barbie, be patient.

dunk stood behind the door listening to your whimpers and moans. at first, when he returned to the inn and heard the noise, he had thought you were in pain and calling for his help, but as he approached the door, slightly ajar, he realized you were not in fact in pain, but that you were pleasuring yourself on his bed...

his hand lightly grazed his groin area and felt his cock rising, hot and heavy, straining against his trousers. it was really without meaning to; he would never disrespect you like that, but you just sounded so pretty and you were calling for him and-

the door creaked.

your eyes flew open, your body freezing. there, silhouetted in the doorway, was the very man you were calling out for. he stood stock-still, his eyes wide as they took in the scene: you, disheveled and panting, your legs spread, your hips still pressed intimately against the pillow.

he froze, his adam's apple bobbing. "i... i heard you," he stammered, his voice cracking. "i didn't mean to... i... i am sorry."

he backed away, clearly intending to retreat and give you your privacy.

"don't go! w-wait," you whimpered, the frustration of the pillow making you bold. you pushed yourself up, your legs trembling, and crawled to the edge of the bed. "if you want... i'm not sending you away."

he looked at you, then down at himself, where the front of his breeches was already tented and there appeared to be a dark patch of leaked pre-cum. the sight seemed to snap something in him.

his movements jerky and urgent, he stopped at the foot of the bed. "i should not have seen that. it is not... decent."

"m'sorry-"

"no! no, don't you apologize. you have done nothing wrong!"

"i've embarrassed myself... and have left you aching..." you whispered, looking anywhere but at him.

"nothing you could do is embarrassing to my m'lady. i'm just... stupid, and you sounded so pretty and-" he replied, rambling.

you sat back on your heels.

"i could help you, ser..."

"you... you do not know what you are saying..." he shook his head, his hand cupped to try to hide his erection from you.

your legs spread, your fingers dipping into your folds. you were so wet, so ready. you wanted him to see. you wanted him to know exactly how much he affected you. you began to touch yourself, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked on his.

"yes, i do... and i know what i'm doing. i want to help you, please."

he groaned, a sound that went straight to your core, pulling out his throbbing cock from the confines of his linen. it was thick and angry-red, still leaking. he stroked himself, watching you with hungry, dark eyes.

"to dishonor you..." he began, stroking lightly, shame still battling in his mind with the lust.

"you wouldn't be dishonoring me," you interrupted. "i'd be dishonoring myself if i let you walk out that door when we both want this so badly."

"look at me," he commanded, though it sounded more like a plea. "please look at what you do to me."

it was the most intimate thing you had ever shared. you watched him, his huge fist moving up and down his length, his muscles flexing with every stroke. you matched his rhythm, your own fingers moving faster, chasing the release that was just out of reach.

"do i look pretty, dunk? touching myself for you?" you breathed, your voice trembling.

"y-yes... yes..." he rasped. "you look so beautiful. play with yourself for me."

you did. you touched yourself harder, faster, your breath hitching in your throat. you wanted him to see how you liked it. you wanted him to see how much you needed him. and he watched, mesmerized, his own hand moving faster, his eyes fixed on your face as you neared the edge.

"dunk," you cried out, your body arching off the bed. "i wish it were your big, strong hands playing with my cunny. or your sweet mouth-"

he groaned, his own head falling back. "me too," he gritted out. "fuck!"

you came together in a rush of heat and light, your cries mingling in the small room, his thick, glossy cum spurting out onto his fist and onto the floor, his hips bucking against his fist as he finished.

now, it’s just another part of your life with him. a part he’s grown to love, he loves to watch it, to see his mark on you.

he’ll pull out at the last second, fisting his huge thick cock with a groan, and paint your body. he loves the sight of his cum pooling in the valley between your breasts, making them slick and shiny. the way you play with it massaging it into your nipples and bringing your fingers to your mouth to suck on leaves him heart-eyed and wanting to do it all over again.

he also loves watching it dribble down the globes of your ass, coating you in his essence. bringing his own hand down on your ass just watch the strings of the glossy mess stick to his hand and your cheeks.

