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.
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⋮ ⌗ ┆╰┈➤ What would it be like to be Aerion's sister
⋮ ⌗ ┆╰┈➤ Your favorite positions during the act. +18
─ summary: you're not speaking to them. how long before they break?
─ pairing: Gwayne Hightower, Ormund Hightower, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Valarr Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon x f!reader
─ content: 18+ MDNI | fluff | a little angst | implied smut | annoying husbands | hardheaded men
─ a/n: i wanted to add onto the original by doing the other AKOTSK/HOTD men. as always, thank you so much for the likes, comments, reblogs, requests, and asks. 🖤
AEGON — Three Days.
The first day he pretends he is not bothered at all. He drinks, he acts out, he stays up the whole night through, making a great show of being a man who doesn't care. By the second day the show is wearing thin, because the truth is that he cares a lot. All he wants is to be near you, but he is stubborn, and some part of him is convinced that you ought to apologize first. By the third day, he cannot bear it another hour. He comes to your room pouting like a scolded child, saying he is sorry, begging you to speak to him again. "I cannot continue!" Dramatic to the very last. You give in, partly because you did miss him, and partly because you would rather not have the whole keep hearing him carrying on like this.
AEMOND — Two Days.
More than anything, Aemond is desperate for love; the love you give him so freely, that no one else ever has. He knows he was wrong. He knows you are right not to speak to him. But he will not say so, because his pride is a vast and immovable thing. He lies in his own bed that second night, cold and alone and sleepless, and decides at last that his pride is not worth this. He rises, sneaks into your chambers and climbs silently into your bed, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "May I stay?" he asks. He cannot make himself say the words I was wrong, that is not his way, but the look in his eye, and the tears standing in it, say it loudly enough. You nod.
DAERON — Forever, Potentially.
He does not remember the fight, or you telling him to sleep elsewhere. He simply wakes to find you not speaking to him, and being who he is, assumes your love for him has finally run dry, that you no longer have it in you to endure him, and he is crushed by it. But he understands. Someone like you deserves a far better husband than the likes of him. So he resolves to disappear, to stop being a burden, to never trouble you again. It goes on like this for almost a week while you slowly lose your mind, because what in the actual hell is happening?! You confront him at last. He is stunned, he remembers none of it, but more than that, the revelation that you still love him undoes him completely. He pulls you into his arms and kisses you hard. The kind of kiss where his arms are around your waist pulling you impossibly close and your hands are curled in the front of his doublet. You're left so breathless you don't even remember why you were upset. He apologizes, swears he will change, he does not want to live in a world in which you have stopped loving him.
GWAYNE — An Hour.
The sweetest, most devoted husband, completely undone by the barest hint of your displeasure. If you are upset and not speaking to him, he lasts an hour at the very most before he comes to you with a little gift and a very big apology. He is so sorry for being so careless, he will never do such a thing again, never ever, he swears it. And he is so handsome and so sincere as he says it that staying angry is simply not an option available to you. You step into his arms and let him hold you and kiss you.
JACAERYS — Less Than an Hour.
The stress he carries makes him irritable sometimes, careless, a symptom of his youth as much as anything, and he says something snippy when you were only trying to help. He does not even let you leave the room. The words are barely out of his mouth before he regrets them and is apologizing. You try to walk past him and he stops you gently, both hands on your shoulders, his eyes piercing straight through you. He is putting an end to this before it can go anywhere at all. He repeats his apology, his hands sliding from your shoulders down to hold both of yours. You nod, but you need a moment, and he gives it to you. Your silence is the only thing he can think of, occupying him entirely until, an hour later, you come and find him, and climb into his lap, and let him hold you. He will never speak to you that way again.
ORMUND — A Day.
He is a pain in your ass, and he wants to break you. "Hmm. Not speaking to me now?" he says with that infuriating smile the moment he realizes what you are doing. He crowds your space all day, and he is, frankly, impressed by the sheer iron of your resolve. If only all his soldiers possessed your discipline. "How long do you imagine this can continue? You must speak to me sooner or later." After a full day of it, you do indeed snap. "Seven hells, do you ever stop talking?!" You storm out of the room, slamming the door behind you. He will not tolerate that in his house; he follows you, his fury matching your own, as he pulls you into the bedchamber. What follows is a fight indeed, a battle for dominance, each of you determined to have the upper hand. You win.
VALARR — Until Supper.
You and Valarr are in the middle of a thunderous fight, the first of your marriage. You and he on opposite sides of the room, nothing but tension and frigid air between you, when you decide to stop speaking to him altogether. He wants to fix this, but he also does not think hashing it out in the heat of the moment is particularly productive,not while you are both still upset. He lets you be silent, but you do not get to be angry at him all day. He comes to dress for supper and makes it clear he means to talk about it now, and he apologizes thoroughly for his part in it. It is difficult to maintain anger against someone so clearheaded. You apologize, forgive him, and ask him to help you with your dress. He decides to skip supper in favor of eating something else entirely.
Hiya gorgeous, I know it's gonna be random. But who's most likely to babytrap reader in fear she's gonna leave them? AKOTSK men.
_🎀
no i LOVE this question!! i haven’t written something like this before so i hope i didn’t do TOO poorly lol but i had so much fun!! guys ask me stuff like this more
( warning! this post contains noncon! )
FROM LEAST TO MOST LIKELY:
── .✦ ( VALARR ) Valarr is the least likely to babytrap you. he views making a child as something with one purpose: to procure an heir. he’s selfless and valiant, and thinks his duty as a son to the great targaryen dynasty is to carry on the legacy. to him, his feelings of desire or want mean nothing. so if you decide against children, or against him, he will respect it and move onwards.
── .✦ ( DUNCAN ) a close second is Duncan. he’s so sweet and lovely, he could never do such a cruel thing!! he, too, views children as something done with purpose, and that purpose is love!! a babe in your belly should mean a life of love and affection that the two of you chose, not something that he did for his own possessive desire.
── .✦ ( BAELOR ) Baelor is old and has children of his own already. he is happy with how things are, and couldn’t see himself with another child, regardless of how devoted he is to you. the thing that he’d trap you with is money, because he has plenty of it to spare. your family’s head is a lord with a gambling problem, and he’d (so kindly) make sure to keep the rest of your sisters and your mother afloat, as long as you stay with him of course.
── .✦ ( MAEKAR ) similar to his brother, Maekar is through with children. we’ve all seen the way his current ones have turned out— he wouldn’t want to burden himself with the possibility of another difficult one. he isn’t as charming as his brother though, and would turn to threats upon your family rather than sweet words and bribery.
── .✦ ( DAERON ) Daeron is a pathetic man that’s desperate to keep you with him. he’d like to put a babe in you, but his excessive drinking has rendered him quite useless in that department. he’s more the kidnapping type; he’d keep you in the dungeons, and maybe even move you to his chambers if you’re on good behaviour! he’s charming but clumsy, and often doesn’t think long-term, so kidnapping is definitely his most likely mode of capture.
── .✦ ( AERION ) Aerion would and will babytrap you. he adores the look on your face when he holds you down and finishes deep inside you, staying sheathed in your cunt to make sure it sticks. he’s keen on using you as a vessel for the ‘seed of the dragon’ as he likes to call it. he loves seeing you pregnant, being able to show you off, to make people aware that yes, he did that to you. he wants control of your body and your mind, and pregnancy is the perfect vehicle for such a thing.
Aerion is so obsessed with Old Valyria that I bet he learned high Valyrian.
He’s definitely fluent in the language, even if Targaryen doesn’t speak it much after all of the dragons died.
I can see him use it to you in the bedroom when he fuck you in the mattress, your face down pressed in the silk sheets, his face close to your ear. He would pound into you while whispering dirty words in his native tongue like “Look how pretty you are under me” or “I’m gonna fuck a baby in you.”
You won’t understand a word of what he say, but his voice sounds sooo good and it would make you clench around him in a loud moan. This mf would be so pleased to himself.
He would try so hard to make you pregnant every night, pumping his seed into you, just to have a kid to share the language with. (He would definitely speak to your womb every night.)
Includes: Duncan the Tall, Daeron Targaryen, Aerion Targaryen, Valarr Targaryen x f!reader
Summary: How the AKOTSK’s finest bachelors would react to breaking the bed with you under them
A/N: Is it obvious I have a favorite👀
Dunk realistically can’t afford a bed (no shade), and is more likely sleeping with you tucked away with him on a pallet but if he could, he’d lose his mind over breaking it with you under him. Forget the bed, he’d be pulling out, much to your dismay, in 0.2 seconds, asking whether or not you were alright, berating himself for being a fool, checking all over you for injuries. He would feel so bad, especially if it had been your bed he was breaking. There’s absolutely no way he’d keep fucking you, unless you begged really hard, and even then he’d still be overly gentle, probably only eat you out and it’d take more than a week to get him inside you again. You’d have to pick a day when he’s especially tired from working and pliant enough to do whatever you say. Unfortunately for him, this would definitely happen more than once just because of how unaccommodatingly large he is. It would get to the point where he would make a new bed for the two of you instead of bothering to haggle with some traveling tradesman, and you best believe all this bed breaking has to stop when he gets you pregnant. The first time, that is.
