moonlight reads

his violet-blue eyes meet yours, and you watch the lump in his throat work as he swallows. he nods once, the movement sure. confident.

“i’m a prince,” aerion affirms, leaning back with his hands flat to the mattress either side, exposing more of his chest and abdomen to you. his legs spread wider too. “and i’ve taken you as my bride, so there has to be a bedding ceremony.”

“a bedding ceremony?” you can’t help but smile. you fidget with the satin drawstring on your pyjama bottoms.

aerion looks you up and down, decidedly ignoring the smile spread across your pretty face. “a prince and a princess have to produce an heir, obviously.”

“obviously,” you repeat, fingers pulling apart the loose bow on the front of your pyjamas. aerion’s eyes flit down to the movement, quick like a falcon’s. and his gaze is predatory when you loop your thumbs into the waistband. you continue, “and where exactly did you get this idea? i mean, i understand bounty hunter and his target, and ceo and secretary, but this is new.”

aerion rolls his eyes. “it’s just—whatever. we don’t have to do it. you’re being—”

you pull your thumbs away from the elasticated waistband and let it snap back against your hips. “no, i want to. i really want to, aerion.”

he smiles, all wicked and vulpine in the low light of the room. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you say, then gesture towards your closet and ensuite. “should i… put on a dress?”

“maybe another time,” he tells you quietly, then gets to his feet. the mattress groans as he pushes himself from it and closes the distance between the two of you. his fingers quickly find the hem of your pyjama shirt. “you ready?”

you cock your head, challenging the boldness in his gaze. you simply raise your arms and allow him to pull your shirt from your body, your tits spilling free. you hear him groan under his breath when you make quick work of shoving your shorts down too, leaving you completely bare before him.

you kick the shorts away, fingers gently unravelling the towel around his waist. he watches you quietly, pupils swelling. you toss the towel aside, feeling the goosebumps ripple across the flesh of his abdomen as your hands trail from his hips, over the lines of his stomach.

you smile at him, teasing, fingers cupping the slight curve beneath his pectoral muscles. “and… action.”

there’s a flicker of a smile on your boyfriend’s face before it vanishes, replaced by a pure, unbridled need that sends your heartbeat straight between your thighs. his hands shift, one finding the small of your back and the other the side of your head, pulling you firmly into him.

you gasp out, hands flat against his chest. pushed against him, you feel the hardening of his cock against your bare skin, the heat of him near branding as his thumb moves to hook around your chin and pin your head in place.

“my pretty dove,” aerion mutters, eyes scanning your face. there’s a heat in his gaze that sparks embers in the ashes of your womb, and you find that it rises quickly through the base of your stomach. he coos, “look at you. bare for me—bare for your prince.”

you release a soft sound, something like a whimper that trips over the tip of your tongue. you feather your fingers across his chest—in the way you know he likes—and you delight in the purr that escapes him as your hands slide across his shoulders.

“for you,” you say in a whisper, pressing yourself closer and shifting your hips. his cock grinds up against you, flushed and hot. one hand remains on his shoulder, but the other traces down. across the lines of his abdomen, the neat line of white-blond hair, then through the patch at the base of his cock. your fingers ghost across the root of him. “please, my prince, i need—”

“i’ve waited so long,” aerion interrupts, the hand on the small of your back vanishing, only to reappear around your wrist. he pulls your hand away from his cock, slowly leading you towards the bed. “so long to have you. and now you’re here with me. where you belong.”

aerion guides you down onto the bed, and you shuffle back until your head finds pillows. you relax into them, and he chuckles, his own hand wrapping around the base of his cock. the head blushes deeply with trapped blood, the slit wet and pearling with pre-cum as he climbs up onto the mattress, resting on his knees.

“i am to be king one day, you know,” he tells you then, and you watch with your heart clattering against your ribs as he lowers himself between your spread legs. he lies on his stomach, hands finding the fat of your thighs as he continues. “everything will be mine. this country, this land, this castle—” he leans forward then, placing a gentle kiss to your clit. “—this pussy. you.”

you squirm, fisting the sheets. heat blossoms molten in your veins, flushing hot through your core as he presses another tender kiss to your clit, before trailing a line of small kisses down through your folds. you arch, mewling softly, the pleasure sending a series of electric shocks straight to the base of your spine.

“and because i’ll be king, i’ll need an heir,” he mutters, lips moving against your core. he spreads them wide, tongue unfurling like a serpent’s, and he drags it through your folds until he can swipe it flat across your hole. he hums, pleased, when your thighs clench either side of his head and a breathy moan of his name falls from your mouth. “but first, this pretty girl has been waiting for her prince long enough, hasn’t she?”

his tongue presses deep, bullying past the tight ring of muscle and splitting you apart. you’re slick and silken and warm against him, his face burying deeper between your legs as he grips the flesh of your thighs. you moan, the sound reaching the ceiling, as aerion takes you apart with his mouth. the sounds are loud and wet too, and you notice—but don’t address—the way his ears burn red as he works below you.

he parts from your pussy for a moment, staring up at you with glistening eyes. “fuck, she’s noisy, isn’t she? pretty baby’s wet and fussy—she’ll take me so well, i just know it.”

then, he’s sliding back in, his mouth hot against you. you moan loudly, a lilting and slightly breathy “my prince, please” as he fucks his tongue into you. he acknowledges you with a squeeze of his fingers against your thighs, but his movements don’t relent, and as he slowly grinds his hips against the mattress and the bunching sheets, he curls and flicks his tongue inside you.

you swelter where you lay stretched for him. your chest heaves, rising and falling in rapid succession as his nose ruts against the swollen pearl of your clit. the warmth kindled low in your belly fans through your womb, and there’s a steel-hot pressure building at the base of your spine. it makes you cant your hips, grinding your cunt deeper against his face.

“my pretty girl,” aerion murmurs directly into your cunt, and despite the throb of your heartbeat and the low buzz of pleasure in your blood, you know he’s not talking to you in that moment. his eyes are transfixed on your pussy, and he whispers to it between ruts of his tongue inside you. “being so good for me—” licking in, out, then a kiss to your folds, “—being so good for your prince—” a board stripe, up, then back down, “—m’gonna stuff you so full, pretty baby, i promise.”

he moves his tongue back inside you, curling and thrusting with as much tactility as his fingers would. it has you writhing into the sheets, pressure thick in the base of your spine, and you can feel the heat in your womb drawing hotter and hotter. molten.

“my prince,” you gasp out, something contracting low in your belly. your thighs pull tight, starting to spasm either side of his head. you whine, “please, i need—i’m so close.”

aerion says nothing, just continues to lick you towards your release. but his hand does snake inwards from your thigh, and you feel the firm press of a thumb on your clit. the added pressure tears a yowl from your throat, and you bear down into the contact as your body shakes, sweat building along your spine. you call his name, and his title, again and again, before the pressure in your back gives way and you tumble into your orgasm with twitching limbs and another loud moan of his name.

aerion takes you through it, rubbing his name across your puffy clit as he draws the slick from your pussy with long, serpentine curls of his tongue. a few beats pass, your heart knocking against your sternum, before the prince detaches from you, a string of slick and saliva connecting his mouth to your pussy. it snaps when he licks his lips, his lower face wet, and he stares up at you with glazed eyes and pink cheeks.

“oh, she’s so ready for me,” aerion mutters, eyes finding your cunt one last time and pressing a tender kiss over your hole.

he kisses your folds, then your clit, then up and over your mound. he follows the curve of your lower belly, over your navel, and soon you’re moaning softly as he trails surprisingly gentle kisses over your sternum and between the valley of your breasts. he takes time to take nips at the skin on either one though, but he quickly slides his wet face into the column of your throat so he can kiss up and around your neck. when he finds the junction of your jaw, he licks over your pulse point.

his cock rests hot and heavy against your thigh, and as you blink away the haze of your first orgasm, you feel the heat of another, a promise, collecting inside you again.

“the first cock you’ll ever have, and it’s mine,” aerion utters, nosing your pulse and inhaling deeply, as if committing your smell to memory. he groans, and his cock jumps where it sits against the plush of your thigh. “fuck, sweet girl, y’r gonna take it like an absolute dream, aren’t you?”

you nod, delirious and far to high-strung across your pleasure to form a proper sentence. blood sits hot in your core as the prince shifts his hips, sliding the head of his cock through your folds. it’s messy as he ruts blindly, groaning into your neck as he wets his cock with small, jerking movements that make the mattress shake.

he spends a moment like this, panting and whining with his body pressing you into the bed. you wonder then, as heat traps between you and the ache in your pelvis festers bruise-like beneath the weight of your pulse, if this is the prince, or if it’s your boyfriend.

“my prince,” you call to him, hand finding his shoulder and trailing down his back. his skin is slightly clammy with sweat and remnants of his shower. “please, aerion.”

coaxed by your soft calls, aerion picks himself out of your neck and sits back on his haunches. he settles there, between your parted legs, and takes one hand around his cock to guide it up and down through your slick folds. you suck in a breath, and he taps the tip heavily against your puffy clit, a cunning smile splitting across his handsome face. his features appear softer in the golden lamplight.

“easy, sweet girl, easy,” he coos, his other hand finding the back of your knee. he drags one leg up, angling it against his body as he bends slightly. his cock notches, swallowed by the soft clutch of your pussy. he grins wide when you moan, speaking through a groan of his own. “oh, look at her. so ready to take her prince, isn’t she?”

the way he pushes in, with a shallow furrow in his brow and a slight parting of his lips, is less than ceremonious. it’s a deep, rolling thrust that slides his cock into you in one movement—it’s more of the aerion you know, than the prince you’ve met—and the feeling of him bottoming out has you choking on a sob.

but still, the prince settles. he holds one of your legs against him, practically hooking it over his shoulder. the width of him stretches you apart, and you flutter around him, pussy wet and thrumming with your pulse. heat sits stagnant in your belly as his cock plugs you full, his balls resting snug against the curve of your arse.

“here it is, that’s my good girl,” aerion mutters as his eyes flick from where you struggle to look at him, to where his cock splits your cunt apart. his fingers skim over your folds, feeling around where you take him. the sensation makes you mewl, and he shushes you, hand finding your other leg next. “i know, i know.”

“deep,” you say simply, gasping when he gets both of your legs near his shoulders and bends even more. you feel some air leave your lungs as he presses your legs back towards you. “y’so deep—m’so full.”

aerion pulls out, then shunts back in. it’s a breathtaking movement that sends you reeling: you arch, spine curling, sheets bunching beneath you as he pries you open on the thick of his cock. he thrusts again, and again still, and he grunts with each rolling stroke of his cock near the plug of your cervix.

“i know, i know,” the prince repeats, practically folding you in half as he fucks you. your pussy drools around him, eliciting a wet string of plap-plap-plap as he moves into a solid, rhythmic pace. “you feel your prince right up in your tummy, baby? is that right? never felt that before, huh?”

you nod, nails pressing little red indents into his shoulders as he thrusts into you. your head tips and you moan out his name, tits bouncing, tummy squished as he folds you. he pants loudly, sweat glistening high on his forehead. it catches like glitter in the ichor of the lamplight, and if you were to blur your eyes enough, it may have appeared like a crown.

“taking me so well,” he praises you, eyes threatening to close as he already begins to lose himself. your cunt clenches tight around him, and the little whimpers that fall from your mouth have his cock jerking inside you. he groans, “holy fuck, baby, you’re so good.”

that sounded like aerion.

you loop him back into the fantasy, drawing him even closer, sucking him in even deeper—both physically and mentally. one hand trails over the nape of his neck, then you thread your fingers through the short hair at the back of his head. you tug lightly, but focus on scratching the tips of your nails across his scalp.

“my prince,” you whine out, the syllables stretched poorly across a wanton moan. the pressure in your lower back has returned, and the promise of another orgasm has materialised, growing hot in your stomach. you whisper to him, “let me give you an heir.”

he groans. it’s loud and almost pained as it fights it’s way from the depths of his chest. his body presses tighter to yours, pinning your legs, the angle driving him even deeper into you. you moan loudly, something clenching in the base of your belly, as his cock pulls you apart.

“i’ll give it to you,” aerion grits out, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he holds back from spilling right then and there. his balls twitch heavy against your arse, and the tension in his pelvis bleeds like ink into the marrow of his bones. “i’ll come—i’ll spill inside you, pretty dove. i’ll fill this pretty pussy so good, i promise.”

you whine, urging his head down. and he relents briefly, sliding his mouth to yours and licking a couple of sweet-tasting whimpers from your tongue and teeth. when he pulls back, he huffs, rutting his hips against yours even faster now. the stretch of his cock pulls the pressure inside you apart, tearing it from your limbs, until it coagulates deep in the pit of your womb and you succumb to the heat.

you come with a gush around him, the feeling drawing a loud, pornographic moan from you. “aerion” slips out into the evening silence of your room, and you clutch him tightly as your body shakes and quivers. your pussy flutters tightly around the thick of his cock too, slick dribbling out with each desperate thrust.

a thin white ring builds around the base of his cock as he fucks you through it, the sounds of your cunt taking him—schlick-schlick-schlick—making his ears burn hot and his balls tug tight against your arse. composure evades him, evaporating into the golden-hued shadows, as his own orgasm builds, and builds, and builds.

“you’re going to give me an heir,” the prince groans, rambling mostly. “i’m gonna fill you—fill this pussy, fuck you nice and full, yeah? i want—i want you round with my child, baby. i—fuck, just—just need to breed this pretty little—”

he doesn’t last long, sentence sliced by the point of his pleasure. it’s sharp, taking him brutally while he moans out your name. it’s wanton and desperate as he buries himself into you, a sword into a scabbard, and comes. you mewl softly, still trembling, when he spills right up against the plug of your womb, your legs still bent against your stomach as he leans into you. his cock twitches as he empties inside you, and a small whimper of your name falls from his lips, feeling your pussy milk him dry.

you both pant like you’ve run non-stop. sweat clings to you both, and you’re tacky with it as he extracts your legs from his chest and gently lowers them either side of him. his cock is still buried inside you, plugging in his cum, as he gently shifts so you can both lie comfortably against the mussed sheets. he buries his face between the swell of your tits and you stroke his hair tenderly, heartbeats syncing.

“and…scene,” you whisper, playful but tired. you draw circles across the back of his head when he grunts into your chest, too pleasure-lax to be amused. you smile. “are you okay, my prince?”

he doesn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed that. he also doesn’t want to show you how red his face is, burning from the fact he liked it so much.

so instead, he grunts and mouths at your sternum. you smile, taking that for your answer.

———

You suddenly feel yourself starting to regret pouring that second glass of chardonnay, because suddenly, you find yourself typing a response after almost four whole days of ignoring him. Well, more like avoiding him. Deeply embarrassing on your part, the lack of maturity was a lapse you wish would never happen again. You hoped the issue would go away, as if you could snap your fingers and Jason would be out of your life, and all guilt would be absolved. But it isn’t that simple, nor would the consequences be, and now you just want to smash your head into a wall.

You Friday, 7:32 PM

Hey

Are you available right now? Mia’s at a sleepover tonight Delivered

You bite your lip, nails tapping at your phone case as the uneasy feeling in your gut coaxes more anxiety out of you. But you should know better. Within thirty seconds of the text, the ‘delivered’ label turns into a ‘read’, and the typing bubble immediately pops up.

Jason Todd Friday, 7:33 PM

yeah

be over in a sec Delivered

A sigh of relief escapes you as the screen lights up with your thumbs-up sticker. Putting your phone down, you shift your attention back to the television, grabbing your wine glass as you watch The Housewives witness a Greek tragedy play based on themselves. But what the hell are you sighing for? You can't be thirty with a situationship. You need to sort this shit out.

--

The dynamic of your relationship with Jason is something out of a rom-com. In the beginning, he was just your super-cute, Gotham-bred, brand-new next-door neighbor.

Jason moved into his apartment in the middle of hot, sweltering July with a pair of crutches and a broken leg. You knew the moment you heard a gaggle of voices and shuffling in the apartment next door that somebody was finally moving into the neighboring unit; it had been empty ever since your old neighbors decided to move out and into a nice house in the suburbs, following their wedding and subsequent pregnancy. Lucky them.

You opened your front door and stuck your head out to catch people moving boxes into the unit. The door accidentally closed behind them, and all that was left was Jason. Both of you froze. He stared. You blinked.

You blinked, and with every one came a snapshot, a new way of seeing him, every time. The curly black locks tangled up with a brush of ivory. A scar on his brow, a scar on his neck, a couple on his jaw, and a lengthy one on his cheek. He felt straight out of a book-- but you weren't sure what the story was.

Thankfully, your daydreaming was interrupted as Mia ran out of the apartment in an ambush and shouted, “Mommy, what’s all that!?”—at the same time, a little girl ran out next door and shouted—“Jay! Which room is your bedroom?”

Your eyes softened in silent appreciation at the sight of Mia, your shoulders dropping. Curls bouncing, Mia stuck her head out the door and saw the other little girl next to her uncle. She pointed to her with an inquisitive look. “Are you my new neighbor?”

The little girl shook her head no. “Uh-uh, Jason is. But he doesn’t have any kids because he doesn’t have a girlfriend or wife. Or boyfriend.”

