The love of writing

Outside, autumn had only just arrived. The trees lining the street had begun surrendering their green leaves one by one, replacing them with scattered shades of amber and crimson. Normally the season still carried traces of summer warmth, but today the wind had teeth. It chased brittle leaves along the pavement, rattled the panda pots Warumono had beguilingly placed outside, muttering they were ‘too cute’ to offend with the unseasonal cold. Every so often a stronger gust sent another flurry of leaves spiralling through the air before scattering them across the empty road, where they scraped softly against the tarmac.

The apartment windows had misted over from the cold. Tiny droplets clung to the glass where warmth from inside met the biting chill beyond, slowly sliding downward in uneven trails.

You stood beside one of them with a warm mug cradled between your hands, watching your breath briefly cloud the glass before disappearing. The ceramic radiated comforting heat into your fingers, chasing away the lingering chill that had settled there the moment you'd climbed out of bed. You leaned lightly against the window frame, content for a few quiet moments to simply watch the sleepy world beyond.

The first sip was almost impossibly comforting. Rich, warm and just bitter enough to wake you properly. It had been a long six months, the fact you had stayed the night at your boyfriend's apartment itself was a relatively new concept. Add in he was an alien lizard hell bent on destroying the earth…well that itself was…difficult.

It still felt strange sometimes, waking up somewhere that had slowly become familiar despite how absurd the circumstances were. The apartment no longer felt like somewhere you were visiting. Your toothbrush sat beside his in the bathroom. A cardigan you'd forgotten weeks ago now permanently occupied the back of one of his dining chairs. Somewhere in the kitchen cupboard, your favourite tea had mysteriously appeared alongside his coffee without either of you ever really acknowledging when that happened.

Your eyes wandered toward the bedroom.

The duvet had become an oddly shaped hill in the middle of the mattress. A small tuft of black curls escaped from the edge of the blanket, untidy and impossibly soft-looking, the only indication that the apartment's other occupant still existed somewhere underneath several carefully layered blankets. One foot had somehow managed to remain entirely buried beneath the duvet despite the obvious twisting and turning that must have happened overnight, the blankets wrapped around him like a carefully constructed cocoon.

You took another sip before wandering toward the bedroom.

The room was noticeably cooler than the kitchen. Morning light slipped between the curtains in pale ribbons, painting silver lines across the wooden floorboards but it did nothing to blunt the harshness of the cold. The air held that crisp stillness unique to early mornings before heaters had fully warmed a home, making the room feel just a little too cold to willingly leave the comfort of bed.

"...Good morning."

The blanket mountain remained completely still. For several seconds nothing happened. Then the blankets shifted almost imperceptibly.

One sleepy eye appeared. His hair had somehow become even messier overnight, dark curls refusing every attempt gravity made to flatten them. The faint crease of the pillow remained pressed against one cheek. His eyelid fluttered in the brightness before narrowing into a sleepy squint, clearly regretting exposing even that much of himself to the cold air.

"...Cold."

You couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped you. You forgot he was cold blooded, in the summer heat he would bask like an overgrown lizard but now in the winter you were seeing a rather more vulnerable side to your boyfriend. It was oddly endearing seeing someone who carried himself with such seriousness reduced to an indignant blanket burrito the moment the temperature dipped.

He watched you for a moment before disappearing beneath the blankets again.

Only the curls remained visible. For a moment you blinked at the mound of blankets, thinking for a moment if you should pick up that Panda throw that had just been released at that shop Warumono liked to loiter, scaring off anyone who dared approach it. You could almost picture him standing protectively beside the display, arms folded with exaggerated seriousness while silently intimidating every unsuspecting customer who looked remotely interested.

A hand emerged. Long fingers searched vaguely across the edge of the mattress before finding the sleeve of your jumper. They closed around the fabric with surprising gentleness, giving it the faintest tug as though he didn't quite have the energy to pull any harder. His fingertips were noticeably cool even through the thick material.

“Are you getting it? Or are you happy to let me freeze?’’

You looked down at his hand before looking back at the motionless blanket.

"...Five more minutes. Please…i’m cold."

His voice was barely louder than the wind tapping against the window. And even without seeing his face you practically hear his pout. The words came out half mumbled against the pillow, sleep still clinging stubbornly to every syllable.

You set your mug carefully on the bedside table. A thin curl of steam continued to rise from the untouched coffee as you climbed onto the mattress. The duvet lifted with a rush of trapped warmth before cool air slipped inside.

The mattress dipped softly beneath your weight as you lifted the cover and slid under the duvet, shivering as cold arms slipped around your waist and pulled you against an even colder chest. His hold tightened almost immediately, instinctive rather than deliberate, as though his body had decided you were now the world's most effective hot water bottle. Despite how cold his skin felt, the blankets around the two of you quickly trapped the remaining warmth between your bodies.

"Better?"

You didn’t get an answer save for a half murmur slur as he pressed his face into your back and curled around you. His breathing slowed again almost immediately, evening out into the soft, sleepy rhythm of someone drifting back toward sleep. A contented sigh escaped him, barely audible against the muffled rustle of blankets.

Maybe you could convince him to not destroy the world. After a nap of course.

Your eyes flickered shut as wave after wave of aftershocks rolled through your body. The tightness deep within your core had eased, though it had not completely disappeared, leaving behind a lingering warmth that seemed to settle beneath your skin. Your hips remained half arched from the mattress and you became acutely aware of your surroundings once more. One slipper lay discarded somewhere amongst the tangled sheets, forgotten in the chaos, while your toes curled instinctively into the softness of the bed beneath you. The cool air brushed against flushed skin, raising a faint shiver that travelled the length of your spine. Finally you were aware of Jinshi. 

Curled around you, he nuzzled into your neck, purring like an overgrown tiger whispering half-caught words. ‘’Such a pretty wife…so responsive and eager…mine...beautiful…mine…mine only.’’ His lips still glistened with your wetness as he pulled back, eyes completely black with lust. 

Moons ago, this was exactly where you wanted to be. To be not just in the bed of the prince, but as his wife, protected and safe. Which meant your family would be secure. The marks on your hands were still visible, faint angry red lines, reminding you that even within the palace walls you were still in danger. 

Your chest heaved as your eyes focused on your thighs still parted and trembling, in the low light of the setting sun your plush skin glistening with your slick. Tugging at your robe earnt you a deep growl from the brooding Prince.

Before you could even react, Jinshi's hair cascaded around you like a silken curtain, caging you within its dark veil. His eyes burned into yours as he pressed your wrists to either side of your head, his knees forcing your thighs apart, leaving you nowhere to retreat.

"A wife should never hide herself from her husband. And I am your husband, aren’t I?"

His warm breath ghosted over your skin, each measured exhale sending goosebumps racing across your body.

"I..."

You stared up into eyes that swirled like burning embers beneath the night sky. Heat radiated from every inch of him. Even through the layers of your robe, you could feel the tension coiled through his body, every muscle drawn taut above you.

"I have loved you since the very first moment our eyes met... the way you turned those beautiful eyes away from me in distain."

His entire body seemed to shiver with remembered delight, his thoughts drifting back to that first encounter, replaying it as though it had happened only yesterday.

"But I will not let another have you. You are mine. Mine alone. Only I should know the softness of your skin. Only I should hear those beautiful sounds you make when I open you up. Only I should be the one you look at with those eyes."

"I..."

"I will exile any man who dares look at you. Any man who dares covet you..." His hands tightened around the bedding above your head. The fabric squealed beneath his grip as he lowered himself closer. His angelic features had become something altogether more terrifying. Every trace of softness had vanished, replaced by cold resolve. The youthful face you knew seemed older somehow, his brows drawn together, his eyes hard as tempered steel as they fixed upon you.

This was not Jinshi the eunuch. This was Prince Ka Zuigetsu.

"Any man or woman who dares lay a hand on you..." His voice dropped into a dangerous murmur, ghosting over your skin. "I dare not speak of the things I would do to punish them for touching my bride... my wife."

"I..."

Your eyes shimmered beneath the crushing weight of his gaze. It bore down upon you with such intensity that, despite yourself, your eyes slipped away.

"My wife."

One hand released the crumpled sheets only to seize your chin with unyielding certainty. His fingers wrapped around your jaw with firm, controlled strength, tilting your face back until your head rested fully against the mattress. There was no pain in his grip, an insistence that you would not look anywhere but at him.

His thumb brushed your cheek as he held you there, forcing your wandering gaze back into the molten furnace of his own.

"My wife," he repeated, every syllable deliberate, "who should never have possessed such filth... nor such poison…"

The words splintered into the silence. His stare never wavered. It was merciless, impossible to escape. You were pinned between the yielding softness of the bed beneath you and the unyielding strength of his body above, nowhere to hide from the storm raging behind those limpid eyes.

"I..."

His jaw tightened, anger flashing across his face before something gentler broke through. "I do not know why my wife would ever wish to taint herself with such..." His voice faltered, the fury in his eyes softening by the smallest measure. "...but I know my wife. I know she would never do so without good reason."

Slowly, he lowered his face to the crook of your neck as he inhaled deeply. His nose brushed slowly along your collarbone before gliding upward to the delicate space beneath your ear. For a long moment, he remained there, breathing you in before finally drawing back just enough to look at you again.

"...isn’t that right my beautiful, pure... deity of a wife." He hovered over you, his body curled protectively around yours like the lovers etched within the pages of the book now lying discarded upon the floor. His eyes searched every inch of your face, silently demanding an answer. 

So you did the only thing you could think of. Instead of pushing him away, you pulled him closer.

With what little strength remained, your legs tightened around his waist, locking him in place as your hands caught at the back of his robes. You gave one determined tug. Jinshi let out a stuttered breath.

For all the authority he carried as a prince, his balance vanished almost embarrassingly easily, and he toppled forward, catching himself only at the last moment before his full weight settled against you, forcing the air from your lungs in a sharp gasp.

Still, you didn't let go.

His body went rigid. The fierce possessiveness that had blazed in his eyes only moments ago shattered, replaced by a naked alarm. His pupils widened, every ounce of colour draining from his face as though he'd only just realised how closely he'd pinned you beneath him.He searched your face with frantic intensity, looking for the slightest sign of pain. His hands, which moments before had been sunk deep inside your core now hovered uselessly in the air, terrified to touch you again.

It made you feel strangely powerful, to have the Emperor's younger brother, nestled between your thighs, coiling around you like an oversized snake, was staring at you with such genuine panic that it bordered on absurdity. His expression was so stricken, so horrified by the possibility that he had hurt you, that laughter bubbled treacherously in your chest.

You felt every bit as overwhelmed as he looked. Yet it was thrilling. To turn the tables on him so suddenly. 

The moment stretched only an instant before instinct took over.

Jinshi jerked away as though burned,  scrambling backwards across the bed with all the grace of a startled cat, nearly tangling himself in the blankets before retreating to the very edge of the mattress. One hand shot out to seize the carved bedpost, knuckles whitening around the polished wood as he steadied himself.

His complexion had gone deathly pale, every trace of colour drained from his face as though the blood itself had abandoned him. His breathing came in quick, uneven pants, his eyes darting frantically over every inch of you while his lips parted and closed soundlessly, a dozen unfinished thoughts dying before they could find voice.

"...I..." You cursed yourself as the breathless sound caught in your throat. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to meet his eyes. "I had more than a good reason."

You pushed yourself upright, your robes hopelessly dishevelled, their neat folds reduced to rumpled silk hanging carelessly from your shoulders. Several strands of hair had escaped the carefully arranged combs, cascading untidily around your face. You could only imagine how you looked.

Like a ravaged courtesan, exactly like the women who lounged beneath the painted pavilions of the pleasure quarters, laughing sweetly amongst lecherous officials who mistook painted smiles for affection.

Jinshi seemed unable to bear the sight of you. His gaze dropped instead to a knot in the floorboards that had suddenly become infinitely more fascinating than the woman sitting upon your bed. Our bed, you corrected yourself.

"I did it to satisfy my husband…the Prince. I did it to ensure I could please him in every way a wife should please her husband, to satisfy his every desire... and to ensure my own pleasure."

You steeled yourself before lifting your chin to meet his glare head-on. His hands tightened against until his knuckles whitened, the tendons standing stark beneath his tanned skin. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before heat began creeping steadily into his cheeks.

Against every instinct urging you to stop, you continued. "...And the tincture was to ensure..." Your voice faltered as his head snapped up, his eyes fixing upon you with such intensity that the words died upon your tongue.

You did not need to finish. You both knew exactly what the tincture was meant to do.

"So you admit it." His voice was frighteningly calm, every syllable measured with unnatural precision. "You took that foul concoction so you could... do that with him. To seduce him."

"Him?" You held his gaze. "You mean you."

The softness vanished from his features. His expression hardened with startling speed, every trace of uncertainty stripped away until only the prince remained. He stepped closer, looming over the bed, his presence swallowing the space between you. Even so, you refused to retreat. You would not give him the satisfaction of watching you scurry away like some frightened barn mouse.

A shadow crossed his face, his amber eyes narrowing as though weighing every word you had ever spoken to him. "I am not a fool. You cannot disregard what a gift from a prince signifies, nor the safety it affords."

The instant the words left your mouth, you realised your mistake. Something in him shifted. That same possessive hunger returned, carving itself across the line of his jaw and settling heavily between his brows before sinking into his eyes. They burned with something rawer than anger. The desperate terror of a man who believed the woman he loved might only ever see the title he carried.

"Is that all you care about?" His voice dropped until it was scarcely more than a whisper, low enough to send a chill crawling along your spine. "Such an unfeeling, scheming woman..." A brittle laugh escaped him, devoid of humour. "All this time... have you known my secret? Was I nothing more than a game for you? Something amusing to toy with? To provoke?" His eyes searched yours with almost painful intensity, as though praying your answer would prove him wrong. "The prince who gave you his heart... who wished only for you to love him." His restraint finally splintered. "Answer me."

One moment he stood across the bed, the next he was kneeling before you, his movements too swift for your eyes to follow. His hand found your jaw, fingers closing firmly enough to leave no room for escape. There was nothing careless in his grip; every ounce of strength was controlled, but utterly uncompromising. His thumb pressed beneath your chin as he tilted your face higher and higher until your neck protested with a sharp ache, compelling you to look nowhere but into eyes ablaze with wounded fury. They shimmered with frustration, possessiveness and heartbreak all at once, the conflict twisting his handsome features into something almost painful to witness.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you refused to look away.

"...I have not always known," you admitted quietly. "Nor will I tell you how I came to discover your identity. But I will not lie and pretend I was not relieved when I did. I will not deny how readily I accepted your protection…for myself and for my family. Nor will I deny how my heart fluttered whenever you looked at me..."

His grip loosened. The breath caught audibly in his throat as though your confession had struck him harder than any blade could have. In the fading light his eyes glistened, the fierce certainty that had carried him this far wavering for the first time.

"I know I am harsh... abrasive... aloof and cold..." Your gaze lifted to his through lowered lashes as your hand slowly rose to cover his. Gently, you eased his calloused fingers from your jaw before bringing them to your lips. "...But I am truly happy to call you my husband."

His breathing hitched.

"Say it again."

"Husband." This time you smiled as you pressed another soft kiss against his hand as you looked up at him. ‘’A husband who I am more than happy to try out every page from that book…If he can make me scream of course.’’ 

You blush at your own words but the blush on your own cheeks was nothing compared to the one on his. You were just thankful that there were no other women here or you might have had to fight them off. You would never admit it to him but right now he looked ethereal. 

"'Then, as your husband,' he said, his voice low and steady, 'I know my duty.'

