Hiiiiiiii <3 to any new readers or followers! Currently have 0 lol but that’s okay! This is my first Imagine, head canon, fanfic in a really long time. So I’m kinda excited to start up again. I apologize beforehand for my grammar & punctuations. But please enjoy! Feel free to send any requests! 🫶🏼 also like & share if you’d enjoyed it! It keeps me motivated!
Maekar Targaryen
The Great Hall fell silent as you entered. Not because you demanded attention. Quite the opposite.You walked with quiet confidence, your hands folded before you, your gaze lowered in respect. Yet somehow every lord and knight seemed to turn their heads.
Maekar watched from his seat. He was not a man easily impressed. Yet his eyes followed you. The sunlight caught the curve of your cheek, and for a moment he forgot the conversation happening around him. When you finally looked up, your eyes met his. The prince’s jaw tightened. “Who is she?” he asked. A simple question. But the way he asked it made the courtier beside him smile.
“Lady Y/N Stark my prince, she has not been wed or betrothed. Stubborn I hear.” He says grinning, watching maekar make his way toward you.
Because Maekar had already decided he wanted to know everything about you. He approaches you like a stalking beast.
“Lady Y/N Stark , my prince” , you bow your head delicately. Maekar notices your breast busting out the top of your dress like a can of biscuits. He can feel himself hardening at the sight of you. You look up at him. His pupils dilated , opening his mouth slightly.
Before he can say anything, “But you already knew that, my prince” you say smirking slightly at him. He grabs your hand gently as if it would break to his touch & smiles.
“I would love to know so much more about you my lady.”
Baelor Targaryen
The training yard was loud with the clash of steel. Prince Baelor had just finished sparring when he noticed you standing near the rail. You were laughing. Not at him. At something a handmaid had whispered. The sound carried across the yard.
Baelor froze. Gods. He had heard singers with less beautiful voices. Sweat rolled down his neck as he watched you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Then you noticed him watching. Your smile faltered. His did not.
For the first time all day, the famous prince forgot entirely about duty, politics, and war.
All he could think about was hearing that laugh again.
As his squire unties his armor, baelor questions him. Trying to get any information he can about you. “She’s from house Baratheon , my prince” his squire says pulling off baelors boots. “She’s appears to be rather quiet & shy, my prince”.
“I like quiet.“ baelor says smiling.
Prince Aerion Targaryen was accustomed to getting whatever he desired. Then he saw you. You were standing beneath a flowering tree in the castle gardens, petals drifting around you like snow. The sight struck him harder than any sword. Most women rushed to gain his attention. You ignored him completely.
And that was precisely the problem. Aerion approached. You barely glanced his way before returning to your book. A slow smile spread across his face. Dangerous. Possessive. Intrigued. “You know who I am?” He says looking up and down your exposed neck.
“Yes, my prince.” You say never meeting his gaze.
“And yet you continue reading?” He steps closer shifting his belt. You turned a page. “Was I meant to stop?” For the first time in years, Aerion found himself speechless. And utterly captivated.
“You know how many women beg like dogs for a simple touch or even a quick look from me. The dragon.” He says leaning in closer. You immediately look up catching his hungry stare.
“And yet here I am. I will let you continue with your flock of women, my prince.” You smile staring into his eyes , walking away from his gaze.
Aerion couldn’t believe what just happened before his eyes. He watches you as you walk away clutching your book to your chest. The women standing along the halls gawking in disbelief at what just happened. Aerion shakes his head, trying to shake off this feeling.
It wasn’t anger or embarrassment he felt. He was intrigued. He wanted more of it. And he wasn’t going to stop till he had you sweating , moaning under him.
Daeron Targaryen
Music drifted through the feast hall. Prince Daeron sat with a cup of wine, half-listening to a bard’s song. Then you walked in. The room blurred. The music faded. All he saw was you.
You moved gracefully among the guests, smiling warmly as you greeted old friends. Unlike many court ladies, there was no calculation in your expression. Only kindness. Daeron found himself smiling without realizing it. When you reached his table, you curtsied politely. “My prince.”
His heart stumbled. The title sounded far sweeter in your voice than it ever had before. As you walked away, Daeron lifted his cup. Not for the wine. But because he suddenly needed something to steady himself.
Egg noticed Daeron in a trance. “Would you like me to speak to her for you , brother.” Daeron immediately returns to reality. “Fetch me a cup of water.” Daeron says standing fixing his hair , chugging the pale of water handed to him by a servant.
Maekar notices. Maekar looks over at baelor, nudging him lightly. “Gods, for once I think Daeron has a chance”. Egg chuckles at the sight of Daeron struggling to sober up, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable.
Valarr Targaryen
The Great Hall of Summerhall was loud with music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets, but for Prince Valarr Targaryen, the noise seemed to fade the moment he saw you.
You stood near one of the tall windows, evening sunlight pouring over your shoulders like liquid gold. The conversation around you barely held your attention as you smiled politely at a noblewoman speaking beside you.
Valarr forgot entirely what his cousin had just been saying. “Valarr?” No response “Valarr.” Still nothing. A hand landed firmly on his shoulder.
Prince Baelor raised an amused brow. “If you stare any harder, the poor lady may catch fire.” Valarr blinked and finally tore his gaze away from you. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You were.” He says bluntly, raising one eyebrow. “I was observing.” Valarr says crossing his arms. Baelor laughed outright. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”
Valarr tried to look offended, though the faint color creeping into his cheeks betrayed him. Across the hall, you turned slightly, and for a brief moment your eyes met his. The world seemed to stop. You offered a small smile. Valarr nearly forgot how to breathe.
Baelor followed his gaze and nodded approvingly. “She’s beautiful.”
Valarr looked back toward you immediately.“She is.” Baelor’s grin widened. “There it is.”
Baelor says placing his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“What?” Valarr looks up baelor with a blank stare. “The look.” Baelor says grinning from ear to ear. Valarr groaned. “I hate when you do that.”
“Do what my boy?”
“Know things.” Baelor chuckled and took a sip of wine. “Then stop making them obvious.”
