My account is entirely dedicated to the Game of Thrones universe. I write short fanfics featuring characters from that universe and share my own readings about them.
Although my content is not entirely explicit, I do not recommend it for those under 18 years of age.
I am open to content suggestions and opinions.
⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ published content
⋮ ⌗ ┆╰┈➤ What would it be like to be Aerion's sister
⋮ ⌗ ┆╰┈➤ Your favorite positions during the act. +18
— Duncan the Tall | Lyonel Baratheon | Baelor Targaryen | Maekar Targaryen | Aerion Targaryen | “good girl” used once
Word count: above 900, about 100 for every character
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— Dunk | comfort
He’s still trembling. Even after the air had lessened, the echoes of breaths and moans had melted away — he's still shaking. You feel it right against you, gentle tumours within his arms surrounding you in his grasp. His heartbeat still calls for you, beating hard with waves of pleasure even now carving within his body.
Dunk’s face buries in your hair, flushed, his eyes closed. His hands hold you close, filling your curves perfectly as if they were sculpted for his touch. His fingers slowly caress the hollows he had left upon your skin — on your hips, your waist, the arch of your ribs. “Are you alright?” his voice rumbles against your head. You feel the care in his words within your bones more than hear it. “I got… a bit carried away, possibly,” he smiles sheepishly, hides it in your locks.
He draws you deeper against him, into his chest. into his heart. “Tell me if something hurts,” he softly whispers. And if you do, his loyal hands are at your command. He strokes at any place you complain about, sweeps the ache away with broad palms. “I’ll be more careful next time,” he sighs into your temple as he kisses it.
— Lyonel | praise
“You’re absolutely fabulous, you know that?” his drawl rumbles against your lips when he speaks into their petals. With dark eyelashes draping low, his gaze is tender as much as it is idle. His body, limp in contentment, sprawls next to yours on his side, his arms lightly closed around your waist. The warmth between you still burns alive. Sweat latches to his cluttered curls with the aftermath, and ease shades his blooming face because he lies here with you. “My lovely,” Lyonel mutters in a sweet purr, his lips seeping into yours with a passing kiss, “You’ve turned me into a greedier man than I already was.” A tease pulls at his mouth, a grin following it.
Sly hands of his stream down your back, taking a grip of your arse that he can't neglect. Your flesh tickles beneath his thumbs rubbing it, spilling through his fingers as he squeezes. A rumble close to a groan scratches in his throat, and he pushes his face into the softness of your skin where the neck moulds into a shoulder. “You take such good care of me… Fuck me so good. My good girl exhausts even a stag.”
— Baelor | peace
The chamber has fallen quiet, and even the fire has faded to rest. But you are awake, and so is Baelor. His arm cages you against his side, his chest bare for your hand to feel his flesh. Only for you. You feel the pulse within him, steady and calming down. His breath whispers warmly against your head. His lips are at rest on your hair. His hand fills your side, fingers gently dancing at its arc in a loose caress. “If you wish to sleep, you can do so,” his voice sweetens the air, soaks into your skin with affection, “I’ll keep you safe, my love.”
The quiet strength of his arms keeps you sound and loved, assures your comfort is secure. As you drift to honeyed slumber, his presence persists. His care sinks into your form — the kisses he leaves on your crown, his fingertips upon the blushes he left not so long ago on your body in heights of thrill. “I adore you, sweetling. You make every waking moment beautiful,” Baelor utters when he thinks sleep drowned you.
— Maekar | distance
He faintly kisses your cheek and then pulls away. A shadow of tension dims his pale eyes, something almost close to shame. The gap between you he inflicted feels cold, yet it shouldn't. Moments ago, your bodies laced together so close, so unabashedly. But now, he hesitates, as if all of that wasn't a display of feelings true. “Would you like me to leave? Give you some space?” he asks with a scrape in his voice that sounds unfit for his loud mouth. He asks only because he doesn't know what to do, only because he feels mildly startled being so bare.
You gently lure him back, and Maekar isn't strong enough to refuse. Carefully, he lies beside you, a sudden vulnerability present in his movements. He doesn't conquer, he doesn't dominate now, as he lets you hold him. The prince recoils to a man, and a lonely one at that. In your arms, the void within his heart feels lesser. He softens, as much as he allows himself to. His eyes close, his hands slowly return to your body. “Thank you,” he whispers, trailing his fingers over your back.
— Aerion | silence
His eyes are closed, his breathing is even. He is calm. Eerily so, after devouring you whole and leaving you breathless. There's a blotch of a flush on his pallid, porcelain cheek, a rare flush of emotion.
Aerion doesn't speak, doesn't hold you. But his proximity lingers, quietly so, with his hand upon the curve of your hip. His fingers mould into your flesh, a hint of a claw curling in his grasp. He expects you to care for him, to make him feel good even now. He deserves it, after all. And you do, because it is hard not to worship the majesty beside you — bare and beautiful.
The dragon lets out a low purr under your kisses and caresses — contented for once. His head leans in, a mute command for more. Aerion’s fingers dig faintly into your hip when he's particularly pleased, the burning marks he leaves behind a gesture of affection of his own making.
⟡
I lack a bit of inspiration as of late for more, and would love to do any of your ideas — feel free to request ♡
now carrying his child, your prince dotes on you with the devotion of a man utterly enamored with the woman he loves
genre/warnings:
fluff, pregnancy, protective!valarr, lots of romance bc valarr is devastatingly in love, lover's quarrel, mentions of curses, hurt/comfort, childbirth, overall very self-indulgent
notes:
a continuation to in one's heart of hearts but can also be read as a standalone. *sigh* i'm so in love with him
“My beloved, from this day forth, this heart of mine… is yours to keep.”
That was his wedding vows to you. And those sweet words would be carried by singers and spun into countless songs and verses afterwards.
They would have the realm believe you ensnared Prince Valarr Targaryen with some enchantment that he tumbled into love with you overnight and chose you as his princess consort.
But the truth is far sweeter.
He was the one who fell first, and he fell hard. In watching him love you so fiercely… you found yourself falling too, drawn by the love that had already chosen you.
In all the years you spent by his side, he never once gave you cause for disappointment. Through every joy and sorrow, Valarr remained steadfast, his love unwavering even as the two of you endured even the most painful heartbreaks.
And now, as he pressed his face against your growing belly, smiling giddily and mismatched eyes sparkling—
“My little one,” his voice was warm with affection. “Will you look more like your mother or me, I wonder?”
—you found yourself falling in love with him all over again, as you had done countless times before.
You let out a chuckle, your fingers slipping into his hair, gently combing through his white strands.
“I wish he’ll have your eyes,” you said, your voice fond. “A little prince who resembles you... yeah, I’d love that.”
At that, Valarr lifted his head that was on your lap, his gaze finding yours—bright, almost boyish. “My eyes?” he echoed, amused. “On the contrary, I think a princess like you would be nice too.”
“A princess?” you hummed, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “She will have you wrapped around her little finger the moment she is born.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m already hopeless where you are concerned. What chance would I stand against a daughter of yours?”
“Then you are doomed.”
“Gladly.”
You giggled and your husband only rolled his eyes, caressing your belly in slow, absent circles as though he could already soothe the child within.
“Did you hear that? Your lady mother loves having me doomed… and you haven’t even been born yet.”
Valarr had been overjoyed when he knew you were with child again, but he also worried. After two stillborns, he had sworn he would not see you suffer in childbed again, but now that his seed had taken, he was determined this was to be the last.
The heir of Dragonstone pressed a gentle kiss against the swell of your belly, his voice dropping to a soft whisper meant only for the child you carried.
“Prince or princess… it matters not. As long as you come safely to us.”
His protective hand lingered there, before he glanced up at you—his expression gentler now, threaded with the love he had for you.
“As long as you keep your mother safe too,” he added quietly, the cool blue and warm brown of his eyes blinked then, almost like a plea.
Your heart lurched at his words. He had always feared for you, and though there was something endearing in the way he held you so dearly, you could not bear seeing it weigh heavily upon him.
“Valarr…” You cupped his cheek, guiding him to look at you fully. “You must not carry that fear alone.”
For a heartbeat, he said nothing—only leaning into your touch, his hand moving to cover yours where it rested against his face.
“I would bear far worse, if it means keeping you safe.”
You knew he would.
For if there was one thing all of the Red Keep had come to know, it was this: Prince Valarr was utterly protective of his princess consort.
At your smallest call, he came. At your faintest discomfort, he was already at your side. There was no hesitation or manly pride that stood in the way. It was sweet to see really, but the servants scarcely had time to breathe before he was giving them instructions of more cushions, warmer cloaks, cooler drinks, softer linens—
And it wasn’t just the servants who noticed.
“Gods, nephew,” Prince Maekar grumbled. “She is with child, not made of glass.”
One afternoon in the gardens, as Valarr hovered just a step too close while you walked, his hand always ready at your back, his uncle, Prince Maekar, watched the display with a raised brow.
Valarr did not so much as glance his way, his hand settling securely at your waist in response. “And yet I would rather treat her as such than risk otherwise.”
His uncle snorted, which made him look eerily like his son Aerion. “You fret like an old nursemaid. I have seen squires with steadier nerves.”
At that, his father, Prince Baelor, let out a warm chuckle from where he stood nearby, the sound rich with amusement.
“Let him be, brother,” he said lightly. “It is a rare thing, to see a man so devoted.”
“Devoted? Bah. The boy looks ready to faint if she so much as stumbles.”
“And you did not, when your first was expected?” Baelor returned, one brow lifting.
Maekar fell silent at that—begrudgingly. And Baelor held back his smile. Unlike the others who may feel Valarr’s concern was excessive, he was proud with the man his son had become.
He still remembered it all too clearly—how Valarr, still so young, had stood vigil before the funeral pyre of his two lost sons. That was a grief even Baelor himself had never known, and yet his son had borne it with a strength that was both admirable and heartbreaking. Not once had he faltered or wept while the flames still burned.
Only when it was over did Valarr finally look at him—
“Father.”
And only then would he break. The composure he had held so fiercely gave way all at once, his frame trembling as Baelor gathered him into his arms. He wept like a child in that brief moment... but when it passed, as all storms must, Valarr drew back, steadied himself… and returned to you stronger, as though even his sorrow was something he had to bear so you would not have to.
His bold yet gentle boy. Baelor’s gaze softened as he watched you now, leaning close to murmur something into Valarr’s ear that made him smile.
The Hand of the King found himself wishing, with all his heart, for nothing but happiness for the two of you.
. . .
While it was him who was well-known throughout the Red Keep, there were moments where it was you who were being protective of him in return— mostly behind closed doors though.
“From now on, no more tourneys,” you had said firmly one evening, your arms crossed despite the softness of your voice.
Valarr blinked at you. “No tourneys...?”
“Yes,” you emphasized with a frown. “No melees, no tilts, no… whatever it is you men insist on doing to break your bones for sport.”
A hint of a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “You would deny me my honor?”
“I would deny you a broken limb—or worse,” you countered. Your hand found his, squeezing gently. “Do you know what it does to me, watching you ride out there?”
His amusement faded at once, his fingers instinctively curling around yours, as though to reassure you.
“You would send me into early labor with such stress. Is that what you want?”
“Never,” he answered at once, his grip tightening around your hand, a faint frown settling as his gaze found yours.
“Then you will stay. For me.”
There was no hesitation as he kissed your palm. “Your wish is my command, my love.”
And that was how your husband cheated his way out of the lists for the upcoming celebration of his father’s nameday. My lady wife worries for me, was what he told the small council as though that alone was reason enough.
. . .
Two days of lavish feasts, followed by five days of jousts, melees, and hunts held to celebrate Baelor Breakspear’s name day were as grand as it could be.
While your husband didn’t partake in any of the potentially harmful activities, the two of you still made your rounds through the nightly balls, as was expected.
“Are you tired?” Valarr asked gently, his hand coming to rest at the small of your back. You were only in your sixth moon, yet there were moments your breath came a little shorter—and he took notice of it.
You glanced up at him, thoughtful for a moment before giving a small shake of your head. “No…”
The soft tune of waltz had already begun and it caught your attention. You had always loved to dance. Turning back to your pliant husband, you looked up with a twinkle in your eyes.
“Dear husband,” you said sweetly, “dance with me?”
Valarr blinked, caught off guard for a brief moment. His gaze dipped instinctively to your belly before returning to your face. “Are you certain? You should not overexert yourself, and besides—”
“Besides?” you echoed, one brow lifting.
He hesitated and that was all it took for your expression to change, a pout forming as you looked away.
“Ah… I see. Perhaps you are embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed...?”
“To be seen with me,” you continued petulantly, your hand resting over the curve of your belly. “A woman grown fat and ungainly with child… I suppose it is not a pleasant sight next to the prince second in line to the throne.”
It took him a good three seconds to take in your words, and a smile spread across his face at the realization—whenever you were with child, you grew softly needy, seeking reassurance in the most endearing ways.
And every time, he found himself just as helpless against it.
His hand came to your face then, turning you back to him, and before you could say another word—
“Mm!” He captured your lips with his.
It was not hurried, nor harsh, but firm enough to squash any foolish thought before it could take root. When he drew back, his warm breath lingered against your lips, and a dashing smile on his face.
“If there is anyone in this hall worth looking upon tonight… it is you— my princess consort of the Seven Kingdoms.”
His thumb brushed along your cheek, mismatched gaze softening as it lingered on you—as though he could not quite fathom how you could think so little of what he held so dear.
“I would move heaven and earth for the right to stand beside you. You—and the child you carry—are my whole world. There is no one who could ever compare.”
Your breath caught slightly at the sincerity in his voice.
“You are beautiful…” he murmured, still smiling, his hand slipping down to rest over yours atop your belly. “More so now than ever. And I would count it an honor to have every eye in that hall see me at your side.”
The tension in your chest eased, your lips curving despite yourself.
“…Then you will dance with me?”
Valarr took your hand in his, lifting it to press a tender kiss against your knuckles, a roguish smile playing upon his lips.
“Always, love.”
And once more, the Young Prince and his princess consort left the court spellbound on the dance floor— dazzling them all with the unwavering devotion they so effortlessly showed one another.
Your union was harmonious… but even the sweetest of bonds was not without trouble in its paradise.
And this time, it was in the form of your husband conjuring terrible images inside his own head after seeing you together with the bastard brother of the king.
“You should keep your distance from him,” Valarr said, his tone stern, and he looked mildly vexed by how you merely crossed your arms before him.
“From Lord Bloodraven?” you replied, glancing at him with a hint of incredulity. “Valarr, I know. I’m not a child.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “Nor do I think you one. I have told you time and time again— Brynden Rivers is not to be taken lightly. Don’t exchange many words with him, he’ll twist your words sooner or later.”
“I know how to handle him and how to take care of myself!” you returned, your voice sharpening just enough to show blatant irritation.
The very notion that your husband thought of you incapable of navigating the court wounded your pride, and you looked as if you resented him, which Valarr took notice.
