synopsys: In which your husbands dragon knows something you don't
au where the dragons are alive
tw; ooc dragon ig
wordcount: 3.3k
requested by @ntcc2605
The morning light filtered through the gauze curtains of your chambers, painting the room in shades of gold and rose. You stretched languidly beneath the silk sheets, a smile already forming on your lips before you even opened your eyes. The other side of the bed was empty, but the indent in the pillow beside you was still warm, and you could hear the soft sounds of someone moving about the adjoining sitting room.
"Valarr?" you called out, your voice still thick with sleep.
A moment later, your husband appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a loose tunic and riding leathers. His brown hair, with that bright streak of silver-gold running through it was slightly disheveled, as though he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His mismatched eyes lit up the moment they found you, and the smile that spread across his face made your heart flutter in a way that three moons of marriage had done nothing to diminish.
"You're awake," he said, crossing the room in three long strides and sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "I was trying to let you sleep."
"Mmm." You looped your arms around his neck, keeping him close. "And where were you going, all dressed up like that?"
The slight shift in his expression told you everything you needed to know. You'd been married long enough now to recognize that particular look, the one that meant he wanted something, something he suspected you wouldn't like, and was trying to figure out the best way to ask for it.
"Aerrix needs exercise," he said carefully. "I thought I'd take her out for a flight before breakfast."
You stiffened almost imperceptibly, but Valarr caught it. Of course he caught it. He caught everything where you were concerned, had done since the very beginning.
You remembered those stolen nights before your marriage with perfect clarity, the way he'd find you in dark corridors during feasts, pulling you into alcoves and empty chambers just to have a moment alone with you. The way he'd climb down from his dragon and run to you the moment he landed, unable to bear even the few minutes it took to stable the beast properly. The way he'd whisper promises of forever against your skin in the moonlight.
Valarr Targaryen, the Young Prince, and absolutely, completely, hopelessly in love with you. And you with him.
But there was one part of him you couldn't quite love, no matter how hard you tried.
Aerrix.
You'd never met the dragon, thank the Seven. You'd seen her from a distance, of course a massive creature of black and white, scales seeming to shift between the two colors depending on how the light hit her. She was larger than most of the other dragons, and louder, and from what you'd heard, meaner. The dragon keepers gave her a wide berth. The other dragon riders kept their own mounts carefully separated from her during flights. And everyone, everyone, knew that Aerrix tolerated exactly one person in the entire world, Valarr.
"Don't make that face," Valarr said now, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "It's too early for that face."
"I don't know what face you're talking about."
"You're making your 'my husband is going to suggest something dreadful' face." He grinned, that boyish grin that had probably convinced you to do approximately seventeen thousand things you never would have done otherwise. "I haven't even suggested anything yet."
"You were about to."
"I was considering suggesting something." He kissed your nose again. "There's a difference."
You sighed, but you were still smiling despite yourself. "What is it, Valarr?"
He was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was softer than before. "I want you to meet her."
Your heart stopped. Actually stopped, right there in your chest, for what felt like several very long seconds.
"Valarr—"
"I know." He held up a hand, cutting off the protest he could see building in your expression. "I know you're frightened of her. I know you've avoided the dragonpit entirely since we married. I know you flinch every time someone mentions her name." His eyes were earnest, pleading. "But she's part of me, my love. The largest part of me, some would say. And I want—" He paused, searching for the right words. "I want you to see that part of me. I want to share it with you. I want..." He trailed off, looking almost shy for a moment. "I want to take you flying someday. Both of you. My two favorite beings in all the world."
You stared at him.
"Flying," you repeated flatly.
"On Aerrix."
"On your volatile, aggressive, people-eating dragon."
"She doesn't eat people."
"She ate a whole sheep in one bite last night . I heard the keepers talking about it."
"She's a dragon. Dragons eat sheep. That's not the same as eating people."
You sat up in bed, pulling the sheets with you, and fixed him with your most formidable look. "Valarr Targaryen. I love you. I have loved you since before I knew what love was. I climbed out of windows to meet you in the dark. I lied to my own mother for you. I married you knowing that being your wife would mean a lifetime of people staring at me and whispering." You took a breath. "But I will not go anywhere near your dragon."
Valarr's face fell, and something in your chest twisted painfully. He looked so disappointed—not angry, never angry with you, just sad in that quiet way that made you want to give him absolutely anything he asked for.
