you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
Can we please stop making virgin/innocent readers act like literal toddlers. Thanks.
Virgins still have a general if not very clear concept of how sex works, we're not fucking idiots.â€ïž And stop making "bookworm!" Readers only read smut, that's not book worm, thats smut addict. You guys are so annoying. "Oh it hurts! It won't fit!" *Sob sob sob* "you're so pure, I don't want to ruin you" Actually shut the fuck up. Virgin doesn't mean stupid baby who has no basic or full concept of human anatomy.
-Saying as a virgin who knows more about sex than most people in my state and have never attended sex ed.
Innocent reader in general makes me mad because literally anyone over the age of 13 has a general understanding of sex unless you're literally sheltered with no access to the internet and that's neglect. Stop promoting age play even if it's unintentional, it's disgusting and misogynistic. Stop making virgins sound brain dead just because they haven't had sex. And it is that serious because people are gonna think that's how we act in person.
AND STOP ASSOCIATING VIRGINS WITH CHRISTIANITY. You guys are so fucking weird and not in a good way. Do I know this is mean? Yes. Do I care? No, because most of you are in your late 20's-30's typing up this shit and should know the difference between realistic first time and the misogynistic expectations first time. Also virgins masterbate, so I don't wanna hear "what would you know!"
In which Valarr Targaryen is the embodiment of Venus-Kissed By Aphrodite.
About:: Headcanons of Reader-drunk!Valarr.
Valarr Targaryen, the epitome of Kissed By Aphrodite, soul and all. He believes in the beauty of everythingâabout you. His wicked sense of valor, honor, and the weight of being the heir of the heir, all comes collapsingâŠbecause of you.
He believes in beauty. Heâs Venus, as a boy.
Valarr loves the beauty of every little aspect of you. His fingers, it focuses on you. His touches, as soft as his silver struck hair. He believes in beauty, and gentleâbelieves in you. Heâs literally Venus as a dragon, with an arousal so accurate, he sets off the beauty in you. And you, oh you little minxâwith your wicked little sense of humor, youâd get him all on your lips, devoured and devoted.Â
Warnings:: Fluffy and poetically sensual as possible? á”!á” Possibilities of an NSFW! version. á”!á” Will TRY to do the best of my abilities to make this as sensually evocative and poetic as possible. á”!á” Valarr being drunk off of readerâfiguratively and literally. á”!á” Aerion version next⊠á”!á” Oneshot version incoming! á”!á” Based off the song âVenus as a boyâ by Bjork. á”!á” Okayâmaybe some poetic intimacy as wellâŠ
Pairing: Valarr x adorned with love!Reader.
Venusboy!Valarr, who was Venus as a boy. A prince kissed by the greatest of dragons, gifted with valor, blessed of paragon, and adorned with the epitome of perfection. He was kissedâno, graced, by Aphrodite; his visage and essence, every sculpted detail of him, bloomed with resplendent sublime. He was the heir of the heirâimpeccability and duty, an imperative focus, divinely commanded by a silver of timeâthe momentâhis pair of lavender-covered fields and Dornish sunset eyes had woken.
Yet, as his softened amethyst and topaz pair of eyes drifted mindlessly onto you during a feast, a blessing disguised in boredom, he knew. Oh, how he knew. Valarr knew the moment his gaze fell on you that you would be the catalyst of his life. You see, this man wasnât one to love in the name of love. Valarr was habituated to envision that most marriages were about duty, power, and alliances in his structured, rigid mind. Though, as you sat there, ornamented in the colors of his mix-matched wonders, lavender coatedâŠwith that aureate halo, exuding from you effortlessly, laughing at some ââidioticââ jest Matarys shared⊠Oh, how his poor mind was inflamed into nothing and reborn like a phoenix. You, you littleâŠgoddess, you. Knocking down the iron walls of his palace of a mindâa curated resemblance of his fatherâwith ease, grace, and your stupidlyâwait, no, your achingly beautiful smile, that pretty gift you grace anyone with carelessly, as if it was just someâŠHeavenly present you could give to anyone.
Venusboy!Valarr, who adorns you with his all, devotion running through every sense in his bodyâredirected towards you. This man is a full-time yearner and a prince off the side. A ââdeprivedââ carnivore whose greed asks for more, for your needs. A man whoâs so desperately, hopelessly smitten that it aches in the depths of his stomach, gnaws in his mind, and hurtsâŠbelow. His wantâno, need, for your everything is so ineffable, his love language is practically every category on rotation, on repeat, like a continuous cycle depending on your every fancy. Heâs Venus, a statue of an Amorist.
Venusboy!Valarr, who literally only daydreams, dreams, and thinks about you. You werenât this constant thought in the back of his mind, disturbingâhaunting him anytime he drifted into his contemplations, you WERE in his mindâyou ARE, his mind. To the moon and back, from the Red Keep to Winterfell, in his conscious, subconscious, in his soulâŠyou werenât just haunting him, you were marching into his mind, bold and confident, carrying a saccharine plague he willingly volunteers to get sick from. He was ill, ill because of you. The lovesick disease you just had,
âYou were like poison.
An enticingâŠscent, so sweetâa taste, bite, so deadly.
It was the only thing keeping him going. He was immune and permeable, ubiquitously.