“Don’t look at me like that, love. That still doesn’t mean I should stand idle when I feel something is amiss.”
“And it does not mean you must hover over every step I take—you cannot guard me from every shadow you imagine!”
“I speak only of what I see—and what I see is carelessness. In your selfish pursuit to be a princess who pleases everyone as if that is a trophy in and of itself, you are too blind to the consequences of overlooking this.”
A heavy silence fell between you. You had quarrels before—small disagreements born out of concern that twisted into bursts of anger, and usually you would understand him.
But this time, his words pierced you too deep. Selfish pursuit? A princess who pleases everyone? Did he not see it? That everything you did was for his name?
Valarr exhaled quietly, choosing to give in as he realized that he might have been too harsh. “I only wish to keep you safe.”
“And I only wish for you to trust me,” you answered with wobbling lips, though no less firm.
Then suddenly, your breath hitched as the child within you kicked your ribs sharply. Your hand flew to your belly, instinctively soothing it.
“…I am tired, husband,” you decided at last, trying to remain icy and hiding the cold sweat that had run through your spine. “I should rest.”
His expression faltered, regret flickering across his face. For a moment, it seemed he might say more—but whatever it was, he swallowed it down because he feared that pressing further would only upset you more, and it was the last thing he wanted.
“Of course.”
You did not wait for more. Turning, you excused yourself, leaving him standing there.
. . .
The small council chamber that followed felt stifling just as it usually was. King Daeron sat at its head, composed as ever, with Prince Baelor at his side. Across from them sat Brynden Rivers—Lord Bloodraven—his pale gaze as unreadable as the rumors that surrounded him.
Valarr took his place among them, his expression guarded, mood still sour from that argument with you earlier. Though he listened and offered his thoughts when required, there was an edge to him that was apparent to at least his own father.
And when Lord Bloodraven brought up the next topic, his patience had nearly reached its limit.
“There is a matter worth noting... Among the smallfolk, a children’s song has begun to spread.”
Prince Baelor’s brow furrowed. “A song?”
“A foolish one, no doubt,” King Daeron added, though his tone suggested he already disliked where this was going.
“And yet such things have a way of shaping thought,” Lord Bloodraven continued. His gaze shifted to Valarr, giving him a nod. “They speak of the princess.”
Valarr stilled for a moment, before leveling his sharp gaze on him.
“Of her misfortune,” Lord Bloodraven went on, voice calm, almost detached. “Since she has yet to carry a healthy child to term, some have begun to wonder if she bears… a curse. And coupled with the whispers of infidelity with Prince Aerion before, it may be prudent to consider whether the princess consort remains fit to make public appearances amongst the smallfolk—”
To Valarr, that was enough.
“Words are wind, and I will leave them as such,” Valarr said, his voice cutting clean through the chamber, sharp as drawn steel, “But if it is you who are questioning the honor of the princess, or her ability to conceive...”
His gaze locked onto Lord Bloodraven’s, unflinching.
“Then I will consider it a slight against her— and by extension, against me. Mind your tongue, Lord Bloodraven, for I do not take such matters lightly.”
Prince Baelor watched his son closely, absently turning the ring on his finger. In that moment, he saw himself reflected… and yet not entirely. Where Baelor would have tempered his words, Valarr did not. He was bolder, brasher, and less willing to bend for the sake of diplomacy.
So much for the “prince among men” they so often liken him to, Baelor mused, a faint smile on his lips.
King Daeron exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping once against the table. “Enough,” the king said at last. “We will not give weight to idle songs.”
Lord Bloodraven inclined his head slightly, though whether in concession or calculation, none could quite tell.
. . .
Today couldn’t have gone any worse, but fate really decided to test him today, it seemed.
Valarr had barely stepped out into the corridor when hurried footsteps broke through his thoughts.
“Your Grace—!”
He turned sharply. It was your handmaiden, rushing to him while trembling with tears streaking her face.
“Your Grace, we are looking for you!” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath, “the princess—she—she has collapsed!”
For a single, terrible moment, the world fell silent.
And then Valarr had broken into a run.
Fear seized him mercilessly, his steps echoing sharply against the stone halls as he made for your chambers, heart pounding with a dread that made his chest burn.
The doors to your chambers were thrown open without ceremony. Inside, the air was thick— but you were not lying still as he had feared.
You were awake, propped against the pillows, your hand resting over your belly, though your expression was still dazed. Relief struck him so sharply it nearly brought him to his knees.
“What happened?” he demanded from the maester, breathless.
“My prince,” Maester Yormwell greeted, stepping forward. “Her Grace suffered a spell of exhaustion. Too much stress, and perhaps too little rest, but all things considered… she is well.”
Valarr was at your side the moment the maester finished speaking. His hands found your shoulders at once, drawing you into an embrace— yet with a tinge of hesitation, as though he feared holding you too tightly might somehow harm you.
A shuddering breath left him, and your fingers lifted, curling gently into his doublet as you leaned into the familiar comfort of him, seeking his scent.
And then you felt it— the rapid pounding of his heart and tremor running through him.
“Valarr…” your voice still faint, your head swimming slightly as you looked up at him. Just like that, all your grievance vanished, realizing how deeply this had shaken him. “I’m fine.”
But he only shook his head, his grip tightening.
“I should not have argued with you,” he blurted, the words spilling out strained. “Not like that—not when you are— This is my doing. I upset you.”
“It is not—”
“I should have known better.”
“Valarr.” You held him a little tighter, grounding him. “I’m fine,” you said again, more firmly this time, before easing back just enough to look at him. “It was nothing more than a moment’s weakness.”
The blue and brown of his eyes wavered, caught between relief and lingering fear, failing to bring himself to believe it so easily.
But you were insistent in reassuring him. Leaning in, you peppered soft kisses to his neck, your voice gentle against his skin.
“I promise you… this time, both me and the babe are well.”
He drew in another shaky breath before pulling you back into his arms, holding you closer and burying himself in your warmth, as though he could not bear even the smallest distance.
“I’m so… so glad you’re safe,” he choked out against your shoulder. You could have sworn he was near tears himself.
And your heart warmed so much, because this man was still the same kind man you had given your wedding vows to.
Before you knew it, the time for your confinement had come.
The days grew quieter, slower—your world narrowing to the comfort of your chambers as the heavy weight of the child you carried made even the simplest movements a monumental effort.
And most fortunately, you were not alone in it. Brightening your days like the sun, Valarr was always there.
Far more than anyone expected of a prince with duties as many as his, he found his way back to you each time—to the point of stealing moments between council meetings, trainings and all obligations that had kept him away.
You sat propped against a mound of pillows, a soft moan leaving you as you shifted, your hand instinctively reaching for your aching back.
“I swear,” you muttered under your breath, “this child is determined to make a sport of my suffering.”
A quiet chuckle sounded beside you.
“Hmm? Already so wilful, aren’t they,” Valarr mused, settling himself on the bed before gently guiding you back—until you were seated between his legs, your back resting against his chest. His hands came to rest over yours, warm and steady, feeling the firm skin of your belly that housed his babe.
“This child takes after you, I’m sure of it,” you huffed. “I was never so troublesome, my mother can vouch for me.”
He hummed, his chin coming to rest lightly atop your head. “Mm, what a slanderous thing to say. I seem to recall otherwise.”
You tilted your head just enough to shoot him a look, lips pursed. “You are an insufferable prince through and through.”
“And yet,” he said, mismatched eyes twinkling and lips curving, “you chose me.”
You shifted slightly to settle more comfortably against him, though not without a faint wince. His hands went to massage your hips at once, attentive and careful as ever, his expression focused.
“You are far too stiff when you put on the face of Prince of Dragonstone,” you said playfully, eyeing him. “It makes you… rather frightening.”
“Frightening?”
“Yes.” You feigned solemnity as you placed a hand on your chest. “Terribly so. I fear I may be getting nightmares from it. A prince who accuses me of having selfish pursuits...”
You felt him pause, but then he chuckled, warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your face.
“Oh?” His voice changed—dramatic, almost exaggerated, as he gently took your hand and lifted it with mock reverence. “Then perhaps I must remedy that at once.”
You narrowed your eyes, almost bursting out in laughter at the way he composed himself into a princely air.
“Oh, fair lady,” he began, his tone rich with theatrics. “I find myself madly in love with you. Please become my wife. I can offer you fresh meat and wine daily—”
You snorted, swatting his hand away.
“—and soft sheets too,” he winked, leaning closer, a grin tugging at his lips. “What say you? Come with me to Dragonstone? I assure you, this prince is thoroughly harmless.”
Turning within his hold, you faced him with equal dramatics. “How bold of you, to make such an offer to a lady already wed.”
“A tragedy. I shall have to win you over regardless.”
“I fear you shall fail, my prince. My husband would not take kindly to it.”
Valarr’s grin softened, warmth settling in his gaze.
“Then... I suppose I shall simply have to remain him then.”
Your breath caught, just slightly, when suddenly he closed the distance. But this time, there was no jest—only warmth as his lips met yours.
The kiss was deep, unhurried—filled with a warmth and devotion and certainty. He nibbled on your lip, and you pressed yourself closer to him in response.
He shifted, easing your back against the cushions as he hovered over you, mindful as ever—careful not to press any weight, never forgetting the life you carried between you.
His lips brushed yours again and again, softer this time, and while he could not quite bring himself to stop anytime soon, he had to.
“My love,” Valarr murmured against your lips, voice threaded with something achingly tender, “if I had a hundred lives, I would spend each one finding my way back to you.”
When he pulled away, his gaze swept over you, the beauty of his two-colored eyes stilled you in place. His hand came to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin.
“I know more than anyone of what you have gone through.” His gaze was solemn. “And I only regret that I was not strong enough to spare you from it.”
The memory of that bleak birthing chamber and the grief of losing your sons made your chest tighten, tears rising—but he caught your hand, lacing your fingers together and guiding them to rest over your swollen belly.
“I swear it, there is nothing in this world that I wouldn’t cast aside if it meant sparing you pain. And if any hardship remains to come...”
The way he paused made lump rise in your throat. But then your prince smiled that pure, dashing smile of his.
“Then let it find me first. I will stand between you and it all. Be it fear, fate, or the will of gods themselves… I will not yield.”
Your first tear fell, overcome by the weight of his words, while his hold on your hand tightening just a fraction.
“I could not protect you in childbed,” he admitted, “but I will spend the rest of my life ensuring that nothing touches you without first going through me, for as long as I live…”
His forehead rested against yours then, his voice barely above a whisper now—
“You and our child are mine to protect.”
—and you smiled tearfully at what he promised as you knew it to be true.
“Your Grace, it’s alright… take deep breaths— Yes, yes! Just like that!”
Your time had come when on one night, your waters broke just after you’d gone to bed. You had woken up to persistent contractions afterwards, which fully sealed your fate.
You had gone through this twice before, and you learned that there was nothing to be done when pain seized your womb with its merciless hold that made you cry out, except to let it run its course.
You lay on your side on the bed clad only in your shift, eyes closed, whimpering as another pain came over you.
“Valarr—” Your voice faltered, trembling with tears as you clutched your handmaiden’s hand. “W-where is he…? Has he— has he returned…?”
She squeezed your hand in return, promising you before she ran, “I shall fetch the prince, Your Grace!”
Though it was considered improper for men to enter the birthing chamber, Valarr had always been present during all your labors. This time, however, he had ridden into the city on urgent business just as your pains had begun.
And now you were terrified, haunted by the memories of the previous births that led to stillborns— and desperately wanted him here.
. . .
When Valarr was alerted with the news of how your pains had started and that you were asking for him, he marched back towards Red Keep with everything he had.
The doors to the chamber flew open with a force, and Valarr strode in, breathless. His gaze found you at once and something in his expression shattered.
“My love—!”
Your name broke from him as he seized your hand, his grip firm, grounding, as though anchoring you to him might somehow lessen what you endured. You scarcely had time to register his presence before another contraction seized you, fiercer than the last.
“I’m here!” He engulfed you in his embrace as you wept. “I’m here...”
The pains came without mercy, one upon the next, stealing what little rest you might have. Your body trembling as the agony built and built— until your moans dissolved into anguished wails.
Valarr felt his heart splinter.
Your sweet face was drawn tight with suffering, your hair damp and clinging to your skin, your fingers crushing his as though he were the only thing keeping you from being swept away entirely, all the while withstanding the pain he couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Guilt gnawed at him— he was the one who put you in this suffering… and more so when your voice broke:
“No! Please— I can’t! I can’t take this!”
He leaned close at once, pressing his lips to your temple, then to your ear, his voice low, tinted with grief. “Yes, you can, my love. You can. Don’t fight it… Breathe. It will pass.”
Hours blurred into one another, marked by pain and the brief moments of reprieve between. Through it all, Valarr never once let you go. His voice remained at your side, soft and steady, murmuring against your skin.
Until, at last, the maester’s voice broke through the haze.
“Your Grace—it is time. You must push.”
Valarr’s grip tightened around your body, and you bore down, summoning what strength you had left.
Each push felt as though it was tearing you apart, the compelling urge to push with all your might rising until it consumed you as a whole. Your world narrowed to the searing, all-encompassing agony.
“Oh Seven, it hurts!” you wept and your husband pressed another kiss to your temple, trying to soothe you.
“You’re doing so well.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Just a little more… I know you can.”
And so you gave in to your body's demands. Knees bent, you pushed again, feeling your baby move down through your body. Again and again you pushed until the fire between your legs was unbearable, until you felt being split in two, tears endlessly falling from your eyes—
A scream tore itself from your throat.
The pain surged to its peak in one final blazing rush, and with it came a foreign sound.
A weak, feeble cry. Your baby’s first cry.
For one stunned heartbeat, silence swallowed the chamber. Everyone stood frozen as the newborn was caught, while you collapsed back upon the pillows.
“A prince!” the maester cried, joy breaking through at last as he carried the tiny life to be cleaned by the handmaidens. “The princess has given birth to a healthy prince!”
But unlike the others who hastened toward the babe, Valarr did not move. He remained exactly where he was, his eyes never leaving you, who lay unconscious in his arms.
“Love...?” His voice trembled as he leaned over you, his free hand brushing your cheek, his heart lurching violently in his chest. “Stay with me—please—”
Around him, the noise dimmed, the celebration stilled into a breathless hush as all eyes turned back to the bed. They all saw their prince, who ignored his heir, for the sake of the woman he loved.
“Wake up,” he urged softly, desperately, his thumb trembling against your terribly pale form. “Wake up. Please… open your eyes.”
A moment stretched with you staying still.
Then another.
And then—
Your lashes fluttered. A breath seemed to pass through the room all at once.
Relief hit the Young Prince so sharply that he buckled, and a broken sound escaped his chest as he bent to you, pressing a lingering, trembling kiss to your lips.
“You did it,” he whispered, tears spilling now as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You did it, my love. Thank you... Thank you...”
Only when he had made sure you were fine did Valarr finally turn to see his son. Carefully, he took the tiny, swaddled bundle from the maester and placed him gently into your arms, guiding him close to your chest.