Jason’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment as he leaned over to his niece and whispered in a strained but hushed voice. “Lian, we don’t share personal information with people we don’t know.”

You attempted to stifle your laugh, but your amusement was cut short by your daughter. “That’s okay, my mommy doesn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend either. And she calls my daddy a shithead.”

“Mia!” Both of the girls began to giggle at your horrified expression. You didn’t mind the fact that Mia called her dad a shithead--he is, which is why he fucked off to nowhere when Mia was two-- but you felt you were being humiliated by children who laughed at your inability to compose yourself. “I’m so sorry, we can get out of your hair, I was just curious—“

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Jason interrupted. His fingers combed through his hair. “Nice to meet you, ladies. Jason.” He propped himself up on his crutches and stuck a hand out for you to hold. You cringed as your hand met his a little more enthusiastically than planned.

Strong hands. Rough and strong, you thought to yourself. Wondering about his occupation in the back of your mind, you continued on with introductions, “And this is my daughter, Mia.”

Swaying on her heels in the doorway, Mia waved to Jason with a shy smile on her face, her cheeks slightly warm from laughter. “Hi, Mr. Jason. I hope you really like your apartment and you make it look all nice and cool.”

“I’ll do what I can, but these ain’t gonna help.” He knocked his knuckle against one of his crutches.

Mia's eyes darted to his cast, taking in the plaster that spanned from his thigh to his ankle. She pursed her lips. “What happened to your leg?”

Jason swayed his head for a moment, like he was trying to edit out minor details before settling on an appropriate story for Mia. “I got into a car accident. Doc says I’ll be cleared in a couple of weeks, though. ’S why we always make sure to wear our seatbelts, yeah?” Jason’s eyes crinkled at Mia, eliciting a shy tug of a smile at her lips.

A little hand tugged at the end of your shirt. You leant down to Mia’s height, and she cupped her hands over your ear, whispering quietly so Jason couldn’t hear her question. You smiled in response. “That’s for you to ask him, sweetheart.”

Jason’s brows perked up at the sound of a question. Mia began to hide behind your legs, shy to ask her question of her new neighbor. “Mr. Jason, could I sign your cast?”

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Lian, who jumped and burst out, “YES! You can put it right next to my name! Let her sign it, Jay! Please?” She shook his arm as she begged and buzzed with excitement.

With a chuckle, Jason resigned, against not much opposition, and said, “Of course you can, kid. Got any markers on ya?”

“Yeah! Mommy got me sparkly markers last week!” Mia ran inside your apartment to retrieve said pack of markers— you bought them for her after she had been expressing an interest in art and drawing. Little sketches and pictures hang up on your fridge inside, all signed with her name in uppercase.

She came back quickly, markers in hand, walked up to Jason and held out the pack to him. “Which color is your favorite?”

Jason thought for a second, crossed his arms and smiled. “Definitely red.”

Mia’s eyes widened and lit up in response. “Oh my gosh. We have the same favorite color!”

“That's because only the coolest people in the world love red.” Jason lowered his hand so Mia could high-five him in celebration.

Your heart warmed in your chest. He seemed like a sweet guy and a nice neighbor. You admired the way he connected with Mia so easily despite just meeting her, which meant that he was pretty good with kids. It was an admirable trait. A trait that came in handy when you needed an emergency babysitter.

Jason’s weeks of recovery were interrupted by you, drowning in work and responsibility, unable to hold the load by yourself. It wasn’t like you didn’t have a babysitter for Mia, you knew your schedule as a teacher and you knew you’d have to find someone who could watch her for the time you and your students had after school rehearsal. Unfortunately for you, the college girl who had been Mia’s babysitter for the last year and a half accepted a job offer across the country in Star City, which meant you were stuck finding an emergency babysitter.

When you knocked on Jason’s door, you saw the situation as a favor, something you’d pay him back for and it would be a one and done situation. You had been helping him out the last couple of weeks with groceries he couldn't carry, shelves he couldn’t extend to reach. It was no issue to you, he was hurt and you’d do anything to help out a neighbor-- besides, watching a child is a whole different story, takes a whole different skillset than carrying groceries and reaching for items.

He agreed immediately, expressing his appreciation for the little favors and tasks you had aided him with over the past few weeks, gratitude evident in his face. Mia was buzzing in her place, eager to spend time with Jason, her new neighbor who bought a pack of Blow Pops just to give to her.

After you heard a ‘come in!’ from beyond his door, you entered Jason’s apartment to find Mia and Jason sitting at his dining table, sharing chocolate chip cookies with cardboard princess crowns on their heads. The two of them were drawing together, markers spread out across Jason's dining table. Mia’s eyes shifted your way, and she called out a distracted, “Hi, mommy,” before she returned her attention to her drawing.

You shook your head with a laugh, walked over to her and Jason and took a seat at the table next to her. Brushing her hair from her face, you gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, bug. You had a nice time with Jason?”

Mia nodded as she reached for her cookie and took a big bite out of it before speaking. “We’re drawing now,” she spoke with her mouth full. You’d remember to remind her of her manners later.

“Drawing, huh? I wasn’t aware you were also an artist, Jay?” You joked as you saw a dragon on Jason’s paper that looked like something a child drew blindfolded.

You blushed as he shrugged and flashed a shy smile. “I’ve had a couple lessons here and there from my brother, and now this little Van Gogh right here, right Mia?” He sent a silly wink to her and she giggled in response.

Mia picked up her picture and held it out to you, a big old grin on her face. “Look! I drew me as a princess and Jay is a princess too and we’re riding on a big dragon! Do you like my dragon, mommy?”

“Oh, I love your dragon! It’s so awesome, sweetheart!” The dragon was red, courtesy of Jason and Mia’s favorite color, and was breathing purple fire from its mouth. Inspired choices.

“We were playing princess and the dragon today, which turned into princess teatime, which eventually turned into art lessons. A busy afternoon was had,” Jason said. He watched Mia finish up the last details on her drawing with a smile on his face, and your heart warmed.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, bug?”

“Can Jason be my new babysitter?” Mia looked at Jason, her face suddenly serious, eyes wide. “She can pay you with her big girl money. She has a lot of big girl money.”

You scrunched your brows in a panic. “No, she doesn’t. But she does have some for a babysitter, yes,” you looked at Jason and your shoulders tightened. You felt bad asking him knowing he was already facing inconveniences. With a shrug, you asked, “If that’s something you would be interested in? It’s totally fine if you can’t--”

“I’ll do it.” He responded, as if he was as certain as ever. With a smile on his face, he leaned over to ruffle Mia’s hair. “Besides, who’s gonna teach me how to be the next Picasso?”

From there on, Jason would watch Mia during the week while you had rehearsals for your school’s production of Little Shop of Horrors. Directing a high school play was demanding, but unlike other directors you actually had a soul, so Jason would never have to watch Mia past seven o’clock until hell week came. She raved on and on to you about weekday dinner with Jason.

Now, Jason was a fantastic babysitter. There was no doubt about that. He would sometimes bake with Mia when they had enough time together or indulge her in all of her playtime ideas, but once his leg finally healed and his cast came off, he and Mia were going on adventures together.

One day, they went to the aquarium together, which left you with a kid full of marine science facts loaded in her arsenal of a brain for the rest of the week. Another day, they went to go see a movie together and Mia picked up Jason’s habit of adding M&M’s to his popcorn. Some nights, Jason would come over to join you and Mia for dinner once you got home, and on other nights, he roped Mia into making a nice dinner for you.

And these are all wonderful things. Deeply wonderful things. But they started making you second-guess yourself. They started… the issue.

Because the thing about a man doing these things for a single mom, going above and beyond to make her life easier, is an extremely sexy thing.

You want to blame it on the craze that comes from the lack of a significant other, the constant urge to find someone to share the load and your heart with, the celibacy-- the obvious lack of a father figure for Mia. But you can’t excuse the things you’ve already done.

It started with lingering touches and wandering eyes.

It was getting warmer in Gotham, spring was fading into the gentle greeting of summertime. Jason had been babysitting Mia for a few months, and had been your neighbor for almost a year. You invited him to come with you and Mia up to the boardwalk on the shore, about an hour-and-a-half north of Gotham.

He walked into your apartment that morning with a smile and a backpack of items for you, Mia, and himself. Almost like a dad’s typical go-bag. Among the items were sunscreen for everyone, snacks packed for you since he knew you'd worry about Mia, and a first aid kit in case anything happened. Jason himself was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of cargo shorts that showed off those scars you never found yourself asking about. The sun brought out a litter of freckles that dusted his shoulders and nose.

As he walked into the living room, he caught sight of you slinking out of your bedroom. You were wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt that was more low-cut than your usual teacher attire. His eyes were locked in on the curve of your bust peeking from the neckline, as if they were to say, Hi, Jason! We exist! You turned the corner to walk into the bathroom, mindlessly calling out, “Hey, Jay!”

Cursing himself, he turned away quickly, a warm flush creeping up his body. “Hey,” he greeted meekly, lips spread into a thin line, “Morning.”

In the bathroom, you studied your reflection in the mirror. You had caught him looking from the corner of your eye. No one had looked at you like that for a long while, especially when you were out with your daughter, and you failed to consider it becoming any kind of reality. It hadn't been an intentional move to bait him into anything.

You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t mess this up for her. For you. You couldn't take advantage of the relationship you and Jason had to fulfill your own selfish wants and needs. But you couldn’t help but feel curious. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a one-time occurrence: if it was just the nature of Jason being a young man who also had his own desires and turn-ons. But there was also the possibility of Jason genuinely being attracted to you, which only piqued your curiosity.

You hated what-ifs. So you wanted to figure it out.

That day, the three of you spent an exciting, jam-packed day at the boardwalk. You had all spent some time at the beach, swimming along the light blue waves and under the scorching sun. You withheld yourself from stealing glances at Jason for too long, but he was delicious eye candy. On the boardwalk, Mia and Jason attempted most of the games, earning her a couple of stuffed animals to bring home. Mia was cuddling Pikachu in her sleep within the first twelve minutes of the drive back.

The next day, you invited Jason over to Sunday night dinner. The gathering wasn't anything out of the blue; in fact, Jason had been coming over for dinner about half the nights of the month, and vice versa. However, the energy in the air had shifted by now. You were giving in to some of your... curiosities.

“Hi, Jay!” You heard Mia greet the second the door opened. She ran to Jason with her arms out and open for a hug, and he scooped her up onto his hip.

“Well, hello to you too, princess,” he placed a kiss upon her head. “How has your day been, sweetheart?”

“It was good! Mommy and I did puzzles together, and then we went to the grocery store and she let me get all the stuff and put it in the cart, and then we made the fancy fries with potatoes.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, walking the two of them into the kitchen where your back was turned as you stood at the stove. A brow arched— he noticed you were wearing a tank top. “How did those fancy fries turn out?”

You turned around from the stove, and Jason was met with a braless you, standing there in a thin-ass tank top. To anyone normal, you just looked like a mom cooking in a hot kitchen on a hot day, but to Jason, you looked like sex on fire. This was by far one of the more revealing outfits you had worn around him, besides that one time you went out clubbing for your sister's birthday, and he babysat Mia. Smudged eyeliner, ripped tights, messy lipstick--

“--They’re turning out pretty well as far as I can tell,” Your eyes seemed to glimmer at him, but Jason wasn’t sure if he was just making things up. He already felt insane, having to clear his throat in the subtlest way possible. “Wanna try one?” You asked, holding up a fry.

Mia nodded her head quickly. “Yes! They’re sooo yummy! I helped cut them.”

Jason gave a tight smile, warring with the thoughts in his head dismantling the defenses he oh-so-carefully built upon meeting you, his hot MILF neighbor who was sweet on him and whose daughter he babysat. Get it together, Jason.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” he agreed. What he didn’t expect was for you to waltz over to him and feed it to him. You tapped his chin, and he opened his mouth, his eyes staring at you as you quickly popped it in his mouth and lifted his jaw shut.

“Good?” you asked once he began to slowly chew.

He awkwardly nodded back in agreement. Once he finished, he turned to Mia in a hurry. With a swift clap, he asked, “How about we get the dinner table set up for your mom, yeah?”

Squeezing out a bright smile, Mia nodded her head. “Okay!”

As the two of them began to grab plates and utensils, you turned back to the stove and cringed at yourself. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you weren;t going to make a move. You were too far gone for this to be some innocent 'research.'

--

The rest of dinner was spent listening to Mia gab on-and-on about her playtime adventures. Jason, who was usually as talkative as Mia was, had barely anything to say. In fact, he spent most of the dinner refusing to look up at you and establish eye contact, which was strange considering he was sitting right across from you, eating the delicious dinner you made for him. If you had to guess, it was probably because he couldn’t look at you without having to fight the urge to let his pupils fall down, down down...

As soon as everyone was finished eating, Jason immediately hopped up from his seat and offered to do the dishes while actively walking away to do said dishes. That meant that you were free to get Mia ready for bed, which you proceeded to do a bit quicker than usual. As you were putting on her pajamas, she asked you if Jason would read her a bedtime story, which, of course, he would. When Mia was finally done brushing her teeth, she greeted you goodnight and skipped to her bedroom holding Pikachu, shouting, “Jay Jay! Bedtime story, please!”

You went to your room to get ready. Not for bed, but for the rest of the night. You typically liked to chill on the couch with a glass of wine to wind down for the night. While you picked your own set of pajamas, the thought of Jason lingered in the back of your head-- perhaps due to the fact that you could hear him narrating Alice in Wonderland from down the hallway.

As your eyes scanned your dresser, you caught a pair of low-cut black shorts you used to wear to bed back when you had people sleeping in your bed. You grabbed a shoulder-cropped T-shirt and changed clothes with a small smirk on your face.

When Mia was comfortably asleep in her bed, Jason finally came back out to the living room. You were on the couch, legs stretching out as you leaned on your side, a glass of red wine in your hand.

Jason mentally cursed himself. Relax. She’s just settling down for the night.

“How was she?”

“She was great; she settled in pretty quickly. Read around two chapters tonight.

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” he smiled as he put his hands in his jean pockets. He shifted his weight around for a moment until he began to speak again, “Hey, uh, thanks for dinner and everything tonight. I think I’m gonna—“

“—Would you like to stay for a bit?” Your satiny voice cut through the deluge of excuses that ran through Jason’s head. “I can pour you a glass if you’d like. You drink Malbec?”

Trying to find his bearings, Jason took a deep breath. “Uh, yeah. I’d like that.”

You gave him a small smile as you stood up to grab his own glass, and he took a seat on the couch across from the side you were just draped against. His heart was beating like a hummingbird in a cage. Was that sweat on his brow? Did it get warmer? He took his clammy hands out of his pockets and quickly rubbed the sweat off on his jeans. You returned promptly with a glass for him and a smile still on your face.

“This is nice,” you commented as you returned to your spot on the couch. “The two of us. Chilling. We’ve never done this, no?”

With a sniff, Jason tried to pass off nonchalance. “Uh, yeah, we haven’t. S’ cool.”

“Cool?” You questioned, your brow arching.

Jason sputtered. “No, I’m sorry, I just mean-”

You cut him off with a sickly sweet laugh, the tone of your voice immediately bringing Jason out of his spiral into embarrassment. “Jason, sweetie, there’s no need to worry about it,” you soothe, placing a hand onto his shoulder. The sloped collar of your shirt that hung off your shoulder slightly fell to tease a view of the curve of your breasts to Jason, leaving him with a deep feeling at the pit of his stomach and an unwelcome feeling that began to creep up onto him: perversion.

In that moment, he wanted you to mount him, strip your shirt off, and let him get his mouth on those gorgeous fucking tits of yours. He wanted to drown in them, let you suffocate him as he hungrily sucked and mouthed at your tits, worshipping you the way you deserved.

His thoughts were interrupted by you slowly moving closer to him on the couch. “Listen, Jason,” you purred, voice trickling into his ear like honey. Your hand on his shoulder readjusted, the tips of your fingers gently caressing his skin. “I just wanted to really thank you for everything you’ve done for Mia and I over the last few months. You’ve just been so amazing to us, especially to Mia. I mean, she absolutely adores you.”

Jason’s lips tugged up in a smile. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I also just really appreciate everything you’ve done for us. You’re kind… you’re thoughtful… you’re attentive.” Your lashes fluttered as your eyes met his with a soft glimmer. “You’ve just been… so good to me, Jason.”

In that moment, Jason knows he’s truly fucked. There are two reasons for that: you’ve officially caught on to his crush on you, and he was on your couch, the most bricked up he’d ever been in his life.

The wine glass in his hand was held with a tight fist. His cock was strained through his jeans, the large imprint of a bulge the most obvious sight in the room, almost impossible to miss. Your eyes were still glued to his face. He was entirely red, from his chest to the tips of his ears. His weak attempt at preserving any semblance of coolness was almost adorable.

He tried to talk, but his voice caught in his throat and came out cracked. On his second try, he bit out, “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

You brought the hand on his shoulder to his cheek. His eyes quickly darted away from your own, landing on the rug on your floor. “What are you apologizing for, hon?” Jason cleared his throat, shooting a quick glance at the tent in his pants. Your eyes widened. “You’re apologizing for this?”

