ThunderHawk727

The transition from the public eye to the privacy of the bedroom is always a violent shift in atmosphere. In the ballroom or the council chambers, Maekar is a pillar of stoic composure, his affection limited to the ghost of a touch or the possessive weight of his hand pressing you against his side. But the moment the heavy oak doors click shut and the lock turns, the mask doesn't just slip, it shatters.

He doesn't waste time with gentle words or slow build-ups. The hunger he’s been suppressing all evening erupts the second you are alone. Maekar slams you against the door, the impact rattling your teeth, his mouth crashing onto yours in a kiss that tastes of desperation and raw need. There is no hesitation, only a frantic urgency to strip away the barriers of fabric between your skin and his.

His hands, usually so controlled, are now rough and demanding. He rips your clothes aside, the sound of tearing fabric punctuating the heavy silence of the room.

He doesn't ask, but instead he takes. He hauls you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and he pins you to the wall, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

“I've been thinking about this since this fucking morning,” he growls against your neck, his voice a low, guttural rasp.

He doesn't use lubricant or a slow entry; he simply aligns his thick, pulsing cock with your soaking wet pussy and drives himself inside you in one brutal, devastating thrust. You gasp, your head snapping back against the wood, as he fills you completely, stretching you to your absolute limit.

Maekar fucks you like a man possessed, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythmic, punishing force. Every thrust is deep and violent, bottoming out against your cervix, sending shocks of intense pleasure and pressure through your entire body. He isn't looking for romance but the burning desire to claim you, venting every ounce of the restraint he maintained in public through the sheer friction of his cock sliding in and out of your tight heat.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with a primal, predatory lust. He reaches down, his thumb grinding hard against your clit while he continues to hammer into you, the combination of the internal pounding and the external friction pushing you toward the edge.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice thick. “Tell me how much you want it. Tell me you're mine.”

As you sob out your surrender, he accelerates, his movements becoming a blur of friction and sweat. He grunts with every impact, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He drives himself deeper, harder, determined to leave his mark on you, until he finally hits his breaking point. With a final, guttural roar, Maekar thrusts one last time, burying himself as deep as possible as he erupts, pumping hot, thick loads of cum deep inside your womb, shaking with the intensity of a release that has been building for hours.

GLUTTONY.

He would indulge in your company more than any feast. After long days of duty, he seeks the quiet of your chambers, another cup of wine shared with you, another moment beside you before sleep. If he is greedy for anything, it is your presence.

The heavy oak door of the chambers clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the court and the suffocating weight of his duties. Maekar didn't even pause to remove his cloak before he was across the room, his eyes locked on yours with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. He had spent the day playing the part of the composed prince, but here, in the dim amber glow of the hearth, that mask shattered.

He poured two cups of wine, but as he handed one to you, his fingers lingered, brushing against your skin with a desperate sort of tenderness. He didn't want the wine, but rather he wanted the taste of you. He set his own cup aside, untouched, and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He breathed you in, a low groan vibrating in his chest as he pressed his lips against your pulse point.

“I have thought of nothing else since dawn,” he murmured, his voice husky and thick with longing.

Maekar didn't waste time with slow build-ups tonight. His greed was on full display. He guided you toward the edge of the bed, his hands roaming your curves with an urgent possessiveness. With a swift, fluid motion, he stripped you bare, his gaze devouring every inch of your skin as if he were memorizing you for the first time.

He dropped to his knees before you, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. He didn't hesitate. He dove in, his tongue finding your clit with a precision that made your back arch and your breath hitch. Maekar ate you out like a man who had been wandering a desert for years and had finally found water.

His tongue was broad and insistent, licking deep into your pussy, swirling around your nub with a relentless rhythm. He sucked your clit hard into his mouth, creating a vacuum that sent jolts of electricity straight to your core. He was greedy, drinking in your juices, his face smeared with your wetness as he licked from your perineum up to your hood, over and over again.

You gripped his hair, pulling him closer, but he was already as deep as he could get. He used his fingers to stretch you open, sliding two fingers inside your tight heat while his tongue continued to pummel your clit. The combination was overwhelming. He groaned against your skin, the sound muffled by your folds, his breath hot and erratic.

He didn't stop when you started to shake, he pushed harder, his tongue flicking faster and faster, driving you toward the edge. He wanted every drop of you, savoring the way your muscles clamped down on his fingers and the way you cried out his name. When you finally peaked, your orgasm crashing over you in violent waves, Maekar stayed right there, licking every last drop of your cum from your pussy, refusing to let a single bit of your pleasure go to waste.