Daeron wouldn’t notice until you pulled him gently by the hair away from between your legs, and even then, he wouldn’t care as much as Duncan would. As soon as it was clear neither of you were hurt, he’d go back to licking and sucking and occasionally biting, doing anything and everything to make you cum. Getting pussy drunk was more healthy than getting wine drunk, you see. He’s 100 percent a certified eater, sloppy and hungry and needy (quick everyone act surprised!!) In all seriousness, Daeron is a sweet boy, really! But he’d definitely leave the bed like that for a day or two to get on your nerves and tease you any time you saw it, but it had a stronger effect on him. Every time he walked into your shared quarters, he couldn’t fend off the boner just from seeing how wrecked the bed was, memories flooding his mind of the sounds you made, the faces you made, etc. His plan backfired completely. He has to drag you away from your ladies-in-waiting as politely as he can, claiming an emergency when he knows damn well he just wants to fuck you. You’d be annoyed at first, but when he says it’s the dreams that have been plaguing him and he needs a distraction, you can’t help but give in. In truth, he hasn’t had any memorable dreams ever since he started fucking you. You will also be walking away from this encounter pregnant, if you walk away at all.
Aerion is a dragon you guys. Dragon-adjacent at the least. He’s a beast in and out of bed, so a little wear and tear is not to be feared, but expected. He does care about breaking the bed, but he’s a little more focused on pumping as many heirs as possible into his pretty wife. You’d push a few times at his broad shoulders, too breathless to communicate properly, and he’d shush you. “I see it, wife. Relax. If you continue to clench like that, you’ll cut off the cock you so dearly admire.” You would feel your face getting hot, but a smile also threatening to curl at your lips. Aerion was jesting. Not only was he teasing you, he thought it was funny that he’d destroyed the bed. Aerion is brimming with energy almost all the time, he has to be to be the excellent swordsman that he is. He’s trained himself to not get tired at the most taxing of tasks, so you’d go for a few more rounds in the cracked bed despite your protests that one of you could get hurt. They were hardly protests, though, just softly mumbled words mixed in with sharp whines and moans as Aerion all but jackhammered you until you saw the gods. You’d be so out of it by the time it was over you’d hardly register him carrying you, fully nude, to lay on the plush carpet with a blanket around the both of you, your head in his chest and your thighs coated in an intimate mixture of your cum and his. You’d awaken to a new bed already set up, clothes set out for you, and no Aerion, which could be perceived as insulting, but this was an act of intense kindness from him. Third time is not the charm, and one again, you are crawling away pregnant.
Valarr my perfect prince who deserves the world. This would be his first time having sex and he’s finally getting into the rhythm, letting out little pathetic whimpers into the crook of your neck, his thrusts speeding up, and then crack! He would be so fucking embarrassed but he can’t show it, he’s the prince! So, logically, the only way to not show it is to keep his face hidden from you while you stroked his hair, mumbling praises. It would take you saying “It’s alright, husband,” a million times before he would continue. I have seen very dominant depictions of Valarr, but with all the pressure that must be on him mixed in with his father, one of the few adult figures he could turn to, getting absolutely brained he has to have developed some form of a praise kink stemming from the need to be comforted. Whether it be subtle or obvious, he needs constant reassurance inside the bedroom. He might cry, not the first time you have sex, but a few incidences later, once he’s a lot more intimately familiar with you. He would move the both of you into a new room for the night while servants fixed up the bed or brought in a new one, and his cheeks would flushed at the few side-eyes the maids give you two. Lucky you, you will walk away from this unscathed, no pregnancy. I cannot guarantee your safety in the future, though. Valarr has a breeding kink, FOR SURE, also enforced by the pressure and expectations he has had thrust upon him his whole life. It’s not as bad as Aerion’s breeding kink, but it’s not far away from that level, either.
Just some thoughts on the reader being Aerions wife while heavily pregnant at Ashford Tourney…
He would be all over you. Princes don’t ride in carriages, they rode on their horses alongside them. But when Aerion saw you step into the carriage, with no one but his drunk older brother who had already fallen off his horse, he broke the standards and slid in beside you without a word. If Daeron were to snore to loudly, or scare you with his nightly visions on the way there, he would kick his brothers shin, shutting him up instantly.
When you’d finally arrive there, Aerion would be the only one to help you out, he didn’t trust anyone near you anymore, after all you were carrying his hatchling now, as he liked to call it. To his logic, the male dragon always protects the nest, despite the child being born yet or not.
He would watch you with every step you took, and if anyone were to dare get too close, attempt a conversation, or merely disturb your peace? It’s safe to say they would not be seen anywhere again that day.
You would have been the one to convince him to go to the puppet show, it was about dragons after all, and you knew his strict obsession with them. It had started off pleasant, you, in his arms. But it seemed he had snapped that poor girls fingers in the blink of an eye.
You had tried to get the nearby guards to stop the taller man from coming at Aerion. You knew your husband was in the wrong, but to see him being brutally attacked meant more.
When you had returned back to the small castle of Ashford, where you were all staying, Lord ashford was waiting with Maekar and Baelor. You were sat near Lord ashford. Aerion often liked to put you far from him, only so he could stare at you fully for the night. As he ignored the hedgeknights words, he instead snapped some nuts open.
The final one had flown across the room, going past Lord Ashford and landing on your boots. When you had begun to bend down to retrieve it Aerion let out a noise of displeasure. Instead he gestured to Lord Ashford, pointing at your shoes. He watched as the Lord scrambled to remove it while you blushed in embarrassment.
“My wife is carrying a prince, my Lord, it is only right you go to your knees before her” is what he had said with a shrug before Maekar had snatched him by the collar and dragged him out while Baelor spared you a smile.
Aerion had made you clean his cuts that night, just so he could entice you to a bath with him. You knew how that always ended….
Watching the trial was horrible for you, seeing your husband lose, was not something either of you were used to. For the next week, Aerion let you baby him. Though he did moan and complain when you cleaned his wounds, he would stay quiet when you’d brush your fingers through his silver hair.
You being pregnant was the only reason in the end that Maekar didn’t send Aerion to Lys. So that night Aerion made sure he fucked you to your hearts content.
“It brings on the birth” he’d whispered in your ear as he finished inside of you for the third time
Characters : Baelor, Maekar, Valarr, Daeron, Aerion, Duncan and Lyonel
Warning : F!Reader, Fluff, might be suggestive sometimes, attempts at humor
Author's note :
Did I try to find pictures of the actors to match this aesthetic? Yes. Did I succeed? Barely.
Also, it seems Daeron is my comfort character. I guess I like my men a bit pathetic.
ENJOY !
Baelor
Marrying Baelor was akin to marrying the realm itself. You understood that his duty as heir and Hand of the King would always come before your marriage. It was difficult, but you endured. Because for every night you fell asleep in an empty bed, and every morning you woke beside a cold pillow, Baelor always made it up to you. He was a good husband, albeit an absent one.
It was a pity that the one area in which your prince was lacking was caring for himself. You often wished he showed himself the same consideration he granted others.
Until then, you took it upon yourself to look after his well-being as diligently as he looked after yours.
The scrolls, letters, councils, and other duties could wait. Tonight, your husband was all yours, and you had no intention of sharing him.
“Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” Baelor asked from the bathtub, barely concealing his amusement at the situation.
You waved a dismissive hand at him, staring at the four different brews you had brought: rosemary, lavender, nettle, and chamomile. You tried to recall your lady's maid's words about the virtues of each concoction, but to no avail. Aside from their scents, they all seemed to serve the same purpose : washing hair.
In the end, you asked Baelor which one he would prefer.
“I’ll trust your judgment, my love,” he replied.
« Well, that is certainly useful.»
You eventually settled on the chamomile. Once comfortably seated behind him, you rolled up your sleeves and warmed the mixture between your hands. You began to gently massage his scalp, pleased to see your prince’s shoulders relax beneath your touch.
“Is that chamomile?”
“Yes, though I cannot remember its properties,” you admitted, using your knuckles to work the brew through his hair.
“I find the smell soothing. You chose well.”
You nodded in acknowledgment, even though he could not see you.
“I’m going to rinse it out. Please tilt your head back a little,” you warned, reaching for a nearby carafe.
Baelor did as he was told, and you placed a hand against his forehead to keep the water and brew from running into his eyes. Once his hair was clean, you continued massaging his scalp simply because he seemed to enjoy it.
“You take such good care of me,” he sighed.
“You deserve it, my heart.”
Maekar
The first time you suggested the idea, Maekar looked at you as though you were an idiot. He saw no point in using fancy products when lye soap worked just as well, and he certainly did not need you to wash his hair. To quote him, your idea was “the dumbest shit he’d ever heard.”
Did he sleep in the guest room that night?
Yes.
Did that stop you from asking him again?
“Fuck no,” as the Anvil would say.
The next time you brought it up, you wore the nightdress from your wedding night and suggested that the two of you take a bath together. Funny enough, Maekar was far more amenable to that proposal.
So here you were, sitting on the edge of your marble bathtub, with Maekar seated in front of you, the warm water reaching his chest.