Jason nodded in shame, his head bowed. “You’re basically my boss! I know it’s gotta be a sick fucking thing, the way you’re always on my mind, and when I close my eyes, I—” he confessed.

“Jay, honey, look at me.” He lifted his head and peered at you through black and white strands. You gave him a pitiful look and brushed your thumb back and forth against his cheek. “For how long?”

As hard as he tried to keep his composure, he sniffled, a pathetic and pained look on his face. “Always.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Had Jason really been attracted to you the whole time? Were you missing the signs along the way that spelled it out before it became so obvious? Or was he just saying this to sugar you up? You would fuck him, he’d get a bonus, and eventually ditch you.

Jason seemed to notice how you were getting caught in your head, and he reached up to hold your hand that was against his cheek. His thumb gently caressed the inside of your wrist. “You okay?”

You blinked, slowly coming back to your senses. There was no reason for you to ruin this moment. You had Jason practically in your lap, soft as a pile of putty, with a blush on his face and a soft look in his eyes.

“Of course,” you replied. “I’m just happy to know you feel the same way I do.”

Jason’s eyes lit up, and a smile broke out on his features. “Yeah?” He asked, as if he couldn’t believe it until he had direct confirmation.

“Absolutely. I thought I was crazy for trying this!”

The man let out a relieved sigh, his eyes trailing to your lips as you beamed at him. He attempted to adjust his position on the couch in an attempt to face you fully, but an almost-whimper escaped him as his previously forgotten hard-on strained against the fabric of his jeans.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned.

His desperation elicited a soft hum from you. “Sweet boy,” you whispered gently. You took the wine glass from his hand and placed it down onto the coffee table in front of you. Reaching for his hand, you stood up from the couch. “How about we head to my room, yeah?”

He gave an eager nod and immediately rose to his feet, his hand latching onto yours in a gentle hold. The two of you shuffled into your bedroom, and you closed the door behind you as quietly as possible as Jason stood in the middle of the room. The air in the room shifted as you turned around and walked up to Jason. His breath hitched as you held his hands in yours.

“Jason.”

“Hm?”

“As much as I’d love to get the full experience, my kid is two doors down the hall, so we need to keep it down low.”

His lips curved into that familiar bashful grin of his. “I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse,” he joked. His eyes trailed to your lips; your mouth had quirked up into a doting smile. “Now, can I please kiss you?”

“Of course, honey.”

With your permission, Jason’s hands came up and gently held your face in his palms before he slowly leaned in. The kiss started off a bit hesitant, as if both of you couldn’t believe the situation you were in. But Jason was there, with you, holding your face in his hands and kissing you like it was something he never deserved. But he did, and you wanted nothing more than to prove it to him.

One of your hands snaked up his back and to the nape of his neck, where your fingers immediately found purchase in his soft black locks. Your other hand came up to Jason’s waist and gave you the leverage you needed to pull him closer into you and deepen your kiss. You swiped your tongue across Jason’s lips, and they parted instantly, giving you access to his warm mouth. He was slowly but surely moving the two of you backwards, the slowly-building passion of your kiss rendering him absolutely weak, and soon enough the two of you found yourselves falling backwards onto your plush bed.

Jason’s hands were stuck on your face, so you took one of them and guided it to your waist, breaking apart from the kiss quickly to say, “You can touch me anywhere you want to, Jay.”

His eyes widened, and he let out a quiet exhale and nodded in response. Soon after, his lips chased after yours to kiss you again. As he kissed you again, this time slower and sweeter, he tried to memorize the way you tasted on his tongue. With the desire to explore you, his hands had begun to caress and paw at your body, squeezing at your curves and searching for your warmth.

As he explored your mouth, his hands maneuvered you on top of him, so you were straddling his waist as your kisses deepened. Refusing to break away from the kiss, you tugged Jason’s bottom lip in between your teeth, pulling a needy little gasp from his lips. He wiggled around beneath you, his cock heavy and pulsing in his jeans, trying to do anything but grind up into you fully. Your lips trailed down to his neck, tongue dragging the veins under his heated skin.

A smile crept up on your face as you began to give playful nips to his neck. Your cool breath tickled his skin as your teeth caught on the junction by his shoulder, your hands slowly creeping under his shirt. His abdomen was warm and soft under your touch, and he shivered slightly at the feeling of fingertips ghosting over his skin.

“Could you take this off for me?” you asked, tugging at his shirt. Jason complied, quickly ridding himself of his top to reveal a scarred but beautiful torso he had. Your eyes quickly trailed to what looked like an autopsy scar that spanned the length of his chest. Jason watched your face for any traces of judgement, but found nothing. Instead, you looked him dead in the eyes and said, “I want to eat you like a fucking popsicle.”

It wasn’t long until Jason’s pants were stripped, and soon his underwear, with your clothing landing on the floor not long afterwards. You sat in his lap, the two of you sharing languid, hungry kisses as Jason’s hips began to rut up into yours, his hard-on finally receiving attention after being ignored for so long. Your heats met with dizzying friction, wetness seeping from your clothed cunt and dampening the fabric beneath it.

With every thrust of his hips, Jason let out a soft moan, the pleasure leaving him buzzing. You whined as the head of his cock brushed against your lace-covered clit and his right thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a lightning strike of arousal into your core, leaving you gasping for more. “Fuck, Jay.”

“Yeah, ma?” Jason breathed out. His right thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a sharp feeling of pleasure down into your core, leaving you gasping for more. “S’okay if I taste you for a sec? Need to see how sweet that pussy tastes.”

His words sent a chill up your spine, and you shivered in anticipation. “Do whatever you want,” you breathed out.

His smile broke into a grin, and he got off the bed to stand at the edge, grabbing your legs and pulling you his way. You watched as he sank to his knees, his hands finding purchase on your thighs as his knees met the floor. Hands slipping under your panties, he began to slowly slide them down your legs, until they were fully off and he threw them across the room. You watched as his pupils dilated at the sight of your pussy. His jaw dropped, mouth watering.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, bringing your heat closer to his mouth. Starry-eyed, he flattened his tongue against your clit, lapping at the bundle of nerves, eager to draw out your slick juices. You began to lose yourself in the pleasure, your hips jerking up to meet his mouth. You find yourself trying to memorize the way he grips your hips: how his fingers dig into the fat of your hips, soft enough to not bruise, but firm enough to handle you.

The sound of Jason beginning to slurp and messily lap at your weeping hole began to fill the room. He wasn’t being quiet enough. You found your fingers tugging at the back of his head, latching onto his curly locks and tugging him into your cunt to muffle his noises. Jason let out a groan in response, his hips bucking into the side of the plush mattress.

You whimpered as you felt his finger begin to tease your hole, slowly but surely pumping in and out of your plush and soaked folds. Once the length of his digit was fully sheathed in you, he added another, then crooked his fingers slightly upwards, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips.

He pulled his mouth away from your pussy. “Shh, ma. We gotta be quiet, remember?” You whined in response, your hips chasing after his mouth.

Your fingers curled into the sheets as Jason’s lips wrapped around your clit, softly humming in relief as he sucked on the bundle of nerves. He added a third finger alongside the previous two, and you fluttered at the stretch of your pussy. Your head lolled to the side as you felt your orgasm begin to approach, eyes rolling into the back of your head, the more Jason’s nose bumped into your clit as his tongue met his fingers at your sopping hole.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby,” you strained out, hips wriggling in the hold of Jason’s arm. The fingers inside you got deeper, quicker, and Jason’s bicep flexed as he curved his fingers within you. You felt the sharp knife of heated pleasure encroaching, until it finally cut at the rope of tension and you fell into your orgasm.

You came with a wrecked whimper, a result of a poorly suppressed moan, and Jason continuously lapped at your wetness, his fingers, mouth, and nose completely drenched in slick. He cleaned you up until your thighs began to spasm from overstimulation, weak little whines pulled from your lips.

Jason got up from the ground and back onto the bed with you. His eyes pinned on you in frozen devotion. You smirked, deciding to straddle his lap again. Jason looked absolutely disheveled-- pre-cum pooling on his stomach, with silky strings of pearls that formed each time his cock twitched in anticipation. Your breath caught at the look within his eyes. How could he ever maintain his composure around you now that you’ve had his fingers in your cunt?

“Jason.”

“Mhm?”

“Feeling okay?”

He blinked slowly. “M’ fine. I just--” he paused completely for a moment. Your fingertips tapped lightly over the freckles adoring his flesh, the raised scars amassed from whatever past he’d left behind. With a clearing of his throat, he regained his bearings and met your gaze, his lips pursing into a shy smile. “I’ve wanted to feel you like this for so long,” he admits.

With a heated hand, you cupped his face and brought it closer to yours. His lips brushed against yours, feather-light. “I hope it’s everything you ever wanted,” you whispered in a low tone.

He let out a needy little gasp the second your hand made contact with his weeping cock. You lifted your hips, eyes refusing to leave Jason’s as you lined up his cock with your weeping slit and began to sink down. His cock slowly entered your warmth, his hips stuttering as a whimper was forced from his throat. He watched your lids drop into a hooded expression as you began to realize how much he was struggling with your tightness around him. You let out a chuckle. “You good, honey?”

Jason choked out a moan, his voice straining as pleasure began to consume him whole. You began a slow grind on his cock, deliberately dragging your cunt over his tip for longer before slamming down onto his length, no warning. “You’re just… you’re so fuckin’ tight, ma,” his voice trembled, nails digging crescents into his thighs.

“There’s no reason for you to hold back, baby,” you comment after catching him trying to resist. He looked downright sinful: his curls sticking to dewy skin, misted emerald eyes that seemed to only beg for more, and greedy, possessive marks you left behind, tattered on his skin to become tomorrow’s problem. He looked absolutely divine. You were so fucked.

You began to pick up the pace of your hips, and Jason squirmed in delight as you milked more and more of his length with your cunt, dropping until he was fully buried to the hilt. Jason gasped, head thrown back in ecstasy.

“C’mon, Jay,” you purred against his ear. “Show me how much you’ve been wanting this…”

“Fuck, okay, okay.”

When the high was over, you went down with a slow slump onto Jason’s chest. You were almost heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. Jason rolled both of you over, and a groan left you as he slowly pulled out of you.

“Oh, messy girl—” he cooed. There was a pool of cum where you and Jason were connected, slowly seeping from your hole and onto your thighs and ass. “—I’ll get you cleaned up, sweetheart.” He moved away, the warmth of his body disappearing, but you felt his arms lay you down against the pillows, adjusting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before standing up and swiping a washcloth from your dresser drawer.

How he knew where those were, you don’t know. Had he been around you enough that he finally knew where all your things were? Or had he been tracking that from the start, out of consideration? Fuck, was Mia about to wake up and discover Jason still in your apartment? Would you have to sneak him out of the apartment before she woke up? Would he even be staying?

Before you could spiral more, Jason came back into the bedroom with a damp washcloth and a glass of water. Your questions went unanswered as he softly wiped at the mess in between your thighs, leaving soft kisses on your face in between. You kept your thoughts to yourself as he helped you get dressed for the night, tucked you in, and turned off the light. You didn’t bat an eye when you felt him get under the covers next to you, or when he kissed you goodnight.

You weren’t sure what it would turn into, this thing between Jason and you. But what you did know, when it was an hour later, the sheets had been tousled about, and Jason Todd’s body was lax in your arms, warm breath against your chest, was that you were sure you loved this man. He knew you better than anyone else, and you’d officially reached the point of your relationship where you wanted him more than you had ever anticipated. And it scared you.

Perhaps that fear was always a warning. A last call from the universe to scare you off a path labeled ‘danger.’ But you turned a blind eye for the first few weeks.

Following your and Jason’s hushed-sexy night tryst, the two of you began a relationship. There weren’t any proper labels, and it was anything but a situationship, but it was still a relationship. Kisses were snuck around corners and behind couches. Late nights called for secret meetings and a sneaky baby monitor placed outside of a doorway. You unfortunately just hadn’t had the time to go on a date yet, or be in each other’s space without having to worry about Mia. Even worse, it was nearing the end of semester, show week, and overall, tech rehearsals.

For a high schooler, theater productions were zero-sum games. Despite sharing a passion with your students for the stage, you failed to comprehend why life was so serious to them at such a young age. No matter how hard you tried to drill in the fact that theater was supposed to be fun to your students, they always found ways to stress themselves out and exhaust themselves. You just prayed to god this year no one would get mono.

You walked into the auditorium following teaching your eighth-period intro class, and immediately upon arrival, you spotted five different students on their first energy drink of the night, and another handful finishing their coffee from the day. You waltzed down to the apron to leave your things at your director’s chair. From your peripheral vision, you could spot your head of set design already on a mission to discuss something with you, judging from the way he marched over to you with a purpose, a familiar stress in his jaw and practiced maturity in his green eyes.

“Miss, I need to discuss the upcoming--”

“Damian, I just got here; if it can wait five minutes, that would be much appreciated.”

“Of course.”

Damian Wayne was one of your brightest students. You had only arrived at Gotham Academy three years prior, so you were still getting acclimated to the wants and needs of your students and their overbearing parents. The first day Damian was in your Performance Production class, you had asked him why he selected your course for his elective. You remember him replying, It’s the one thing I haven’t done. From there on, you knew you’d enjoy teaching him throughout the semester.

But one semester turned quickly into another, and once you’d come back from winter break, he was already on the spring production sign-up sheet for production, sending you a curt nod as he left his signature. Soon enough, Damian was on set design, then head of set design, and you enjoyed seeing him work with fellow classmates he once had never spoken to, under a shared goal of success.

After taking a lengthy chug from your water bottle, you sat down in your chair. Relief. Letting out a small sigh, you turned back to Damian, who was waiting patiently and quietly for you to get settled.

“Alright, kid. What's up?”

Damian crossed his hands behind his back, a solid tell that he was feeling anxious but unable to show it. “Regarding the upcoming parent-teacher conference, I must let you know that Father will not be in attendance, for he has business in the city that day.”

“Ah, I see,” you responded, an understanding nod sent your student’s way. Your head tilted slightly. “Your mother won’t be joining us next Monday?”

Damian’s lips quivered into a small smirk. “She and Father got into a disagreement over the way she pressed you last year. She isn’t allowed to question any of my teachers again.”

Letting out a laugh in response, you shook your head, the memory a fond one of yours. “I really didn’t think she meant to offend me. She seems like a lovely woman, but she’s very… passionate… about your education.” You remember the way Bruce Wayne sat in your classroom, head in his hands as Talia Al-Ghul drilled you on your knowledge of various performance histories.

You watched as Damian’s hands dropped back to his sides, the tension in his body slightly dissipating. “Well, anyway, I wished to inform you of that. If the circumstances change, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Thank you, Damian.”

“No problem, ma’am.”

You hadn’t thought anything of that conversation. Damian wasn’t anything other than a student of yours. But that Monday couldn’t come any faster. In fact, it felt like you closed your eyes Friday night and woke up on Monday afternoon.

The night had been objectively going well-- none of the parents had yelled at you or blatantly disrespected you yet. Most of your students were performing well, especially within your senior capstone class. Those students were in the middle of directing and starring in each other’s limited productions, ones they would perform at the end of the year separate from the drama club production.

Damian had decided that he wanted to direct a production of True West, a slightly absurd play with an ungodly amount of toasters. He seemed to be having fun directing his friends and also putting his best food forward in productions he was acting in. You were slightly upset you wouldn’t be able to share his successes with his father, but you knew he’d receive love and support from him nonetheless. In fact, Bruce and Damian were supposed to be your last pairing of the night, but in anticipation of getting to leave early, you had already begun to pack your things up, when--

“Wait!”

You looked up to see Damian standing in the doorway.

“Hey, kid. I thought you weren’t coming tonight?”

“I wasn’t, but apparently Father decided to send one of my brothers tonight to represent him,” he scoffed quickly. “A stupid decision, nonetheless.”

“Oh, wonderful! Well, where’s this brother of yours?”

Damian sighed, taking a quick peek down the hall. He turned back to you. “One moment,” he announced, his pointer finger in the air, before leaning out the door and shouting, “TODD!”

You snorted, both at Damian yelling at his brother and at the fact that Damian’s brother seemed to be named Todd, which seemed like such a silly name for a Wayne boy.

“Knock it off, I’m here now— the fuck?” Your eyes widened at the man standing in your doorway. The same man who had been inside you just the night before. The same man who not only left early morning to avoid awkward questions with Mia, but took the time to make breakfast before he left.

“Jason?” You sputtered.

From across, Damian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Todd? How does she recognize you?”

The look on Jason’s face was priceless. He turned to his brother in a panic, his typical reserved nature completely out of the window. “The hell is she doing here?”

“I am his teacher—” The two brothers turned to look at you now, their angry staring contest put on pause. “—and neither of you will refer to me like I’m not in the room. Jason, please, explain?”

Instead, his eyes darted away from yours as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Oh. Perhaps he was finally feeling the embarrassment that came with dating you. You frowned. Damian cleared his throat. “Father adopted him many years prior to my arrival. There are three others,” His eyes narrowed at Jason, before muttering, “Cassandra is the better of all of you.”