GREED.

Maekar is not greedy for gold, but he is possessive of what he loves. He guards your safety, your comfort, your reputation with the vigilance of a dragon over its hoard. No slight against you goes unanswered.

Maekar didn't care for the glittering trinkets of the world; gold was cold, stagnant, and bore no warmth. His true hoard was you. He guarded you with a fierce, suffocating intensity, his eyes always scanning for any perceived threat to your safety or any whisper that might smudge your reputation.

To the world, he was a shield, unyielding and protective. But behind the closed doors of his private chambers, that protection morphed into a demanding, hungry possessiveness.

He didn't want you safe and quiet here. He wanted you undone.

Maekar gripped your hips with bruising force, his large hands digging into your skin as he shoved you forward. The mahogany surface of the heavy table was cool against your palms as he bent you over, forcing your spine to arch and your ass to tilt upward, offered brazenly to him.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your ear. “Perfect. Mine.”

He didn't waste time with gentleness. He reached down, parting your cheeks with one hand to expose your soaking wet pussy, his thumb rubbing harshly against your clit to make you whimper. The sound sparked something in him, a predatory glint entering his eyes. He lived for those sounds, the gasps, the broken moans, the way your voice cracked when he pushed you too far.

He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock pressing against your entrance. With one powerful, possessive thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, filling you completely.

You let out a sharp, loud cry that echoed through the room, and Maekar groaned, the sound guttural and satisfied. He began to fuck you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity, his pelvis slamming against your backside with a wet, slapping sound. Each thrust was designed to claim you, to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

“Louder,” he commanded, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder. “I want to hear every single sound you make for me. Scream for me.”

He reached around, his fingers gripping your throat lightly, not enough to choke, but enough to make you feel his absolute control. As he hammered into you, hitting your cervix with every deep drive, you began to sob and moan, your voice rising in a crescendo of pleasure and desperation.

Maekar leaned in, his breath hot against your neck, listening intently to the way your breath hitched and your voice wavered. He was greedy for it, drinking in your vocal surrender as if it were the only thing that could sate him. He increased the pace, his cock sliding in and out of your tight pussy with friction that set you both on fire.

“That's it,” he hissed, his grip tightening on your hips as he felt your walls begin to squeeze him in the throes of an orgasm. “Give it all to me. Every moan, every scream. You're mine.”

As you peaked, your voice breaking into a high, shattered wail, Maekar let out a roar of his own. He lunged deep one last time, pinning you hard against the table as he erupted inside you, filling your womb with hot, thick cum. He stayed buried deep, holding you there, listening to the fading echoes of your cries with the satisfaction of a dragon who had finally claimed his most precious treasure.

SLOTH.

Duty leaves him little room for idleness, yet with you he permits himself rare stillness. On cold mornings he lingers a moment longer in bed, one arm around your waist, pretending the realm can wait another heartbeat.

The dawn light was a pale, freezing grey, filtering through the heavy velvet curtains of the bedchamber. Outside, the realm demanded his attention, council meetings, border disputes, and the endless weight of leadership, but inside the warmth of the furs, Maekar existed in a rare, stolen silence.

He lay on his back, one massive arm draped possessively across your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His skin was a furnace against your back, his heartbeat a steady, thrumming drum that drowned out the distant sounds of the castle waking up. For a few minutes, he allowed himself the heresy of idleness, his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of sleep and skin.

But the stillness was a lie. Beneath the sheets, his cock was already hard, a thick, pulsing length pressing firmly against your backside. He didn't want to get up, but he wanted you.

With a low, guttural hum, Maekar shifted, his hand sliding from your waist down to the curve of your ass, squeezing the flesh firmly. He rolled you over with effortless strength, pinning you beneath him for a moment just to see your eyes, before he shifted again, settling back against the pillows and guiding you upward.

You straddled him, your knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips. The air in the room was biting, but where your bodies met, it was scorching. You looked down at him, the man who held the fate of thousands in his hands and saw only the hunger in his eyes. He looked stripped of his duty, reduced to a man who wanted nothing more than to be filled by you.

Slowly, you lowered yourself, the broad head of his cock parting your wet folds. Maekar let out a sharp, hissed breath, his hands flying up to grip your hips, guiding you down with a possessive urgency. As you sank onto him, taking every inch of his thickness, your head snapped back and a loud, needy moan escaped your lips.

