HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON ââââ aerion targaryen.
đŒ they say the dragons died out ages ago. but how could that be true, seeing as you ride one every other week or so?
âââ àŒŻ warnings targcest (reader is baelorâs daughter), p in vâsmut minors do not interact, bratty dom aerion, breeding kink, cheating (sorry valarr), knife play, blood, biting, reader & aerion are schizophrenics who think theyâre dragons, theyâre both evil & crazy, pussy eating, aerion gets tamed in high valyrian, theyâre having a brat off, idk man i just made shit up this is pure filth and aerion brain rot.
âïž porn with a slight cheeky plot me thinks. letâs all collectively ignore the logistics. anyways, hello bloody mouth aerion nation!
REBLOGS&FEEDBACK APPRECIATED ââ àŒŻ word count 3k
SOME GIRLS ARE BORN with pretty eyes or nimble fingers, but you came into this world with both and a third thing, which is the stubborn certainty that youâre fire made flesh.
Not that anyone in Kingâs Landing would believe itâleast of all your utterly loyal and even softer lady in waiting, slipping into your chamber ever so discreetly.
In her hands is a small vial wrapped in plain cloth and half concealed by the fall of her skirts.
âYourâah, your tea, as you asked, princess.â Amara hands it over without looking at you because sheâs polite enough to pretend she isnât dying to ask, but you see the question flicker over her face anyway, and so you brace yourself for it.Â
âGo on, Amara, out with it. youâve been itching to ask.â
âForgive me for prying, princess, but⊠must the Maester prepare it every month? His Grace would be so happy, I believe, if you were to give him a child. The realm would rejoiceââ
You cut her off with a smile and take a slow sip of the disgustingly bitter brew. âI am not fit for motherhood, my sweet summer child. There are enough monsters in House Targaryen as it is. Best not give the gods more ideas, donât you think?â
Amara blushes at your sardonic friendly tone. You know what sheâs thinkingâshe probably assumes you mean your cousin with a known monstrous reputation (and to be quite fair, you do), but you offer her a wicked grin in return because it never once occurs to her that you might mean yourself.
Of all the masks you wear, being the realmâs darling is by far the most tedious of them all.
But whatâs a Targaryen princess such as yourself meant to do when sheâs Baelorâs one and only precious daughter and Valarrâs terribly adored gleaming little wife? These are roles the gods (or fate, or perhaps your fatherâs hunger for peace) chose for you that you play so well you almost convince yourself you are who they say you are.Â
Amara â the closest thing you possess to a conscience (gods bless her foolishly tender heart) â is now halfway through recounting some spectacularly unflattering gossip about some Lordâs cock (allegedly as underwhelming as his sense of honor) and all you can do is smile like a sweet dove and nod as if your mind isnât a thousand leagues away.
ââswore it on his honor, can you imagine?â Amara giggles giddily. âBut truly, princess, what of you? Has His Grace been keeping you sated?â
Oh, dearest, sweetest lamb. If only she knew a tenth of the filth that fills your nights. She looks at you with such open admiration that you do not have the heart to tell her that this talk of cocksâŠ? and bedding and ordinary desire bores you senseless.Â
Though you do enjoy her company. Sheâs the only person left in this godsforsaken pit who makes you feel almost human, but thatâs hardly a high bar. You care for her as much as youâre capable of caring, but loving you is a bit like cradling a starving wolf and praying that they do not lose a hand. Or rather a dragon, if one insists on being poetic. (And you always insist.) Still, youâd cut out your own heart before hurting her. You are quite as certain as your hair is silver that if Amara glimpsed even a sliver of what you have done, she would cross herself and flee to the ends of Westeros as she sobs for the Motherâs mercy.
Which is precisely why you lie to her. (And more so because that is what good princesses do.)
So you go on to tell her pretty stories about Valarrâs gentle hands and careful kisses, and you let her believe the bullshit that you truly are the perfect princess they call you to be â blessed by the Seven and favored by every godly old wife whoâs ever prayed for a daughter with silver hair and untroubled eyes.Â
âDragons are never sated,â you say teasingly, and she thinks you are only being poetic and demure and endlessly loyal to your sweet, stifling, perfectly polite princely husband. âValarr is⊠ever the gentlest, of course. He is a man who would never risk a wrinkle in my gown, let alone a bruise.â
Well, this much is true.
Valarr is golden and kind and dutiful to a fault. He fucks you as though youâre made of glass, and he worries amd frets and dotes and prays for you before he ever thinks to pray for himself, amongst other thingsâall of which is to say: he is everything a proper lady could wish for.