Venusboy!Valarr, whose love language is of every aspect, rotated constantly like clockwork. He believed in beauty; he was like Venus as a boy. He was athirst for you, body and all, sets off the beauty in you, sees you in a way of curated supernal. This man drank you in like the summer wine, boasting with odes, ballads, and poems. He was as poetic as it could getâhigher than Shakespeare. He would force Matarys and little Aemon, inducing philosophical rants regarding you, proclaiming how your beauty, inwardly and outwardly, was ââof the higher planes,ââ a concept that was perfect, scientifically perfectâno, BEYOND perfect, beyond the laws of what could be real and is real. Goes deeper than the depths of the Dornish sea, goes deeper than any knowledge of any maesters, and lingers.
Venusboy!Valarr, whose wicked sense of humor, painfully beautiful, other-worldly beauty of both the silver-adorned and gold-clad dynasty, and his body, mind, soul, touch, fingers, all focused on you. He explored the depths of your silk-embellished vines of flowers, explored the taste of you. Arousal, so accurate. Love, soâŠprecise. He was reduced to a man fully devoted to you. (god forbid a husband just wants to put your needs before anyone else?!). His emotions, actions, and decisions, all centered on you. Itâs as if you conditioned him to be your personal servant, softening the dragonâs fire, reducing it to warmth, and a man who worships you more than he had ever worshipped the old gods and the new, all at the same time. This man was the epitome, embodiment, quintessential, and ultimate of a yearner. His love for you was insatiable and satiable, rough and soft, all just acted upon the name of his love. (This man would totally kiss the floors of the Red Keep where you walked)
Venusboy!Valarr, who would openly, verbally express and convey his love for you, as if every hour shared between you was just a private, intimate moment, a world, a day, just revolving around you both. It was so grand and overboard, to the point where your ladies and the lords of the court would seethe with jealousy. The ladies would oftentimes whisper with envy and care about how ââyouâre practically smothered with Valarrâs love.ââ The lords would complain constantly among themselves about how their very wives would always incessantly ânagâ them about treating them just as much as how Valarr would treat you. It was such a hot topic that sparked debates and gossip; the echoes of their gossip had reached the very streets of Kings Landing. Seven hells, there was no need for any gossip anyway, when he would already show his devotion to you in the commonâs eye. Itâs likeâŠValarr was the staple of affection; your whole relationship was just screaming, âtreating your wife as an angel sent from the seven gods themselves.â It wasnât even verbally proclaimed, but hell, it was most definitely stated in the way he would look at you.
Venusboy!Valarr, who would follow you around, grabbing the laces and silks of your dress, roaming his fingers, looming like a ghost, exactly like that one scene in Pride and prejudice, where Bingley had followed Jane Bennet around like a lost puppy, totally entranced by her.
Venusboy!Valarr, who describes you as a gift sent from the seven heavens to bless this earth with your beauty and grace. He would ramble like a mantra how âYou were as if every god, angel, and dragon had given you a divine gift themselves of every heavenly quality a goddess could acquire.â Valarr would yap about how you had every quality of just pure seraphic and beauty, would speak of how you were ethereally elysian, how your laugh was the symphonies of his dreams, how your face, body, and mind were architectured by the godsâevery feature and function of you just curated with attentiveness and care. You were the sunâs lively, cheerful human version, radiating off the golden vibrations, the moonâs mystifying siren, alluring him to his âdoomâ, and the universeâs spoiled, spoiled daughter. You were just everything a man, woman, or organism would desire. And everything, Valarr thirsted for.
Authors notes: Aerion version will be in the works, more versions will be promised (all just "evocative" sensual ways to describe the AKOTSK men as down bad for reader) and an extended version of this will also be uploaded later at night (I think??) ALSO, should I make a oneshot version of this ++ with dialogue and Valarr yearning EVEN MORE?! đđ
I wanted this to be as poetic, mustering up any forms of describing my sentences, I know it may be odd for some archaic words to be implemented but I just LOVE them, Idk, I like to express myself and my writing as such.
Also, like in the "warnings," an NSFW version will also be published (So many works, I'm worried I'm all talk and no actions) but I will be making a more organized list for me to remember. Anyway, hoped you all liked it, I didn't really add any dialogue, but I just wanted to be descriptive.
Grey Wind will not allow reader and Robb to have even a moment of time alone together. Every time Robb even so much as kisses reader, Grey Wind wiggles his way in between the two and whines. When they are already in bed the wolf will jump onto the bed and pad around to annoy them both. If theyâre trying to cuddle? He puts himself in between them too. Robb understands, heâs obsessed with reader too but he misses his wife so one night- he boots Grey Wind from their chambers so he can have time with his wife.
Paws Off
18+ ---- {Masterlist}
{Robb Stark x f!Reader}
Grey Wind is almost as obsessed with you as your husband is... almost.
âĄâĄ You have the most beautiful mind anon!!! && this is also for @babyvamp-tw in her time of grief âĄâĄ
1.9k words - Warnings: smut, riding, cozy winter night in winterfell, robb being obsessed with you and grey wind related cockblocking...
The wind howled outside the tower, rattling shutters and setting the fire to crackle and spit as Robb fed it another log.
Behind him, the bed creaked softly as you shifted, burrowed deep beneath the furs with a book balanced on your knees and Grey Wind curled heavy and warm at your side. His tail flicked once with lazy contentment, thumping softly against the mattress.
Robb turned, brushing ash from his hands. "Itâs freezing. Move over."
He crossed the room, tugging off his tunic with chilled fingers, but the moment he lifted the covers to slide in beside you, Grey Windâs head snapped up.
A low whine. Then a growl, he wasn't angry, just... possessive.
"Donât start," Robb warned, already half in the bed.
Grey Wind stood.
Robb froze as the stubborn beast stepped right into the spot Robb had been aiming for and promptly sat.
You snorted behind your book.
"Oh, you think this is funny?"
"A little," you murmured, eyes still on the page.