there is also your mouth. he loves watching you try to take it all, your lips stretched around him as he empties himself down your throat. you always try so hard to swallow every drop, but it’s a losing battle. it’s just too much, and it always comes bubbling back out, spilling from the corners of your mouth in pearly drops dripping down your chin and onto your chest. the sight of you, messy and marked and overwhelmed by his sheer virility, never fails to make him hard all over again.

his favorite, though, is gettin to cum inside you…filling you like a cream donut.

it’s a searing, liquid flood. the first pulse of his orgasm is a violent, deep throb against your inner walls, a sharp, intense jet of wet heat that feels like it hits the back of your womb.

one pulse becomes two, then three, then a relentless, rhythmic flooding that has no end. you can feel each spurt and when the last, shuddering pulse finally subsides, he collapses onto you, a heavy, boneless weight that pins you to the bed. you're both panting, slick with sweat.

and then when he pulls out you feel it.

the slow, warm trickle.

it’s inevitable. there’s just too much of it to be contained. a slow warm seep that coats your inner thighs and the linens. sticky reminder of what he just did to you.

he'd been at it for what felt like blissful hours, building you up with a patience that was both maddening and divine. his large hands held your hips steady, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there as his mouth worked its magic. he'd found a spot, just inside, that made your toes curl and your breath hitch, and he was exploiting it mercilessly, sucking and flicking his tongue, so wet and sloppy.

"dunk," you whimpered, your hands tangling in his thick, sandy hair. "i... i don't know... something's different..."

he just hummed against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight through your core, and doubled his efforts. he could feel you tensing, your thighs beginning to tremble around his head. he looked up, his eyes dark with adoration and fierce concentration. he wanted to see you. he needed to see you fall apart.

that was all it took. with a sharp cry, your back arched off the bed. a wave of pleasure, more intense than anything you'd ever felt, crashed over you. and then it happened. a sudden, gushing release that you couldn't control, soaking his face and the sheets beneath you. it was messy and shocking and utterly overwhelming.

for a moment, dunk froze. he pulled back slightly, his face a picture of pure, unadulterated astonishment. he looked at the wetness on his own fingers, then back at you, still trembling and gasping on the bed. a slow, wondrous smile spread across his face, transforming it.

"gods above," he breathed, his voice thick with awe. "did i... did i do that?" he sounded like a man who had just witnessed a miracle, which, in his mind, he had. he, ser duncan the tall, had made his love, his lady, feel something so powerful it manifested like this.

he surged up the bed, not to claim his own pleasure, but to gather you in his arms. he kissed you, a deep, messy kiss that tasted of you and of his own profound joy. "can we do that again, please?" he whispered against your lips, his hands roaming your body as if trying to memorize the moment, squeezing at your tits and rubbing your wet, bare pussy against his clothed cock. "i would like to feel that whilst yer sitting on my—"

"dunk!"

and then you felt it. pressed against your hip through his breeches, a sudden, intense heat followed by a shudder that wracked his entire frame. he went rigid against you, a deep, guttural groan escaping his throat as his face buried in the crook of your neck. he was cumming. hard. just from the sheer, overwhelming pride and love of having brought you to that peak. he hadn't even been touched, but the sight and feel of you, so completely undone by his mouth, was more than enough to undo him completely.

ser duncan the tall:

missionary and mating press

dunk is a man who values intimacy above all else in the bedroom. his favorite positions allow him to maintain eye contact and physical connection with you. he absolutely loves missionary because it lets him gaze into your eyes while making love. he's the type who needs to see your reactions,

every gasp, every flutter of your eyelids, every smile that plays across your lips. the face-to-face intimacy is everything to him, allowing him to kiss you deeply and passionately whenever the mood strikes.

and when dunk's primal instincts take over, he favors the mating press. this position lets him push your legs back toward your chest, allowing for maximum penetration. he wants it as deep as possible.

there's something about being able to bury himself so far inside you that drives him wild. in these moments, his movements become more purposeful, more deliberate. he's thinking about giving you his baby, about ensuring his seed takes root. he'll whisper about wanting to see you swollen with his child, his voice dropping to a low, possessive rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "you'll have my babe in your belly soon m'love," he coos as you whine, the tip of his cock hitting your g spot, "i know...i know..." he continues.

