#*WORDS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dearestdarlingmine · 1 year ago

Text

just looking for a protector (god never reached out in time)

original character male/original character female setting: medieval rating: explicit words: 2174 warnings: father/daughter incest, fingering, dubious consent ao3

My heart hammered in my chest and I could hear the uneven sound of my breathing. I tried not to fidget with my hands, keeping them clasped tightly in front of me as I walked down the large hall. I did not look at any guards, I just stared straight ahead and tried not to jump at the sound of armour creaking as they watched me pass. I was sure they could read my thoughts, which only made the anxiety trickle further down my spine.

I paused outside the large door and waited for the knight to announce me before I was let in. My head was kept high and I was proud that my voice did not waver as I thanked the knight before he closed the door behind me. The room was warm in here, the hearth lit and many candles burning. I could see a bright moon in the sky through the window pane.

“My daughter, you should be abed.”

The low voice brought my attention back to the room and to the man who sat at a large desk. Despite the late hour my father was working—organising many important accounts and sending many letters, I assumed. The upcoming wedding on the morrow no doubt would have meant the rest of the realm was buzzing with news that the new king had taken a bride. Other noble houses were of course wanting to be on the king's good side and attendance was in abundance.

I would have been excited for a royal wedding if I had not been the bride.

“I cannot rest, Father,” I said.

The candlelight flickered over his handsome features, highlighting the golden tones still left in his greying hair and neatly trimmed beard. He stared at me, waiting for me to continue.

“I am nervous about my time with His Grace.”

I said this to his face before dropping my gaze to stare at my hands, I could see I had left red welts from where my nails had dug into the skin. I did not wish to look at my father and see his disappointment in my nervousness.

“He is unkind?” he said, moving from his desk to come stand next to me. I could smell the scent of sandalwood and ink that clung to him, it calmed me a moment as I sucked in a shaky breath. “Has His Grace said anything untoward?”

I shook my head. “No. But I have heard that to lie with a man is a difficult duty.” I hurriedly added, “And I shall do my duty, Father, I am just frightened.”

His large hands held mine, stilling my nervous movements, the warmth reassuring some of my apprehension. My father’s eyes were never kind, they were icy and held a shrewd intelligence that many men feared—even the king. But they regarded me with pride and an affection that I’m sure he did not grace anyone else with, not even my many elder brothers. It made me feel special and dear. “There is nothing to fear, my daughter,” he said, giving my hands one last gentle squeeze before removing them.

I had no desire to argue with him, I so rarely disagreed with my father as I knew that he was so often right. A lesson I had learnt as a child. My head told me to listen to his words but I could not, the gnawing pit in my stomach would not desist. “The queen,” I began, unsure of what to say or if I could even utter the words the King’s mother had spoken unto me. “She has warned me.”

The words lay trapped and unspoken in my throat as I felt my face burn with embarrassment. How could I repeat the words to him? I wished that he would look away from me but he did not, he kept his strangely cold eyes on me and so I stared at my hands in my lap and twisted them nervously. The Queen Dowager had told me of the pain of losing my maidenhead and the discomfort of the relations I would have with my soon to be husband. She had also told me that it was worth all the pain in the world to then have a child. I know that she was trying to reassure me but it had done nothing but made me feel worse. I did not want pain. Maybe I could have borne it if I had loved the King—I was somewhat fond of him, in the way that a girl is fond of a friend, but I did not love him.

My girlish fancies were only that—fancies. I knew my marriage was only to unite our noble families. I was the only daughter of the Lord High Chancellor of the Realm, it was expected of me to marry someone of great importance. It was something I had been taught to ready myself for my entire life. But being told on my eighteenth name day that I was to wed the newly crowned king had been a shock. A queen? I was no queen. I was nervous around many others, though I tried to quell these feelings. I felt there was no way to help it. I ruined the sleeves of my dresses when I twisted my anxious hands and I could not even recall the amount of times I had split my bottom lip from chewing on it.

I heard my father sigh, a sort of exasperated mocking sound that pulled me from my tangled thoughts.

“I would never speak ill of our dowager, my daughter, but her marriage was not a joyous one,” he said and his hand came to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “The king is fond of you, you are much closer in your years than that of his father and mother.”

I tried to smile at him but it was a doubtful, unsure expression that flitted across my face.

“Do you not believe your father?” he questioned.

I hurried to assure him by shaking my head. “No, I do, Father. I have heard talk from others too…not just the queen.”

Servants whispered and gossiped. I listened to them talk even though I knew I should not have. And I had seen the animals out in the farmlands rutting into one another. Nothing could dissuade my apprehension. I needed the wedding to be a thing of the past.

“Come with me,” said my father, standing and walking toward the doors to his inner chambers.