Robb glowered. He wasn't about to share his wife tonight, and especially not with his damn wolf. He gently pushed Grey Wind out of the way and crawled into the bed.
You giggled as Robb pulled the book out of your hands and tossed it across the room. He leaned down and nuzzled into your neck, trailing kisses over your bare shoulder.
"Robb," you gasped, "Your hands are freezing."
He hummed in response, pushing the covers down, so he could slip his hands beneath your nightgown. He kissed his way up your neck, his fingers tickling up your thigh.
You arched toward him with a breathy sigh, and Robb smiled against your skin, his voice low and thick with want.
"Iâve been waiting all day to have you like this," he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. "Warm and soft and all mine."
Your hands found his hair as leaned over you, the weight of him delicious, grounding. His mouth found your collarbone, your throat, your lipsâŠand just as his fingers slipped beneath your nightdress, brushing over your soaked heat-
Whump.
Grey Wind jumped back onto the bed.
Pushing himself right between the two of you.
Robb groaned loudly, dropping his head to your chest as the direwolf circled once, then flopped down directly across your hips.
You let out a startled laugh, half breathless, half annoyed. "Heâs so dramatic."
Robb sat up, shoving at the direwolfâs massive shoulder. "Off, Grey Wind."
The wolf blinked. Didnât move.
"Down," Robb repeated, sterner this time. "Go lie by the fire."
With an exaggerated sigh, Grey Wind heaved himself off your legs and padded a few steps away... only to sit again at the end of the bed, watching. Judging.
Robb gave you a look that said ignore him, and you triedâŠreally triedâŠas he lowered his head between your thighs and drew a slow, deliberate lick up your center.
You moaned, hand flying to his curls, hips canting toward his mouth. "OhâŠRobb-"
Before either of you could register the sudden shift in weight on the mattress, all eighty pounds of fur and misguided concern landed directly on Robbâs back.
"Seven hells!" Robb sputtered, dragging himself up off you with an exasperated huff as Grey Wind walked over him, sniffing at your face, licking your cheek like you were the wounded party.
You couldnât help it, you burst into helpless laughter.
Robb looked murderously betrayed.
"Thatâs it."
He stood, hoisting Grey Wind from the bed. The wolf let out a startled huff, clearly offended as Robb stomped to the chamber door, flung it open, and deposited the menace into the hall.
"No more interruptions. No more chaperones. You are banished."
Grey Wind sat outside the door and howled.
Robb slammed it shut and locked it, turning back to you with hair tousled, chest rising and falling, and a look in his eyes that made your thighs press together.
"Where were we?" he breathed, already climbing back over you, hands sliding up your sides.
"Hmmm," you hummed, grinning as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "I think you were about to make me forget my own name."
Robb smiled, a real, proper smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "My favorite thing to do."
He reclaimed your lips, one arm braced by your head, the other pushing your nightdress up, helping you pull it over over your head. Your skin tingled in the firelight, the cold air a shock before the heat of him returned.
He kissed down your stomach, and your hands tangled in his curls as he settled between your thighs again. His gaze met yours over the plane of your body, dark and adoring, and then he lowered his head, and the world narrowed to the point of his mouth on you.
His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he worked you with his tongue, slow, languid strokes that built a tight, aching knot deep inside you. Every flick, every suck, every breath against your slick heat was deliberate, practiced. He knew exactly what you liked, exactly what made your breath hitch, exactly what made you arch off the bed.
He murmured something against your skin, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through you. Your whole body tensed as he sped up, a relentless rhythm that made your toes curl, that made your own moans sound distant, unfamiliar. His name was a prayer on your lips as he pushed you over the edge, your entire body shattering in a wave of blinding, perfect release.
He stayed with you through it, gentling his touch as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your stomach until you were trembling and pliant, blinking back stars.
When he finally moved back over you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You could feel him, hot and hard and insistent against your thigh, but he made no move to hurry, content to just kiss you slow and deep, stroking your hair back from your damp forehead.
You pressed your hands against his chest, a gentle push that he answered easily.
You rolled with him, settling on top, straddling him. He looked up at you, firelight catching in his hair, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. He watched you as you positioned him, watched you as you slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch.
You both groaned at the connection, the familiar, perfect stretch of him. You began to move, a slow, rolling rhythm that had him fisting the furs, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
His hands came up to grip your waist, guiding you, encouraging you.
"There you go," he rasped, his head thrown back. "Just like that, my love. You're perfect."
You leaned forward, changing the angle, and the friction shot straight through you, pulling another moan from your lips. He sat up then, wrapping an arm around your back, pulling you flush against his chest. The new position left you breathless, every thrust deeper, more deliberate. His face was buried in your neck, his hands gripping your ass, moving you against him.
"Robb," you gasped, your own hands fisted in his hair.
"I know," he breathed, his voice ragged. "I know. Come with me. Come with me now, love."
And you did. It was a slower, deeper wave this time, a crest that broke again and again as you continued to move together, your bodies slick with sweat, your breath mingling in the frigid air. He followed you over, a choked groan against your skin as he pulsed inside you, filling you with his warmth.
After, you stayed tangled, a mess of limbs and heavy breaths. He kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, small, soft kisses that made your chest ache.
Then, from the hallway, came a loud, mournful howl.
And then another.
Robb stilled, then started to chuckle, a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated through your chest. You couldn't help but join in, burying your face in his shoulder, your body shaking with laughter.
"I'm going to skin that wolf," Robb said, but there was no heat in it. "Make a lovely rug for our chambers."
"He's just protective," you mumbled against him.