spooning position

despite his large frame and strength, dunk is surprisingly considerate. he knows his weight can be crushing, and he worries about tiring you out when you're on top. that's why he often initiates spooning sex, especially after a long day or when you're feeling particularly tender. in this position, he can hold your waist securely, one hand free to rub circles against your clit or to cup your breast. he'll pepper kisses along your cheek, neck, and shoulders, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. the angle allows him to hit all the right spots while still maintaining that intimate connection he craves.

aerion targaryen:

face-fucking (deep throat)

aerion's favorite way to begin is with you lying on your back, head tilted slightly back as he kneels above you, guiding his cock into your waiting mouth. in this position, he has complete control of the depth and pace. he watches with dark satisfaction as your lips stretch around him, as tears well in your eyes from the effort of taking him so deeply. the sight of you so completely submissive, trusting him with your very breath…he’s obsessed.

he'll thrust slowly at first, savoring the wet heat, before building to a rhythm that has him grunting with pleasure.

and what aerion truly loves about this arrangement is the effortless transition it allows. when he's had his fill of your mouth, he can simply shift back down your body, hooking your legs over his hips without ever breaking connection.

in one smooth motion, he's lining himself up with your entrance and pushing inside. the contrast between the tight heat of your mouth and the sopping wetness of your cunt is something that never fails to draw a guttural moan from his chest. he'll piston into you with the same rhythm he used for your mouth, establishing his claim on every part of you.

venus flytrap (pussy licking)

aerion's greatest contradiction: this proud, arrogant dragon would secretly spend hours between your thighs if you allowed it. he adores having your thighs wrapped around his head, your scent filling his senses as he buries his face in your pussy. he's methodical and thorough in his worship,

sucking your folds, flicking his tongue against your clit, probing your clenching hole until you're writhing beneath him. the taste of you is intoxicating, better than any wine he's ever had.

despite his usual arrogance, aerion will actually beg for the privilege of tasting you.

"please," he'll murmur against your inner thigh, his voice uncharacteristically husky with need. "let me have your pretty cunny. i need to taste you."

when you finally grant permission, he attacks your flesh with a hunger that borders on desperation, as if he's been starving for this very thing. he'll stay there until you're completely spent, your wetness coating his face, his chin glistening with your essence, a sight that makes his cock ache with renewed need.

valarr targaryen:

reverse cowgirl seated

valarr's favorite positions are having you sit on his cock while he lounges in a chair or on the edge of the bed, your back pressed against his chest.

in this position, he can relax while you do the work, grinding your ass back against him, setting the pace that brings you the most pleasure. your pleasure is really all he cares about. his hands are free to roam your body, cupping your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, or sliding down to stroke your clit as you bounce on his length.

he loves the feeling of your hair brushing against his chest as you move, the sounds of your soft moans filling his ears. he'll press hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, behind your ears, along your jawline, marking you as his even as he allows you to maintain control of the rhythm.

cowgirl

while valarr enjoys letting you take the lead, he also craves the ability to dominate when the mood strikes. when you're riding him while he's lying down, facing him, he'll suddenly grip your ass with both hands, taking control of your movements.

he'll lift you slightly before slamming you back down on his cock, the force of his thrusts stealing your breath. his hands will wander from your ass to your back, pulling you closer as he bucks up into you.

the sharp smack of his palm against your ass is always followed by his deep, appreciative groan. "good girl," he'll murmur against your lips as you cry out and dig your nails into his chest, "that's it, take it, take it." the slight sting of pain only heightening his pleasure.

he'll repeat this pattern of hard thrusts, sharp smacks, words of sweet praise, watching with dark satisfaction as you become increasingly lost in pleasure.

he loves the sight of you so completely undone by his touch, your breasts bouncing with each movement, your head thrown back in ecstasy, this is what valarr lives for.

daeron targaryen:

the x position

daeron's signature is the x position.

he'll arrange you so that one of your legs is draped over his hip while your body twists to the side, creating a delicious stretch and opening you up to him in the most vulnerable way. from this angle, he can watch his cock slide in and out of you, the sight enhanced by the way your body arches with each thrust.