The thought alone is nearly enough to make you yawn.
âYou are so blessed, princess,â she sighs, and you watch the naivete dance in her eyes. âTo be cherished so dearlyâsurely the Seven watch over you. I hesrd he sent you a dozen flowers just last night?â
What you wish to say is: Is that not the true horror of it all? To be cherished and adored in a cage of silk when all you crave is to be bloodied and devoured.
What you actually end up saying, though, is:
 âWasnât it lovely?â You giggle prettily, and sip your wine as if youâre not thinking about blood on your teeth and the sound a certain someone makes when you drag your nails down his back. âHe is ever so thoughtful. Itâs as if I am in a dream.â
Amara sighs and looks as if what youâre saying is the height of romance, and you wonder with viscous curiosity what she would look like if you told her what you truly dream of. Would she scream or simply crumple? Would she faint, or better yet, would this conversation finally grow interesting?Â
The idea of it makes you smile.
The truth is, princess, you⊠oh, you are not so much the darling the realm believes you to beâand you rather like it that way. Gods, it truly is indescribably tedious, really. The only time youâre even halfway sated is with blood on your tongue with your hands wrapped around a throat and your lips shaped into a cruel smile as you watch a man beg for your mercy. What would Amara say if she knew there is a man who sees you exactly as you are and wants you more because of it? And that that man is not your perfect princely husband?Â
You think about him, and something dark and delighted coils in your chest.
âI must leave you for now, sweetling,â you press a kiss to her brow as you stand. âI promised the gods a prayer before supper.âÂ
âThe gods smile down on you, your grace.â she says dreamily and none the wiser.
Oh, you highly doubt the gods are smiling at allâconsidering the mere reality that the only prayers youâve offered in years are whispered into the mouth of a monster with silver hair, and your good sense long since abandoned.
Poor Valarr. If only he knew. He will spend his whole life trying to love you, and as fate will have it, it will never be fucking enough. But not because he failsâoh no, itâs not his fault at all. It is just that love is a fickle thing for a dragon, much less a monster such as yourself.
But what your darling doting brother doesnât know just makes your nights all the more sweeter.
After all, who else could ever sate you, if not another dragon with blood on his mouth and a hunger just as ugly as your own?
Aerion Targaryen is never in the habit of bothering with courtesies.
His idea of a greeting more so leans towards the clatter of a locked door and the snarl of your name as his hand mercilessly finds your throat.Â
Tonight in particular, you are pressed to the bedpost with your gown bunched at your hips, and Aerionâs mouth is buried between your thighs as he devours your pussy like a madman. Somewhere beside you, the moonlight glints off a discarded knifeâthe same one he traced along your thigh minutes earlier, which was just sharp enough to sting but also just dull enough to leave nothing you couldnât explain away. (Which is utterly disappointing, really, but there are only so many times you can explain away strange marks to your poor husband before he starts asking questions he doesnât really want answered.)
Youâve already been at it for gods know how long, but your monstrous cousin is nothing if not a sadist who takes his sweet twisted time.
Aerion is far too entertained feasting between your thighs, licking into you with a tongue so wickedly precise it feels as if heâs trying to find the last traces of dragonfire hidden in your cunt. It feels entirely too incredibleâexcept youâre also keenly aware that youâre running out of time before someone comes knocking, and youâre not sure you have another plausible lie left in you today.
âPatience, cousin,â he hisses against your pussy when you whine at him to hurry. "Didn't your septa ever teach you that virtue?â
âMy septa died. Much like Iâm about to of weariness if you donât make fucking haste and learn to behave,â you snap, though you grind your hips up into his warm mouth and hiss as he bites your inner thigh. âFuckâ Aerion. Iâll have your head on a spike before morning if you fucking mark me again.â
Aerion flicks his tongue over a faint bruise he left the last time, all while making a show of humming. âYou talk so prettily when youâre angry. Do it again.â
âI shall do worse than talking.â You yank at his hair so hard his eyes flash, but he only grins wider and does nothing to stop you. âDonât. Mark. Me. Valarrâs not half as stupid as he acts.â
Aerion lazily smirks, though his face twists momentarily with something which seems to resemble jealousy quite a bit. âCome to think of it⊠Perhaps I should hold you down and carve my name into you right here, so thereâs no mistaking who you truly belong to. Then weâll have your brother come running to find you with my cock still inside you. You think heâd put up a fight, little dragon?âÂ
âI do not belong to anyone, least of all you. And stop smiling, you fool. Iâll cut your cock off and hang it above theââ
âTsk. Youâd mourn it, you impudent little brat,â Aerion cuts you off when he leans and bites at your throat quite harshly.Â
âShut up.â you hiss, though your actions do not match your words as you arch into his touch and moan. âYou find too much pleasure in your own voice.â
Aerionâs mouth curls into a twisted smirk, then he licks your slick off his thumb and pushes it between your lips. You suck his thumb and bite down just enough to make him curse, then you moan around his fingers and his eyes glint with hunger.Â
âFuck. Look at you, such a little filthy whore.âÂ
Your hand flies up and you slap him, and Aerionâs head snaps to the side as a wicked laugh breaks out of him. Anyone else would be dead for even daring to do so, but youâre the only creature in the realm who gets away with this, and you relish in it.