Maekar’s eyes darkened. He didn't move his hips yet; he simply stayed still, letting you feel the sheer size of him stretching you open. He wanted to hear you. He wanted the sound of your pleasure to be the first thing that filled the morning.

“Ride me,” he commanded, his voice a rough, sleep-heavy rasp. “I want to hear how much you want this before I have to leave you.”

You began to move, lifting yourself up and slamming back down onto him. The friction was immediate and intense, the wet slap of your pussy hitting his pelvis echoing in the quiet room. Maekar groaned, his fingers digging into your hips, bruising the skin as he helped you find a rhythm that hit your clit with every descent.

The more you moved, the louder you became. You weren't just moaning, you were sobbing with pleasure, your voice echoing off the stone walls. Maekar watched you with a predatory intensity, his chest heaving. He loved the contrast, the cold morning air hitting your damp skin and the hot, wet sounds of your body sliding over his.

“Yes... just like that,” he growled, his hips beginning to thrust upward to meet you, driving himself deeper into your womb. “Scream for me. Let the whole castle know who you belong to.”

He reached up, his large hand wrapping around your throat, not to choke, but to anchor you, forcing you to look at him as you peaked. As your orgasm crashed over you, your voice broke into a high, shattered wail of surrender. Maekar let out a guttural roar, his body stiffening as he surged upward one last time, pumping thick, hot loads of cum deep inside you.

He held you there, pinned to his chest, the silence returning to the room. He didn't let go immediately. He lingered in the afterglow, listening to the ragged sound of your breathing, savoring the rare, stolen moment of peace before the world demanded the dragon return to his throne.

WRATH.

This is the sin he knows best. His anger is cold, controlled, and frighteningly precise. But never directed at you without cause. If someone harms or humiliates you, Maekar’s fury becomes a promise: they will regret it.

Maekar knows the true meaning of wrath as intimately as he knows the weight of a sword in his hand. His rage is never loud, never reckless. It settles over him like winter, quiet enough to make seasoned knights hold their tongues. He does not shout. He does not threaten. He simply decides, and once he has, there are very few in the realm who can escape the consequences.

Never are you the target of that fury without just cause. He is stern with you when necessary, expecting honesty and accountability from the woman he loves, but blind anger has no place in the chambers you share. Even at his most frustrated, he would sooner walk away to master himself than speak words he could never take back.

But if another dares to insult you, threaten you, or lay hands upon you, something ancient awakens behind his violet eyes. His expression hardly changes, which is somehow worse. The court quickly learns that the quieter Prince Maekar becomes, the closer someone is to ruin.

He does not make dramatic declarations before the hall. He merely rests a hand upon the pommel of his sword, draws you a fraction closer to his side, and says in a voice devoid of warmth, “Remember their face, my sweet wife. You shall not have to suffer it for much longer.”

And you never do.

Whether justice comes by stripped titles, broken alliances, exile, or a blade upon the battlefield depends entirely on what was done to you. To harm Maekar himself is survivable. To harm his wife is to invite the full measure of a prince's wrath, delivered with ruthless patience and absolute fury.

For Maekar Targaryen, vengeance is never an outburst, but it is a promise kept.

The air in the room shifted the moment Maekar stepped inside, the temperature seeming to drop several degrees, for the silence that followed him was heavy, suffocating, and laced with a lethal fury. His eyes, usually like frozen steel, were now shards of ice, fixed on the person who had dared to speak ill of you, who had dared to make you feel small.

He didn't rush to your side, as every step was measured, a predator closing in on prey that didn't yet realize it was already dead. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, dangerous velvet, devoid of heat but brimming with a promise of absolute ruin.

He dismantled the other person with a few surgical words, his cold fury stripping them bare until they were trembling, reduced to nothing by the sheer weight of his presence.

Then, as quickly as the storm had gathered, he turned to you.

The ice in his gaze didn't melt, but it transformed. The wrath remained, but it was no longer a weapon to be used against an enemy, it was a possessive, starving hunger. He didn't ask if you were alright as he could see the lingering distress in your eyes, and it drove him wild.

In one fluid, assertive motion, Maekar reached out. His hand clamped firmly around your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with a grip that claimed you entirely. Before you could draw a breath, he hauled you backward, the sudden momentum slamming your back against the cold, hard surface of a secluded stone wall.

The impact knocked the air from your lungs, but he was there instantly, crowding into your space. He pinned you there, his large body acting as a living shield, blocking out the rest of the world. He pressed his chest hard against yours, his thighs forcing their way between your legs to lock you in place.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a rough growl against your ear.