"I understand," he said quietly, and he meant it. That was the worst part. He always understood. "I won't push you."
He kissed your forehead again and stood, and you watched him walk toward the door with his shoulders just slightly slumped, and you felt like the worst wife in the entire Seven Kingdoms.
"Valarr."
He turned.
You took a deep breath. "I'll... think about it."
The thinking about it lasted approximately three days, during which Valarr was so pathetically hopeful and so carefully restrained in his hopefulness that you wanted to both kiss him and strangle him in equal measure.
He didn't bring it up again, not once. But he'd look at you across the dinner table with those eyes, and you could see the question hovering there, unasked. He'd come back from flying Aerrix and describe the clouds to you, the way the world looked from above, the feeling of freedom, and you could hear the longing in his voice, not for you to share the experience, necessarily, but for you to understand it. To understand him.
On the fourth day, you gave in.
"Take me to her," you said, the words tumbling out before you could lose your nerve.
Valarr had been in the middle of drinking his morning tea. He choked.
"Take you—now? You mean it?"
"I mean it. Before I change my mind."
He was on his feet in an instant, pulling you up with him, his excitement so palpable it was almost contagious. "You won't regret this. I promise you won't regret this. She's going to love you. I know she will."
"That's what I'm afraid of," you muttered, but you let him lead you out of the chambers and toward the dragonpit.
The dragonpit loomed before you, a massive structure of stone and iron that seemed to swallow the light. You could hear them before you could see them, the rumbling, the occasional shriek, the heavy sounds of massive bodies shifting against stone. Your steps slowed.
Valarr's hand tightened around yours. "I'm right here. Nothing is going to hurt you."
"You can't promise that."
"I can. Aerrix won't hurt you. I won't let her." He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "Do you trust me?"
You looked at him, at this man who had married you in front of the Seven and all the realm, who looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world.
"Yes," you said. "I trust you."
He kissed you once, quick and fierce, and then he was leading you forward again, into the dragonpit.
The interior was dim and hot, lit by torches and the faint glow of dragon fire from deeper within. Valarr led you past several dens, each containing a dragon of varying size and color. They watched you pass with those unblinking eyes, and you pressed closer to your husband, your heart pounding.
And then you reached Aerrix's den.
She was magnificent.
That was the first thought that crossed your mind as you stood at the entrance, staring at the massive creature sprawled across the rocky ground. She was easily three times the size of the other dragons you'd passed, her black and white scales gleaming in the torchlight like polished gems. Her horns curved back from her head in elegant spirals, and even in sleep, her sides rose and fell with a rhythm that seemed to shake the very ground beneath your feet.
She was also absolutely terrifying.
"Seven help me," you whispered.
Valarr squeezed your hand. "Stay here. Let me approach her first."
He walked forward, his footsteps echoing in the cavern, and you watched as Aerrix stirred. Her head lifted, those massive golden eyes opening and fixing on her rider with unmistakable affection. She made a sound, a rumbling, crooning noise, and Valarr laughed, pressing his forehead against her snout.
"Good morning to you too," he said softly. "I've brought someone to meet you. Someone very important to me."
He glanced back at you, gesturing you forward.
Your feet wouldn't move.
"It's all right," he called. "Come slowly. Let her see you."
You forced yourself to take a step. Then another. Aerrix's head swung toward you, those golden eyes fixing on your small figure with an intensity that made your blood run cold. You could feel her breath now, warm and smelling faintly of smoke, ruffling your hair and your skirts.
This is it, you thought hysterically. This is how I die. Eaten by my husband's dragon. Mother will be so disappointed.
You were close enough now to see the texture of her scales, the way they overlapped like armor. Her nostrils flared, and you felt her inhale a great rush of air that pulled at your clothes and hair. She was smelling you. Learning you.
And then, impossibly, she made a sound.
It was low and rumbling, like thunder in the distance, but softer somehow. Warmer. It vibrated through the stone beneath your feet and up through your body, settling somewhere in your chest.
"What..." you breathed.
Valarr's jaw had dropped. "She's... purring. She's actually purring." His voice was full of wonder. "She's never—no one—she doesn't even let the keepers near her. And she's purring."
Aerrix's massive head shifted closer, her golden eyes soft now, warm. She made the sound again, louder this time, and then she did something that made Valarr choke on air.
She nudged your hand with her snout.