You held a darting glare at Jason, standing there, curled in on himself. Yes, you were blindsided and slightly upset, but you had to maintain some kind of composure. A question suddenly hit you. “Your last name isn’t Wayne.”

Jason’s face twisted into a pained grimace, too many emotions quickly washing over him before he found any words. He bit his lip. “It… it technically is. But it’s—” Pausing, his expression faltered as your face fell in embarrassment, disappointment, awkwardness, or whatever negative feeling it was that you were feeling within the moment. “—hard to explain…”

“Jesus…," you muttered to yourself. “I mean, this has to be some kind of ethical violation, or something—”

“May I ask what is the matter?” Damian interjected, his hand raised in the air. “I do not understand what is causing such tension between you tw— oh… no.”

One slow blink was shared with each other, then at Damian, who was slowly going through all seven stages of grief upon realizing that his teacher and his brother had been involved with one another.

“I see.” He took a step back. “I shall leave you to it.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you and Jason in the room with a mountain of space between you. The two of you remained frozen, unbearable disbelief grounding you to the earth until Jason finally speaks up, a stark difference to when Damian was in the room.

“Please, ma, I need you to listen to me—”

You raised a shaky hand, cutting him off. You looked off to the side, avoiding his eyes, your own glistening with uncomfortable tears. “I need to get home. You should get him home, too.”

And with that, you grabbed your bags and pushed past Jason, walking off to your car to return home for the night.

But now, you’re here. On your couch. Chugging your second glass of wine before Jason arrives. You gulp the alcohol down quickly, almost shamefully, before setting your glass down onto the coffee table. Not even a second later, a resounding knock is heard from the front door, and you find yourself clinging to the couch and shouting, “Come in!” instead of letting him in like a normal person.

Jason enters the apartment, eyes scanning around for you. He slips his shoes off by the door as usual, hanging his jacket on the coat rack before shuffling over to you.

You feel your lips tighten as your eyes meet for the first time since Monday night. All you’ve dreamt about since then has been him. Little things around the apartment like the labels on your spices, the shoes lined up neatly at the door, and a working bathroom door hinge have all reminded you of him. Reminded you of the short distance between you from both sides of your shared wall.

You can’t help but feel absolutely horrible. Some semblance of a guilty apology starts to form in your mouth, but before you can spit it out, Jason’s already on his knees in front of you.

"I don’t know why I never told you; guess it just slipped my mind in the end.”

“Jason.”

“—And I’ll make it up to you, baby, I swear—”

“Jason...”

“—If you want me to fuck off, I can, I just—”

“—Jason!”

Gently, you take Jason’s face in your hands. Your thumb skims over the scar on his cheek, soft freckles at his cheekbones, the plumpness of his lips, and you take in his beauty. The little things that make him Jason. That seems to completely disarm him for a moment, shock covering his features before realizing you aren’t bullshitting him, his shoulders tensing. “Wait, seriously? I didn’t piss you off?”

“I overreacted,” you reassure him, pulling him into a much-needed hug. Melting into you, his body relaxes as your fingers card through his curls. “I should be apologizing to you for making assumptions.”

Jason pulls away from the hug, hands on your shoulders so he can get a good look at you, a puzzled look on his face. “‘About what?” he asks, incredulous.

“Well, you know. You’re young. You should be at the club, or whatever. If you didn’t want to be with me or it embarrassed you, I’d understand why. I’m inconvenient to be with.” Eyebrows scrunching tight, Jason looks at you, his head tilting as if you have three heads. “What?”

“Bullshit.” You scoff in response, but Jason doesn’t seem to want to hear it. “Bull. Shit. Do you know how fucking lucky I am? Nothing is inconvenient when it’s with you.”

You melt, “Jay…”

One of his arms rests atop your thigh, the other on your hip. Head bowed, you take in the pout on his face and tears brimming in his eyes. “Please,” he begs, soft and desperate. Nuzzling his face into your thighs, he lets a couple of tears fall. Jason seems to relax as he nuzzles at your soft skin. He takes a deep inhale of your natural scent, closing his eyes in satisfaction before looking back up at you. “I’m all yours,” he breathes into you. A kiss to the skin below. “All yours, ma.”

Dropping your hand, you take Jason’s face into your palm. “You mean it?” you question.

Jason responds with twinkling eyes and a soft nod. “More than anything,” he places another soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, which turns into another, and then another, until he’s kissing up your thigh.

He wastes no time in ridding you of your shirt. His calloused hands paw at your breasts, fingers finding your nipples and rolling them around, watching as you squirm in pleasure. He pinches and pulls at your nipples, gently teasing them to a peak, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the inner curve of your breast.

“So soft,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your warm skin. Diving back in, Jason presses a kiss to your other breast, much like the other one, then proceeds to give an experimental flick of his tongue against your nipple.

With a sharp breath, you feel the wetness pool between your thighs, leaving you hungry for more. Jason begins to lap at your breast, spit-slicked and hungry, and your fingers take rein in his curls.

Jason moans in response, his hips digging into the couch as you tug and tug at his hair, only breaking away from your tit to pay mind to the other. Plump lips swell as they latch on and suck, kiss, and suck at your breast, strings of pearlescent string connecting the two of you. Head falling backwards into the arm of the couch, back arching up into Jason, you let out sharp, needy little gasps.

“Baby, please— I need to feel you.” Your eyes are half-lidded and dark. Jason’s twinkle back at you from your chest, keeping your gaze in an unrelenting hold as he flicks at your nipple with his tongue again.

“Mhm,” he moans. “Anything,” Lick. “For you,” Lick.

He finally pulls away from your tits, mouth covered with spit and his lips red and swollen from the attack on your breasts, and he’s never looked more divine. You cup his face with your hand, whispering a simple, “C’mere,” before he leans in compliance and meets your lips for a kiss— this time, languid and warm.

Jason’s unraveled you into a complete, pining mess, leaving you feeling like the lovesick girl you once were and, at the same time, a woman who’s got something entirely new and good in her life, no stipulations. He pulls away with a shy smile on his face. “What was that for?”

You kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m keeping you forever,” you reply.

Jason lets out a hum in response and noses at the column of your throat, heat spreading over his cheeks. “And I’ll stay forever,” he echoes. “Now can I get these off, please?” He tugs at your sleep shorts, fingers jumping beneath the fabric to lightly snap it against your hips.

“So impatient,” you quip as you lift your hips.

The two of you are quick to undress, mere days far too long a time to be separated from one another. Eyes darken with maddening hunger as both of you take in the other’s current state, a certain electricity in the air between you, passing in between short, staggered breaths.

His lips chase after yours as he teases the tips of his fingers against your folds, spreading the slick around your cunt, feeling it warm underneath his touch. You swallow him down, coaxing a broken groan from his chest, the sound reverberating against your chest from his, your hearts beating together under the rumble. Manicured fingers tug at the hair at the back of Jason’s neck, soft tufts of curls grounding you as he slips two fingers inside your sopping cunt, a result of his steady, teasing ministrations. Jason hums in delight as he curves his fingers against your velvety walls, pulling a moan out of you. You twist and turn as he plays with you, spreading your slick around and slowly but surely working his digits further into your cunt.

Sex with Jason feels like the first drink of a crisp, cool Coke after walking in the desert for years. It feels like all the cacti you’ve encountered, the heavy lifting and distances you’ve traveled, the sights you’ve seen and bullshit you’ve dealt with, are worth it when he’s got you with your legs by your head, bullying his cock into your cunt.

The two of you have moved from the living room to your bedroom upon realizing that the couch wasn’t the most comfortable place to have passionate makeup sex. Your bedframe creaks and scratches at your wall with every thrust of Jason’s hips. He swallows you down with his gaze; sweat brews at his brow and nose as he rolls his hips into yours.

Brows pinched together, your head falls back as the blunt head of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot against your spongy walls, your cunt squelching in response. You attempt to arch up into it, trying to target Jason’s thrusts against the sweet spot, but it doesn’t work out.

All of a sudden, you feel Jason’s hands on your hips. With one quick move, you’re belly down on the bed with Jason’s cock buried further inside you. His lips brush against the shell of your ear. “S’ that what you wanted, ma?”

“Mhm,” you whine out, voice straining as Jason lifts your hips so your ass is flush to his hips as he milks your heat with his length, the tip once more meeting your most sensitive spots.

Jason leans into you fully, his bodyweight against you, tucking his face into your neck. “So tight,” he croaks. His thrusts are frantic and deep as you’re held in his embrace. You raise your ass up just a hair, and a groan leaves Jason. “You trying to make me fill you up already? Hm? Want me to make you a mommy again?”

“Yes, yes, please, baby—“ Taking hold of your plush hips once more, Jason ruts deep into you, fervently burying his cock into your cunt over and over again. His thrusts settle into a deep, relentless rhythm, cock dragging across your velvety walls at a dragging pace. “Fuck!” You pant, feeling the breath knocked out of you. You bring your hand down to rub at your clit, feeling yourself involuntarily clenching around Jason’s fat cock, pistoning in and out of your pussy. As you rub tight little circles into the bundle of nerves, you feel your orgasm begin to approach.

Jason turns your face to the side and kisses you messily, strings of spit in between your mouths as his tongue licks and teases at the cavern of your mouth. He only pulls away when he feels you clench and spasm around him again, your pussy squeezing the base of his cock in a vice grip. “Fuck, mommy, you gonna cum?” You nod frantically in response, feeling your abdomen tense as lightning rods of pleasure shot through you.

At this point, Jason is fully panting and trembling with every thrust. You arch further back. “Don’t hold back,” you beg. “M’ gonna cum—“ The second he feels you clench tight around him, the walls immediately burst, and he finds himself bullying his cock into your core as he comes inside you with a hoarse groan, his face buried in the heat of your neck. The sheer force of Jason’s release is enough to trigger your own, and you find yourself coming with a ragged cry, unable to suppress your volume from overwhelming pleasure.

Jason topples over, pulling you into his chest. You tremble as his cock pulses inside of you, his ropes of cum slowly spilling from your cunt. The two of you are blissed out, sharing deep breaths as you catch up with your bodies. You feel little kisses being peppered onto your head. “Feeling good, ma?”

Nodding, your eyes speak for you, drooping lower and lower the longer Jason holds you in his arms. You realize that this is what life is supposed to feel like with a man, that life as a mother can fit someone else to come into the picture-- as long as they're right and they work for you. And you're damn sure that Jason works for you.

"I feel amazing," you answer. "Fantastic. The best, even. I'm not joking when I say I'm keeping you forever."

Jason drops a kiss onto your lips. "Do I get a bed?" he quips playfully.

You’re about to speak when your phone suddenly rings. The caller ID reads the name of Mia's friend's mother.

You pick up on the second ring. “Hello?” Jason watches as your furrowed brows slowly relax as the person on the other end speaks. You end the call quickly after.

“What’s up?”

“I have to get Mia. Someone got sick, so the kids are being sent home to avoid getting sick themselves.”

Jason shakes his head. “No, no,” he places a hand on your naked shoulder. “How about I start you a bath, then I can pick her up while you get yourself cleaned up?”

You laid in your sleepless wandering state, pale night gown clinging to your cool skin. A crisp gust of wind wafted through the small open window, lifting the sheer white curtains to reveal the pulsing of the scattered summer stars. You were just putting away your book before retreating to bed, when there was a sound of heavy wood and metal scraping across the floor; slowly. You knew who it was just from the way the air changed from stale and quiet to unnervingly tense. He had not spoken a word to you since the wedding, and even then, he only stated his vows as they were fed to him. You dared not turn around as the door shut and latched behind you, and the silence which followed was deafening. Aerion did not say a word as he walked slowly towards the small table positioned below the high window. He sat down in a chair facing the bed.  

“You are my wife are you not?” He asked, his tone low and threatening.  

You felt a chill run up your spine as he spoke his first true words to you. Slowly, looking at him from your place on the bed, you nodded.  

“But we have yet to consummate this marriage.” He drew a sharpened dagger from his belt and began to carve into the hard wood of the oak table.  

You swallowed at his words. 

“So why is it, wife, that you are still clothed?” He tilted his head, squinting his eyes in a manner which seemed rather menacing.  

You did not respond, but you felt a shaking breath pass your lips. He sat there staring at you, unblinking, still carving nonsense into the table with his blinding silver knife. The room suddenly felt very small; you were so afraid. You knew of the terrible things that Aerion had done. His crimes had not gone unspoken of, even back at Highgarden where mouthy gossips spread violent news like wildfire. You knew how dangerous he was. You knew what he could do to you, and he just sat there; his eyes filled with nothing but a dreadful unquenched hunger. He pursed his lips and waved his knife at you.  

“Take them off.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as you wondered how fast you could get to the door. Even as you wished you could disappear, you knew how much worse Aerion would be if you did not obey him. Slowly, you stood up from the bed, and bringing a hand to the center of your night gown, you began to unbutton it. The first three were enough for the cloth to fall from your shoulders and down to your feet. Aerion stared at your naked form, his expression unchanged as he stood up. He was standing less than a foot away from you now; his eyes wandering your body; not lustfully, more curious.  

“You have never been with a man before?” He asked. 

You shook your head. 

“Good.” His tone was possessive. 

He slowly walked around you, each step purposeful. You felt something cold and sharp drag lightly along your lower back and down to your hips. Aerion was drawing lines on your skin with the flat side of his blade, light enough that there was no pain, but demanding enough to remind you that there could be. Tears threatened from behind your eyes, but you remained still as he brought the knife up to your breast; barely brushing the head of your nipple.  

“At least you are pretty,” he said as he ran a finger along the line of your tensed jaw. “If you do as you are told we can keep it that way. Sit down,” he nudged you slightly towards the bed before sitting back down in his chair.  

You backed up carefully and sat down with your legs together, now fully aware of how naked you were. 

“Open your legs,” Aerion demanded. 

A hot flush rose to your cheeks at his words, but this was accompanied by a sudden burning somewhere lower. You did as you were told and slowly spread your legs; you couldn't imagine being any more vulnerable. Your body only ever belonged to you, your own hands and your own eyes. It felt like sharing a dark secret which you never wished to tell. He licked his bottom lip as he looked at you, sending a strange and unfamiliar tingle through your body.  

“Touch yourself,” a twisted smile played at his lips, as if he was relishing in playing this little game.  

Finally, you spoke. 

“What?” It came out as a whisper, a squeak like a little mouse.  

His eyes went dark and the small smile vanished from his lips.  

“Do as I say.”  

You quickly obeyed and trailed a cold hand down your stomach and to your most sensitive spot. You looked away as your two fingers traced slow circles around your hardened clit, face burning with humiliation and an unwelcome mix of something else.  

“Look at me.” His voice was level but threatening.  

You slowly turned your head to see his gaze fastened on the place where your hands roamed sloppily. It was the first time you had seen any form of emotion in his eyes all night; desire. Your chest rose and fell as you adjusted from embarrassment to pleasure; you were so angry with how easily your judgment could be clouded by a sin like pleasure. Aerion rose from his seat and walked towards the bed, slowly unbuckling his belt as he did. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it to the side. When he made it to you, he took two fingers and brought them to your soft folds which were soaked with your own arousal, his cold skin against your slit making you shudder. He then gripped the wrist of the hand which you were using to pleasure yourself and pinned it, along with your other arm, above your head. You were afraid as you watched him shed the rest of his clothes, but that fear came with a kind of morbid thrill. He brought his legs between yours and tightened his grip on your wrists. He was already hard, pulsing at the sight of your vulnerable and clearly innocent state.  

“Do not move unless I tell you to,” Aerion’s words cut through you like a sharp knife.  

You nodded and bit your lip. He took the hand which he was not using to hold your wrists and wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, pressing his throbbing tip to your entrance. He gave you no time to adjust as he abruptly pushed himself all the way into you. Your eyes closed as a squeal of pain escaped your lips. It felt as if your walls were tearing around him as he began to move inside of you.  

“Pain is good.” He said as he gripped your hips tightly, his nails digging into your skin. “It will turn to pleasure soon enough.” Aerion lifted your legs up over his hips in order to take you from a different angle. You felt the pain slowly subside into some kind of unwelcome desperation and pleasure as the friction of your clit against his warm skin and the senseless pumping of his cock inside of you began to summon a tingling warm feeling in your belly. Suddenly, your small, agonized whimpers became low, satisfied moans. You felt yourself growing eagerly wet around him as he slid in and out of you, the sound of your union echoing obscenely around the room. You were so lost in the feelings; every fear you ever had of Aerion melted away as he pleased you. You watched the way his brows furrowed in concentration as he fucked you, his mouth slightly ajar as his eyes wandered quickly from your face to his cock filling your desperate cunt.  

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Aerion exhaled. He lifted you and moved your hips at a pace to meet his quick thrusts. 

You brought your hands up to cup your breasts, a soft breathy whimper escaping your lips as you pinched your sensitive nipples. Suddenly, Aerion pulled himself all the way out of you; and in one quick motion, flipped you onto your stomach. Taking your hips firmly in his hands, he wasted no time in thrusting back into you, burying himself to the hilt. A loud cry left you as this new angle hit an unfamiliar but delicious spot inside of you. Aerion took one hand and pushed your head sideways down into the bed. He then used that hand to cup one of your breasts as he pressed his sweaty chest against your back.  