“A boy,” he murmured softly, pulling you into his embrace again. “Just as you wished… Isn’t it something? We have a son…”
His hand came to rest over yours, both of you cradling the small, warm weight between you. You were utterly spent, your strength all but gone, and so you leaned into the steady rise of his chest.
This little one was too precious—perfect, with all ten fingers, and not cold like the ones you held in your nightmares. He had drawn his first breath in this world, and in time, he would only grow stronger beneath your care.
A breathless sound left you when the babe stirred and opened his eyes.
Cool blue and warm brown.
“He has your eyes…” you cooed, your voice thick with awe as you looked up at your prince, tears shimmering in your gaze.
Valarr only looked at you. Not at the heir you had just given him— but at you, as though the very sight of you, alive and breathing in his arms, eclipsed all else.
Then, with a tenderness that trembled at its edges, he leaned down and kissed you again.
All those who bore witness to it—the maester, the handmaidens, every soul within that chamber—fell silent, for they knew that their beloved prince and princess had deserved this.
Their lives, once fractured by grief and shadowed by loss, had finally been made whole.
And so the years that followed would come to tell the same story—
Life, at last, had found its completion for the Young Prince and his princess.
Though Prince Valarr had hoped for a daughter he could spoil and cherish as his little princess, it became plain that he doted on his son from the moment he first took him in his arms. The realm delighted in the little prince as well—he was cherished and adored, bearing the fine features of his sire and the gentle disposition of his dam.
Yet even so… there was something all had come to understand. For all the love and pride Prince Valarr bore his son, it never rivaled what lived in his gaze when it fell upon his mother— you, his sweet princess consort of the Seven Kingdoms.
That though he was a devoted father, a proud prince, and one day, hopefully, would be a great king…
Above all else, he was still and forever would be yours.
—summary: the scorching heat of kings landing and pregnancy was a fierce combination. taking it upon yourself to find the coolest place leads to your husband Valarr searching the whole castle for you.
—warnings: not proof read or beta read, pregnant!reader, reader is a princess bc she married valarr so its not intended as targ!reader, and nothing else really but if anything was missed let me know!
—notes: first of all thank you guys so much for all the likes and reblogs on my recent pieces, it truly means a lot! <3, my next piece will be a smut piece so stay tuned for that it'll be my first!
—word count: 1.2K
—requests are open! read pinned b4 sending an ask!
You envied your husband Valarr greatly.
You rested your hand on your stomach once again flipping over to find a sliver of relief. The scorching heat flowed through your room like fire on wood.
The heat mixed with the babe in your womb made your life miserable these past few days.
As much as you loved the nearing moment of motherhood, it wasn’t being so kind as of late.
Valarr snored beside you unaware of the world beyond his dreams. The heat was not affecting him in the slightest.
“It’s your fault.” You groaned sitting up.
“If it wasn’t for the wine we drank, that your family bought, we would not be in this situation.” You lit the candle beside your bed and held it close as you left the room.
Your guard Ser Blane stood firm. “Princess you should not be up at these late hours.”
“You try carrying extra weight on you and sleep in that hellfire, Ser Blane. Then you may tell me what to do.” You said closing the door.
“Only two moons time, princess. Then you shall do what you please. But under the orders of Prince Valarr, you are to stay resting.”
“Well he can shove it.” You muttered as you started to walk forward. “I’m taking a walk to get some air, do not follow me Ser.”
“But—”
“Do you want to anger me further? Stay guarding the Prince, I won’t be long.” You waved him off starting your stride along the Red Keep.
The sweat on your body glistened as the moon shined through the windows. The cool air gave comfort as you roamed.
Your eyes lit up at the familiar sight of the old wing you used to reside in before marriage. The rooms stayed vacant after, with yours being turned into a study room for yourself. A gift from King Daeron II in honor of your betrothal to his grandson.
Your hand moved along the shelves picking up the small wooden figures Valarr had commissioned years back. Your hand rested on the dragon before picking it up.
“Only a few more months my little dragon.” You ran a hand over your stomach before setting it back down. “Then we both can hopefully get some sleep.”
You moved the curtain letting the moonlight and breeze in. A sigh of relief left your mouth as you sat on the bed.
You moved the furs aside and covered your body. You weren’t sure when you drifted off to sleep. But Gods know you truly needed it.
Valarr stirred as the sunlight beamed through the curtain.
He turned to your side and put his hand out only to be met with emptiness. A once endearing gesture where he’d cradle your stomach and asked how you slept, turned into a living nightmare.
Valarr sat up straight examining your bedside. The candle was gone, the sheets were cool and you were obviously not there.
He put on his clothes not bothering to call on anyone to help him. He didn’t care to fix his hair or look the part of a prince. He was just a husband scared to death looking for his wife.
“Ser Blane, where is he?” He asked taking note of the guards switch.
“I am unsure, my prince. Most likely with the rest of the Kingsguard.” Ser Brack said.
“Get him.” Valarr said through gritted teeth.
“Is everything alright, my prince?”
“My wife is gone. She wasn't in our chambers.” His voice raised in annoyance.
Ser Brack nodded his head and sprinted off towards White Sword Tower. Valarr soothed his hair and went the other direction in search of his father or brother.
He caught sight of his father first. Well actually his father caught him.
“Valarr, why are you in a rush?” Baelor said as he held Valarr’s arm.
Baelor took note of the wild look on his son's face. His mismatched eyes looked everywhere but directly at him.
“She wasn’t in our room. My wife is gone.” He said, voice cracking.
“She couldn’t have gone far.” Baelor kept his voice calm so as not to scare his son.
When his late wife Jena was pregnant both times she’d often had restless nights and the heat at Kings Landing didn’t make those nights any easier.
“I’ll instruct the Kingsguard to search for her.” Baelor walked away alerting the nearest guard. Valarr’s mind blanked as he looked along the corridor.
Where in the Seven Hells could you be?
It's not like you’d scale a wall and disappear. He looked out the open window looking at the farthest stoned wall. He shook his head, even prior to pregnancy you wouldn't scale something like that.
Within the hour of searching he grew restless looking through every room for you.
White Sword Tower came up empty.
The kitchen came up empty.
He even enlisted the help of Matarys to search for you but every lead led nowhere.
He picked at the skin of his fingers his breathing uneasy as he continued.
What if you were hurt and no one was there?
What if you went for air and gave birth outside?
How could he be so stupid as to not notice his own wife leaving the room. It’s not as if he dreamt of anything with substance.
How could he be so careless with both you and his child’s life. What if it was someone wanting to harm or kill you.
Valarr's stomach turned as he began to think the worse. The noise around him faded as he continued on his search. He couldn’t bear to live with the thought of someone harming you.
His pace was sharp as he searched anywhere his legs would take him. He gave alerts and updates to the guards and received nothing in return.
He turned the corner and his mind flooded back to when you first arrived at King’s Landing. The familiar stone halls he used to sneak out to just to have a simple conversation.
This was the coolest side of the castle and your study was near.
“If she is not here then the Seven take me.” Valarr whispered as he began to open every door.
You yawned as you woke up, body feeling refreshed compared to last night. Looking out the window you can only assume it's noon.
“Let’s go find your father.” You rested a hand on your stomach before moving it.
As you stood from the bed the door opened.
Your husband staring back at you disheveled. Eyes red, shirt loosened and hair a mess from the hundreds of times he ran his hands through them.
“Valarr are you alright?” You said making him sigh in relief.
He pulled you into a careful hug swaying you both side to side. His hands holding your head and back.
“I thought I lost you.” He whispered, placing a kiss on your head.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you weren’t in our bed. I woke up and you were gone.” He took a breath and sat down on the bed. His rush of adrenaline finally wears down.
“Valarr it was one night, and it was scorching in our chambers.” You gave a small laugh sitting beside him.
“One night too many.” He sighed once more letting out an airy laugh. “If you needed some place cooler you could have woken me and I would’ve gone with you or moved our things here.”
Your eyes watered as he spoke, making him lean over to give you an embrace.
“You would do that?”
“I’d rotate this whole castle if it meant my wife and child would be comfortable.”
spcncershybrid, 2026. I do not condone my work to be copied, fed into ai, or translated and do not claim it as your own, thank you. Feedback is welcome!
author's note: minor's dne, 18+ only. I'm currently on vacation but desperate to get this out of my system.
aerion
Aerion has the intensity and carnal needs of more than any average man; he never made much effort to hide this from you. He surprises you by just how much he enjoys going down on you, especially when there is risk of being caught or seen. Aerion's size is perfect for you, and at certain angles he knows how to make you cry out, and even squeal.
On the way to Silverbridge, he slips into your carriage whilst the stewards clear the road ahead of fallen debris, a common occurrence of late. As he closes the door behind him hastily, you smile, stunned into silence.
Did anyone see you? You ask breathily as he launches at you, pushing your skirt up your body without word. Aerion's tongue finds you easily, as you sink down into the seat of the carriage. He takes your legs and drapes them over his shoulder so you don't slip. Oh, God's, Aerion. His tongue is most magical, the way he flicks over you and tastes you.
Aerion finds your clit easily; he never had trouble finding it to begin with. The tip of his tongue flicks over you and he slips his finger inside you without word, only gazing up at you with the skirt of your dress around his head. You moaned sweetly, lifting your chin up to the ceiling of the carriage, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. He won't stop until you're unravelling, sweating, usually, but this is time-sensitive, and the thrill of having you with so many around nearby makes him hard like forest wood.
I would ravish you from here to Silverbridge if I could. Aerion pulled his mouth from your wet pussy, wiping his full lips on your inner thigh.
I acquiesce. You sigh and watch as he returns his face back between your legs, his tongue at your clit again flicking and sucking, as do your moans resume. Aerion massages himself as he enjoys you, your taste so sweet and addictive, even the sound of your muffled moans spur him on. He gazes down at you, pink and swollen, ready for him. He untucks his shirt from his loose breeches, and sits up as one leg slips down from his shoulder, he keeps the other up, accessing you more easily this way. Aerion rubs his tip against your wetness, but he can't help but spit down onto you, as he slowly enters you. You drop your head again, looking up to the ceiling, and close your eyes, holding onto the carriage for support. Aerion takes your face, forcing you to look his way, he wants you to watch him as he fucks you.
Aerion. You gasp and cover your mouth, biting your bottom lip as his rhythm sends ripples through your body.
baelor
Baelor communicates in ways more than just verbally.
You knew this from the moment you first met, that he knew how to communicate on many levels and to him, your eyes were like a window into your soul. Baelor could tell your mood faster than you could explain it verbally.
Homesick. You had missed your family uncontrollably, but appreciated your new life in ways Baelor was well aware of. On your bed you sat with your legs crossed, watching as Baelor joined you in your shared chamber in just his nightclothes. As he climbed onto the bed, he sat on his knees before you, a single candle burning in the room now made the air calm, a gentle orange.
You're most quiet today. He speaks softly, but when you're alone in the chamber together his voice sends goosebumps across your skin.
Am I? You asked, blinking in thought as he took your chin, lifting your gaze to his. I'm not upset.
I did not accuse you of such. Baelor tilted his head a fraction and fingered a section of your soft hair as your eyes flickered to each of his, left to right, right to left. Back and forth uncontrollably.
You removed your night gown without further thought, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it to the floor. maybe in a moment of vulnerability, you truly had nothing to hide from your Prince, your Baelor. He looked down at your body briefly, taking you all in again as if it were the first time he saw you exposed like this. As his eyes wandered back to yours, he pulled his from his own body and tossed it to the side. Baelor's hands dropped to your thighs, caressing you tenderly, and the doughiness of your skin. He watched your expression, as you slowly inhaled, blinking at him.
Are you at ease now? Baelor asked and you nod, as you lean in to him to massage his hardening cock. He lowered his head gently as he felt your hands at him, just hard enough to squeeze encouragingly. He made your part your legs so he was sat kneeling between you, as his hand ran up your legs your breathing quivered.
Baelor’s fingers slowly found you, from your thighs to your base where your opening was, his middle finger slipped inside you slowly as he maintained eye contact with you. He never did want to look away. Your hands worked him slowly, moving upwards you gripped him a little tighter. Baelor put one hand to you knee, bringing you in a little closer to him; he wanted you to be as close to him as possible.
You’re soaking. He gently spoke, all you could do was nod as his finger moved out of you and back in with a second. You flicked your long waved hair over your shoulders, out of the way, your eye returning to his once again. Baelor’s mouth opened slightly, as your hand grazed his pubic hair, your fingernails grazing him just enough to make him let out the gentlest of moans.
When he could take no more, Baelor bent forward, leaning over on top of you to take over you. His fingers released from you and as you lifted your head to kiss him, Baelor slipped his fingers into your mouth. You sucked them gently, tasting yourself as he watched, a smile creeping in the corner of his mouth. He tasted you too, and as slipped his fat cock into you, you finally broke eye contact to lift your head towards the ceiling in pleasure.
daeron
It's not quite enough for Daeron to have your lips, not just at his mouth, but his face, his neck, his entire body.
When you bite your lip in thought at the table during the feast, Daeron's eyes remained fixed on you. You had been lost in thought as the food was served, still unsure of how you felt about eating lamb. You were a Targaryen in nature, blood, but a poor lamb? As the commotion began, you looked up to see Daeron's gaze had fallen on you, as he brought his cup of wine to his mouth. After some seconds that felt like hours, he turned slowly to regard the crowded tables, overlapping conversations.
As you left the feast to return to your chamber, Daeron found you and cupped your face with his hands, his wine-flavoured lips at you. He sucked your bottom lip and gently bit you, tugging your lip out until you moaned into his mouth.
God's, I need your lips, your mouth, you- Daeron exhaled and lead you to his chamber. As he kicked the door shut behind him, Daeron pulled you back into him, against his body. You held his face and angled your head, accessing his mouth, his tongue more easily, until he groaned. He was slightly pathetic when he drank, but tonight he had been sensible and you were feeling excitable. Daeron began to remove his clothing, as you followed, loosening your gown as best you could, until he pulled away reluctantly from your mouth noisily. He licked his lips as he tore your gown from your body, and guided you to the bed. You turned, pressing your body against his until he fell back onto the bed. He exhaled as you pulled your mouth away from his, pulling the remainder of his clothes off. Daeron watched as you ran your tongue down his torso, kissing him across the trail of hair that lead down to his crotch, his bulging cock.
You are throbbing, my Prince. You said quietly, maintaining eye contact as you kissed his tip.
He watched as you enjoyed him, your mouth overtaking him and massaging as you moved up and down his shaft. You loved to watch his expression, of total pleasure and hearing his guttural groans he couldn’t stop. Daeron's blue eyes watched you, as you looked back at him. When it was time, you returned to his mouth, feeling his hands drag you back up to him by the waist. You kissed him gently at first, taking his top lip, then his bottom, and slipped your tongue against his, angling your head so he could push his tongue deep into yours.