Valarr glanced back toward you once more. You were laughing now, your smile bright and warm. Something tightened pleasantly in his chest. “Go speak to her.” Valarr nearly choked.
“I don’t know what to say.” Baelor looked genuinely confused. “You’re a prince.”
“That’s terrible advice.” Valarr says rolling his eyes. “It’s worked for generations.”
Valarr sighed dramatically. Unfortunately, Baelor was right. Before he could lose his nerve, he crossed the hall. You noticed him approaching immediately.The closer he got, the more handsome he seemed. He stopped before you and offered a respectful bow.
“My lady.” You curtsied gracefully. “Your Highness.” The corner of his mouth lifted.
For a moment neither of you spoke. Then you tilted your head slightly. “You were staring at me.” Valarr froze. Across the hall, Baelor nearly spit out his wine. You fought back a smile. Valarr groaned softly.
“So I wasn’t being subtle.” He looks down almost whispering. “Not even a little.” You smile. “I thought it was rather flattering.”
His violet eyes brightened. “You did?” You nodded.
Summary: You're hired by one of the senior servants to be the nanny for Prince Maekars youngest children, but when said children grow bored one day you suggest a new game and unknowingly find yourself in a compromising position below the desk of Prince Maekar.
Your transition to nannying Maekar Targaryens children was rather smooth. You had been introduced to the children first thing one morning and they all took to the immediately. "She is not old like the other nannies." "She is much kinder too." "I think father will like her more than the last one we saw." They had said when asked why they had made a decision so quick. So after only an hour had passed since your brief meeting you had been called back and given the position of nanny.
"Must we keep going through these chapters?" Aegon complained again throwing himself against the back of his seat. "They are awfully boring."
"I know, but your father has expressed an interest in you studying this book and I do not want to fall victim to his temper."
Their father, Maekar. Gods even his name drove you mad. From what little you had seen of him you had instantly formed an attraction, tall, miserable and not one to hold his tongue were just some of the qualities that drew you to him.
"I have read the same page three times miss." Aegon sighed. "I have read it four." Rhae added and you couldn't help but smile at the children. You walked over to each of their desks and took note of what page they were on before nodding to yourself.
"Rhae, Daella you may close your books. Aegon finish one more page please to catch up with your sisters and then we will end the studying."
Aegon picked his book up again and began reading. You knew he was not taking in the words on the page as his eyes scanned rapidly across each sentence, it did not matter though, you would get him to re-read the page on the next day.
"May we play a game miss?" Rhae asked as you placed Aegons book atop the others and put them on a shelf next to your desk. "I thought you were tired of me for the day?"
"Not tired of you, only tired of reading. We have been at it since we woke this morning." Aegon spoke.
"You have not, it has only been an hour little Prince, do not be dramatic." The girls laughed as you corrected their brother making him frown slightly before his eyes lit up. "May we play the hiding game again miss? I had a lot of fun when you showed it us last week."
You were surprised that the children had never played hide and seek before, though you suppose with the little interactions they had with other children it wasn't really too shocking. You had introduced them to many new games, a lot of them you had played with your siblings as you grew up and others you had learnt through nannying for other families.
"Fine, you three may go and hide and I shall count. Do not leave the castle, I don't want people to think I have lost a Prince's children because you have strayed too far. I could not stand the embarrassment of trying to explain that to your father."
"He likes you, he would not be mad."
"He does not like me Aegon, he only tolerates me because I keep you three out of the way." You explained though when you turned around each child had a wide grin on their faces. "What are you smiling for? You should be hiding or you will ruin the game." You turned back again and began counting. The girls grabbed each other's hands and quickly took off after Aegon down the corridor.
As you stood by the window and counted your eyes drifted down to Prince Maekar who was standing in the training yard watching Aerion fighting with a Knight. You had barely spoken to Maekar, the senior servant who hired you had said you should not speak to him unless spoken to and he'd rarely interrupted the time you spent with his children. Normally he avoided the rooms you were in completely and asked his children for updates on their learnings and activities of the day instead of coming to you.
You didn't mind though. His presence was intimidating and the hushed whispers between servants of his foul temper and strength in a battle was enough of a deterrent for you. Instead you admired him from afar, he was tall, broad and despite looking constantly miserable he was very handsome. His voice was deep and commanding and even though he'd never raised it to you you'd heard it carry down the halls as he shouted at a Knight who'd pissed him off and it instantly sent a wave of heat across your face and down between your thighs.
No matter how much you wanted to speak to the man you knew it was best to keep your words to yourself for you feared that if you spoke to him you would instantly melt under the gaze of his violet eyes and stern expression.
"Do you often stare out of the window for this long?" A voice dragged you from your thoughts and you quickly shot around to see Prince Baelor standing in the doorway. He stepped towards you as you offered a quick curtsy and tried to block the view before he could see out of the window but it was futile. Baelor stood taller than you and from his height he could see his brother commanding Aerion in the yard and smirked once he realised what you had been looking at so attentively.
"Forgive me my Prince, but I am playing a game with the children, I must go find them."
"Ah yes, hide and seek, I am familiar with it. Would you like some advice?"
"I do not want to know where they have hidden, that would defeat the purpose of the game." You replied and he chuckled softly. "No it is not that, when it is your turn to hide go to the furthest room at the end of the hall. They won't find you in there and you will surely win the game."
"Thank you for the advice my Prince, I must be off before they get restless." You replied and quickly bowed your head before sprinting out of the room. Baelor turned back to the window and looked down at his brother, a wide smirk gracing his face.
You'd found Aegon first, he was not hiding far from the room you had been teaching them in. "You only found me because you were taking far too long with counting that I had to talk to myself to prevent boredom."
"No you are just not very good at hiding, I said you should not leave the castle, not hide down the corridor from me. Come let us find your sisters and then I will show you all how to properly hide."
It did not take long to find both Rhae and Daella, they were curled into the wardrobe of their room together and failing to stifle their laughter as you and Aegon entered the room and quickly swung open the doors to their hiding place.
