#{duncan

Tourneys were your favorite place to work, from the bustling crowds of nobles to the excitement and energy that filled the air. Your lord Lyonel Baratheon was a very generous patron to you, he even made sure you had the chance to go to see the matches yourself when he didn't need your service.

You and the rest of the servants worked the whole tent, preparing the meals and drinks and serving the guests. Everyone was dressed in the best finery, and the atmosphere was lively and exciting. Lyonel was a wild man, sitting at his high table sharing stories and laughing, the knights around him were drinking and eating, cheering on the tourney fighters and sharing jokes.

You were weaving through the crowd with a tray of empty cups when you first spotted him.

He ducked under the tent flap like a man entering a child’s playhouse, having to stoop just to clear the entryway. The other knights around him were tall men in their own right, but he towered over them like a great oak over saplings. Your feet slowed. Your tray tilted. One of the cups slid and you caught it just before it could clatter to the ground.

Seven hells.

He wasn’t just tall. He was enormous. Broad-shouldered, thick-necked, with hands that could probably wrap around your whole waist and then some. He moved with the careful, deliberate gait of a man who spent his whole life being too big for the world around him, ducking under doorways and watching his elbows. There was something almost gentle about the way he navigated the crowded tent, nodding apologetically to another serving girl he nearly bumped into, offering a shy smile to a lord who clapped him on the arm.

You suspected he was the infamous Ser Duncan the Tall. You heard the name from your Lord Lyonel, who was absolutely beside himself with glee to have such a specimen at his table. Lyonel had a tendency to attract unique and interesting knights, you had met your fair share, but Ser Duncan was something else. The way the firelight caught the broad planes of his face, the way his simple tunic stretched across shoulders that looked strong enough to carry a wagon.

You wanted to climb him like a tree.

The thought made you bite back a smile. You had always been bold; some might say too bold for a serving girl... but you would argue that you just knew what you liked. And you liked them big. Strong. Men who could pick you up and pin you against the nearest wall if the mood struck them.

And, well... you could tell Ser Duncan would definitely be able to do that.

You adjusted your grip on the tray and made your way toward him, weaving through the crowd with purpose. He found a spot near one of the side tables, sitting slightly apart from the other knights, like he wasn’t quite sure he belonged.

"What are you having, Ser?" You asked as you neared him, giving him a flirtatious smile.

Duncan startled, blinking like a deer caught in a snare. When his eyes met yours, you had to stifle a giggle. Gods above, he was adorable.

"Me?"

You grinned, setting your tray on the table and stepping closer to him. "I didn't think I was talking to anyone else."

A faint pink flush colored his cheeks. You resisted the urge to pinch them, instead pouring him a cup of wine and handing it to him. He accepted it, taking a small sip.

"Thank you," he said, his voice low. He set the cup back down, looking slightly embarrassed. "It's-it's good."

"You don't sound convinced," you teased.

"I, uh…" He glanced at the flagon, then back at you. "I'm actually not much of a wine drinker."

You set your tray down on the table, bold as you pleased. "But this is no ordinary wine, Ser. This is a special blend, crafted from the finest Dornish grapes, crushed beneath the breasts of the most beautiful maidens and aged for fifty years in the cellars of House Martell themselves. How can you turn up your nose at such a delicacy?"

Ser Duncan's eyebrows rose. His gaze flickered down to your chest, then quickly away, like a man realizing he'd been caught stealing. "Crushed beneath... what?"

"The breasts of beautiful maidens." You couldn't help the wicked grin that curled the corners of your lips. "Big ones, usually."

Ser Duncan's mouth fell open. He looked completely scandalized, his cheeks now positively flaming. The sight was too much for you. You laughed, unable to contain yourself any longer.

"I'm only teasing you, ser. This is watered down peasant wine."

He huffed a quiet laugh, and the sound of it rumbled deep in his chest. "That sounds more like it."

He reached for the flagon, and you watched his massive fingers wrap around the handle. Everything about him was big; knuckles, wrists, the corded muscles of his forearms. You wondered what those hands would feel like against your skin, squeezing your hips, pulling you down onto his-

You bit the inside of your cheek. Gods, the things he could do to you...

"You’re with Lord Baratheon’s retinue?" he asked, taking a tentative sip.