The minutes melted into hours but it still wasn’t enough for Daeron. Your mouth was forever his.
valarr
You know the effect your low cut gowns have on Valarr. Especially as you descend the stairs to join the feast and festivities. Valarr gazes up to watch you join, his hands secretly flexing in and out of fists. He gifted you a gorgeous dark red and black gown, designed by the finest seamstress in all the seven kingdoms. You were unsure initially, but your cousins had worn more daring outfits, and unclaimed you are no more.
My Princess. He exhales as you take his hand, you're nervous for some reason. Valarr kisses your cheek, and then your neck - his weak spot. He cannot stop himself. You look, ethereal.
You don't think it's too much? Your hand is at your chest, playing with your neckless. Valarr shakes his head gently, kissing your neck uncontrollably once more before he leads you to hall, refusing to let go of your hand until he has no choice. His, and now your, father, Baelor, requests a dance. The only man Valarr would accept his Princess to leave him momentarily for.
As Baelor guides you to the floor, Valarr's eyes remain on you. When Baelor turns you, he's still watching, as he lifts a cup of wine to his lips, he's smiling. Baelor is a gentleman, and doesn't hold you too tight, nor does he linger as the song ends.
After the festivities, you forget the reason behind it all, Valarr nuzzles his face into your neck the moment you are alone again. He groans against your skin as he tastes you, kissing you noisily. Though it's only been a matter of hours, his groans sound like he's been without you for days. Against the bookshelf he pushes you, uncaring you both are not at your chamber, in total privacy. It has to be here.
Valarr pushes your hands up against the shelves, accessing your neck easily, stretched and vulnerable now your arms are out. He moves around your neck, across your collar bone, to the other side and slowly inhales. Valarr knows well enough to not leave a mark at your neck, but he struggles to pull away from you this time. He is immediately at your mouth again, feeling your body move into him, your back arching.
He lifts his smart tunic, to release himself from his underclothes, and puts his face back into your neck. A soft whimper escaping his throat and against your skin. You groan as you feel Valarr enter you, but the sensation of his mouth at the side of your neck issues tingles like no other - maybe it’s the time of the full moon, or the way his hands so delicately graze you. You run your fingers through his hair, as something to grip, he fucks you hard against the bookshelf.
Valarr, you gasp out as he lifts your legs up, to wrap around his waist. He’s stronger than you give him credit for, and though he’s pushing you into the bookshelf you feel secure in him. He doesn't stop until he comes inside you and pants into your neck, noticing the red mark he has left on you.
maekar
There is no denying Maekar is an ass man.
The day you fell into his life, he saw the back of you first and was besotted with you since. You had been late to the announcement of his arrival, and as the daughter of a Lord, your tardiness had been noted. From the first floor, you had jumped up to lean onto the stone windowsill and out of the window to watch their arrival, hoping you could still catch glimpse of the Targaryen's for the first time. Below, the stable-boys were taming the hulking black stallions into their places, and not a single nobleman in sight.
My Lady be careful! A voice so sharp and sudden startled you in your place, almost causing you to tilt further out of the window. You clasped onto the handle of the window for balance, and felt two large hands at your backside and waist. As you were pulled back and onto the stone floor, you squirmed and stepped back, away from the towering figure of Maekar.
You scared me! Your heart raced in your chest, you despised being scared like that. As you gazed up at his towering height, his platinum white hair caught your eye first. My Lord.
You were falling out of the window. I saved your life. Maekar corrected you and you tried to appear taller, straightening your back. No man in this kingdom laid a hand on you, one would neither dare grabbing you by the backside of all places.
For the entirety of his stay, Maekar teased you when only you could hear. Nothing malicious nor spiteful, but anything to keep your mind on him. Your father suggested a morning ride up Tottington Hill, and as you hauled yourself up onto your horse, Netty, you felt Maekar's hand pat your ass encouragingly. As you turned down to look at him, his action unnoticed by anyone else, he winked at you.
Now wed, Maekar reminds you regularly of how fondly he regards your physique. You stand at your balcony, looking out to sea one later afternoon and imagine the skyline with dragons dancing. What colour Maekar's dragon would be, what he would name it. You gently lean forward to see the rough coast below, the waves smacking against the hard stone of the Keep. And you feel his hands at your body, a gently alluring squeeze. Then, his mouth at the back of your ear.
May I remind you, my Princess, how we first met? Maekar speaks softly but his tone is low, gruff.
Yes I remember. You couldn't keep your hands off me. You say, turning your face to his. A smile forms uncontrollably on your face as he kisses you, zealously, as if you have been missing for several days.
Nothing has changed. He exhales between kisses, his mouth sloppy and wet for you.
Maekar's hands run down to your backside and squeezes you, hard, and he turns you around to face the ocean again as he fucks you. He gathers your dress up as you rest against the stone balcony. Maekar slides his tip into you and quickly out to tease you cruelly, then once you moan, he thrusts into you, his groin smacking against your backside. He gently spanks you with his large strong hands as he fucks you, groaning as you stick your ass out, pushing back into him to go deeper.
Despite the heavenly view of the sprawling ocean and setting sun, your body exceeds it.
hope you enjoyed (: if you have anything particular in mind I'm open to prompts
i just finished your dunk fic and oh my GOD… you wrote him so perfectly?? like the characterization was insane, you really captured his whole vibe in a way that felt so true to him
i’m actually obsessed 😭
also this might be random but now i’m so curious have you ever thought about what the other characters would be like in bed too?? i feel like you’d have such good takes on them 👀
STOP this is so sweet, thank you sm!! 🫶
i do have thoughts on the others i’ve actually had a draft sitting so this might be my sign to turn it into a full headcanon post...hehe
bear with me, this one’s gonna be long
The realm sees the perfect prince. Calm, honorable, always in control. With you, that control softens into something much more personal.
He gives slow, deliberate kisses down your throat. Each kiss comes with quiet High Valyrian words of praise that speed up your pulse.
He enjoys eye contact during oral. He has you at the edge of the bed, table, against a wall—any surface he can get you on and kneels in front while he holds your wrists down at your sides (or crossed over your stomach) with one strong hand, then makes you watch him as he devours you until your thighs shake and leaves you begging.
Aftercare is like his duty. He draws the bath himself, massages every aching inch, whispers how beautifully you came apart for him, how you honor his name.
Secret kink: Breeding. As the heir, the idea of filling you until you carry his child drives him wild. His thrusts become direct and strong, his voice rough, until he finishes deep inside with words about the future heir you will bear.
Maekar Targaryen
Rough, intense, and a little mean about it (in the best way). He's not cruel, but he's dominant and doesn't coddle.
Expect to be manhandled: shoved against walls, bent over tables, held down by those big warrior hands while he growls that you can take it.
Loves leaving marks. Teeth pressed into your inner thighs, just enough to linger. His hands firm on your hips, fingerprints that fade slower than they should. Doesn’t say much about it, but the way he looks at them after… you know exactly why he does it.
Has a thing for angry/jealous sex after tourneys or court arguments; he'll fuck the defiance right out of you until you're limp and whimpering apologies.
Surprisingly good with his mouth when he wants to be and uses it as a reward when you've been "good."
Post-orgasm he gets quieter, almost tender, stroking your hair like you're the only soft thing in his hard world.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Big, earnest, and hungrier than he lets on.
He's shy at first. Blushing and stammering while asking "Is this alright?" But once you say yes, that gentle giant energy flips to overwhelming.
He'll lift you like you weigh nothing, pin you to the wall/against a tree/hayloft, and just take with deep, rolling thrusts that make your eyes roll back.
Loves when you ride him because he can watch your face and grip your ass/hips hard enough to bruise while groaning your name like a prayer.
Has massive stamina; he'll keep going until you're oversensitive and crying, then kiss every tear away while still buried inside.
Kink: size difference. He gets painfully hard hearing how "too big" he feels, and he'll talk you through it in that low, rumbling voice until you come clenching around him.
Aerion "Brightflame" Targaryen
Chaotic, dangerous, and unhinged in bed.
Pain mixed with pleasure is his love language. Hair-pulling, spanking, teeth on your neck/shoulders until you bruise.
He'll edge you cruelly, bring you right to the brink then stop, smirking while you sob and beg.
Loves fireplay vibes: trailing candle wax over your skin, the brief burn making you arch, then soothing it with his tongue.
Very vocal. Dirty talk in a mix of Common Tongue and Valyrian, calling you his little whore/princess while he fucks you raw.
Might share you if the mood strikes (or use it to torment you with jealousy), but always reclaims you harder afterward.
After he comes inside, he'll make you keep it in while he fingers you to another orgasm, whispering how pretty you look ruined and leaking him.
Valarr Targaryen
The "Young Prince" has that Targaryen beauty and quiet intensity. More controlled than his cousins/uncles, but no less filthy.
Prefers slow, sensual buildup such as teasing you for hours with his fingers and tongue until you're dripping and pleading.
Loves having you on your knees, watches you while you suck him off; he'll stroke your cheek and praise how well you take him.
Into mirror sex. He will position you so you can both watch him slide in and out, making you see how perfectly you fit around him.
Also has a breeding kink (like father like son); loves coming deep and holding you there, murmuring about making the next generation.
Unsurprisingly sweet after—cuddles, soft kisses, tracing your spine while telling you sweet nothings.
Daeron "the Drunken" Targaryen
A haunted, wine-drenched prince drowning visions in Arbor red; to the world a wastrel, to you, raw desperation and aching need.
Drops to his knees instantly, shoves your thighs open and eats you out messy and starving, his tongue deep, sucking your clit like it’s the last good thing left in Westeros, groaning broken Valyrian right against your cunt until your legs shake.
Fucks like he’s outrunning prophecy: erratic, brutal thrusts that slam you into the wall or mattress, thick cock stretching you wide while he rasps “ñuha perzys… milk me dry before it all burns.”
Craves your marks—nails raking his back, teeth in his shoulder—and the second you give them he snarls and fucks harder, spilling hot and deep with a wrecked moan, grinding to keep every drop inside you.
Doesn’t pull out after. Just collapses on top, still buried, stroking your hair with trembling hands and whispering slurred apologies and love against your neck until the wine and exhaustion finally drag him under in your arms.
Lyonel Baratheon
Stormlord energy = absolute beast mode
Loud, physical, possessive as hell. He'll throw you over his shoulder, carry you to the nearest surface, and fuck you like the world's ending—deep, pounding thrusts that knock the breath out of you.
Loves when you scratch/claw at his back; it makes him go harder.
Big on manhandling: flipping you over, spreading you wide, growling "mine" while he rails you from behind.
Has a thing for outdoor/risky sex. Tourney tents, godswood, storm-swept battlements…because Baratheons claim what's theirs wherever they damn well please.
After he fills you up, he'll stay inside while catching his breath, one massive hand splayed over your stomach like he's already imagining his heir there.
Post-sex he's surprisingly cuddly; expect to be tucked against his chest while thunder rumbles outside.
A/N: eating a Hershey’s cookies and cream bar as we speak (my mum bought it for me so it’s even more delectable), Maekar standing up for his cancelled wife (as he should) these are so fun oml.
“My girlfriend cried today and was sad and I couldn’t kiss her. I’m going to rip my hair out” - him
“Wife’s asleep rn so I’m spending my time on really important things like waiting for her to wake up” - him
“Sorry babe I’m too tired to talk, can I just chew on you for a couple hours?” - you
“I stand up when my girl enters the room like she’s the president” - him
“Dating her means becoming a father to all her plushies” - him
“I’m so glad they invented laying on a man’s chest” - you
LYONEL —
“Sorry we’re late, my wife and I couldn’t stop kissing” - him
“Hey, me and my wife saw you across the bar and we just wanted to say we really love your vibe” - him (probably to Duncan)
“Yes I’m normal about her (I need to gnaw on her like a number 2 pencil)” - him
“Babe, do you remember our first ever bit together?” - you
“My wife is actually magical, Wdym she makes my day automatically better, she’s the goat fr” - him
“She call me apple the way I be in cider” - him
BAELOR —
“He can infodump so deep inside me I’ll have trivia running down my leg” - you
“Sluttiest thing a man can do is have a complete dilemma over his lust for you” - you
“Most beautiful lady in all the land. Will you watch the birds with me” - him
“When my husband is home I eat three square meals a day and when he is gone I creep into the kitchen for a handful of dry cereal or a pickle every two hours like a rat in a bodega” - you
“I need a man to smile fondly at me while I throw a dramatic hissy fit at every minor inconvenience” - you
“I take baths a lot, and whenever I do my boyfriend sits in the bathroom and reads out loud to me. Right now we’re on chapter four of a book about the history of rats in NYC” - you
MAEKAR —
“He’s so handsome, I NEED to get on his nerves” - you
“She’s evil manipulative two sided and cold to YOU, to ME she’s my wife” - him
“Your weak asf is you leave your wife just because she stabbed you ONE time” - him
“‘I could fix her’ yea? well I could accept her as she is. You don’t like the murder? Grow up. The atrocities are part of her and I’ve decided they’re funny” - him
“‘I’m too old for you’ sir that age gap is literally one of the things that got me attracted to you in the first place” - you
“I plan on bugging you every single day for the rest of our lives” - you
AERION —
“Relationships should be 50/50, you take me to museums and I point at all the weird little guys in paintings and say ‘that’s you’” - you
“I’m sorry I roasted you, I was trying to flirt” - you
“Date idea, we fight another couple” - him
“I love my man I really do, but man, not a day goes by where I don’t want to square up with him” - you
“I’m scared of my wife and it lowkey turns me on” - him
“Missionary, so we can keep arguing” - him
“How do I politely ask her to slam me against a wall and make out with me” - him
VALARR —
“Normalise pathetically begging to go down on her nightly” - him
“If my girlfriend thinks she can just bat her eyes at me and get whatever she wants, she absolutely correct” - him
“I hope every lover girl finds her super calm gentleman who is unashamedly and insanely in love with her” - you
“Gonna find a man with biceps and brown hair and big brown eyes that lets me bite him as hard as I want” - you
“The fact that you are not my wife yet bothers me at least once every day” - him
“Just talked to my wife on the phone, it was awesome. I know a lot of you are lonely and pathetic with nobody who really cares about you or loves you but you can always rest assured that is not the case for me” - him
DAERON —
“I love a ‘this is us’ girl, like yea babe, we are those two hash browns” - him
“Need a boyfriend except he’s not just my boyfriend he’s also some weird guy I drag around with me everywhere” - you
“Sex is great but have you ever had someone be patient and gentle with you when your abandonment issues are acting up” - him
“I haven’t gotten a kiss from my wife in a while and I’m being really brave about it” - him
“I hate when girls say “wow I didn’t peg you as a gentlemen” uhhh you haven’t pegged me at all yet, get to it.” - him
“In my dreams I’m making you pasta and nothing bad has ever happened to us” - him
WARNINGS: dark themes, arranged marriage, fluff, aerion is a warning himself, gentle!reader, aerion's only soft with her, obsessive behaviour, ooc aerion.
⸺ disclaimer : english isn't my first language :/ upd : omg ??? thank you so much for your love !! gifs cr : @ lady-arryn; @ s_attayee
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he never leaves your side at the wedding.