Very slowly, hardly daring to breathe, you lifted your hand and placed it on her warm scales. The purring grew louder, vibrating through your palm and up your arm, and Aerrix's eyes half-closed in what could only be described as contentment.
"She likes me," you said, stunned. "Your terrifying, volatile, people eating dragon likes me."
"She loves you," Valarr corrected, his voice thick with emotion. "Look at her. She's absolutely besotted."
And indeed, Aerrix was now trying to maneuver her massive head into your space, clearly seeking more attention. You laughed and scratched behind her horn, and she made a sound of pure dragon bliss.
"Well," you said, looking at your husband's dumbfounded expression. "I suppose I have to fly with you now."
Valarr's face split into a grin so wide it was almost silly. "Tomorrow? First thing in the morning?"
"First thing," you agreed.
The next morning dawned clear and bright, and you made your way to the dragonpit with Valarr's hand firmly clasped in yours.
Aerrix was waiting.
She lifted her head the moment you appeared, that familiar purring sound rumbling through the air. Her golden eyes fixed on you, and she made a noise that was almost like a greeting.
"See?" Valarr said, squeezing your hand. "She's happy to see you."
"She's happy to see me because she wants me to pet her."
"That too." Valarr grinned and led you forward, toward the dragon's side. "Now, the trick is to mount quickly and smoothly. I'll go first, then help you up behind me. Just hold onto my waist and don't look down."
You nodded, your heart pounding. Aerrix watched you with those golden eyes, and for a moment you could have sworn she looked... pleased.
Valarr climbed up onto the dragon's wing with practiced ease and reaching down for you. "Come on, love. Up you go."
You took his hand, put your foot in the stirrup he indicated, and—
Aerrix moved.
It was a small movement, barely a shift of her weight, but it was enough to make you lose your balance and stumble back. Valarr caught you before you could fall, but when you tried again, the same thing happened. Aerrix shifted just enough to make mounting impossible.
"What in the seven hells?" Valarr muttered, leaning down to look at his dragon. "Aerrix. Stop that."
The dragon looked up at him with an expression that was almost apologetic, but when you reached for the saddle again, she moved once more, not aggressively, not dangerously, but with clear intent to prevent you from getting on her back.
"I don't understand," Valarr said, genuinely confused now. "She loves you. She purrs for you. Why won't she let you mount?"
You tried again. And again. And again. Each time, Aerrix would shift or sway or simply lower herself to the ground, making it impossible for you to climb into the saddle. She wasn't angry about it—she kept purring that same rumbling purr, kept looking at you with those warm golden eyes—but she was absolutely, completely, and totally refusing to let you ride her.
"This has never happened," Valarr said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Dragons don't—they don't do this. They don't disobey their riders, even less refuse to take flight."
"Maybe she's changed her mind," you suggested, trying not to feel hurt.
"No." Valarr shook his head firmly. "That's not it. Look at her—she's still purring. She's still happy. She just... doesn't want you on her back."
Aerrix rumbled in what sounded like agreement, and you could have sworn there was something knowing in her golden gaze.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Every attempt to mount Aerrix ended the same way, gentle but firm refusal. The dragon would purr and nuzzle and follow you everywhere, but the moment you tried to get on her back, she would shift away. It was baffling. It was unprecedented. Dragon keepers were consulted. Other riders offered theories. Nothing explained it.
Valarr grew increasingly frustrated. You grew increasingly tired.
Because you were tired. Constantly tired. You'd fall asleep in the middle of conversations, nod off during meals, barely have the energy to get out of bed in the mornings. You were also vaguely nauseous at odd times of day, and certain smells that had never bothered you before now made your stomach turn.
You didn't think much of it, at first. But when you nearly fell asleep standing up during a formal dinner with Valarr's parents, your husband took one look at you and carried you bodily to the maester's chambers.
"Something's wrong," he said firmly. "I want the maester to look at you."
The maester asked you questions—about your appetite, your sleep, your monthly cycles—and you answered them, increasingly confused by the direction of his inquiries. He felt your belly, checked your pulse, and asked a few more questions.
Then he smiled.
"Well, my lady," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "I believe I have an explanation for your symptoms."
"What is it?" Valarr asked, his arm tightening protectively around your shoulders.
The maester's smile widened. "Congratulations, my prince. You're going to be a father."
The room went absolutely silent.
You felt the words wash over you, not quite making sense at first. Father. Going to be a father. That meant—
You looked down at your belly, still flat beneath your gown, and felt something shift inside you.