“I’m going to put a dragon in your belly,” Aerion’s voice came out in almost a whisper, but there was nothing soft about it. It was more like a hiss. “You belong to me, no one else will ever touch you.” 

He squeezed your breast as he pounded into you faster and more desperate, and you felt your own body respond as the knot in your stomach began to unravel. His breaths grew quicker and closer together, and he began to grunt into your ear, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy.  

“Aerion, I’m close...” you whispered, almost afraid to speak; his name felt unfamiliar rolling off your tongue. 

The hand that was cupping your breast flew to your mouth; his palm pressed tightly against your face. His breaths came out shallow and quick. 

“Hush,” he growled, his breath hot against your face. 

Your rapid, needy whimpers were muffled by his hand. There was a sudden sharp, stinging pain on your left shoulder, and you realized with some terrified unease that Aerion had sunk his teeth into your skin. He thrust further into you, groaning into your skin as you felt soft droplets of warm blood trickle down your back and onto the bed. Your vision went blurry as you threatened to come undone. Just as you felt yourself at the edge, Aerion let out a long, shaky groan as he spilled inside of you, trembling slightly as his seed spread along your walls. He pulled out of you quickly, and semen dripped down the backs of your thighs as he did. Aerion didn’t look at you; he stood up and began to put all his clothes back on. Even as you sat on the bed facing him, naked, covered in the shame which you two had shared; he did not say a word. He just turned away, and opened the door, leaving you there feeling empty and unfinished.  

The next day came early. You woke up to a sharp pain between your legs, and as you sat up, you realized there was dried blood smeared across your thighs. You must not have noticed it the night before as it blended in with the dark red of your silk sheets. You stood up from your bed and were promptly met with the sudden realization that your legs would not serve you to their full purpose that day. The door opened and for just a moment you felt a tightness in your chest, your knees threatening to buckle as they already struggled to hold you up. You were more than relieved to see your handmaiden walk in holding fresh sheets.  

“Milady,” she shut the heavy door behind her before making her way over to strip the soiled sheets from your bed.  

“Thank you Katya,” you smiled at her. You knew that she was only doing the job which she was paid coin for, but it helped you to see the kind face of a woman who did not look down on you the way that Aerion’s sisters did.  

“You should bathe Milady,” Katya said as she began to draw you a bath. You walked towards the small golden tub and Katya hurried to take your night gown off. The water was cold, leaving your muscles even more tense than before as you stepped in. Slowly lowering yourself into the water, you found that the cool felt good against the aching burn between your thighs. You shuddered as Katya wet your hair.  

“Milady,” there was a cold hand against your shoulder blade, and you remembered with some resentment the bite that Aerion had left etched deep in your flesh. It seemed almost his way of branding you, claiming you as his own like some helpless calf raised only to be slaughtered.  

“It is nothing, do not spare any of your worries on me,” you tried to smile, hoping Katya would not see the falseness behind your eyes.  

Most of the day felt long and grueling. You spent the whole morning lying in your bed staring at the dark stone ceiling above you. Your mind wandered hopelessly, swimming with thoughts of what new punishment might await you that coming night. Would he even come to your room? As terrified as you were that he might, there was also some part of you that hoped he would see you. After you had enough ruminating on pointless ventures of thought, you finally found it in yourself to get out of bed and try your luck with your aching legs. Your room felt too small and you needed to breathe, so you laced up your tall boots and headed for the door. As it swung open, you were met with a firm but delicately placed hand on your shoulder.  

“Just where do you think you’re off to Princess,” Ser Duncan’s tone was stern, but underneath it there was a hint of playfulness. He stepped out in front of you, his massive frame nearly encapsulating the entire door. 

His voice was warm, and something about his accent made that place in your belly tingle a little bit.  

“I wish to go to the garden Ser Duncan; would you be so kind as to take me?” You blinked up at him, pleading.  

“I’m not sure the prince would be happy with yer leavin’ M’Lady,” Duncan looked both ways down the long corridor and then back at you. 

“Oh, but how could Aerion be so worried when I am protected by the biggest Knight in all the Seven Kingdoms.” You looped your arm in his and began to walk, pulling him along with you. You felt just a little bit happier with him.  

Sunlight flooded through the tree’s, sprinkling blotches of golden light on the ground. Duncan walked alongside you, scanning the garden for any kind of threat.  

“You mustn’t seem so troubled Ser Duncan, I am perfectly safe here,” you lifted the bottom of your skirt and began to skip away from him.  

“M’lady, I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Duncan muttered. He was so tall that he did not have to walk very fast to catch up to you.  

Most of the strength had returned to your legs, and it made you feel, if only for a moment, that you were free from Aerion. That he had not taken that fragile innocence away from you. You smiled as the sun beat down on your face, and something about the way the wind tangled in your hair made you feel warm inside. Turning to Ser Duncan, you smiled. 

“Catch me.” You said in a low, taunting voice. 

“What?” He raised both his eyebrows. 

Before he had another second to think about what you said, you broke into a run. Laughing, you turned a sharp corner, advancing further away from the stunned Knight. He hurried after you, his heavy footsteps quickly growing louder as he gained on you. 

“Stop runnin’, Aerion will have my head if-”  

Just when Duncan was almost close enough to touch you, the muddied hem of your dress caught under your feet, sending you tumbling forward. You closed your eyes and braced for impact as the ground got closer. But right as you readied yourself for the pain and humiliation of walking back to the castle aching and covered in dirt, you felt a sturdy arm wrap around your waist from behind, catching you. You gasped as Ser Duncan’s grip tightened on your stomach, pulling you up so your back was to his chest. He spun you around to face him. 

“What in seven hells do you think yer doin’ Princess?” His fingers were now wrapped tightly around both your arms.  

“I-I’m sorry, I was only trying to have a bit of fun I-” 

“You could’ve been hurt; they would have my head on a spike outside the castle walls! Do you wish to see my head on a spike?”  

You had never seen him so livid before. His face was a dark shade of red, and his eyes were narrowed.  

“No Ser, I do not.” You bowed your head, a warm flush climbing up your cheeks.  

“You’ve had enough of the garden today; I will take you back to your chambers.” Duncan huffed as he grabbed you by the elbow, dragging you away from the warm summer day.  

You saw Aerion on your way to dinner; he had just returned from hunting with his father, dragging their prize behind him. A massive stag, antlers longer than your arms, shot down by a spoiled Targaryen Prince. Aerion did not speak to you; he did not even spare a glance in your direction, but you knew that he saw you. He simply did not care enough to acknowledge your presence. So, again you ate supper alone. And as you struggled to keep your food down, you desperately indulged in the full pitcher of wine which sat glistening red in the middle of the table. Pouring yourself glass after glass, your thoughts grew dizzy and your body felt numb. The world seemed to shift slowly as you stood from your place at the table, putting one foot in front of the other as you began to walk. You stumbled out of the door from the dining quarters, and before you could walk any further, a stern handgrabbed your arm. Ser Duncan stood towering over you, his bright blue eyes wide at the disheveled sight of you.  

“You’re not in your right mind tonight are ya, M'Lady,” his voice came out almost like a sigh.  

“Dunk, Dunk, Duncan. Ser Duncan, you are so, soooo very, very tall.” You giggled, your vowels stretching more with every word. You placed a hand on his broad chest as you wondered for a moment if he was truly a man or a stone statue disguised as one. Duncan shook his head and before you knew it, he had one arm under your knees and the other under your back, sweeping you off your feet in one smooth motion. You gasped as you were promptly lifted into the air, the wine in your blood making your head spin. A sudden warmth pooled somewhere in your lower belly, which was accompanied by a tingle between your legs. Maybe it was his size that drew you to him, maybe his square jaw and calm demeanor. Or maybe it was that he was everything that Aerion was not. Ser Duncan walked slowly through the hallways, holding on to you tightly so as not to drop you, but his grip was gentle. It was as if he thought he might break you.  

“Ser Duncan, I am – I can walk, my room is not so far.” 

“I do not wish for you to fall M'lady. I am meant to watch over you.” His voice was deep and calm, almost soothing your dazed mind.  

“Ser, why has the prince chosen you to watch over me?” you asked, gradually finding your words again.   

“Ah - don’t know if that’s something I should be tellin’ ya.” Duncan said as he ducked through your bedroom doorway, shutting the door behind him. He sat you on the bed before bringing you a glass of water.  

“It is only fair that I know where my brave Knight came from.” You chortled.  

He sighed and reluctantly agreed.  

“It is because your Prince Aerion holds a burning hatred for me.” 

This was not at all what you had expected him to say.  

“I think he believes it to be some kind of punishment. Pointing me as worthy of only the dirtiest corner of his life.” 

Ser Duncan was a kind man, but he was not always a very smart one. In fact, he could be rather thick at times. You shuffled nervously on the bed, trying to hide your upset from the Knight. His words stung, an insult to your value and your person. He did not mean it; he had not thought before he spoke. When Ser Duncan realized his fault, he fell to one knee and bowed his head far deeper than was needed.  

“I am so sorry Princess, I meant no harm. I know that sounded – well it sounded terrible. I only meant that-” 

You waved him away and took one of his hands in yours as he looked up at you. You were waist deep in alcohol, and maybe that’s why you said it, or maybe you really meant it.  

“You are very kind Ser Duncan. I think I would be far happier if I had married a man like you.”  

His face quickly turned a deep shade of rosy, pink at your words, and he withdrew his hand from yours. Standing up, Ser Duncan ran a massive hand through his sandy blonde hair. 

“You are quite drunk Princess; you should get some rest.” He said, his voice was a calm, nurturing hum.  

“Yes, I am,” you sighed as you laid down flat onto your bed and closed your eyes.  

“I will see you on the morrow M’lady,” Ser Duncan said as he opened your bedroom door.  

“Mhm,” you nodded as the door shut behind him.  

Aerion came back that night, stumbling through your door reeking of wine and blood. You woke to the sound of him kicking his shoes off. The wine that you drank at supper still played at all your senses, lingering like heavy fog after a long rain. Aerion quickly undressed and stumbled into your bed. Before you could even begin to protest, his hands were at the center of your chest where he frantically began ripping the fabric of your nightgown straight down the middle. Maybe it was the wine, but you felt yourself melting into him. He placed one arm under your back, lifting your hips towards his. You exhaled as he pushed himself into you, letting out a tense whimper as he did. He moved his hips against yours in a sloppy manner, thrusting in and out hungrily. You brought both of your hands under his arms and dug your nails into his back as you felt the head of his cock hitting that tender spot. You closed your eyes, imagining it was Ser Duncan who was buried deep inside of you. You wondered if he could hear, if he was listening to your filthy sounds as Aerion fucked you. You hoped that he was. You imagined his strong arms around you, pulling you closer to him as he whispered in your ear. You thought of the way his rough hands would feel against your naked body, how his moans would sound as you let him take you. That unraveling feeling in your stomach returned as Aerion began to tremble, and this time you felt yourself beginning to release. A harsh, long whine escaped your throat as your vision turned a grainy grey and your orgasm tore through you, dirty thoughts of Ser Duncan swirling in your mind as your body let go. You dripped around Aerion’s cock as he continued to pound into you, his own orgasm coming seconds after yours. Quivering, Aerion lifted himself off you, his heavy breathing matching yours.  

“I’m glad I pleased you well tonight, Princess,”  he scoffed.

His tone was corrosive and ironic; you knew he did not mean it. But you also knew that it was not him who pleased you, not really. 

Days went by, then weeks, then months of the same routine. You spent your days alone or lingering around Ser Duncan, begging for his attention; and most nights you spent under Aerion, but for days now he had not seen you. He grew impatient, for after all this time you were still not yet with child. Aerion did not speak much of his disappointment, but you knew he was growing desperate because he began demanding more time with you each night. He would fuck you, and then fuck you again, and then again, every time more hopeless than the last. You imagined he had given up, that he would get rid of you however he might see fit and find a wife who could bare his children. The thought sent a shiver down your whole body, wondering what he might do to you. 

It was very late; your Prince had most likely retired for the night. Rain fell heavily outside your window, and something deep inside of you begged to be caught in it. You slid off the side of your bed, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. Ser Duncan stood outside your door in his common absentminded state, smiling sweetly as he saw you.  

“Ser Duncan, my room has grown terribly cold; would you fetch some warm blankets for me?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him. 

“Yes M’Lady, right away,” Duncan nodded.  

You watched him disappear down the hall, and you were gone by the time he even reached the linen room. You pulled the hood of your dark cloak over your head, careful that someone else who shared your sleepless state would not recognize you. You evaded the guards at the front entrance by taking a small side door through the kitchen that you discovered on one of your long days exploring the castle with Ser Duncan. The rain was cool on your face as you finally breathed in that fresh air which you had been craving for days. You pulled the hood down off your head and raised your face to the sky to let the heavy droplets fall onto your skin. Smiling, you stuck your tongue out to taste the rain. However, your joy was short lived, as you heard heavy footsteps behind you in the mud. A familiar, grumbling voice spoke to you through the sound of heavy rain. 

“What are ya doin’ this for Princess?” He sounded worn out and beaten.  

“Join me in the rain Ser, it is good for the soul,” you smiled at him, extending a hand.  

He did not take your hand, nor did he seem amused by your little ruse.  

“You best get back inside M’lady, the storm is only getting worse.” 

You watched as he shifted uncomfortably. His shirt was wet; it stuck to his skin, revealing a carved chest. You couldn’t help but lick your lips as he ran a hand through his wet hair, which was dripping onto his face and down his neck. He stared back at you, his face conveying a look of impatience, with a conflicting trace of something unreadable.  

“I wish only to play in the rain some,” you walked towards him, he took two steps back. 

“I have not given Aerion a child yet Ser. He will soon see it fit to discard me,” you stepped towards him again, but this time he stood his ground. "I simply want to savor my last days.” 

Ser Duncan was silent for a moment, searching for something in your eyes as he thought of how he might respond. You stepped close enough to him that your feet were touching his, and you could feel him tense up.  

“I’m sorry Princess, but I must be takin’ ya back inside,” he said, a hint of sympathy behind his words.  

“As you wish Ser Duncan,” you brushed past him, your fingers looping through the small key chain around his belt in one swift motion.  

You walked past him and back to the small door which you came through. Turning on your heels to face him, you held up the keys with a taunting smile on your face. Ser Duncan reached down for his belt, realizing that those same keys were no longer there.  

“These are the keys to my chamber are they not?” you began to walk backwards prompting Ser Duncan to follow you at a steady pace.  

“I’ll be needin’ those back princess,” his tone did not reek of his typical irritation at your ploys for his attention. It instead resembled that of accepting a challenge. 

“You cannot keep me locked away if you do not have the keys to my dungeon, Ser Duncan” you grinned before suddenly breaking into a run.  

Ser Duncan was on your tail as you turned corners down the dark halls, but he did not protest your recklessness the way he often did. He only chased, not saying a word. Once you finally made it to your room, you shoved yourself against the door to shut it behind you; but Dunk pushed it back in from the other side, opening the door all the way. Grinning at him, you backed away, dangling the keys out in front of you. 

“You look quite absurd, Ser. Chasing around a Princess, a big, tall knight like you," you dodged him as he crept closer, shifting back to the door. You pressed yourself against it for a moment as he loomed silently on the other side of the room. Leaving all your good senses behind, you quietly closed the latch behind your back.  

“I haven’t the time nor the spirit to play your games tonight, Princess,” he said, his voice a low and intolerant huff.  

You spun the keys around one finger, your other hand throwing your rain-soaked cloak to the side.  

“All you need to do Ser Duncan is take them from me, and then you can lock me away and stand outside my door all alone,” your heart was racing and you felt your breath hitch as he began to walk towards you.  

He stopped a little less than a foot in front of you, towering over you, unmoving.  

“Give ‘em back to me.” He demanded.  

You shook your head, bringing the keys behind your back. He stared daggers into you, clearly quite unamused with your ridiculous behavior. Duncan quickly brought a hand around your back to take the keys, but as he did you made a tight fist around them. His hand gripped your enclosed fingers, and you watched his jaw tighten as he failed at yet another attempt.  

“I am not so easy, Ser Duncan.” you sneered, still maintaining a playful tone.  

It was these words that finally cracked that calm shell he somehow maintained around you. The hand that still clung tightly to yours pulled you closer to him, close enough that you could feel his shaky breath on your face.  

“Oh, but I think you are Princess,” he growled before pulling back from you. "You think I'm too dull to realize the ways you’re toyin’ with me. I’m not so thick that I can’t see a woman’s desperate advances.” He snarled.  

This made your heart stop and your face burn a bright scarlet. The hand which was wrapped around the keys loosened.  

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he shook his head and tried to push past you to get to the door.  

You did not budge. 

“Get out of my way.” 

He could walk right through you, and he knew it, but he stood there waiting for your move.  

“Of course, you know what I want from you Dunk,” your voice dropped as you held the keys up for him to take. He did not take them; he only stared at you.  

“It’s wrong,” he said quietly, “he’ll kill me.” 