"He's a menace," he corrected, but he was smiling. He rolled, pulling you with him so you were curled against his side, your head on his chest. The fire crackled, the only other sound in the room besides the occasional, pathetic whine from the other side of the door.
He drew patterns on your back, a slow, lazy path up and down your spine. "Maybe we should just leave him out there. A night in the cold might teach him a lesson."
"Now you are being cruel," you chided, sitting up to look at him. "He'll think we're angry with him."
"I am angry with him," he said, though he pulled you back down for another kiss, this one slow and sweet. "He interrupted his king."
You laughed, a soft, happy sound. "Well his queen has granted him mercy."
You slipped from the bed, pulling your discarded nightgown over your head. You padded to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open just a crack.
A huge, furry head pushed its way in immediately, a wet nose nudging your hand and a low whine rumbling in Grey Wind's chest. You knelt, scratching him behind the ears. "You are a troublemaker," you whispered.
He wagged his tail, thumping it against the stone floor and began to lick your face.You laughed, shoving gently at the wet nose now pressing insistently against your cheek. "Stop, stop-"
Grey Wind did not stop.
Behind you, the bed creaked. When you glanced back, Robb had pushed himself up on one elbow, watching you both with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and something unbearably soft. The furs had slipped to his waist. Firelight painted warm lines across his chest.
"You're too soft on him," he said, but his voice had gone quiet. Tired. The good kind of tired.
"You're too hard on him." You crawled back onto the mattress, and Grey Wind followed immediately, settling his considerable weight at the end of the bed like he'd never been banished at all.
Robb opened his mouth. You raised an eyebrow.
He closed it.
You smiled and curled into his side, your head finding its place on his chest like it had a thousand times before. His arm came around you immediately, hand finding your hip beneath the furs.
Grey Wind sighed. A great, rumbling sound, and then flopped down across your feet.
Robb huffed a laugh against your hair, his hand tracing slow patterns on your skin. His breathing evened out first. Then Grey Wind's, a low rumble you felt through your toes.
You were almost there yourself when Robb's lips brushed your forehead.
"Love you," he whispered. Half asleep already.
You smiled into his chest. "Love you too. Both of you."
Grey Wind's tail thumped once against the mattress.
SUMMARY: You are not adjusting well to Westeros. Luckily, your husband is patient and kind and gentle. Unluckily, all of the other ladies in the Realm are aware of this as well. There are certain difficulties being married to Westerosâs most yearned-for prince, and after one miserable feast too many, everything you have been so desperately trying to quietly endure comes crashing down once you get your husband alone.Â
WARNINGS: fem!reader, hurt/comfort, reader is foreign (from Qarth), Westeros-typical xenophobia, starts with reader being jealous but escalates into a whole breakdown of her not feeling welcome in westeros, Valarr is also jealous/possessive at certain points.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I genuinely am not sure where this came from, I donât even remember writing most of it last night LOLLL I think I woke up from a fever dream at 4 am and banged most of this out, no joke. BUT sometimes a girl just needs to have a very, very justified crashout with a husband who will listen and comfort </3 Valarr I love you euhuhuhuhu Also, got to explore some Westeros-typical xenophobia, which we will see more of in the HTTYD universe after Volantene reader comes to Westeros w/Aerionâbut specifically, how bad it likely gets post-Dornish unification when the Storm lords and Reach lords are already losing their mind over Dornish influence in court, and now also having to deal with some foreign Essosi girls being married to their princes. No Kiera erasure here :P Kiera still comes to Westeros, but to marry Matarys, and her and reader become very very close companions. Anyway, enjoy, and ignore any errors I didn't edit LOL! Comments and reblogs v appreciatedÂ
âI was looking for you at the feast,â Valarr says as he enters your chambers. You can hear the frown in his voice as he shrugs off his cloak and tosses it on the chair on the opposite side of the room. âWhy is it that I had to hear from my cousin that my wife left early because she was feeling unwell?â
You press your lips together, not answering him as you stare out the windowâeast, to the Blackwater, the Narrow Sea, and beyond. Far, far beyond. Your jaw is tight, and your throat is tight, and your chest is tight, and your eyes already stingâyou have been here for two hours already, and he has only just returned. Did he only just realize you were missing?
The irritation drains from his voice as he pauses, looking in your direction and catching the tension in your shoulders. He says quietly, âYou are upset with me.â
You stiffen when you hear him make his way over to you, raising your chin when you feel the cushions dip behind you. You exhale hard through your nose as his fingers ghost the nape of your neck, brushing your hair over one shoulder so that he can press his lips there.Â
You bristle instantly.
âOh my,â Valarr murmursâhe has the nerve to sound amused, you can picture the boyish grin curling at his lips, and it enrages you. The nerve. âYou are very upset with me.â
âUnhand me, you lecherous cur,â you snap, shifting further away. âI shall catch the pox if your touch lingers too long.â
You hear the smile in his voice as he asks, âAnd what have I done to deserve such a vicious accusation, ñuha jorrÄelagon?â
My love.
His High Valyrian is honeyed as ever, soft and sweet to your ears, the endearment enough to make lesser women melt, but you are not lesser women, so you only toss him a furious look, because how dare he play the fool as though he doesnât know what heâs done? How dare he try to abate your anger with sweet nothings?