"A baby," you whispered.
"A baby." Valarr's voice was strange, thick with emotion. You looked up at him and found his eyes bright, his face working through about seventeen different expressions before settling on one. He was smiling. He was absolutely, radiantly, incandescently smiling. "We're having a baby."
And then he was kissing you, laughing against your mouth, lifting you off the ground and spinning you in a circle while the maester watched with tolerant amusement.
The explanation for Aerrix's behavior came later that evening, when you and Valarr went to the dragonpit to share your news.
Aerrix was waiting, as she always was, her massive head lifting the moment you appeared. She made her usual purring sound, rumbling and warm, and you walked toward her without fear. You placed your hand on her snout, feeling the warmth of her scales.
"She knew," you said, looking at her golden eyes. "Didn't you? You knew before any of us."
Aerrix blinked slowly. Then, very deliberately, she lifted her head and looked directly at Valarr with an expression that could only be described as smug. If dragons could smirk, she would be smirking. She let out a little rumble that sounded suspiciously like dragon laughter.
Valarr gaped. "Are you laughing at me?"
Aerrix made the sound again, louder this time, and you could have sworn she was absolutely delighted with herself.
"She's been laughing at me for weeks," Valarr realized, his mouth hanging open. "Every time I tried to figure out why she wouldn't let you mount, every time I asked the keepers, every time I pulled out those books, she was sitting there, knowing exactly why, and just watching me struggle."
You burst out laughing. "Oh, that's perfect."
"I've been losing my mind for weeks!" Valarr threw his hands up. "I consulted the dragonkeepers! I read three books on dragon behavior! I asked my father! I asked my grandfather!"
Aerrix made a sound like a dragon snort, and you could have sworn she rolled her eyes.
"She's been protecting the baby," you said, still giggling. "That's all. She felt the new life and decided we needed guarding."
Valarr crossed his arms, staring at his dragon. "You could have told me."
Aerrix blinked at him.
"Somehow," you said, "I don't think she feels bad about it."
"She doesn't." Valarr sighed, but he was fighting a smile. "She absolutely does not. Look at her. She's preening."
Aerrix was indeed preening, her head held high, her scales practically gleaming with self-satisfaction. She nudged your belly gently with her snout and made a soft cooing sound.
"She's talking to the baby now," Valarr said flatly.
"She's bonding."
"She's showing off."
You scratched behind Aerrix's horn, and she purred loudly. "You have to admit, she was pretty clever about it."
Valarr came to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Oh, she's clever. She's also never going to let me forget that she knew before I did."
"Probably not," you agreed.
"Never," Aerrix seemed to rumble.
Valarr looked at his dragon, then at you, then at your belly. A smile finally broke through. "So. After the baby comes. Flying together?"
You looked at Aerrix, who was now gently resting her massive head against your side, still purring like a contented cat.
"Yes," you said. "After the baby comes. We'll fly together."
♡ SYNOPSIS: It has always been Valarr and you, for he is half of your soul, and it will always be, no matter what Mother says, but to be cautious, you shall make it so. In a way no one can deny.
♡ A.N: getting back into the swing of things (asoiaf) by writing self-indulgent x-reader brosis. next is daddaughter. and then we move onto canon dadson and unclenephew xx.
READ ON AO3
It is during one of your late-night escapades that you overhear your mother arguing with your father in a heated voice. She calls your relationship with your brother unnatural, as though the two of you disgust her. It hurts, but not as much as it would if it had been Father to say such a thing. You are willing to forgive her harsh words, as it is what the Seven preaches, but then she mentions the possibility of betrothing Valarr to somebody else, as in not to you.
Not even a fellow Targaryen.
To someone across the Narrow Sea, a stranger.
Something hot burns deep within you as she continues to speak of a certain Kiera of Tyrosh, a suggestion straight from Queen Myriah's mouth. She goes on to explain the good such a match would bring, and Father does not say a word to discourage her. He merely listens as she spouts the queen's own words, for your mother would have suggested a match from the Stormlands if she had a choice.
You feel beastly at the mere possibility of another sharing your twin, especially since it is your own mother suggesting it.
You have never hated anyone, not even Cousin Aerion, despite how horrible he can be, but you think you may hate your mother.
For once, you feel like a dragon, willing to burn anything in your path to get what you want—to protect what belongs to you.
Above all else, Valarr is yours.