"Mmhm." You leaned against the table, angling your body toward him. "Pouring ales, fetching food, listening to lords tell the same stories they told at the last three tourneys."

He smiled again, broader this time. It softened his whole face, made him look even sweeter somehow. "I don’t imagine they’re very good stories."

"They get worse every time. Bigger battles, more dragons, more women who were definitely not that beautiful." You tilted your head, studying him. "You are Ser Duncan the Tall, aren't you?"

He ducked his head, a flush creeping up his neck. "Just Dunk, mostly. Yes. That's me."

"Lord Lyonel spoke of you earlier. Said you were a champion in the making."

Dunk rubbed the back of his neck. "Did he, now? I don't know about that. He's a generous man, is all."

"Don’t sell yourself short." The words came out before you could stop them, and you watched the flush deepen. "My lord has great instincts for talent. He can sniff out a great warrior a mile away. If he says you're a champion, then you're a champion."

He looked at you then, really looked, and you felt something warm curl in your belly. His gaze was direct but not forward, curious but not presumptuous. Like he was trying to figure out what to make of you.

"What’s your name?" he asked.

You told him. Watched his lips shape it as he repeated it back, like he was memorizing it.

"That’s a pretty name," he said. Simple. Earnest. Like he didn’t know how to be anything else.

Seven save me, you thought. He’s so sweet. Like a big dumb puppy.

Gods, but you had a weakness for the sweet ones. The idea of being pinned beneath him while he pumped his hips into you, his brow furrowed in concentration and his sweet mouth shaping your name over and over again, had the blood rushing straight between your legs.

The bold part of you. The part that had gotten you into and out of trouble more times than you could count; pushed you forward. You reached out and touched his arm. The muscle beneath his sleeve was solid as oak.

"You should dance with me, future champion, it may be the only time I have such an honor." You offered him your hand.

His eyes went wide. He looked around, like he was checking to see if anyone was watching, then back at you. "Me? I'm not much of a dancer."

"This isn't the lists sweet knight, it's not a contest. Just two people moving together." You wiggled your fingers, smiling encouragingly.

He swallowed hard, and rose to his feet. He was even bigger up close, towering over you like a redwood. The top of your head barely cleared his chest, and you could feel the heat coming off him in waves.

You took his hand. His palm dwarfed yours, his fingers wrapped easily around your wrist. You had to strain your neck to look up at him. He stared back down at you, a question in his eyes. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and then you pulled him toward the center of the tent. He kept his steps light, letting you lead, his expression open and curious.

The minstrels were playing a jaunty, wild tune. It filled the air, swirling with the smell of food and drink and laughter. You pulled Dunk close and let the music take you.

Dunk was clumsy at first, hesitant. You had to coax him, show him the rhythm, guide his steps. But he was a quick study, and soon he was matching your pace, mirroring your movements.

You lost track of time after that.

It could have been minutes or hours. Your blood was singing, and at some point Dunk had lifted you onto his shoulders, and the tent spun and blurred as he carried you around, laughing the whole time. You were only slightly distracted by the feeling of his hands on your thighs, big and warm, calloused fingers pressing into soft flesh.

You had to keep reminding yourself to breathe.

At some point, the minstrels started playing a slower tune. The dancers around you paired off, and Dunk set you gently on your feet.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair was tousled from the dancing, his skin flushed and shining with sweat. He was so gorgeous it hurt. "I didn't mean to carry you off like that."

"I don't mind. I like being carried." You bit your lip, reaching out and touching his arm again. "Do you want to get some air?"

"I-" He paused, and his gaze dropped to your lips. His tongue darted out, wetting his own. "Sure."

You took his hand and led him away, weaving through the crowd. When you glanced over your shoulder, his gaze was fixed on the curve of your hips. A shiver ran down your spine.

Gods, but he was adorable.

You ducked out the back entrance, into the cool night air. The moon hung overhead, half full and bright. You meant to keep walking, to find somewhere private, but the moment the tent flap fell closed behind you, Dunk's hand caught your wrist.

"Wait."

You turned. He stood there, backlit by the glow from the tent. His chest was rising and falling like he'd run a race.

"I just-" He stopped, shook his head. "You should know. I'm not... I don't do this. Usually. I'm not good at-"

You stepped toward him, rising on your toes, and pressed your palm to his chest. His heart was pounding. "Neither am I, Ser Duncan. But I'd like to. With you."