“I still think this is dumb,” he mumbled, trying to save face, annoyed by your ability to play him like a fiddle.
“Don’t be like that. You’re going to love this,” you promised.
He grunted in response.
You poured some rosemary brew into his hair and thoroughly massaged his scalp, working it through the strands.
“Is that fucking rosemary?!” Maekar complained loudly.
You pressed a little harder against his scalp, rendering him momentarily speechless. A pleased groan escaped his lips as you picked up an ivory comb. The tool allowed you to properly massage his head.
The groan was the first of many, and before long, Maekar had forgotten all about the rosemary scent in his hair. Your prince became so lost in your touch that he complained loudly when you finally stopped.
“I thought this was dumb?” you teased, earning yourself a glare.
Maekar shrugged as though he did not care, but you did not miss the blush creeping across his shoulders.
“Well?” you pressed, keeping your hands folded in your lap.
He groaned again but eventually gave in.
“That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had...” the Anvil grumbled.
You chuckled, triumphant.
“Now, was that so hard?”
The teasing may have gone a little too far, for suddenly two strong arms wrapped around your waist, and before you knew it, you were falling into the bath. Your clothes were soaked, water splashed across the floor, and Maekar had the audacity to grin at you.
It was your turn to glare.
“Didn’t you promise to share a bath with me?” he asked.
You rolled your eyes but let him pull you against his chest nonetheless.
Valarr
You loved Valarr’s hair, perhaps even more than his eyes.
In a world full of white-haired Targaryens with purple eyes, with the occasional black-haired one like his father, your prince was one of the few to naturally sport two hair colors.
Alas, Valarr’s hair was not only different in color but also in texture. As a result, the products that worked wonders on his brown locks were harmful to his white streak. It pained you to feel the dry strands between your fingers.
It eventually reached a point where you could no longer sit idly by and watch him neglect his hair, so you decided to take the matter into your own hands. Though somewhat confused by your concern, Valarr agreed to let you wash it.
While he patiently sat in the bath, you skimmed through your herbology book, searching for the best brew to restore the white streak.
“You shouldn’t trouble yourself over something so insignificant,” Valarr argued, absently playing with the bathwater. “Any concoction would suffice to wash it.”
You rolled your eyes and settled on a lavender brew.
“I know princes do not concern themselves with their hair as much as princesses do,” you conceded as you sat behind him. “Otherwise, Aegon would not have been so eager to shave his head.”
Valarr chuckled and leaned into your touch, allowing you to work through his hair, carefully washing every strand until his head smelled of nothing but lavender.
“Probably because our skills as warriors and diplomats are more useful to the realm,” he teased.
You gently tugged on his hair in reprimand.
“The realm has its priorities. I have mine,” you replied. “Tilt your head back, please.”
Valarr obliged, allowing you to rinse his hair with warm water. Only once every trace of the lavender brew had been washed away did you pour a few drops of lavender oil into your palms, warm it between your hands, and gently massage it into the young prince’s scalp.
“This isn't unpleasant,” he admitted.
You hummed in acknowledgment.
“According to my book, you're supposed to leave it in until your next bath.”
An uncomfortable silence followed.
“Are you telling me I'm going to smell like lavender during the Great Council, with all the realm's most prominent lords in attendance?”
You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.
“I’m sure you'll be great.”
“Seven save me...”
Daeron
Daeron hadn’t left his room in days and had forbidden any servant from allowing you past the threshold of his door.
Early in your relationship, you learned that the prince had a tendency to isolate himself whenever nightmares plagued him. No amount of pleading or blackmail would convince him to let you see him, let alone care for him. And so you remained powerless, watching from the corridor as a steady stream of wine and other spirits was brought to his chambers.
The procession eventually stopped on the fourth day of Daeron’s self-imposed quarantine, and the deafening silence coming from the prince’s bedchamber did nothing to soothe your anxiety.
The moment a servant stepped into the corridor, you ordered him to bring hot water and a few eggs for the prince’s bath. If the poor boy had any objections, your glare ensured they died on his tongue.
You entered as soon as the servant left and immediately covered your nose and mouth with the sleeve of your dress. The room reeked of spilled alcohol and sweat, so strongly that you resolved to give an earful to the incompetents who had dared leave a prince of the realm in such a state.
Fortunately, you had no difficulty finding him.
Daeron lay on the floor beside his bed, still wearing the clothes he'd worn three days earlier, a thin blanket draped over him. You knelt beside him and gently shook his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. He groaned in protest and weakly pushed your hand away.
“Just leave me be,” he slurred through his drunken haze.
“Daeron, it’s me,” you sighed, shaking his shoulder more firmly. “Get up.”
He turned his back on you.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.
Unfortunately for him, you had long since run out of patience for his self-destructive tendencies. Not after spending the last few days worried sick over him.
You shook him again.
“Get up, my love. The servant boy should be back any minute.”
“Whatever for?” he asked groggily.
“Your bath, dear. You reek.”
A faint chuckle escaped him, and at last he complied.
You helped him out of his clothes just as the servants returned. Once the tub had been filled with water and scented oils, you dismissed them, sending Daeron’s filthy garments away with them.
Your prince needed your help to steady himself as he climbed into the marble tub, and you gladly offered him your arm. Settling onto a wooden stool behind him, you watched as he groaned contentedly once his back rested against the ledge.
You poured rosemary brew into his hair and scrubbed vigorously, deaf to his complaints. His hair was a tangled mess, and it would take more than a single egg treatment to undo the damage. Once you deemed it clean enough, you gently cupped his jaw and tilted his head back.
“Close your eyes, dear heart.”
Daeron obeyed, and you used a small carafe to rinse the mixture from his hair. Only then did you crack a few eggs against the edge of the tub and work the mixture into his damp strands.
He shuddered at the strange sensation but remained silent.
Using your own comb, you carefully worked through the knots he had created, starting at the ends and working your way toward the roots to spare him as much pain as possible.
“I love you,” your prince murmured, slowly emerging from his drunken stupor.
“Then stop pushing me away and let me share your burdens, Daeron,” you scolded gently.
An uncomfortable silence followed, broken only by the soft sound of the comb gliding through wet hair.
“I dreamed you were dead,” he finally whispered, his voice strained with emotion. “And I cannot tell whether it was one of my dreams or a nightmare.”
You set the comb aside and moved to sit beside him. Taking his damp hand in yours, you pressed it flat against your heart.
“I’m here, Daeron. I cannot promise I’ll be here tomorrow or two weeks from now, but right now, I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes watered as a small smile crossed his face.
You returned to your stool behind him and resumed the patient task of untangling his hair.
Aerion
The prince was already in the bath when you walked in.
It was a golden bathtub with four dragon-shaped feet, large enough for six men to bathe comfortably at the same time. Aerion was an average-sized man—or so he proclaimed—but the enormous tub made him look smaller than he truly was.
You hid a smile as you approached him.
“You sent for me, my prince?”
The servants responsible for drawing his bath had thoughtfully added enough soap to conceal his nakedness. Aerion glanced at you as though you were merely another inconvenience, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.
“Took you long enough, wench.”
You pulled a wooden stool closer and sat behind him.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I needed to gather my supplies before I could attend to you.”
He hummed and leaned back against the ledge, granting you easier access to his hair.
Wasting no time, you set to work on the royal mane, pouring a chamomile brew into your hands before massaging it into his scalp.
You remembered your confusion the first time you had been tasked with tending to the prince’s hair. The blood of the dragon was notoriously particular about such things, and no servant before you had lasted more than a month. To be fair, none of them possessed your knowledge of hair care.
You remembered when Aerion’s hair had been long enough to brush his shoulders. He would likely have grown it even longer had his father not objected. You did not mind caring for shorter hair, especially when the comb glided so easily through the silver strands.
The tension slowly left his shoulders beneath your touch.
“Why aren’t you using apple vinegar like last time?” Aerion asked, disguising a groan of pleasure as best he could.
“Because I do not wish to irritate your scalp further,” you replied indulgently.
He hummed in acknowledgment and left it at that.
You continued your work in silence, interrupted only occasionally by Aerion’s contented sighs.
Duncan
“You shouldn’t have wasted your money on me,” Dunk grunted when he spotted the wooden bathtub in your shared room.
Thanks to the hedge knight’s latest contract, you had enough coin to stay at the inn and rent two rooms: one for Egg, and one for you and Duncan. The little prince, whose voice had begun to break and whose legs seemed to grow longer by the day, had insisted on giving you some privacy.
Clever boy.
You rolled your eyes and urged Dunk to get into the bathtub before the water grew cold.
The hedge knight indulged you begrudgingly, and you turned around to give him time to undress and settle into the tub. A surprised gasp escaped him when he realized the basin was actually large enough to accommodate him.
“One of the many perks of staying in a region where giants are a common sight,” you explained, picking up a carafe of warm water and slowly pouring it over him.
His broad shoulders tensed at the contact.
“There’s no need for you to do that. I’m not so daft that I don’t know how to wash myself.”
You hummed in acknowledgment and began rubbing his back with a bar of lye soap. A delightful blush spread from his neck to the tips of his ears.