He is half of your soul, and to share him with another is inconceivable.
It has always been Valarr and you, and it will always be, no matter what Mother says, but to be cautious, you shall make it so.
You are well-acquainted with the Red Keep's layout and the rotation of guards and servants, so it is easy to dodge everyone as you rush back to your chambers to secure your future with him.
Before you reach the corner where your sleeping guard is posted at your door, you pinch your cheeks and rub your eyes hard until tears spring forth. You quickly open the door to your chambers before closing it to tap on his shoulder. He jolts awake, panic coloring his features as he takes in your pitiful state.
"Princess, is everything alright?"
"I had a nightmare, ser," you reply meekly, staring down at the ground. "Can you escort me to Valarr's chambers?"
"Ah," your guard dithers. "I am uncertain that is wise, as you are no longer an age where that would be appropriate. Would you rather not go to the Princess Jena?"
"I do not wish to bother my lady mother so late in the night, ser. My twin is certain to be up still reading his histories by candlelight," you respond demurely, summoning more tears to play on his heart for your next words. "Please, ser, just this once. I need to see that he fares well after his bout in the training yard this morning."
He softens considerably, and he nods his head. "Just this once, then, Princess."
"Thank you, ser. I shall not forget this favor you have granted me."
He escorts you to Valarr's chambers, whispering to your brother's own guard, and you have to hide any excitement you feel as the guard knocks on your brother's door. You hear your brother's soft voice reply, and you fight the smile fighting to make its way to your face.
"Your sister is here to see you, my prince."
"Let her in," Valarr says immediately, and the doors open to do exactly that.
You float past the guards, dismissing their presence as soon as you lay eyes on your twin, rushing into Valarr's open arms. You sob into the crook of his neck for show before privacy is given, but you can recognize that some of them are real, from frustration and betrayal from someone you have loved dearly, though never as dearly as Valarr. You doubt you will ever love someone more than Valarr, not even the children your union may bring.
"Sister, what is the matter?" Valarr asks as soon as it is just the two of you.
You pull back from him and tell him what you overheard.
As you suspected, he is just as incensed as you are. Hurt, too, but he seems to have known your mother's opinion on Targaryen couplings when you prod him about his reaction. You smack him in the back of the head for hiding that from you, and he apologizes for it.
"We must stop this before any negotiations are made," you say grimly.
"How?" Valarr asks, ever so naively, but you like him this way, sweet and trusting.
Of the two of you, you are the elder, and though he may be the heir's heir, he still looks to you when it comes to matters of the heart.
"Do you remember when Cousin Daeron took you to the Street of Silk?"
Valarr blushes prettily, but he huffs, "Of course, I do. It is how I learned how to play the games we do."
"Yes, and now we shall play the one we have been saving."
You smile, cupping his cheeks and kissing him chastely—for now. He returns your smile, if only a little more dazedly. No matter how often you kiss him, he is always so affected by it, but you cannot blame him because you are the same way.
"Oh. I see," Valarr says, realizing your plan. He blushes some more, the red of his cheeks traveling down his neck and to his ears before quietly asking, "Are you certain?"
You swallow a lump in your throat and answer, "I know we said we wanted to wait, but Mother has given us no choice but to act." You lean your forehead against his own, staring into his handsome, mismatched eyes. "I never wish to part from you. I love you, Valarr."
"And I, you, sister." He kisses you once more, only this time more passionately. When he pulls away, you are both panting from lack of air. He whispers into your ear, "We are one, something Mother can never comprehend."
"Indeed, it would be a sin to separate us."
"Fear not, though, sweet sister, I shall still make this special."
As if that was ever in doubt.
"How can it not be when it is with you?"
He kisses you again for that, and you feel a familiar bulge in his breeches, and you smile against his lips at his bodily reaction to merely kissing you.
You have ventured into sexual relations with your twin. You have kissed him and touched him all over, but he has only kissed you all over. You knew it would not do well to lose your maidenhead before your wedding, but now you must sacrifice it to live the future you have dreamed of since you were a girl child, before it is snatched away.
Valarr leads you to his bed, stripping you from your nightgown and smallclothes, laying you out on his silken sheets and goose-feathered pillows, and gives you a lord's kiss.
He sups from your cunt like it is the finest delicacy afforded to him, which it may as well be from what he has confessed to you, cuntstruck as he was from teasing you all night long. There is no time for that this night, but still, he licks and slurps and bites and sucks enough for you to cum twice before his fingers stroke your sticky entrance.