Something in his face shifted. Softened. His hand came up to cover yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You bit your lip again, looking up at him from under your lashes. "C'mon."

Dunk followed behind you. You could hear his footsteps, heavy and uneven on the grass. You slowed, and his hand found the small of your back. A simple, chaste gesture, and yet you felt it in every fiber of your being.

"This way," you said, leading him through the darkness. The castle gardens were empty, the trees standing dark and silent.

The two of you slipped into a cluster of trees, moonlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the ground.

Dunk's hand slid up to the nape of your neck, and as you turned, he pressed your back against the tree, his body caging you in.

He bent his head and kissed you, slow and gentle. His lips were soft, almost sweet, and the taste of him had your pulse fluttering in your throat. He was so much bigger than you, his broad chest blocking out the moon and stars.

"You're very forward," he murmured, kissing along your jaw, down the column of your throat. "Very bold."

"I like what I like." You arched into his touch, sliding your hands up his chest, his neck, burying your fingers in his hair.

He chuckled, his hands dipping under your bottom, lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you let out a soft gasp when his hips pressed into yours.

Even through the fabric of his breeches, the length and girth of him was unmistakable. You felt yourself clench, a wave of heat spreading through you.

"Like what you feel, sweet girl?" He asked, rocking into you.

"Yes, ser." Your voice was breathless, the title slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

"Just Dunk," he corrected, and his voice had gone deep, a rumble that settled low in your belly.

"Dunk." You tightened your legs around him, feeling the muscles in his back shift and flex as he held you.

One of his massive hands moved up your thigh, pushing your skirts ahead of it. The fabric bunched around your hips, and the cool night air hit your bare skin. His fingers found the damp heat of you through your smallclothes, and he groaned.

"You're soaked."

You whimpered as he slid a finger under the fabric, touching the slick heat of your sex. He pressed his lips to the hollow of your throat, licking a slow stripe up the side of your neck, his fingers exploring.

"You're so warm," he murmured, his thick fingers searching through the slick heat, finding the place where your body opened for him. He circled there, a teasing pressure, and your hips canted up against his hand.

"There?" He asked, his voice a low rasp against your ear.

You could only manage a nod, a broken sound escaping your throat as he pressed the tip of one thick finger inside. Just the first knuckle, and you felt the stretch, a burning sweetness that made you clutch at his shoulders.

"So tight," he breathed, pulling back slightly before pressing in again, deeper this time. "Gods, you feel like silk."

His thumb found the sensitive nub above your entrance, circling it with a devastatingly light pressure. The dual sensations had your head falling back against the tree, a moan tearing from your lips as he began to work that single finger in and out of you, a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your thighs trembling.

He was watching you, his blue eyes wide and fixed on your face, drinking in every gasp and shudder. His other hand held you steady against the tree, supporting your weight like it was nothing.

"Is that good?" he murmured, his lips grazing your ear.

"Yes." It was the only word you could manage.

He was panting now, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. His body was rock-hard against yours, the outline of his cock straining against his breeches. He added another finger, and your nails dug into his shoulders, a desperate noise slipping from your lips.

"Look at you," he groaned, his fingers beginning to pump faster, in and out, the heel of his palm hitting the apex of your sex with every thrust. "Riding my fingers, making the prettiest noises..."

You reached for his cock, fumbling with the laces of his breeches. The fabric strained, his size barely contained within. He groaned, looking down between you as you managed to slip your hand beneath the fabric and wrap it around him.

Your fingers didn't even meet.

The girth of him alone was incredible, hot and velvety against your palm, the tip leaking pre-cum that smeared across the head. The realization of what he was about to put all that inside you hit you like a wave, and a sudden surge of need gripped you, the ache of emptiness driving you crazy.

He seemed to have the same thought. His fingers slid out of you, and then those massive hands were gripping the backs of your thighs, shifting your weight. He stepped back from the tree, carrying you with him, and hitched you higher against his chest. The world tilted. Now you were looking down at him, knees bent around his waist, your body angled so that when he adjusted his stance, the blunt head of his cock nudged at your entrance.

He tilted his face up to yours, eyes half-lidded and dark. "It's been so long since I-" He swallowed hard. "Gods, you're perfect." A flush crept up his cheeks even as desire burned in his gaze. "If you want me to stop, just say the word and I'll stop, alright?"