“You’re a wicked woman,” he exhaled in a strained voice, earning a chuckle from you.
“I’m only thanking you for your hard work,” you whispered, scrubbing the soap into his skin with a washcloth. “Don’t you enjoy it?”
He caught your wrist before the washcloth could wander any lower, the sudden movement sending water splashing onto the floor.
“I can take it from here,” he assured you, gently taking the washcloth from your hand.
“As you wish. I shall busy myself with your hair.”
Duncan knew how stubborn you could be and chose not to argue further.
A comfortable silence settled between you, accompanied only by the gentle slosh of water against the tub.
You poured a nettle brew into your hands and began massaging his scalp. Duncan stopped washing and leaned into your touch.
“It’s not so bad,” he finally admitted, settling comfortably against the ledge.
You pressed a kiss to his forehead and continued your ministrations.
Lyonel
“Seven hells, woman! Don’t pull my hair so hard!” your stag hollered as you tried to comb through his unruly curls.
His sudden movements splashed water across the tiles and onto your dress.
“Might I remind you that you were the one asking for my help?” you groaned in exasperation. “Now stay still, or I’ll make you as bald as your brother!”
Lyonel scoffed indignantly but obediently leaned back against the ledge. You picked up the comb that had fallen to the floor and resumed the task of untangling his mane.
As you applied more shea butter to detangle his dark curls, you sighed at the absurdity of the situation. All of this because Lyonel’s brother was coming to Storm’s End. A man named Quentyn, who surpassed Lyonel in everything except hair—at least according to the Dowager Lady Baratheon, who made little effort to hide her favoritism toward her younger son.
Hence why you were currently in the bath chamber, helping Lyonel turn his hair into the most luscious, abundant curls in all the Stormlands. Only your stag would worry that his curls were not luxurious enough compared to a man with a bare scalp.
This sibling rivalry was as annoying as it was endearing.
“There,” you declared once his whole head was coated in shea butter. “Now it will need to sit for half an hour before we rinse it with cold water.”
Lyonel hummed in contentment.
“Can’t wait to show that son of a bitch my full head of hair.”
“You have the same mother, idiot.”
He waved a dismissive hand through the air.
“That’s irrelevant. I want the smug bastard to turn green with envy when he sees me.”
You nodded sarcastically.
“Serves him right for being your mother’s favorite.”
He turned toward you, a pleased smile stretching his lips.
“That’s why I love you—you get me.”
You rolled your eyes but pressed a kiss to his forehead.
`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ TAKING A BATH TOGETHER. featuring maekar, aerion, daeron, baelor, valarr x wife! reader.
warnings. +18 content, afab! reader, suggestive + some fluff, mentions of bath sex, praising, fingering, pet names, not mention of y/n.
word count. 1.5k
notes. my asks are open ! :D thanks for reading <3 likes and reblogs are highly appreciated. btw im not writing for baelor ever again, i dont like him 😔
despite his initial hesitation when you suggested the idea, maekar chose the sweetest aromatic oils he could find, knowing his pretty wife loved those scents he usually complained about. you didn’t need much persuasion before his first firm ‘no’ melted into a reluctant ‘fine, but let me breathe in peace while i still can.’ gods, you loved that satisfied little smile he tried to hide every time you managed to convince him. he always refused at first just to hear you plead, but in the end it was always your way. someone save this man.
once you were both in the warm water, after a long tense silence where he looked more like he was about to lead a council meeting than enjoy a simple bath with his beloved wife, a gruff “come here” left his lips. his strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled your back flush against his chest before you could even react. not that you minded. you loved the contrast of his rough skin against your softness, and the way his battle-hardened hands traced your side with surprising delicacy, gliding up and down, slowly rising higher until they brushed the curve of your breast.
though his touches were still innocent —for now— his lips pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck and the warmth of his breath made heat bloom across your body, having nothing to do with the steam rising from the water.
“always so clever, getting your way. infuriating woman,” he growled quietly against your neck, leaving a barely there kiss before continuing. “i will ensure you learn the manners you lack. turn around.”
this man is nothing like his father. aerion does not hesitate. the moment the suggestion leaves your lips, he casts an impatient glance at one of his servants and dismisses him with a lazy flick of his hand. “you heard my wife, or have your ears failed you?”
when the bath is ready, the water is scalding, just the way he likes it, but rose petals drift across the surface for your pleasure. it is clear the servant worked desperately to avoid his wrath, for no one in the seven kingdoms knows what punishment aerion would inflict on anyone who disappointed his beloved lady.
aerion makes sure you undress first, his intense gaze following every movement of your hands as they loosen each lace of your dress. he watches hungrily as the fabric slides from your shoulders and pools at your feet. his eyes devour every inch of bare skin before he ensures your pretty eyes are fixed on him when it is his turn. he makes a show of it, undressing slowly, solely for your attention on his body.
once you are both in the water, nothing can distract him from your presence. the water ripples softly as he shifts, a dangerous smile curving his lips. “come closer. or do you fear i might bite?”
you crawl forward on your knees, far too used to his taunts to flee like any sane person would, and settle into his lap until his hands grip your hips and pull you flush against him. heat coils low in your belly as his cock, already hard from the moment he saw you naked, settles between your folds. your soft walls clench around nothing in anticipation and his fingers dig into your skin in warning and frustration. “not yet. do you want it, my sweet?” he whispers darkly against your parted lips, tilting his hips forward to tease your entrance with his girth. “you will have it when i say you may have it. wash me first.”
okay now, this sweet, sweet man. daeron may be a little wine-tipsy when you suggest the idea, but he sobers up quickly at the implications. he’ll have you all to himself — every inch of your naked skin, just for him. his cheeks flush as his mind begins to wander even before anything has truly begun. when he snaps out of his daze, he’s quick to prepare the bath with you, dismissing the servants early with an eager wave of his hand. “gods be good, wife. don’t blame me if my hands start wandering.”
water poured, oils settled, and now you’re both sinking into the warm bath together. his hands move slowly but purposefully as he pulls your back flush against his chest, tilting his head to rest his chin in the crook of your neck. he nuzzles against your damp skin with that familiar lopsided smile, desperately touchy, craving your closeness more than he’s ever craved wine.
you feel his body leaning heavily into yours, loose-limbed and warmer than the water surrounding you, comforting in that way only daeron can be. he’s unusually talkative when he’s this relaxed with you. his lips brush against your wet skin as he rambles through half-formed stories he can barely remember, the words soon melting into soft, affectionate praises. his hands wander upward from your belly, brushing over the curve of your breast before settling gently around your throat, thumb resting on your pulse point. no pressure, just feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath his touch.
“you cannot even begin to understand how lucky i feel, my pretty lady,” he murmurs reverently, eyes falling shut. “i don’t want this to end.”
baelor is the very picture of knightly restraint when you first suggest the idea. yet your gentle insistence proves far too convincing, for he has always had a weakness for fulfilling your every whim, no matter how improper it might seem. he ensures the door is firmly barred and the servants are well away before he begins preparing the bath himself with quiet devotion. he knows exactly which oils you favor and which you do not, the precise warmth you prefer in the water — every detail tended to with the careful attention only a husband as devoted as him could offer.
he remains perfectly respectful once you are both in the water, keeping a courteous distance that lasts all of ten seconds. the moment you lean back against him he lets out a deep sigh and wraps his strong arms around you, drawing you close. his calloused hands are gentle yet sure as they glide over your skin, washing you with reverent care while he murmurs soft praises against your temple. the way he studies and adores every inch of you makes you tremble beneath his touch.
though he wishes dearly to keep the moment chaste and loving, the sight of your body wet and flushed undoes him. what begin as innocent caresses soon linger longer — over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs. “forgive me, my love,” he breathes, voice low and rough with restraint. “i am only a man.”
your smile and teasing about how quickly his ‘proper’ manners were forgotten only make him chuckle. you press your body more firmly against him, silently begging for more of those big hands roaming over your slippery skin. he presses his lips just below your ear, his breath growing heavier and more ragged. “what else could you expect, my lady?” he murmurs, a hint of warm amusement in his voice. “it is only natural for a devoted husband to lose his composure when faced with a wife as beautiful as you.”
valarr agrees to your bold suggestion without hesitation, a beautiful smile curving his lips the moment the words leave you. the idea had crossed his mind before, yet he had always held back, wanting you to come to him willingly and not simply because he was your husband. this meant you desired him as fiercely as he desired you. “if my lady desires a bath with her prince,” he murmurs warmly, “who am i to deny her?”
the bath is prepared with great care. he summons only the most trusted servants when he hesitates over any detail, determined that everything be perfect for you — fragrant oils, flickering candles, scattered rose petals. whatever you might wish for, it is yours. he takes his time helping you undress, his touches soft yet confident, savoring every inch of skin revealed.
once you are both in the steaming water, he quickly draws you between his legs, your back resting against his chest. his presence is strong and warm behind you, and the obvious pleasure he takes in the moment makes you feel utterly safe and desired. one of his hands settles low on your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin as he speaks in that soft, velvet voice, telling you how sweet you are, how lovely you look, and how greatly he is restraining himself from touching you even more.
valarr possesses excellent control, but it frays beautifully the longer you remain pressed together. you can feel him hardening against your back. he swallows thickly and begins teasing you with slow, deliberate touches, fingers gliding along your thighs until you squirm against him. only then does he give in. “do you enjoy this?” he whispers hotly against your ear, his middle finger sliding deeper between your thighs until it presses against your entrance, drawing a twitch from your hips. “do not worry, my dear wife. we have all the time we need. the water may grow cold… but the night is still young.”