"Valarr, please," you moan quietly, aware of the need to remain quiet, and he hums against your bud.
Your thighs tighten involuntarily around his head, and it is then that he chooses to slip two of his long, slender fingers within you. You whine at the new sensation as he begins to push them further inside, especially when a third one soon follows. You bring your free arm to your mouth to bite down on as he curls his fingers up into a part of you that is more sensitive than the rest. He does not hit it with each thrust, but it is enough to make you cum a third time.
You pull him up into a kiss so sloppy that it almost echoes throughout the room. Your arousal is not as salty as his, but there is a tangy flavor that lingers in the back of your throat as he shoves his tongue as deep as he can into your mouth. He grinds his bare cock against your sensitive core, and you both moan into each other's mouths at the feeling, even as it brings a new awareness of just how large he is.
You are uncertain how his cock will fit, but Valarr has promised that it will. You trust him, so you whisper, "Enough, brother. It is time."
"It will hurt," he tells you severely.
You cannot help the fond smile that grows on your face at his consideration.
"I know, but no more than it would if you were to marry another. I want this—us, more than anything," you confide, as you have hundreds of other times.
This seems to satisfy Valarr, for he lines up his cockhead to your entrance and pushes in.
As he said, it hurts.
You have never been one for running around the keep like your cousins were, but on occasion, you joined their antics and would find yourself sore the next two days. It is similar in that you have stretched an unused muscle, only this one has never been used.
There is no escaping the pain, but you imagine that it would have been more agonizing had he not prepared you. It is a good thing he is such a sweet boy, as you doubt your cousins would have cared so much for your pleasure, not that you would have ever let them touch you. It is likely one of them you would have been betrothed to, but you would not have allowed such a thing to pass.
Without Valarr, you are incomplete.
How Mother could ever think this unnatural, you will never know.
Before long, Valarr is fully sheathed within you, and the ache has lessened.
You drag him down for another kiss and demand, "Move, brother."
He heeds your command, thrusting in and out of you shallowly before picking up speed, which is when you begin to feel good again, sparks of pleasure running down your spine and building in your belly. He pinches your clit, and you see stars.
Valarr spends within you after a few minutes. As he pulls out, you notice streaks of red on his length and on the sheets beneath you. You want to lick him clean, you say as such, and he laughs softly.
"Only you, sister."
"Only me," you agree wholeheartedly.
-
You wake from your peaceful slumber to the sound of your mother screeching.
When you open your eyes, you note that her face is as red as her hair, as red as the maidenhead blood. She causes such a ruckus that guards and handmaidens enter behind her, staring in disbelief at the two of you. You may be covered, but there is no denying what has taken place.
Your mother has folded into herself by now, sobbing about one thing or another, but she brought this upon herself. You find that you do not really care because she has done exactly what you predicted she would. You had known that your guard would notify your mother about your whereabouts as soon as she had woken, that she would assume the worst, and then cause a spectacle so grand that soon the whole of the Red Keep would know.
Valarr kisses the crown of your head, and you turn to peck his lips, uncaring of who witnesses it, as soon all of the lords and ladies of Westeros shall witness the same when you are wedded to him in the Grand Sept.
I’m sorry if I’m being a bother since I’m certain your inbox is overflowing but could you write for Valarr and reader where they’re married. As we already saw, Aerion teases Valarr during the joust by implying he wouldn’t be able to win against him. I think you could maybe take this one step further and have Aerion ask for readers favor while it is obviously very known that her and Valarr are wed. I’m not sure if reader should give the favor to Aerion or not so I’ll leave that to you!
Anyways, more pouting Valarr (dark haired Targs love to pout) and then “makeup”/jealousy sex with him after the joust?
Jealousy Games
18+ ---- {Masterlist}
{Valarr Targaryen x f!Reader}
Aerion thought he won something when you gave him your favor. But the only prize that matters is waiting in your chambers, and Valarr intends to claim it.
♡♡ anonnnn this is such a delicious ideaa, we love pouting dark haired targss ♡♡
4.3k words - Warnings: smutttt, possessive!Valarr, jealous!Valarr, riding (horses and a prince), lots of praise, Aerion being Aerion, brief public humiliation attempt, tournament violence && revenge pda...