You took one small, slow step towards him and away from the door.  

“He probably will,” you whispered.  

The little air left between the two of you was thick with tension, and the only sound was that of the heavy rain against the little glass window. Ser Duncan’s chest rose and fell as his eyes lingered on your parted lips. You placed a soft hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart. Bringing your gaze up to meet his, you saw his eyes flicker with some deep longing. You stepped even closer; your eyes still fixed on him. You leaned your head up, and your face was now mere inches from his.  

“Dunk,” his name left your lips like a secret.  

Closing his eyes, he turned his head away from you in some kind of false effort to resist.  

You brought your other hand to his cheek, bringing his face back to look at you.  

“It is not wrong if we both want it Ser,” you whispered, “I see the way you gaze at me; you have the look of a starved man. I am starving too, Ser Duncan. Aerion does not satisfy me the way my nightly thoughts of you do.” 

Duncan shuddered at your words. 

“I want you to do what you wish with me, Dunk,” you said against his lips.  

He let out a shaky breath as he hesitated against you, his lips barely brushing yours, his arms still at his sides. 

“Please,” you begged, voice low and brimming with need.  

It was this final agonizing plea that broke him. In one desperate motion, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours. He wrapped his huge arms around your waist, pulling you against him, already rock-hard as his tongue found yours. You melted at his touch, moaning into his deep kisses as your arms looped around his neck. The kiss was a hungry mess of desire, hot and all over the place. Duncan brought one hand down to grip your left buttock as he began to place warm kisses down your jaw and to your neck. Your lips parted in a soft whimper as he hummed quietly against your skin. He broke away from you for a moment as he pulled his rain-soaked shirt over his head. He was beautifully built, soft but strong. White and jagged scars littered his skin, but still he was beautiful. You brought a cold hand to him, tracing a finger down his naked torso. He grabbed your wrist and quickly turned you around so that your back was to his chest. Holding you tightly against him, he carefully untied your dress and helped it off you. You now stood completely naked against him, your skin tingling. Ser Duncan, still behind you, traced a hand up your waist. His touch was electrifying, and you shuddered as he cupped your breast, rolling the sensitive bud of your nipple between his fingers. You sank into him, reaching behind your head to place a hand on his cheek.  

“I hate knowin’ that he’s fucking you all these nights, I hate standin’ outside that door and listening to the sounds that he makes when he’s inside you.” Duncan growled into your ear.   

“I imagine that it’s you,” you whispered.  

At that, he spun you back around. Gripping your thighs, he lifted you up off the ground, hoisting both of your legs around his waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him hard, completely surrendering to his control. He turned around and walked you over to the bed before softly placing you down. You watched in earnest as he struggled with the buttons on his pants before eventually getting out of them. You felt a knot form in your stomach as you witnessed the full size of him. He was huge, and although it was not surprising for a man of his stature, you could not help but wonder in terror whether it would even fit. He climbed onto the bed and caged you in as he placed soft kisses up your bare torso and back to your face. A small smile formed on his lips as he brought a hand between your thighs. You leaned your head back into the pillow as he took the slick wetness of your entrance and began to circle your clit.  

“Already so wet for me Princess,” he grinned before placing a gentle kiss on your breast.  You whimpered as he slid one finger into you, his thumb still rubbing your tender pearl. He slid one more finger in before curling them both at the end so as to hit that sweet spot inside of you. The storm grew louder outside, but you were hardly attuned to the way the wind whipped against the windows as Ser Duncan pleased you beyond any kind of heaven. You bucked your hips into his hand as he quickened his pace. The sounds of your own slick arousal against his fast-moving fingers made your stomach tingle. He placed soft kisses on your breast before bringing the hardened tip of your nipple into his mouth. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate tandem as his fingers slipped in and out of your dripping folds. You felt your muscles tighten as that familiar feeling trickled down into your belly; but before you could finish, Duncan pulled his fingers out from inside of you, leaving you right at the edge.  

“Fuck,” you muttered, letting out a shaky breath. 

Duncan kissed your jaw.  

“You play games with me, so I’ll play games with you.” He whispered in your ear.  

Pulling his face up to meet yours, you placed a hot open mouthed kiss on his lips. He kissed you back, wild and thirsty; his hands roaming your body.  

“I want you to fuck me, Ser Duncan,” you said between hot kisses.  

You felt his breath falter against your lips at these words.  

“I want to smell you on my skin tomorrow; I want to wake up with my insides throbbing and my muscles aching. I want to burn with reminders of you. I want you inside of me more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.” You reeked with desperation, your body tingling with need.  

“You will feel me tomorrow M’Lady, this I know to be the truth,” he grinned. 

Ser Duncan took your hips in his gentle hands as he sat up on his knees and lined himself up with your entrance. You watched in eager anticipation as he brought his massive cock to your throbbing slit. He placed the head of it against you and dragged it slowly up and down from your aching clit to your soaked opening, sending a sharp shudder down your spine. Finally, he pushed the tip of his length inside of you, slowly. You let out a sharp gasp at the sudden stretch. He was huge, wrenching you open beyond what you had ever felt. Your vision went white at the edges, and you felt tears gather at the outer corners of your eyes. He sat there for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his girth.  

“You can take it, I promise you can take it,” he hummed, and with both hands he guided your hips closer to his, pushing himself just a few inches deeper. You took deep breaths as he continued into you. He was patient, waiting for you to be comfortable, making sure that any pain was minimized.  

You could see how badly he wanted to begin as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, but he gave you time. You bit down on your bottom lip as your fingers dug into the mattress on both sides of you. The stretch was painfully delicious, and even more so as it gradually transitioned from white-hot pain to warm, oozing pleasure. He looked at you, and seeing that you were ready to begin, he started to move. It was then that you felt yourself succumbing completely to him. Long, loud moans passed your lips as your jaw fell slightly. He thrust into you, his sharp grunts ending in a sort of whimper. He moved his hips slowly, his massive cock sliding in and out of you.  

“Gods yer’ so beautiful,” he exhaled, “You take me so well, Princess. You and your pretty cunt, soaked just for me.” 

Your breath grew fast and ragged as he quickened his pace, sinking deeper with each thrust. He took one hand off your hip and placed it on your lower belly, feeling his bulge through you. His eyes were laced with a certain hunger as he watched you submit to him. Each jerk of his hips left you seeing stars, and he huffed as you brought both your hands up to squeeze your breasts. You whimpered as you leaned your head back into the mattress, your eyes rolling back as he fucked you senseless. Ser Duncan then leaned his face back down to yours, placing a soft kiss on your lips as he thrust himself even deeper inside of you. It was so intimate and soft. Nothing like you had ever experienced with Aerion. You felt cared for. Wrapping your arms around Ser Duncan’s neck, you brought him deeper into the kiss. He sighed against your lips as his hips adopted a more steady, rhythmic pace. You whimpered as he bottomed out inside of you, his full length filling you entirely.  

“Dunk,” you whispered against his lips, “thank you.” 

He pulled away from you for just a moment to look into your eyes; you were grateful, and he saw that. He smiled at you and then flipped over onto his back, sitting you up on top of him. Aerion had never let you be in control, and something about seeing Ser Duncan trapped beneath you was delightfully thrilling. Slowly, you began to roll your hips back and forth, sinking all the way down onto him. You took both his wrists and slowly trailed his palms up your stomach and to your firm breasts, which he then took in his huge hands. He let out a shaky moan and leaned his head back into the pillow as you moved your hips in agonizing circles. Ser Duncan squeezed your breasts and looked up at you, his mouth forming a sharp “O” as he watched you move up and down on his cock. You leaned your head back and let out a few agonizing moans as you rocked back and forth on top of him. The new angle felt deeper, and you felt your walls tighten at this fresh sense of pleasure.  

“Fuck, yer so good. Keep goin’, keep goin’,” his voice was low and electric. He brought his thumb in between your slick thighs, rubbing slow circles around your sensitive clit. You quickened your pace, now moving up and down on top of him. He stared down at the vulgar sight of your coupling. The way you stretched around him, the way your wetness left a slick residue all over his thick length. You brought your hands to your face, as your body was completely overwhelmed with pleasure. Suddenly, Duncan sat up so that your chests were touching, bringing a rough and sloppy kiss to your lips. He tangled one hand in your hair and pulled your head back so he could kiss your neck. He wrapped his free arm around your waist, and that new angle from which he thrust into you was what began your undoing. He jolted his hips upward into you at a pace that sent your head spinning, his fingers digging into your flesh as he whimpered in your ear. The crude sound of skin against skin filled the room completely. You felt your walls begin to tighten around him as that sharp knot in your belly threatened to come undone. You tossed your head back as you brought yourself down on him harder and faster.  

“Dunk, I’m -” you squeezed your eyes shut and let out a shaky breath as you felt your body giving in.  

“Cum for me Princess,” Ser Duncan whispered, his hand still tangled in your hair.  

It was these words which brought you over the edge. Your vision went blurry and your head began to spin as the power of your orgasm completely overwhelmed all your senses. You let out a few harsh cries into his shoulder as your inner walls pulsated around his still hard cock. Duncan grunted into your ear as you finished all over him. There was a flash of hunger in his eyes, and in one swift motion, Ser Duncan flipped you over onto your back, now kneeling over you as he had before. He squeezed just above your hips and adopted an unforgiving pace, his massive cock slamming in and out of you at new speeds. You were absolutely spent, still recovering from your orgasm, and you trembled all over as he continued to fuck you. The pleasure which came from the overstimulation was crushing, and you cried out over and over again as you drowned in irresistible bliss. Duncan quickly brought a gentle hand to your mouth, pressing his palm against your lips.  

“You must be quiet M’Lady, someone will hear,” Ser Duncan whispered.  

Dunk then brought his hands to both of your knees and pushed them back towards your shoulders, allowing his cock a new and overpowering angle inside of you. He pressed his hands on the back of your thighs, forcing your legs back even further. You whimpered under your breath as you stared down at the filthy sight between your legs. Duncan was drawing himself almost all the way out of you before burying himself entirely into your sore cunt. He felt so good, he looked so good. You watched as his brows furrowed in concentration and lust; his mouth slightly open as he pounded into you.  

“Ah, I love the way yer throbbin’ around me. Feel good?” he asked, his thrusts beginning to grow sloppy.  

“Mhm.” You bit down on your lip and looked up at him “My Knight, what would I do without you?”  

His breathing grew more labored as his pace quickened, the sound of his cock filling you was now a desperate wet plea. He brought your legs back down to his sides and gripped your hips as he pounded into you, his soft whimpers bringing you back to that overwhelmingly delicious feeling in your belly. His thrust became frantic, and you cried out as you felt your walls begin to tighten again at your pending release. Ser Duncan brought a wet, messy kiss to your lips, and you tasted his desire as his tongue shot into your mouth. You broke away from him for a moment as you both struggled to keep your lips intertwined. Ser Duncan pressed his face into your shoulder, his breaths growing sharper and closer together. You felt your insides turn as you threatened to lose yourself completely.  

“Please, I want you to cum inside of me,” you whispered into his lips. You wanted to be his, completely. You wanted to do every dirty thing with him; you wanted to stay like this forever.  

He brought his face back to yours and looked into your eyes, trying to see if you meant what you had said. When he saw that you meant every word, he pulled you forward onto his throbbing cock over and over to match his powerful blows. You grew closer with each of his needy thrusts and gripped his flexed forearms as he brought his lips back down to yours. He breathed quickly into your lips, as you both were incapable of holding a kiss. Ser Duncan pumped into you one last time before letting out a long groan as you felt him spray his hot seed inside of you. The combination of his last few helpless thrusts and the sticky warmth coating your walls brought you over the edge with him. Your whimpers were frantic as you came all over his cock, your hot finish combining with his. Duncan was still going, his orgasm lasting longer than you ever could’ve thought possible. He whispered your name over and over again as he struggled to catch his breath. You felt so full with him still inside of you, still owning you. The two of you sat there covered in sweat, skin to skin. A mess of tired limbs and heavy breathing. Duncan pulled out of you and laid his head on your chest as you breathed in and out. You could finally hear the rain again, as now there was only heavy silence between the two of you. Ser Duncan turned over onto his back, bringing you with him so that you could wrap yourself around him in a soft embrace. Bringing a steady hand to your face, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before placing a soft kiss on your temple. He was so gentle with you, and it gave you chills all over your body. You smiled at him and placed a hand on his jaw, bringing his face to yours. His lips captured yours in a silent passion, the arm around your waist pulling you in closer. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you and sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. 

“I best be goin’ Princess, someone will notice that I’m gone.” 

You reached out and grabbed his hand just as he began to stand up. 

“Stay with me Ser.” You pleaded softly. 

He looked down at your hand on his, then up at your face.  

“I-” He began. 

“Just stay with me until I fall asleep, Dunk.” 

Although his demeanor remained cool, you saw the way his eyes changed as you said his name. He thought for a moment before gradually sitting back down on the bed. He took you in his arms as he placed his head back on the pillow, running a big hand through your tangled hair. You felt so safe and warm in his grip, like you could stay there forever. You nestled your face into the crook of his neck, holding tightly to him as if he could disappear at any moment.  

“Go to sleep M’Lady.” Ser Duncan hummed. 

His voice was low and soothing, and it made your skin tingle. He continued to pet your hair, and the rhythm of his breathing began your descent into a silent, calm slumber.  

dunk nods, the movement rigid. you smile as his eyes droop, and you lean in to press another kiss to his jawline as you gently sink back down. your pussy splits open around him, the wet clutch of your walls sucking him back in as you lower yourself into his lap. your thighs tense where you straddle him, and you move your hand from his face to the side of his neck, holding for stability.

dunk groans when your fingers brush the nape of his neck, and he angles his face so you can plant another kiss to the underside of his jaw. you kiss a small bruise, and he exhales through his nose, his eyes shut.

“feels good,” he whispers, hands like steel weights on your hips. you take all of him, cunt clenching tight when you bottom out. he groans softly, hoarse and gravel-strewn from the back of his throat. “oh, gods above…”

you ring your hips in a circle. one time, then two, grinding your swollen clit against the thick thatch of hair at the base of his cock. there’s a reddened bruise beneath his navel, just adjacent to the trail of hair that leads down from it. you bring your hand down his pectorals, over the soft muscle of his belly until you can run your fingertips across the bruise.

dunk grumbles, but says nothing. his head leans back against the tree trunk, woods serene around him, as he guides you in grinding yourself on his cock. you lift your hips while you pet his bruise, slowly sinking back down as you gently massage the skin around it.

“my poor dunk,” you utter, the thick stretch of his cock making you a little breathless around the vowels. you whimper when the fat head nudges that perfect spot inside you, but you swallow the moan of his name that threatens to escape as you bring yourself up and down. “my poor, sweet dunk. always getting into trouble.”

“s’not trouble…” dunk mutters, mouth falling open as he grunts into the still air. his cock twitches inside you as you take him over and over, the silken walls of your pussy sliding against him—wet and warm and perfect. dunk continues, panting. “i will always defend the innocent. that is my duty.”

“i know,” you say, hand finding his chest again. you place a hand over his wildly beating heart as you lean in for another kiss. before your lips meet his though, you smile. “my big, strong boy. you’re such a good knight, aren’t you? my brave, brave boy.”

you kiss dunk then, slotting your mouth to his just as he groans at the heat in your words. he groans again when your tongue swipes across his lips, and he picks his head off the tree to get a better angle and kiss you better. heat pools low in your belly when your tongues meet, and you taste the bittersweet remnants of your homemade pain relief in the grooves of his teeth.

you lift and lower your hips, grinding on the downstroke. his cock stretches you open, your arse landing softly on the mass of his thighs, which your pussy drips onto as you take him all.

“you’re such a good boy,” you tell him, pulling out of the kiss. he licks his lips, eyelids low and pupils wide. beneath the bruising and blood, a lurid blush glows high on his cheeks as he shudders, sweat building on his brow. you coo at him softly, coaxing him towards his looming orgasm. “and does my good boy want to come?”

dunk trembles, groaning from deep in his chest. it’s your name, strewn across the pained sound with great effort, but it makes your clit swell with your heartbeat and your pussy clench tight around the thick of him. you hold onto the nape of his neck, anchoring yourself as you pick up the pace, ensuring your movements are still as gentle as possible.

mumbling something, the large man pitches a little off the tree to bury his face into the crook of your neck. he’s burning hot against you, and you feel his lips suckling on the supple skin as his hips offer up a few pathetic jerks as you take him all the way to the root. dunk’s body shakes against you, and your hand shifts to the back of his head to cradle him, threading your fingers through his hair and petting his scalp.

he spills then, his cock deep against the plug of your cervix and spreading your pussy apart as she drools around him. the noise from his throat is pained, desperate, strung across a whine as he releases inside you, seed filling you hot as you meet his orgasm with a grinding of your hips. he whimpers your name around another groan, face buried deep in your neck, as you set yourself a gruelling pace.