as he thrusts into you with slow, deliberate strokes, his thumb will find your clit, rubbing circles that match the rhythm of his hips. just as you're approaching your peak, he'll shift his fingers to your mouth, pressing them against your lips. "suck," he'll command softly, his voice a low murmur against your ear. "come on, open for me darling girl."

he's mesmerized by the sight of your lips wrapped around his fingers, the way your tongue swirls around them, the slight scrape of your teeth. his cock filling you while your mouth is occupied creates a sensory overload that leaves you trembling, whining, moaning...

edge of the bed

daeron's other favorite position places you on the edge of the bed with your legs held up by him as he stands before you. it gives him complete control while allowing for maximum penetration.

he'll watch with intense focus as his cock disappears into your body, your creamy wetness coating him with each thrust. the angle allows him to hit that spot deep inside that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the bed.

what daeron loves most about this position is the way it displays your body to him, your breasts bouncing with each movement, your face contorted in pleasure, the way your hands clutch at the sheets. he'll vary his pace, sometimes thrusting with slow, teasing strokes that leave you begging for more, other times pounding into you with a ferocity that steals your breath in high-pitched moans. when he feels you tightening around him, approaching your release, he'll reach down with one hand to rub your clit, pushing you over the edge with a guttural cry of his own name.

the sky had wept, turning the training grounds into a glorious mire of mud.

you were trying to wring out a soaked tunic near the stables, small hands twisting the heavy fabric. you looked up and saw your husband watching from afar, a challenge in your gaze. “a fine day for a pig's wallow, wouldn't you say?"

“only if one has the right company for it m’lady.” he responds walking towards you now.

that was all the invitation you needed. you closed the distance running over to him, and he simply hooked a thick arm around your waist and lifted you clean off your feet.

you gasp, a sound of pure delight, as he carries you to the deepest, sloppiest part of the churned-up earth then pulling you down with him into the cool mud. it was a shock of filth. you shrieked with laughter, as he slaps a handful of the gooey mess against your chest. “you brute! you've ruined my gown!"

“which can be rinsed.” dunk only smiles before flipping you on your back. the world had narrowed to the space between your bodies of raw animal need. dunk’s weight was an anchor, pinning you to the earth.

“you wanted this, didn't you, little mud-lark?" he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble that vibrated through your bones making you giggle. “saw me ‘cross the yard and thought, ‘i’ll have that giant beast fuck me in the dirt like yer’ not my wife.”

you couldn't form words, only a choked moan as he shifted his hips, your hands, no longer playfully pushing, clawed at his back smearing the mud further. with one hand, he tore at the laces of your thin dress drawing out another astounded yet aroused gasp from you.

your own small hands fumbling with the ties of his simple breeches. there was no grace, only frantic, needy urgency. he freed his chubby cock, heavy, and his pearly pre cum already weeping out of the red hot tip.

“g-gentle dunk.” you remind him to which he nods and presses a sweet reassuring kiss to your cheek.

he pushes aside the wet fabric of your underclothes sullied with mud. you were ready, slick with your own liquid heat.

“nearly soak my fingers completely,” dunk coos.

burning hot stretch tares through you, your husband thrusting in one deep, stroke. the mud around you seemed to swallow you both with the way he’s pinning you down.

“easy now…easy….” he soothes. and you, impossibly tight, arching your back, and pushing your hips up to meet his brutal invasion has him whimpering in low groans.

“oh, aye. i see it in your pretty eyes. that's not the look of a proper wife or maiden. that's the look of a she-wolf in heat surely.”

“gods, yes," you hissed, your nails digging into the thick muscle of his arms. “fuck me ser, right here. like a beast. like strong rough giant.”

he began to move again, a slow, grinding rhythm, the mud stuck to your bare skin with every lazy thrust.