âWhat have you done?â you echo furiously, gaze cutting as you whirl around to face him. Loathsome manâyou hate that he is beautiful, and you hate that even in the face of your rage, his eyes are soft and adoring. âYou shame me, that is what you have done.â
Valarr tilts his head to the side slightly, a glimmer of calculation and confusion in his mismatched eyes as he searches your faceâas though he does not know what he has done, how he has shamed you. You detest him.Â
âTell me how I have shamed you,â he says softly, shifting closer still. Loathsome, loathsome, loathsomeâhe lifts his hand to brush the pads of his fingers against your cheekbone, and when you try to pull away, he holds your chin lightly, keeping you in place, forcing you to look at him. âTell me, so that I may fix it.â
You almost bite him for thatâfor the softness in his voice and the fondness in the eyes, the way he looks at you as though you are something precious to him when he has spent the better part of the evening making a spectacle of you before half of the court, letting that Lannister woman parade around on his arm.
âYou should know already,â you hiss.
âI do not,â he says, and he sounds earnest. You despise him. Loathsome man. His thumb glides over your lower lip, free hand coming up so that he can cradle your face between them both. âIf I have wronged you, I would hear it from your lips.â
You think to spurn him some more, to press your hands to his chest and shove him away, to leave your chambers and go seek outâseek out who? You have no one in this wretched keep. Your brothers are all back home, six thousand miles away, because your wretched father sold you to the Targaryens for trade. And your wretched friendsâwho were never truly your friends, clearlyâabandoned you the moment they realized you would no longer be able to bolster their standing when you are three seas away.Â
You are alone. All you have is a wretched husbandâa man you were promised would be gallant and charming and respectful, only for him to spend the evening smiling at another woman while the court watched to see how his foreign bride would react.Â
They hate youâthey have hated you since the moment you arrived on your fatherâs gilded ships, smiling to your face and scorning you the second your back is turned. They pray for illness and poor health, that an accident would befall you, so that Valarr might take one of their Andal daughters to wife instead, andâ
âand the cruelest part of it all is that, in this wretched court with these wretched people, the only person who has ever made you feel wanted is your wretched husband.Â
Valarr leans in to press his lips against yours when you do not immediately respond, soft and gentle as he always is, trying to ease the answer out of you.
A wavering sigh escapes you before you can stop it, and you melt into him far too easily, because Valarr is loathsome and wretched. You detest him, and you despise him, but he isâhe is insufferably good to you. Has been since the moment the two of you were introduced, in spite of the fact that he was as forced into this marriage as you. He is as gallant and charming as you were promised, much as you wish him to be otherwise, and he treats you as though you are not some foreign prize ferried across three seas to warm his bed and strengthen alliances, but someone he chooses and wants.
It is the worst part of it, because if he were cruel and disrespectful, you think you could hate him properly.
âYou are wretched,â you whisper against his mouth, voice unsteady with the remnants of your anger. âYou stand there all evening with that woman draped upon your arm, smiling at her as though she were the Sun Maiden herself, and then you come here and kiss me as though I am meant to simply forgive you.â
Valarr draws back only enough to look at you, brows knitting together slightly.
âThe Lannister girl?â
You glare at him. âYes, the Lannister girl, you witless dragon.â
To your mounting fury, understanding finally flashes across his face, and then amusement follows close behind it.
You shove at his chest immediately. âDo not laugh at me.â
Valarr catches your wrists before you can shove him too far, laughter warm and breathless as he presses a quick kiss to the inside of your palm. He pulls you closer to him, one hand sliding around your lower back to drag you into his lap, and you hate that your arms instinctively slink around his shoulders. You hate that your anger dissipates, and you hate that the fury on your face drains into a pout, that you have to chew the inside of your cheek to stop the tears from building in your eyes.
You hate everything about this. You are not so weak, but weeks of suffering through this snake pit have taken their toll on you.
The amusement fades from his expression when he sees yours, one hand lifting to caress your cheek gently.Â
âI was alone,â you say, grateful that your voice doesnât break. âI am always alone in this awful place. You are the only person I have, and you abandoned me to let that girl cling to you. If you wish to take a proper Westerosi wife, you are free to do so, but divorce me and let me return home. Do not force me to endure such humiliation.â
âNow, that is a bit drastic,â Valarr murmurs, and your lashes flutter as his fingers drag lightly along the nape of your neck, tangling in your hair to pull your head down so that he might ghost his lips against your forehead. âWhy ever would I divorce you when I have only just managed to convince you to tolerate me?â
You make a soft, offended sound that he swallows with another lingering kiss to your lips. He tastes of honey and wine; you let out a breath that is far too shaky as his arms tighten around you, one hand soothing up and down your back.
âI am serious,â you mutter. âYou make light of everything.â
âOnly because you speak as though I have cast you aside for a girl I scarcely noticed.â His thumb rubs small circles into the small of your back. âLook at me, wife.â
You do not wish to. You fear if you do, he will see the tears that have started to gather in your eyes, and your pride has suffered enough tonight. You meant to stay angry and silent, but it is hard to do so when Valarr isâwell, Valarr.
He waits anyway, because he always does, and when you still refuse to do as he says, he hooks two fingers beneath your chin, and tilts your face upward so gently that you barely bite back a whine. Thereâs a softness in his face, an undeniable fondness that makes your heart ache.Â
âI did not abandon you,â he tells you quietly. âI left your side because Lord Lannister cornered me to speak of the new trade agreements with Qarth and his daughter decided to preen while doing so.â His thumb brushes beneath your eye to catch a tear before it can fall. âHad I known you were miserable, I would have returned immediately. I thought my cousins were taking care to ensure you were not alone.â
âYou should have known,â you say, spiteful, voice sullen.
âYes,â he agrees easily, without argument. âI should have. Forgive me.â
You falter, because you prepared yourself for his infuriating charm and smooth talk, not for an apologyâespecially not one so genuine.