I followed without question and when he gestured for me to sit on the bed, I did. The hearth was not lit in here and unlike his outer chambers it was cold. He came to stand in front of me and I stared at the soft rug on the floor, memorising the intricate pattern. His rooms were large and mostly dark, a stark difference to the airy and bright chambers of my own. But it was such a familiar space that it brought me comfort. I had disjointed memories of my mother here. Her passing had been such a long time ago that I did not know if my memories were real or simply dreams.

“Remove your gown,” he said. I glanced at him but stood and complied, slowly unclasping the gown and removing the heavy fabric to leave me in my small clothes. I shivered. “Good.”

He gestured for me to move up the bed so that I was sitting in the middle and I could not help but twist my hands in my lap. My nightdress was flimsy and I could feel the way my nipples strained underneath them. I yearned to hide myself but I knew not to. He was my father and had seen me naked when I was a babe, what did I need to hide? And I trusted his word, I knew he would help me and set my mind to rest.

My obedience clearly pleased him as I saw the slight smile that flitted around his lips as he came to sit beside me.

Father’s hand slid under my long chemise and glided up my legs until he reached bare flesh. I could not help but jump at the contact, even more so when his large hand cupped my sex. It felt strange. Both a comfort and an itch.

“He will touch you here,” he murmured, a strange timbre to his words. It made the pleasant itch where he held me grow. “You must let him, it will help.” His hand moved slowly, pressure increasing as his long fingers moved between the curls nestled there. His thumb grazed against something that had a moan escaping my lips, it was like a shocking bolt of pleasure through my entire body. I was unable to help the way I reached out for my father’s arm and held him, nails digging into the leather. He did it again and my hips bucked of their own accord. I needed the feeling to end and also never stop. Sweat was beginning to bead on my brow as he continued to move his thumb over that spot and I moaned again as a tightness built low within me.

“Father—”

“Good, sweetling,” he whispered, fingers moving away from that strange nub above my sex to gently probe at my maidenhead. I could feel a wetness there and it was making his fingers slide with ease. “You are doing so well.” I felt him slip a finger inside of me, only to his first knuckle, but it made my breath catch. He leant into me then, the roughness of his beard scratching against my cheek.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice so low now that I barely recognised it. It was entrancing, I had no choice but to obey and sucked in a deep breath as he pushed his finger into me further. My father kissed my cheek. “Well done, darling.”

My breathing was rapid and I was sweating in the coolness of his chambers. I felt like I was burning up—burning up from where he touched me. I glanced at his face and then my eyes dropped to his other hand, staring at his long and thick fingers and not believing that one was inside of me right now. It moved and my hips jerked. He kept moving it though, a slow but rhythmic thrusting that had me panting and gripping at him. I felt him slowly add another finger and my sex protested at the intrusion but I tried to breathe, letting the soothing sound of my father’s gentle assurance wash over me. After a moment, it did not discomfort me and I was meeting my hips to his slow thrusts.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his hot breath against my cheek before I felt his beard scratch my skin. His lips pressed against my cheek, lingering against my sweaty skin as I gripped at him desperately. “You’re doing so well, my darling.”

There was something within me. Some sort of strange tension that was so ready to snap. I could feel it building. When his thumb touched the nub again, circling it with deliberate strokes I felt everything collapse around me. My vision felt like it was full of stars and my body was floating amidst them as they collided and burst into each other. Words were tumbling out of my mouth, a garbled sound of prayers and breathy pants of “Father—Father—Father—!”

When I felt my body return to me, I felt as weak as a newborn lamb laying on my father’s bed with his hand stroking my forehead. He smiled at me—and what a smile it was! I could see the pride on his face and it buoyed me up, giving me strength to sit up on the sheets. My smallclothes clung to my sweat-dampened skin but I did not care. I felt light and at ease, my nerves gone.

“You did wonderfully, my daughter,” my father said. “This will help you during the bedding.”

“It will?” I asked, my voice still breathless.

He nodded as he stood, pushing his hair back from his face. There was no hair out of place and he smoothed down the front of his doublet with slow and careful movements before passing me my gown.

“Yes,” he replied as I pulled the gown on, so very aware of the wetness between my thighs. “It may hurt, daughter, but you will know what your body can do and you shall do your duty well.”

I nodded, sensing the finality in his tone. I knew he would not touch me again, not now. When I gave him a polite curtsy and left the room, I did not see him bring his fingers to his nose so that he could inhale the scent of my essence that coated them. Nor did I see the way his eyes shuttered in pleasure as his mouth greedily licked and sucked it all away.

#ottocent #its not but it is #original fiction #father/daughter #my things #*words #dd:dne

5 notes · View notes