You could only watch as he stepped away from the bed and watched him loosened the sash at his waist. The silken knot slipped free, and his outer robes eased open before sliding from one shoulder, revealing the lean, hard lines of a man who had trained for years despite the luxurious life everyone assumed he led.

The sun fading glow warm glow traced the contours of his frame, gilding bronze skin he stood there for a heartbeat, his body posed.

"...Well?"His brows knit together. 

You cocked an eyebrow, settling back against the pillows. "Were you hoping I'd swoon?"

"I was hoping for... something."

You hummed thoughtfully. "If you're trying to impress your wife, you'll have to do better than simply standing there looking pretty. Otherwise I might have to find another husband.’’ 

Xxxxxx

Part of you immediately wished you hadn't said that.Feral was never a word you would have used to describe Jinshi but no other word could actively describe what he was doing now.

His lips descended upon you before you could draw another breath, scattering hurried, reverent kisses across your face, your brow, your cheeks, your jaw, each one nipping at your sensitive skin. They travelled lower to the curve of your neck and the line of your shoulder where your robe had slipped loose. Despite his trembling hands, your robes were ripped from your body with precise force. You pitied the expensive shreds of material that now littered the floor. Almost as much as you pitied the servants gossip you would need to endure. 

But as Jinshi hands caressed your skin it was increasingly difficult to care. 

‘’Jinshi.’’ you whined, twisting away from his mouth as he suckled against your throat.

‘’Shhhh, the only sounds I wish to fall from our lips is your sweet moans... unless you are going to call me husband.’’ His eyes twinkled as he pulled back, the dark orbs flickered over your form. 

A form you were now acutely aware was completely bare beneath his gaze as he knelt above you. 

Helplessly, you were at the mercy of your new husband. 

xxxxxx

Jinshi had dreamt of this for so long. You had haunted him for so long, a craving that even the most potent mixture of suppressant could not conceal. The Ka clan legacy  libido was not match for it, his desire for you was no match for it. Now that he had a taste, he feared that he would never be satisfied. Touching your delicate flower was addictive, the taste was seared onto his lips, forever. And he wanted more. 

Even in the warm air your nipples stood like stiff peaks, your breasts perfect little molds entrancing him with the rhythmic jiggle of your laboured breath. The swell of your hips alluring, trailing down to the plush thickness of your thighs, sleek and shining, and nestled in the center was your flower, your pussy. Pretty, swollen and all his. 

One thrust and you would be his forever. His mouth suddenly felt impossibly dry. Not even the Emperor himself could have pried you from his grasp now. Your eyes remained fixed on him as you looked up through the veil of your lashes, propping yourself up on your forearms. The movement drew you closer, your gaze steady and unwavering, refusing to yield beneath the molten intensity of his own.

Yet beneath that defiant stare lay something else.

Fear.

It lingered in the slight hesitation of your movements, in the tightness around your eyes, in the careful way your fingers curled against the bedding. You were trying so desperately to be brave, to meet him as the fearless daughter of a general , but he could see the uncertainty you fought to conceal. The sight struck him harder than any accusation could have. His chest tightened painfully. He wanted nothing more than to draw you into his arms, to promise that no harm would ever come to you again, yet he knew with cruel irony that he himself had become the source of that fear.

"I'll be gentle..."

"I am sure you've had more than enough experience," you replied sharply, lifting your chin in quiet defiance.

The words should have stung. Instead, Jinshi felt his heart give a throb.

Even now, with every barrier between you stripped away, you still met him with that razor-sharp tongue. It was infuriating. It was also one of the countless reasons he adored you.

A slow, Cheshire smile spread across his handsome features as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper meant for you alone.

"You are the only woman I will ever be with. Now and forever." He paused just long enough for the words to settle between you before adding softly, "My one and only." One of his hands moved down to your pussy again, this time slipping across the flesh of your hip.  He dipped his fingertips against your glistening core and swirled them around the bud of your clit in a firm circling motion that pulled a breathy whine from your lips.

He leaned down and sucked one of your nipples between his lips, nipping lightly with his teeth just as he slowly pushed his fingers slowly back inside you, groaning as he felt your velvety walls welcome him back. Tightly squeezing him, as you flutter around him, struggling to adjust to the stretch. His thumb frantically rubbed gentle circles, as he lavished attention on your breasts.

Your arms gave out as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, settling in your core.

"Is that…argh… is that mmmm so?" Your eyes swept over him with open scepticism as you panted hard. "You seem…ahhh to know exactly… what you're doing." You answered with an unconvinced scoff.

Letting your nipple fall from his lip, he thrust his fingers into your dripping pussy, watching you as slowly he withdrew before plunging them in again and again. ‘’You are not the only one who saw fit to educate yourself.’’

It was too soon. Your nerves were still on fire from him previous torture. Your core protested as a choked off moan was dragged from your throat. Your thighs shook, the sounds of your wetness echoed into the expanse of the room as thrust after thrust slid easier and easier into your core, his palm now rocking against your clit.

‘’Jinshi please…I feel…I can’t..’’ your voice babbled now, as your eyes squeezed shut as wave after wave of pleasure assaulted your body. 

Sleek thighs clamped down hard to stop his relentless movement but it served to push Jinshi to nestle himself between them, forcing them open as you clenched around Jinshi’s fingers, as he sank into you again and again. His fingers determined as a third finger was curled into your core.

‘’I know…I know… Shhhh wife…but I need to prepare you…’’ his voice was meant to soothe you but having Jinshi hover above you, stretching you open did anything but. 

The stretch was…intense, pain and pleasure, mixed to a heady, overwhelming feeling, winding your body taut, heat spreading across your skin, settling into the pit of your stomach. Your back arched and slumped, as his finger continued to pistoned into your, the obscene squelch mixed with the cacophony of your moans and whines as they filled the room.

It was enough to push you off the edge and it would have been, till suddenly you were empty. Your core protesting against the emptiness, your hips jittering into nothing 

Jinshi pulled his fingers and no sense proprietary slid his fingers into his mouth, sucking your slick from his skin, his eyes never leaving hers. “I will drink from you every day, worship on my knees till you beg me to stop…” he purred when he pulled his fingers out of his mouth. “but we have all the time in the world for that. But I need you dear wife’’ His pupils wide as he looked down at you ‘’Do you want to be mine dear wife?’’

‘’Husband….’’ 

There was nothing left of Jinshi now.

The playful court eunuch, with his effortless smiles and carefully cultivated charm, had vanished. In his place, kneeling steadily between your thighs, was the Moon Prince. Your husband.

His eyes had darkened until his eyes was almost entirely consumed, desire and fierce devotion burning together with an intensity that stole your breath. 

Behind him, the moon had climbed high into the night sky, its pale silver light spilling through the open lattice and settling across his hair like a celestial crown, a prince bathed in moonlight, beautiful enough to be mistaken for a deity, yet looking at you with an utterly longing that eclipsed even the heavens themselves.

Even in the dying light you could see the outline of where his cock was still tucked away inside his undergarment, a hard, obvious bulge straining against the fabric. His breath was coming out in harsh pants, tickling your skin.

"Please…"

"I will be gentle…I will make you feel good wife.’’ He settled back on his heels, hands working frantically the binding on his legs and waist, till you saw flashes of soft skin, silver in the moonlight. But as quickly as he tore off the last scape of clothing he was on you. Hands hot and rough roamed over your stomach, settling on your hips as he dragged you down the bed, your legs on either side of his hips, slotting himself exactly where he wanted to be. 

You felt something thick and long glide over your wet pussy as hot lips devoured yours as a heavy head of his cock kissed at your entrance. He moved quickly before you had time to react. Before you could tense against the sudden intrusion. He took you quickly, sliding in almost fully in one thrust. You whimpered as the stretch tore through you, tears coating your eye lashes

“I know…I know” Jinshi growled slowly as he pulled back. You gripped onto his shoulders, anchoring yourself as your pussy protested against the stretch. 

Both of you froze, Jinshi’s eyes screwed shut as he took every ounce of control he had honed in his long struggle to get here, willing himself not to move. No matter how prettily your pussy fluttered around him urging him to. 

There was no going back now. It hurt. You expected it to, but with every passing moment the raw throb turned to a dull sting. You blinked away the tears, eyes traveling down to where you were joined. Eyes bulging as your pussy struggled around his thick length, coated it your juices pulsated. A squeak left your lips as you felt it inside you, the slow throb of his cock nestled in you. 

"If it's too much… I arghh" as a pained growl tore through him as you tensed, clamping down your tight wall around him "We can stop.’’ he hissed through his teeth.

"No!" you panted, forcing your eyes away from his cock. "Just a…just a moment. I need…"

Dragging in a shuddering breath, you willed yourself to relax against the bedding, forcing yourself to focus on the small plumes of pleasure you gained from watching him strained above you, his eyes finally opening to scan your features. 

In all his life he had never felt something so divine, something so meant to be his, made specifically for him and no one else. 

‘’Can I… I need to…’’ 

‘’Please.’’

You watched his cock slowly enter your body. It was barely a thrust, but you felt the pain bloom anew, but this time that small wave of pleasure bubbled away at your core. Determined, you took in a deep breath, gasping slightly on the inhale as he ground down inside you the head of his cock bumping against your insides. You dipped your hand down the tense muscle on his arm and across your stomach to your clit, rubbing those same firm circles that brought you to your peak night against night in your room.

“My wife” he groaned, his eyes fluttering open as you wiggled your hips up, fingers furiously working to pull a wanton moan from you. The corners of his mouth curls at slight.as he dips his head to plant a chased kiss on your lips.

Above you he moved slowly, dragging his cock out a little further each time. Gods it was heavenly, he was far too close to the edge already, the sight of you beneath him, your fingers twirled across your sensitive bud, looking up at him with such wide pleading eyes. Loud cries that fell from your lips as his thrust got bolder, frantic as they rolled into you.

He couldn’t stop himself, not when you moaned so prettily for him, feeling so hot beneath him as your pussy fluttered almost violently around his cock. His orgasm overtook him, surged through him before he could even comprehend the feeling. He came with a strangled roar. Coating your core with long thick ropes of cum. 

You felt it, the long strong pulse that pulled moan after moan from him. Having the prince, no, your husband, between your legs, so vulnerable as he trembled as his orgasm overtook him. It made you made you feel powerful. 

"...wife.." red blotches of heat stained his cheeks as he looked at you through half-lidded eyes, his hips stuttering against yours as he chased the fleeting waves of pleasure.

A thousand thoughts flooded into your mind. Practical questions, plans, discussion that you must consider. But in this moment, as soon as they half filled your mind they slipped away. You were too busy feeling. Despite the stiffness of your muscles, there was still that wanton need for more. But for now this was enough.

"Thank you husband…That was amazing." You panted, enjoying how his head slumped forward, hips still rolling as you tried to ignore the clawing desperation in your core. 

“Don’t …thank me yet…let me show how good a husband I can be. How much you need me.’’ Jinshi's eyes glazed over with a feral darkness, making your gasp as Sinking one hand into your hair to anchor himself, the other slid down your body until it fit to just where your bodies met knocking your trembling hand away replacing it with his merciless middle finger.  His thick finger attacked your clit with glee.

His hips moved again as he leant back till his back was completely straight. Softly rolling his hips again and again, plunging into you, his fingers not slowing down as he moved.

“Ermppphhh’’ you moan half with pleasure and half with pain. Your eyes scrunching up as he rocked into you.

The feeling was so different from those nights in your room, you were full, so full, stretched to an impossible lengths. Above you Jinshi made a strangled cry, panting hard, a bright pink glow staining his cheeks, eyes wild and frantic as he moved, jaw clenched in determination. 

“Just…arghhh…. Let yourself…’’ His brow puckered as an animalistic groan filled the room as he angled his hips experimental, every thrust different until his thick cock brushed along a spot that forced your back off the bed, a throaty sob pouring unwillingly from your mouth. 

Jinshi was lost in pleasure, overwhelmed and overstimulated, driven to the point of madness as he plunged into you but he knew he had found that spot, that spot that the women whispered about. He pulled back once, watching you moan softly, he adjusted, then again dragging his cock over that gummy spot that sent you sobbing into the air. 

Tiny sparks skipped across your skin as you back arched off the bed, pleasure crashing over you with a new intensity. You were so close, the burning in your highs barely registering as you rolled your hips to meet Jinshi careful thrusts. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, the wave engulfed your mouth in a silent scream. Everything you had felt before paled in comparison to this overwhelming sensation. Shaking and panting, the orgasm wrecked your body. From head to toe your body shook, as your pussy clamped around his cock, a flood of wetness filling you as Jinshi collapsed breathless on top of you. 

Wrapping his arms around you he buried his face in your neck and pressed lazy, open mouthed kisses to your skin.

Body sleek with sweat, you were powerless against the sudden, cascading pleasure, left with nothing to do but ride out the aftershocks as they consumed you. Jinshi watched you, utterly captivated. You were beautiful. Your hair cascaded wildly over the pillow, framing flushed cheeks and skin that seemed to glow like spun gold in the dim light. When you looked up at him, your eyes wide, pleading, and completely undone, you clung to him as if he were your only anchor. In that moment, something primal awoke deep within him.

"I am sorry."

You stared up, dazed and confused, the aftershock still sending wave after wave of pleasure over you. Powerless as he pulled out of you, maneuvering your thigh up over his hip. He felt almost pervert as he watched his cum leak out of your quivering pussy, but he was too far gone to care. He needed more, it was like that damn aphrodisiac clawing its way through his blood. 

Jinshi pressed a reverential kiss to your lips, letting his lip trail the heat of your skin.

"Jinshi…?" You whimpered, missing the feeling of his heavy cocked pressed deep within you.

"Sorry wife but I won’t stop."  Jinshi groaned as he sank back into you. A purposeful thrust that had you babbling hopelessly as you pussy fluttered around him. Completely helpless against him as he withdraw, his cock hitting that spot just right before thrusting back sharply, sending you screaming into the room. "Not till you know your mine wife."

Sorry it has been so long. I had my assessment rewrite and the month from hell with work which left me really unwell. But I am ordering a new laptop soon (if I can find a decent one) and have a holiday coming up so I am hoping to continue updating these stories more regularly and this one is going to get a little more juicy. Obsessive and Pervert Husband Jinshi for the win!

I hope you enjoyed it! Please like and comment if you can.

The wind hurled itself at the car, thrashing it side to side as it drove though the winding bends of the roads that encircled the Priory. Such was the ferocity of the wind, Rupert tighten his hold on the wheel in a vain attempt to keep the battered up car on the road. The headlights swept over the gnarled roots of upturned trees and broken branches scattered across the lane. Leaves and foliage lashed against the windscreen while the gale blurred the road ahead into a shifting wall of darkness.

"Where the fuck are they?!" Declan's gruff Irish accent could barely be heard over the wind.

The further they got, the more that pit in Rupert stomach swelled. Brown eyes sweeping the thicket of trees that had collapsed across the road.

"We will go round. At least we know why they haven't got through," Rupert grunted.

The wheel slipped and shifted against the mud as he manoeuvred the station wagon around the outstretched branches. The engine growled in protest, tyres fighting for purchase on the chewed up country road.

Declan swore under his breath as his brown eyes flickered towards the thrashing branches. "What in God's name is she thinking, driving out in this?"

Rupert did not dare take his eyes off the road as he pushed the car forward, driving into the abyss as far as he dared push the O'Hara station wagon. Not that his sports car would have fared much better on these battered roads.

Another blast of wind rocked the vehicle. Then a flash of red caught his eye. The mousy blonde hair lit up like a halo in the headlights as she lurched into the light, stumbling along the trench beside the road.

"Christ. Caitlin. Stop the car."