He didn't wait for you to obey. His hand slid from your waist up to your throat, not squeezing, but cupping your neck with a possessive firmness that made your heart hammer against your ribs. He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, contrasting sharply with the coldness he had shown moments before.

“No one touches you,” he hissed, his lips brushing your earlobe. “No one humbles you. You belong to me, and I will burn everything to the ground before I let another soul make you feel anything but mine.”

His hand shifted, sliding down from your neck to grip your chin, forcing your face up to meet his. The controlled anger was still there, but it had morphed into a raw, erotic tension. He stared at your lips, his pupils blown wide, his possessiveness radiating off him in waves.

Without another word, he crashed his mouth onto yours, the kiss not a request, but a conquest, hard, demanding, and desperate to erase every trace of the world outside of his hold. “You are my woman.”

ENVY.

He envies those who can claim your attention when he cannot. A lord who keeps you laughing too long at a feast earns a narrowed glance. He says nothing, but later draws you closer as if to remind himself you are his wife.

The feast had been an exercise in endurance for Maekar. Throughout the evening, he had remained a statue of cold nobility at the head of the table, but his eyes, those shards of frozen steel, never truly left you. He had watched the young lord from the Reach lean in too close, watched the way the man’s laughter echoed a bit too loudly, and most of all, he had watched the way you smiled back, your attention captured by a charm that Maekar found utterly trivial.

He simply narrowed his eyes, a silent, lethal promise forming in the depths of his gaze. Every time the lord touched your arm or whispered a joke that made you giggle, Maekar’s grip on his wine goblet tightened until his knuckles were white. He didn't want the man's head on a platter, not yet, but he wanted the memory of that laughter scrubbed from your mind.

The moment the doors to your private chambers clicked shut, the facade of the composed princ vanished.

He moved with a predatory urgency, his hand snapping out to grab your wrist and yank you flush against his chest. The air in the room seemed to ignite, the coldness of the feast replaced by a suffocating, possessive heat. He backed you up until your calves hit the edge of the massive canopy bed, his eyes dark and blown wide with a hunger that bordered on aggression.

“You enjoyed yourself tonight,” he rasped, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. He didn't wait for an answer. His hands moved with ruthless efficiency, ripping at the fine silk of your gown. The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the room, a violent punctuation to his silence.

He stripped you bare in seconds, tossing your clothes aside as if they were obstacles in his way. He didn't bother with his own clothes for long, shedding his tunic and breeches until he stood before you, his cock already hard and pulsing, thick and demanding.

Maekar grabbed your hips, his fingers digging deep into your flesh, and flipped you around with a sudden, forceful motion. He slammed your chest down onto the mattress, pinning you face-down, your ass arched high in the air. The vulnerability of the position made your breath hitch, but before you could gasp, he was there, his heavy weight crushing you into the furs.

“Let them look,” he growled, his mouth pressing hard against the nape of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “Let them try to keep your attention. But when the sun sets, you remember who owns every inch of this skin.”

He didn't use any lubricant as he didn't need to. He reached down, his fingers roughly parting your cheeks to expose your soaking pussy, Maekar gripped the base of his cock and drove himself inside you in one singular, brutal thrust.

You screamed into the pillows, the sheer size of him stretching you to your absolute limit. He filled you completely, hitting your cervix with a force that made your entire body shudder. He didn't give you time to adjust. He began to fuck you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity, his hips slamming against your ass with a wet, slapping sound that filled the quiet of the room.

Each thrust was a claim. Each plunge was a reminder. He wasn't just seeking pleasure, he was marking you. He reached forward, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back so he could see the expression of overwhelmed pleasure on your face.

“Whose are you?” he demanded, his voice a guttural command.

“Yours,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as he hammered into you, his cock rubbing against your walls with a friction that threatened to set you on fire. “I'm yours, Maekar!”

“Say it again,” he hissed, increasing the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, and more violent. He was driving himself into you as if he wanted to merge his very soul with yours, to leave a mark that no amount of time or distance could erase.

The friction built to an unbearable peak. Your pussy clamped tight around him, milking his length, and Maekar let out a low, animalistic groan. He shifted his grip, hooking his arms under your chest to lift you slightly, driving even deeper, bottoming out inside you with a final, devastating surge.

He let out a roar as he came, his cock pulsing violently inside you, flooding your womb with hot, thick ropes of cum. He didn't pull out. He stayed buried deep within you, his chest heaving against your back, his sweat dripping onto your skin.

He leaned down, whispering into your ear, his voice now a possessive purr. “Never forget, my love. You can smile at the world, but you belong to me.”

