He would be all over you. Princes don’t ride in carriages, they rode on their horses alongside them. But when Aerion saw you step into the carriage, with no one but his drunk older brother who had already fallen off his horse, he broke the standards and slid in beside you without a word. If Daeron were to snore to loudly, or scare you with his nightly visions on the way there, he would kick his brothers shin, shutting him up instantly.

When you’d finally arrive there, Aerion would be the only one to help you out, he didn’t trust anyone near you anymore, after all you were carrying his hatchling now, as he liked to call it. To his logic, the male dragon always protects the nest, despite the child being born yet or not.

He would watch you with every step you took, and if anyone were to dare get too close, attempt a conversation, or merely disturb your peace? It’s safe to say they would not be seen anywhere again that day.

You would have been the one to convince him to go to the puppet show, it was about dragons after all, and you knew his strict obsession with them. It had started off pleasant, you, in his arms. But it seemed he had snapped that poor girls fingers in the blink of an eye.

You had tried to get the nearby guards to stop the taller man from coming at Aerion. You knew your husband was in the wrong, but to see him being brutally attacked meant more.

When you had returned back to the small castle of Ashford, where you were all staying, Lord ashford was waiting with Maekar and Baelor. You were sat near Lord ashford. Aerion often liked to put you far from him, only so he could stare at you fully for the night. As he ignored the hedgeknights words, he instead snapped some nuts open.

The final one had flown across the room, going past Lord Ashford and landing on your boots. When you had begun to bend down to retrieve it Aerion let out a noise of displeasure. Instead he gestured to Lord Ashford, pointing at your shoes. He watched as the Lord scrambled to remove it while you blushed in embarrassment.

“My wife is carrying a prince, my Lord, it is only right you go to your knees before her” is what he had said with a shrug before Maekar had snatched him by the collar and dragged him out while Baelor spared you a smile.

Aerion had made you clean his cuts that night, just so he could entice you to a bath with him. You knew how that always ended….

Watching the trial was horrible for you, seeing your husband lose, was not something either of you were used to. For the next week, Aerion let you baby him. Though he did moan and complain when you cleaned his wounds, he would stay quiet when you’d brush your fingers through his silver hair.

You being pregnant was the only reason in the end that Maekar didn’t send Aerion to Lys. So that night Aerion made sure he fucked you to your hearts content.

I just did maekar cos I cant picture baelor with it im sorry 😭 have some of this emotionally stunted man trying to show his wife affection. hehehe.

Maekar struggled with showing affection. Hes fully aware. In private he is much better, in fact he can barely keep his hands off you. Today you skipped into his solar, hands hidden behind your back and a sweet grin on your face- it was a welcome interruption from the mind numbing letters on his desk.

He’s sat there, grappling with the fact that he just killed his own brother. By all rights, he should blame Aerion for starting this mess, for attacking the puppet girl. But he doesn’t. He seems to blame Ser Duncan, but that’s Targaryen honor talking. He knows it’s Aerion’s fault— and so it’s ultimately his own fault.

He didn’t intend to kill Baelor. He loved Baelor. He and his brother were close. Their relationship was strong and built on years of trust and friendship.

And then Egg comes in. And he’s clearly here to kill his brother. And the look the Maekar gives him…

Incredulous, and in disbelief. Not “what are you doing” but “Could you? Would you really?” And he already knows the answer.

How did this happen? How are his sons strangers to one another— worse than strangers— when he and Baelor were so beloved to one another? How is it that he’s grieving the death of his brother so wholeheartedly while his sons plot fratricide?

It’s no wonder he talks so fiercely about ‘Blood of the Dragon’ and Targaryen honor when he sees it put under so much strain.

This scene is so good. It’s so good that it makes that final scene, where Egg sneaks off without his father’s permission, mildly infuriating. Because it’s so so clear that this moment is pivotal. That no matter what Maekar’s first reaction is to hearing Dunk’s condition to take Egg to squire, he’d come back to this moment and ultimately change his mind.

he liked to think he was pretty good at it. no one could ever tell, or at least no one had ever called him out on it. he made the right noises, tensed the right body parts, held his mouth open in a particular way.

it was fine. it really didn’t bother him. it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he just never got there. he couldn’t even make himself finish, how was he supposed to expect other people to?

robby knew immediately.

it just felt…wrong. it wasn’t genuine. it was too conveniently timed and at a much too showy volume. robby let him get away with it a couple times, hoping as they became more familiar with each other, dennis would either start enjoying himself more or trust that he could be honest.

that didn’t happen.

after about two months of this, in the afterglow (well, robby’s afterglow), robby suggested, “you don’t have to fake it with me. you know that, right?”