Rupert had already swerved to a stop, the handbrake barely engaged before Declan bolted from the car. In a few long strides he reached the girl, crashing her against his chest. Red grazes stained her alabaster skin and her clothes ripped and torn. Through the howling wind Rupert could barely make out the booming Irish voice as the storm assaulted him and he pushed through the wall of air toward the shaking teen.

"Caitlin! Where's Monica?"

The young O'Hara stared at him with the doe eyes she shared so well with her sister.

"WHERE IS MONICA?"

Rupert already felt his heart sink. A small trickle of blood ran down the corner of Caitlin's forehead as she burrowed herself closer into her father. Her hand rose wordlessly and pointed down towards the bend in the road. "They are down there."

Declan’s eyes narrowed as he pulled his daughter tightly to his chest, shielding her from the worst of the storm. Rupert surged forward, the bulky torch heavy in his hand as he left father and daughter together. The beam skidded from side to side like a searchlight in fog, cutting through the waves of air and thrashing branches. Every gust threatened to throw him off balance as he forced him through the darkness. Then, in the distance, his light found you.

Gods know what you were doing here. Of all places, you should defiantly not be here. Your thick vets coat pulled tightly against you, wellies caked in mud standing in the middle of the bloody road, surrounded by downed trees and shards of wreckage. For a heartbeat Rupert simply stared, unable to make sense of what he was seeing through the darkness.

"What the bloody hell are you doing out here?!"

Rupert's growl was almost swallowed by the wind as it tore through the night. Fear and anger twisted together in his chest as he took off in a sprint towards your trembling figure. Mud splashed beneath his boots and sharp barbs of wind stung his face, but he barely felt it. His eyes remained fixed on you as the torchlight bounced wildly across the wreckage, illuminating flashes of metal and broken branches with every desperate stride. 

"You'll get yourself killed, goddess." The wind garbled the sound, tearing at Rupert's words until little remained decipherable, but you heard it. You always heard Rupert. Even now. Even in this. Your head snapped up.

Rupert reached for you, his large hands closing around your shoulders, but you gripped him harder. You clung to him desperately, fingers twisting into his coat as if sheer force could keep him with you, keep him away from the wreckage, keep him from seeing what lay beneath the fallen tree.

"Gods, you're frozen to the bone and soaked through." His arms pulled you closer, wrapping you in warmth that months ago you would have cherished. Now it felt wrong. Cold. The comfort you once craved only made your stomach twist harder.

"Where's Monica?"

You stilled in his arms. The storm screamed around you, wind lashing against your skin as Rupert searched your face.

"WHERE'S MONICA?" His voice rose against the ferocity of the wind, in an attempt to be heard, not that you needed it, you heard him, despite the weather, you just didn’t want to answer.

"She's gone, Rupert."

"Gone where?" His eyes searched the hedge rows and tree line for her before turning back to intently hold yours with his gaze, finally seeing you properly in the harsh beam of the torch. His eyes tracked over the dark stains smeared across your hands, your arms, your clothes. What had once been loose overalls was now soaked through, stained with…a shiver of disgust ran though you, you didn’t want to think what it was.

"Are you hurt? Christ."

Rupert's eyes burned into yours as he caught your face between his hands and hauled you closer. The torchlight made your tears glow as they carved clear tracks down your cheeks. You shook your head furiously, unable to form the words.

Only then did Rupert look beyond you. 

"Fuck."The word escaped him as he lurched forward.

"No! Don't!" Your scream was ripped apart by the wind.

Rupert barely seemed to hear you. "Get Declan!" He fought against the storm as it forced dark curls into his eyes and shoved relentlessly against his body. Every instinct was dragging him towards the wreckage.

"No, don't, Rupert. You can't." You threw yourself in front of him, a poor excuse for a barrier against an Olympian still in his prime. He towered over you, broad shoulders and solid muscle barely slowed by the gale, yet you planted yourself there anyway.

"Goddess, get out of my way, Goddess. Monica needs..."

"Monica is gone, Rupert." Your words vanished into the storm.

For a moment he simply stared at you. The wind thrashed your hair across your face while sweat streamed down your skin. Tears threatened to spill faster than the heavens above. Rupert looked at you with those wide brown eyes, the torch casting just enough light for him to see the car poking out from the wild foliage, twisted metal glinting between broken branches and sheets of dust and debry. For a heartbeat he seemed frozen, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond you, his mind refusing to piece together what his eyes were telling him. Then his entire body stiffened. You felt it before he moved, every muscle locking tight beneath soaked clothing as panic began to replace shock.

‘’You don't know that’’

He shoved at you harshly, trying to get past, but you held on tighter, clawing at his skin. The force of him nearly sent you stumbling backwards through the mud, but you dug your boots into the ground and refused to let go. His shoulder collided with yours as he tried to push around you, his eyes never leaving the wreckage beyond. Wind pawed at his dark curls, plastering them against his forehead as he fought against both you and the storm. The torch beam bounced wildly across the road, illuminating flashes of shattered glass and twisted metal. Every instinct in him was dragging him towards the car. Every instinct in you was trying to stop him.

"I do! I am sorry. So sorry. I tried. God, I tried, but... but I..." Your voice broke violently as you tossed with the man. "There was nothing I could do..."

Rupert stared down at you, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack. His eyes had hardened now, refusing. Refusing to hear the words. Refusing to understand them. Refusing to believe them. He tried again to push you aside, harder this time, his hands gripping your arms as he attempted to move you from his path. You stumbled but recovered instantly, throwing yourself back in front of him. Your fingers caught his coat, yanking him back towards you before he could take another step.

"No, Rupert. Don't. Please." Your fingers caught his coat, yanking him back towards you. "You can't see her like that."

You were certain his jacket was stained now. Stained with... You swallowed hard, refusing to let your thoughts linger on exactly what covered your hands and clothes. The images were already burned into your mind. They would haunt you until the day you died. Rupert tried to pull away again, and you held tighter, your fists twisting into the fabric of his coat. The storm howled around you as silent tears rolled down your cheeks. You barely noticed them anymore. All you could think about was keeping him here. Keeping him away from the wreckage. Keeping him from seeing what lay beneath that tree.

"She's gone," you whispered, your voice cracking beneath the weight of it. "I'm so sorry."

The words seemed to strike him harder than any physical blow. Rupert's breathing grew ragged, his chest rising and falling violently beneath your hands. For a moment he continued fighting, his body straining towards the wreckage, his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder. Then the strength seemed to leave him all at once. Instead of pushing you away again, his hands closed around your arms and hauled you forward. You collided with his chest, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. His arms wrapped around you with desperate force, pulling you against him so tightly it almost hurt. Whether he was trying to comfort you or hold himself together, you could not tell. His body trembling beneath the wind. The storm continued to rage around you, wind screaming through broken branches and dust hammering against the road, but suddenly all you could hear was the ragged sound of his breathing as he stared over your shoulder at the wreckage behind you. He did not move. Did not speak. He simply stood there holding you while the terrible truth settled into every part of him, and you felt his fingers tighten against your back as he buried his head in your neck.

I just had to write this.

The last episode was honestly heart-breaking. I loved the tension between Taggie and Rupert. The Lizzie and Monica scene was perfection and very much needed but that last scene was just...honestly the last scene broke me. If that doesn't get them an Emmy nothing will!

Your eyes fluttered shut, partly from the sheer pleasure of it and partly because you had no desire whatsoever to meet the gaze of the crown prince currently nestled between your thighs. 

They said dragons burned hotter than anyone else. Now, with heat coursing through your veins like wildfire, you finally understood why. Every nerve ending crackled and sizzled as thick, calloused hands traced across your thighs, holding you in place as Baelor devoured you.  Never would you get used to this. A prince holding you so intimately. A prince, now your husband, who laid you bare on a bed, your marital bed, and was currently doing the most sinful things to your delicate core with his tongue, a tongue he had negotiated treaties and spoke to the people of Westeros with. Currently was said tongue, swirling around your core as you shook beneath him.

‘’Come now wife…’’ Baelor's voice curled round you. ‘’Hmmm wife…how I enjoy the sound that I coax from your with my tongue…but not as much as the taste of you on it.’’ You felt the smirk on his lips against the flesh of your thigh, a smirk which only deepened as you felt his finger curl inside you. It continued to dip inside you, pulling a moan that died in your throat as you bit down harder on your lip. 

‘’My darling wife…let me hear you.’’  his fingertip found that spot, that spot that he found that first time that night in your room. That spot that made you wither and scream to the Gods, till Baleor’s lips swallowed it. 

His finger showed no mercy but it only made you scrunch your eyes close hard and your lips part in a soft  ‘’Baelor’’

‘’You have no need to quiet yourself, my love.’’ The prince purred his finger eased out of your slick core,  ‘’You are my wife. A wife I want to hear every sound that’’ he slid back in, two fingers now curling inside you. ‘’Leaves.” Thrust ‘’Your’’ Thrust ‘’Lips’’ Thrust. 

Instinctively, your body curled into itself, Baelor’s mass an immovable weight forcing you back into the soft linen sheets. The thickness was enough to make you wince, wiggling back to escape his relentless thrust. Whimpering as he anchored you down, kissing and nipping at the softness of your stomach, tongue teasing you, as his fingers curled in exquisite torture. 

‘’Baelor…please.’’ That feeling was building not, at the base of your spine, your toes curling your back arching.

‘’Look at me, my wife.’

The crease of your brow furrowed a little as your body fought tirelessly against the pleasure he masterfully pulled from you, Your bud deliciously swollen, your core slick and tight, at its touch. As no matter how much you bucked and twisted from his fingers he knew. He felt it. Felt how your core tightened around him, begging him to stay, to bury himself deeper inside. To take you. To claim you as his own. His wife. His.

That was enough to make him feel like a green boy again, that biting needs to bury himself between your legs, to wrap you legs around his waist, as he loses himself in the feeling of you wrapped around his cock. Begging and needing his seed. To fill you so completely that no one dares to question his consummation of the marriage.

He was just a man. A man in between the legs of his saviour. But when you opened up those bright glistening eyes, all he saw was his poor maiden wife. That same confused look you gave him that night he rubbed your little bud, the night he knew he would never have his fill of you. He may just be a man, but here with you now he felt like a god. He did not care how sacrilegious that sounded, how could he not when the gods sent him such a gift as you?

A sinful groan tore from your swollen lip as he finally pushed a third finger inside you, as your body protested against the thickness.

’Hush wife…you must learn to take your pleasure.’’ he cooed, eyes dark as he moved carefully. 

You fluttered violently around his fingers, and no matter how hard your hips shuddered and bucked against his hand he did not relent. He barely moved his finger as he rocked them against you, curling them against that little bundle of nerves as his thumb teased your bud.

‘’Feel that my love ...such a pretty wife. And I am your beloved husband who will do his duty and please my bride and make you completely my wife so no man or god can dare say you are not.’’ Baelor purred as the candle light licked at your skin, giving you an unearthly glow, a delicious flush covered your cheeks, travelling down to swell of your breasts, perky nipples inviting him to suckle on them.

‘’Baelor its too….too much…I…I…’’ Your whole body vibrating as his fingers massaged the tender spot in your core.

Even time had not withered his prowess and despite the throbbing in his breeches he still was steadfast in one true desire. 

‘’Thats it my beautiful wife, let me hear you.’’ 

His fingers rocked relentlessly, curling gently into the spongy bundle of nerves, your hands thrashing and clawing at the linens as slowly but surely the moan pour forth from your mouth, filling the room with the sweet sound of your cries and the delicious sound of his fingers stretching your core, winding the coil within you tighter and tighter. 

At this point you were facing a losing battle, nothing before this could have prepared you for Baelor’s feverish touch, his sinful mouth with words so filthy it should make you ashamed how much it pleased you. Or how slick you became as he thrusted his fingers inside you. Not even how the stretch made you ache, or how the pleas fell from your lips. 

‘’Baelor please…I…’’’

‘’Tell me, wife.’’ Baelor’s voice was deeper now, thick and low. ‘’Tell me what you need.’’ 

‘’I…I…please husband…I don’t…please.’’

The word never sounded so sweet, nor right coming from your lips. ‘’Husband.’’

You let out one last mournful wail as his finger slid out of you, pulling you back from your peak. Your core quivering as the loss, eyes wild as they meet your husband. His gold skin almost molten in the candle light as they followed retreating form.

‘’Husband…’’ your eyes lingered on Baelor as he rose to the end of the bed, staring down at you with smouldering eyes. 

‘’Do not worry, wife. Your husband will satisfy your every desire. The only way a freshly wedding maiden should on her wedding night’’ his glistering fingers tugging at the knot of his ceremonial breeches ‘’on his cock.’’

The worst month of my life with work and finally submitting my re-assessment is over. I am done! I am free! I am free to write everything I have ever wanted mwhahahahaha

So I know it has been a while and I am a little rusty but what do you think? Maybe one more chapter of this and then the Grand Sex Tour and our Lady Saviour being a badass during the Spring Sickness.

Rupert stepped toward you carefully, as though approaching something fragile, every measured step hesitant in a way you had never seen from him before. Normally he moved through a room with effortless confidence, all sharp smiles and dangerous charm, as though the world naturally bent around him. But now there was caution in the way he carried himself, tension pulled tight through his broad shoulders, uncertainty shadowing every movement.

The sight of it only hurt more. The muffled celebration beyond the kitchen doors seeped through the walls in distant waves of laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music. Every burst of joy from the party beyond felt grotesquely misplaced here, where the silence between you stretched heavy and suffocating. It was strange how the world could continue so normally while your heart was quietly breaking apart.

The kitchen smelled faintly of champagne, smoke, and the remains of dinner left untouched on polished counters. Candlelight flickered softly across the marble, casting long shadows that made the room feel colder than it should have.

You knew it was him before the door even closed. You hadn’t thought he would follow.

Why would he?

Even after being gone for a month, he had drifted past you earlier as though you were barely there, barely sparing you a glance as he muttered, “Not now, Goddess.”

The words had shattered something final inside you. The last nail in the coffin. The final fragile piece of hope crushed beyond repair. No excuse could heal that.

You steeled yourself, curling your fingers tightly around the edge of the worn counter of the O'Hara's until your knuckles ached. The cold wood bit into your palms grounding you against the violent swirl of emotions threatening to consume you. You kept your eyes fixed on the rain-speckled windows instead of looking at him directly, staring out across the dark lawn glowing faintly beneath scattered garden lanterns. Birds swooped low through the evening air, pecking at scattered birdseed beneath the garden lanterns.

Anything to avoid looking at him.

“Goddess…” His voice had no right being that soft.

You turned sharply, fury slicing through the ache in your chest. “Don’t you dare call me that,” you spat, glaring at him.

Pain flickered across his face so quickly you almost missed it, a raw crack through the carefully composed mask he wore better than anyone. But he kept moving closer, careful and slow, like he thought sudden movements might make you shatter completely. His green eyes stayed fixed on you with unbearable intensity, carrying exhaustion, guilt, and something heartbreakingly desperate.

His dark suit jacket hung open, slightly wrinkled, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled in a way that made him seem less like the untouchable rogue everyone adored and more like a man unraveling in real time.

“Please,” he said quietly. “Let me explain. I know I’ve been… absent.” He swallowed hard, voice roughening. “I need to explain. Cameron came to me for protection. I had to get her away quickly, keep her safe from Tony. I was trying to do the right thing. Trying to behave honorably...”

“And Cameron was the only person who mattered?” you snapped, the anger finally boiling over. “The only person who needed protection?”

The room fell silent except for the muted thrum of music beyond the walls.

Rupert’s jaw clenched hard enough to flex beneath the dim kitchen lights.

“Goddess…”

“You forfeited the right to call me that when you decided to absconed.” You hissed.