"Now that I have found you all it is my turn to hide. Make sure to count to fifty so that I have enough time to hide from the three of you. I will stick to our rules and will not leave the castle but please take your time going down the corridors, I don't want you falling over a loose stone again." You said but made a point to look at Aegon as you had spent an hour washing his knee after your last game of hide-and-seek after he'd fallen over.
They all turned their backs to you and began counting. You were enjoying playing this game with the children and despite wanting to let them win as it would be the right thing to do you decided to take prince Baelors advice and head down the darkened hallway to the room at the far end.
You had never stepped down this hall before, the senior servant said to stay away, but surely if Prince Baelor said for you to hide down here that it must have been ok for you to do so. The corridor carried on to a curve but when you peered down you could not see anymore doors aside from the one that you stood in front of so you quickly opened the door and stepped inside making sure to close it quietly behind you so that the sound would not echo back to the chambers of the children.
It only took you a few steps into the room before you realised it was the chambers of Prince Maekar. His heavy armour was settled over a rack beside a desk that was littered with papers. You should not be in here, surely you had made a mistake because Prince Baelor would not have sent you to the chambers of his brother.
Moving back to the door you quickly grabbed the handle but stopped turning it when you heard the sound of three pairs of footfalls running past the door. "No Aegon." Rhae whined. "She would not be in father's chambers I'm almost sure of it."
"We should still check to be sure." The boy protested and reached for the handle, you felt it move slightly under your palm. "Father will be mad if you knock his armour over again. Let us check down the hall and then we can come back around again." Rhae argued and a moment passed before you felt Aegon release the handle.
Once the sound of the children running away had gone you believed that it was safe to leave the room. Unfortunately for you, there came the heavy footsteps of someone else approaching the room. You panicked and believed that these had to be the steps of the Prince himself, if you left his room he would catch you but if you stood behind his door when he opened it that may just lead to a worse outcome. You quickly scurried around the room and looked for somewhere that would hide you sufficiently.
Unfortunately, the only place that was both nearby and would be quiet was his desk so you quickly threw yourself underneath it and hoped that maybe the Prince would be in and out of his chambers. "Fucking hide and seek." Maekar muttered when he entered the room slamming the door behind him. "All the things to do and she wants to play fucking hide and seek."
He sat down in his chair and pulled himself closer to the desk forcing you to back up even more so his long legs wouldn't hit you. You could hear him writing, occasionally letting out a few curse words here and there as the quill dragged along the paper above you with such a ferocity that you were sure the tip would break off.
You hoped he would finish his letter and leave but when it seemed like he was nearly done you heard a knock on the door. "What?" Maekar shouted and the door to his chambers opened.
"The children want to know if you have seen the nanny." A familiar voice called out, that of Prince Baelor. You wanted to step out, to ask the Prince if this was in-fact the right room he had suggested for you to hide in but that would obviously be an incredibly stupid thing for you to do.
"What makes you think I have seen the nanny?" Maekar groaned rubbing his hands through his hair and Baelor laughed. "You always have eyes on the nanny."
"I do not."
"You do."
Great. You thought. Now they are bickering like little children. You had to stop yourself from letting out an audible groan and drawing their attention to your position. "I suppose I should leave you now brother, do let the children know if you happen upon their nanny." Baelor spoke and Maekar only scoffed in response.
Unbeknownst to you, when Baelor turned to leave he had seen a small piece of your dress poking out from underneath his brother's desk and that was when he had put two and two together. You had listened to his advice and gone to the room he spoke of. Of course you did not know it was that of his brother's but he did and now there you were, tucked underneath the desk of his youngest brother who appeared to be completely oblivious to your presence.
"Oh." He added as he walked back to the door, a smirk still plastered on his face when he rested his hand on the smooth metal handle. "Try not to get too carried away when you think of the nanny, I do not want to explain to another servant that you are not whining out in pain."
"Shut up." Maekar scoffed and shook his head at his older brother when he left his chambers. The silence that fell upon the room when Baelor left was horrendous. You had to cover your mouth with your hands in fear of Maekar hearing your breaths as he remained seated at the desk. He hadn't picked up his quill, or shuffled through papers, he just sat there in silence and sighed to himself.
You'd thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep, his breaths had deepened and he was no longer letting out little curse words here and there. That was until he sank down in his chair and hurriedly undid the belt of his trousers. Your eyes widened when you realised what he was doing, a deep heat settled on your face when Maekar freed his cock in front of you.
You stifled a gasp when you saw it. His cock was long and thick, his large hand fit perfectly around it and you couldn't help but look down at your own as you watched him. It was already hard-hard when he pulled it out but now as he sat there, slowly stroking, it began to harden.
Closing your eyes you listened to the sound of skin on skin as he began to stroke himself faster. Your eyes shot open when you heard him spitting followed by the wet sound of his other hand, now wet with spit, taking over the movements. "Ah fuck." He moaned, his voice deliciously deep as his chest heaved with every rough jerk of his cock.
You'd kept quiet this whole time, so quiet. But then he moaned your name. Not the title given to you of nanny, but your actual name that you thought he never learned. A moan escaped your lips and you quickly threw your hands over your mouth and squeezed your eyes shut hoping he didn't hear you.
But he did. Of course he did.
You heard the soft thwacks of skin on skin stop followed by yet another painful silence. Maekar pushed his chair back, the sound of the wood scraping on the floor causing your ears to ring and soon a hand wrapped around your arm and you were dragged from under the desk, your knees scraping across the floor as he pulled you to his knee.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?" He spoke through gritted teeth, his grip on your arm would no doubt leave a bruise. "Speak woman."
"I was playing with the children my Prince. I did not realise these were your chambers until I heard you coming down the hall. I had to hide. I did not see anything I swear." You lied. His thick cock was all you could think about. It didn't help that it was still standing to attention, bulbous head leaking pre-cum that had smeared across his doublet leaving a thin white streak.
The hand that had not been stroking his cock gripped your chin and he tilted your head up forcing you to look at him. "You." He spoke, voice lower now and brows furrowed when he realised it was you he had caught. Your chest heaved against his knee as you swallowed hard.