. . . SUMMARY. you suddenly change positions and take control during sex !
. . . PAIRINGS. maekar, aerion, daeron, valarr x wife!reader.
. . . CW. +18 content, afab! reader, aerion is rough (ofc), praising, begging, pet names.
. . . WC. 1.4K
. . . NOTES. it's my very first time writing for maekar and valarr... apologies in advance. huhuhu. i hope you enjoy this post, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated. asks open. 💌
MAEKAR. the first time you push him onto his back, he looks up at you like you’ve grown a second head. like, what in the seven hells is this woman doing now? he’s used to being the one who fucks you — not the other way around. not you taking control over him like he’s some virgin boy you can tame as you please.
his eyebrows shoot up and his lips part slightly. you already know something grumpy is about to come out of that mouth. “what the fuck are you—” his rough words die in his throat the second you sink down on his cock.
he inhales sharply as his hands fly to your hips and waist, gripping the soft flesh in a bruising, punishing hold. he has enough trouble dealing with his children — now he has a bratty wife too? but as soon as you start moving up and down on his dick, his brain turns off. he tries to keep control, but the way your pussy swallows his cock with every roll of your hips makes him want to surrender completely.
his jaw clenches and a low growl rumbles from deep in his throat. his eyes never leave your body as he assesses this new position. maybe it wasn’t so bad… he has a perfect view of your tits bouncing every time you stuff your pussy full of his aching cock.
he breathes heavily through his nose after a rough curse leaves his lips, hands still gripping your sides like iron. he’s fighting the urge to flip you over and remind you exactly who’s in charge, but he holds back. at least for now.
as you keep riding him, his composure slowly shatters — deep breaths, low curses, and broken moans he tries and barely manages to swallow. he squeezes your waist in a silent command, eyes burning into you as if to say ‘if you’re going to do this, at least don’t torture me.’
you obey. and maekar finally snaps. one hand slides up to squeeze your breast while the other guides your hips, his own hips thrusting up to meet you with powerful strokes.
“i hope you fucking realize that this will not happen again.”
oh, but it will. especially on those nights when he’s exhausted but still needs to bury his cock inside you.
AERION. you managed to catch him off guard. just this once. he looks surprised when you push him down and climb on top, but that shock quickly morphs into something far more dangerous. aerion smirks, his violet eyes piercing into yours with a challenging gleam. he flashes a hint of his canines. “now you wish to ride the dragon? are you certain you can handle me?” he asks, every word dripping with mockery.
his gaze drops to your pussy as it slowly envelops his cock inch by inch. his nails bite into your skin as he lets out a deep, guttural growl. his half-lidded eyes never leave the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt every time you sink down, like it’s the most magnificent view in the world.
his hands slide down your body to grab your ass, squeezing hard and pulling you flush against him, forcing you to take him to the hilt. you don’t stay in control for long. soon he’s fighting to take over, gripping your hips and slamming up into you with restless, powerful thrusts.
“look at you… so fucking perfect.” he grunts against your skin, breath hot. his lips latch onto the swell of your tits, kissing, licking, and biting without any gentleness. he leaves open-mouthed marks all over your chest, sucking dark bruises and bites into your skin like a dragon marking his claim. “always thinking you can tame me, my sweet naive wife.” this time he isn’t smirking — he sneers. because you almost, almost do tame him, and that bruises his draconic ego more than he’ll ever admit.
your teasing only makes it worse. you slow your pace deliberately while he keeps trying to force you down harder. he’s not having it. in one swift motion his arms snake around your waist, nails digging into your back hard enough to leave scratches. you squirm and moan from the sharp mix of pain and pleasure.
“enough.” he hisses against your mouth, done with your games. his lips crash into yours, tongue forcing its way inside as he starts pounding up into you harder and faster, whispering filthy curses and possessive words against your swollen lips.
“next time you want to play dragonrider, make sure you’re prepared for a real dragon, wife.”
DAERON. his brain short-circuits the moment you take control and climb on his lap. he doesn’t even try to fight back — he’s too stunned to react properly at first. daeron blinks a few times, suddenly finding himself on his back, and the second you sink down on his cock he loses the ability to form a single coherent sentence.
“oh, gods… fuck, mmh…” his eyes roll back as you start riding him. his hands are everywhere — groping your tits, squeezing your waist, gripping your hips and thighs. he squeezes and kneads your flesh like he can’t decide where to touch first, completely overwhelmed. the room fills with the wet sound of your hips meeting his and his shameless, breathy moans and whimpers.
you deliberately slow your pace just to watch him, and he whines almost instantly. “please, my love… i’ve been good. don’t do this to me…” his voice cracks, sounding dangerously close to tears as his hips buck up desperately, trying to fuck himself into you faster.
the sight is too pathetic to resist. you pick up the pace again and his thighs start trembling. every time your cunt squeezes around him, his cock twitches hard inside you. daeron is moaning loudly with every wet slap of skin, tears gathering in his eyes as he struggles to keep them on your face instead of your bouncing tits. “just like that… keep going… ’m so close… so close…”
he completely loses control right before the edge. his hands grip your waist tightly as he thrusts up into you with frantic force, hitting that perfect spot until you both shatter. he cums with a long, broken whimper, burying himself deep as your walls spasm around him.
“fuck… you did it so good,” he pants, still twitching inside you. “if i knew you had it in you i would’ve put you on my lap myself much sooner.”
VALARR. his eyes widen when you suddenly change positions. the usually composed prince freezes as you straddle his lap, a small, surprised sound escaping his throat. he doesn’t trust himself to speak — he knows his voice would tremble. but then a small, charming smile curves his lips, letting you know he’s more than happy to let you take control this time. he leans back slightly, placing his hands gently on your thighs as he watches you sink down on his cock with hooded eyes.
“you’re so beautiful,” valarr murmurs. his hands stroke slowly up your thighs, taking their time as they move to your hips and waist, and finally to your breasts. his thumbs brush over your hardened nipples, focused on your pleasure before his own.
as you keep riding him, his composure begins to crack. his jaw clenches, trying to hold back low groans, and his breathing grows ragged. those gentle eyes burn into you now with a hunger and intensity you’ve rarely seen from him.
your movements falter for a second at the sight, but he gives you another sweet smile, even as his lips tremble slightly. “don’t be cruel, sweetheart. keep going.” he encourages in a breathy whisper, rolling his hips up to meet yours, silently begging you to ride him harder. when you obey, his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he inhales deeply. his voice grows more desperate. “yes— that’s my girl. my wife. gods…”
your pussy swallows his cock with every roll of your hips. he pulls you down against his chest, and you melt into him as your climaxes draw closer. his parted lips brush against your neck, hot and humid, while he moans softly and whispers sweet praises. his thrusts become deeper and more controlled, focused entirely on making you cum first.
when you finally shatter around him, he lets himself go, cumming deep inside you with a quiet, trembling groan.
he stays buried inside you for a long moment, softening but not pulling out as you both catch your breath. his hand strokes your back with quiet devotion, fingers eventually burying into the hair at the nape of your neck.
“you do not cease to surprise me, my dear,” he murmurs. “you’ve just opened my eyes… i may be made to be beneath you.”
cw: mdni, afab! reader, suggestive, mentions of blood, mentions on having a boner, and mentions of being drunk, mentions of tits, these are my headcanons !!
notes: i was gonna start with 'how they would fuck you' but felt a little too much for my first post lol. anyway enjoy, i love these men sm !!
── .✦ AERION.
We all know this man is intense. When he kisses you, he does it like he means it — leaving no part of you unconquered. He’ll kiss anywhere he can get his mouth on: your lips, your neck, your shoulder, even in public. He literally does not care. You’re his. He claimed you like a dragon claims his prize, and he wants everyone to know how proud he is of his treasure.
Aerion will leave marks on your skin too — bites and hickeys placed strategically on spots you cannot easily hide. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t care less. A dragon does not concern himself with such stupidities. Why would he hold back, when you're like a feast open for him to take whenever he wishes?
And when he kisses your lips he literally has no mercy. It won't start tender or slow, no, he dives in from the first second, finding any way to make you gasp against his mouth so he can slip his tongue into your wet heat — he might claw at your arm, might bite your lower lip until it bleeds. This man doesn’t mind hurting you a little. He’ll make it up to you later — he always promises between kisses, not even pulling back to talk or breathe properly. He’s so desperate and overwhelming that you can’t help but let him have his way with you.
── .✦ DAERON.
I’d give this man a prize if he doesn’t get a boner within the first two minutes of making out with you. If you thought Aerion was desperate, just wait until you meet his pathetic older brother — grasping at your clothes, trying to silence his whimpers against your mouth. Because Daeron is loud. And messy as fuck.