“I was already sleeping with her when we kissed.” he growled teeth bared.

The words landed like a physical blow. It felt as though the floor shifted beneath your feet. A sharp ache tore through your chest so suddenly you almost folded beneath it, your stomach twisting violently as heat rushed to your face. For a second, you genuinely forgot how to breathe.

A month ago, he had held your face in his hands beneath the stables lights and sworn you were the only thing keeping him alive. All while Cameron had already been in his bed. You had known, of course you had but you had thought... thought that you mattered more. Somewhere beneath all your desperate hope, beneath every excuse you had made for him, some wounded part of you had already sensed the truth. But you had wanted him badly enough to lie to yourself, believed he had changed.

“Goddess...”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked painfully. “I cannot bear another lie passing from your lips.”

For the first time since you had met him, Rupert looked truly wrecked. Not the untouchable, sophisticated rogue who had charmed half of Rutshire. Not the beautiful disaster everyone warned you about.

Just a man standing in front of you looking devastated and guilty and far too late. You laughed bitterly, the sound thin and broken even to your own ears. Tears burned fiercely behind your eyes, blurring the kitchen lights into soft gold smears. You hated that you were crying in front of him. Hated that even now, with your heart splitting open, some part of you still wanted him to tell you this was all some terrible misunderstanding.

“You disappeared for a month with another woman and expect me to congratulate you.”

“To save her.” Rupert growled.

“After telling me you loved me. You didn't need to sleep with her to save her unless you have some magic cock.” Your voice trembled violently now despite your attempts to steady it. “Do you hear how cruel that sounds?”

“She needed me.”

“And what was I?" The words burst from you before you could stop them.

Your chest tightened painfully, emotion clawing up your throat. “I was stuck here not knowing what the hell had happened, thinking you were hurt or dead. Gods…” You shook your head sharply, tears finally slipping free. “I was so stupid. Stalking Gerald for scraps of information because I thought something terrible had happened to you.”

Your breathing turned uneven, chest tightening harder with every word. A month of fear, longing, humiliation, and grief tangled together until you could barely separate one emotion from another. You remembered every sleepless night spent waiting for news, every terrible possibility your mind had invented, every moment you defended him to yourself despite the growing ache in your chest.

“You could have at least put me out of my misery.”

Rupert opened his mouth, but no answer came. Because there wasn’t one.

The silence between you became unbearable. Still, he stepped toward you, arm slowly outstretched, fingers trembling slightly as though he still believed he had the right to touch you. Like a hug would stop you hurting. Stop the fat tears you now realised were rolling down your face.

You moved back immediately before he could reach you. The rejection visibly hit him. His entire body seemed to still for a fraction of a second, his hand hovering uselessly in the air before slowly falling back to his side. Hurt flashed openly across his face now, stripped bare and impossible to hide.

“Leave me alone.” Your voice broke apart entirely now. “I was wrong to think you were a good person. A decent man. I want nothing to do with you.”

Rupert dragged a shaking hand down his face, scrubbing hard at his bronzed skin before slamming his other hand violently against the table.

The sharp crack echoed through the kitchen. Silverware rattled. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he stared at the floor for a long moment, jaw tight with restrained emotion.

“If that’s what you want.”

Traditions were to be strictly upheld.

Which meant you had been subjected, without mercy, to the full crushing weight of maidenly custom.

Hours spent within the sept upon unforgiving stone, knees aching as you prayed to the Maiden for purity and grace, to the Mother for wisdom and fruitful blessings. Candle after candle had been lit until the air was thick with wax and incense, your fingers scented with both. Septas hovered like crows, correcting the angle of your bowed head, the cadence of your prayers, the proper reverence expected of a future princess.

Then came the Queen and her ladies.

Smiles sharpened like knives, jewels glinting in candlelight, names and lineages thrown at you one after another until they blurred together into a haze of ancient houses and brittle courtesies. You were paraded through drawing rooms and galleries, presented like some precious new acquisition to wives and daughters who measured your worth in one sweeping glance. Some had been kind. Others were merely curious. A few plainly disapproving of such a match.

And gods,the endless plucking, polishing, bathing, brushing, oiling.

The embarrassment of it would never leave you. You had never been so exposed wearing so little before so many women, hands everywhere at once, discussing your body as if a cow in a butchers window. Brows shaped, nails buffed, skin scrubbed until it tingled. Sweet oils rubbed into your limbs, powders dusted across your throat and collarbones.

Your skin was now silken smooth and glowed almost unnaturally beneath the candlelight. Your hair shone in glossy waves down your back, scented with rosewater and myrrh. Your cheeks held a rich bloom from all the fussing and pinching, and your lips had been rubbed with berry salve until they looked bitten and soft. You scarcely recognised yourself.

Your chambers no longer felt like your own either.

The room had been stripped of the little traces of you that had made it familiar. Shelves once cluttered with loose parchment, dried flowers pressed between pages, ribbons, scattered trinkets and cups gone cold with tea now stood bare and ordered. The book Baelor had gifted you, your treasured volumes with its leather spine worn from nightly reading, had already been returned to his collection in his own chambers, where they now awaited you. The thought sent a warm flutter through your chest.

Your gowns had been folded with military precision into travelling chests. Shoes lined in pairs beside them. Jewellery wrapped in cloth. Hair combs, pins, brushes, even the little carved box where you kept your pressed herbs, all packed neatly and ready to be moved.

To your new chambers.

No. To your shared chambers. Married chambers. With Baelor. Your soon to be husband. Who you would now live with. Where you would wake beside him. Where your gowns would hang beside his coats, your books among his, your laughter mingling with his in rooms once occupied by one man alone. Where you would share a bed… and share other things, things you could scarcely imagine and could not wait to explore body and soul.

The thought made your pulse skip.

The only things that had sustained you through these long days apart were the notes. Notes smuggled through corridors by blushing squires, bribed servants, amused guards, and one increasingly tormented Ser Crakehall. Folded scraps of parchment hidden beneath trays, slipped into sleeves, tucked inside prayer books and baskets of flowers.

You reached for the newest one now, already unfolded so many times the edges had softened.

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha dāria.- B

You smiled 

My dearest trouble,

I am being made to endure another fitting. If one more tailor jabs me with a pin, I shall have him thrown from the battlements.

They say I must be patient. I say I have been patient enough.

I cannot wait for our wedding day. Every hour spent from you is theft.

—B

Another, delivered that morning:

I am commanded to shave and have my hair cut before the ceremony. Apparently I am to appear respectable and handsome for my new bride. Unfortunately Maekar is the only one I trust, I shall look like a sheep ravished by a dragon.

Pray for me. Jorrāelagon. 

You had laughed aloud at that one before snatching the quill to parchment so quickly you splattered ink.

Your Highness... My groom,

If you allow any man near that glorious hair with shears, I shall call off the wedding myself.

And if they remove your beard, I shall have them sent to the Wall.

I fully intend to run my hands through your hair upon our wedding day, and feel your beard against my skin just as I did the last day I saw you.

Remain exactly as you are.

—Your future wife

The note returned barely an hour later in the hands of a profoundly red-faced Ser Crakehall.

Ser Crakehall hates us now.

I remain unshorn and victorious.

Ready for your generous hands and willing body.

—Your husband, in spirit if not yet in the Gods eyes

You pressed the parchment to your lips, cheeks burning.

Your thoughts betrayed you then, drifting helplessly to Baelor in this very bedchamber on the last day you had seen him. To the heat of him that stole your breath. To rough hands made unexpectedly gentle by reverence. To the way he had shown you pleasures you had never thought possible between a man and woman with nothing more than his mouth, his hands, and the sinful patience of a man determined to ruin you for all others.

“My lady, we must get you ready!”

Brienne glided into the room like a woman entering battle, Mysa at her heels carrying armfuls of silk, while Carlys followed with boxes of jewels and enough pins to arm a small army.

Today you would become the princess everyone expected. Graceful. Regal. Untouchable in poise and splendour.And later, when the doors were shut and the crowns set aside, you would become the wife Baelor had waited so desperately to claim.

Xxxxx

Baelor was dressed before the light had even broken the darkness. Sleep had eluded him, for when next he slept, it would be as a husband and you, his wife. Waking with you beside him in these very chambers, now to be your home as much as his. He would end each night and greet every dawn with you by his side. To feel the warmth of you tangled in his arms, to hear your breath in the quiet hours before sunrise, to know you were no longer promised but wholly his, it made rest impossible.

In mere hours, he would finally see you. He could not wait a moment more. This long days had be agonizing.

To know you were somewhere within the keep, walking the same halls, breathing the same air, perhaps pausing at the same windows he had stood beside only moments before, and yet entirely out of reach. Guarded, watched, shielded by family, septas, your ladies as though he were something to be protected from rather than the man who would soon call you wife. Every glimpse of a passing gown in the corridor made his pulse quicken, only to sour when it was not you. Every laugh carried through stone walls made him wonder if it had been yours.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Because when he had pulled away from you that day in your chambers, it had not been easy. Your pillowy thighs, gods, he could still feel them in his hands. Soft, warm, yielding beneath his grip and he drunk you in. He could still taste you on his lips. It took all his might not to strip bare and join you beneath the comforter.

Pulling your legs wide so he could see all of you, so he could etch the vision of you bare before him into memory before he claimed your maidenhead. Not stopping until you were his in every sense the gods allowed. Until he had marked every inch of your skin with touch and scent. Until nothing in the world existed but the joining of you both, souls burning together like dragonflame. He would brandish the blood-stained sheet for all to see, hang it in his council chambers as proof and warning alike, that you were his, and had been claimed before gods and men. The hell with the wedding and wait a moment more to call you his, especial after your wretch of a mother tried to pry you apart from him.

He agonised over that feeling, the crudeness that possessed him. It was madness, truly. A hunger so consuming it shamed even him. What was worse, you had pleaded so sweetly. That look in your eyes as you asked, no, begged, him to do something so scandalous. Lips parted, voice soft, gaze molten with want.

Perhaps he should have believed Valorr’s accusation that you were some witch, a sweet succubus sent to test him. Some lovely curse wrapped in silk and smiles. He should have locked you in the Maidenvault as soon as your engagement was announced, to protect you from his corruptive influence and carnal thoughts, just as his namesake had once done to his sisters. Hidden you behind stone and steel where no man, least of all him, could reach you.

But he was weak. Selfish. Possessive.

And the thought of not being able to see you, feel you, stalk you across the halls of the keep and pull you into some abandoned shelter for a few stolen moments was too much torture to bear. Too much to surrender willingly. Even though he thought his brother might have locked you in the Maidenvault himself, if only to gain a few moments of peace.

He must truly find a way to repay his dear brother.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop…it’s disgusting.” Maekar’s barbed tone echoed through the chamber.

Baelor blinked, dragged from his thoughts. “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

“I know exactly what kind of thoughts you are thinking, and I would rather not be in your presence while you do them,” Maekar growled. “It had been bad enough that I have had to suffer through the last three moons of courting.”

Maekar’s gruff voice carried through the air as he stomped into the room, already reaching for the wine and pouring himself a heavy cup. Gulping it down in two long swallows before slamming the glass upon the table before bracing himself against it with a groan.

“You do know the wedding is not for hours yet.”

Baelor said nothing, only tugged once more at his doublet. It was a form-fitting tunic beneath a double-breasted jacket, tailored close through the chest with sharp crimson pleats running down the front. Every seam sat perfectly, yet still he found fault with it. His hair, stubborn as ever, curled untidily around his ears despite the efforts of three servants and one increasingly frustrated valet.

The crown sat upon its velvet cushion, glaring at him.

He eyed it wearily. Since his accident, the thought of wearing such a heavy thing sent a pulse of pain straight into the pit of his skull. In the past three moons, his headaches had lessened to a tedious and occasional throb, striking only when he spent too long reading in poor candlelight or when exhaustion seeped into his bones. It was… freeing.

It had allowed him the simple joys he once thought gone forever. Walking you through the gardens while you chattered of flowers and old histories. Taking you riding through the city streets so the people might see you and adore you as much as he did. Watching children run behind your horse with garlands in hand while merchants bowed low and called blessings after you both.

Yet, now the longer he spent away from you, the more his head seemed to ache.

But in a few hours’ time, not even the gods themselves would pry you from his arms.

“Do you have your balm? Taken your tincture?”

Baelor’s stormy eyes slid toward his brother. “I am not an invalid.”

“Today will be long,” Maekar replied dryly. “And as you so often remind me, a crown is heavy on the person who wears it, but it is our duty. And your duty today is to look all princely and glorious in your crown beside your new bride, if you want the kingdom to fawn around her half so much as you do. They will need to see you both in all your splendour, tedious as that may be.”

“They will love her.” Baleor nodded 

Maekar rocked slightly on his heels. “I am sure they will. If she managed to make this old dragon fond of her, she can manage anyone. But there will always be those who talk. It was rather… strange arrangement.”

The words settled like stone in Baelor’s stomach.

The wedding was not without risk. The court was uncertain. You were no simpering noble maid trained to flatter men into softness, nor some polished seductress weaving snares through smiles. You were simply yourself, an enchanting sprite with a sharp mind, a thirst for knowledge. There were lords in the realm who would resent that. Men who preferred women were ornamental and silent. Men who would sneer at wit in a lady and call intelligence impertinence. It was a thought that had kept him wakeful many nights.

“But do not worry,” Maekar grunted. “This little dragon brood she seems to command ensures she will be well loved. Even that blasted stag appears devoted to her cause. Not to mention all her blasted cousins, who seem to scurry out of the woodwork more by the day.”

“Do you have your eye on one of her visiting cousins? perhaps a pretty one has caught your eye brother?” Baelor mused.

Maekar snapped the fastening of Baelor’s jacket into place somewhat harsher than necessary. “I have enough trouble with her fucking handmaids.”

Silence fell heavily across the chamber. Violet eyes met violet eyes before Maekar looked away, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I am sorry… for all of it. I never said it before, but I am...I...”

“Brother,” Baelor said softly, “you have nothing to be sorry for. I am rather glad you struck that blow. If not for that terrible moment, I would never have met my little savior.”

“Gods, you are truly lost.” Maekar grimaced, though his eyes were bright with reluctant amusement.

“Lost in her eyes, brother.” Baelor grinned as a look of pure disgust consumed Maekar’s features.

“Gods, it is more than I can bear. To see the Breakspear reduced to a besotted fool.” He jabbed a finger toward him. “And do not think I know nothing of those blasted love letters and notes passed between you two. Red in not a good shade for a kingsguard.” he huffed turning on his hills.

“Where are you going?” Baelor smirked.

“To see if we can bring the damn wedding forward. In need some peace.” Maekar snapped the words over his shoulder as he stormed from the room, though the corners of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly.

Xxxxx

The guests were seated. The sept was packed so full that the very air seemed warm with breath, perfume, candle smoke, and anticipation. Every bench, gallery, and standing space had been claimed long before the bells began to ring. Nobles and servants alike craned their necks for a better view, the murmur of hundreds of voices swelling and falling like the sea against stone.

Highborn and lowborn alike had come.

The lower sections, usually reserved for lesser retainers and household attendants, had been opened to the people of King’s Landing themselves after your personal plea to the king. Though the Small Council had objected in stiff tones and practical concerns, the old king had overruled them with visible delight, declaring that if this was to be the wedding of the century, then all who loved the realm should be welcome to witness the day he gained a daughter.

And so fishmongers stood beside merchants, bakers beside blacksmiths, washerwomen beside goldsmiths, children balanced on shoulders and old men leaning heavily on canes. Faces weathered by work and sun now glowed with excitement as they peered upward toward the royal section. Many had never before entered the Great Sept. Some openly wept at the splendour of it. Others whispered prayers or nudged one another whenever a lord in famous colours passed by.