You tried to pull away from him but he grabbed your face harder, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he kept you pressed against him. You did not know where to look. If you looked up you'd meet his eyes peering down at you, if you looked ahead you would be staring at his cock and with his grip on your face you could not look down. You tried to close your eyes but he squeezed his digits against your face making you open them again, your gaze instantly meeting his cock once more and lingering for a moment too long.
"Stop gawking woman. Have you never seen a cock before?"
"I do not mean to stare, you are just so close. I do not, I cannot look anywhere else." You stammered out an excuse to him, tripping over your words as you tried to form the right sentence to explain the looks you had given him. You were nearly drooling at the mouth as you flicked your gaze from his face down to his cock and back up again.
It felt like hours had passed from when he first looked down at you.
"You may leave if you wish."
You pondered his words for a moment and finally decided to speak your mind. "What if I do not want to leave?" Your breath caught in your throat as you spoke to him softly. You carefully moved onto your knees and rested your hands on his spread thighs. "What if I wish to taste you my Prince? Will you allow me?" You looked up to him with a pleading expression on your face keenly awaiting his answer.
Maeker stared down at you and you watched as he began to stroke his cock again, this time keeping his eyes fixed on yours as he tightened his grip around his shaft. You took that as your cue to lower your mouth to the head of his cock and suckle it causing a deep moan to fall from his lips.
He continued stroking his cock as you lapped at the swollen tip, his fist occasionally tapping you on your chin. You batted his hand away when it struck you for a fourth time and quickly replaced it with your own stroking at the same rhythm Maekar had used on himself.
"Gods woman, your mouth is divine." He spoke and you released a seductive laugh around his cock. You took more of him into your mouth now and fought the need to gag when his tip grazed the back of your throat.
"Need more spit." You spoke after letting his cock fall from your mouth earning an irritated groan to fall from his lips before Maekar looked at you with a puzzled expression. You did not give him a verbal explanation, instead you opened your mouth wide and stuck out your tongue. "Dirty bitch." He said before allowing himself to indulge, he leant forwards, gathered up his saliva from his mouth and spat it directly onto your tongue.
You returned your mouth to the head of his cock and let the mixture of spit run down the length lubricating it so you could continue to take it with ease. Lifting one large hand, he laced it through your fair as you sucked him and surprisingly he didn't force your head down. You felt his fingers flex with anticipation against your scalp when his breaths became faster and soon he was releasing his thick seed into your mouth and down your throat.
Swallowing first you allowed his cock to fall out of your mouth once more and flicked your tongue over your lips to collect the remaining cum that had gathered. You looked up to the Prince, his eyes were closed and his chest heaved with each breath he took as he tried to come down from his high.
He was so distracted in fact that he did not feel you moving away from him and standing on shaking legs, cunt dripping with want. "If you'll forgive me my Prince, I have a game that I need to finish. Do let me know if you require any further assistance." You spoke and before he'd even opened his eyes and mouth to reply you were gone, and there he sat trying to catch his breath, his cock soft against his belly as he stared at the door which you had closed.
need to lick and sniff maekar targaryen all over. press my face into his belly and just stay there forever. bite his happy trail and lick it clean after. nuzzle his crotch like a cat and
maekar targaryen is the king of grabbing your jaw/chin while kissing... immediately taking control of your face and dragging it up to his, only softening his grip and letting his hand wander to squeeze your nape after your lips touch...
You told your boyfriend who was laying in your bed, no t-shirt and his hair a mess. You two had stayed the whole day home, even though he had his shift at Captain Clark’s Empire, he decided to get high with you.
“And if i don’t?” He replied teasingly while caressing your tummy and taking an inhale of his messily wrapped blunt.
“I’ll make you” you said, caressing his hair tenderly.
“C’me on pretty girl… ain’t nothing better than to have this thing in one’s mouth y’know?”
You giggled, your boyfriend was always so hard-headed sometimes.
“Although, if you gave me something better to taste..”
His hand stopped caressing your tummy and went lower, trailing his fingers up and down your exposed thighs and the hem of your dress.
“You will turn that shit off?” You said, liking the idea.
“Hell yeah” he said, placing the blunt out of the bed and getting atop of you, kissing your lips gently. His mouth tasted of something sweet, apart from the bitter taste of what he was consuming earlier.
His hand kept massaging your thighs, trailing your dress up until it was placed at your hips. He was taking his time, as he always did, but you already felt yourself dripping.
His fingers slid under the waist of your panties, pulling them agonizingly slow down your legs as if he knew the anticipation was killing you.
When the fabric was completely out of you, he began to kiss your thighs, stopping at the vertex where it passed over your anxious core.
"Babe, c'mon." You begged, moving your hips towards him. He gave in to your plea, burying his face in your pussy and dragging his tongue through your slit before surrounding your clit.
You were startled by the delicious touch, letting him mistreat your lower half so that your legs now hung on his shoulders. Your back arched over the mattress while he sucked your clit and circled it with his tongue.
“Mmmph—“ he mumbled with his mouth full of your juices.
He was absolutely right; this was a better use for his mouth. You two would probably do this whenever he got high, but you would never leave his room.
“Babe that's s’good—mmph."
He quickly got pussydrunk with your moans of praise, gently nibbling on your bud before sucking it again. You planted a hand in his hair, bringing his head even closer, if that was possible. Your grip made him moan in your pussy, the vibrations ran through you while you tried not to squeeze his head with your thighs.
Feeling that you were quickly reaching the edge, he let go of one of your thighs to insert a finger into your trembling hole. Then he added a second, making you move your hips to the rhythm of the rapid movements of his fingers.
“Fuck babe! imm…imm—gonna”
Just when you were about to cum, he took his mouth away and slowed down the movements of his hand. That bastard had the smuggest smile ever.
“Gonna what? Mmm pretty girl? Think you deserve it?
"Please."
"I don't know, you were pretty mean to me, making me turn off my dutchie and didn’t even apologize”
He was joking with you and enjoying it a lot. He gave a quick turn to your clit, not enough to take you to the limit, but enough to make you breathe choppy, wanting more.