You still remember your mother’s one wish before the mysterious fever had claimed her life – the same words she had been telling you since you were a child.
"Let love always be your choice, darling. Do not repeat my fate."
She never spoke in long speeches, yet you knew. Your mother was too wise a woman – she never put things plainly. There was no need for it; you've always been a clever girl.
Never marry a lord out of duty. It will eat you alive, until nothing of you remains.
And here you were, from head to toe in your wedding attire, dressed entirely in red – the colour of his house.
At least you didn't break the promise you had given to your mother, did you? He is everything but a lord.
Your husband. The one you were meant for.
A cruel prince who has gone mad – that's what people say about him. A monster who takes pleasure in hurting others.
Aerion Targaryen.
A dragon in human form – his heart is too cold to be tamed, too hot to be approached.
Yet your father didn't care enough to do something about it.
After all, you were truly your mother's daughter.
Turning your head slightly, you studied his profile: pale silver hair that he had run his fingers through countless times, a tense jawline and eyes filled with nothing but irritation.
You couldn't blame him, honestly. The air was thick with the smell of wine, meat, and sweat. Men, treating your wedding feast as just another excuse to get drunk, glance at you with an interest that bordered on the obscene.
"Dragons don't need love," he had said when you first came here. "Don't bother trying. It will make you look pathetic."
But he was there, sitting beside you, even though most of the wedding has already passed, leaving only the drunkards behind. You had expected him to leave as soon as his father had returned to his chambers, but he hadn't.
Instead, Aerion's eyes stayed fixed on someone else.
"I'm going to rip that scum's eyes out right here."
Frowning at his sudden threat, you followed his gaze and noticed an older man with a shaggy beard staring at your cleavage.
Oh.
You let out a soft laugh. "He's not the first."
"He will be the last."
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he was mindful of your pleasure on your wedding night.
Aerion's footsteps were loud in your quiet chambers as he slowly entered, still wearing his finery. It seemed you were the only one who needed such preparation.
The wedding night. To consummate the marriage, to fulfill the very reason you had been sent here: into the dragon’s grasp.
You recalled all your aunt’s stories about such nights of pain and impassive husbands. Your heart skipped a beat at the realization that your fate was no different from your mother's – perhaps even worse.
Your father was an honest man. He never loved your mother, nor did he seek to pretend – not for you, and certainly not for his wife.
He wasn't cruel. He never laid a hand on you, never spoke harshly, never punished you for the kind of whims children are prone to. Not once did he force your mother to bear one child after another to secure an heir.
And maybe that was the problem: he felt nothing at all.
Aerion noticed your mood shift – of course he did. He notices everything, you thought. He had taken you to the garden when you could no longer endure your family’s expectations, and after a silent walk, you parted ways to prepare for what was to come that night.
The longer the servants prepared you, the more you felt their sticky, pity-laden gazes. Words never left their lips, but there was no need: you knew exactly what they meant.
“A cruel fate for one so young.”
“You’ve done nothing to deserve this, my princess.”
"May the Gods have mercy upon you."
You smiled softly in response. There were fates far worse than yours.
Lost in thought, you didn't even notice when Aerion came close enough for you to feel his presence. He ran his hand through your hair, slowly combing it with his fingers.
Gently, almost tenderly.
"They're softer than I imagined," he murmured, as if mesmerised.
You froze, his touch somehow soothing you, then slightly leaned towards him, unsure of what to expect.
You slowly turned around to look at him and felt your breath hitch in your throat. His gaze was already roaming over your face, as if he wanted to remember every detail.
He wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you closer until you shared one breath. "You are the dragon's wife now," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "And I'm not interested in hurting what's mine."
Then his lips crashed onto yours with such force you’d have fallen if he weren’t holding you so tightly.
There was nothing gentle about it, nothing subtle. He made no attempt to play the part of a good husband. Aerion kissed you like a man certain of what was his. Hungrily, he pulled you in, while you responded at your own pace. You kissed him slowly, as though you had all the time in the world.
He broke the kiss and let his lips wander along the line of your jaw to your neck, lightly grazing your skin with his teeth.
"Aerion," you whispered his name, and he let out a sound that was almost a growl. His teeth sank above your collarbone, his tongue leaving a mark that would remain as proof of your night.
A part of you wondered if he’d allow you to do the same.
You kept your thoughts to yourself. One day, maybe.
A little moan slipped from your lips, making him lift you so effortlessly – as if you had always belonged in his arms – as he guided you towards the bed. You gasped, wrapping your legs around him as he claimed your mouth once more.
"Perhaps this time," you thought, "your aunt was wrong."
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he won't let you sleep apart from him.
"Egg isn't feeling well, and I need to be there for him." You were supposed to return to Aegon’s chambers to read him a bedtime story about knights. Yet here you were – Gods knew for how long – in your chambers, arguing with your husband about... about what, actually?
"If he is not feeling well, he can call a fucking maid who'll read him those stupid stories. And you certainly don't need to waste your night on him."
"I can’t bear the thought of him waking up in the middle of the night, Aerion," you stepped closer to him. "Terrified that no one is there."
You stopped in front of him and tried to meet his eyes, but he stared somewhere far off, his jaw tight. You did what you’d learned over the last month, what you knew would soothe him. You leaned against him, laying your head on his chest; his heartbeat is quick under your ear. His hands almost automatically – instinctively – wrapped around your waist and squeezed you lightly.
"He's our brother, our little treasure," your voice is soft – as always – you never raised your voice.
That made him snort. "And I'm your husband."
You blinked.
Then pulled back enough to face him and finally understood what the problem was.
How could you have missed that?
Since that night of the wedding, you’d always slept together. He never let you go to your own chambers.
Your hips burn with a sweet pain; you feel every mark he left on your body, every grip that will surely turn into bruises. You are exhausted; your husband is lying on top of you, his nose tracing your neck. The skin-to-skin contact feels so intimate, it’s almost laughable considering what just happened.
You know, however, that comfort like this is only temporary and you can’t let yourself get used to it. You try to get up, the pain in your hips makes it impossible to think clearly, but that’s a worry for another day.
"Where are you going?" his voice is hoarse, heavy with pleasure and something else you can’t quite recognize yet.
You tilt your head slightly. "To my own bed."
He fixes you with a look that leaves no room for argument. The decision has already been made, and all you can do is accept it.
“You will sleep here.” He pulls you back against him, his arm wrapping around your waist in a possessive hold, your back resting against his chest.
You can't help but smile. He wants you to sleep beside him. Together.
He buries his nose in your hair, deeply breathing in the scent of lavender – the soap used by the servants to wash the princess's hair. His hand rests on your stomach in possessive grip, as if protecting what has yet to exist.
"I thought dragons knew nothing of love," you lean towards him, speaking tenderly, causing him to murmur something under his breath. A sense of calm and something you can't name yet blooms in your chest.
"They don't." His voice is rough, but his grip hasn’t loosened at all. "You are my wife, it’s my duty to sleep with you. Do not be fooled."
But when you wake up, sunlight pours over the bed, and he is still holding you as if you could vanish at any moment – you knew better.
And now, waking beside him – even though you clearly remembered falling asleep by Egg’s bedside – you saw that he was not the monster everyone else believed him to be.
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he spoils you.
Taking off another bracelet engraved with his initials, you found your gaze was drawn to the jewelry box, filled with pieces he has given you - dragon pendants, countless bracelets in black and scarlet. Your eyes then move to the armoire, filled with dresses of the purest silk, tailored just for you by the best.
The books you've only ever mentioned once in your morning talks rested on the shelves, which seemed to appear by some unseen hand whenever you spoke of a new one.
"It is likely the servants," he said, avoiding your gaze. "Or one of my stupid brothers who wants to impress you."
A gentle laugh escaped you as you move towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands clung to you immediately, almost without him realizing.
You swayed lightly. "Maybe."
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he comes to you when things get difficult.
It was late at night when you had decided to walk through the garden, enjoying the quiet and breathtaking view that had become so familiar.
You had spent the day guiding Aegon through the history of his ancestors – he couldn’t care less, he only wanted to outdo Aerion – before finally deciding to rest because you had started feeling dizzy.
There had been no time to see your husband; you had simply assumed he was busy with his training.
How wrong you were.
When you entered the chambers, he was already there, standing with his back to you, staring off into the distance.
He didn't acknowledge you when you entered, yet you noticed the signs of recognition. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, as though he was finally letting himself be at ease beside you.
"Husband."
He kept silent.
Instead, he turned and walked toward you slowly. There was none of that teasing sparkle or even a hint of mockery in his eyes—only fatigue and acceptance, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Then, to your surprise, he leaned in and buried his nose in your neck, inhaling the scent that reminded him of home.
"My mother would've loved you," he whispered, a quiet, wry smile in his tone.
No pretense, no show. Sincere.
It was only then that you realized: Egg's sudden urge to learn something new, why it had been so quiet – no servants bustling about, no Daeron pestering you with his philosophical debates.
Their mother. They all needed something to distract them.
You lifted your hands to the back of his head, caressing his hair gently, making him pull you closer. A quiet hum escaped him, followed by a small kiss on your neck. It felt as if you’d melted into him - he held you so tightly as though the slightest distance could carry you away forever.
“I’m sure she was a wonderful woman,” you said, kissing him beneath his ear. “She gave me you, and a few more sisters and brothers besides.”
He smirked but didn't let go for a moment. "Could’ve just stopped at me, my precious wife."
You smiled, not falling for his little act. He tried to play it off as a joke, to hide his weakness - but you wouldn't let him. Not here. Not with you.
“I’m here,” you whispered, leaving small kisses to soothe the tremble he desperately tried to suppress.
His hands roamed across your back, fingers spread wide, his breathing deep and rapid. He clung to you like his life depended on it, and you didn't complain.
You could feel it. He didn't say much, but you knew. He needed you just as much as you needed him.
“You’ll always be here,” he said in a voice so low you’d hardly have heard it unless you were right there. “You’ll never leave me.”
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he cannot stand your tears.
In all the time you’ve spent here, you had never shed a tear. There was no reason to - everything you needed was already yours. People starved, gave their lives for the land; a princess's tears would have seemed ridiculous.
But this time you couldn't keep it in.
It was supposed to be an ordinary day like any other - jousts, a feast honouring the noble guests. Yet everything went wrong when word reached you that Aerion had lost his mind and broken the fingers of an innocent girl.
Your heart ached for the girl who had only been playing and having fun, unaware of how it would all turn out.
He would never hurt you, but that didn’t make it any easier seeing him harm another so calmly.
The door opened and you sensed his heavy steps before you heard them. You didn't give him your usual gentle smile - the one he's used to seeing from you.
"She mocked our family, our very blood," he said. There was a note of irritation in his voice at having to justify his actions so openly to you.
Dragons owed nothing to anyone. They acted, and they took pleasure in the results. Yet here he stood behind you, covered in blood and still proud, unable to bear even the thought that you might be hurting.
You didn't respond.
"This is treason," he continued, unused to your silence.
You were barely holding back your tears - you didn't want him to see them. Not from shame, never. But because crying wouldn't change anything. But what he said next shattered you completely and your gentle heart couldn't take it anymore.
"She's lucky it was just her fingers. I’d have taken her head if I’d told the King."
A quiet sob escaped you, one you couldn't hold back.
It was foolish. You knew the man he was. Even softened by you, dragon blood still ran through him. And you knew why he was frustrated, why that play had offended him so deeply - after all, his bloodline had been insulted, ridiculed.
And yet the image of a young girl of your age appeared before your eyes; her gaze swimming with tears, her hands powerless.
At first, Aerion froze at the sound. You’ve never cried, he thought. You’ve never looked away from him.
Then, as if the realization struck him, he strode across the room and turned you to face him, gently taking you by the elbow.
His eyes wandered across your face, as if he physically needed to ensure you were unharmed. You knew he would behead anyone who even dared think of hurting you.
And for the first time that didn't bring you any comfort.
It didn't scare you either - he had never scared you. He was your husband, the other part of your soul and you would always choose him. You would always stand by his side.
Still, a tiny piece of sorrow remained inside you – a quiet awareness that no one else would ever know just how loving and caring he could be.
He would always be a monster to them.
His eyes didn't leave yours, which were now red and swollen from tears that wouldn't stop falling. You noticed the frown that crossed his face as he realized why you were like this.
He leaned in and kissed your damp, flushed cheeks, letting his lips linger a moment longer than expected.
“Dragons do not pardon traitors, my love,” he said softly, confused as to why you were so concerned about a mere commoner, unworthy of any of your attention. Your normally bright face was covered with such a deep sorrow that his heart ached.
I’ll let her go,” Aerion murmured. “Would that make you feel better?”
You nodded slowly, still unsure whether he would keep his promise, unsure whether your wish alone could tame his temper. “Yes, my love.”
His eyes remained on you, studying your face for the smallest sign of doubt that might hurt you further. When he found none, he nodded and pulled you into his arms.
Akotsk men x reader and how they’d react to you pushing them down on the bed and taking charge? 👀
taking charge
(akotsk preferences)
masterlist / request list
duncan
dunk is a man of let’s say considerable size. he’s not one you can take charge of easily. the only time you tried it, in the middle of a playful fight, he pushed you down just with a move of his arm, instantly taking away all your forces at once. he then quickly apologised and worriedly asked you if you were okay. cute, you thought. that’s why in order to overcome him, you must carefully plan it, catching him by surprise, so he doesn't have time to collect his strenght. maybe your tickling skills would be of help. he’s laughing non stop when you manage to finally take charge, straddling him and pushing him down, with a hand on his broad chest. “down, big boy”. he stops laughing and watches you curiously and fascinatedly, as he places his large hands on the sides of your waist: “you got me”.
lyonel
you love a bed battle with lyonel, it’s so fun. especially if it’s a pillow fight, and you are laughing and playing like teens. and especially if you pin him down, with a knee between his thighs and a grin on your face, eager to get a reaction out of him. he’s also grinning from ear to ear. he adores when you take charge and tease him like that, it turns him on so easily. so he pretends to protest at first, just to have that thrill of the fight, but eventually gives up very soon after. “my lady, are you taking advantage of a poor innocent stag like me? are these your cruel intentions?” innocent, of course. you hold him down steadily by his jaw, while you shut his mouth with your other hand. “stop talking for once, and do as i say.”
baelor
he's always the dominant one. not that he doesn't like you being on top, he likes it a lot. but even like that, he manhandles you as he wishes, taking control of your movements. you love that of him, but you're also curious about trying something new. baelor’s reaction is initially baffled when, one night, you force him on his back, blocking down his legs with yours. his expression quickly turns in a smirk and his widened mismatched eyes soften in a mischievous look. he tries to get his hands on your hips, but you pin his wrists up his head. “oh, that's how it is then” he says in a deep aroused voice. “do you mind?” you ask him. “at all. please, go on.”
maekar
your marriage started coldly. on the wrong foot, maybe. maekar had to remarry and you were the most obvious and convenient choice. when it comes to do the deed, he’s always on top. sometimes gentle, sometimes way less. he never fails you to make you feel good, but you think it’s time for you to take charge. it’s not easy to overcome his strenght, but somehow you manage to push him down on the bed, straddling his big figure. “what are you–?” he tries to switch your positions but you resist, holding him firmly by his biceps, “let me”. he studies you, unsure of your intentions. he’s surprised, no woman was ever able to win him like that. so he nods and lets you, and does not regret it.