Summary: Your husband, Ormund, likes having you read him letters and petitions from other lords. But besides the contentment of hearing your voice, he also seeks other pleasures... 'multitasking', if you will. (AT! THE! SAME! DAMN! TIME!).

Warning: Straight up cockwarming, 18+, MDNI, p in v.

You were just about to turn the page of the book you were engrossed in when the heavy oak door swung open, and Ormund’s tall figure entered the room without delay.

You remained where you were, lying in your sheer nightgown, as your husband moved around, tossing a few sheets of paper onto the bed before hastily removing his doublet. His urgency bordered on desperation.

Ormund Hightower was a man of grace, the esteemed pillar of the Reach. Behind closed doors, however, that grace began to unravel. And you recognised that look instantly.

He craved warmth. He sought the solid comfort of his wife. He needs you.

pairings: gwayne hightower x wife reader

summary: you can't stop your mind from spiraling about why your husband doesn't seem to agree with you giving him pleasure, does he not want you?

c/w: 18+ mdni, palming that hightower dick, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v, gwayne with teary eyes and wrecked face and reluctant whimpers (yes this man whimpers)

It was some of the many moments you feel that whole happiness in your own heart, the warm and complete feeling in your chest when your father called you to his solar and tell the news that he asked for your hand in marriage.

Gwayne Hightower.

You were overjoyed. You've been paying more attention to him than other men from great houses, the way he speaks with that firm mannerisms and the honorable story people whisper about. You dream about the way he looks at you with sweet tenderness and the way he puts the strands of your hair behind your ear.

And most scandalous, you dream about the way he touches you. It's the least expected for such a lady to have that thought cross her mind, but you can't help yourself. You saw the veiny path in his arms by no intention and you cannot escape from the desire it sparks.

To be courted and taken a wife by such a chivalrous knight from a great house is such a blessing itself, but what you repressed most from becoming is the very shreds of anticipation you feel toward your wedding night. The way he'd whisper soothing words in your ears while his fingers caress you tenderly in places no man ever reaches, and the way he'd murmurs praises in your ear about how you're taking him so well. The mere thoughts make your cheeks warm.

The wedding night came and most of it was what you expected. You heard some wicked stories about husbands who force themselves on their wives. Luckily, Gwayne is not like that. No, never that.

Quite the contrary, he prepares you so well before he takes you. He whispers gentle and sweet words while taking his time making you tremble in his arms. All goes well except his hand stops your wrist when your palm reaching for his trousers. Your shocked, worried eyes fearing for rejection soothed by a tender kiss to your wrist.

"Let us be one, my lady. Let your husband give you what you're most deserving of." He says with a gentle smile before palming himself and pushing in slowly to your soaked heat. He did kiss your discomfort away, relying on interlacing his fingers with yours as he praises you.

"You're taking me so well, my dear. Look how fitting you are of me." He rasps as his wide palm caressing the tender spot under your breasts where he's placed his marks before.

From then on, your nights with Gwayne are glorious, filled with tangled sheets and warm puffs of breaths against each other's mouth. You discover a lot of things about you and himself, like how you favor his praises while he's pushing into you and how he prefers you underneath him so he can watch the way you shatter so beautifully because of his doing, that one time he tells you himself.

The only problem, well not quite a problem if you're talking about the whole thing, is that Gwayne dismisses your wish to touch him after he does you. He usually would kiss your confusion away as he distracted you with his hands and mouth and before you knew it, you're already in his arms panting and moaning his name.

Gwayne relishes when you do that. He even encourages you by touching all your sensitive spots that he learns fast and making you feel overwhelmed with pleasure that you have no choice but to cling to his shoulder and calling his name.

"Husband, please..." Your face is flushed with sweats as your body clings to him desperately, the way a wife seeks comfort and indulgences to her husband, as he would fondle your breasts and press his thumb to your swollen bud.

"What do you need, my love?" He asks in that low voice that exists only when one of you is on the edge, while managing to wear the loving expression on his eyes.