The ground floor belonged to the great houses.

Lords and ladies filled the front rows in a dazzling display of wealth and pride. Silks rustled like leaves in the wind. Jewels winked at throats, wrists, and brows. House colours were worn boldly, gold lions, green roses, silver trout, black stags, sunspear orange, kraken black and white, falcon blue and white. Banners hung high between the columns, turning the chamber into a forest of heraldry.

Above them, galleries brimmed with lesser nobility, landed knights, clerics, and fortunate courtiers. Servants moved carefully through narrow aisles with watered wine and cloths for flushed faces. The musicians played soft processional strains, though they were nearly drowned beneath the restless hum of speculation.

At the front, nearest the altar and beneath the seven-pointed star, the royal family waited.

“Stop pacing and sit down.” The queen snipped at the king. “Anyone would think it is you getting married and not Baelor.”

The olderman smiled at his wife. “I cannot help it.”

He had indeed worn a path into the polished marble with his movement. Though age had bowed him slightly there was a boyish energy in him this day that made the years seem lighter. His robes of state hung richly from his shoulders, cloth-of-gold worked with dragons and suns, but his fingers betrayed his nerves as they drummed against the carved pommel of his cane. His eyes flicked constantly toward the great doors, eager and bright.

“Silly old fool, he even tried to sneak out to see her when she arrives.” Queen Myriah scowled softly, before turning to her son, cooing as she pulled at his doublet smoothing something out the velvet. “My handsome son.”

Queen Myriah was regal even in motion, draped in deep Dornish silks the colour of wine-dark pomegranates, threaded with gold that caught the candlelight at every turn. Strings of pearls nestled at her throat, and her dark hair, only lightly touched by silver, was braided with tiny gemstones. Her scolding never fully hid the softness in her expression. Pride radiated from her as she fussed over Baelor with the intimate authority only a mother could wield.

He stood tall in princely crimson and black, broad shoulders wrapped in velvet and gold fastenings, the crown lending solemn weight to a face already taut with emotion. Though composed to any distant eye, those nearest could see the restless energy beneath it, the way his fingers flexed once and again at his sides, the quick rise of his chest, the fixed pull of his gaze toward the doors where you would soon appear.

She patted his chest before turning to Maekar who, with face freshly shaved, looked boyish and nearly twenty names younger. “It will be your turn next.”

Freshly shorn of beard and hair pulled from its usual severe style, Maekar appeared almost startlingly changed. Without the pale roughness of his beard, the sharp architecture of his face was laid bare, high cheekbones, severe mouth and silver scars. The years seemed peeled from him, leaving a dangerous face of a mature man.

“Mother!” Maekar huffed jerking away from his mothers golden hands.

Even so, the flush that climbed his neck betrayed him more than any protest. Nearby courtiers hid smiles behind gloved fingers. One old lady openly sighed at the sight of him.

“Wife, it seems like it is time. Let us sit. you can find a bride for Maeker later.” The king offered his arm, still smiling, and guided the queen to their carved seats. Around them the movement rippled outward as the royal attendants settled, guards straightened, and musicians changed tune.

Thousands of eyes turned toward the great doors.

Xxxxxx

The bells of the Great Sept rang so loudly you felt them in your ribs.

Each thunderous peal rolled across the city, over rooftops and market squares, through alleys and towers, announcing to every soul in King’s Landing that a royal wedding was beginning. 

Your veil had been lowered before the great doors opened. Your mother smiled, planting a kiss on your cheek, her hand lingered, as you gazed at each other, it was bittersweet. No matter how much you yearned for it, your relationship with your mother wasn't the same. Older eyes soften and her mouth opened but before words could be uttered the septons cough hurried her to take her place in the sept. 

With your veil in place, it spilled from your jeweled comb like a river of moonlight, layers of fine silk and pale lace drifting over your face and shoulders.

Your father was one moment away from blubbering. It had taken him a solid hour to collect himself after he saw you dress in your wedding finery. You were grateful for the shield of it, for the small privacy it offered while your heart threatened to pound clear through your bodice. To see you gentle father in tearful joy you might beccoem a sobbing mess yourself.

The doors groaned open.

Sunlight speared into the sept first, bright and golden, catching the incense smoke in shafts in .the air Then came the sound, a great swelling murmur of voices, the scrape of benches, rustling velvet, clinking chains, whispers hissing like wind through leaves as every person inside rose to their feet. 

Hundreds of eyes turned toward you.

Silence.

For one breath, you could not move. Then the musicians struck the next note, and your feet obeyed.

You stepped forward. Guided by your fathers arm you walked. The aisle stretched before you like a path into another life, carpeted in crimson so rich it looked like poured wine. Your gown whispered around your ankles with every step, layers of ivory silk and silver-threaded lace heavy enough to remind you constantly of the occasion. Pearls were sewn through the sleeves and bodice, cool against your skin. A necklace of rubies rested at your throat like droplets of fire, matching the dainty tiara nestle in you lose hair

You could feel them watching. Lords with calculating eyes. Ladies with practiced smiles. You gave them nothing but serene grace.

Inside, your pulse was wild. Your gloved fingers curled once around the folds of your father's arms before you forced them still. You lifted your chin another fraction and continued, slow and regal, exactly as Briaennie had drilled into you until dawn.

Then through the gauzy veil, familiar figures emerged. Lyonel stood broad as a tower among the front rows, dressed richly enough for court though he wore finery like armour. His arms were folded across his chest, jaw hard, and he was glaring at the altar with such naked hostility that three nearby lords had subtly shifted away from him. At Baelor, no doubt. Yet the moment his gaze found you, the storm vanished. His expression softened into something warm, proud, almost brotherly. He dipped his head with quiet reverence.

In front of him the princes stood, Valarr and Matarys looked devastatingly elegant, Valarr's eyes jump straight to his father while Matarys' violet eyes sparkled radiantly, giving you a tiny enthusiastic wave the instant no one was looking.

You nearly laughed beneath the veil. Further down, Daeron was smiling so broadly it seemed painful. Near the rear, chaos as ever attended Egg. He had climbed halfway onto the stone railing and was leaning dangerously far off the shoulder of Dunk in order to see better. Dunk kept one enormous hand braced around the boy’s middle while trying to maintain some scrap of knightly dignity in his new white coat. Egg’s waved at you with such vigor that two ladies gasped.

And there was Maekar, beside your soon to be husband, you saw the gleam in his eyes. Moisture unshed. His jaw flexed once, as if annoyed by the existence of feelings altogether. Then he gave you the smallest nod, stiff, formal but you saw it, the gathering sparking in his eye.

Your throat tightened.

Then you saw Baelor. He stood before the altar beneath the seven-pointed star, crowned in blackened steel and rubies, draped in princely crimson and sable. Gold clasps gleamed at his shoulders, his clock resting there ready to claim you. One that you would be wearing when you turned back. 

You gasped softly as you father pressed the kiss on your veil cheek leaving you beside your soon to be husband. 

His mismatched eyes flickered across your blurred features. The moment he truly beheld you through the veil, a tear slid unceremoniously down his cheek. Then another. His lips parted as though speech had abandoned him entirely. His chest rose sharply beneath embroidered silk, and one hand flexed at his side, as he foot leached forward, and it would have been Maekar's heavy presence was not anchoring him to his spot.

He looked stricken.

Without glancing at him, Maekar reached into his sleeve, withdrew a folded handkerchief, and shoved it sharply into Baelor’s palm with the efficiency of a conjurer.

Baelor accepted it blindly, never once taking his eyes off you.

He dabbed at his face as he turned to face the blinking High Septon, only then reaching his hands to claim yours. 

Xxxxxxxxxx

The crown upon his head felt heavier than it ever had before. It pressed into his skull, unforgiving, a band of iron and rubies that seemed to burn against the place where old pain still lingered. A dull ache stirred behind his eyes, threatening to bloom into something sharper, something that would steal his focus at the worst possible moment. The weight of duty, of expectation, of the entire realm watching settled upon him all at once, a suffocating pressure that no training had ever truly prepared him for.

But as you drifted down the red carpet, a vision of light and silk, the entire sept falling into a hush so complete it felt almost sacred. Baelor could not bring himself to care about the crown fastened to his head

You were close enough now that he could see you. Your veil blurred your features into something almost unreal, but it could not hide you from him, not truly. He could see the faint outline of your lips, the rise and fall of your breath, the soft glow of your skin beneath layers of lace.

Everything that had once felt heavy now seemed distant, irrelevant, dulled beneath the singular and overwhelming truth that you were to be his wife. His.

The ceremony stretched on, as such things always did. Sermon upon sermon, blessings layered upon blessings, words spoken in reverence to gods and tradition and lineage. It should have been tedious, suffocating in its length, but Baelor did not mind in the slightest. He heard none of it. Not a single word reached him in any meaningful way. He was too content to simply stand and look at you, to study every small movement, every breath, every flicker of thought that passed behind your eyes.

When the moment came, his hands did not shake, but there was a carefulness to them as he reached for your veil. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted the fine fabric away from your face.

Your skin glowed beneath the light as though lit from within, smooth and luminous in a way that made his chest ache. Your eyes met his, clear and alive, filled with a softness that struck straight through him and left something unguarded in its wake. Your lips were slightly parted, still touched with the faint stain of berries, and your hair shimmered around your face like something drawn from dream and flame.

Baelor exhaled a breath he had not realised he had been holding. It came out uneven, almost broken, as though the sight of you had undone something deep within him. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face, soft and awed.

He unclasped his cloak with steady hands, though his gaze never left you, and drew it around your shoulders. The heavy fabric of Targaryen colours settled over you, black and deep crimson lined with ornate embroidery worked through with threads of gold that caught the light with every small movement. It transformed you in the eyes of the realm in an instant, marking you as his, as one of his house, as bound to him in blood and name and future. His fingers lingered as he fastened it, brushing lightly against the curve of your shoulder as he secured it, not daring to look away.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Baelor surged forward. One hand came to your jaw, firm but gentle, guiding you upward as though you already belonged there. The other settled at your waist, steadying you, drawing you just slightly closer. His lips met yours. Soft at first, reverent, then deeper in a way that made the world beyond the two of you dissolve entirely.

The sept erupted around you, but he barely heard it, still lost in the feel of his lip against yours. When the cheers rose and the bells rang when he finally allowed himself to pull away from you, turning you together to face the realm, Baelor stood taller than he ever had before. Baelor’s hand found yours beneath the folds of your cloak, fingers threading through yours as he guided you down the steps

Xxxxxx

The parade through the city felt endless, winding from the Great Sept down through the heart of King’s Landing and into the narrow, teeming streets beyond. By the time you reached Flea Bottom your arms ached from waving, your fingers stiff from clutching flowers and hands and ribbons pressed upon you by eager crowds. Your cheeks burned from smiling, the muscles of your face beginning to protest with every passing moment. And yet, you could not bring yourself to stop.

You did not want to and through it all, Baelor never once let go of your hand.

By the time you were finally returned to the keep and ushered into the great hall, the feast was ready as you circulated the tables with your new husband. Polite and courtly.

But your thoughts betrayed you.

Your face burned suddenly, vividly, as the memory of the carriage ride rose unbidden. The closeness of it, the heat of him, the way his voice had dropped low and dangerous when he had called you his wife for the first time without witness. The press of his hands, the stolen kisses that had been anything but restrained especially as his hands sunk between your thighs and...

“Wife, you have gone quite red, are you well.”

You could hear the smirk in Baelor’s voice even as his brows drew together in feigned concern. The concern was for show, but the spark in his eyes betrayed him entirely. He knew. Of course he knew.

“Please excuse us, I must tend to the princess. Forgive us, it has been a long day. I am sure we will speak again before you depart.” your husband smiled, placing his hand at the small of your back. 

“We look forward to welcoming you and the new princess to the north,” Lord Stark bowed. 

You smiled, dipping into a graceful curtsey before Lord Stark, who regarded you with steady, approving eyes,his nod was slight, but it carried a quiet respect that settled warmly in your chest.

Baelor did not wait a heartbeat longer than politeness demanded. His hand found yours again, firm and certain, and he guided you away from the gathered lords with a smooth authority that parted the crowd before him. It was not rushed, not improper, but there was purpose in every step he took. His body angled subtly toward yours as he walked, shielding you from wandering hands and over-eager well-wishers, his presence a quiet wall at your side.

When you reached the high table, he paused only to pull your chair back himself. No servant was given the chance. His hand hovered briefly at your waist as you turned, steadying you as though the simple act required his attention. He adjusted the fall of your skirts with careful precision, ensuring nothing caught or tangled, then settled the cloak more securely about your shoulders, fingers lingering just a fraction too long at the fastening near your collarbone.

Only once you were properly seated did he allow himself to sit beside you. “That was uncalled for, husband.” You pouted softly, though the heat still lingered in your cheeks.

Baelor leaned slightly closer, just enough that his words would not carry beyond you. “Keep calling me husband, this day will end quicker than you expected.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, eyes dark with amusement and something far more dangerous beneath it, his fingers already seeking yours beneath the table once more as though even a moment’s separation had been too much.

Xxxxx

After returning at last to your seats, the procession of gifts began in earnest. One lord after another stepped forward, each more eager than the last to present their offering and secure favour in the eyes of their newly wedded prince and princess. The servants moved in a careful rhythm behind them, collecting, cataloguing, carrying away treasures that would have filled smaller halls entirely.

It did not take long for a pattern to emerge. Word had spread. Where others might have expected jewels alone, or silks, or ornaments meant only to dazzle, you were instead met with tome after tome. Bound in leather, in velvet, in gilded covers and worn spines alike. Histories, poems, treatises, maps, collections of songs and philosophies from across the realm and beyond it. Some ancient and delicate, others newly commissioned, all offered with careful bows and hopeful glances.

Alongside them came jewels in glittering cascades, bolts of fine silk from distant lands, spices that perfumed the very air as they were unveiled, oils and perfumes sealed in delicate glass. Offerings meant to please, to impress, to secure your favor as much as his.

For Baelor, daggers of Valyrian steel, dragon glass carved and polished into ceremonial forms. Crates of grain, stores of apples, casks of wine, symbols of loyalty and provision, promises of support from lands that fed the realm. All presented and given willingly as the musicians took their cue then, strings rising, drums steady beneath them as performers climbed onto their platforms. Laughter grew louder, freer, as wine flowed and the weight of ceremony began to ease into celebration.

It was then that Baelor allowed himself to loosen his hold on you, if only slightly.

You moved from his side, drawn into conversation, into laughter, into the orbit of curious lords and eager ladies who wished to claim a moment of your time. Yet even as you wandered, he remained never more than two arm lengths away. His gaze followed you without effort, constant, instinctive. The duties of a prince did not end, but neither did his attentness to you.

“I must say despite my doubts she is rather suited to dragon colours.” Lyonel sidled up beside the dragon, ale sloshing lazily within his flagon taking a seat with careless ease. “I am rather impressed, actually. She seems to suit life as a princess, wrangling all those prattling lords and ladies.”

Baelor said nothing at first. His violet gaze had already settled on you across the hall, where you stood listening with remarkable patience to a particularly animated Lord Tyrell. You smiled at the right moments, inclined your head with grace.

“Though I must inform you not all are as enamoured with the new little dragonling.” Lyonel’s voice dropped as he lifted the flagon to his lips, eyes shifting subtly toward a gathered knot of men.

Baelor followed the motion.

A cluster stood apart, close enough to be present, far enough to remain removed. Lord Bolton, pale and watchful. Lord Tarly, stern and unyielding. A scattering of lesser lords from the grasslands, their expressions guarded. A handful from the north and west, their attention less celebratory, more calculating.