Summary: Fueled by the betrayal of your betrothed, you tumble into bed with the worst person you can think of- Aerion of House Targaryen. Whilst you may see it as a one time mistake, Aerion Brightflame does not.
Warnings: 18+, cheating (not by Aerion), vaginal fingering, Aerion calls reader a whore, biting with blood, slightly oc Aerion?, blood play, canon divergence, obsessive behaviour, slight dub-con, loss of virginity, hunting, canon typical violence, vaginal sex, no protection, unedited
Word Count: 10k+
targaryen masterlist
The air in the corridor was cooler than usual. With a shiver, you tucked your hands under your armpits after checking that you were quite alone, and began to make your way to the hall for dinner.
Ashford Meadows was different to your home. Grayer, colder, busier. It seemed an unusual time to hold a tourney until you had found out it was Lady Gwin Ashford’s birthday. Lord Ashford himself had invited your family down to join in on the celebrations and your elder brother, Leon, had been eager to join the lists.
It was rare you got to spend time with your family. Your elder brother Edwyn was the heir to your father’s title and, as such, the pair of them spent a great deal of time overseeing the land and renters. Leo, as a second son, was antsy and often busied himself on adventures that you could only dream of. Your sister Marian had been married some six months ago and you missed her dearly. When you had heard than she and her lord husband would also be in Ashford, you had been more than content to brave the long ride down just to see her.
And then there was the matter of your betrothal to Lord Frey’s son, Owen.
You hummed to yourself as you navigated the dark corridors, slippers padding along the stone floor. The only sign of life you could hear was from yourself. There was a good chance that you had gotten yourself turned around so you stopped and began to retrace your steps.
The pair of you had met at your sister’s wedding and both Lord Frey and your own father had been delighted at the way you seemed to draw together. Owen Frey was handsome enough, and not unkind, and he knew all the right things to say. When your father had told you of the potential for an arrangement, you had agreed without really thinking about it.
Owen Frey seemed a sensible enough man, and you certainly tried to be a sensible woman. Lord Frey was said to be an honorable and loyal man, and he and his wife genuinely seemed to care for one another. You hoped that with them as an example, Owen would also come to care for you as a husband should.
You paused, huffing a breath as you scanned your environment. It all looked the same. You were just about to turn on your heel again when you heard something ahead. Some kind of scuffling, and a laugh.
Pressing your lips together, you debated turning around. But by now you were likely already late for dinner and your father would not be pleased. Not when the Ashfords were such accommodating hosts – and not when the Targaryens were also staying.
With a nervous breath, you made your way forward and peeked around the corner. Immediately you sucked in a breath, clapping your hand over your mouth as you registered what was before you.
At first you saw only two lovers entwined. Hands beneath shifts and unbuttoned trousers and choked gasps. Then you recognised the clothes on the woman – a household servant of the Ashfords. You cringed at the way she scratched down the male’s back, moaning into his neck as his hands did something down the front of her dress.
You were not ignorant to the ways of man and woman. Well, not entirely, anyway. But you knew enough to know that it was incredibly bold of the pair to be so intimate so out in the open. You stifled a laugh and turned to dip away – and then you heard it.
“Oh, Owen, please!”
You stalled, mouth popping open with a silent ‘oh’. Shaking, you peered round the wall once more, just to confirm. Neither of the pair had spotted you. This time you saw what you had been previously blind to. The sword at the man’s hip, the Frey sigil on the pommel. The hair, an unassuming shade of brown, that only now you recognised. The man’s hand moved to grip the girl’s hip and you saw the rings adorning his fingers.
You stayed for only a moment longer, a headache forming between your brows. You did not confront them. Instead, you raced away, as quietly as you could, turning blindly down corridors until you bumped into a maid who was, by chance, looking for you.
You trailed after her until she reached the dining room, slipping by her as she held the door open for you. Your father stood to greet you and you heard yourself explaining that you had been lost. So silly of you! Your father laughed boisterously and made some joke about you being distracted due to your engagement.
“For a moment, daughter, we thought you had snuck away with Owen,” he chuckled, “Lord Frey told us the boy is ill.”
Baelor Targaryen offered you a polite smile as he responded to your father. Distracted once more, your father sat down and began conversing with the heir. Feeling that all attention was once again off of you, you made your way to the table and found yourself a seat.
You sat down at your brother’s side without looking up. It was only after your brother had pushed a steaming plate in front of you that you glanced about. You found yourself squeezing at your utensils, something hot and uncomfortable brewing in your stomach as you picked at your beef.
After a particularly vicious stab, you set your cutlery down. Tucking your hands beneath the table, you squeezed at your thighs until you were sure you drew blood. Your eyes stayed dry. You searched yourself for despair, for sadness, and instead found red hot fucking fury.
A shiver wracked through you and finally you looked up. Aerion Targaryen met your gaze. He did not blink as he stabbed a hunk of beef and brought it to his mouth. He chewed it nicely but his eyes were anything but.
You knew about Brightflame. About his propensity for anger and cruelty. You had made a game of avoiding him all week, despite the fact your family took meals with his almost daily. And now, with him sitting across from you, this was the closest you had ever been.
It must be exhausting, you thought, to be so angry all the time. You could feel your own righteous rage swirling in your chest, taking violent swipes at your heart every time you attempted to push what you had seen from your mind.
Aerion stopped chewing and stared openly. You blinked as you realised your lips had curled in something like a snarl. Your anger burned hotter than you knew what to do with. You slouched back in your chair, ignoring the way your brother coughed at your ill manners, and stared right back.
It was stupid. You knew that but you did not look away. Let him be cruel, you thought, let him spit and curse at you for your disrespect. You discovered that you anger enough to return the fire. It needed to go somewhere, did it not?
Your brother stilled, hand finding yours beneath the table and squeezing in warning. And still, you did not move. To your surprise, it was Aerion that moved.
He cleared his throat and set his fork down. He leaned forward and you readied yourself for the fall out of your disrespect.
“Woman,” he said slowly, “what is your name?”
Your brother nudged you to answer. Distantly, you wondered if Owen remembered your name. If you thought about you at all as he fumbled with the maid girl in the corridor, where anyone could come across them. Did he feel guilt as he humiliated you? As he made you look like a foolish, sheltered girl?
“You do not recall my name,” you said slowly, “despite the fact that our families have dined together all week?”
Your brother choked on his wine. Aerion’s eyes widened, something chaotic and wild fluttering in his pupils. It looked like fire.
“I do not,” he answered just as slowly, chin dipping as he waited for your response.
You should tread carefully. You should apologise. You should lower your gaze and speak only when spoken to. You should pretend you never saw Owen and the girl and marry him anyway, settle for a life long of betrayal and disappointment.
“Then I do not wish to tell you,” you hissed, slamming your palms to the table as you shot up out of your chair. All eyes landed on you. “Father, I am unwell. I wish to retire.”
Aerion’s eyes made your skin burn. They drilled into the side of your face as you stoutly ignored him, dipping your head as your father stammered out an excuse and the host bid you well.
You walked quickly from the table, wrenching open the door before the guard could do it for you. Once alone in the corridor, the cool air brushing at your heated cheeks, a hysterical laugh bubbled in your throat. To Aerion and Leon, it probably looked as though you were running. But it was not fear that had driven you from that hall.
Alone in your room, you waited for the tears to come. When the hours dripped on, and the tears still did not come, you resorted to pinching your thighs until bruises welled beneath your nails. Your eyes remained dry.
The anger would not leave. Seething, you threw yourself across the bed, tempted to tear at the sheets like some wild animal. You did not feel like the lady you had been raised to be. But where had that gotten you? Reeling and thoroughly humiliated, you felt lost.
What Owen had done was not out of the ordinary. You were sure that even your father had fathered a bastard or two in the village. But it was not what you wanted for yourself, and as a fourth daughter, you had more choice than most.
Owen had seemed like the safe choice. The sensible choice. You were vexed at your own naivety, annoyed at your own surprise and subsequent disgust. You had been willing to settle for the first man that seemed reasonable and now you were stuck. Did a right choice even exist?
There would be no wedding. You were sure that you could get your father to agree once you told him of what you had witnessed. Your father would not take kindly to his daughter being embarrassed in such a way. The Freys were going to benefit from the wedding more than your family so it would be no great loss.
You sighed. So much had changed in so little time. The tourney was over tomorrow and you would be making your way back home by mid-afternoon. Once on the road, away from the Freys, you could tell your father what you had seen. He would send word of the cancelled arrangement to the Freys, all without you having to set eyes on Owen ever again.
As the sky began to darken further, a maid came in to light your candles and the fire in the grate. Idly you wondered if she was the one you had seen with Owen earlier. Once she had left, you sat up and went to the window, peering out with boredom.
Anger still kindled in your stomach. You rested a hand over your lowed belly, half expecting to feel heat.
The castle was quiet. The gardens below were quiet, too. Your father would kill you for walking around in the dark without a guard but the room was beginning to feel stifling.
When you were young, you had been an unruly child. Eager to escape your finishing lessons and play with your brothers or roam the grounds alone. Your father had assumed you had grown out of it and maybe you had.
Now, though, all you wanted was to leave the suffocating grip of the castle. Owen was under the same roof as you, somewhere, sleeping soundly or perhaps not alone. If he was going to flout the rules so blatantly, then so would you.
Like earlier, you got turned around several times before you eventually found your way outside. The ground was slightly damp from the earlier rain. You would have to clean your slippers before dawn.
You wound your way around bushes and flower beds until you found your way to a hidden alcove. The moon was bright enough to guide your path and you kept carefully out of sight of the castle. The wall was slanted enough for you to rest against it, almost sitting.
The air was soothing against your harried flesh. You closed your eyes and imagined it cooling further, eager to shake the weight of emotion from your chest.
The garden was enclosed in high walls. Beyond them you could hear raucous laughter and singing. The final night of the tourney was just as loud as the first. What would it be like to be among the smallfolk? To laugh, to dance and to drink as they did? As men did?
What would it be like to fuck as they did?
The word was so crass that you open your eyes and looked around, half expecting your father to appear and scold you for the mere thought. Satisfied that you were indeed alone, you settled back and closed your eyes once more.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed when you heard it. Your name, cutting through the careful silence you had cultivated, drawing a shocked yelp from your lips.
Aerion Brightflame stood five feet in front of you, hand on the pommel of his sword. The gesture was not threatening – or maybe it was. It was difficult to tell when everything about him was threatening.
Aerion silver hair was tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it. His clothes appeared hastily thrown on, as though he had gotten ready for bed and then changed his mind. Perhaps the night air cooled his temper, too.
He repeated your name again, and you realised that someone else must have told him it. He looked smug and you wanted to smack him clean across the face for thinking he had won whatever stupid game it was that he thought you were playing.
“Do you make a habit of sneaking about alone?” he asked, stepping closer.
You squinted at him and did not reply. Was this the same man you had been avoiding all week? Whatever fear you had previously felt had been eaten away by fire and now fatigue as you slumped back against the wall.
Aerion’s lip curled at your silence; displeasure dotted in the creases of his face. You tilted your head a little. He was not unpleasant to look at, even when he scowled. He was handsome, you admitted, as all Targaryens tended to be.
“Answer me, woman,” he finally snarled, “or I’ll drag you before your father.”
Aerion had stepped closer. If you reached out a hand, you would be able to lay it on his chest.
What would it be like to fuck as they did?
It was a terrible idea. Downright stupid. When was the last time you had been stupid? Been anything other than the lady you were supposed to be?
You reached out and laid your hand on the dragon’s chest.
Aerion stilled. You met his eyes steadily, attempting to gauge interest. He did not stop you when you stepped closer, tilting your head until your eyes landed on his lips. They looked red and bitten already.
Aerion did not stop you when your hand slid up his chest and into the short hair at the base of the back of his neck. His lips parted and his breath puffed out when you tugged a little, curious. Owen had tugged that woman’s hair. It seemed like something that was done.
“Woman,” Aerion finally said, “are you stupid?”
“No,” you murmured, “but I think I’d like to be. Just for tonight.”
You were not sure who moved first; only that, one second you were thinking how similar a shade Aerion’s hair was to the moon, and the next you were pressed up tight in the alcove.
Aerion used his body to pin you there. At first, the kiss was clumsy and unpracticed. It was your first, after all. But you had always been a quick learner.
Aerion’s mouth was firm and unforgiving. Your lips parted under his like they had done so a thousand times, tongue reaching out to brush silkily along Aerion’s and earning a surprised groan. His hand came up to squeeze your face, holding you still as he had you how he liked.
It felt good. The kissing and the rebellion of it all. Throughout it all, your hands remained in his hair, tugging hard whenever he did something you particularly liked. He nipped at your lips, pulling sweet gasps and moans from them as he went. That push and pull of his tongue in your mouth, smoothing softly over yours – was that what fucking was like?
Aerion pulled away and you almost hissed. His hair looked messier than previously, the front of his clothes ruffled from where you had been pressed together. His lips were red and wet from the kiss and you watched as his tongue darted out and smoothed over them.
The anger had given away to something impossibly hotter. Something molten and desperate was welling in your core. It was nothing you had ever felt or even considered feeling when it came to Owen. You tilted your head back against the stone wall and waited for the prince to make a move.
“Foolish girl,” he finally said, dragging his eyes from where your breasts heaved against the ribbon of your dress. “Is that what you wanted? To act like a whore for the night? Are you satisfied, then?”
You laughed quietly, the sound ringing through the garden. “I think whores do a great deal more than kiss, my Prince.”
Before you could think too much, you reached down to rest your hand over the hard outline of Aerion’s manhood. He made a choked sound and jolted forward, no doubt surprised at your boldness. Instead of laughing at the shock on his face, you pressed your nose to his chest, seeking out the sliver of bared skin you had seen then.
And then you bit down. Hard.
Aerion groaned long and loud, hand coming up to grip the back of your head as he allowed you to sink your teeth into his flesh. It felt powerful. You did not relent until blood welled beneath your teeth, copper leaking onto your tongue as you laved it over his wounded flesh.
You kept your hand firmly on his cock, rubbing the heel of your palm over where you assumed the head was. Aerion’s grip grew tight before he let you go, chest heaving, staring down at you with blow pupils.
He said your name again, quietly this time, and with no mocking. His hands had fallen to grip your wrists but he let go of one, reaching up the place his palm over the spot you had bitten.
“And yet,” you sighed, “I still do not feel like a whore.”
You kept your mind switched off as your hands dropped and began tugging at the strings on his trousers. Your own core throbbed with every little move. It was different from the lazy self-exploration of yourself you had previously indulged in. Was this feeling normal or was it to do with the dragon before you?