"Maybe you should beg for it."
"Babe, please, I'm so close." That wasn't enough for him since he shook his head with false disappointment.
“m’sorry m’so so sorry please please make me cum”
You leaned on his fingers, hoping that your words were enough to convince him. It was, and in an instant, with a smug smile, he was licking and sucking your pussy again, moving his fingers to what looked like the speed of lightning.
He didn't give up when you reached the climax, instead guiding you through it while your eyes rolled and you made incomprehensible noises. He continued with the abrupt rhythm until you pushed him back because of the overstimulation.
Then he slowed down until he stopped, giving your clit one last kiss that made you shrink before approaching to be face to face with you. You kissed him, tasting yourself, and all of him. That almost made you want to push his head down again. Not that he would mind.
“Ma pretty girl satisfied now?” He said, leaning to kiss on your neck.
You felt something hard grinding against your thigh, and you looked down and smiled before turning to your boyfriend, now with rosy cheeks.
"Someone’s excited too"
a/n: no use of his name because ‘Bobby’ is unmoaneable. Pussy dryer 3000. #sorrynotsorry
Ive had a thought, and I just need to share it with someone- Maekar #1 biggest fan of his partner having bush 😩 like imagine his reaction when one day BOOM, bush has been removed, I just know he’d hate it
ɢᴏɴᴇ | ᴍᴀᴇᴋᴀʀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ
─ summary: You do something new for your husband. He kinda hates it for a little but only for a little bit.
─ pairing: Maekar Targaryen x reader
─ content: 18+ MDNI | smut | p in v | no plot | fluff if you squint
─ a/n: I was giggling writing this. Thank you for your patience…we are slowly working through this inbox. 🖤
This week had been a slow-moving torture of missed connections. Maekar would stumble into your shared chambers long after the moon had reached its zenith, his face etched with the day's battles, only to find you deep in an exhausted sleep. When you woke, the space beside you was cold, his scent a fading ghost on the pillows. It was a chasm of silence and solitude, and you had grown tired of it. That morning, you had summoned Maekar's steward. "You will tell my husband," you instructed, your voice leaving no room for argument, "that his work ends today at the seventh hour. He will join me for dinner. He will not be late." The steward, a man who had seen the your husband’s frustrations at the constant near-misses, simply bowed. "Of course, my lady."
You spent the afternoon orchestrating the evening. The kitchens were a hive of activity, preparing everything Maekar favoured. You wanted to care for him, to wash the week's exhaustion from his bones with food and wine and quiet affection.
Dinner was a success. The tension in his shoulders finally unwound, and the lines around his pale violet eyes softened as he spoke of his day, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the table. He fed you from his own fork, his fingers lingering on your lips, a silent promise of what was to come. When you finally retired to your bedchamber, the air was thick with unspoken need. The week of abstinence had been a strain on you both; your life together was a passionate, physical one, and this dry spell had left an ache.
"You have missed your husband, I think," he teased, his voice a low growl as he pulled you into his arms. His silver-blond hair brushed against your cheek, and the faint, coarse scratch of his beard was a familiar, thrilling sensation against your skin.
You wound your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. "And you, my lord," you murmured against his mouth, "have you missed your wife?" His answer was a kiss, deep and hungry. He backed you toward the bed, his hands roaming possessively over your curves, undressing you as he went, his touch igniting a fire low in your belly. You fell onto the soft furs, a tangle of limbs and growing urgency. His mouth moved from yours to your throat, nipping and sucking, and you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.
"Maekar," you breathed, your fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. "I did something… for you."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes dark with lust and curiosity. A slow smile spread across his lips. "Did you now?" he rumbled. "Show me."
You sat up and gripped the hem of your silky shift. In one fluid motion you pulled it over your head and cast it aside. The firelight kissed your skin, and you watched his face, your own breath held tight in your chest. His smile faltered. His eyes, which had been filled with a hungry heat, widened slightly. The look on his face was a flash of pure, unadulterated dismay.
"What is this?" He pushed himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on the juncture of your thighs. "Who did this to you?"
A knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. "You… you do not like it?" you asked, your voice smaller than you intended.
The sound of your voice seemed to break him from his stupor. He saw the uncertainty in your eyes, the slight tremble in your lower lip, and his expression immediately softened. He reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "No," he said quickly, then corrected himself. "I mean, yes. You are beautiful, perfection, as always."He sat up fully, his muscular torso bathed in firelight. "But I love the look of you, all of you."
You could not help the small pout that formed on your lips.
He saw your disappointment and leaned in, pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to your mouth. "You are spectacular," he insisted, his voice a low, earnest murmur against your lips. "But please, do not let that butcher touch you again."
A small, watery laugh escaped you at his dramatic choice of words. The tension in the room broke, replaced by something more complex, a mixture of your lingering disappointment and his overwhelming affection. He pulled you back down onto the furs, his mouth finding yours again. The kiss was different now, less frantic, more apologetic and tender. But the week of built-up need was a powerful force. His hands began to roam again, rediscovering your body, and the heat between you began to rebuild, slowly at first, then with a sudden, ferocious intensity. He rolled on top of you, and when he entered you it was with a groan of pure relief.
He began to move, his strokes deep and punishing, and as he took you, as he watched his thick, glistening cock disappear into your body, something shifted in him. He had been dismayed, yes, but now he was transfixed. Without the soft, neat curls he could see everything. He could see how the perfect, swollen folds of your cunt spread around his length, see how utterly soaked you were for him, your slickness coating him, shining in the firelight. The visual was filthy, intimate, and undeniably erotic. He could see every detail of your body's response to him, and it drove him wild with a possessive lust.
"Gods," he grunted, his rhythm growing faster, harder. He gripped your hips, pulling you onto him with each thrust, the sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the quiet chamber. "How long," he panted, his gaze locked on where you were joined, "until it grows back?"
"Four moons or so," you gasped, your hands clutching at his powerful shoulders, your body arching to meet his brutal pace.