âYouâre the only whore in this room, cousin,â you sneer. âWould you just fuck me already?â
âArenât you forgetting something?â Aerion laughs as he drags his fingers ever so slowly over your slick, aching cunt. âSay please. Princesses should know their manners.â
You roll your eyes. âJust get on with it, Aerion. Or I ought to get my husband to do it for me.â
Aerionâs face twists with anger. âCareful. You know what happens to little brats who bare their fangs at dragons.â
Well, itâs a good thing youâre a dragon yourself then, isn't it? And though it is true that youâve never seen a true dragon with your own eyes, you are well versed enough to know that dragons only ever listen when commanded in their own tongue.Â
âDohaerÄs, Aerion.â the High Valyrian slides off your tongue as sharp as any blade he has ever used, and the effect is instantaneous. Aerionâs eyes flare in the candlelight as he tilts his head, and for a moment he looks very much like the wicked little dragon heâs been accused of being.Â
Obedience is not exactly known to be in Aerion Targaryenâs nature, but youâve always been the only one who could ever tame him.
Aerionâs hand hungrily drops to rip your skirts even higher, and the next thing you know youâre properly sprawled across silk sheets which youâre supposed to keep pristine for your dear husband. Your head presses into the pillow so your crown of silver hair tumbles loose, and Aerion roughly spreads you out once more, baring your cunt to the candlelight as he frees his cock and fists it.
âSee? All you had to do was ask nicely, little dragon.â
Aerion lines his cock up with no preamble or any hint of gentleness whatsoever. Heâs bigger than any man has the right to be, and the stretch is always just on the edge of pure utter agony, but it is always your favorite part, anyway. He slides in all at once and steals your breath in a single brutal thrust, and as always, he does not even bother to wait for you to adjust before he starts snapping his hips into you relentlesslyâand the filthy beast holds your gaze the entire time, and takes pleasure in your pain.
âFuckâfuck,â you choke repeatedly as your cunt swallows him whole, and you are so full you can barely breathe.Â
âQuit your whining,â he ruthlessly buries himself to the hilt in your glistening cunt. âYou can take it. You always do.â He groans and thrusts harder, voice washing over with delight as he watches your already fucked-out face twist in pleasure. âThough⊠letâs see if you can still curse me and speak of my foolish cousin when youâre full of my cock like this.â
You tryâoh, you really fucking try. But all that comes out is a noise that would get you sent to a sept for the rest of your life if anyone ever heard it.
âWhat a shame. You canât evenâahâlook at you, taking every inch like a whore. canât even get a single word out, can you?â Aerionâs laughs as he thrusts in so deep your head tips back. The headboard bangs out a rhythm against the wall in time with the obscene slap of skin on skin, and it only gets louder every time he slams into you. âFuck, you are clinging to me like some maiden at her first bedding. You feel that? Always such a perfect little cunt for me, princess,âÂ
âHarder, Aerion. Gods, fuck me harder!â you moan deliriously, raking your nails down his back hard enough to mark him as you utter a few words in High Valyrian as though youâre commanding a dragon.
He groans and obeys. The stretch is so utterly dizzying and filthy, and your words continue to sloppily choke out of your throat as he fucks into you. Every single thrust rocks you up the bed with your ankles caught around his waist.Â
At some point, your nails find the knife by the pillow and you slash a line down his shoulder just because you can. Aerion hisses, then he grins while he watches his blood paint your fingers. You suck at the mark and drink his blood in when he leans over you, and he groans into the kiss when you crash your lips into his with your bloodied mouth.
âVicious little bitch,â he pants through bloodied lips, and his balls slap harshly against your ass as he thrusts his hips harder into you.