“Fuck,” Aerion swore as you popped his cock from his trousers, the heated flesh pulsing in the cooler air.
It looked big – but that did not matter. You had no intention of taking it inside of yourself. Instead, you smoothed your palm over the head, collecting the wetness that had gathered there. You squeezed experimentally and smiled at the sound it produced from Aerion.
Aerion cursed again and then his hands were on you. You yelped as he held you firmly against the stone wall, damp rock pressing into your back, and began to ruck up your dress until it was fluffed around your waist. He kicked your legs apart and shoved his hand down the front of your garments until his fingers met the soft curls at the apex of your thighs.
This was not the plan. Not that there had been one in the first place – but this definitely was not it.
Aerion’s fingers met the soft, pillowy flesh on your cunt with little ceremony. His eyes were glued to your face, chest rising and falling swiftly as he parted you with his fingers and ran his index over the tight flesh of your hole.
“Even whores do not get this wet,” he growled, cupping your tender flesh. “Put your hand back on my cock. Now.”
You resented the bite in his voice but your mind was surprising gentle exploration of his fingers. Instead of sliding inside, they ventured up, up, until they met the soft ball of flesh that would surely make you lose your fucking mind.
Aerion buried his face in your neck, tongue licking over the exposed flesh as your hand found his cock and began to move. When he stopped, you stopped. You would not let him come away from having had more than you. You were determined to satisfy your earlier curiosity.
His fingers rubbed tight circles over your swollen flesh, faster and then slower. He rutted into your palm with hard thrusts, breath hissing in your ear as he approached his peak.
He was not the only one. You could feel your own fast approaching. For the first time, clarity began to clear your mind. You understood why Owen, why that girl, had gotten so caught up. Initially you had wanted to do this to experience what you felt you were missing out on, to be reckless as they had been. Now you felt the urge for control. The urge to prove that you were better than them.
Still you allowed Aerion’s fingers to rub you. There was no doubt that he knew what he was doing. His hips bumped yours as he fucked your hand, orgasm tearing through him in a way that made you dizzy and thirsty for your own.
You yelped when Aerion’s head bent down, nuzzling into the pillowy tops of your breasts before he bit down. Hard enough that you were sure he immediately drew blood. You whimpered and yanked at his hair, teetering on the edge of your own orgasm.
If I go over the edge, you thought, I do not know if I can come back.
With surprising strength, you shoved Aerion away. Your dress came tumbling back down and the whisper of fabric over your skin was enough to almost have you orgasming anyway. Unprepared, Aerion staggered before righting his stance.
His still hard cock was still peeking out of his breeches and you tore your eyes away before you abandoned all common sense. You could feel his seed on your hand, warm and sticky. There was blood smeared all over his mouth and when he snarled at you, you could see it in his teeth.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he barked. “You are not done here – we are not done here.”
You breathed heavily and swayed a little on your feet. You could see your own arousal on Aerion’s fingers, glittering in the moonlight. It looked rather pretty.
Aerion took a step forward and it shook you out of your reverie. Before he could say anything else (or use his fingers and command you to stay) you tore past him and ran inside. In some miracle, perhaps as reward for your restraint, you found your way back to your room in a matter of minutes. If Aerion called your name, you did not hear it.
The next morning was nothing memorable. You were beyond tired and still mildly irritated, but glad to be rid of the place. You had stayed up late cleaning your shoes and the conspicuous wet spot the prince had left on your dress. If the maids noticed anything as they packed your trunks, they did not say.
Your father was in a good mood. It was a good thing to spent time with the heir to the kingdom; it reflected well on the house. You smiled blandly as he and your brother Leon recounted their days, commenting on who had done well and the favourites.
The Targaryens had supposed to have been leaving early, but as you and your family made their way down, you discovered that they had not. You kept your gaze averted and curtsied when necessary, thanking Lord Ashford for his hospitality and Balor and his family for their company.
When you reached Aerion, you curtsied as before. Aerion surprised you by lifting your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your inner wrist. You felt his tongue on your skin and bit your lip, praying that your father would not notice.
Aerion pulled back and smiled. Your mouth dropped open. Your blood was still smeared across his lips and teeth.
Within days of arriving home, your father had contacted Lord Frey and told him the engagement was off. He was horrified by what you had reported. His poor darling girl, witness to such depravity!
As he had ranted and raved, you had subtly tugged at the high collar of your dress. You had taken to wearing such high collars and avoiding help from the maids since arriving home. The mark that Aerion had left on you was shocking. Blue and purple tinged with red. It was still sore and throbbed when touched firmly, which you did often.
You had managed to muster tears in your eyes and a tremble in your voice as you recounted the events of that evening. Perhaps you exaggerated a little. It did not matter; your father was thoroughly on your side.
Some days later, after some back and forth with Lord Frey, your father told you that Owen had left The Twins and was no doubted headed here, to your home. Your father had almost had an aneurysm at the sheer assumption of hospitality.
“Do not worry, father,” you had patted his hand, “perhaps he will come to apologise. I will hear him out, but I have no intentions of marrying him.”
“You are kind, daughter,” he nodded, “and wise. You deserve more than foolish young boys.”
Wise. You had nearly laughed. A week ago, you had been the stupidest person in the entire seven kingdoms. Stupider now, perhaps, since you did not regret it.
A week and a half after the tournament, you were sitting in the library when you heard the sound of a party arriving. You set your book down and straightened your spine before marching from the library and heading for the hall.
You paused outside, sharing a look with your ladies’ maid when you heard your father’s laughter from within. That was certainly not the reception you had envisioned for Owen Frey. Confused, you opened the door and stepped within, ready for an explanation.
Your father was stood there, arm in arm, with Maekar Targaryen. And to the left of him, tall and polished, was his son, Aerion.
You froze. For a moment you debated edging your way back out of the room but then your father caught sight of you.
“Ah!” he threw up his arms and came to grab your arm, pulling you further into the dragon’s nest. “My Princes, you remember my youngest daughter?”
“Certainly,” Aerion interjected before his father could speak. He dipped his head, mocking. “My Lady.”
You assumed you responded appropriately. You could not be sure. Maekar nodded stiffly, something like curiosity in his eyes as he looked you up and down. How much had Aerion told his father? Was he, in turn, going to tell your father?
“Why are you here?” you asked bluntly.
Your father said your name, surprised. “You did not know? I invited them here whilst we were all at the tourney.”
“Yes,” Aerion smiled, “I am here to hunt.”
The ground felt like it was dropping out from beneath you. Even the air felt thin. Whilst you swayed on your feet, vehemently regretting that night, your father chattered on to Maekar.
He had no fucking idea what he had agreed to. And, truthfully, neither did you.
Unwilling to leave your father and the princes alone, you found yourself getting ready for a hunt. You yanked on your riding dress and, once your front was covered, turned to allow your maid to lace up the back.
You did not know what Aerion had told Maekar, nor what his plans were with you father. You were worried that, at the first chance he had, Aerion would tell him of your indulgent and careless behaviour. Why else would he come all this way?
It seemed insane that he would do all this just to torment you. Or perhaps it would, if he were anyone else. Out of all the boys to fool around with. . .
You descend from your room and head for the stables. Yanking on your riding gloves, you find the stall of your horse, Silver. She was a precious thing and fickle with anyone other than you. You smoothed your hand over her mane and waited for the stable boy to arrive.
Aerion arrived first.
You scowled at the flash of silver hair you saw from the corner of your eye and did not bother greeting him. It was not him you feared; it was what he might tell you father. You should probably consider attempting to butter him up. Your lips thinned at the idea and you continued to ignore him.
Heat was radiating from his body as he stepped up bedside you, bumping your arm with his. Without asking, he reached out to pet Silver. You hoped she would bite him. Instead, she huffed and leaned down to nose at his palm. You frowned.
Distracted, you did not notice Aerion’s other hand creeping up toward the collar of your dress. You squeaked when you felt his fingers on the hem, yanking it down until the ugly spot he had left on your upper breast came into view.
The flesh was still unhealed. Whenever you looked closely in the mirror, you could still see the outline of Aerion’s teeth.
“Good,” he hummed, “yours has not healed either.”
He did not let go of your clothing, instead leaning closer as though he might bite again. Outraged, you slapped the prince across his face. Aerion let go at once, hand coming to rest on the quickly darkening flesh of his cheek.
Your chest was heaving, eyes wide and blinking furiously. You wanted to shout, to slap him again, to demand the real reason as to why he had come. You had finally been getting back to normalcy when he and his father had shown up.
You snarled still as Aerion reached out again, raising your hand as though you might strike him once more. This time he did not try to tear at your clothes. He tugged them back into the rightful position, brushing the wrinkles from your bosom as though his fingers were not leaving trails of fire behind as they went.
“I knew you had fire in you,” he finally said, brushing his fingers over your bared collarbones.
Before you could respond, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat. You whirled around, horrified to see Maekar waiting by the stable doors. Aerion did not seem alarmed. He met his fathers gaze and inclined his head before going to his own horse.
Maekar did not say anything. His gaze bounced from his son and then back to you, as though he was putting something together. He did not speak and seemed surprised. Had he seen you slap his son? It was nothing he had not deserve.
Markar must have agreed because he offered you a soft nod and then turned his attention to Aerion. You went back to Silver and pretended that neither of them were there. The two of them were having some kind of hushed conversation and you could not make out what they were saying.
Eventually your father and the stable boy arrived, and the hunt began.
Your father and Maekar rode ahead, crossbows hanging by their sides. It was the most serious you had seen your father. Neither of the men spoke, which you preferred.
Aerion rode at your side, which you did not prefer. He had his own crossbow but seemed to have little interest in it. His gaze was firmly fixed on the side of your head. Occasionally he would come close and kick softly at your calves, or reach out to pull your hair when he knew neither of your fathers were looking.
One particularly hard pull had you swearing and slapping at his hands. Aerion laughed quietly so as not to draw the attention of your fathers. Yours was particularly oblivious. Maekar, on the other hand, kept glancing over his shoulder, eyes sliding from Aerion to you. He seemed bewildered. Perhaps you were not the only one who did not know what Aerion was up to.
After several hours with no sign of game, you began to wish you had remained home. Let Aerion say what he would. It was not worth you distress.
Suddenly everyone seemed to still. You shivered at the sudden change. Even Aerion was silent. You peered out into the dense forest, trying to see whatever it was that had captured everyone’s attention. The only sign that anything was there was a slight rustling in the bush, and then a dull ‘thunk’ as Aerion fired from his crossbow quicker than you thought possible. Then a thud, as whatever it was hit the ground.
Aerion dismounted and disappeared into the brush, returning with an impressively large stag. Your brows raised at the clean shot. It was something even your brothers would have struggled with. Aerion held it up by the antlers and stared in your direction. You smoothed your expression and looked away as though you were bored. You did not want to encourage further ridiculousness.
You stayed on Silver as the men tied the poor creature between their horses and began to head home. Bloodlust satiated, Aerion mostly left you alone, and for that you were thankful.
At dinner, Aerion had the honor of the first serving. It had been divided into manageable chunks, cooked and seasoned in the preferred way of your guests. The scent of venison was thick on the air and you were hungry after the ride.
Your eldest brother Edwyn joined you at dinner. His lady wife was unwell and remained abed. If he was surprised by the royal visitors, he did not show it. He settled into pleasant conversation with your father and Maekar. To his credit, he attempted to include Aerion but the prince seemed determined to make him uncomfortable.
Rather than take the first cut for himself, Aerion slid it your way. All the men at the table went silent. Aware of the gaze of your father and brother, you smiled sweetly and acted surprised.
“For the lady,” Aerion said, smirking at your obvious discomfort.
The meat was rare and bloody. Not your favourite but you would manage. Aerion tucked in to his own with little fanfare, blatantly ignoring his fathers’ eyes. Greasy blood dripped over his lips and he chased the flavour with his tongue, never breaking eye contact with you.
Conversation resumed and you ate your own food whilst wishing for the ground to open up beneath you. Did Aerion even have to say anything? One look at him and your father would surely learn of your behaviour that night. Aerion was hardly subtle.
For the first time since they had arrived, you wondered about Owen. He had been on his way here, had he not? You cringed inwardly at the thought of Owen and Aerion interacting. Not that Aerion would care about Owen, but during the Ashford tournament, Owen had been practically tripping over himself trying to impress the Targaryen guests. You dreaded to think of enduring that behaviour within your own home.
Aerion chose that moment to kick you under the table. Your knee bounced against the underside, drawing the attention of everyone once more. You laughed uneasily and apologised, waving away your father’s concerns.
You waited until all attention was back on the food, and then you kicked Aerion right back.
The next few days went by in a similar fashion. Maekar continued to hunt with your father, returning empty handed most days, and Aerion remained at the castle with you.
Everywhere you went, he was there. More often than not, the pair of you ended up alone. The servants were scared of him and you could not blame them. You overheard him barking at them on several occasions, and he had even thrown something at one of the maids who had come to wake him one morning.
Miraculously, none of these incidents seemed to make their way back to either of your fathers. If the staff trembled when they refilled Aerion’s cup, they did not notice. Neither did Aerion, for his attention was usually fixated on you.
You kept waiting for that temper to turn on you but it never did. So, you continued to bite back, though not literally, and convinced yourself you were doing it on behalf of all the servants.
After several days, you realised that the only thing that seemed to genuinely irritate him was you ignoring him. So, naturally, that was exactly what you did.
No longer did you glance up when he entered the room. At mealtimes, you arranged yourself carefully in your chair so that his legs could not reach you. You had your ladies’ maid, Silena, wind your hair into intricate braids so that there was nothing he could easily pull.
Aerion’s fury built. You pretended not to notice when he sniped at the servants and scowled at your father. Maekar, eager to soothe over any tensions caused by his wild son, was always quick to distract your father with conversation.
One day, Aerion went out hunting with Maekar and your father. Once again, he presented you with the first cut of meat that he had caught. You thanked him politely and nibbled at it as though dissatisfied. Aerion jerked about in his chair as though he might jump up and start shouting.
Would that be enough to get your father to send him away? Probably not. You were beginning to understand that Targaryen princes got away with everything.
Four days trickled past, and there was still no sign of Owen. Not that you thought of him often. A raven had arrived from Lord Frey, asking if his son had arrived. It was odd and you had felt sorry for the man, worried for his son. No doubt he would turn up soon, but not so soon that you had to bear with him and Aerion under the same roof.
On the fifth day, you were thoroughly exhausted. You had begun to avoid Aerion as much as possible – and it mostly wasn’t. The man seemed to have eyes on you at all time.
He had spent most of the day with you in the library. When he wasn’t thumbing through books, he was digging his dagger into the table that had been in your family for generations. His blatant disrespect was unsurprising and you had snuggled further in your chair and tried to pretend like you were actually reading the words on the pages.
After an hour or two of the stifling silence, Aerion had got to his feet and torn the book from your hands. He had torn into it, throwing pages over you like confetti. You had been furious and ready to deliver another swift smack to his cheek. A servant had entered that time, saving you from breaking your silence, and you had both gone down for lunch.