“ah-ha, ha, f-fuck, oh my gods,” dunk rambles, whiny around the edges as you lift then drop, lift then drop, until your knees threaten to buckle and you settle yourself into a deep grind instead. dunk gasps out when your body goes taut beneath his hold and your cunt tightens around him. “yes, yes, please—”

“dunk,” you moan as your orgasm consumes you from the inside out, your entire body shaking as you hold him to you. the tension in your lower belly quickly dissipates as your pussy pulls tight and you cream around his cock. you hold yourself upright, careful not to collapse into his aching arms. “so good, dunk… yeah, you did so well.”

he detaches himself from your neck and slides his mouth to yours, licking over your bottom teeth and groaning loudly when your tongues meet. your hand finds his face once more and you hold him tenderly as you kiss, your thumb stroking over the bruise on his cheekbone as if your touch alone could fix him.

Duncan lumbers through the crowded market streets, his large frame parting the tide of people who flow around him like water. He keeps one hand on the pommel of his sword, the other clutching a small pouch of sweets. Your favourite, he knows, coated in sugar with a treacle-sweet centre. He smiles to himself, imagining the look of joy that will pass over your face, seeing that your husband has brought you your favourite sweets, rather than the bread he claimed to have been craving.

Dunk ducks beneath a low-hanging awning as he winds his way between the stalls and through passageways between rickety buildings. The town reminds him a lot of Flea Bottom, and the shadows that dance through the walkways have a painful kind of nostalgia washing through him.

“Oi, watch it!”

Dunk startles, eyes shooting onwards where a market vendor, an angry vein bulging across his grime-coated forehead, points at an elderly woman wrapped in colourful shawls. Apples in reds and greens roll across the flagstones, a wooden box tipped on its side.

The vendor moves as though to strike the woman, but Dunk gets there first—somehow, he slips through the dispersing crowd and clamps a large hand around the vendor’s wrist. The vendor looks up, and up further, taking in the sheer size of Duncan, and the scowl on his face vanishes, melting back into the shadows.

“You will not lay your hand upon a woman,” Dunk growls, and then proceeds to shove the vendor away.

The vendor yelps, clutching at his bruising wrist—Dunk didn’t even realise he had grabbed the man that hard—while the hedge knight turns and squats, gathering the apples from the cobbles. When he returns them to the upturned box, he hefts it easily in one hand and peers down at the woman with a sympathetic smile.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

The woman smiles softly, reaching up to pat him gently on the forearm. “I am, my dear, thank you.”

Dunk nods to the box in his hand. “Does this belong to you?”

“I just purchased it,” the woman replies sheepishly. “But it seems my arms and hands do not work as well as they used to.”

“Well, my arms and hands work plenty fine,” Dunk says with a smile. “And my wife says I’m the best at carrying her things, so I shall carry the crate for you.”

The elderly woman smiles again, reaching up to pat Dunk’s cheek, before she turns, the pinks and greens and golds of her shawls swishing around her. She smells of powdery lavender incense and wax soap, and for the briefest of moments, Dunk is reminded of what little he recalls of his mother.

He follows her down the narrow lane after shooting one last threatening look at the vendor. She looks largely out of place amongst the common folk who traverse the market streets dressed in browns and greys, fraying cotton and stained linen. She is colourful, eccentric, her skin dark and clean of any age spots, the wrinkles shallow. She didn’t appear as old as Dunk first thought, but maybe he wasn’t paying close enough attention.

After a few minutes of walking, the woman leads Dunk through a small, dark alcove, and stops outside a wooden door painted a forest green, a brass knocker resembling a lion mounted to the front. She unlocks and pushes open the door, and Dunk is hit with a thick aroma of herbs and flowers.

“May I bother you to bring them inside?” The woman asks softly.

“Of course,” Dunk replies instantly, and he stoops low to avoid the overhang of the doorway, following the woman inside, where the hall opens up into a room full of things.

Shelves line every wall, bottles and jars of liquids and powders filling them. They shine in different colours, different consistencies, and the smell that accumulates at Dunk’s head-height makes him slightly dizzy. Dried herbs hang from the ceiling—which the giant man finds out when he is smacked in the face by a bundle of desiccated spices.

Dunk places the crate of apples onto a table in the middle of the room, the wood clinking against several empty and half-filled bottles across the surface. When he rights himself, the elderly woman places her hand on his forearm once more. Her fingers are almost completely obscured by stacks of gold rings, and the bangles around her wrists jingle like chimes as she pets him like a child would a cat.

“I thank you for your kindness,” she tells him. “You will make yourself a fine knight one day.”

Dunk doesn’t think twice about the fact the lady knew he was to be a knight, but the compliment makes him burst with pride regardless. He dips his head respectfully, hand pressing to his chest in a sign of good faith.

“It was no problem at all.”

“Here, allow me to give you something in return,” the woman says, and turns to the lines of shelves behind her, fingers flitting across jars.

Dunk shakes his head, clearing his throat as his hand, once again, comes to rest against the pommel of his sword. He’s trying to appear more noble, but when he stands up straight, he hits the crown of his head on a low wooden beam, making him grunt.

“There is no need,” Dunk says around a hiss, rubbing the top of his head. “I do not—”

The woman points to a jar on the very top shelf, one she cannot reach, interrupting Dunk smoothly. “May you retrieve that one for me?”

Dunk bites his tongue and does what he is told. His large fingers pinch around the small jar the woman wants, and through the tempered glass he can see a yellow powder that seems to sparkle as it catches the low light of suspended candles. He hands it to the woman, who thanks him and pops the cork with a flick of her thumb.

She turns to face him. “When was the last time you lay with your wife?”

“I—” Dunk chokes on his spit. “I beg your—”

“I suppose we have seen the face of the sun many times since you have?” The woman taps the rim of the jar against her outstretched palm, collecting some of the powder. Dunk notices the traces of pink amongst the yellow. “Nearly twelve nights gone? You poor thing.”

Dunk stammers, but can’t articulate words.

Okay, maybe it has been that long, but only initially because your moon blood had arrived. The two of you usually had no qualms with being intimate whilst you bled, but you were particularly tender, and no amount of stretch from your husband’s tongue and fingers seemed to eliminate the ache, so you both decided against it.

Then, even when your blood had passed, the two of you travelling tirelessly for several days straight had meant Dunk did not want you to exert too much energy, even when you did plead with him.

The fact this woman knows that has suspicion, not quite fear, passing through him like a phantom.

“Your wife longs for you, and yet here you are, resorting to obtaining sweets to ease her qualms,” the woman says, and now Dunk is slightly creeped out. The bag of sweets hangs against his hip, fastened to the rope belt around his waist. The woman chuckles softly. “And that is why I believe this will be as good a reward as any.”

She lifts her palm and proceeds to blow the yellowy-pink powder directly into Dunk’s face. He sucks in a startled breath and it fills his lungs like smoke, his mouth tasting the sweetness of ripened grapes and honeyed wine. Quickly, he screws his eyes shut, but the powder lingers already in his lashline, and when he blinks, his vision seems brighter.

“What the—?” Dunk lifts his hand and wipes it down his face, stumbling back slightly.

“It is harmless to your overall health, and the effects will fade when you…” She hesitates, and then pats him on the chest. “Are satisfied, although that may take some effort. Now, be gone with you, Ser Duncan. You have a wife to return too.”

The woman, with surprising strength, spins Dunk around and pushes him out the door. It slams closed behind him, and he stands there with his head spinning, wondering how on earth she even knew his name.

In the shadows of the alcove, he catches his breath, which comes in increasingly laboured pants as his entire body begins to light up with warmth. His clothes feel too sticky against his skin, the back of his neck prickling, his temples dampening. The rope around his hips is too tight, the sword hanging there too heavy.

“Gods above, what is happening to me?” Dunk whispers to himself, looking down at his body as something stirs low in the pit of his stomach.

He thinks of you, waiting so patiently back at the campsite. He groans softly, reaching a hand down to press flat against his groin, where his cock is slowly beginning to harden in his breeches. The thought of you sitting against a tree, maybe mending one of his cloaks, or sharpening one of his blades, has a dizzy sort of pleasure seizing his brain.

Dunk whimpers your name, and stumbles out into the streets. He needs to get to you.

—✿—

The sky above is alight with oranges and pinks as the sun slowly begins to sink below the distant horizon. You watch it calmly, the forest around you quiet and serene, the sound of the nearby river washing through you and instilling a sense of calm. Your hand moves where you clutch your bone-handled blade, slicing it, bit-by-bit, through a small chunk of wood. It now resembles a horse, for the most part. You have taken up carving as a means of passing time, and selling the little statues earns you a bit of coin.

Your serenity is interrupted by the snapping of twigs and approaching footsteps. Several yards away, your horses do not startle, but you grip your knife tightly anyway as the footsteps encroach louder, then louder still. But you can hear the heavy thuds and the wide gait, and a small smile splits across your face when you recognise your husband’s footsteps.

You place your carving and knife aside, dusting the wood shavings from your hands as you get to your feet. Dunk appears through the tree line and your smile grows when you see him.

“Dunk!” You greet him. “I’ve been waiting…”

You take a moment to look at your husband as he walks towards you. His chest rises and falls rapidly, a bright blush painting his cheeks. His eyes appear watery, and as he draws nearer, the hot skin of his face seems to shimmer with something iridescent.

He towers over you, and out of instinct, you reach up and cup your palms to his cheeks. His eyes fall closed and he groans, throaty and loud. He’s feverish, molten-hot. You smell overripe grapes, lavender and honeycakes as he shifts, ripping his cloak from his body and tossing it to the ground.

“What has happened to you?” You ask, concern overcoming you as your hands brace down his neck and chest now, feeling the rabbit-like thumping of his heart.

Dunk groans again, eyes opening to watch your hands work down his abdomen. A shudder racks through him when your hands stop at the waistband of his trousers, your eyes widening as you spot the straining imprint of his cock. Your eyes lift, sparkling in the evening light, and Dunk swears that look alone could have made him spill in his breeches.

“Have you taken something?” You question quietly, finding the knot of his rope belt. You unfasten and unravel it, hefting the sword too and placing it on the ground. Dunk watches with his hands balled into fists. He’ll tell you about the sweets later. You peer back up at him again. “Duncan?”

His name leaving your lips forces him to his knees. A whine rips from the back of his throat as he drops, and you gasp as his knees crackle through dried leaves. His hands reach out, encircling around your hips as he lines himself up with your abdomen, his mouth pressing to your stomach.

Your hands card through his hair, worried. “Dunk, my love?”

“A woman… she gave me something—blew a powder into my face,” Dunk gasps out, leaning his burning cheek against you, listening to your breathing. “Says I will… says it will feel better when I am sat–satisfied.”

You frown. “Satisfied?”

Dunk nods, nuzzling into you. His hips shift as well, and suddenly you feel the tent of his trousers pressing to your leg through your skirts. A soft gasp escapes you as you continue to card your fingers through his hair, tussling the longish brown locks.

You know what he means by satisfied, considering his cock seems to be burning hot through both the fabric of his breeches and trousers, and the material of your simple dress.

“It hurts,” Dunk mutters, mouthing at your dress now, lips pressing to the softness of your belly. The fabric wets with his saliva as his tongue darts out, dragging over the linen. You grimace and thread your fingers against his scalp, holding him firmly and dragging his head away. He whimpers loudly, eyes flying open as he whines out, “Hurts so bad, sweetheart.”

Your heart squeezes tightly in your chest, your stomach churning with worry. You don’t want your husband hurting, but what was really wrong with him? He had left to the market for bread or something of the sort, and returned, not only empty-handed, but flushed with desire with his trousers practically ripping at the seams.

“Duncan…” You continue to grip his hair so he can’t literally lick your dress. “What hurts? You need to tell me.”

Dunk groans as your other hand shifts back to his cheek, stroking the warmed flesh. He leans into the touch with drooping eyelids, his pupils blown so wide his eyes appear black in the fading light of dusk.

“My—” Dunk blows out a breath as if battling something in his brain. “My… oh gods, my love, I can’t say—I just can’t—”

You know what he wants to say. You know it when his hips twitch and he drags the imprint of his cock against your leg once more.

Something warm is blooming in your core now too. The sight of your husband on his knees before you, clutching you as if you were keeping him alive, feverish in his pleasure, has you starting to leak into the gusset of your smallclothes. Heat fills your tummy as you stroke his cheek, the tips of your fingers collecting a shimmering film of yellow and pink dust. It seems to be trapped in his pores, coating his freckles as he peers up at you.

You massage his scalp, which is damp with sweat. “Does your cock hurt, sweet boy?”

The words feel too alien coming from your mouth, much too crude for a lady, but the shock that passes over your husband’s face is euphoric to your slowly dampening core. His mouth drops open, his tongue practically lolling out like a tired hound, as a groan rumbles from his chest and he starts to nod. His cock presses to your thigh and he tries to grind himself against you, but you tug on his hair to get him to stop.

“Well, tell me what you need me to do,” you whisper down at him. “I can help you. You just need to be a good boy and tell me what you need, okay?”

Dunk groans. “Y-yeah, yeah, I can—I can be good. I just—I just need you, pl-please, my love, I need you.”

You coo at him. “Need me? I’m right here, Dunk.”

“No,” he whines out, leaning his forehead against your stomach. You let him. He groans again, this time more high-pitched, bordering on a whimper. “Need your…”

“Need my…?”

“Gods, my heart is going to implode,” Dunk huffs as an aside. “Please—”

“What do you need, Dunk?” You ask firmly, gripping his hair and forcing him away from your stomach. The broken sound that leaves him almost makes you feel bad, but you need him to make some kind of sense before you give him anything. You know exactly what he wants, but he needs to work for it.

Dunk licks his lips, looking you up and down, and the words that leave his mouth sound like nothing you’ve ever heard from him in the entire time you’ve known him. His tone is dark with need, but still light enough to know his words are edging around a whine. “Need your pussy. Need to fuck you so bad, sweetheart. Need to pump you so full that—”

He cuts himself off with a low moan as you push his head down, pinning him and muffling the rest of his rambling against the fabric covering your mound. His mouth laves over the linen straight away, and the heat that overtakes you threatens to burn you from the inside out.

“Come on then, my boy,” you whisper, rubbing his scalp gently, your other hand smoothing down the strong expanse of his shoulders. “Help me out of this dress and I can give you what you want.”

Dunk grunts in relief as he hurries to his feet and spins you around so fast you feel dizzy. He walks you back a few paces until you can brace your hands against the coarse bark of a tree as he pulls at the ties along the back of your dress. He rips the knots undone, large hands trembling as he makes quick work of unthreading the ribbons he himself had tied earlier that morning.

His movements are harsh. Gods, he’s trying to be gentle, but he just can’t help it.

“Duncan…” You grumble, jostled as he tugs and pulls.

“M’sorry,” he slurs as, giving up on the last few ribbons, he hooks his fingers beneath the silky strings and rips them. You gasp as he practically pulls your dress apart, the sound of material tearing filling the forest as your dress loosens around your shoulders and breasts. Dunk slurs again, “M’so sorry, sweet girl.”

He pulls you to him as he drags your dress from your body, leaving you in your smallclothes as you kick the mass of skirts away. The chemise follows—Dunk pulls it over your head and spins you around at the same time, and you yelp at the speed of it all. Your breasts spill out into the cool air of the forest and his head ducks immediately, mouth attaching to a hardening nipple as one of his large hands finds the other. He kneads it as he drops to his knees once more, sucking harshly whilst his other hand finds your smallclothes.

“Dunk,” you call for him through a whine as he tugs them down, and you barely have time to send them away from your ankles before he’s ripping your legs apart.

His mouth drops from your tits, skims briefly over the soft skin of your tummy, before his nose is dragging down your mound and burrowing between your legs.

You gasp. “Dunk, oh my—”

“Need this,” Dunk grumbles. “Gods, need this. Got to—y’gotta give it to me, sweetheart.”

He inhales deeply, and the sensation makes you squeal and squirm, your back arching against the tree. Your hands find his damp hair again, tugging. But it’s no deterrent—the giant inhales again, this time followed by a loud, unabashed moan that sends the birds above flying from their roosts. The forest seems to echo with it, and you can feel the heat of his face burning deeper as he buries himself against you. You feel his mouth split open, warm lips parting for his tongue to curl outwards. He licks through your folds as another groan spills, the vibrations buzzing through you like bees trapped in a jar.

Your hands shift from his head to his shoulders, and you tug at the fabric of his tunic.

“Dunk,” you say hurriedly. “Off.”

He removes himself from you with a grunt, letting you help him in flinging his tunic off. It lands somewhere in the distance. Dunk doesn’t care though, descending between your legs again and drawing your clit into his mouth with one harsh suck. It makes you yowl, fingernails biting crescents into the freckled skin of his shoulders. His skin is sticky with sweat and impossibly warm.

With another animalistic grunt, Dunk takes one of your legs and tosses it over his shoulder. The new angle allows him to drive his tongue into your drooling hole, and the abruptness makes you keen into him, hips twitching as his nose bumps repeatedly against your clit. Blood pools low beneath the skin, simmering hot in your nerves as he ruts his tongue inside you, each movement eliciting a gravelly groan from the depths of his chest.