Then he shoves two fingers into your mouth, and he groans when you bite down on them. Your eyes roll back as you suck and moan around his knuckles, so utterly drunk on the way he fucks you that you can barely remember how to speak.
âDokimavorse,â the command falls off his tongue in eager High Valyrian, dragging you back from the edge just so youâll look him in the eye. âSay my name, princess. Say it.â
You gasp as he pulls his fingers out. âAerion,â you moan.
He rewards you by pulling all the way out slowly, just to slam back in so hard you are quite sure you could swear you feel it somewhere in your soul.
âAgain,â he snarls, âLouder. I want them to hear you in the sept.â
âAerion. Aerion. Aerion,â you scream this time, and you donât care who hears, not even when you know Valarr is somewhere in this keep, being the terribly oblivious fool he is.Â
With a growl, you put your whole weight into twisting out from under him and flipping him onto his back with a force that makes him laugh. The feel of his cock dragging along your walls as you lower yourself onto him makes you both hiss, and the stretch is even more obscene from this angle.Â
âGonna ride the dragon, are you?âÂ
âOnly a dragon can handle a dragon, isnât that right?â
âOf course it is,â Aerionâs head falls back as he grins, and the sharp line of his throat gleams in the candlelight. âGo on, then. Show me.â
You let out a blood-curdling moan as you feel him pressing up into your deepest parts, and he latches his mouth onto your breast and bites at it. The two of you moan in unison as you begin to bounce on his cock, and his palms are utterly unrestrained as they clamp bruisingly tight to your hips as you set your pace riding him.Â
âTell me what I am. Tell me who youâre fucking. Say you want the dragon.â he demands.
âYouâre my dragon,â you gasp into his mouth as you ride him harder, feeling him throb inside you. âOnly mine. no one elseâs.â You throw your head back and moan. âI want it, I want you, I want to break you open and eat your fucking heart.âÂ
âGood girlâride your dragon.â He grins as though youâve bewitched him, so stupid and awestruck and so madly and desperately in love with every inch of your wicked soul, even if heâd rather cut out his own tongue than say so.
Aerion is damn near weeping with pleasure as he pants your name like a prayer, bucking up into you all while you bounce on his cock and wetness squelches obscenely with every slap of your bodies. âFuck,â He slaps your ass and then he does it again and again, the pain oh so sharp and sweet. âYou take me so well. Ride me, wicked girl, ride me till you canât speak.â
âGods, youâre so fucking bigââ
âYeah? Too much, is it?â He fists your hair and yanks your mouth down to his, and he bites your lip until it bleeds. Then he groans and slaps at your ass again. âFuck, you are mine. My dragon.â
Aerionâs eyes are wild as he watches you with his mouth dropped open, and your cunt squeezes around him as you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge. He must feel it too, because he grabs your hips and takes over entirely. He jackhammers up into you, and your moans grow higher and more desperate. âGods, I want to fill you up. Make you round and see your pretty belly swell and let that idiot wonder why his heir looks nothing like him.â
The thought of it makes you clench around him harder, though the bitter taste of the moon tea still clings to the back of your throat.
You collapse on his chest as your thighs begin to tremble. âI will gut you. Donât you dare cum in me againââ
âOr what? Youâll slay your dragon?â Aerion grins all too cruelly and cuts you off with a brutal snap upwards. âTry and stop meââ
Whatever else he says is lost upon you as heat coils tighter in your belly.
A scream tears out of you as your orgasm hits you like fire, and your cunt clenches so tight you see white as you squeeze the life out of him. Aerion follows right after and groans your name over and over as he spills inside you anyway, filling your sensitive cunt up with his seed deep inside until itâs leaking out along his cock ans onto Valarrâs pristine sheets.
After, you both lie there in the ruined mess of your stupid sheets and bruised bodies and smeared blood, both of you entirely too stubborn to speak first.
âWipe up your mess,â you finally mutter, glaring at the crimson stain you just seemed to notice alongside his leaking seed on the white silk. âIf Valarr sees that, heâllââ
âHeâll do nothing,â Aerion cuts you off with a sneer as he pushes the ruined sheets under your hips. âSpeak of him once more and I swear by all the gods, Iâll sneak into your chambers and fuck you while your dear husband sleeps beside us.â
You shove at his shoulder, and he grabs your hand and kisses your bruised knuckles reverently.
Seven hells. You truly think you might kill him someday, and you know he hopes you try it.
HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON ââââ aerion targaryen.
đŒ they say the dragons died out ages ago. but how could that be true, seeing as you ride one every other week or so?
âââ àŒŻ warnings targcest (reader is baelorâs daughter), p in vâsmut minors do not interact, bratty dom aerion, breeding kink, cheating (sorry valarr), knife play, blood, biting, reader & aerion are schizophrenics who think theyâre dragons, theyâre both evil & crazy, pussy eating, aerion gets tamed in high valyrian, theyâre having a brat off, idk man i just made shit up this is pure filth and aerion brain rot.
âïž porn with a slight cheeky plot me thinks. letâs all collectively ignore the logistics. anyways, hello bloody mouth aerion nation!
REBLOGS&FEEDBACK APPRECIATED ââ àŒŻ word count 3k
SOME GIRLS ARE BORN with pretty eyes or nimble fingers, but you came into this world with both and a third thing, which is the stubborn certainty that youâre fire made flesh.
Not that anyone in Kingâs Landing would believe itâleast of all your utterly loyal and even softer lady in waiting, slipping into your chamber ever so discreetly.
In her hands is a small vial wrapped in plain cloth and half concealed by the fall of her skirts.
âYourâah, your tea, as you asked, princess.â Amara hands it over without looking at you because sheâs polite enough to pretend she isnât dying to ask, but you see the question flicker over her face anyway, and so you brace yourself for it.Â
âGo on, Amara, out with it. youâve been itching to ask.â
âForgive me for prying, princess, but⊠must the Maester prepare it every month? His Grace would be so happy, I believe, if you were to give him a child. The realm would rejoiceââ
You cut her off with a smile and take a slow sip of the disgustingly bitter brew. âI am not fit for motherhood, my sweet summer child. There are enough monsters in House Targaryen as it is. Best not give the gods more ideas, donât you think?â
Amara blushes at your sardonic friendly tone. You know what sheâs thinkingâshe probably assumes you mean your cousin with a known monstrous reputation (and to be quite fair, you do), but you offer her a wicked grin in return because it never once occurs to her that you might mean yourself.
Of all the masks you wear, being the realmâs darling is by far the most tedious of them all.
But whatâs a Targaryen princess such as yourself meant to do when sheâs Baelorâs one and only precious daughter and Valarrâs terribly adored gleaming little wife? These are roles the gods (or fate, or perhaps your fatherâs hunger for peace) chose for you that you play so well you almost convince yourself you are who they say you are.Â
Amara â the closest thing you possess to a conscience (gods bless her foolishly tender heart) â is now halfway through recounting some spectacularly unflattering gossip about some Lordâs cock (allegedly as underwhelming as his sense of honor) and all you can do is smile like a sweet dove and nod as if your mind isnât a thousand leagues away.
ââswore it on his honor, can you imagine?â Amara giggles giddily. âBut truly, princess, what of you? Has His Grace been keeping you sated?â
Oh, dearest, sweetest lamb. If only she knew a tenth of the filth that fills your nights. She looks at you with such open admiration that you do not have the heart to tell her that this talk of cocksâŠ? and bedding and ordinary desire bores you senseless.Â
Though you do enjoy her company. Sheâs the only person left in this godsforsaken pit who makes you feel almost human, but thatâs hardly a high bar. You care for her as much as youâre capable of caring, but loving you is a bit like cradling a starving wolf and praying that they do not lose a hand. Or rather a dragon, if one insists on being poetic. (And you always insist.) Still, youâd cut out your own heart before hurting her. You are quite as certain as your hair is silver that if Amara glimpsed even a sliver of what you have done, she would cross herself and flee to the ends of Westeros as she sobs for the Motherâs mercy.
Which is precisely why you lie to her. (And more so because that is what good princesses do.)
So you go on to tell her pretty stories about Valarrâs gentle hands and careful kisses, and you let her believe the bullshit that you truly are the perfect princess they call you to be â blessed by the Seven and favored by every godly old wife whoâs ever prayed for a daughter with silver hair and untroubled eyes.Â
âDragons are never sated,â you say teasingly, and she thinks you are only being poetic and demure and endlessly loyal to your sweet, stifling, perfectly polite princely husband. âValarr is⊠ever the gentlest, of course. He is a man who would never risk a wrinkle in my gown, let alone a bruise.â
Well, this much is true.
Valarr is golden and kind and dutiful to a fault. He fucks you as though youâre made of glass, and he worries amd frets and dotes and prays for you before he ever thinks to pray for himself, amongst other thingsâall of which is to say: he is everything a proper lady could wish for.