“look at you," he grunted, reaching down to smear a handful of the muck across your bouncing breasts, coating them in a filthy sheen. “a knight's prize, covered in filth. does it feel good, i wonder? to be so defiled m’lady?”

your answer was a whimper, your back arching, pressing your muddy tits against his hairy chest. he took that as an invitation to kiss along the column of your throat.

then he pulled back, withdrawing almost completely, leaving you feeling so empty. you cried out in protest, a desperate, needy sound that made him grin. “beg for it, sweet girl” he commanded, his voice hard as iron. “beg me to fill you again please…tell me what you need.”

with desperate, burning need coiling in your belly you whine out

“please, ser," you gasped, your voice ragged. “please…husband defile me. i-i need your cock…”

“good girl," he rumbled, flipping you over as if you weighed nothing, arranging you on your hands and knees in the muck. your ass was presented to him, a perfect, muddy canvas. he gave it a sharp, stinging slap, the sound echoing in the quiet yard. you yelped, more in surprise than pain. dunk grabs your hips, and then he slammed back into you, a single, brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs and drove you both deeper into the mire. “that's it now…”

the angle was deeper and more intense. he hit a place inside you that made your entire body clench. “gods be good," you moaned, dropping your head to your arms.

the sounds were no longer just wet…they were vicious, the sloppy squelch of his heavy huge balls slapping against your clit.

“squeeze so perfect…n’pretty.” he snarled, his syrupy sweet words punctuated by the force of his thrusts.

“you're going to walk out of this muck with yer husbands seed dripping down your thighs," he promised, his voice a low and guttural.

“might this take, you'll remember this. remember how you were fucked in the mud and that’s why you’ve grown round and full with my child.” and with the amount that dunk cums you know for sure this will in fact take as did all the other times.

dunk reached around, his fingers finding your clit, already swollen and sensitive. he simply pressed his large fingers hard onto your little pearl.

he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, smearing the muck between you, but it felt grounding, not degrading.

dunk’s hands roamed your body, stroking your sides, your thighs, your belly, as if memorizing every curve. “my beautiful wife,” he whispered against your ear. “taking me so well.”

his thrusts became a little deeper, a little faster, his control slipping as his own need took over. “i’m going to fill you up,” he promised, his voice breaking with emotion. “i’m going to give you more children, my sweet girl.”

with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he spilled deep inside you. ropes of non stop hot thick cum flooded you, triggering your own climax. "dunk!" you cried out, a sharp, shocked sound like music to his ears. your body convulsed, your walls clamping down around him as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you trembling and spent in the mud.

he held you there for a long moment, his body a heavy, comforting weight pinning you to the now semi warm mud. aftershocks of pleasure still trembled through you, and you could feel the slow, seeping warmth of his seed as it trickled down your thighs. with a soft groan, he shifted, lifting himself up just enough to look down at you.

he gently brushed a strand of mud-caked hair from your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“look at you," he murmured again in awe, his voice a low rumble. “my beautiful, dirty girl." he leaned down and kissed you, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of earth and sweat and the lingering salt of your tears.

then, with surprising strength, dunk rose to his knees and scooped you up into his arms. you were limp and boneless, your head lolling against his shoulder as he stood, carrying you effortlessly through the trees.

the sound of rushing water grew louder, and soon you were at the river's edge. the water was clear and cold, tumbling over smooth, grey stones.

“might be cold m’lady-“ he whispers

“i’ll be fine dunk.”

he carefully waded in, the water swirling around his legs, then his waist, until he was standing in deep enough to reach his chest. he lowered you gently into the water and held you close, letting the current wash away the mud and the evidence of your frantic love making.

you floated in his arms, the cool water a balm against your heated skin. your ever so gentle and thoughtful giant of a husband cupped water in his big hands and poured it over your shoulders, your breasts, and your cheeks. his touch was reverent, almost worshipful as it always is when he’s touching you like you’re made of clouds and fine silk.

life had changed, in ways both subtle and overwhelming, since the first cries of your children echoed through the small halls of your home. the mornings were no longer quiet, the sunlight no longer lazy across the stable stones, because little feet pounded the floors and laughter, bright and sometimes shrill, filled every corner. you were tired, of course. bone-deep, mind-buzzing tired. but there was a fullness to it you hadn’t anticipated.

dunk had grown into this life almost naturally, though it had surprised you. his once clean-shaven jaw was now hidden beneath a thick, coarse beard, flecked with lighter red strands that caught the sun when he bent to lift a child onto his broad shoulders.

he looked older, yes, but steadier, softer in ways that still made your heart skip. he could calm a screaming babe with a single rumbling word or make one of your older children burst into giggles with a ridiculous grimace or a low, booming growl.