Aerion had been a thorn in Valarr's side ever since they were young, a boy who could only find happiness in the suffering of others. The prince was a sore loser and a glutton for praise, but he was also a man grown, and with that came a dangerous mix of pride and entitlement.
Your husband tried his best to ignore his cousin's constant boasting, and shield you from the brunt of his taunting, but today the man was particularly persistent.
You had an uneasy feeling about Aerion the moment you spotted him trotting towards where you sat with Valarr, helping adjust the straps on his armor. The morning sun glinted off the hilt of his sword, but there was nothing warm in the smile he wore.
"Cousin!" Aerion bellowed, pulling the reins of his horse to halt in front of the two of you.
Valarr sighed, turning his head towards the man with a grimace, "Aerion," he greeted, a hint of irritation lacing his tone.
"Care to face me?" The sneer on the prince's lips was clear, and your stomach churned at the sight.
"I would not risk your health for a tourney," Valarr quipped, earning a laugh from you and a scowl from Aerion.
"We'll see how you fair once the horns blow," Aerion threatened, his gaze flicking down to your seated form, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
For a heartbeat, you thought he might simply ride away. You should have known better.
"Lady y/n," he yelled, loud enough for everyone to hear, his tone sickeningly sweet. "Might I have the honor of your favor before the match begins?"
Valarr's hands tensed around his sword, but his face remained stoic. His eyes, however, told a different story. He was seething. You could almost feel the heat radiating off of him, a silent fury that threatened to boil over.
You could also feel the eyes of Baelor, your goodfather, on the three of you. When you risked a glance toward the royal box, you found him watching with an unreadable expression. His expectations for this tourney were clear, and you knew your decision would be scrutinized by everyone watching. Your family, as repugnant as some members could be... Could show no cracks.
And Aerion knew that just as well as you did. He was deliberately trying to humiliate your husband in front of everyone. He wanted to get under Valarr's skin, to make him falter in front of the crowd. The way he held your gaze now, all false warmth and waiting challenge, made it clear he was enjoying every moment of your discomfort.
Your heart hammered against your ribs. Beside you, Valarr had gone very still, you wanted to reach for him. You wanted to tell Aerion exactly what he could do with his request.
But everyone was watching. And Aerion knew that you couldn't refuse without making Valarr seem weak by association. A wife who wouldn't honor her own husband's cousin? The whispers would be merciless.
So you made your choice.
Slowly, you reached up and untied the ribbon from your sleeve. It was a small thing made of red silk, with a little stitch of a dragon you had woven in. It was nothing of real value. But the weight of it in your fingers felt enormous.
Aerion's smile widened.
You laid the ribbon across his palm, careful not to let your fingers touch his skin. "Good fortune in the joust, Prince Aerion," you heard yourself say. The words came out steady and bright. You couldn't look at Valarr.
Aerion brought the ribbon to his lips and kissed it while holding your gaze. "I shall treasure it."
He snapped the rains of his horse with a laugh, and turned away. Over his shoulder, he called out, "I won't embarrass you today, cousin! I've chosen another opponent!" And then he was gone, trotting toward the other tents, your red ribbon streaming from his gauntlet like a victory flag.
You turned back to face your husband, his face carefully blank, but you knew him well enough to know he was angry. His mouth was a flat line, and his shoulders were tight, like he was holding back the urge to storm after his cousin.
"It's only a ribbon," you whispered as you approached him, knowing it would sound like a paltry excuse.
Valarr shook his head, not meeting your gaze. "I know," he said, but there was no reassurance in his voice.
He was upset, and the worst part was, you couldn't even blame him.
"It will be over soon," you said softly, "and then we will be free of him."
Valarr gave a short, humorless laugh. "I fear we will only be free of him when he is dead."
You flinched at the venom in his words, but you couldn't argue with the sentiment. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to soothe the anger you could feel coiled beneath the surface. "Go show him what you're made of, husband."
For a moment, you thought he might pull away, but then he leaned into your touch. He looked at you, and the anger in his eyes was gone, replaced by something else. Something raw and hungry.
"For you," he said, and then he kissed you, hard and quick, a brand against your lips.
Then he mounted his horse and rode out into the field, a stark figure in black steel armor, and you watched him go, your heart a nervous flutter in your chest.
The day was a blur of pounding hooves and splintering lances. You watched as Aerion unseated rider after rider, your red ribbon prominently displayed through every round.