If he’s drunk enough, he’ll kiss you right there in the tavern, shame completely dissolved in his wine-clouded brain. And gods, he’s touchy. Let your guard down for even a second and his hands will find their way to your tits like they have a mind of their own. If you scold him, he’ll grunt a half-hearted apology against your lips only to try again the moment you get distracted.
Oh, and sometimes he has to pull back from your mouth for a few seconds. He gets so overstimulated he’ll combust if he doesn’t stop — or maybe he’s just trying to keep his dick from straining too obviously against his pants. He’ll stay there with his eyes closed, whispering a quiet curse as he presses his lips to your neck, breathing hard, before diving back in to claim your mouth again.
. . . SUMMARY. you suddenly change positions and take control during sex !
. . . PAIRINGS. maekar, aerion, daeron, valarr x wife!reader.
. . . CW. +18 content, afab! reader, aerion is rough (ofc), praising, begging, pet names.
. . . WC. 1.4K
. . . NOTES. it's my very first time writing for maekar and valarr... apologies in advance. huhuhu. i hope you enjoy this post, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated. asks open. 💌
MAEKAR. the first time you push him onto his back, he looks up at you like you’ve grown a second head. like, what in the seven hells is this woman doing now? he’s used to being the one who fucks you — not the other way around. not you taking control over him like he’s some virgin boy you can tame as you please.
his eyebrows shoot up and his lips part slightly. you already know something grumpy is about to come out of that mouth. “what the fuck are you—” his rough words die in his throat the second you sink down on his cock.
he inhales sharply as his hands fly to your hips and waist, gripping the soft flesh in a bruising, punishing hold. he has enough trouble dealing with his children — now he has a bratty wife too? but as soon as you start moving up and down on his dick, his brain turns off. he tries to keep control, but the way your pussy swallows his cock with every roll of your hips makes him want to surrender completely.
his jaw clenches and a low growl rumbles from deep in his throat. his eyes never leave your body as he assesses this new position. maybe it wasn’t so bad… he has a perfect view of your tits bouncing every time you stuff your pussy full of his aching cock.
he breathes heavily through his nose after a rough curse leaves his lips, hands still gripping your sides like iron. he’s fighting the urge to flip you over and remind you exactly who’s in charge, but he holds back. at least for now.
as you keep riding him, his composure slowly shatters — deep breaths, low curses, and broken moans he tries and barely manages to swallow. he squeezes your waist in a silent command, eyes burning into you as if to say ‘if you’re going to do this, at least don’t torture me.’
you obey. and maekar finally snaps. one hand slides up to squeeze your breast while the other guides your hips, his own hips thrusting up to meet you with powerful strokes.
“i hope you fucking realize that this will not happen again.”
oh, but it will. especially on those nights when he’s exhausted but still needs to bury his cock inside you.
AERION. you managed to catch him off guard. just this once. he looks surprised when you push him down and climb on top, but that shock quickly morphs into something far more dangerous. aerion smirks, his violet eyes piercing into yours with a challenging gleam. he flashes a hint of his canines. “now you wish to ride the dragon? are you certain you can handle me?” he asks, every word dripping with mockery.
his gaze drops to your pussy as it slowly envelops his cock inch by inch. his nails bite into your skin as he lets out a deep, guttural growl. his half-lidded eyes never leave the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt every time you sink down, like it’s the most magnificent view in the world.
his hands slide down your body to grab your ass, squeezing hard and pulling you flush against him, forcing you to take him to the hilt. you don’t stay in control for long. soon he’s fighting to take over, gripping your hips and slamming up into you with restless, powerful thrusts.
“look at you… so fucking perfect.” he grunts against your skin, breath hot. his lips latch onto the swell of your tits, kissing, licking, and biting without any gentleness. he leaves open-mouthed marks all over your chest, sucking dark bruises and bites into your skin like a dragon marking his claim. “always thinking you can tame me, my sweet naive wife.” this time he isn’t smirking — he sneers. because you almost, almost do tame him, and that bruises his draconic ego more than he’ll ever admit.
your teasing only makes it worse. you slow your pace deliberately while he keeps trying to force you down harder. he’s not having it. in one swift motion his arms snake around your waist, nails digging into your back hard enough to leave scratches. you squirm and moan from the sharp mix of pain and pleasure.
“enough.” he hisses against your mouth, done with your games. his lips crash into yours, tongue forcing its way inside as he starts pounding up into you harder and faster, whispering filthy curses and possessive words against your swollen lips.
“next time you want to play dragonrider, make sure you’re prepared for a real dragon, wife.”
DAERON. his brain short-circuits the moment you take control and climb on his lap. he doesn’t even try to fight back — he’s too stunned to react properly at first. daeron blinks a few times, suddenly finding himself on his back, and the second you sink down on his cock he loses the ability to form a single coherent sentence.
“oh, gods… fuck, mmh…” his eyes roll back as you start riding him. his hands are everywhere — groping your tits, squeezing your waist, gripping your hips and thighs. he squeezes and kneads your flesh like he can’t decide where to touch first, completely overwhelmed. the room fills with the wet sound of your hips meeting his and his shameless, breathy moans and whimpers.
you deliberately slow your pace just to watch him, and he whines almost instantly. “please, my love… i’ve been good. don’t do this to me…” his voice cracks, sounding dangerously close to tears as his hips buck up desperately, trying to fuck himself into you faster.
the sight is too pathetic to resist. you pick up the pace again and his thighs start trembling. every time your cunt squeezes around him, his cock twitches hard inside you. daeron is moaning loudly with every wet slap of skin, tears gathering in his eyes as he struggles to keep them on your face instead of your bouncing tits. “just like that… keep going… ’m so close… so close…”
he completely loses control right before the edge. his hands grip your waist tightly as he thrusts up into you with frantic force, hitting that perfect spot until you both shatter. he cums with a long, broken whimper, burying himself deep as your walls spasm around him.
“fuck… you did it so good,” he pants, still twitching inside you. “if i knew you had it in you i would’ve put you on my lap myself much sooner.”
VALARR. his eyes widen when you suddenly change positions. the usually composed prince freezes as you straddle his lap, a small, surprised sound escaping his throat. he doesn’t trust himself to speak — he knows his voice would tremble. but then a small, charming smile curves his lips, letting you know he’s more than happy to let you take control this time. he leans back slightly, placing his hands gently on your thighs as he watches you sink down on his cock with hooded eyes.
“you’re so beautiful,” valarr murmurs. his hands stroke slowly up your thighs, taking their time as they move to your hips and waist, and finally to your breasts. his thumbs brush over your hardened nipples, focused on your pleasure before his own.
as you keep riding him, his composure begins to crack. his jaw clenches, trying to hold back low groans, and his breathing grows ragged. those gentle eyes burn into you now with a hunger and intensity you’ve rarely seen from him.
your movements falter for a second at the sight, but he gives you another sweet smile, even as his lips tremble slightly. “don’t be cruel, sweetheart. keep going.” he encourages in a breathy whisper, rolling his hips up to meet yours, silently begging you to ride him harder. when you obey, his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he inhales deeply. his voice grows more desperate. “yes— that’s my girl. my wife. gods…”
your pussy swallows his cock with every roll of your hips. he pulls you down against his chest, and you melt into him as your climaxes draw closer. his parted lips brush against your neck, hot and humid, while he moans softly and whispers sweet praises. his thrusts become deeper and more controlled, focused entirely on making you cum first.
when you finally shatter around him, he lets himself go, cumming deep inside you with a quiet, trembling groan.
he stays buried inside you for a long moment, softening but not pulling out as you both catch your breath. his hand strokes your back with quiet devotion, fingers eventually burying into the hair at the nape of your neck.
“you do not cease to surprise me, my dear,” he murmurs. “you’ve just opened my eyes… i may be made to be beneath you.”
authors note: req by @wooceanic <3 I'm sorry this took so long!!!!!
maekar
Maekar maintains a stern temperament with all except you. You see how he scolds the Ser’s, maesters, his brothers, the stewards, all who test his patience. A stare, a smack at the back of the head, a shove. He towers above them all. There is only an infinity of love and patience for you.
In the moments shared just between you, when he thinks no one is watching, nor can they see, he pats you on the backside, grazes his hand against the side of your neck. Maybe even a peck on the cheek. A tug by the wrist into a dark corner to embrace you and kiss you. Though, even when he is in one of his impatient mood's and feeling argumentative, with you, he never is cruel, nor is he vicious.
The two-hour ride to the woods to celebrate Rhaegal's Nameday, a great hunt and feast. Maekar joined you in the carriage instead of riding with the others by horse. He had been well-behaved initially, but you knew better than all, that it started with a little bicker. A little teasing. And then heated contest.
"I told you to wear your red gown today." He started with, a mere fifteen minutes into the journey.
"Darling this is my red gown." You answered immediately, as you tried looking out through the cracks in the window. You could just about make out the blur of the green trees.
"You know which gown I meant. That is maroon." Maekar was playing with a tassel on his tunic as he watched you ease back on your side of the carriage.
"Maroon is red. You should have been more specific." You hummed and after a beat. "Oh I thought you meant this one anyway. It is the newest one."