A rough, breathless laugh escaped him. "Well, there is no point in waiting around." He drove into you, his hips snapping hard against yours. "We might as well make the most of this." The sheer, unexpected amusement in his voice, mixed with the power of his thrusts, sent you over the edge, and you cried out his name as your release tore through you. He followed you moments later with a hoarse shout, burying himself deep inside you and spending inside you, marking you as his.
As you lay tangled together, panting in the firelight, you could not help but laugh, a deep, satisfied sound. He was an impossible man.
oh my goshhh! i loved the follow up to 7 steps !! 🥹 keep them coming please!🙏 maybe something about the birth, or them being new parents? 🫶
Aerion 'Brightflame' Targaryen x Reader
Summary: A heated argument with him sends you into labor.
Word count: 3k
Took quiet some time but this is for you pookie.
King's Landing smelled exactly as you remembered, salt from Blackwater Bay, smoke from a thousand hearths, fish, sewage, damp stone, and too many people packed too closely together. But beneath it all lingered the sweetness of summer flowers climbing through the terraced gardens, stubbornly blooming above the city's filth as though none of it concerned them.
You had forgotten how overwhelming it was or perhaps distance had simply polished the memory.
The smell hit you the moment the wheelhouse passed through the gates of the Red Keep. Instinctively, you pressed the back of your hand briefly to your nose before deciding that was an undignified gesture for a princess and lowering it again.
Across from you, Aerion glanced up from the letter in his hands. He had been reading the same reports for most of the journey. You suspected this particular letter was on its fourth inspection.
“We can return,” he said, he had been reading and re-reading reports for the last three hours of the journey, as though the words might rearrange themselves into better news if he gave them enough attention.
“We cannot,” you said pleasantly. “You know that.” You shifted against the cushioned seat, or tried to, at nine months along you had, made peace with the fact that your body was no longer entirely your own. The child moved as it liked and your ankles complained regularly. Still, you managed.
The Red Keep rose around you as the wheelhouse came to a stop, and Aerion was already reaching for your arm when the door opened, his hand settled at your elbow, steady and firm.
The days that followed passed in a blur.
Aerion had barely set down his travel cloak before the summons came, Maekar, requesting his presence at the first of what would be many meetings, briefings, discussions that bled from afternoon into evening into the following morning. The rebellion was not yet a rebellion, it was still a rumour with increasingly credible sources, movements of men in the Riverlands, conversations that should not have been had, allegiances tested quietly at the edges, and Maekar intended to deal with the problem before it became a war.
Aerion understood this. He had said so himself, in the brief intervals when he was with you. He understood the urgency; he agreed with his father's decision to act before the situation kept growing.
What he did not seem to understand was how exhausted he looked. You saw it in the mornings first, the dark circles beneath his eyes that had been there when you arrived and deepened with each passing day, staining the skin beneath them to the colour of a bruise. He slept perhaps three hours, perhaps less, and you knew because you felt the absence of him in the bed before you fully woke. By the time you were awake he was already at his writing desk, surrounded by maps and reports, a candle burned to almost nothing beside him.
You saw it in his movements. He was precise by nature, controlled, deliberate, each gesture measured, but under enough exhaustion that precision began to fray. Small things, the way he set down a goblet slightly harder than necessary, the slight tightening around his eyes when someone spoke to him at a volume, he found unnecessary.
His temper had always been a live thing. He had worked, with considerable effort and at considerable cost, to shorten its leash. But a leash under pressure tends to loosen.
You said nothing yet. You watched, and you waited.
You were not present for the council meeting that day. You heard about it afterward, in pieces, from a maid who had it from a steward who had stood outside the doors.
The meeting had begun well, by all accounts.
King Maekar had laid out the intelligence gathered so far, the scale of the rumoured movement, the families implicated, the question of where the rebellion might grow if left unchecked. Several of the older knights had offered assessments, cautious and conservative in the way men became when they had survived enough wars to be suspicious of certainty.
Then Aerion had presented his strategy.
He had prepared thoroughly, you knew this because you had watched him prepare, had seen the maps spread across the table in your chambers at all hours, had woken in the night to find him still working by candlelight, his silver hair loose around his face, his finger tracing routes through the Riverlands with intensity. He had done the work; there was no question of that.
His proposal was bold, decisive, characteristically Aerion. Strike early and disrupt supply routes, force the conspirators into the open before they could unite. But then Ser Duncan the Tall had spoken.
Not loudly, not with any evident desire to undermine, simply in his direct, honest manner. He had identified the flaw. The strategy assumed the rebellion's consolidation point was where intelligence suggested. But intelligence on the ground, Duncan had noted, indicated two separate and apparently uncoordinated movements. Aerion's plan addressed one, but it left the other entirely free to act while attention was directed elsewhere. Worse, it might inadvertently drive the two movements together, forging unity where there had previously been only parallel discontent.
He had offered an alternative, less elegant, but more methodical, requiring patience and a longer timeline. The room had fallen silent, Maekar had considered it and the others followed.
The storm had been building since midday.
You'd watched it from the windows of your chambers as dark clouds crept across the horizon, swallowing the sunlight piece by piece. By the time evening fell there was nothing left of the sky at all, only a low, churning dark pressed against the towers of the Red Keep, and the rain had begun in earnest, wind rattled the shutters hard enough to make them shudder in their frames, and cold drafts slipped beneath the doors.
You had tried to read, after the third time rereading the same page, you gave up.
Nine months pregnant to the day, you had spent the last week adjusting to a new kind of discomfort. The weight of the child seemed lower now, settled deep in your body. Pressure came and went in strange waves, leaving an ache behind that never fully disappeared. The maester assured you it was normal; your body was preparing itself.
That knowledge should have been reassuring, instead, it made everything feel worse. You shifted carefully in your chair and rested a hand on the curve of your stomach. The child moved beneath your palm, slow and heavy.
Aerion had returned from the council chambers in the early evening; he barely moved in over an hour. The flames cast shifting light across his face, catching in his silver hair and painting sharp shadows beneath his cheekbones. He looked carved from stone, one elbow rested against the arm of the chair, fingers curled loosely against his jaw. His eyes remained fixed on the fire.