you found yourself watching him often, sometimes in quiet moments while he carved tiny wooden toys or tied the horse’s saddle just so. it was strange, and yet slowly familiar, this version of him. he was still the knight you had met, the same towering presence with a heart so large it truly fit his frame, but softened by his family and the tiny chaos that had become your life together.

and you… you were slowly learning to belong here. to let the small, domestic miracles, the tiny hands clutching your fingers, the smell of milk and hay, the whispered “i love you” as you tucked another child into bed, sink into you without panic or longing for the life you had left behind.

there were moments of nostalgia, yes, of missing the quiet grandeur of court and the weight of gold and silk, but dunk had this way of centering you, of reminding you that the world outside these walls could wait.

you had a new kingdom now, a family.

at night, when the children slept, you would sometimes sit together by the hearth, leaning against him while he cradled the smaller one in his arms, his beard brushing your shoulder, and you would feel the steady thrum of his heart and the weight of his promise. in these moments, he would press a soft kiss to your temple and murmur, “nothing will harm you, you or our family.” and you would nod.

he doesn’t understand politics or dynastic ambitions.

he understands one thing: you are his, and he is yours. and anything that makes you think otherwise is a problem to be solved.

he sees it in your eyes instantly. you will be staring out the window, distant, lost in thoughts of gilded halls and royal expectations, dreams of life before him, of duties you were born to, of a world that seems impossibly far from this stable, this hearth, this life with him.

your husband does not need to hear the words.

he moves quietly behind you, heavy steps softened by the rugs and the faint clatter of the hearth. his hands settle gently on your hips, large and warm, anchoring you to the present, to him.

you lean back into him, letting the solid weight of him hold you steady. the children’s soft breaths and the crackle of the fire fill the silence, a quiet world apart from gilded halls and courtly expectations.

his hands tighten on your hips, just enough to anchor you. “you’re staring again,” he says, voice gentle but edged with something that feels like reproach. “thinking about what you had, what you might still have. do you wish to leave?”

“duncan…”

“wish for another life while our children sleep safe under this roof?” the words sting softly, and your throat tightens.

“i… i don’t,” you whisper.

“i see it in your eyes,” he presses, shifting so your cheek rests against his chest. “i can feel it. and it pains me that i cannot give you what you are wishing for, though i would, m’love. you know i would. you’ve given me everything, your life, your heart…” his fingers trail over your hip. “do you want more? more than what we have here, what we’ve built together? our children, our home, our life?”

you shake your head, words catching. “no… it’s just…”

“just what?” his voice is soft but unyielding, and you cannot help but shiver under the weight of it.

guilt twists in your stomach. of course he sees. of course he knows. “i love being your wife… i love our children. i wouldn’t give it up for anything…” you whisper, your fingers clutching the front of his tunic.

“that’s all i want,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “but every time you drift away with your thoughts, i wonder if i’m enough. all i want is to see you happy, here, with me, with our children. what more can i do, m’love?”

“nothing, dunk…”

“tell me. i will do anything for you to be contented. what more can i do for you?”

you tilt your head up to press a soft, chaste kiss to his jaw, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of him. “i’m happy,” you promise, “with you. with all of this. i swear it on the gods.”

he hums against your hair, the tension in his arms easing slightly, but the guilt lingers, a reminder that he loves fiercely, protectively, and expects that same devotion in return. “i’ll never forgive myself if you no longer feel so, even for a moment.”

you rest your cheek against his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, and let the guilt and the love wash together, leaving you dizzy with how completely you belong here, with him, with your children, with this life you’ve chosen.

and his simple, direct mind concludes: if you are not unhappy or regretful, then you must be bored. empty. you need to be filled. you need another purpose. another babe.

he watches you for the rest of the evening, his gaze a heavy, contemplative weight. he watches you braid your daughter’s hair, his eyes tracing the silver-gold strands. he watches you rock your youngest to sleep, your voice a soft hum in the firelight.

later, when the house is finally still and the children are all asleep in their beds, you crawl under the heavy quilts, sighing in contentment. the bed dips dramatically as he slides in beside you, his body a furnace of heat.

he rolls over, his huge frame covering yours, caging you in with his arms. he’s not rough, but he’s deliberate. he takes your wrists in one of his massive hands, his grip firm but not painful, and pins them above your head against the pillows.