You shook your head, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. "Don't stop. Please, Dunk. Please."

He lowered you then. Or rather, he loosened his grip on your thighs, and gravity did the rest; easing down onto him inch by incredible inch, his gaze never leaving your face.

The stretch was a burning sweetness that had your nails digging into the broad planes of his shoulders. You could feel the muscles there, the way they bunched and flexed beneath your fingers, rock-solid from holding you like you weighed nothing.

"Easy," he breathed against your lips, though whether he was talking to you or himself, you couldn't tell. "Easy, sweet girl. Take it slow."

But slow felt impossible. He was so much thicker than any man you had ever taken, longer than his fingers had prepared you for. You felt full to bursting and he was barely halfway inside you.

Dunk made a sound low in his throat, something almost pained. His forehead dropped to yours, eyes squeezed shut.

"You feel..." He swallowed hard. "Gods, you're so tight. So small."

He took a step forward, pressing you back against the tree, and then he rolled his hips. The motion sent him a little deeper, and a moan escaped your throat.

"So sweet," he murmured, repeating the movement, this time with a bit more force. "The way you squeezed me? Do it again."

You tried, you really did, but the gentle command in his voice had your muscles fluttering uselessly around him. He was just so big, filling you so completely that there was barely room to move.

He seemed to understand. A slow, almost wondering smile curved his lips.

"Can't, can you?" He shifted his hips, pressing deeper just a tiny fraction, and you cried out at the sensation. "I've got you too full. Look at that."

He tightened his grip on your back and thigh, helping him to lift you and lower you on his cock. His strength was absurd, almost casual, and the realization that he could do this all night without tiring made you whimper.

Up. The drag of him almost pulling free.

Down. The heavy stretch of him filling you again.

He set a rhythm, slow and deep, and each downward stroke seated him so fully inside you that you felt him against your cervix, a pressure that bordered on too much and somehow made you ache for more.

Your hands scrambled at his shoulders, fingers finding purchase in the thick muscle there. You could feel every sinew, his body a furnace of heat and power. When you dug your nails in, he groaned, and the sound vibrated through his chest into yours.

"You're gripping my shoulders," he observed, voice rough with amusement and desire. "Like you're afraid I'll drop you."

He loosened his hold slightly, just enough that you slid down another fraction of an inch on his cock, and you yelped, clutching him tighter.

"I've got you." He tightened his grip again, pulling you up and then letting out a deep groan as he sank back inside. "Gods, I've got you."

He kissed you then, fierce and open mouthed, his tongue sliding against yours, the taste of him flooding your senses. You rocked into his thrusts, meeting his rhythm, chasing the feeling building inside you.

Your climax hit suddenly, and Dunk swallowed your moans as you clung to him. It tore through you, leaving you shaking, a shuddering mess in his arms.

His breathing was ragged, the tendons in his neck standing out. His rhythm grew erratic, his hips pumping into you, the sound of skin slapping on skin obscenely loud in the quiet of the gardens.

"Where do you... Fuck, where-"

"Inside," you managed.

Dunk's breath hissed through his teeth. "That's not- ahh- not a good idea. Not unless- not if we-"

He slammed his hips into yours, and his body went rigid. You could feel him, pulsing, his cock jerking inside you. He held you there, grinding, and the sensation had you gasping, a second, smaller peak rolling over you.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck. His mouth was open, his chest heaving.

When he finally pulled out, his seed dripped down the inside of your thigh.

You were both panting, a sheen of sweat coating his brow. The moment you were steady on your feet, he reached for the hem of your skirts and began trying to straighten them, his movements fumbling.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his gaze flicking to yours. "I wasn't too rough?"

The concern in his eyes was real, his expression sweetly open. You couldn't help yourself; you giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, and he lifted you into a kiss.

"Not at all, champion. You were perfect."

A flush crept up his cheeks. He reached up and brushed his knuckles across your cheek.

"Can I see you again?" he asked, his voice hesitant. "I mean, I understand if not. But if you'd like to... I'd like to. Very much."

You smiled. You couldn't help it.

"I'd like that."

And when he grinned, and the moonlight fell across his face, his expression so bright and boyish and beautiful, you decided right then and there that you didn't just want him for one night.