The thought alone is nearly enough to make you yawn.
âYou are so blessed, princess,â she sighs, and you watch the naivete dance in her eyes. âTo be cherished so dearlyâsurely the Seven watch over you. I hesrd he sent you a dozen flowers just last night?â
What you wish to say is: Is that not the true horror of it all? To be cherished and adored in a cage of silk when all you crave is to be bloodied and devoured.
What you actually end up saying, though, is:
 âWasnât it lovely?â You giggle prettily, and sip your wine as if youâre not thinking about blood on your teeth and the sound a certain someone makes when you drag your nails down his back. âHe is ever so thoughtful. Itâs as if I am in a dream.â
Amara sighs and looks as if what youâre saying is the height of romance, and you wonder with viscous curiosity what she would look like if you told her what you truly dream of. Would she scream or simply crumple? Would she faint, or better yet, would this conversation finally grow interesting?Â
The idea of it makes you smile.
The truth is, princess, you⊠oh, you are not so much the darling the realm believes you to beâand you rather like it that way. Gods, it truly is indescribably tedious, really. The only time youâre even halfway sated is with blood on your tongue with your hands wrapped around a throat and your lips shaped into a cruel smile as you watch a man beg for your mercy. What would Amara say if she knew there is a man who sees you exactly as you are and wants you more because of it? And that that man is not your perfect princely husband?Â
You think about him, and something dark and delighted coils in your chest.
âI must leave you for now, sweetling,â you press a kiss to her brow as you stand. âI promised the gods a prayer before supper.âÂ
âThe gods smile down on you, your grace.â she says dreamily and none the wiser.
Oh, you highly doubt the gods are smiling at allâconsidering the mere reality that the only prayers youâve offered in years are whispered into the mouth of a monster with silver hair, and your good sense long since abandoned.
Poor Valarr. If only he knew. He will spend his whole life trying to love you, and as fate will have it, it will never be fucking enough. But not because he failsâoh no, itâs not his fault at all. It is just that love is a fickle thing for a dragon, much less a monster such as yourself.
But what your darling doting brother doesnât know just makes your nights all the more sweeter.
After all, who else could ever sate you, if not another dragon with blood on his mouth and a hunger just as ugly as your own?
Aerion Targaryen is never in the habit of bothering with courtesies.
His idea of a greeting more so leans towards the clatter of a locked door and the snarl of your name as his hand mercilessly finds your throat.Â
Tonight in particular, you are pressed to the bedpost with your gown bunched at your hips, and Aerionâs mouth is buried between your thighs as he devours your pussy like a madman. Somewhere beside you, the moonlight glints off a discarded knifeâthe same one he traced along your thigh minutes earlier, which was just sharp enough to sting but also just dull enough to leave nothing you couldnât explain away. (Which is utterly disappointing, really, but there are only so many times you can explain away strange marks to your poor husband before he starts asking questions he doesnât really want answered.)
Youâve already been at it for gods know how long, but your monstrous cousin is nothing if not a sadist who takes his sweet twisted time.
Aerion is far too entertained feasting between your thighs, licking into you with a tongue so wickedly precise it feels as if heâs trying to find the last traces of dragonfire hidden in your cunt. It feels entirely too incredibleâexcept youâre also keenly aware that youâre running out of time before someone comes knocking, and youâre not sure you have another plausible lie left in you today.
âPatience, cousin,â he hisses against your pussy when you whine at him to hurry. "Didn't your septa ever teach you that virtue?â
âMy septa died. Much like Iâm about to of weariness if you donât make fucking haste and learn to behave,â you snap, though you grind your hips up into his warm mouth and hiss as he bites your inner thigh. âFuckâ Aerion. Iâll have your head on a spike before morning if you fucking mark me again.â
Aerion flicks his tongue over a faint bruise he left the last time, all while making a show of humming. âYou talk so prettily when youâre angry. Do it again.â
âI shall do worse than talking.â You yank at his hair so hard his eyes flash, but he only grins wider and does nothing to stop you. âDonât. Mark. Me. Valarrâs not half as stupid as he acts.â
Aerion lazily smirks, though his face twists momentarily with something which seems to resemble jealousy quite a bit. âCome to think of it⊠Perhaps I should hold you down and carve my name into you right here, so thereâs no mistaking who you truly belong to. Then weâll have your brother come running to find you with my cock still inside you. You think heâd put up a fight, little dragon?âÂ
âI do not belong to anyone, least of all you. And stop smiling, you fool. Iâll cut your cock off and hang it above theââ
âTsk. Youâd mourn it, you impudent little brat,â Aerion cuts you off when he leans and bites at your throat quite harshly.Â
âShut up.â you hiss, though your actions do not match your words as you arch into his touch and moan. âYou find too much pleasure in your own voice.â
Aerionâs mouth curls into a twisted smirk, then he licks your slick off his thumb and pushes it between your lips. You suck his thumb and bite down just enough to make him curse, then you moan around his fingers and his eyes glint with hunger.Â
âFuck. Look at you, such a little filthy whore.âÂ
Your hand flies up and you slap him, and Aerionâs head snaps to the side as a wicked laugh breaks out of him. Anyone else would be dead for even daring to do so, but youâre the only creature in the realm who gets away with this, and you relish in it.