"dunk?" you whisper, your heart starting to hammer.

he lowers his head, and his mouth finds yours. it’s slow, searching, a thorough exploration that leaves you breathless. he kisses like it’s your wedding night, then he moves down, his lips trailing a hot, wet path down your neck. he nips at your pulse point, his sharp canines scraping against your sensitive skin, not hard enough to break it, just enough to make you gasp and arch against him.

"shhh," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "just let me love you."

he lets go of your wrists, but only so he can use both hands to explore your body. he runs his hands down your sides, his calloused palms rough against the soft fabric of your nightdress.

he cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, which instantly pebble into hard points. he leans down, taking one into his mouth through the thin fabric, his tongue swirling around the peak before he gently, so gently, closes his teeth around it. the combination of the wet heat and the sharp, stinging pressure sends a jolt straight to your core.

"g-gentle! my love-" you gasp, your hand flying to his hair, not to push him away, but to hold on.

he pulls back instantly, his brow furrowed with concern, his eyes searching yours. "did i hurt you?"

"no, no, it’s not…it’s not that," you pant, a flush creeping up your neck. "they’re just…full. sensitive from the babe."

his gaze drops back to your breasts, and a new kind of understanding dawns on his face. it’s a look of raw, unadulterated awe. he knows what’s in there. he knows it’s nourishment for his baby, but right now, all he can think about is you.

"full," he repeats, his voice a low, husky whisper. he looks back up at you, his eyes shining with a primal hunger that makes your stomach clench. "let me see m’love."

he doesn’t wait for an answer. he sits back on his heels, his huge hands gripping the hem of your nightdress and slowly, reverently, pulling it up over your head. he tosses it aside, and his eyes are fixed on your bare chest, on the heavy, swollen curves of your breasts. your nipples are dark and taut, a few tiny droplets of milk beading on the tips.

"gods above," he breathes, his voice thick with wonder. "you’re perfect."

he leans down again, but this time, his movements are slower, more deliberate. he presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast, his tongue darting out to taste the droplet of milk there. he groans, a deep, guttural sound of pure satisfaction.

"so sweet," he murmurs against your skin.

he takes the sensitive peak into his mouth again, but this time, he’s impossibly gentle. he doesn’t suckle hard, not like the baby. he just…tastes. he swirls his tongue around the nipple, lapping up the sweet, thin milk that leaks out. it’s a strange, intimate act, so much more intense than a simple kiss.

"you’re so full of life," he growls, his voice vibrating against your skin. "so ready to give. always giving." he moves to the other breast, giving it the same worshipful attention. "i want to show you how in awe i am, how proud…"

he shifts, his massive body covering yours, his hips settling between your thighs. you can feel his hard, thick length pressing against you through his breeches, a heavy, insistent pressure. he’s rock-hard, and you know it’s from this, from seeing you like this, from tasting you.

he reaches down, his hand fumbling with the laces of his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours. "i’m going to make love to you now…i want to put another babe in you tonight. i want to see you swell with my child again, to see these beautiful breasts get even heavier with milk. i want to give you another purpose, another reason to stay right here, with me, where you belong."

he frees himself, and his cock springs out, and gods, he’s magnificent. his cock is as big as the rest of him, long and thick, already weeping with precum. it juts out from a thatch of dark curls. he wraps his hand around the base, his fingers close around the girth, and gives it a slow, deliberate stroke.

"i’ll be gentle i swear it dovie…" he whispers, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "you're so beautiful," voice thick with awe and desire. "so soft."

he lines himself up with your entrance, the blunt head nudging against your still-sensitive flesh. he leans down, his forearms braced on either side of your head, his body hovering over yours.

"i'm going to fill you up," he growls, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "i'm going to make you a mother again."

and then he pushes forward.

he enters you in one long, slow, relentless stroke. he’s so big, so thick, that it burns, a delicious, stretching ache that borders on pain. you feel yourself being forced open, your body yielding to his impossible size. he doesn't stop until he’s buried to the hilt, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

he starts to move, his hips withdrawing almost all the way before plunging back in, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. the bed creaks in protest with every thrust, the sound mingling with your gasps and his low groans.