PRIDE.

Maekar would rarely praise you in public. He is not a man who believes affection should be displayed before a court eager to mistake tenderness for weakness. Instead, his pride reveals itself in quieter ways. He seeks your counsel before making difficult decisions, trusts your judgment without hesitation, and ensures every lord and lady understands that to slight you is to slight the Prince himself.

When you speak, he listens.

When you enter a room, his gaze follows.

When others praise your wisdom or kindness, the smallest lift of his brow betrays a satisfaction he would never put into words.

Only behind the safety of closed doors does the iron around his heart soften. His rough hand settles over yours as he studies you with that steady, unwavering gaze. There is no court to impress, no armor to wear, only his wife.

“You honor my house,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to belong to you alone. His thumb brushes slowly across your knuckles before he adds, with unmistakable sincerity, “And you honor me.”

For a man like Maekar, there is no greater praise he could ever give, unless it's to praise you for you fucking good you take him.

Maekar’s breath still ragged against your ear, his chest heaving as the last throbs of his orgasm faded. He lingered buried deep inside you, the heat of his cum slick against your walls, each pulse a reminder of the claim he’d just stamped upon you. His hands, still tangled in your hair, tightened just enough to pull your head back so he could stare into your dazed, flushed face.

A low, almost reverent growl rumbled from his throat, the sound more a promise than a threat. “You… you took me like you were made for it,” he whispered, his voice rough with awe and possession. “Every inch, every thrust...you opened for me, you clenched around me like you wanted to keep me forever.”

His thumb brushed the sweat‑slick line of your jaw, then trailed down to trace the curve of your throat, feeling the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his fingertips. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes locking onto yours, pupils blown wide with a hunger that had softened only just enough to reveal genuine admiration. “Your pussy grips me like a vice, hot and wet, sucking me deeper each time I drive into you. You fuck me good, so fucking good, that I could lose myself in you and never want to surface.”

He shifted his weight, lifting you just enough to change the angle, his cock still throbbing inside you, now slick with both of your essences. The new tilt sent a fresh wave of pleasure spiraling through your core, making you gasp and arch against him. Maekar seized the moment, his lips crashing onto yours in a fierce, claiming kiss that swallowed your moan. His tongue plunged deep, demanding, as if he wanted to taste the very proof of how well you’d taken him.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “You’re perfect,” he breathed, each word a ragged affirmation. “The way you moan when I hit that spot, the way your walls flutter around me, it’s like you were made to worship my cock.”

His hands slid down to grip your hips harder, pulling you back onto him with a deliberate, grinding motion. “Again,” he commanded, voice low and guttural. “Let me feel you take me all the way, let me hear you scream my name as I fill you up.”

He began to move once more, his thrusts deliberate and powerful, each plunge sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the quiet chamber, a wet, slapping rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your hearts. Maekar’s eyes never left yours, watching the way your lips parted on each gasp, the way your eyes fluttered with overwhelming sensation.

“You’re doing it so well,” he growled, his voice edged with both pride and primal need. “Every time you clamp down, every time you arch to meet me, it’s the best fucking praise I could ever receive.”

His pace intensified, hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that made the bed frame creak. You could feel the pressure building again, a tight coil low in your belly, ready to snap. Maekar sensed it, his own arousal rekindling by the sight of you unraveling beneath him.

“Come for me,” he ordered, his tone a mix of command and reverent plea. “Let me feel you shatter around my cock, let me know you’re mine in every way.”

Your body obeyed, a shudder tearing through you as your orgasm crashed over you like a tide. Your inner walls clenched violently around his length, milking him with desperate, rhythmic pulses. Maekar groaned, a deep, animalistic sound as he felt your climax ripple through you, his own release building in tandem.

He drove into you one final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt as his own orgasm erupted. Hot jets of cum flooded your depths, mixing with your own essence, the sensation overwhelming and intimate. He remained buried, his chest pressed against your back, his breath ragged as he whispered against your ear, voice thick with satisfaction and awe.

“You… you fuck me good,” he murmured, each word a reverent affirmation. “No one else could take me like you do. No one else could make me feel this… this complete.

His hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away the tears of pleasure that had escaped your eyes. He pressed a lingering, possessive kiss to your lips, then pulled back just enough to gaze into your soul.

“Remember this,” he said, voice soft yet edged with the steel of his Targaryen blood. “When the world tries to steal your attention, when others think they can claim a smile or a laugh, you’ll know, you belong to me, and I will never let you forget how good you take me.”