No, if the gods were kind, maybe you could keep him for a while.

"Say that again."

"I want your baby. I want to… you heard me."

In one swift motion, Aerion stood up from his chair. He grabbed your wrist roughly, yanking you to your feet. "Come with me. Now."

His voice was low and commanding as he dragged you out of the dining room, not caring if you stumbled. The servants scattered out of his way as he stormed through the halls, pulling you along.

Once inside the bedchambers, he shoved you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His other hand gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his piercing gaze.

"You want my baby? Is that what this is about?"

You nodded weakly, your legs buckling as heat pooled in your lower stomach.

He pulled you towards the massive four-poster bed, never releasing his grip on your wrists. With a quick movement, he shoved you onto the plush mattress, crawling over you predatorily. His eyes gleamed with wicked intent as he loomed above your prone form.

"This is what's been on that pretty little mind of yours all night," he murmured, one hand sliding down to grip your hip possessively while the other traced the delicate line of your collarbone. "Being bred."

His words sent shivers down your spine, desire coiling hot and heavy in your core. You arched beneath him, pressing your body flush against his as your hands came up to clutch at his shoulders.

"Yes," you breathed, looking up at him through lowered lashes. "I want it. I need it. Please, Aerion."

He chuckled darkly at your desperate attempts to entice him, amused by how shamelessly you were throwing yourself at him. His hand moved from your breast to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing slightly difficult.

"Greedy girl," he growled approvingly. "So eager to be claimed."

He sat back on his haunches, keeping you pinned with his grip on your neck. With his free hand, he started unbuckling his belt, the metallic clink obscenely loud in the charged air between you.

"Beg for it then," he said. "Let me hear how badly you need your prince's cock stretching you open."

"Please-" you moaned. "Give it to me-please, please, please-"

He smirked wickedly at your wanton pleas, drinking in the sight of you writhing desperately beneath him.

Now fully nude, he crawled back over you, caging you in with his arms. With a wicked grin, he reached for the hem of your gown, practically tearing the delicate fabric as he yanked it up and off your body in one swift motion. Your undergarments followed shortly after, leaving you bare and exposed beneath his hungry gaze.

Large hands gripped your thighs, pushing your knees up and back towards your chest. He settled between your legs, the thick head of his cock nudging insistently at your entrance.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he purred darkly, rubbing the tip of his member through your slick folds.

You nodded, your hands going to his back as you begged for his cock. "Need to feel you inside of me."

He snarled in approval at your desperate pleas. With a powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt inside your tight heat, not stopping until his heavy balls rested against your ass.

"Fuck, yes," he growled, giving you a moment to adjust before setting a brutal pace. His hips snapped against yours mercilessly, each thrust driving him impossibly deeper. The wet squelch of your joined flesh filled the room, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin.

"This cunt belongs to me now," he said, one hand tangling in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the column of your throat. "I'm going to pump you full of my seed, breed this fertile womb until it takes."

He pounded into you with animalistic ferocity, grunting and snarling as he rutted against your body like a beast in heat. His thick cock stretched you deliciously, hitting depths you didn't even know you had with every savage thrust.

"Fuck, your cunt feels incredible," he roared. "Milk it, you filthy slut. Beg for my cum."

"Yes-please-" you screamed, voice hoarse as he hit something deep inside you.

You shattered around him, your release triggering his own. Gripping your hips bruisingly tight, he slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the root as he exploded inside you.

"Fuck yes, take it all," he groaned. "Gonna fill this cunt to the brim, make this belly swell with my baby."

Hot ropes of thick cum painted your insides as he emptied himself deep in your spasming channel. He kept you pinned, ensuring every drop took root. His balls continued to pulse against your sensitive skin, working to deposit every ounce of his potent seed.

When your bodies finally stilled, he collapsed against you, both of you sweaty and spent. He lifted his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he saw rivulets of pearly essence starting to leak out around his softening cock.

"Looks like some of my precious seed is escaping," he teased, voice husky with renewed lust. In one fluid motion, he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, pulling your hips back towards him. "We can't have that, now can we?"

He notched the head of his cock back at your entrance. "I suppose I'll just have to put more inside to replace what your greedy little cunt is wasting."

He thrust back into you, and you cried out, your body already aching for more.