His other hand unties the knots of his trousers. He pushes the fabric away with fumbling fingers and pulls his aching cock out of his breeches, the material on the front wet with precum. When his fingers wrap around the length—hot iron wrapped in a sheath of velvet—and the sword callouses on his palm rub against a vein on the underside, his vision whites behind his eyelids. The pleasure is almost painful, the pressure pulling heavily at his cockhead, bruising a purplish-red. Precum leaks from the slit in a continuous rivulet that has his heart knocking against his sternum.

His balls are tight already, and as he tastes you, listening to the light whimpers that fall from your mouth, he realises he’s going to spill. He realises it as his precum wets his palm, his hand gliding without him even needing to spit on it. He realises it as his cock twitches heavily in his hand, again and again; that unmistakable pressure in his lower spine and belly building. He wants to let it happen—he rucks his hips, meeting the movements of his hand, fucking his fist. Grunts muffle in your wet pussy as he chases his high, your thigh warm on his ear.

The precipice of pleasure is right there, but he can’t reach it.

He strokes his cock, twists at the base, tastes the heady scent of you dripping down the back of his throat, but he can’t come.

“Dunk,” you call sweetly, tipsy on pleasure. “Oh, gods, Dunk, keep going.”

It feels like Dunk’s entire face is wet: the upper portion damp with sweat, the lower portion shining with your slick. His mouth moves against you like he’s kissing you, lips spreading and tongue curling. He breathes you in, moaning softly, head bobbing as he continues to fist his cock. It’s nearly trembling in his hand, and you can feel Dunk shivering as he chases a release that refuses to let go.

You can hear him fucking his fist over the wet slurps of his tongue against your pussy. As the forest darkens around you, your ears ring with it, your bare back scratching against the tree trunk as you rock your hips. His mouth is searing hot, forged from the very fires of Dragonstone.

Your thigh quivers over his shoulder as you speak. “Duncan, m’gonna come.”

Your only response is a deep grunt that vibrates your puffy clit, and that has your legs locking up even tighter. Pleasure takes deep root in the base of your spine, and it spreads as you take, take, take, until you topple into your orgasm. It rocks through you, and you hold him tightly, rocking your hips as you spasm around his tongue. Chants of his name roll easily over your lips, and he groans nicely against you as he fucks you through it.

Dunk pulls away after a couple of seconds. His breathing is ragged, lips wet, chest flushed red. He’s still fisting his cock, and you look down at him, meeting his round, watery eyes as he nuzzles against the thigh still draped over his shoulder.

“I…” He breathes in deeply. “I can’t—oh, fuck, I can’t—”

His hand is moving so fast. The sight makes your pussy clench around nothing, and you gingerly remove your thigh from his shoulder. Then, you tap his head.

“Stand up for me, Dunk,” you say gently, trailing a nail along the dip of his clavicle. “I’ll help you, I promise.”

Your husband springs to his feet before you even finish speaking, pushing his trousers and breeches all the way off.

He continues to grasp his cock. It leans forward under the weight of his pleasure, and you both groan when he rubs the head against the soft skin above your navel. Precum spreads across your skin, and when he pulls back, a sticky string connects you two for just a moment. You whimper his name when the string snaps, and he draws in a sharp, almost pained breath.

“Inside,” he whispers, more to himself than you. He drags the head of his cock down as he bends at the knee. “Need… yeah, need to be inside.”

The angle is slightly awkward—he’s just a bit too big—but he makes it work, stooping low as he angles your legs apart. The head of his cock finds the tight hole of your cunt, and he presses it there with surprising restraint.

“M’sorry,” Dunk breathes, leaning forward to mouth at your throat. You arch, and he purrs, pleased, as you willingly give yourself up to him. He kisses your jaw softly. “M’sorry, sweet girl, m’not gonna… I can’t wait. Jus’ need you, s-so jus’ be good, okay? I’ll try—I’ll try t’be gentle, my love. I’ll try for you.”

The head of his cock slips past the ring of your pussy, and you suck in a breath at the stretch. Wide, splitting, and no matter how wet you are, how long he took in stretching you open on his tongue or fingers, there was always a battle of bodies. Always a push to get him fully seated inside you, the tight walls of your cunt clutching around the thick intrusion.

You whimper his name again, nails needling into the tawny freckles along his shoulders.

“I know, I know,” Dunk chants, but he doesn’t stop. He can feel you tensing against him, but he doesn’t stop.

He’s overwhelmed: the heat of your pussy draws his cock in further, his mind going blank, the taste of grapes and lavender aromatic in the grooves of his molars, and leaking from his pores.

His cock slides in further, parting the wet walls of your pussy inch by inch. “Please take it, sweet girl. Please just—fuck, take it.”

It hurts. He’s too fucking big, and he knows it.

You writhe against the tree, standing on your tip-toes now as he drives slowly into you. You're thankful he’s at least easing in bit by bit. You’re not sure you would have survived if he simply took you in one fell thrust.

But at the same time, it feels incredible. The sting of the stretch is underlined by that usual, aching pleasure that festers deep in your pelvis. You feel it as the ridges of his cock run against your posterior wall, splitting you apart, rubbing you the right way. Your heartbeat thrums heavily in your clit, and your back arches against the tree, fingernails now scraping down his broad back.

“Dunk,” you whimper as he feeds his cock into you.

He groans against your throat, sucking harshly. The sound of his name on your mouth, so sweet, so beautiful, snaps whatever composure he had been holding onto. With another guttural groan, Dunk surges forward, jolting his hips inwards and stuffing the rest of his cock inside you.

You cry out, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. He’s rough, his pace coming in quick, brutal thrusts, and he’s panting against your dewy skin all the while. His body shakes against yours as he pulls his cock out, then shoves it back in. You yowl like an injured animal, and Dunk’s heart flutters in his chest.

“M’sorry, m’sorry, m’so sorry—” It rambles from him like a mantra but his hips don’t slow. He spreads you apart, girth still too thick, length still too long. He presses a wet kiss to your cheek. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, I know, but just… gods, just stay like that. Please, sweet girl, be good for me.”

Your back scrapes against the tree as his movements propel you. You’re practically bouncing against him, barely even touching the ground anymore as he takes what he needs. The slide of his cock does hurt, but your walls mould around him like clay. Made for him.

The heat and wetness of your pussy sends him over the edge, and you feel it. You feel him go rigid against you, muscles stiffening as his hips buck. His thrusts grow sloppy, seconds blurring together as his balls tighten and his cock twitches deep inside you. You feel it, feel it nudging up against the plug of your cervix as his hips roll. Then, with a rasping moan of your name, he spills inside you. Deep inside you. Warmth floods your lower belly, through the hollow of your womb as his hips jerk, his mouth biting and sucking at your neck.

And he keeps spilling. It fills you to the brim, and you can’t help but whimper as it drools out from around his cock. With a slightly disgruntled huff, Dunk pulls out, leaning back to look at where his cock hangs, still stiff, between his legs. Cum seeps from the slit, spider-web strings drooling from you too, and the sight almost has him coming again.

But he’s still hard.

“S’not…” Dunk’s brows furrow, and he slants his hips forward to drag his cock against your thigh. You squirm and whine as he wipes his cum across your skin, and then moan when the head prods back at your hole. Dunk whimpers. “S’not enough, need more.”

Then, he’s thrusting back in again. The forest’s shadows engulf you both as he slots himself inside of you, the glide quick and wet and audible as he drives home. You choke on a gasp, hands clutching his shoulders. Your legs are cramping, your back stinging, your pussy aching—but it all softens around the edges as Dunk ruts into you again and again.

“Dunk,” you whisper. “Dunk, please.”

Your husband lifts his head and finally kisses you. For the first time tonight, he slots his mouth against yours. The moan that leaves him has your cunt clenching tightly around the thick of his cock, and one of your hands finds the back of his neck as your tongues meet. It’s an intricate dance, but Dunk's movements are just too desperate to stick to the practised moves—his tongue is breaching, too thick and too strong, flattening against yours roughly. You swap spit, and he pants into the kiss as he chases your tongue and licks over the points of your teeth. It’s sloppy and messy and everything Dunk needs.

His hands are on your waist. Big, encompassing, fingers dimpling the flesh. His cock stretches you open, his heavy balls slapping against the curve of your arse as he ruts you against the tree. The wet sounds of you coming together echo softly through the forest, the sun sunk beyond the horizon now, shadows stretching far and flitting across your connected frames.

“Being so good,” Dunk mutters, licking over your parted lips. It makes you whimper, and your bottom teeth catch his lip. He groans when you release him after a playful nip. “Gods, always so good for me. Needed this so bad, sweetheart. Needed you so bad.”

“Dunk,” you mewl, scratches red along his big shoulders.

Your cunt squeezes tightly around him, another release building deep in your stomach: that same feeling as minutes before, a traction building along your spine as he fucks you. Dunk mouths along your jaw, panting into your ear as his thrusts start to stammer, and before you can react, he’s pulling you away from the tree and manhandling you to the ground. His hard cock slips out of you, the sensation forcing you to suck in a breath as his seed all but drools from your gaping cunt, the cool forest air a sudden stimuli as you’re spun around.

You let out a light grunt as he pushes you down onto your hands and knees, which find the wool of his discarded cloak. Leaves crinkle softly beneath your weight as your back arches and the warmth of Duncan appears behind you. Large, calloused hands trail up your sides, kneading your waist, before dragging back down and palming the curve of your arse.

Dunk gazes at you through the semi-darkness. “Prettiest girl in the realm, aren’t you? And you’re all mine.”

He grunts, then grips the base of his cock. It shines with your slick, wet with his spend too, and he slaps the thick head against one of your arsecheeks. You huff, and he drags the tip down the split of your arse until it ghosts across your hole—just lightly enough to make you draw in an anticipatory breath—before it finds your pussy.

“This is mine,” Dunk utters, and you almost don’t hear him. Even in the relative silence of the forest, his words are so quiet you could have mistaken them for the nearby river. Dunk circles his tip through your soaking folds before notching it and pushing in again. The groan that leaves his mouth makes you shiver. “This—fuck—this fuckin’ pussy, s’all mine. Hey, sweet girl, isn’t that right? Yeah? Tell me this is all mine.”

He thrusts in and you shout, voice carrying through the forest.

“Huh?” Dunk thrusts again, hard and fast. The angle drives him deep against you, tip knocking against the plug of your cervix. He leans over you, sweat dripping from his forehead, hair messy, cheeks pink. His hands pull your arse back onto his pelvis, meeting you thrust for thrust. “Come on, sweetheart, tell me. Need—need you to tell me. Please.”

You don’t know what that woman gave him, but you can see what it’s done to him. You can hear what it’s done, and feel what it’s done.

His rutting is brutal, his cock driving deep towards your womb, your belly full of him. Your arms shake where you hold yourself up, sweat damp in the crook of your elbows as you fist his cloak. It smells like him, and that makes the whines trapped in your throat break free.

“It’s yours, Dunk,” you manage to say as he leans over you, his body hot and too fucking big pressed against your lower spine. You gasp when one of his hands wraps around your hip and heads south, a finger finding your swollen clit. “Oh, fuck, it’s yours.”

Dunk draws a tight circle over the bud, marvelling in the way your pussy immediately tightens around him. “Yeah it is. Gods, I’m the luckiest man in all the seven kingdoms.”

You don’t correct him.

Your body trembles beneath his, and it’s almost like you can feel his cock swelling inside you. He’s impossibly thick, the ridges and veins sliding against the velvet of your walls, the head nailing that perfect, spongy spot inside you. Dunk always knows how to make you feel good, can always get you to where you want to go, but this is something entirely different. There’s an intensity within him you’ve never seen before. A feverish need that’s overtaken him, that flows from his pores, that infects every fibre of his being.

It makes you keen, back arching, listening to the way he grunts with each of his movements, cock splitting you open, heavy balls slapping against your clit as his fingers work against it too. The meat of his muscles are warm against you, solid and sturdy, holding you in place. It all adds to the sensation.

Another orgasm is quickly pulled through your body, and Dunk praises you through it as it crests like a wave.

“That’s a good girl, there we go,” he coos as you come around him, mouth dropping open in a silent moan. Your spine dips, hips stuttering, and Dunk removes his fingers from your aching clit to place a hand in the middle of your back. He forces you into a deeper arch, the new angle punching a scream from your throat as he coos again. “I know, I know, don’t make a fuss, sweet girl. You can do it. You can take me.”

Dunk’s breathing is laboured, and his stamina starts to falter as his cock twitches. Your cunt feels like heaven—a warm, silken heaven—and he screws his eyes shut momentarily, visions of him spilling deep inside you, straight into your womb, vivid in his mind. Maybe you shouldn’t drink the moon tea he finds you brewing during rest stops. Maybe he won’t have to spill across your stomach or tits or arse ever again.

He opens his eyes and grunts around a clenched jaw. “Ah—s’about time I breed—fuck—breed you, sweetheart. Huh? What do you think? Come deep inside this—ah, gods—t-this pretty pussy and give you my child. You’d look so beautiful all fat with my babe, wouldn’t you? Keep you n-nice and bred.”

“Yes, Dunk, fuck,” you moan. “Please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he growls out, fingers a vice on your hips. “Let me feel you. One more time, c’mon, my sweet girl. Let go for me one more time.”

You don’t know if you can.

Your body feels wrung out, like a dress soaked and dried by the river. Your heart clatters against your chest as your breasts push against the material of his cloak. There’s an uncomfortable pressure building in your lower tummy, mostly overwhelmed by overstimulation, but you can feel the remains of pleasure there too.

And Dunk knows you have it in you.

“One more,” he says. “One more, sweetheart, you can do it.”

Body on fire, nerves flaming at their ends, you meet his sloppy thrusts as best as you can. Your limbs tremor like a fawn, and your moans have long run dry: only hoarse whimpers roll from your tongue tasting lightly of honeyed wine.

And then you do give him one more.

Your body reacts to the manic pushing of his cock inside you, reacts to the thick of his cock splitting you open, reacts to the way he whispers your name like the sweetest kind of prayer. You come around him, arms collapsing as your pussy flutters around his girth. You topple forward, moaning his name while the ground shifts to meet you, and your legs seize, verging on a cramp.

“Yes, yes, that’s it, that’s what I want,” Dunk babbles, a large hand wrapping around the back of your neck now and pulling you onto your knees. You’re boneless, and he’s so strong, so you can’t do much but let him haul you back against his broad, sweaty chest. He presses a hot kiss to the skin just beside your tragus. “Such a good girl—you did it. Gods, my sweet girl, my perfect girl. You did it, an’ you did so good for me.”

Bulky arms encircle you, bouncing you back against his cock. He grunts into your ear, ragged and bearish, as his entire body pulses with heat. He’s feverish, ill with pleasure, and you’re his soothing balm: the perfect remedy.

With one last pathetic whimper of your name, Dunk shoves himself to the hilt, as deep as he can possibly go, as his orgasm flows through him. His teeth sink into the skin on your shoulder as his cock jerks, hot spurts flooding thick into your womb. You sigh softly into the cool early night air, reclining back against your husband as he empties himself inside you again, your pussy milking him for all it’s worth. Dunk groans into your shoulder, fever finally breaking, his cock giving one last jolt before it slowly starts to soften inside of you. The feeling nearly makes his eyes roll into the back of his head, relief filling him.

You stay like this for a little while. He presses silent, delicate kisses along your bare shoulder and onto your cheek, his hands rubbing over your breasts and belly, but not in a sexual way. His big, rough hands are calming as you both fizzle down from your highs.

Soon though, Dunk realises the forest around you has grown too dark. Wordlessly, he helps you to your feet, bundling you in his cloak before guiding you towards the fire. It is made, but unlit, but it’s roaring in mere minutes as Dunk—who has hurriedly thrown his breeches and trousers on—adds more fuel to the flickering orange flames. 

Then, beneath the firelight, Dunk cleans you up. You sit on a stump before him as he dabs a wet cloth between your legs, wiping his seed from your core. He presses tender kisses to the inside of your knees, and soon you’re dressed, and the two of you snack on salt beef, cuddling beneath the stars.

“Maybe you should go back to that woman,” you say jokingly, turning your head to find Dunk already looking at you. His eyes reflect the fire. You smile. “I like it when you’re needy. I wonder if she has a long-lasting one?”

Dunk flushes, averting his eyes. “I don’t want to have to go through that again. As much as it felt great, my cock also felt about ready to break in half.”

You laugh, and Dunk resumes watching you carefully. After a moment, something lights up in his eyes, and he gets to his feet, still chewing a mouthful of salt beef, and retrieves his rope belt from where the horses graze nearby. When he returns, you lean your head against the pillowy muscle of his upper arm, peering at his big hands as he plucks a small pouch from the belt.

“I got you these,” your husband says shyly, handing you the bag.

You beam when you open it and see your favourite sweets. You incline your head and urge Dunk down to you, drawing his mouth into a sweet kiss.

“Thank you,” you tell him. “I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you more.”

Then, you laugh. “Oh, you poor boy. You went to the market to purchase some sweets, and instead you got poisoned—” you say that part sarcastically, “—by a little old lady. My poor, poor boy.”

You reach up and stroke his hair, watching with awe as his eyes fall closed and a deep purr leaves his chest. His arm wraps tighter around you, pulling you closer into his side.

He never wants to let you go.

———

god he’s so hot