"Please, I need to—" Your words are cut as his warm mouth envelopes the peaks of your nipples that have been staring at him and begging for his attention. With just a few minutes, your thighs clench around him and the world becomes mute to your hearing, the only thing you can feel is the way he thrust deeper before he joins you in ecstasy and you feel warm spurts inside you.

You are satisfied with being held closely to the safety of your husband like that, sated and your body warm from the afterglow. Gwayne would caress your body lovingly, giving generous kisses on the crown of your head as you drift off to dreamland. But tonight, you can't.

You're determined to find out the reason why your husband won't let you touch him and you'd make sure the next time you can convince him to allow you. You arrange the secret plan you're about to navigate while Gwayne gently runs his fingers through your hair, his breathing slow and steady. He's just happy and sated having his wife laying on his chest while peppering her with his affection.

That night, you wear the usual gown you do before your sleep. Gwayne just comes to your chambers, his presence familiar and pleasant to you now. He greets you with his ordinary tired smile and a loving kiss to your head.

The atmosphere takes turns faster than most, with you now panting for air after he brings you to your first release of the night. You watch him take off his trousers with heavy breathing, his hand faking composed but you can see the urgent desire in each finger.

Before he leans down to push it in, you catch his wrist.

"Let me pleasure you, husband." You say carefully, watching reactions from his eyes.

"There's no need, my love." He tries to dodge your wish and divide your focus to the tender kiss to your lips.

"Why wouldn't you let me?"

The air is thick with silence as he can sense the weight of your question.

"Do you not wish me to touch you?"

He lets out a sigh, then you feel his knuckles brush your cheek, a gesture so tenderly it makes your heart melt.

"It's not like that, my dear."

You look him in the eye and you can see the moment his wall breaks as you learn very well your husband cannot resist with that particular eyes of yours. He closes his eyes before speaking his truth.

"I merely didn't want to startle you."

"Startle me—Do you think of me as fragile, husband?"

"No, my heart, never that." He quickly reassured you with gentle kisses on your cheek. He closes his eyes before the decision settling in. He brings your palm to his standing, hard cock.

The first contact of your more soft, small hand brings jerk to his hips. You can see the breath hitched from his chest as you stroke him up and down. Heavy, restrained sound of rumbling that he holds in thin control.

Grasping the effect you hold over him, you manage to try something a little bolder. You lean down to bring its tip to your mouth, and that's when you hear it.

Not a grunt that he usually lets out in moments like this, no. Under that heavy sighs is a shred of whimper, a reluctant and accidental sound of whimper, but it is definitely one.

You look up at him as you try to take him deeper, and his face crumpled in the way you've never seen before. The composed expressions he wears with ease now completely disappear. What's left is a weak, painful frown on the line on his eyebrows as he can't bear the pleasure you give him just with the slick of your mouth.

"This is what you deny me, husband? The beautiful sounds coming out of your lips?"

Gwayne's cock twitch hearing the filth of teasing words from his wife's sweet lips. You were never like this, bold and teasing. But now that you've got your hold on him, apparently he's not immune to your little tricks and cruel teasing.

His breathing is ragged as he's getting close to his release. The veins in his neck grow obvious and his unintended moans saying your name like a prayer for he never experienced a thing like this.

You look so divine underneath him, taking your husband's long cock in your mouth devotedly, and he mutters how grateful and lucky he is as his broken voice murmurs compliment to your sweet and dedicated nature.

That's the last thing you hear before Gwayne's whimper goes off and his hips are still in place. Then you can feel the new warmth rushing to your mouth and you eagerly swallow it. Your lips swirl around his redden tip before he leans down to support his body on his forearms.

You pull out your mouth and watch him find the rhythm of his breath beside you. His eyes closed and his painful expression still proceeded on his face.

"Are you alright, husband?"

At your sweet, teasing voice he brings his weakened state to glance at you and fails to hide the amusement on his lips.

"You are dangerous, my dear." He says as he gathers you to the sanctuary in his arms. He lays down to calm his breathing and his eager cock that's greedy for more.

"I shall give you that often in later times." You say as you give a tender kiss on his sweaty chest that you lay on.

You can feel him exhale his anticipation of this before he caves and gives long, gentle press of his lips to your hair.

"I'm veritably ruined by you, my love."