Valarr exhales softly through his nose, gaze roaming over your face before he rests his forehead down on your shoulder, arms curling a bit tighter around your waist until your bodies are flush. You let out a shaky breath before burying your face in his soft hair, eyes sliding shut.Â
âThe Lannister girl is not what really upset you,â Valarr says quietly after a momentâit is a question, but it is not phrased as one, and you stiffen. You do not respond, but you do not need to. He knows the answer already. He admits reluctantly, as though the realization pains him to speak aloud, âI do not know how to make you happy here.â
âI am happy,â you say immediately, an instinctive, courtly answer, a lie that tastes like poison on your tongue.
âDo not lie to me,â he tells you, and then he lets out another heavy breath. You see his jaw tighten slightly before he speaks again. âIâŠâ He hesitates, trying to find the words. âI thought if I loved you enough, the rest would matter less.â
You inhale at his words, watching as he pulls back to look at you again. The grief in his eyes makes your stomach turn.Â
âIt is not you who makes me unhappy,â you say, because guilt eats at you. Valarr is the only person trying to make you feel comfortable in this wretched placeâhe goes out of his way to ensure you are included, to make you feel wanted and welcome, and youâyou what? You turn on him the moment he glances away? As though none of the rest matters? You feel embarrassed suddenly, mortification rolling waves in your stomach and chest, because Valarr has tried. He has tried so hard, so desperately, and here you are making a mess of everything, because of a tantrum over something beyond his control. âValarr, Iââ
âHush,â he chides, leaning in to swallow your words with another kiss. âI understand. You do not need to explain yourself to me.â
The tears fall in earnest at that, rolling over your cheeks silently as you stare at him. You are the wretched oneâwretched and miserable, you have been blessed with a marriage to a man most women would kill for, and you ruin it with your gloom. Love from Valarr should be enough to outweigh the rest, so why isnât it?
Valarr clicks his tongue lightly, lifting his hands so his thumbs can wipe your tears as they fall.Â
âNone of that,â he murmurs. âI do not know what is running through that beautiful mind of yours right now, but enough of it. I know this is not an easy transition for youâyou are six thousand miles away from your home and family, in a strange place with stranger people. I do not begrudge you for struggling to find your place here, nor for being upset when alone. I should not have left you.â
âI want you to be enough,â you say, and you mean it. You mean it so desperatelyâyou need him to understand. This is notâit is not of your choosing; if you had it your way, this would be enough. âI want to be happy here.â
âI know,â he says gently, holding the weight of your head in the palm of his hand as you lean into him. âI know, ñuha jorrÄelagon.â
âThey all hate me,â you tell him. When his brows furrow and lips part to deny it, you continue before he can, âI can tell. Do not deny it.â
Valarr doesnât respond for a long time, and then he says quietly, âYou are beautiful, and you are my wife, and their daughters are not. You arrived on gilded ships with enough wealth to shame the majority of lords in Westeros, and then had the audacity to capture the affection of a prince they had long hoped to claim for themselves. They would have hated you even if I did not adore you so openly. They hate men for much, much less.â
âIt is not fair,â you say, voice weak and childish. âI have given up so much for their favor. I dress how they expect. I speak how they expect. I act how they expect. I celebrate their holy days with them, and I go to the temples of their gods, andââ
âI know,â Valarr cuts in gently again, stroking your hair.Â
âThen why? What more must I do for them to accept me?â
Valarr doesnât reply for a long while, an unreadable expression on his face. âDo not give up anything more for them,â he says. Your face twists, but before you can rebuke his words, he continues, âI mean it. The only thing that will help is timeâI do not want you to cut away parts of yourself to satisfy the likes of vultures who would strip you of everything if given the chance.â
âIt is easy for you to say,â you scoff bitterly. âYou do not have half of the lords in this keep praying for your ill health and accidents to befall you. It is only a matter of time before their prayers turn to action.â
Valarr goes very still and very quiet. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the crackling of the fireplace, and you realize you have made a terrible mistake.
His hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holding you close as something cold flickers briefly through his eyesâyour husband is gallant and charming, and he loves you despite the circumstances. Your husband is also a Targaryen, and the blood of the dragon runs hot through his veins; madness and greatness are always one flip away from the other. It is tamer in Valarr compared to his cousins, but it is there nonetheless.
âWho?â he asks softly. The quietness of it chills you more than shouting would have.
You shake your head immediately, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He lets you, but his fingers remain stiff in your hair, body tense and coiled against yours.Â
âIt does not matter.â
âIt does to me,â he says. âYou think someone in this keep means you harm. You think they pray for your death so openly that you have come to expect attempts on your lifeâand you would have me ignore it?â
You shouldnât have said anything. You know this court better now than you did when you first arrived; you know how quickly whispers become accusations, and how quickly accusations become bloodshed when dragons are involved. Valarr has always seemed gentler than the rest of his kinâarrogant, maybe, but what prince is not? He is easy laughter and soft smiles, and it lulls you into a false sense of security, because you forget he is still a prince of House Targaryen. Still fire and blood.Â
âIt was only a figure of speech,â you murmur, another lie.
âYou do not speak carelessly, wife.â
You fall silent at that, because he is rightâyou do not.Â
Valarr exhales hard through his nose. âWho has threatened you?â
âNo one.â
âWho has frightened you, then?â
You do not answer, looking away. âI do not want to talk about this anymore.â
Valarrâs jaw tightens, frustration flashing across his face briefly. For a moment, he looks as though he wants to fight, but then he concedes, âVery well. But this will not be the last we speak on this.âÂ
His hands slide under your thighs, and your eyes slide shut, arms tightening around his shoulders as he rises to his feet with your body wrapped around his, carrying you over to the bed and laying you back gently on it. He slips out of his tunic and leathers before joining you beneath the covers.