"Hmm." He grumbled something incoherent, you never tried to ask what he was saying - there was no point. Maekar flickered his eyebrow up in thought.
"Why don't you leave me out a gown specifically. And I can please you as you so desire." Only you could say something so waspish to Maekar and make him semi-hard. Especially with that teasing smile on your face.
"They all come off you the same." He tore his eyes off you for a moment, trying to calm himself. Just watching you red-faced from the heat in the carriage made him hard.
"Please do free me of it.” You exhaled as you used your hand to fan yourself. “It's frightfully hot today Maekar."
He watched in silence, a bead of sweat rolled out from the bottom of your hairline, down the side of your next and across your collar bone. You caught his eye, watching you, then, and he launched off from his seat.
His hands grasped your face first, and you felt his lips crashing against yours desperately. Maekar kissed you, a gentle grunt escaping him as your hands held his face mostly out of support. You had not been intimate for some time; Maekar had been busy assisting Baelor with all matters across the realm. He would not say specifics, he never did, so you learned quickly to never ask. By the time Maekar would get to bed you were fast asleep. He couldn't bring himself to wake you when you looked so peaceful, so angellic.
"Mm- fuck Maekar." You groaned as he bit your lip in the intensity. He pulled away slightly hoping he had not made your lip bleed.
Maekar's tongue soon pushed against yours until you laughed. You spread your legs so he could rest against you, but you both slipped from the seat to the floor of the carriage when it rocked unexpectedly. Maekar pushed his groin into you as he kissed you, he was an unstoppable force sucking your tongue unabashedly loudly. His torso pressed into you to make sure you would not roll around the carriage.
"We cannot- we cannot do this here." You panted between kisses, breathless almost, and he finally tore his mouth from yours, instead planting kissing across to your neck, down to your collar bone.
Maekar groaned as he sucked at you, kissed you, moving all over your body. He bunched up the skirt of your dress, burying himself in material to get to your body.
"Oh yes we can." Maekar grunted as you felt his facial hair against the bare skin of your inner thigh. He kissed you slowly, intimately, and you sighed at the sensation. His hands massaging your thighs warmed you like the summer heat could never. You could not see his face, nor anticipate what he was going to do next.
You felt a single finger at your entrance, making you flinch and grab the door handle to the carriage. Maekar tickled you, as he parted your briefs slowly, his middle finger slipped against you slowly, separating your hot wet folds. You bit your lip as he then rolled his tongue between your legs, the tip of his tongue moving cruelly but deliciously slowly. You moaned with your lips pressed together, your brow tensing, almost frowning down as you watched Maekar's hulking form below, half hidden under your skirt.
"You're going to make me come in this carriage if you keep doing that." You whispered, though the sound of the horses, the carriage itself were loud enough to cover the sounds of you both.
"That's the intent." Maekar spoke against you, his tongue continuing to lick you, flick you.
You arched your back as you felt the sensation build and erupt, as you clenched your thighs against Maekar's head. You were unable to keep your cries of pleasure quiet, gripping whatever you could that was in reach, with Maekar ensuring your legs were spread wide for him.
"God's, Maekar, you're-" You stammered, panting, sweating, chest heaving below you. "Oh Maekar!" You cried and the carriage stopped to a halt.
You froze as did Maekar, his tongue had flicked your clit to an inch of her life. He kissed you between your legs and emerged from your skirt, red faced and flustered. Maekar sat in his seat as you were flustered, desperately trying to get back into yours.
The carriage door swung open as the guard, Ser Link emerged from the sunlight. He blinked, regarding you both. Maekar smoothed down his messed platinum hair as you tried to regulate your breathing, your full chest heaving.
"Is everything okay my Prince, Princess? I thought I 'eard crying."
valarr
Valarr kept his distance from you initially and you thought he was upset with the arrangement once it had been officially announced. It was both out of your control but as you began to spend more time alone with him he warmed to you, and you couldn’t get him off of you. The night of your ceremony was exhausting but passionate, and a sign of things to come.
Valarr had many obligations and as the First Born Son to the First in Line to the Throne, there were many duties for him to perfect. Especially under Baelor. He returned to your chamber late into the night often, but he always woke you in the best of ways.
You woke to his lips against yours, the sweetest way to be stirred. Valarr knelt into your bed and climbed in to join you under the sheets, already stripped and ready for you.
"Where were you this night?" You asked quietly, stretching a little as Valarr ran his hand up the side of your body across the ridges of your ribs, to the base of your arm pit. You shook from the ticklish sensation.
"There's much unrest at Iron's Spear. Father wanted my ear on the Small Council this eve." Valarr spoke so eloquently. Women were not for council meetings, or many things for that matter. He knew it intrigued you to no end and kept you informed of all that he knew. It reassured you, to know he entrusted you with such information.
As Valarr spoke he lifted your night dress slowly from the hem, bunching the material up as he pulled it over your head. Valarr rested his body onto yours and kissed you lovingly, running his fingers through your hair as you became free of clothing. You felt safest under the sheets with Valarr, it were as if nothing could harm either of you. Your hands worked their way up his body, from his plump backside, up his smooth back, around to his downy chest, up to his shoulders. Oh how the others had no idea how hairy Valarr truly was. This was all for you. Over the past few months he had grown strong from his training, on the horse, sword play, archery, to name a few. You took to watching him fight Aerion in the courtyard despite the trainer being very much much against it. You imagined it when Valarr was away from your bed, and you were alone, under the sheets as your fingers explored your body - the vision pleasured you deeply. Endlessly.
Valarr rolled his groin into you teasingly as you kissed, enough to make you gasp involuntarily into his mouth. His tongue melted against yours, almost becoming one. You couldn't help but smile as you felt him pushing down into you. It had been some months since you wed and through experimenting the many positions with Valarr, you found riding him on top was not only your favourite but also his. He would start on top of you, to get you wet and ready for him, then gently hold you as he rolled onto his back, and you were straddling him. Valarr did the same that night, each time becoming more smooth with his movements.
You rested your hands, your fingers into his hairy torso, kissing him and running your fingers up the side of his neck, through his luscious soft brown hair. Valarr sucked at your bottom lip noisily, groaning as you positioned his eager cock inside you. You were impatient. Once Valarr initiated, you unravelled so easily and happily. You felt no reason to play hard to get when you wanted it as much as he did. If not more.
Valarr held securely onto your waist, ensuring he was deep inside you and rolling you back and forth, rather than moving out of you. You sounded impossibly wet, as always; this was the effect he had on you. It was all enough to make you hum and bite your lip. You sat up and held your breasts; he loved watching you play with yourself, touch yourself. Valarr maintained the pace and felt your thighs clench against him as you finally came. You lifted your chin to the ceiling but he pulled you to him, taking your face so he could kiss you, his Wife.
daeron
You had convinced yourself Daeron hadn't been paying attention to you, listening to the conversations you engaged in whilst walking the gardens of the castle. And as you finally resigned to accept that he was too preoccupied with the thought of wine, or ale, when his next cup was, he surprised you in the most glorious of ways.
A painting of a view from home you had talked about missing dearly. A dress you had grown fond of, seeing another Lady at the Keep wear; only it was unique and embellished, more in line with the shades you wore. A necklace he believed you would adore, and right he was. You would wear it to sleep, you even wore it in the bath. As Daeron came into your chamber to surprise you with it, you were overcome with emotion, gaping at him as if he were your shooting star.
"Daeron, you-" Your bottom lip wobbled as he unhooked it and draped it around your neck, hooking the clasp back into one of the loops. You regarded yourself in the mirror momentarily before wiping tears from your eyes. It had been a hard few days; you had hardly seen him and worried he had gone missing.
"Only the best for my Princess." He gazed at you as his fingers gently grazed the skin of your shoulders, squeezing you encouragingly. "My light."
You had pounced on him, taking him by total surprise. The pair of you collapsed onto the bed and your mouth was all over him. Your sweet high pitched moans echoed around the room and Daeron clasped onto your face tightly, his tongue diving into your mouth, rolling across your tongue. He moaned back, as your hands explored his body, right to his crotch. You smiled at just feeling the size of him. One of the biggest in Westeros, no? You had posed many a night to yourself.
Daeron panted as you massaged him over his maroon breeches. You were overcome with love, passion for this man. Your Prince. He twirled your hair around his fingers as you slipped your hand into his breeches, the base of your palm stretching down his length, fingers around his solid balls that were almost as big as the palm of your hands alone. You helped him remove them from his waist, and freed his cock for you to enjoy. Daeron leant back against the bed, your lips kissing him, rubbing against him. He closed his eyes, but was desperate to watch your every move.
"Do you like your new gift?" He asked you, and you nodded without word. You released your tongue against him and licked him from base to tip slowly, and then pushed him as far as your throat could take.
Your afternoon was a heated mess of moans, tearing at clothes, rolling on the bed until you were almost dazed and dizzy, sweating and trembling. Daeron was on top one moment, his toned torso sliding against yours as he fucked you. You were then on top of him, digging your fingernails into his chest, leaving crescent-moon shaped indents in his pale skin. You cried out as he pushed his hand against your lower stomach. Daeron had pulled you into his lap as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, your mouths, your tongues unable to move apart from one another.