Your father was not the most observant man, but even he could see that you were beyond taxed by the end of the day.
Rather than indulging in evening drinking and games, he suggested that you retire early and have a bath drawn by the staff. You were more than happy to do just that.
You lounged on your bed with a book you did not read as the servants prepared your tub. The water was steaming hot and inviting. Once it was full, they scattered petals into the water and added drops of some scented oil that had you relaxing almost instantly.
Your ladies’ maid waited to help you undress but, as you had every day since returning, you waved her off.
“I’d like some time to myself, Silena,” you smiled softly, “I’ll call for you once I am finished.”
You waited until the door was shut, and then several minutes more for good measure, before undressing. You tried to avoid looking at the bruise on the swell of your breast. Your eyes were drawn there automatically.
Pressing a hand over it, you hissed at the memory of pain and ignored the sparks it sent between your legs. Piling your hair on your head, you arranged it until you were satisfied it would not get wet. Once you were completely bare, you stepped into the tub and settled down, letting your head fall back against the high edge.
The water was verging on boiling, as you liked it. It was milky from the oils and soap. You grabbed a washcloth from the edge of the tub and began to run it over your shoulders and behind your ears.
You let your mind go blank as you cleansed yourself several times over until all you could smell was lavender and something almost smoky. Once more you sat back, content to relax until the water turned cold.
The sound of the door opening had you sighing and dipping lower into the water to hide your bruise. “Silena, I have no need of you yet –“
“But I have need of you.”
You shot up straight, sloshing water over the edge of the bath. Aerion let the door fall shut, reaching behind himself to click the lock into place. His eyes were dark as the fixed on you in the tub and you shivered, cold despite the hot water.
“I’ll scream,” you warned him.
“I’ll tell your father what we did together,” he countered.
He toed off his shoes as though these were his rooms and began to make his way towards you. You had no weapon, nothing with which you might fight him off with, and he seemed to know it.
You dared not take your eyes off of him. When he settled on his knees next to the tub, you became painfully aware of your naked state. It was strange; he had had his fingers on you, almost inside of you, and yet he had not seen you. Not really.
Aerion seemed to be thinking the same thing. He seemed displeased at the milky state of the water. It concealed you from him. You drew your knees up to your chest and waited for him to speak.
Aerion dipped his fingers into the water and hissed. “Hot.”
“I like it that way,” you defended. Then you shut your lips tightly, wishing you had not spoken at all.
Aerion smiled and touched your bare knee beneath the water. You tried to jerk away but he gripped you tight, nails biting into your softened flesh. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I am not here to entertain you, prince.”
“I thought that, too, at the tournament,” he said, “but then you were so wonderfully entertaining in the garden that night. I want more. Have wanted more, since then, and yet you deny what was once so freely given. Why?”
Your mouth felt dry. “I am a lady.”
“And yet,” he repeated, “you betrayed your betrothed that night, with me, didn’t you?”
You stilled, barely registering his words before they hit you full force. “He betrayed me first!” you snarled, sending a wave of water over the edge of the tub.
Aerion squeezed your knee tighter, ignoring the water creeping its way up his sleeve. It soaked into the golden embroidery that was pattered there, darkening the fabric until it looked like it had been flecked with blood.
“Betrayed you?” Aerion repeated. “Vengeful little thing.”
“He is no longer my betrothed,” you added weakly. “I told my father about what he did.”
“But he was coming here to see you regardless,” Aerion said, mostly to himself.
“How do you know about that?” you asked, finally tearing his hand from your knee. Blood welled from the indents he had left in your flesh with his nails. You shivered at the sting as the warm water washed over them.
Aerion’s eyes dropped low, searching for that mark he had left on your skin over two weeks ago. Then they dipped lower still, fixing on the tips of your breasts that were barely visible beneath the water.
He let out a muted groan, dragging his eyes upward until they were once again on your face. “I believe I said that we were not finished.”
It took you a moment to remember what he was talking about. “Aerion, no.”
“You think you know what you want,” he murmured, “and maybe you did, all those weeks ago. But your mind has become clouded. Allow me to clear it for you.”
You gasped when Aerion leaned over the tub, hands grasping your shoulders as he pulled you forward and arranged you to his liking. He had you with your back to him, against the tub, allowing him to peer over your shoulders and down your body.
You tried to move forward but he would not allow it. You stopped moving when you felt his teeth at your neck. If he left a mark there, it would be visible to everyone, including your father.
“Good girl,” he praised. “Let me finish what we started.”
Beneath the water, Aerion cupped your breasts with a firmness that had you whimpering. You could feel his warm breath puffing over the shell of your ear and you squirmed, searching yourself for your earlier reluctance. It was not there.
When Aerion rubbed his thumbs over your nipples, you nearly dissolved into the bath water. He kneaded them gentle, rolling the tips between his fingers in a way that had you gripping at his arms and shoving your face against his shoulder.
One hand abandoned your breast, instead snaking down and over the swell of your stomach, searching for the wetness between your legs. You let your thighs fall open without a second thought, eager for that feeling from those weeks ago.
Aerion sucked in a breath. “Sweet girl.”
He pressed a kiss to your cheek at the same time as his fingers made contact with your aching clit. This was dangerous, you tried to remind yourself, for this you might do anything.
Like before, Aerion’s fingers began to propel you toward orgasm quicker than you typically could alone. Your clit seemed more than eager for whatever he wanted to give and each touch felt devastatingly soft, as though he was punishing you for not allowing him to give you this back in the garden.
Distantly, you wondered if he was trying to prove something. You could not find it in you to care, so long as he kept doing whatever it was that he was doing.
You almost didn’t notice when his fingers began to slide lower until one was nudging at your entrance. It was not something you typically did alone. You were always too worried of spilling your own blood. You opened your mouth to protest but, before you could, Aerion had you spread apart on his fingers as he gently fucked you with his hand.
You choked on your breath. “Aerion, please – you can’t –“
“Shhh,” he whispered, surprisingly tender as he took you apart. “Do not worry. Just feel.”
All it took was one swipe of his thumb over your clit. You had to plaster your hands over your mouth to mask the sound that was spilling from your lips. Aerion did not stop and instead continued to stroke you through your orgasm, to the point of painful sensitivity. He did not stop until you physically pulled his hands from you, and even then he seemed reluctant.
You sagged against the tub, entirely breathless and shaken. Aerion grabbed your face with one hand, turning you this way and that, as though he were admiring his own work. You waited for some snarky comment.
Aerion hummed to himself, letting his hand drop until it was hovering over the bite mark. His bite mark. He did not touch it, instead he pulled back and got to his feet, stepping somewhat unsteadily away from the tub.
“I shall see you tomorrow,” he said. “Never ignore me again.”
With that, he unlocked the door and slipped out as though he was never there. The only sign that he had been was a churning in your stomach and an ache between your thighs.
Once you were sure he was gone, you dunked your head under the water and did not come up until your lungs were screaming for air.
Despite his words, you did not see Aerion the next day. Nor the one after that. You father, brother and Maekar also seemed to have disappeared. Uneasy, you assumed they had some official business that needed seeing to. Maybe the princes had even left.
No, you knew they hadn’t. It felt silly to say but you could feel Aerion, still lurking in your home, despite staying out of sight. Fire seemed to burn hotter with him in the building.
At night you found yourself sweaty and cross, abandoning your blankets and tossing and turning until you were able to pass out. You never slept for long.
On the second day, after hiding in the library and dining alone, you felt unusually anxious. All your clothes felt tight and ill fitting. Had Aerion told your father about the bath? It was all you could think about all day. You picked at your food and didn’t read a thing until it was time for bed, at which time you went up alone and dismissed Selina in favour of dressing yourself.
You tugged on a sleep gown, relishing the soft loose fabric in comparison to your day clothes. The fire in the grate was out and you felt too warm to fetch Silena so you left it alone, allowing the candles lit to guide the way to your bed.
You shoved all the sheets down until they were not touching you. Then you positioned yourself like an X, trying to cool down and banish the day’s anxieties from your brain. You had to stay in control. It would not do to let your guard down when Aerion was around.
Sleep would not come. Even when you trained yourself to stay perfectly still, taking even and deep breathes, it seemed to taunt you from the darkest corners of your room. Eventually the candles went out, leaving you in almost complete darkness.
The moon still shone in through your window. It allowed you to see vague shapes and the outline of your own body. You squeezed your eyes shut and begged the seven for sleep.
Just when you were ready to jump up and begin lighting candles, there was a noise. For a moment you did not recognise it for what it was. Your heart shot into your throat as you realised it was the sound of your door opening and shutting, then the lock falling into place.
You remained still, tense and silent as you peered into the darkness, heart hammering in your chest. It was not until the moonlight glinted off of something silver that you relaxed.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you breathed, sitting up as Aerion approached your bed. “You can’t be in here.”
“Scared?” he asked, settling himself on the edge of your bed.
“This is highly improper,” you warned, eyes bulging from your head as Aerion began to shed his clothes as though the room were his own.
He did not respond. He continued shucking his clothes until only his braies remained, the outline of his cock already half hard between his legs. You swallowed and commanded yourself not to stare. Eventually he shed those too.
“You can’t be in here,” you repeated weakly.
Aerion’s hand found your ankle in the darkness. You yelped as he yanked you, your back hitting the mattress as he dragged you further down the bed. You were near winded as he climbed on top of you, knees on either side of your hips as he rested his weight softly on your stomach.
It wasn’t until he began to snatch at your wrists that you remembered yourself and began to struggle. With a yell, you set your teeth to the first line of flesh you saw.
Your teeth sank into his bicep much like they had sank into his chest all those weeks ago. Blood trickled into your mouth and you bit harder.
Aerion’s hand came to cradle the back of your hand. “That’s it, just like that.”
Immediately you let go, hissing up at him with bloodied teeth. “There is nothing sweet about this. Now get off.”
Aerion leaned down and licked the blood from your mouth, moaning every time you nipped at him with already bloodied teeth. It was insanity, madness, and it was making you unbearably fucking wet.
“My turn,” Aerion said, and then his teeth were burying into your neck so deeply that you faintly wondered if you would scar.
Your hips bucked upward, driving his cock into your stomach as he sucked at your neck, teeth pinching and tongue soothing as he went. You were done. There was no way you could cover whatever mark he had left this time. Had this been his plan all along?
When Aerion pulled away, there was blood smeared across his face just like before. More of it, even. He ran his fingers over the mark you had left and hissed, fisting his cock with his other hand.
“Enough with waiting,” he muttered, “I have been a patient man.”
You did not protest as Aerion shoved your night dress up until it was bunched under your armpits. You nearly moaned when he parted your thighs, baring you to him fully for the first time.
He pressed his fingers to your entrance and groaned. “So fucking hot. Are you sure you are not blood of the dragon?”
He ran his fingers through your arousal and brought them to his lips, letting your slick mingle with the blood before licking his fingers clean. Your cunt throbbed with each pass of his tongue over his fingers and it took you a moment to realise you were whimpering aloud.
“No matter,” he said, “you’ll have a dragon inside you, one way or another.”
Placing one hand on your stomach, Aerion used his other to notch his cock at your entrance. The heat coming off him was intense. Sweat beaded on your hairline as you tried to focus on the consequence, on why you should not be doing this, but your mind refused to focus on anything but the thick feel of Aerion sliding into you.
There was a flash of pain as he nudged up against something inside you. He gave you no time to adjust, instead thrusting forward and taking your maidenhead with little compassion. You winced at the bite of pain.
Aerion kept your thighs pinned wide to accommodate him. His eyes darted from your face to the obscene sight between your legs. His hips began to shift as he thrust in earnest. All thoughts of pain fell away as you became accustomed to the thickness of him.
Aerion Brightflame was fucking you and you were letting him.
Everyt ime your eyes fell shut he would stop until you were focused back on him. The wet sound of your union had your ears burning as you mewled beneath him, greedily chasing every little feeling he was introducing you to.
You could feel yourself twitching around his length as his nails dug into the meat of your thighs. The scent of sweat and sex was a heady thing, heavy on your tongue as Aerion fucked you steadily with deep thrusts of his cock.
Your jaw dropped open when his hand dipped between your legs, collecting blood there and bringing it to his chest, smearing it there as he gazed darkly down at you.
You watched as he smeared the blood in a line over his lips, and then as he reached down and made the same motion over yours. You could taste the copper and sweat and felt almost dizzy with the arousal that hit you.
Aerion was not finished. His hand went down again, this time with his thumb finding your clit. He wasted no time. He began rubbing in the way he had learned that you liked, driving you toward orgasm faster than you could keep up with.
Your thighs clenched around his hips, trying to slow him down, but he was relentless. Between the quick passes of his thumb and the way he was fucking you, you were helpless. Your orgasm splintered through you like physical thing, wiping your mind blank until all that tied you to earth was the cock breaking you open and the hands gripping your face.
“Yes, yes,” Aerion chanted, hips driving into yours with vigor. “Come around me, wife.”
His words made no sense and yet – your orgasm washed over you, stronger than ever, until you were left writhing beneath him on the bed. You recognised your own voice, begging for a break as Aerion wrang every drop of relief from you.
It was only then that his hips began to lose rhythm. He leaned down to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, tongue chasing the combination of blood, sweat and arousal that coated both your lips. You felt him moan into your mouth, felt his hips stutter as he emptied himself inside you.
You were still aware enough to know that it was a bad thing. Visions of yourself, unwed and with child, threatened to break the bliss. You tried to push Aerion off but he was having none of it.
“Be still,” he grumbled, arranging you in his arms until he had you pinned to his chest, cock still inside you. He pinched your ass when you would not stop moving.
“Aerion,” you cried, pushing at his chest. “You – you have ruined me! I could be with child –“
“Good,” he yawned, fingers pinching, “it will reflect well on me when you are with child in less than a year after the wedding.”
You paused, remembering his earlier words. “Wedding? I am not getting married, Aerion.”
“Oh, but you are,” he grinned, all sharp and poision, fitting his teeth to the mark he had already made on your neck. “You are to be a dragon’s bride. My bride.”
“My father would not allow it,” you said weakly, disbelieving.
“He already has,” Aerion bit down, “he will tell you of your good fortune tomorrow morning.”
“My father would not make me –“
“Make you?” Aerion repeated, pulling back slightly so that he could see your face. The movement reminded you that his cock was still very much inside you. “Who is he to refuse a dragon?”
“Besides,” he continued, “you are well suited to me, wife.”
“Wife,” you said numbly, shivering when Aerion tilted his hips and rubbed his cock against a particularly inviting place inside you.
“What do you think I came all this way for?” he smiled wolfishly. “Look how you blossom beneath me. My wife. Call me husband. I demand it.”
a/n - when the cookie is so good he stalks you across Westeros and his father is so tired of him that he goes along with it
I worked so hard on this 😭 please let me know if you enjoyed it! Every like, reblog and comment is deeply appreciated