You immediately curl into his side, pressing your face into the warm skin of his shoulder, sliding one leg between his to be as close to him as possible. His arms wrap tight around you, holding you impossibly closer.
âYou are wrong,â he says after a moment, and your brows furrow. âNot everyone dislikes you in this keep. My family adores you, and that, I fear, is one of the greatest accomplishments a person can claim, considering most of them can barely tolerate each other.â
âThat is not true,â you say immediately, lips pursed.
âIt is,â Valarr insists. âMy father and brother love you. They cherish the mornings you join them in the library. They like hearing your stories of Qartheen culture and the Far East. My father wishes to broach the subject of you joining them more often, but he does not want you to feel obligated to come.â
âOh,â you say, voice wobbly again, eyes suddenly very wet.
âAnd the twins adore you,â he continues. âAelora gave quite the verbal lashing to a Marcher lord who spoke poorly of our unionââ Of you, he means, because no one in this keep would speak poorly of Valarr, the perfect prince. ââand Aelor threatened to have him whipped if he ever repeated such a thing again. They do not forget the day you found Uncle Rhaegel teetering on the edge of a balcony in the west tower and looked after him until they were able to come and retrieve him.â
âI did not know that,â you whisper.
âAnd gods know how you managed to gain the affection of Uncle Maekarâs sonsââ
âAffection is a stretch,â you disagree.
âYou do not know my cousins like I do, wife,â Valarr says with a wry smile. âIt is affection, I must insist. I have never seen Aerion so captivated when someone speaks the way he is when you do.â
Your face feels hot. âIt is only because he is interested in Qartheen magic and our warlocks. He wants to visit the House of the Undying.â
âI digress, both Aunt Shiera and Uncle Brynden are well-versed in magic, and Aerion is hardly so starry-eyed when he badgers them for information,â Valarr counters dryly, though there is something pinched in his voice that piques your curiosity. âAnd even you cannot deny that Daeron is enamored by youâI have caught him reciting poetry for you in his drunken ramblings. You have thoroughly charmed him, that is clear.â
This time, there is no denying the bitterness in his voice. You smile against his skin.
âAre you jealous, husband?â you ask, peeking up from his shoulder to look at the way his jaw is tight.
âIn truth, I have contemplated tossing them both into the Blackwater a concerning number of times this past week,â he admits flatly.
A laugh startles out of you before you can stop it, and the flat line of his mouth softens at the sound. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, long and lingering.
âDaeron cornered me for an hour last week to ask whether you prefer sweet wines or dry ones,â he continues after a moment, bitter. âClaimed he wished to âbetter understand Qartheen tastesâ as though I am foolish enough to not realize what he is really doing.â
Your eyes crinkle. âThat explains the odd assortment of wines he brought to the gardens when I was there reading, then.â
Valarr lets out an exasperated sigh. âTo think my own cousin is trying to woo my wife away from me,â he mutters, âand so shamelessly at that. To think he has the nerve to ask my advice on how to go about it.â
You find yourself giggling despite yourself. âHe is sweet,â you say at last. âHarmless.â
âHe is a Targaryen prince,â Valarr says dryly. âWe are very rarely harmless.â
You are smiling openly now, warmth spreading through your chest as the void of loneliness is filled little by little. You had thought yourself so isolated here, so painfully unwanted, that you never considered anyone beyond Valarr might genuinely care for you.
The realization leaves your throat terribly tight.
Valarr notices at once, expression softening as he tilts your face up toward him to brush his lips against yours gently. Once. Twice. Three times. You think you could lose yourself in the taste and feel of him.
âMy brother is to be married soon,â Valarr says after a moment, fingers stroking your hair absently. âTo the daughter of the Tyroshi Archonâmy father finalized the betrothal this morning. I hope, perhaps, the two of you will get along, since she will also be far from home. It may make court easier for you, to have someone who understands what it is to arrive here alone in a foreign landâa companion.â
You peek up at him again, blinking once. Tyrosh. He presses his lips to your forehead. You say, voice small, âThe Tyroshi like dyes and hats. I am not versed in them. What if we cannot find common ground?âÂ
Valarr pauses, and then says, far too amused, âI think you will have enough common ground that you need not be familiar with dyes and hats.â
âDo not mock me,â you mutter.
âI am trying very hard not to.â
âYou are failing.â
âTerribly,â he admits.
You make a wounded sound and attempt to bury your face back against his shoulder, but Valarr catches your chin before you can escape, smiling as he brushes his thumb along your cheek.
âWife,â he says gently, âI promise you the Tyroshi girl will not arrive here expecting expertise in dyes and hats.â
âPerhaps I should read up on them just in case,â you say, gaze flitting away briefly. âQarth isâit is a far cry from any of the Free Cities. Very different⊠very far. She might think me strange, and if I am strange, then everyone here will be strange to her. It would be good to have common ground in interests, so that she can keep some of home with her at least with me. I think it would make her more comfortable, donât you?â
Valarrâs expression changes at once, and there is something devastating in the way he looks at you nowâso warm and tender, so sickeningly fond that it makes heat creep up the back of your neck. Valarr loves you; he loves you so deeply and so openly that it is impossible for anyone to deny, not with the way he looks at you as though you are the most precious thing in the world. You gnaw at your bottom lip, unable to hold his gaze when he looks at you like this. He kisses your temple again, long and lingering, and then sighs against your skin.