Daeron - You’re walking to the tavern together, your arm looped through Daeron's, the evening air cool and pleasant. He had been in good spirits, lighter than usual, his violet eyes soft, his steps steady. You had been looking forward to a quiet night, just the two of you.

Then you heard the crying.

It was a small sound, thin and miserable, coming from the alley beside the tavern. You stopped, pulling Daeron to a halt.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Someone's crying."

You let go of his arm and walked toward the sound. A child, a little girl, no older than four or five, sat on the ground, her knees pulled to her chest, her face streaked with tears.

"Hey," you said softly, crouching down. "What's wrong?"

She looked up at you, her lip trembling. "I can't find my mama."

Your heart clenched. You opened your arms. "Come here, sweetheart. Let me help you."

She hesitated, then crawled into your lap, burying her face in your shoulder. You held her, rocking her gently, humming a soft tune.

Within moments, her crying stopped. She just sat there, curled against you, breathing slowly.

Daeron stood frozen behind you. He had watched the whole thing, the way you knelt without hesitation, the way you held her, the way your voice soothed her instantly. His throat tightened. He looked away, running a hand through his hair. Calm the fuck down, he told himself.

You found her mother a few minutes later, a frantic woman who wept with relief. The little girl waved goodbye, her face now bright and cheerful.

"Thank you," the mother said. "Thank you so much."

You smiled and waved back as they disappeared into the crowd.

"Daeron?" you said, turning to him. "Everything alright?"

He nodded, but his eyes were soft, distant. "You're a natural."

"What?"

"With her. You didn't hesitate. You just... held her, and she stopped crying." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know how you do it."

"Daeron-"

"It's what I want." His voice was low, barely audible. "I want to have a child with you."

You stared at him. "You do?"

"I've been thinking about it for weeks. Every time I see you with children, every time I watch you be gentle and patient and good- I want that. I want to be a father. I want to be a father with you."

You reached out, taking his hand. "I want that too."

He squeezed your hand, his eyes soft and vulnerable. "You do?"

"I've been thinking about it too. Every time I see you smile, every time you hold my hand, I think about what it would be like to have a child with you."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he stepped closer, his forehead pressing to yours.

"Let's go home," he said.

"Yes," you whispered. "Let's go home."

You barely made it through the door before he was on you, his mouth hot on yours, his hands tugging at your gown.

"I want to give you a baby," he breathed against your lips. "I want to see you round with my child."

"Then give me one," you said, pulling him toward the bed.

He laid you down, undressing you with trembling hands. He settled between your thighs, pushing inside you slow and deep.

He moved inside you, deep and urgent. You came with a cry, your body clenching around him, and he followed a moment later, spilling deep inside you with a broken groan.

He stayed, buried deep, his hand pressed to your stomach.

"You're going to be such a good mother," he whispered.

"And you're going to be a wonderful father."

Duncan - You’ve been watching him for what seemed like hours, all afternoon through the window of the cottage.

Duncan was outside, mending the fence by the pasture. His shirt was off, discarded on the grass, his back glistening with sweat under the afternoon sun. His muscles flexed with every swing of the hammer, every pull of the wire. He had no idea you were watching. He had no idea what he was doing to you. No. Idea.

Your thighs pressed together, and you felt the dampness pooling there, your body aching with a need that had been building for days. You had tried to be patient. You had tried to wait for the right moment. But watching him like this, strong and steady and so utterly him, you couldn't take it anymore.

You walked outside, your feet bare on the grass, and stopped in front of him. He looked up, hammer still in hand, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"Nothing." You stepped closer, pressing your body against his. "I need you."

He blinked, startled. "Right now?"

"Right now."

"Dove, I'm covered in-"

"Duncan." You reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth down to yours. "I need you inside me. I need you to put a baby in me. Right now."

His hammer dropped. It hit the grass with a dull thud.

"Put a baby?-"

"Yes." You kissed him again, deep and desperate. "I've been watching you all day. I can't think about anything else. I need your cock inside me. I need you to breed me. Please."

"Fuck," he breathed. He lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist, his mouth never leaving yours. He carried you inside, past the kitchen, past the table, and laid you down on the bed with a gentleness that contrasted with his desperation.

His big hands shook as he tore at the laces of your gown, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted, his voice thick with worry. "I don't know how to be-"

"You don't have to know anything," you said, pulling him down on top of you. "Please, Duncan. I need your baby. I need you to fill me up."

