happen.

you had wept and wailed until your throat had run out of sound, until your tears had drowned you. and that noise, that painful, awful noise, he cannot silence within his own mind. 

but even that might be a better fate than this. 

at least in the beginning, you had that little glimmer of hope, a beacon of your own in the midst of the darkest hour of the night. you had thought that you were carrying baelor’s child—a piece of him still within you, the embodiment of him that you might be able to cherish and tell stories of their father to, keeping him alive in your own way.

but then you had bled, and even that small hope had been stolen from you.

now you are something of a ghost. the maids whisper, and he pays attention, even when he is trying his hardest not to do so. he cannot help that when your name is mentioned, his ears perk up as though he is a hound.

a hound, chasing the scraps its master has left behind. 

he dispels the thought and pushes you away from himself in his mind.

but they do speak, and he does listen. he hears of your nightmares, of the way you wake up crying, how you do not eat more than what is needed to keep you alive. his nephews are still buried in their own grief, too much to pay attention to the gossip of the keep as they stay confined to their chambers.

he should be doing more.

for you, for them. for the rest of the family. he feels the need to do more, to do something better gnawing at his weathered bones from the inside out. but, try as he might, he cannot approach it properly.

he cannot do it as baelor would have. 

he cannot fill those shoes. if he closes his eyes, he can try to envision it—the field at ashford meadow. the grey of the sky, the green of the grass. the cries of his son and the noise his mace made as it struck pure metal. 

he tries, but the memory escapes him in pieces, as if his own mind wishes not to dwell on the matter. it tries to pull him away, but he refuses.

not thinking about it, about baelor, feels close to a sin. this is his penance, the way only he can repent. he must never let himself forget. the gossip-mongerers at court can say what they wish, but he knows the truth, he tells himself. 

guilt eats away at him all the same. 

the pain and grief of baelor’s loss remains to him as a tether, the only thing tying him to this world. numbness cannot sneak its way into his heart so long as he holds onto the sorrow and the guilt with a tight grip. when he lies awake in bed at night, unable to sleep, he thinks of it until the sun rises.

it keeps him human, he supposes. human enough that—

a sharp rapt on the wooden doors of his chamber interrupts his thought. the hour is late and the sky had been stormy earlier. now it rains hard, thunder rumbling in the distance every few minutes. 

he cannot be sure who it is, though he has a guess. daella has never much liked storms and her septa grows tired of soothing the child herself. it’s not his daughter’s fault, he reminds himself, before his exhaustion and anger possess him again. 

not her fault, that her mother is gone from this world and all she has left to comfort her is me. not her fault, that i have failed at even this small duty. not her fault—

the knock stops suddenly, as though the person on the other side has decided it was not worth it any longer. he rushes towards the door faster, opening it swiftly when he’s greeted by the sight of—

you. 

maekar has tried, and failed, to suppress his thoughts of you. just as sleep begins to claim him, the weariness he feels all the way down to his bones winning for just a moment, he’ll sit up suddenly. almost as though someone had struck him with lightning.

the sound of your sobs rattles around his head. 

tonight, you are facing him in the corridor, your hand still hovering in the air, forgetting its purpose. you stare at maekar as though you are surprised he opened the door at all. 

“what is it?” he demands, the words coming out rougher than he intended. you flinch as regret blooms within his tired heart.

“i… i-” you trail off, staring blankly. 

he does not need the word of a maester to know that the rumors he has heard are indeed true. your eyes looked tired and sullen, glistening with unshed tears. the proof that you had been crying earlier still mars the soft skin of your cheeks. the robe you wear over your nightgown, some sort of cream-colored cotton, hangs off your frame.

he’s certain that it was well-fitted a few moons ago. that his brother had commissioned such a thing for you, out of love for his wife. out of concern for you catching cold, no doubt. he’s sure that baelor helped slide it over your bare shoulders when he was departing in the morning, leaving you alone in just cotton and—

“i cannot sleep,” you confess quietly. 

maekar stares down at you, his jaw clenching and tightening for a brief moment. 

“what am i meant to do about that?”

you react to the words as though you’ve been struck by the force of them. 

for your own good, maekar thinks, do not come to rely on me. do not knock when you need something. i am not him. i will only— 

“i…” you trail off again, your eyes blinking fast. a single tear escapes you, trailing down the length of your face until it drips down onto the fabric of your shift. “i only-”

maekar watches the path of the teardrop and meets your eyes again, his face feeling hot. he swallows uncomfortably.