These days you could read him almost as easily as weather, he had been worse than he had been in a long time. Plans for the rebellion had reached a critical stage. Meetings stretched late into the night. Reports arrived faster than anyone could answer them. Prince Maekar was making decisions Aerion disagreed with, and disagreement sat poorly with him even under ideal circumstances.
You saw it in the tightness around his eyes. In the clipped replies he gave servants who happened to arrive at the wrong moment. In the way his shoulders never seemed to fully relax anymore, as if he expected another problem to appear the instant he looked away.
The problem was that the discipline was running out, you had watched it running out, and had been patient, had given him space, and you had tried in small ways to be steady around him, tried to become one thing in his life that required nothing from him.
“My love,” you said quietly. “What's wrong?”
His gaze stayed on the fire, hard, distant, the flames reflecting in his violet eyes until they seemed almost unreal. You waited and he still said nothing.
“Aerion.”
A thunder cracked, a long, rolling sound that shook the window in its frame, and for the briefest moment, something shifted in his expression, you thought he might answer, a muscle jumped near his temple and he exhaled through his nose.
“Nothing,” he said.
You adjusted yourself in the chair, slow and careful. The movement sent another dull ache through your lower back. One hand settled automatically over your stomach where the pressure had been building all evening. “Don't push me away,” you said. “Talk to me.”
“I said-.”
“I heard what you said.”
Something flashed in his face, the last of the control giving.
“Nothing!”
The word came out sharp and loud and far harsher than anything he had directed at you in a very long time; the rain battered the windows.
You were quiet for a moment.
“I know you're stressed-.”
“You know nothing about stress.” His voice had dropped again, low and venomous. “What would you know about it? You sit here all day, you read and you wait for me to come back and fuck you like a slut every night.”
For a moment neither of you spoke, you looked at him and he was staring at the fire again, jaw tight, breathing fast, and you could see, that he knew. The moment the words had left his mouth, some part of him already knew, the ugly implication behind them.
“You can be an asshole all you want,” you said at last, your voice steady despite the hurt pressing against your ribs. “But I know you don't actually think that about me.”
“Don't act like you know me.” His voice was low, cracking at the edges, just slightly, a fault line beneath the venom. “You don't know what I'm dealing with.”
“Aerion, I'm your wife-.”
“You're carrying my child.” He turned from the fire at last, and his eyes met yours, the fury was still there, so was exhaustion, and underneath both, buried deep enough that most people would have missed it entirely, was fear, raw and desperate. “That doesn't mean I owe you sweetness every second.”
You pushed yourself to your feet.
It was slow, he shifts forward pulled at your lower back, and the familiar ache settled across your hips as you straightened. Still, you rose, because you refused to sit there and let him speak to you like that, you were his wife. You had given him more of yourself than he could possibly understand, and you would not simply absorb his anger because he happened to be carrying too much of his own.
“Aerion.”
You reached for his arm, slowly.
He jerked away, a reflex, already drowning in his own thoughts and he couldn't bear being touched in that moment. He moved his arm and by mistake, a miscalculation, his hand pushed you away.
It didn’t require much force and balance failed you. Your foot slipped on the damp stone. You felt the world tilt, the floor disappearing beneath you. You fell, hard enough on your side to drive the breath from your lungs, enough to send a sharp, frightened sound from your throat before you could stop it, enough to leave you sprawled on the stone floor, one hand pressing flat against stone while the other flew immediately to your stomach.
Then you felt it, the warmth between your thighs, a sudden rush between your thighs, your heart stopped and you lowly looked down, realization hitting you all at once.
You raised your head and Aerion was already staring at you.
He had seen your face, the wide-eyed terror that you could not control, the way your other hand pressed against your belly with a groan that wasn't only pain. You watched the comprehension move through his face. Watched the anger disappear so completely it was as though it had never existed, replaced by something you had never seen on him in all the time you had known him.
Pure horror.
He dropped to his knees beside you so quickly the movement was almost clumsy. His hands hovered helplessly over you, unable to decide where to touch, terrified of making anything worse. His voice when he found it had nothing of the earlier cruelty left in it, was cracked and desperate.
He said your name, coming out in pieces. He said it again, louder, and again.
You felt the world go grey at the edges.
“No.” His voice broke. “No. No, stay with me-.”
He slipped one arm under your shoulders, the other against your back, taking you to the bed with tenderness. He was shaking, you could feel it in his hands, a fine tremor running through the same hands that had wielded swords, reduced to shaking by this one thing, this one moment, this thing he had done without meaning to.
“Guards!”
The shout cracked through the room and through the door and into the corridor beyond, not a command but a plea. The door burst open, weapons were half-drawn before the guards understood what they were seeing. He didn’t even look at them.
“Get the maester.” His voice had gone frighteningly quiet. “Now.”
The room exploded into motion. Voices, footsteps, the fire being stoked higher so that the room blazed with sudden light, linens appearing from somewhere, the sound of running in the corridor beyond. Aerion's hand found yours, cold fingers intertwined with colder ones, he held on tightly and his other hand settled over the curve of your belly. Then he leaned forward until his forehead rested against your temple, words coming out in a whisper, just for you.
“I'm sorry.” His voice fractured on the word. “I'm so sorry.” He said it again, and again. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.” The same desperate prayer, each syllable trembling and broken.
You came back to yourself in fragments. A contraction rolled through you with terrifying force, dragging you upward from darkness and slamming you back into your body. Your breath came back first, sharp and gasping, and then your eyes, unfocused on the ceiling and the blazing light above you, then the awareness of where you were, what was happening, the sound of the maester's voice somewhere at the edge of your hearing giving orders.
And through all of it Aerion's hand, still holding yours, your fingers tightened around his.
Another contraction hit, harder than the first, and your back arched and your fingers dug into his hand with a force you had not known you possessed, and a moan escaped that you couldn't contain. You heard the maester's voice cutting through the chaos, clear and firm.
Aerion caught your hand to his lips, a kiss against your knuckles, soft, and then another on the back of your palm, his breath warm and unsteady there, lingering like a prayer he hadn't finished saying, his forehead dipped toward your hand.