He pushed inside you, his movements deep and urgent, and you cried out, your legs wrapped around his waist. The stretch of him, the way he filled you completely, made your mind go blank.

"Yes-yes-" You clawed at his back, your nails leaving marks across his shoulders. "Cum inside me, please. Make me pregnant. Please."

"Fuck-" He groaned, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his body shuddering against yours. He kept thrusting, desperate, as if he could force it to take.

"Did it work?" he asked, breathless.

"We won’t know yet," you said, your voice shaky. "But I want to keep trying."

He laughed, nodding. "Whatever you want, dove."

He held you all night, his big hand splayed across your stomach, already praying.

Valarr - The council chamber was stifling. The fire crackled too loudly, the candles burned too bright, and the air was thick with the kind of tension that came from men who thought they knew better than their prince.

You sat beside Valarr, your hand resting on his knee beneath the table. You’ve been married for all of two months. A blink of an eye. You were still learning each other's rhythms, still finding clothes in the wrong drawers, still discovering the small ways you fit together. You weren’t really trying for a child, not really. You’ve just been enjoying each other, letting things happen naturally.

The lords did not agree.

"My prince," Lord Hightower said, "it has been two months. The realm is watching. Your father's line must be secured. Perhaps it is time to consider... alternatives."

Valarr's hand stilled on his wine cup. His mismatched eyes flicked to Hightower, cold and sharp.

"Alternatives?"

"A second wife," Lord Redwyne added, leaning forward. "A woman of proven fertility. You could keep your current wife, of course, but a secret marriage-"

The temperature in the room dropped immediately and your breath hitched. Oh boy.

Valarr's hand moved from his cup to your thigh beneath the table. His grip was firm, possessive, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh through the silk of your gown. It was not gentle. It was a claim. Heat pooled low in your belly. You pressed your thighs together, suddenly very aware of every place his body touched yours.

"Let me be clear," Valarr said, his voice low and even. "I will not take a second wife. I will not set aside my wife. I will not entertain the idea of any other woman in my bed."

"My prince-"

"You are advising me to commit treason against the Faith," Valarr cut him off, his voice rising. "You are advising me to break vows I made before the Seven, to humiliate the woman I love, all because you are impatient for an heir, that, need I remind you, is not even yours."

He slammed his hand on the table. The cups rattled. The lords flinched.

She is the only wife I will ever want," he said, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. "She is the only wife I will ever need. If I hear so much as a whisper of this idea again, I will have you stripped of your lands and titles. Do I make myself clear?"

Your breath hitched yet again. The way he said it…so absolute, so possessive, sent a shiver down your spine. You shifted in your seat, your thighs pressing together. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable. The lords exchanged glances. They nodded, bowing their heads.

"Crystal, my prince."

Valarr stood, his hand still gripping your thigh. "We are done here."

He pulled you to your feet and led you out of the chamber, his strides long and purposeful. The servants scattered. The doors slammed behind you.

He did not stop until you reached your chambers. The door had barely closed before he had you pressed against it, his body hard against yours, his mouth hot on your neck.

"Do you have any idea," he growled, "what it does to me, hearing them talk about you like that?"

"Yes," you breathed. "And I'm so wet for you."

He pulled back, his eyes dark. "What?"

"You." You reached down, pressing his hand between your thighs, letting him feel the damp heat through your gown. "I could barely sit still in that room. The way you spoke to them..."

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're-"

"I'm yours." You pulled him down, pressing your lips to his. "Now give me your baby."

He lifted you, carrying you to the bed. He laid you down, undressing you roughly, his hands shaking with need.

"Tonight," he said, pushing inside you. "Tonight, I'm going to fill you so full that you'll be carrying my child before the sun rises."

You cried out, your legs wrapped around his waist. "Yes, yes, please-"

He moved inside you, deep and relentless, his forehead pressed to yours.

"You are the only one," he said, his voice breaking. "The only one I will ever want. The only one I will ever love. Do you understand?"

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I understand."

He came with a broken groan, spilling deep inside you, his body shuddering against yours.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

Alas, a few months later, you cradled a healthy baby boy in your arms. Valarr looked down at you, his mismatched eyes soft.

"Guess that worked," he said.