“And why would you warn me of such dissent among our subjects?” Baelor’s voice was quiet, but there was iron beneath it now.

Lyonel did not look at him immediately. He took another long drink, then lowered the flagon slowly. “While I still believe there is no such thing as a good dragon, she is and always will be my godsdaughter. And far better than any dragon. And if she is cursed to birth more dragon spawn into this world, they will never be dragons.”

Godsdaughter. Baelor brow furrow lightly. Hmmm. The stags brown eyes cut toward Baelor then, not quite challenge but something edged between the two.

Baelor held his gaze for a long moment before speaking. “Then I am glad she has such a strong lord fighting her corner.” His tone remained even, but his eyes flicked briefly back toward you. “I fear she will need that.”

“Brother, congratulations on your marriage.” The voice that followed was softer, almost hesitant. Aerys stood there, slight and watchful, his presence quieter than most in a hall. Beside him stood a man impossible to ignore.

Brynden Rivers smiled thinly, pale hair stark against dark clothing, one eye fixed with unsettling intensity.

“Thank you, brother....Brynden, I am glad you could join.” Baelor's head inclined ever so slightly.

“Yes, congratulations, my prince. I hope your future is bright and free of burden.” His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, yet something beneath it twisted the words into something less comforting. “You have certainly picked a most becoming bride. I am certain she will be capable of leading the kingdom through whatever is to come.”

Both Baelor and Lyonel’s gazes sharpened at that.

There was something in the way Brynden’s eye lingered, not on Baelor, but past him. Toward you. Watching. Measuring. Knowing far too much, or at least giving the impression that he did.

The moment stretched, taut and uncomfortable beneath the weight of unspoken things. “Come, Prince Aerys, I promised to show you my book collection.”

Brynden turned smoothly, guiding his brother away before any reply could truly take shape. Baelor’s gaze lingered on him as he disappeared into the shifting mass of guests, swallowed by the crowd. Only when he could no longer see him did Baelor’s attention return to you, your head tipped back in a laugh as Egg and Aemon tugged at your skirts.

“It is time for the bedding ceremony!”

The words cut cleanly through the music, sharp enough to still the nearest conversations.

Lord Bolton rose as he spoke, pale eyes fixed upon you with a cold intensity that made your skin prickle. There was no warmth in his gaze, no celebration, only something watchful and intrusive, as though he already claimed a right to witness what should never belong to him. Around him, a few voices stirred in agreement, murmurs rising like a slow, unsettling tide.

Before the sound could swell, movement answered it. Lyonel was on his feet first, the scrape of his chair loud against the stone as he straightened to his full height, flagon still in hand. There was nothing hurried in the motion, nothing overtly aggressive, yet the shift in his stance was unmistakable, his broad frame angling ever so slightly between you and the growing attention.

Maekar rose next, slower, deliberate, his expression hardening into something carved from iron. He did not speak, did not need to. One step placed him closer to you, positioning himself just enough that anyone approaching would meet him first.

Valarr followed. placing himself at Baelor’s other side, a quiet reinforcement that needed no announcement.

Further down, Dunk pushed from his post , towering above most in the hall, his sheer presence enough to draw attention, stepping closer until he stood just behind you, a silent wall of loyalty and strength. Beside him, Ser Duskendale and Ser Crakehall , stepped forward there shining armor shining the falling sun. 

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Baelor’s voice did not rise, yet it carried across the hall with absolute clarity as he stood finally from his own seat.

A ripple of disappointment moved through parts of the crowd, most noticeably among the younger women who had leaned forward in anticipation of tearing the tailored doublet from his body and the chance gaze past a certain appendage and feel the weight of something that might have been their own if it not been for you.

Lord Bolton's gaze remained fixed, unblinking. “It is tradition,” he said coolly.

“And proof,” Lord Tarly added, his voice firm, carrying easily. “There must be evidence of the union. Witnesses ”

Baelor’s expression sharpened, the last trace of warmth gone from it entirely. “This is a celebration,” he said, each word precise, controlled. “Not a spectacle.”

Silence stretched, tight as drawn wire. “My wife is a princess,” he continued, the word deliberate, weighted. “The realms future queen. Not something to be pawed at for the amusement of the court.”

A murmur rippled outward, some approving, others less so.

Lord Tarly did not yield. “Then how are we to be assured, Your Highness?”

For a moment, it seemed the hall itself held its breath. At your side, the weight of so many eyes pressed in, suffocating. You felt it then, the shift from celebration to scrutiny, from joy to expectation. Your fingers tightened faintly in your skirts, your composure wavering just enough for those closest to notice. The thought of them grabbing at you, watching as you…sicken you but if it was expected…

You stepped forward only for Maekar to step nearer, a subtle motion guided you back a pace. Dunk shifted with him, placing himself just enough behind and beside you that the line of sight from the hall broke, shielding you from the worst of the attention without drawing notice to it.

A sharp bark of laughter cut through the silence as he stepped forward, slinging an arm loosely around the nearest lord and thrusting a brimming cup into his hand.

“Gods, must we turn a wedding feast into a council debate?” he called out, voice loud, irreverent, deliberately careless. “Drink, man. If you require proof of anything tonight, I suggest you find it in your own bed rather than another’s. I am sure there will be dragons aplenty roaming around before long, not that we don't have enough already! ”

A few chuckles answered him. Then more.

Lyonel did not stop. He pressed another drink into waiting hands, clapped a man on the shoulder hard enough to jolt him “Play!” he shouted toward the musicians. “Unless you plan to stand there all night like statues. Play for fucksake”

The first notes returned hesitantly, then stronger as the rhythm caught. Conversation resumed in uneven waves, the tension loosening under the weight of wine and distraction.

You blinked from behind the mass of the new kingguard as the hall fell into a joyful roar, skirts swinging in the air as the jig resumed. 

‘’Come wife.’’

Xxxxx

Baelor stood alone upon the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he looked out over the Red Keep and the city beyond. Torches burned in long winding lines through the streets, their glow flickering like rivers of fire in the dark. The distant hum of celebration still carried faintly upward, laughter and music softened by distance, the city alive in honour of the day.

His hands rested against the stone balustrade, fingers curling slightly as he leaned forward, though his thoughts were far from the view. The waiting stretched long, taut, filled with a restless anticipation he could neither quiet nor ignore. This was the safest place for him. He  cloistered himself here in fear the moment you pulled the last pin from you hair he would pounce on you. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”Your voice drew him from his thoughts instantly.

He turned

You stood framed in low firelight still dressed in your wedding gown, though outer layers had been shed. The heavy ornate tiara was gone, the veil long since removed, hair unpinned and loose around your face. The layers of formal adornment undone until it was simply you in the dress. The fabric clung where the long day had warmed your skin, the neckline looser, the sleeves slightly slipped, revealing the slicker of unkiss skin.

You looked no less magnificent for it. More so even.

Baelor exhaled slowly, his gaze darkening as it moved over you, “The Maiden herself would bow in reverence at your beauty,” he said, his voice lower now, threaded with something deeper than awe. “She will never be as beautiful as you, wife.”

The word settled heavily between you. You flushed at once, the warmth rising to your cheeks as you instinctively turned slightly away, one hand brushing at the fabric of your dress as though to steady yourself beneath the weight of his gaze, your hair cascading down your face, shielding him from his piecing stare.

He noticed. Of course he did. In a few unhurried steps, he crossed the distance between you.

“Why do you hide?” he murmured, his hands finding you with ease, gentle but certain as they drew you back toward him. His fingers brushed along your arms, settling at your waist, grounding you there.

You hesitated, then admitted softly, “I like it… when you call me wife.”

“Wife,” he repeated, slower now, the word deepened, deliberate. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips, warm and unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world now that you were his. When he drew back, it was only to say it again, softer, closer.

“Wife.” His lips traced along your jaw, then lower, pausing at your neck, each touch lingering just long enough to make your breath catch.

“Wife.” The word became a quiet rhythm between you, spoken against your skin, woven into every brush of his lips, every steadying hold of his hands at your waist as he drew you closer still.

A soft sound slipped from you before you could stop it, your fingers curling lightly into his shoulders. “Husband…”

That was all it took. Baelor’s restraint shattered. His hands moved more surely now, one sliding along the curve of your back, the other brushing the fabric at your side, fingers catching lightly in the folds of your gown as though already testing how it might come undone.

Baelor’s hands tightened at your waist, his breath unsteady now, no longer the composed prince before a court but a man pushed to the edge of restraint. His gaze dropped once more to your dress, to the way it clung and shifted with every breath you took, and something dark and wanting flickered openly across his face.

“I have stood before half the realm,” he murmured, voice low, roughened, “endured their eyes, their words, their traditions… all while knowing you would be waiting for me. My wife.” His thumb brushed along your side, slow, deliberate. “Do you know what that does to a man?”

You tilted your head slightly, a spark of mischief breaking through the warmth in your cheeks, your fingers still resting lightly against him. “It seems to make him terribly impatient… and rather poor at hiding it.”

A breath of laughter left him, low and disbelieving, his grip tightening just slightly. “My bold, intelligent wife,” he said, the words laced with something deeply pleased, almost reverent beneath the heat of them. “Already testing me.”

You met his gaze without flinching. “I would think a prince should welcome a challenge.”

That was all the invitation he needed. Baelor’s arms slid fully around you, lifting you effortlessly from the ground. You gave a soft gasp, your hands finding his shoulders as he gathered you close against his chest.

“My wife,” he repeated more quietly, as though committing it to memory.

He turned without hesitation, striding from the balcony toward the bed with long, purposeful steps, the world narrowing to the space between you. Firelight flickered across stone  shadows stretching and shifting as he nestled you against the plush cotton of the sheet, staring down at you splayed delicately against the white bedding. Bedding that would be stained with a claim that you were his.

As he moved above you, settling at your side, your hand lifted, reaching carefully toward him. Your fingers found the crown still resting in his hair, easing it free with surprising gentleness. The weight of it settled briefly in your hands before you set it aside without ceremony, casting onto the floor leaving him unburdened at last. Then your touch returned to him, softer now. Your fingers threaded lightly through his hair before settling at the back of his head, tracing the faint, familiar lines of the seven-pointed scar there. Your touch lingered, careful, knowing.

He drew back only a fraction, his lips still grazing yours, his voice low and dangerous in the space between. “My wife…Nuha Dāria.’’ His thumb brushed slowly along your jaw, his gaze dropping to your eyes as he eyes darkened impossible so as he claimed your mouth.

Sooooooooo they are married and the grand series of request may begin.

Thank you so much for your support! You have no idea how much it has meant to me! Hope this was worth the wait

Favorite moment? Lyonel of course!

“Keep going…yes, good.”

Dunk spluttered as the burst of juice coated his hand, thick and sticky, spilling faster than he’d expected. It ran over his fingers in slow, glossy rivulets before dripping from his knuckles, pattering softly as it fell. Some of it caught along his jaw where he’d leaned too close, trailing down in uneven lines, clinging to the rough stubble there before slipping lower. He blinked hard, breath catching, as the sweetness hit his tongue again, too much, almost overwhelming. His jaw ached from the effort, muscles tight and trembling, and his tongue felt heavy, sluggish from the constant motion. Still, he kept going, shifting slightly as he tried to keep hold, his grip slick now, difficult.

The juice gathered at the hollow of his collarbone, pooling briefly before spilling over, creeping in thin, sticky paths down the broad plane of his chest. It caught in the fine hairs there, glinting faintly in the light, leaving uneven trails that cooled as the air touched them.

Dunk let out a rough breath through his nose, trying to steady himself, but it only made him more aware of the mess, of how much there was, how it clung, how it wouldn’t stop. His shoulders tensed, then loosened again as he adjusted, stubbornly continuing despite the ache, despite the distraction.

“Go on!,” Lyonel cheered with a bark of laughter, clapping Dunk hard on the shoulder and sending him stumbling back onto the bench. “Tongue it like I showed you.”

Dunk spluttered, nearly dropping the fruit as juice ran down his chin again. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, scowling. “You talk too much.”

“And you think too much,” Lyonel shot back, grinning like a man who’d never doubted himself a day in his life. He dropped down beside him, propping himself up on one elbow. “You’re built like a warhorse, Dunk, but you fret like a septon’s son.” Trust me you will thank me later when she is exploding in your mouth.’’ Lyonel roared slamming him on his back making Dunk splutter against the fruit.  ‘’You want her as wet as that peach, nice and stretched wide. Nothing will prepare you for that monster between your legs but it will ease it.’’ Lyonel growled as he took a swig of ale. ‘“Bedding a woman will hurt.”

“I would never hurt her.” Dunk growled, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “I’d stay celibate if it meant never harming her.”

Lyonel bared his teeth at that, something sharp and wolfish in the expression. “You soft-hearted fool,” he said, though there was no real malice in it. “The first time is never easy, it always hurts. How much depends on how you prepare them. Trust me as soon as you break you in, she will never want to stop. Trust me. I see it her eyes’’ 

‘’See what?”

“The fucking desire in her eyes, you lucky bastard.” Lyonel's eyes burned into Dunk’s swirling blue, sharp and unrelenting, as if he could force the truth into him by sheer will. There was nothing teasing in him now, only certainty, fierce and bright. “It is always the quiet and sweet ones that burn hot, scratch up your back and sucks your soul from your very body.” Lyonel grins, his canines peeping out of his lips ‘’among other things.’’

Dunk stilled under that gaze, the weight of it pressing down heavier than any blow. The breeze stirred the grass around them, soft and whispering, but it did nothing to ease the sudden heat rising along his neck. His grip tightened unconsciously around the fruit in his hand, fingers slick and sticky, juice seeping between them and dripping slowly to the ground.

He swallowed, jaw shifting as if to argue, but no words came. Lyonel’s voice lingered in the air between them, rough and certain, leaving no room for easy dismissal.

Lyonel leaned closer, not touching, but near enough that Dunk could feel the presence of him, solid, unwavering, like a storm pressing in. His grin had faded into something sharper, more knowing, as though he saw straight through Dunk’s hesitation, past all the doubt and stubborn fear.

Lyonel only huffed, a low, amused sound, ‘’Now again.’ Lyonel bellowed as he thrust as another peach Dunks hand ‘’This time we are going to work on you fingering, three at least then we will work on your thrusting stamina.’’ 

‘’My what!’’ 

‘’Can’t have you bursting the first time your enter her, and leave you all needy and wanting,’’ Lyonel's eyes darkened ‘’unless you want a striking stag to fill that need.’’ Lyonel's eyes twinkled and Dunk's eyes burnt into him as he lowered his mouth to the ripe fruit, glaring at the stag as he worked his mouth across the pitted flesh on the peach, all while pressing a single digit into the core of the ripe flesh, widening the gash with every thrust.

Xxxxxx

You looked down at the growing bundle in your arms, the weight of it awkward and unfamiliar. Small glass bottles clinked softly together, oils catching the light in amber and gold, while little cloth bags of herbs released faint, earthy scents each time they shifted. There were tinctures too, stoppered tight, their contents dark and mysterious, labels scrawled in hurried ink you could barely follow.

You walked mutely behind Rowan as she moved from stall to stall with quiet confidence, never hesitating, never second-guessing. Your hands were quick and sure, plucking items from crowded tables before passing over coins without a thought, as if she had done this a thousand times before. The merchants barely questioned her, only nodded, wrapping things in scraps of cloth or paper before turning to the next customer.

Your eyes drifted across the tables as she paused to count through each bottle again, softly reciting the uses she had already told you, your voice steady and assured. You tried to follow, truly you did, but the words tangled in your mind, slipping away almost as quickly as they came.

You had thought people would stare.

You had expected whispers, sidelong glances, the sharp weight of judgment pressing in from every side.