âYouâre the only whore in this room, cousin,â you sneer. âWould you just fuck me already?â
âArenât you forgetting something?â Aerion laughs as he drags his fingers ever so slowly over your slick, aching cunt. âSay please. Princesses should know their manners.â
You roll your eyes. âJust get on with it, Aerion. Or I ought to get my husband to do it for me.â
Aerionâs face twists with anger. âCareful. You know what happens to little brats who bare their fangs at dragons.â
Well, itâs a good thing youâre a dragon yourself then, isn't it? And though it is true that youâve never seen a true dragon with your own eyes, you are well versed enough to know that dragons only ever listen when commanded in their own tongue.Â
âDohaerÄs, Aerion.â the High Valyrian slides off your tongue as sharp as any blade he has ever used, and the effect is instantaneous. Aerionâs eyes flare in the candlelight as he tilts his head, and for a moment he looks very much like the wicked little dragon heâs been accused of being.Â
Obedience is not exactly known to be in Aerion Targaryenâs nature, but youâve always been the only one who could ever tame him.
Aerionâs hand hungrily drops to rip your skirts even higher, and the next thing you know youâre properly sprawled across silk sheets which youâre supposed to keep pristine for your dear husband. Your head presses into the pillow so your crown of silver hair tumbles loose, and Aerion roughly spreads you out once more, baring your cunt to the candlelight as he frees his cock and fists it.
âSee? All you had to do was ask nicely, little dragon.â
Aerion lines his cock up with no preamble or any hint of gentleness whatsoever. Heâs bigger than any man has the right to be, and the stretch is always just on the edge of pure utter agony, but it is always your favorite part, anyway. He slides in all at once and steals your breath in a single brutal thrust, and as always, he does not even bother to wait for you to adjust before he starts snapping his hips into you relentlesslyâand the filthy beast holds your gaze the entire time, and takes pleasure in your pain.
âFuckâfuck,â you choke repeatedly as your cunt swallows him whole, and you are so full you can barely breathe.Â
âQuit your whining,â he ruthlessly buries himself to the hilt in your glistening cunt. âYou can take it. You always do.â He groans and thrusts harder, voice washing over with delight as he watches your already fucked-out face twist in pleasure. âThough⊠letâs see if you can still curse me and speak of my foolish cousin when youâre full of my cock like this.â
You tryâoh, you really fucking try. But all that comes out is a noise that would get you sent to a sept for the rest of your life if anyone ever heard it.
âWhat a shame. You canât evenâahâlook at you, taking every inch like a whore. canât even get a single word out, can you?â Aerionâs laughs as he thrusts in so deep your head tips back. The headboard bangs out a rhythm against the wall in time with the obscene slap of skin on skin, and it only gets louder every time he slams into you. âFuck, you are clinging to me like some maiden at her first bedding. You feel that? Always such a perfect little cunt for me, princess,âÂ
âHarder, Aerion. Gods, fuck me harder!â you moan deliriously, raking your nails down his back hard enough to mark him as you utter a few words in High Valyrian as though youâre commanding a dragon.
He groans and obeys. The stretch is so utterly dizzying and filthy, and your words continue to sloppily choke out of your throat as he fucks into you. Every single thrust rocks you up the bed with your ankles caught around his waist.Â
At some point, your nails find the knife by the pillow and you slash a line down his shoulder just because you can. Aerion hisses, then he grins while he watches his blood paint your fingers. You suck at the mark and drink his blood in when he leans over you, and he groans into the kiss when you crash your lips into his with your bloodied mouth.
âVicious little bitch,â he pants through bloodied lips, and his balls slap harshly against your ass as he thrusts his hips harder into you.