“is it the rain?” he asks, moving aside. your eyes flick between him and the inside of his chambers in confusion, but you still walk, taking a few delicate footsteps until you’ve entered, the sound of your slippers soft against the floor.

“in part,” you confess. your words are quiet and hollow, as though your throat is pained from speaking. no doubt from your crying. “i do not like storms.”

“the sound of the rain can help you sleep,” he says, tiredness rushing through his veins. 

he has but a few burning candles inside his chambers, but his vision of you is still shrouded in a halo of flickering golden warmth. it makes his eyes want to shut, makes his body want to rest. 

“can it?” you question, though it sounds as if you are unsure of his words. it goes unsaid—can anything, now? without my husband?

“if you focus on it. the same sound over and over again as it falls on the rooftops. it can dull the senses enough to help you sleep.”

the same thing he had tried to convince daeron of, once, when he was but a little boy, and dyanna years before. daeron had tossed and turned until finally grew too tired to fuss and fell asleep. dyanna had preferred to tire herself out in other ways.

“it is not only the rain,” you admit. “i had another nightmare.”

maekar glances from the flame of the candle to your face—violet eyes following your expression carefully. you are staring out of his open window, entranced by something he does not know.

“would you like to speak about it?” he asks, hoping, almost praying, though he has not prayed in so very long, that your answer might be—

“no. i do not.” 

“then i ask again. what might i do that you have come all the way here in the dead of night?”

you turn your eyes towards him, blinking quickly as you often do. you wipe your face with your hands, trying to remove the evidence of your new tears.

“may i sleep in here tonight?”

the answer, of course, is no. 

he knows that the answer is no. it is a terrible idea down to its very core. your maids will notice your chamber empty on the morrow. the kingsguard will begin searching chambers for you. they will come to tell him first before they alert the king, and when they see you in here…

in his chambers. wrapped in his sheets. that lovely scent you carry spread across his bed. your robe laid gently on the table for when you need it again, for when he might help you put it on in the morning. your slippers on the floor. 

your hair by his face, the aroma of it so strong that he has no choice but to bury himself in it. your hands on his, the softness of your skin against the roughness of his, perhaps his arm around your waist. 

by the gods—the answer is no. 

a worse idea, he has never heard. once the kingsguard and the servants discover the two of you, it will only be a matter of moments before the entire court knows. the rumors will spread as wildfire does, scorching all that was left behind, caring little for the truth.

your face falls at his silence.

"j-just for a few hours. i only-"

baelor never did tell him to protect you. he never got the chance, maekar supposes. but he knows his brother, knows him better than anyone, even to this day, even to this very moment. 

baelor would want you protected. by someone he trusts, by maekar. he would want you unharmed by the knives of the court.

but he would also want you safe. want you sleeping soundly, well-rested. he would want the color and joy to return to your face. that sweetness he knows you possess to return to your soul, if it can.

and before he can think further about it, with exhaustion nipping at him repeatedly, with your sorrowful, doe-eyed gaze breaking the resolve further and further—

“yes.” 

you smile at that, a small one. sincere, maekar knows, a feeling of… perhaps something akin to pride rolling through him. perhaps it is merely guilt disguising itself.

you do shed your robe, leaving it by his armchair. you slippers are off next, and left by the rug that his bed sits atop. you pull the sheets to your collarbone, nestling yourself into the pillow he uses. 

you have climbed into the side that he usually sleeps on, but he cannot find it in himself to tell you the truth. so he settles on the other side, blowing out the last of the candles, losing you to the darkness after securing one final glance.

you look as though you have already fallen asleep.

“good night, maekar,” you whisper, the softness of your arm just barely brushing him. but you do not move away, keeping it there, keeping the two of you touching by a sliver of skin.

he does not answer.  

your soft breaths turn into steady, tired noises of sleep. he can hear it, focusing on that over the rain, pleading with himself to stay awake for a moment longer. 

but he can only fend it off for so long—he has not been sleeping much these few moons, either.

It was late, unreasonably so, if you asked him, by the time you finally reached Summerhall.