But no one cared.

The market moved around you in a constant hum of voices and motion, people bartering loudly over prices, arguing, laughing, haggling as though it were sport. They handled things so openly, so freely, items you had only ever known hidden behind veils and closed doors of whorehouse. It made something in you flinch, your jaw tightening before you forced it to loosen again, trying not to look as out of place as you felt.

“Egg, where have you been!”

The words left you in a rush, sharper than you meant, pulled from you by sudden relief. You spotted him weaving easily through the crowd, small and quick, slipping between bodies that barely noticed him. His shaved head caught the light as he moved, and he slowed only when he saw you,.

You worried your lip as he approached, a flicker of guilt tightening in your chest. You had not meant to lose track of him. Not him of all people but after the last nights events you had complete forgot about your young charge.

“I spent the night with the other squire boys.” Egg came to a stop in front of you, hands loosely at his sides, but his eyes were already moving, quick, observant, taking you in piece by piece. They lingered on your arms, on the faint redness there, the marks not yet fully faded. His brow creased, subtle but unmistakable. “What have you been doing?”

“I am getting supplies.”

“Supplies.” He repeated it slower this time, like he was testing the word, weighing it. His gaze flicked briefly to the bundle in your arms, then back to your face, sharper now. He wasn’t a child when he looked at you like that. “You aren’t leaving then… You aren’t leaving, are you?”

There was something quieter beneath the question, something careful. Not fear, not quite but close enough that you felt it all the same.

You shook your head, adjusting your grip on the bottles as one shifted dangerously. “No. I will be staying with you. And Dunk.”

Egg’s shoulders eased, just a fraction. It was small, easy to miss, but you saw it. His posture straightened again almost at once, as though he had not meant to show even that much.

“Will you marry him?” he asked, tilting his head up at you, eyes clear and direct.

“What?”

“It is logical,” Egg continued, unfazed by your surprise. “If you’re going to stay with us, you are his lady after all. His Smiling Lady.”

The title caught oddly in your chest, warmer than it should have been. You blinked down at him, thrown, searching for an answer that did not come easily. “I…” Your voice faltered, quieter now. “I don’t know. It depends what Dunk wants.”

Egg studied you for a moment longer, really studied you, as though measuring something you couldn’t quite see. Then, without hesitation, without doubt: “He does.”

The certainty in his voice made your breath catch. There was no teasing in it, no childish guesswork, only simple, unwavering belief. As if to him, it was already decided.

You opened your mouth, something rising up, protest, question, you weren’t sure, but it stalled before it could take shape. Before you could speak, before you could press him, the moment snapped. The pretty dark-haired girl lunged at the scrawny boy beside her.

“Bertha! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

The boy stumbled back, nearly colliding with a stall, laughter breaking out around them. The noise rushed back in all at once, swallowing the quiet space you and Egg had been standing in.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Rowen to her time time. She did not rush her explanations. Instead, she lingered on every detail, carefully walking you through each step as if it were something delicate, something that required both precision and intention. She explained not just what to do, but how to do it, where to rub, how to move, when to pause. She described positioning with a quiet confidence, demonstrating with subtle gestures and a knowing look. Even the smallest things mattered to her, the placement of hands, the rhythm of movement, the timing of touch. She spoke about what to notice, what to respond to, and how to adjust in the moment. Nothing was left vague. Every instruction carried purpose, layered with an understanding that came from experience.

“You are really sure he has never bedded anyone else?” Rowen asked at last, peering through your long, dark lashes. There was something searching in your gaze, something measured, as though the answer would shape everything she had just told you.

“Yes.”

“The kingdoms loss is your gain, so you will have to make sure to wind him up to the point that he dare not even think anyone else could make him feel that way… but I am pretty sure he does that already.” Rowen’s words were soft, but they carried weight, confidence wrapped in subtle teasing, as if she already knew more than she was saying aloud.

“But what if…”

“I have dealt with many men in my time and seen enough besotted fools, arrogant pricks, and everything in between. Men come to the pleasure houses for many reasons. To release stress, to try something their wives will not, because they are lonely. I have seen it all, darling, and I have seen that look.”

“What look?” you ask.

“The look he gives you. The way he always looks at you. I have seen it right before a man buys out a lady.” Rowen’s voice softened, but there was certainty in it. “And it is not just that. It is the way he treats you. He serves you first without thinking, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. He walks on the outside of the road, as though he could shield you from anything that might come your way. Your cloak is always thicker than his, because he would rather bear the cold himself than see you shiver.”

She glanced at you, a small knowing smile forming. “He notices when you are tired before you even say a word and finds some excuse to let you rest. He remembers the little things you like, the way you take your tea, the foods you favor, the stories that make you smile.”

Rowen adjusted the contents of the satchel as she spoke, your movements unhurried and she packed it neatly. “It is in the way his hand hovers at your back. The way his gaze softens when it lands on you, it is daft and soppy,” she added with a quiet huff of amusement, “but there is not a more deserving lady, nor a more deserving man.”

She tied off the satchel and looked at you fully now, your expression warm, certain. “You will take care of each other and I will take care to make sure you get all the pleasure you deserve.”

xxxxx

“Dunk!”

“My lady.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily pulled from your thoughts. The day had carried on in an odd, suspended sort of way. The last hunt was not expected to return until the morrow, and after that the final feast would commence before all traveled on to the tourney after the next moon. Everything felt like it was waiting, holding its breath before something grand.

“Ahh, if it isn’t the famous Smiling Lady! I do hope you have a lot to smile about, and if not, I do hope you will have something to smile about this evening.” Lyonel’s voice boomed across the space before he even reached you, his presence arriving as loudly as his words. He swung himself down beside you with easy confidence, all broad shoulders and effortless charm, as though the world simply made room for him wherever he went.

“Lord Baratheon, I thought you were on the hunt.” Rowen’s eyes narrowed slightly, you glare sharp as it fixed on the stag lord.

“I didn’t much fancy a hunt today myself,” Lyonel replied lightly, waving a hand as if the matter were trivial, “and Dunk here has been… fruit picking.”

“Here?” Rowen’s hands found her hips in an instant, posture stiff with disbelief. “You decided to go fruit picking rather than hunting?”

“Of course!” Lyonel grinned, entirely unbothered.

Your gaze, along with Rowen’s, lifted toward the towering figure beside him, and only then did you truly take in Dunk’s state. He was covered in sticky juice, the evidence smeared across his hands, his arms, even faintly along his tunic. The scent of something sweet, peaches perhaps, lingered faintly in the air around him.

“Poor Dunk here got a little messy,” Lyonel continued, clearly amused. “Such sweet things, peaches. Takes a lot of practice to eat them correctly.”

Dunk let out a nervous, breathy laugh, his eyes refusing to meet yours. His fingers fidgeted with the tacky residue on his skin, rubbing absently at his forearm. You could not help but notice the way the muscles there flexed with the movement, the quiet strength in something so simple. He swallowed, shifting his weight slightly, and the motion drew your attention in a way you could not quite explain.

Heat crept up before you could stop it, a lingering echo from earlier that day, and you pressed your thighs together subtly, willing yourself to remain composed.

“That was quite a misfortune for someone who is an honoured guest,” Rowen said coolly, though there was an edge beneath your words.

Lyonel turned his head toward her, his grin sharpening just slightly. “Yes, such a poor host,” he echoed, though his tone suggested he did not feel poor at anything. Then his attention returned to you, his expression softening into something more deliberate. “I shall have to make it up to him.”

There was a pause, brief before his muse took him. “Take my chambers tonight,” he said, as though offering something entirely ordinary. “I find I will not need them. I must prepare for my last feast.”

You felt your stomach drop, a sudden, dizzying awareness flooding through you. The ground might as well have opened beneath your feet for how desperately you wanted it to. Beside you, Dunk had gone just as still, his panic far less concealed. His eyes darted quickly to Lyonel, searching, uncertain, but the lord remained entirely unfazed, as though nothing about this was unusual.

“Hot water will be brought, and I will have all your things sent. Your boy can help. Now, Leeum… LEEUM!”

The bellow cut through the air, and within moments an older servant appeared, moving with practiced efficiency.

“Oh, Leeum,” Lyonel continued, gesturing toward the two of you, “take these two to my chambers and get them settled.”

There was no room left for protest, not truly. Things were already in motion.

You found yourself moving before you had quite decided to, following after the servant. Dunk fell into step beside you, quiet, almost too quiet, his earlier nervous energy now replaced sheer terror.

Rowen pressed your satchel into your chest as you passed her, the gesture firm, grounding. Your fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, a silent reassurance before she let go.You clutched it close as you walked, the weight of it suddenly comforting, something solid in the midst of everything that felt far too uncertain.

Behind you, Lyonel’s voice carried once more, lower now, edged with a different sort of amusement.

“I am now in want of a room, my lady. Care to accommodate me?” he purred.

“I am a married lady, Lord Baratheon,” Rowen replied sharply, though there was a controlled steadiness to your tone.

“That is quite all right,” Lyonel returned without missing a beat. “Your husband can join.”

Xxxxx

Dunk would never be able to look at a peach the same way again. The sticky sweetness clung not just to his skin but to his thoughts, lingering in a way that made his face burn even now. As he peeled off his trousers, his hands fumbled slightly, his movements hurried and clumsy. There were stains along the seams he could not ignore, no matter how hard he tried to push the memory away.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, jaw tightening. The echo of Lyonel’s booming laughter still rang in his ears, the heavy clap of a hand against his back as he came with a whimper as peach juice dripping down his skin as spurt after spurt of cum twitched from his cock.

“God lad! Means you won’t lose your head as quickly when you finally bed her.”

The words twisted in his chest. He should never have gone to Lyonel in the first place. He knew that now. Foolish hedge knight, letting himself be swept along, too uncertain to refuse, too naïve to see where it would lead.

Heat crept up his neck again, this time sharper, edged with shame.

With a quiet, almost desperate motion, he sank beneath the water, the bath carved from stone and tucked into the side of the chamber. The warmth closed around him, muffling the world above. For a moment, there was nothing but the muted stillness and the faint distortion of light through the surface.

He stared into the murky depths, letting the silence press in. If he stayed there long enough, perhaps he would not have to face you at all. Not your eyes, not the way you might look at him now. Not the possibility of disappointment, or worse, pity.

His lungs began to ache, the pressure building until instinct finally forced him upward.

He broke through the surface with a sharp gasp, water cascading down his face as he dragged in air, chest heaving.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting at the edge of the bath, closer than he had expected, closer than he was prepared for. The soft light of the room caught along the curve of your form, your hands resting loosely in your lap, your expression unreadable in that first stunned heartbeat.

For a second, he froze completely.

Then panic struck.

Dunk scrambled backward in the water, nearly slipping as he tried to cover himself, his hands moving too quickly, too uncertainly. Water sloshed against the sides of the stone, rippling outward from his sudden movement. His face had gone red, deeper than before, eyes wide and refusing to settle anywhere near yours.

“My…my lady…” he stammered, voice rough and uneven, as if the words themselves struggled to find their way out.

He turned slightly, one arm crossing awkwardly over himself, the otyougripping the edge of the bath as though it might steady him. Every inch of him seemed caught between the urge to disappear back beneath the water and the need to somehow explain, though he had no idea how.

The words fell apart before they could form into anything meaningful.

He swallowed hard, shoulders tense, water dripping from his hair as he kept his gaze fixed somewhere just beyond you, unable to meet your eyes.

‘’Dunk if you do not seem to remember I had your cock in my hand, this morning? You really do not need to hide from me.’’ 

“It is indecent. You’re a lady…” Dunk spluttered, his voice cracking under the weight of his embarrassment, his attempt at propriety unraveling with every passing second.

“Yes,” you said softly, the hint of a smile curving your lips, “I am a lady… and you are my knight.”

There was something almost playful in the way you said it, but beneath it lay something steadier, more certain. You shifted slightly at the edge of the bath, realizing, perhaps for the first time, how much you liked this vantage point. Looking down at him like this, seeing him undone, uncertain, all that strength and steadiness turned shy under your gaze.

“A knight I very much wish would take me to bed.”

The words were gentle, but they landed with quiet clarity.

Dunk’s breath caught, his hands tightening slightly where they rested, his whole body going still as if he scarcely dared to move. His eyes flickered up to yours, searching, disbelieving, as though he feared he had misunderstood.

You leaned closer before he could retreat into that doubt again. Slowly, deliberately, you closed the distance between you. Your lips met his in a soft, tentative kiss, warm despite the lingering dampness of the bath. He froze at first, startled more than anything, but there was no resistance in him, only uncertainty.

You lingered there for a moment, just enough for him to feel it, to begin to respond, before your lips shifted slightly. Your tongue brushed lightly along his lower lip, a quiet invitation rather than a demand, before you pulled back just enough to look at him again. His expression was utterly undone, breath uneven, eyes wide and fixed on you as though the world had narrowed to this single moment.

A small smile touched your lips, softer now, almost amused.

“You really do taste like peaches…what on earth have you been doing?” you blink in confusion

Xxxxxx

Dunk would not so much as step out of the tub until you were settled, properly and modestly, behind the heavy curtains that draped around the bed. Only when he was certain you were out of sight did he move, the faint sound of water shifting and stone scraping echoing softly through the chamber.

The bed itself felt almost indulgent beneath you. Layers of thick furs and soft linens had been piled high, the mattress yielding gently as you shifted your weight. The curtains, rich and heavy, softened the light into a warm glow, turning the space into something private and cocooned. The tincture still tasted strange on your tongue. Something to sooth and dull the pain. The rest bundled up at the side of the table, just in case.

“Where is the boy?” Dunk’s voice came from behind the curtain, quiet as he flapped around the bed. 

“Playing with the squire and a rather pretty girl named Bertha. Raymund is watching them.”

There was a pause. You could hear it in the slight stillness of the room, the subtle shift in his breathing. Then the quiet sounds resumed, the rustle of cloth, the drag of a towel against skin, his footsteps against the stone floor.

You sat there, hands resting in your lap, but inside you something entirely different stirred. Excitement bubbled up, bright and quick, twisting together with a nervousness that made your fingers curl slightly against the fabric beneath you. Your heart beats faster, each second stretching just a little longer than the last.

“My lady… would you turn around?”

You did as he asked, shifting on the bed. For a brief moment, you found yourself facing nothing but the softly lit curtains, blinking in confusion till you lowered your eyes and  slowly, you leaned forward, peering down over the edge of the bed.

Dunk was there on one knee on the floor beside the bed. He was shirtless, his broad frame still slightly damp, his hair darker where it clung to his skin. His breeches hung loose at his hips, hastily fastened, as though he had not trusted himself to take the time to do it properly. And in his hand, was a small wooden ring.

“I know it’s not a lot,” he began, his voice rough, earnest, every word pulled from somewhere deep and unguarded. “And I know it’s wooden, but I carved it myself and  I will turn it into gold. I want to do this right, have you as my wife, and if you want to wait for… you know… I will happily wai…”

He did not get to finish. You moved before he could, launching yourself forward and into his arms. The force of it nearly knocked the breath from him, his hands coming up instinctively to catch you, to steady you, his surprise melting quickly into something warmer, something certain.

You pulled back just enough, your hand already reaching, fingers opening as you held it out to him.

Dunk’s hands, still a little unsteady, guided the ring onto your finger. The wood was smooth beneath your skin, simple and imperfect, but it fit. And somehow, that made it feel more right than anything polished ever could. His gaze lifted to yours, still searching, still almost disbelieving, as though he needed to see it there to truly believe it was real.

Dunk’s eyes traced every part of you as if committing it to memory, as if he could scarcely believe you were real, let alone his.