“It's okay,” you whispered.
His head lifted immediately, and his eyes found yours, the disbelief in his face almost hurt to see. You were pale and soaked in sweat, in more pain than you had known existed before tonight, and somehow you were the one comforting him.
“It's not your fault,” The words wavered but held.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It is,” he said, barely above a breath.
“We can argue about that later.” A weak smile touched your lips. “After.”
Something moved through his expression, something he could not contain and did not try to, for once. He turned his face away for a moment and pressed your hand against his cheek, and you felt him breathe, just breathe, the shaking in his hands had not entirely stopped.
“Push, my lady.” The maester's voice cut through everything. “Now.”
You obeyed.
The sound that came out of you was nothing you recognized as your own voice. It came from somewhere animal and desperate, and your body tensed into it like a bow being drawn past its limits, Aerion stayed beside you, steady as stone, allowing you to crush his hand if you needed to.
“Again! Push!”
You screamed and you pushed harder than the first time.
And then, a cry, small, thin, breaking through the storm and the pain and the chaos of the room like a needle through cloth.
The maester lifted the child, small and red-faced and furious, wailing his outrage at existence. Through your exhaustion you caught sight of silver hair gleaming in the candlelight, that was entirely, unmistakably Aerion’s.
Then the maester's expression changed, only slightly.
“Another.” The room froze. “A second babe my lord, and tangled.”
Aerion's hand went cold around yours; you looked at him, is attention snapped toward the master then toward you. The contractions returning, faster now, harder, your body pressing on before you had been given a moment to simply breathe.
“I can't,” you cried, you had given everything you had, there was nothing left in you to give. “I can't do it-.”
“You can.” The maester's voice, firm but not unkind. He wouldn’t dare to do so in the presence of the brightflame prince.
Aerion bent close, his mouth brushed your ear.
“You can do this.” His voice was rough at the edges, still cracking. “My princess. You are the strongest person in this room. You are the strongest person I have ever met-.” His hand tightened around yours. “You can do this. Do you hear me? You can.”
Somewhere inside yourself, you found one final reserve you didn't know where it had been hiding, didn't know how it still existed.
You pushed, your back lifted from the bed, and Aerion's arm went behind you, an anchor, solid and unwavering, bracing you against the force of yourself.
And then silence, the maester working with swift, silent efficiency, and the room holding its breath around him, and no sound from where the second child should have been. No cry came, no sound. The maester's hands moved, one firm touch, once, twice. He leaned down and breathed into its tiny lungs.
Then, a faint hiccup, so small you almost imagined it. One more breath from the master, one more firm touch against it, and then a cry.
Thin and wavering and furious and entirely, completely, overwhelmingly alive. Your eyes filled instantly, tears spilled before you could stop them. Aerion exhaled hard, pressing a hand over his eyes, a single, private instant, and then it dropped. He looked at the two small faces being cleaned and wrapped in the firelight.
The midwife placed one child carefully in his arms and he looked down. Small, red-faced, silver-haired, tiny fists already protesting the world with remarkable determination. And suddenly every wall he had ever built disappeared, there was nothing left of the prince, there was only a father holding his son.
He leaned toward you, slowly, the child cradled against his chest, and pressed his lips to your forehead, careful and gentle, filled with something too large for words.
You looked at the child in your own arms, your bundle of small, perfect outrage, and felt the child in his being shifted gently closer, until two very small faces were inches apart. Both silver-haired, both absolutely, terrifyingly, entirely real.
“Twins,” you whispered, your voice came out hoarse and ruined but you did not care at all.
Aerion looked at you, his eyes still glassy. “Twins," he said.
“They're perfect,” you said.
He looked down at the small face in his arms.
Then, quietly. “Yes,” he said. “They are.” His thumb brushed the baby's cheek.
Neither of you spoke for a while, your head rested against his shoulder, his arm lay around you. The child in your arms had finally settled, his tiny face relaxed into a peaceful expression, you brushed your thumb over his cheek, his skin was impossibly soft, untouched by wind or sun or the roughness of the world.
You could have stayed like that forever.
“How are we going to call them?” you asked, your voice came out softer than intended, almost swallowed by the crackling fire. The question felt delicate somehow, as though speaking too loudly might break whatever fragile thing had settled over the room.
Aerion was quiet for a moment.
“I have been thinking about it for some time,” he said at last. “I was hoping for your approval.”
You lifted your head enough to look at him and his eyes were on the child in his arms, the first-born.
“Tell me.” you said.
He was quiet for another moment.
“Baelor,” he said. “And Maekar.” He was still watching the child in his arms, and the line of his mouth lifted, too sad to be a full smile. “It is my own immaturity that killed my uncle,” he said with and even voice. “Not my father. It was only my fault.”
He turned slightly, and something in his face stopped the protest before it reached your lips.
“I do not need reassurance,” he said. “Nothing is going to change my mind about that.”
You closed your mouth and he looked back at the child.
“But I thought…” His fingers adjusted the blanket around the baby with surprising care. “Perhaps I could give them another chance. In this new life.” He paused. “To be brothers again.”
The tears came before you could stop them and he turned to look at you then. Whatever reaction he had expected, it clearly was not this, his hand rose, he brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, slow and careful.
“Why are you crying, my love?” he asked with genuine confusion.
“Because what you're doing is utterly sweet, Aerion.” Your voice trembled despite yourself. “I'm proud of you.”
For a moment he simply looked at you.
“And of course you have my approval,” you added.
A quiet breath escaped him, a soft laugh, it lingered somewhere close to happiness in his chest. He looked down at the child in his arms, Baelor II. Aerion lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the child's forehead, the touch so light it barely disturbed him.
The child in your own arms stirred, a small, restless shifting, one tiny fist uncurling and recurling against your nightgown, Maekar II. The one who had frightened everyone, the one who had arrived second and nearly not at all, and who seemed, in the brief time you had known him, to have inherited his father's particular talent for making an entrance.
A second chance to be brothers again, in a new life.