You had been far from home for over two weeks: King Daeron had again requested Maekar’s attendance at a melee, this time hosted by Lord Baratheon in celebration of his grandson’s nameday. Storm’s End was not too far away; the journey to and from was in fact shorter than that to Dragonstone or King’s Landing, and Maekar traveled to both places with enough frequency to know of distance and the longing that came with it. But melees and tourneys, even if particularly uneventful as of late, brought back a different feeling altogether, and with each passing of the moon, the weight of it became harder and harder for Maekar to carry. 

Nonetheless, Maekar knew of duty. And you always loved him enough to learn how to shoulder the burden.

“Warm, honeyed milk for my wife,” Maekar grumbles, voice quiet and tense, as you step inside the dressing alcove in your shared chambers. “And the sweet biscuits she likes.”

The maids scatter as soon as he speaks. It’s the same every time, both the moodiness and the food request. He never asks for anything for himself: it is always your favorite drink and something sweet to go with it, and it is always done in automatic.

It had amused you at the beginning, and you had thought it to be something that would eventually change over time. He was very attentive when you were courting, and despite the moodiness, he was still a prince of the realm. But in the end, Maekar always ever put you first without giving himself a second thought, and that had not dwindled through the years.

“You should rest,” he adds, moving further inside the chamber as he unclips his cloak from around his neck. “We rode for too long. Sit, wife. Or lay down. You have been on your feet long enough.”

“And I am perfectly content with being on my feet for a moment still,” you reply with a small smile, not taking your eyes off him as he drapes his cloak over the edge of his scriptorium. “Although I would not mind your help in unlacing my dress.”

Maekar exhales, nodding softly, and treads your way as your words leave your mouth. He does not look back when the cloak slips to the floor.

The hearth burns quietly, a comforting presence that bathes the room in a soft, warm amber light, and the space smells faintly of cedar. Moonlight seeps in from the outside through a set of wall-height stained glass windows and wooden latticed screens, and reflects upon the stone in a broken kaleidoscope of colors.

The blonde reaches you, delicately resting his hands along the small of your back. He leans closer as soon as he touches you, his body finding a home next to yours almost as if on instinct. He breathes you in, taking in the softness of your gown and the warmth of your body, marveling at how the moonlight seems like stardust when reflecting over your hair and reveling in the way you draw breath. 

He does not close his eyes, does not dare to miss a second of the bliss he finds in merely existing in silence by your side. He feels it again, carved down deeply into his bones, the sensation he has had ever since the day you wed: that heart-numbing fullness, that soul-crushing beatitude. The blissfulness that comes from knowing you are but two halves of one whole. 

And he exhales. And he exists in the silence again.

His hands move quietly, nimble fingers working the ties in the lace as the hearth continues to burn. 

“I forgot to mention,” Maekar clears his throat, the sound brisk and sudden in the stillness. “I had no change to give this to you any sooner.”

You feel him shift behind you, resting his weight on one leg as he retrieves something from the small leather pouch he keeps tied to the hem of his breeches. He hands it to you over your shoulder, delicately, waiting only until your fingers have properly wrapped around the parcel to remove his hand. It moves back to its place among your back in a swift, careful motion, and he resumes his task.

You recognize the gift in a heartbeat.

“Candied apricots?” You smile, tilting your head. “I do not recall mentioning I wanted some. Did you send an envoy out to retreat them?”

Maekar hums, and leans closer. It is no extraordinary offering, nothing he could not request be brought to you as soon as the craving surfaced; and yet, the weight of the parcel in your hand sends a flutter down your chest.

“You are fond of them,” he says, simply, voice rough and raw and with its ever-present edge, but does it without missing a beat. “I will get you more.”

Your husband always speaks with a certainty that informs the world around you that there is nothing more important than what makes you happy. It is what he has always done: making the universe bend to your will, and always by his hand. It is the thought of a simple thing, a small parcel of dried summer fruit, purchased only because he knows you like it; and it becomes so much more.

His hands are still on your back when the last knot has been untied, and he lets them rest there as you rip the parcel open. You turn, and lean forward to press a soft, gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth as you whisper a quiet thank you. He does not smile, but his eyes still soften as he looks at you, burning with fervent devotion.

The moon continues its course above Summerhall, and the vastness of the chamber is perfumed with the scent of candied fruits. The warm feeling in Maekar’s chest threatens to swallow him whole when your lips brush against his, and he, as he always does, surrenders to the blissfulness of it.

from this prompt list. requests are open!