Then he shoves two fingers into your mouth, and he groans when you bite down on them. Your eyes roll back as you suck and moan around his knuckles, so utterly drunk on the way he fucks you that you can barely remember how to speak.
âDokimavorse,â the command falls off his tongue in eager High Valyrian, dragging you back from the edge just so youâll look him in the eye. âSay my name, princess. Say it.â
You gasp as he pulls his fingers out. âAerion,â you moan.
He rewards you by pulling all the way out slowly, just to slam back in so hard you are quite sure you could swear you feel it somewhere in your soul.
âAgain,â he snarls, âLouder. I want them to hear you in the sept.â
âAerion. Aerion. Aerion,â you scream this time, and you donât care who hears, not even when you know Valarr is somewhere in this keep, being the terribly oblivious fool he is.Â
With a growl, you put your whole weight into twisting out from under him and flipping him onto his back with a force that makes him laugh. The feel of his cock dragging along your walls as you lower yourself onto him makes you both hiss, and the stretch is even more obscene from this angle.Â
âGonna ride the dragon, are you?âÂ
âOnly a dragon can handle a dragon, isnât that right?â
âOf course it is,â Aerionâs head falls back as he grins, and the sharp line of his throat gleams in the candlelight. âGo on, then. Show me.â
You let out a blood-curdling moan as you feel him pressing up into your deepest parts, and he latches his mouth onto your breast and bites at it. The two of you moan in unison as you begin to bounce on his cock, and his palms are utterly unrestrained as they clamp bruisingly tight to your hips as you set your pace riding him.Â
âTell me what I am. Tell me who youâre fucking. Say you want the dragon.â he demands.
âYouâre my dragon,â you gasp into his mouth as you ride him harder, feeling him throb inside you. âOnly mine. no one elseâs.â You throw your head back and moan. âI want it, I want you, I want to break you open and eat your fucking heart.âÂ
âGood girlâride your dragon.â He grins as though youâve bewitched him, so stupid and awestruck and so madly and desperately in love with every inch of your wicked soul, even if heâd rather cut out his own tongue than say so.
Aerion is damn near weeping with pleasure as he pants your name like a prayer, bucking up into you all while you bounce on his cock and wetness squelches obscenely with every slap of your bodies. âFuck,â He slaps your ass and then he does it again and again, the pain oh so sharp and sweet. âYou take me so well. Ride me, wicked girl, ride me till you canât speak.â
âGods, youâre so fucking bigââ
âYeah? Too much, is it?â He fists your hair and yanks your mouth down to his, and he bites your lip until it bleeds. Then he groans and slaps at your ass again. âFuck, you are mine. My dragon.â
Aerionâs eyes are wild as he watches you with his mouth dropped open, and your cunt squeezes around him as you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge. He must feel it too, because he grabs your hips and takes over entirely. He jackhammers up into you, and your moans grow higher and more desperate. âGods, I want to fill you up. Make you round and see your pretty belly swell and let that idiot wonder why his heir looks nothing like him.â
The thought of it makes you clench around him harder, though the bitter taste of the moon tea still clings to the back of your throat.
You collapse on his chest as your thighs begin to tremble. âI will gut you. Donât you dare cum in me againââ
âOr what? Youâll slay your dragon?â Aerion grins all too cruelly and cuts you off with a brutal snap upwards. âTry and stop meââ
Whatever else he says is lost upon you as heat coils tighter in your belly.
A scream tears out of you as your orgasm hits you like fire, and your cunt clenches so tight you see white as you squeeze the life out of him. Aerion follows right after and groans your name over and over as he spills inside you anyway, filling your sensitive cunt up with his seed deep inside until itâs leaking out along his cock ans onto Valarrâs pristine sheets.
After, you both lie there in the ruined mess of your stupid sheets and bruised bodies and smeared blood, both of you entirely too stubborn to speak first.
âWipe up your mess,â you finally mutter, glaring at the crimson stain you just seemed to notice alongside his leaking seed on the white silk. âIf Valarr sees that, heâllââ
âHeâll do nothing,â Aerion cuts you off with a sneer as he pushes the ruined sheets under your hips. âSpeak of him once more and I swear by all the gods, Iâll sneak into your chambers and fuck you while your dear husband sleeps beside us.â
You shove at his shoulder, and he grabs your hand and kisses your bruised knuckles reverently.
Seven hells. You truly think you might kill him someday, and you know he hopes you try it.