You had finished on the floor by the balcony, enjoying the sea breeze against your sweating bodies. Though he had come, he remained inside you, panting and exhaling loudly on top of you. You kissed the side of his face, running your hands through his soft dark blonde hair. This Prince, so unassuming, so endlessly loving.
aerion
The first few months of being married to Aerion were a lustful, passionate blur. You had barely left the castle and initially struggled to walk down the hallway without adjusting your underclothes. Your small clothes. Aerion was determined to keep you satisfied and all to himself, like at times the two of you were inseparable. Bound by an unbreakable, unseen tie.
Aerion was called to join his father on a trip to Mistwood, which made you distraught and alleviated simultaneously. Your body yearned for rest, but as you slept soundlessly on the first night, the second you gazed up at the ceiling of your bed, wondering how you would get through the coming seven days. The nights were hot and made you restless, as you lay with the sheets kicked down to your feet so you could feel the breeze against your neglected skin.
Supper's were peaceful, with most of the men away in Mistwood, except Baelor, who had come from Dragonstone, and Rhaegal who had always matters to attend to. His presence reassured you and you enjoyed his company, especially as he spoke so infrequently. On the fifth night he informed you Maekar had sent correspondence; they were delayed and would be back in a week. In your chamber you kept busy until you could no longer keep your eyes open, reading or sewing, or even painting when you had the patience for it. Only one night you cried, you allowed yourself to look up at the night sky and wonder if he were looking up at the moon, thinking of you too.
When the day finally came, you joined the others at the gate, anticipating their return. A rush of adrenaline riddled your body as you watched the procession, and felt your heart race at the sight of Aerion, gliding up on his horse and dismounting at ease. He came to you first, his platinum blonde hair fluffed from the wind.
"Princess." Aerion kissed you once, his cheeks flushed pink, as you tried maintaining your excitement. You had put on your new black and blood-red embroidered dress for it. Even seeing Maekar, you smiled at him until he rubbed your shoulder encouragingly.
You returned to your chamber at Aerion's side, your hands behind your back as you walked slowly, listening to Aerion describe the journey home, Mistwood, the tedious Lord's.
"It sounds wonderful." You said, intrigued by how Aerion had recalled it.
As you stepped through the door, Aerion closed it behind him and had started undressing before you. You watched for a moment, curious at his eagerness, as he undressed until he remained in only his red undershirt. His throbbing cock was desperate to come out.
"Take your clothes off. Or I will tear them from you." He exhaled as if he had been running uphill.
You stripped slowly for him until you were in only your stockings. As you stood up straight Aerion was at you, taking your face in his hands so suddenly you almost fell back.
Aerion's lips were forceful, passionate, as he took over your mouth, his tongue rolling into you, making you moan for him.
"Aerion."
He lifted you up onto the bed and climbed after you, guiding you back with his lips still attached to yours, determined not to break.
"My Princess." He exhaled into your mouth, as you felt his hands over your body, around your waist, down to your backside to bring you closer to him. Aerion smacked you gently and pulled away noisily from your mouth. "Turn around." He grazed his index finger across your wet bottom lip.
You turned away from him and knew then how Aerion wanted to have you. His hands grasped your backside tightly and pulled you back into him hard. You felt the tip of his erection glide over your wetness, separating your folds, as you rested your elbows into the bedding. It sent goosebumps across your back, and you pressed your mouth against the back of your forearm.
"Did you hate waiting for me?" Aerion asked, and you nodded, your platinum hair tickling your back.
As he thrusted his hard cock into you, the time apart had evaporated and it were as if he had never left you at all. The sensation of him filling you so determinedly, feeling his hands over your soft supple skin made you grab fistfuls of your bedding, squeezing tight enough you thought you may break your nails. You cried out into the bed as he spanked you, hard enough until the room filled with the sounds of smacking of skin. You arched your back like a cat as his rhythm picked up and he pounded against you harder. Aerion very rarely was gentle with you in these intimate moments, but it worked. You adored him for it.
"Did you miss me?" Aerion panted loudly, his hands both at your backside, squeezing hard, .
You lifted your head up and nodded, flexing your hands out of fists.
"Every minute."
Aerion smacked your backside again and turned you over, desperate to see your face again as he teetered on the verge of coming. He spread your legs as he settled between them and massaged your breasts. You gazed up at his face, his steely eyes as he pushed his hard cock into you again. You held your breath until you knew he was fully inside you, and finally you cried out, as he hit that spot that you could never determine if it hurt, or was painfully good.
He scrunched his nose as he thrust into you, his platinum hair messed from the intensity, the physicality. Aerion thumbed your clit as he fucked you relentlessly, as you had dreamt of since he had left. Your hands scratched his hairy thighs gently, your fingernails leaving pink lines in his skin. You knew it wouldn't be long before you came, especially when he had you this way. Seeing his face look down at yours, knowing he was pleasuring you so intensely. You bit your bottom lip, your chest heaving. Aerion had tried to make it so you both came at the same time; he usually was first, but it was never due to his lack of trying. This time you came first, clenching around his thick cock, lifting your chin up to cry out in relief as that indescribable feeling washed over your body. Within a minute Aerion released inside you, his fingers digging deep enough into your hips to leave bruises that would emerge later. Aerion ran his hands through his hair then and collapsed on top of you, his lips keen to still have you, kiss you, taste you. He licked you, from bottom lip to the tip of your nose.
As you panted against one another, you held the back of his head as it rested on your collar bone. Aerion was still inside you, and unbeknownst to you both it was in that moment you conceived your first.
baelor
Even before your ceremony you knew how busy a man Baelor was. There was much weighing on his shoulders, and an unfathomable amount on his mind. Baelor enjoyed sharing a space with you at Dragonstone, even if you were doing separate things. As you embroidered, he read and responded to letters, but when you yawned and stretched in your chair, his eyes lifted to admire you in the peace you two shared.
"Late is the hour." Baelor's rich voice was lax at this time, and you knew he only spoke when it mattered. "You should return to our chamber. I will join you soon."
You gazed up at him from your book sleepily and slowly inhaled, wondering how much longer he would be up for. You rose from your seat and moved to stand behind Baelor, hugging him gently with your arms wrapped around his shoulders. He squeezed you back then turned to kiss you, holding your face with his hand.
You settled into bed, the pillow cool against your cheek, just as you liked. On your side, turned away from the door too anxious to face it. As you began to drift to sleep, a creak in the bed stirred you back, the bedding shifted to Baelor's weight as he joined you.
His hand caressed you from behind, at your waist, he squeezed you reassuringly. The air smelled of extinguished candles, his body of his natural musk. You felt his hand at your hip, massaging you, moving down your thighs between your legs. Smiling, you pushed your face into your pillow, enjoying the sensation of his hands on you. You liked not having to do much when it came to foreplay, Baelor was all over it. He initiated mostly, and he would touch, kiss you like his life depended on it.
"You are still awake." Baelor spoke softly, you could feel it against the side of your ear.
"As are you." You smiled though he could not see your face.
You felt his body against your back, his groin gently moving against your backside. A sweet almost inaudible moan escaped your mouth as you felt his hands on you. His fingers grazed your backside, sending goosebumps rippling over you. Baelor lifted your leg to rest on him, and he found your sweet wetness, his fingers tickling you. You lifted your chin at the sensation, as he then slipped his finger inside you.
"Mm." You exhaled as he put his other arm underneath your neck to support you.
Baelor was unable to keep himself from you longer, putting your legs back together, he adjusted his dark veiny cock, sliding against the back of you, his tip gently pressing against your entrance. He wanted to fuck you from behind, you felt tighter, you moaned sweeter, more intensely. As he pushed into you, you gripped the side of the bed and felt that familiar but overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over you. Baelor held you by the waist with one hand and slowly bent his other arm underneath your neck, gently bringing it in as if he were to strangle you with his forearm but he stopped. He let you rest against him, kiss him. You resisted the urge to bite him as Baelor quickly built up his pace, fucking you harder and more adoringly. He exhaled against you, feeling you tremble, your pussy clench around him. He felt you press your backside into him and he couldn't help but smile.
"You like that, hm?" He told you.
"I love it." You sounded as if you were in pain, but it couldn't be further from the truth. Your cries rippled against his forearm.
Baelor grunted against you as he thrust harder, deeper and you gritted your teeth, stifling a high pitch moan as best you could.
"Moan for me Princess." Baelor spoke. "Don't hold it in."
You nodded, you did not care to keep it inside you any longer. You did not care his guard could hear, or your daughter in the next room may wake from the sounds. Selfishly, you wanted to make the castle walls vibrate from the moans of pleasure.
Baelor pulled out from you and guided you onto your back as he collapsed on top of you, his hands moving your messed hair from your face to see you properly. He spread your legs to rest against your body, your hands got to his wet cock before he could, massaging him and pulling him to be inside you once again. As he entered you again, you closed your eyes and tried to lift your chin, a high-pitched moan emitting from you. Baelor took your face as he began to fuck you, squeezing you just enough to make you open your eyes again.
"Look at me, my darling." He panted as he then finally kissed you.
— 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.