Adoration softened everything about him. It gentled the strength in his features, turned his usual steadiness into something almost vulnerable.

You lifted your hand, small against the breadth of him, and cupped his cheek. The contrast made your breath catch for a moment, your fingers brushing along the rough warmth of his skin. He leaned into the touch without thinking, as though he had been waiting for it.

You drew him closer and kissed him, slow and certain this time, no hesitation left between you.

When you pulled back, your forehead nearly brushed his, your voice soft but unwavering. “Take me to bed… and make me yours.”

For a heartbeat, he simply looked at you, something fierce and tender flickering together in his expression. Then he moved.

Dunk gathered you up as though you weighed nothing at all, his arms firm and sure around you. The sudden lift drew a quiet breath from you, your hands finding him easily, instinctively. He set you gently onto the bed, the soft furs shifting beneath your weight, the curtains parted as learned forward claiming your mouth in a searing kiss.

Xxxxxx

The scent of peaches and Dunk filled the air as you arched your back, to meet his lips, your breasts pressing against his broad chest. His hands roamed greedily over your body, pawing at the soft swell of your hips and the delicate lace edging the gown, while your fingers traced the scar on his side. Its gnarled edges caressed your fingertips as you pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss. Fervent urgency, tongues dancing as your muffled gasps vibrate against his mouth as you ground your aching core against the hard bulge in his trousers.

The memory of hand wrapped around his thick cock, drawing out his release with skillful strokes, left you throbbing your pussy slick and swollen. You needed this, no more quick fumbles under your dress while you listen to Dunk’s soft snores or biting your lip as your grind against your hand in the freezing water while your eyes gaze at the guarding Dunk.

Dunk groaned into your neck, his breath hot and ragged, as he shifted above, his weight pinning you deliciously to the mattress, feeling the rigid length of his meaty cock grind against your through the layers of fabric. "Yes, oh gods, yes," you moaned. The friction sent sparks of ecstasy through your veins, your nipples hardening into peaks against his chest, 

‘’Dunk please…’’ you gasped as you grinded needily into him, it was too much but still not enough. ‘’Please.’’

The knight pulled back as he gazed down at you, your eyes bright and burning in the light of the fireplace, chest heaving, hands clawing at his biceps as you stare, no beg up at him. His eyes flicker, searching for any traces of hesitation, of fear, of fakeness but found nothing but your big pleading eyes and your parted lips. It was more than flesh and blood could stand, especially for a a poor boy from flee bottom, to be between the legs of a Lady, a lady that wore his ring and between you heaving breasts lay his shield. 

Gently, he slipped one arm behind your back and the other beneath your hand, fingering the ring that now decorated your hand as drawing you up from the bed and onto your feet.

Once you were on your feet, he turned you slowly, his hands never leaving you, until your back met the solid warmth of his chest.

The difference in your size became even more apparent then. His frame swallowed  you, broad and steady, one of his arms settled lightly around you as his lips descended on the sensitive curve of your throat, planting open-mouthed kisses that left a trail of tingling warmth. 

His hands worked deftly now, fingers tearing at the delicate ribbon that held my gown in place, the fabric yielding with a soft, whispering rip. The cool air rushed in as he pulled the neckline down my shoulders, exposing the swell of my breasts to the dim candlelight, their peaks hardening in anticipation. You could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against my lower back through his breeches and it stirred a deep, aching need within me, one that warred with the nervousness coiling in my stomach.

But the need was consuming and ate your nervousness whole. Yo turned in his embrace, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and exhilaration, my eyes meeting his piercing blue gaze. The gown slipped from you fingers, pooling around my feet , leaving you bare before him. Hair cascaded over my shoulders, framing the swell of your breasts and the soft curve of my hips, while the thatch of  curls between my thighs glistened. Dunk's eyes roamed over me hungrily, his hands sliding down to cup my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush.

‘’It might hurt…I don’t wanna…’’ he gulped, playing with the ends of your hair.

‘’I know’’ your cooed, wrapping your hands around his neck. ‘’But I need you..’’

‘’It might not fit…I..’’ his skin was now a blotchy patchwork of fluster, his body was coiled tight around you.

Gods you loved him. Truely. A lesser man would have pushed you onto the bed and taken you by now and properly finished and snoring. But he was cupping you head so delicately, looking at you with such tenderness, you where ready to push him down and taken him yourself. 

‘’We will make it fit, gods we will. I refuse to leave this room till you have been sheathed inside me at least twice. Because you are mine, Dunk and I am yours. I love you.’’

Dunk’s breath caught sharply, and for a heartbeat he said nothing at all. 

“I love you.” He said it immediately, without pause, as though it had been waiting just beneath the surface, needing only your voice to bring it free. There was no doubt in it, no second thought, only certainty.

His hands came up to cradle your face, large and careful, his thumbs brushing lightly along your cheeks as if to make sure you were truly there. His forehead dipped toward yours, his eyes searching as your lips met again, his eyes never leaving yours.

Dunk’s hands never left you as he guided you back onto the bed, his touch steady but reverent, as though he was still half afraid this might all vanish if he moved too quickly. The furs shifted beneath you as you lay back, the softness of them a stark contrast to the strength in his hands as he eased you down.

He lingered there for a moment, leaning over you before he pulled back his hands and moved to the last barrier between you, his breeches. He pulled them down in one swift motion, flinging the item across the room. Leaving him bare before your eyes, his cock swaying his panting breath, smooth and pink and far too pretty, just like the rest of him, all shifting muscle.

‘’My handsome knight…soon to be husband.’’ 

‘’Don’t say things like that,’’ Dunk gasped as he crawled up your body. ‘’Not if you want me to be good for you. Please.’’ 

You wanted to tease him, you really did, but the trembled in his body as he hovered over you, and the wild look of panic hushed you. There would be time to tease him later, to push him to his breaking point. But for now you were content to let him guide you as you reclaimed his lips

Gasping against his mouth, your body responding with a rush of warmth that pooled between your legs. His fingers traced the edge of your thighs, teasing the damp flesh that clung to your swelling pussy, while his top hand threads through your hair 

"Let me take care of you," he breathed, his voice husky with need, as he trailed kisses down your neck, his touch both tentative and caring. ‘’I know how.’’ he smiled eagerly as he pulled back a trailing kiss down your body, tongue flicking against your skin.

Teasingly. Slow. Make you yearn for you. Lyonel voice filled his head as he settled between your thighs. 

But all Dunk could do was stare at the pretty pink flower in front of him. Red and puffy, glistening with dew, quivering and fluttering at him. 

‘’Dunk! Don’t stare’’ You whimper. Subconscious and unsure, eyes shining down at him as you squirm to close your thighs, his hands shot out to press your thighs wider apart. 

‘’Don’t’’ his voice was low, deep and gravelly, ‘’Don’t you dare, hide yourself from me. Hide your beauty.’’ 

You fluttered around nothing. A near animalistic noise rumbled from his chest. As he lowered his mouth to you, eyes never leaving your as with deliberate slowness, his wide flat tongue firm against you. He found your delicate clit fast, almost too fast.

Your body trembling under his inexperienced touch. Dunk's tongue delved deeper, circling your swollen clit with hesitant, uneven flicks that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins, each stroke drawing out a soft, breathless whimper from your lips. His fingers gliding over your slick folds, preparing you with careful strokes 

‘’I am gonna…’’ he moaned between flicks ‘’you taste…fuck…gonna stretch…gods...you out get you….mmmm… nice a ready. I promise.’’ he devoured you. 

You arched upward in response, you fingers threading through his hair, guiding him closer as he parted your slick folds with his tongue, sending jolts of electric pleasure coursing through your veins.

He started slowly, teasing your with the tip of one finger, circling your entrance before gently sliding it inside, stretching hard enough to elicit a gasp of mingled surprise and delight. It felt…good. You were so wet it, your core welcomed it, sucking it greedily in.

"Oh, Dunk... yes, like that," you murmured, your hips rocking against his hand as his mouth continued his assault on your clit. 

Wounds so tight you could barely make it through the fourth swipe of his tongue before a scream tore through your as the feeling overcame you out of nowhere, surging from your belly to your toes curling as the feeling pulsed through your body. 

Dunk was captivated. You came apart so beautifully, it was addictive. Pride surging through him, he wished to watch you come apart, again and again. You so soft and willing beneath him, him a lowly hedge knight and you a goddess.

He worked you with increasing rhythm, adding a second finger moments later to delve deeper, twisting and curling them to massage you, just like Lyonel told him, to find that…

‘’Arghhh Dunk!’’ He paused, eyes shooting up, as you convulsed again his tongue, his finger buried deep, curled at a stop. That spot, your most sensitive spots.  The stretch was exquisite, a building tension that heightened your ecstasy, and as his tongue now pressing firmly against your clit, she felt the delicious burn of fullness, your body yielding to him completely.

He worked that spot,pumping it softly as his tongue rolled around your bud, watching you squirm as he introduced a third finger, easing it in with careful precision amid your gasps and moans. 

He pumped his fingers steadily, stretching you further, the slick sounds of your core mingling with your cries of bliss, while his free hand roamed up to cup your breast, thumbing your hardened nipple in time with his thrusts. You tittered on the edge. His warm breath mingling with the slick heat between your thighs. His fingers, still gliding over your folds, curled inward gently, finding that sensitive spot inside you that made your gasp and clutch at the blankets beneath you. The combination of his tongue's teasing dance and the steady pump of his fingers built a crescendo of sensation, your pussy clenching around him in eager response, growing wetter with every passing second as he coaxed you closer to the edge.

‘’Please Dunk!’’ felt the tension in your body uncoil, your initial fears dissolving into pure, unbridled need, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as his fingers quickened their pace

‘’I need you…’’ You looked down at him, his eyes bright and swirling, his face soaked. 

Dunk eyes fell to your dripping core, stretched around his thick fingers, he felt your body relax and open under his touch, he knew she was ready, your hips bucking instinctively against his mouth and hand. He slowed his movements, drawing out the pleasure to savor the build-up, his own arousal straining against the bed. 

He knew he would not last long, but his beastly need could no longer be contained. With a deep, steady breath, Dunk pulled back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as on all four, caging you, his hard, throbbing length of his cock. thick and veined, pulsing between you.

Never in his life would he think he would reach this moment, nestled between the cushion of your thighs, you spread wide to accept his thick trunk, the weight of this moment pressing on him like the first light of dawn, he waived.  

‘’If I am too much just …I will stop. Promise me you’’ll tell me’’ 

How could you not have those large pleading eyes bearing down on you.

Your breath hitched, your body tense with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, your dark eyes wide as she whispered, "I promise. Go slow, please," your voice a fragile thread in the charged air, as he positioned himself between your thighs, the tip of his shaft brushing against your slick entrance. 

He nodded, his hand sliding down to where they joined, his fingers finding your swollen clit and circling it with gentle, rhythmic pressure to ease you into the moment. Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed forward, the head of his cock breaching your tight pussy, stretching you in a way that made you gasp and clutch at his shoulders. 

Dunk groaned, a deep grunt low roar. You were so warm, so impossibly snug around him, your inner walls fluttering in hesitant waves as you body struggled to accommodate his size, a sharp mix of discomfort and thrill washing over you. 

You were no longer a maid. You had Dunk’s thick cock buried in your pussy tearing you open, carving a passage within you just for him. His.

Dunk paused, his own body trembling with the effort of restraint, his cock throbbing inside you as he continued to rub your clit, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through you that gradually melted the tension but the pain still remained. "Gods…you are so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, his free hand caressing you cheek, his other frantically circling your clit.

‘’I love you!’’ He gritted out as he sank deeper still, your pussy clenched around him in rhythmic flutters, each contraction pulling him closer to the edge, his balls tightening with the overwhelming sensation of you gripping him so perfectly.

‘’Am I hurting you?.’’ He nearly lost control right there, a low hiss escaping his lips as your heat and tightness threatened to push him over into release. He didn’t want to, but he would, if you asked him to pull out he would. Gods give him strength, he would.

‘’NO! Please…just’’ you gulped as you threw your head against the furs, ‘’a moment please…’’ you moaned hotly caught between pleasure and pain. 

A dutiful knight he held on, jaw clenched, hips still as stone as you withered beneath him. Focusing on your pleasure, fingers dipping into your wetness, sliding it across your clit as slowly, so slowly your hips began to rock tentatively against him, till with a high pitch whine jerked from your lungs

‘’Move Dunk! Gods please’’ 

Tentatively, he rolled his hip, eyes taking in the silent scream that raptured across your face, head tilted as your hips rose to meet his. 

Your moans growing louder and more urgent. The room echoed with the slick sounds of their joining and the heady scent of their arousal, a symphony of raw emotion and physical bliss that bound them to this profound awakening.

Moans echoed through the chamber, hers high and keening, his low and guttural, hips drove forward with unrelenting force, his thick cock plunging deep into your welcoming pussy. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, your inner walls gripping him tightly, the wet slap of their flesh echoing off the stone walls like a primal drumbeat. You arched beneath him, your hair splayed across the pillows, glassy eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy as his broad shoulders flexed with every powerful stroke. The head of his shaft hit that sweet, hidden spot inside you, igniting sparks that raced up your spine, your breasts bouncing with the rhythm, nipples brushing against the coarse hair of his chest. Your moans grew sharper, more desperate, a symphony of raw need that fueled his own hunger.

As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Fingers streaked across skin, nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks that left red streaks across the expanse of his scarred skin, your breath coming in ragged gasps. 

"Oh, gods, Dunk!," your cried out, voice breaking as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, pussy clenching rhythmically around his invading length. Orgasm ripped through you like a tsunami. Your body shudders violently, juices flowing to coat him as you writhed and bucked, coating his cock with your spent. 

Yet he didn't pause, his thrusts pulled you through your orgasm, rapt withal as you gushed around him, check flushed, hair a tangled mess against the floor. 

"Sorry, my luv, I…," he growled, his voice raw, pistoning faster, more frantic, driven by the burning coil tightening in his stomach, the bed creaking beneath you.

His pace quickened, each slam of his hips sending jolts of pleasure-pain through your oversensitive core, until at last, with a deep, guttural roar, Dunk surrendered to his climax pulling out just as hot spurts of his seed coated your stomach, his cock pulsing as spurt after spurt surged from him. All strength left him as he collapsed against you, bodies slick and spent, the air heavy and hot. 

Dunk lay beside you, his chest still rising and falling a little heavier than usual, his arm wrapped securely around you as if he had no intention of letting you drift even an inch away. There was a softness to him now, a quiet satisfaction mixed with lingering disbelief, like he was still catching up to what had just happened between you.

“Was I… did I…” he huffed, clearly struggling to find the words, his usual steadiness slipping just enough to show his nerves.

You smiled, pressing closer into him, your cheek resting against the warmth of his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “It was amazing… you are amazing… my handsome husband to be…” you murmured, your voice soft and content as you nestled into him.

For a moment, he went very still at that, the words settling deep. His arm tightened slightly around you, instinctive, protective.

You let out a quiet, teasing breath against him, fingering the cum coating your stomach. “But I am glad for Lady Rowen’s little tea… otherwise we might have little Dunks running around.”

That did it.

Dunk shifted, his expression darkening, “What did I say about that…” he muttered, giving you a light swat in protest on your rear, more embarrassed than anything. His gaze dropped to you again, softer now. “You want me to be good for you,” he added, voice low but steady, “then stop teasing. Or I will have you on your back again,” he finished, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him completely.

I am completely fed up with corrections so this was much needed

Favorite part? Lyonel and Lady R of course!

I have maybe 3 more chapter left of this and then some shorts and what ifs...

Also if you liked this smut scene you will love Saviors smutty scenes :P (if you read that one too)