"dunk!" you gasp,

"shhhh…shhh don't wake them…" he soothes, pressing wet kisses right next to your ear, his voice a low, rough vibration that sends shivers down your spine. the children are just down the hall.

he’s fucking you with a single-minded purpose, his eyes locked on yours, his face a mask of intense concentration. he’s not just chasing his own pleasure, he’s on a mission.

he’s trying to plant a seed, to give you another sweet child that will tie you to him, to this land, forever.

he reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, circles that send sparks shooting through your veins. the pressure builds again, a tight coil in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust.

"look at you," he growls, his voice a strained whisper, his hips piston into you, a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that feels like it’s reshaping you from the inside out.

"i think about it all day. while i’m away, i think about you rocking the babe to sleep. while i’m plowing the north field, i think about the way you laugh when our son makes that funny face. i think about how you made them."

his thumb presses harder, rubbing faster, and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. the coil in your belly is winding so tight you think you might snap.

"i want another one," he pants, his forehead resting against yours.

he shifts his angle slightly, and the head of his cock brushes against a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. "i want to see our son hold his new brother or sister. i want to see our daughter kiss your belly and ask when the child is coming. i want this house to be so full of love and laughter and our children that you never have a moment to think of anything else. of anywhere else."

his words are a filthy, beautiful prayer, a dark and loving spell.

"give me another one, my sweet beautiful girl," he begs, his voice breaking with desperation. "give me another babe. let me fill you up again. please..."

and that’s all it takes. the coil snaps, and your orgasm rips through you, a silent, violent wave of pleasure that makes your entire body convulse. your inner walls clamp down on him, a desperate, rhythmic clenching.

with a loud, guttural groan that he muffles against your neck, he follows you over the edge. his cock pulses inside you, a hot, violent flood of his cum that fills you completely, a searing, liquid heat that feels like it’s hitting the back of your womb. it’s so much, just like always, a thick, potent flood that promises exactly what he asked for.

he collapses onto you, his heavy body pinning you to the bed, his face buried in the crook of your neck. you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

he lifts his head, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. they’re dark, but not with anger or worry anymore. he looks at you like you’re a treasure he’s just unearthed, a prize he’s won in a battle he didn’t even know he was fighting.

he doesn’t say anything. he just looks at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your face, the swell of your lips, the flush on your cheeks. he’s committing this moment to memory, branding it into his brain. he’s looking at the mother of his children, the woman he just claimed, again and again.

he shifts his weight, rolling off you but not away. he pulls you into his arms, your back flush against his chest, his body a warm, solid wall behind you. his arm wraps around your waist, his hand splaying possessively over your stomach.

he pulls the quilts up over both of you, tucking you in tenderly.

you lie there in the quiet darkness, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against your back. you can feel his cum slowly leaking out of you, a warm, sticky reminder, a promise of what’s to come.

you start to shift, a familiar, full ache beginning in your breasts. "dunk," you whisper, your voice sleepy. "i should probably get up. the little one will be hungry soon."

"shhh," he soothes, his hand moving from your stomach to cup your breast, his thumb gently stroking the heavy, sensitive flesh. "let me." he presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. "if she wakes, i'll go get her."

you relax against him, a soft sigh escaping your lips. "alright," you whisper, your body melting into his. "but if she starts crying…"

"i'll take care of everything. you just rest, my love. you've done enough for tonight. let my seed take. rest." he promises.

you close your eyes, a sense of peace settling over you, a feeling of being so completely, utterly cared for that it makes your heart ache.

you think about your old life, about the caged life of the red keep, about the politics and the schemes, the endless parade of false smiles and hidden daggers. and then you think about this. the solid weight of the man behind you, the soft breathing of your children down the hall…

he’s not a prince. he’s not a lord. he’s a simple man with simple needs and a simple, fierce love.

you lean back into him, your body relaxing into his embrace, a sense of peace settling over you, a feeling of rightness that you never felt in all your years in the capital.