âYou are worried about making her comfortable,â he realizes quietly.
You blink. âWell, yes.â
You remember too vividly what it felt like to arrive here alone, standing in a hall full of people smiling at you with teeth instead of warmth. If the Tyroshi girl is lonely, if she looks around this court and feels swallowed whole by it, you do not want her to feel the way you did.
âYou are extraordinary,â he murmurs. âI do not know how I got so lucky.â
Heat floods your face immediately. âI am speaking about dyes and hats, Valarr. Do not be ridiculous.â
âYou are speaking about a girl you have never met and worrying over how to make her feel welcomed in a foreign court despite the fact that you yourself are still struggling here.â His mouth curves softly. âYou do not even realize how lovely you are, do you?â
You scowl weakly. âYou are biased.â
âHopelessly,â he agrees, so sincerely that it makes you embarrassed. He adds after a moment, âYou know what I think will happen?âÂ
You eye him warily. âWhat?â
âI think the Tyroshi girl will arrive terrified.â
Your brows knit slightly. You know this. That is exactly what you are trying to prepare for.
âI think she will spend the voyage rehearsing how she ought to speak and smile,â Valarr continues, voice soft. Yes, she will, you agree, because that is what you did, too. âI think she will step into court and immediately realize she is being examined like a prized horse at market.â His thumb strokes slowly along your cheekbone. âAnd then I think she will meet you.âÂ
Something in your chest twists painfully.
âShe will see another woman who crossed the world alone,â he says. âAnother woman who survived it, and learned this court well enough to navigate it gracefully despite how cruel it can be.â His lips curve faintly. âAnd then she will cling to you desperately for guidance while you panic over whether or not you understand hats sufficiently.â
You let out a startled laugh despite yourself. Valarr smiles at the sound instantly, gaze unbearably warm.
âThere she is,â he murmurs quietly. âYou look less like you wish to flee back across the seas now.â
âYou make it very difficult to remain angry with you.â
âThat is because I am devastatingly charming,â he says, ghosting his lips against your nose, over your eyelids, your forehead, settling on the top of your head. âAsk anyone.âÂ
âYou are insufferable, is what you are.â
He hums in agreement. âAnd yet, you cling to me still. I cannot be so insufferable then, can I?â
âI told you not to mock me, husband. My homeland is fond of its poisonsâyou might find sweet death laced in your wine should you push too far,â you threaten, but there is a smile in your voice, hidden against his shoulder, and his chest rumbles as he huffs out a laugh.
âI will endure the risk if it means I get to have you curled in my arms like this, ñuha jorrÄelagon,â he murmurs, all warmth and devotion as he tucks you closer into his chest.
You lay like that with him for a long while, basking in his warmth and the comfort of his arms, eyes sliding shut as the drowsiness finally hits you, all of the day's stress and excitement sinking in.
You murmur at last, âYou smiled at her too much,â before you can stop yourself. Then you add for clarification, âThe Lannister woman.â
He vows, âI shall never smile at anyone besides you again.â
âI will poison you if you do.âÂ
His fingers trail up and down your side, gentle and adoring, lulling you to sleep. âA just punishment, certainly. I should expect nothing less from my fearsome wife.â
You make a soft, sleepy sound at that, too exhausted to muster another threat, and Valarr smiles faintly against your hair.
Valarrâs fingers continue their slow path along your side, absent and affectionate. You think he believes you are half asleep already by the way he presses another kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment too long.
âYou frightened me tonight,â Valarr admits quietly after a while.
Your lashes flutter slightly, but your eyes do not open. Your words are half slurred together as you ask sleepily, âI frightened you?â
âYou spoke as though you truly believed I would cast you aside,â he murmurs. âThat you were unwanted by me.â
You do not know how to reply to that, because a part of you had believed it, for a moment. You were forced upon him through politics and trade, and the rest of the court has made its opinions clear on you. You had let the insecurities get the best of you, with people around you whispering poison so sweetly it began to sound like truth.
âI choose you,â he says when you do not respond, fingers stroking your side again. âNot for your fatherâs ship and your familyâs wealth. Not for trade with Qarth and access to the Jade Gates. Youâbecause you do not look down on my brother for not taking to the sword the way everyone else expects him to, because my fatherâs eyes light up every time the two of you speak, because you ease the burden that weighs on my shoulder just by being in the same room as me. Because you are good and kind and worry about making sure another girl is comfortable here, when you still struggle yourself. Given the chance and opportunity to pick any woman in Westeros or Essos, I will always pick youâand anyone in this court who is bold enough to try to harm you will find themselves begging the gods for mercy before I am through with them.â
âYou are very foolish,â you whisper weakly, barely awake.
Valarrâs lips curve. âDesperately so.â
âThere are easier women,â you say quietly. âWomen who your court would accept, whoââ
âI do not want easier women,â he cuts in immediately. âI want you, and only you. I try very hard to be a good manâto follow in my fatherâs footstepsâbut I would do terrible things to anyone who dared try to take you from me.â
Your chest aches. Loathsome man.
âI love you,â you say quietly, eyes heavy and voice slow, the steady beat of his heart and strokes of his fingers still doing quick work at ensuring you are half to sleep already.Â
âAnd I you,â he murmurs, pressing his lips to the top of your head. âSleep, ñuha jorrÄelagon. No one shall ever touch you while I draw breath.âÂ
why tf is tumblr so repetitive, most of the posts on here go something along the lines of 'I am a sweet delicate baby angel kitten sent from Diet Coke heaven with a glass fragile baby pink unicorn heart and im skinny and I need an old man to come and abuse me'