Valarr won his own matches, but his victories were far less showy. He took his time, calculating and patient. You knew none of these knights would dare harm the crown prince. He had to save his strength for the only true danger… his very own cousin with a talent for violence.
You made your way to the royal box just as the final match was announced. Valarr and Aerion would face each other.
The air in the tent was tense, everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see who would win. Baelor sat leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, watching his son and nephew, his face an unreadable mask.
You sat down next to him, trying to keep your own expression calm, but your palms were sweating.
Baelor glanced at you, his brow furrowed. "I see my son has been easily baited," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.
"Yes," you agreed, your voice quiet.
Baelor let out a long breath, shaking his head. "I suppose if he wins, it will be good for him."
"And if he loses?" You asked.
Baelor's eyes met yours, his mouth a thin line. "Then it will be a lesson learned."
The herald's voice thundered across the lists: "FINAL CHALLENGE! PRINCE VALARR OF HOUSE TARGARYEN! PRINCE AERION OF HOUSE TARGARYEN! THE KING'S OWN GRANDSONS, TWO YOUNG DRAGONS! WHO SHALL CLAIM THE VICTORY?"
The crowd's cheers grew louder, and you and Baelor fell silent, leaning forward in your seats, anticipation thick in the air.
Valarr rode out onto the field, his armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Aerion was a dark shadow, his black plate and the flames etched into his breastplate lending him an ominous air.
"Begin!"
The horses surged forward, their powerful muscles rippling beneath the riders' legs. They moved as one, charging down the length of the field, lances poised and ready.
The crowd roared.
You gripped the edge of your seat, watching as they drew closer and closer, their speed increasing the sudden collision of their lances shattering the air.
You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart pounding as you watched Valarr sway in the saddle, struggling to regain his balance. Aerion was grinning, his teeth bared.
"One point for Prince Aerion!"
Valarr shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness. He righted himself, gripping his lance tighter.
The horses galloped forward again, racing toward each other. This time, Valarr was the first to hit. His lance struck Aerion's shield with a resounding crack.
Aerion grunted, but stayed upright.
"A point for the Crown Prince!"
"Well done," Baelor said quietly, clapping his hands together.
You couldn't speak, your throat was too dry. You swallowed, forcing yourself to breathe. Time seemed to slow as you watched Valarr's squires rush to replace his broken lance. His eyes met yours across the distance, and even from this far away, you could see the fire burning in his gaze.
You were not a religious person, but in that moment, you sent a prayer to whatever god would listen. Please, let him win.
The horn sounded, and the horses raced forward again. This time, the crash was so loud, it seemed to shake the ground.
Aerion was knocked off his horse, landing hard on the dirt. He lay there, unmoving. The crowd cheered, a deafening cacophony of screams and shouts.
Valarr reined his horse to a halt, his shoulders heaving with exertion, then he looked up. Not at the cheering masses, not at his fallen cousin, but directly at you. Even from this distance, you could see him reach for his chest, where his heart would be beneath the steel, and then extend that same hand toward you. Just for you.
"Prince Aerion is down! Prince Valarr wins the final joust!"
Baelor clapped again, louder this time, a small smile curving his lips.
Your heart was hammering in your chest, relief washing over you in waves.
Valarr had won.
You made your way down to the field, smiling at the people who nodded and bowed in your direction. The crowd was still cheering for their new champion, and their excitement was contagious.
You found Valarr talking to his squires, his helmet tucked under his arm. He looked sweaty and tired, but his face was alight with pride.
You waited for him to finish giving his instructions, not wanting to interrupt.
As soon as he was alone, you approached, trying to keep the grin from your face. You schooled your features into an expression of careful neutrality.
"Well fought," you said, your voice a low purr.
Valarr looked at you, his eyes darkening. "Thank you, wife."
You reached out, taking the helmet from his hand and setting it aside. "Do you need assistance removing your armor?"
"Yes," he said, his tone matching yours.
"Yes, well fought cousin," Aerion's voice cut through the moment like a blade.
You turned to see him standing behind you, his face a mask of calm. But you could see the rage burning in his eyes, and you felt a twinge of fear.
Valarr stepped forward, blocking Aerion's view of you. "Thank you," he said, his voice icy.
Aerion removed the red ribbon from his gauntlet, holding it up to show the both of you. "Keep the joust, cousin. I kept something better." His eyes flick to you, then back to Valarr. "She gave it so sweetly. Practically on her knees for me."
You held on to Valarr's arm, keeping him from lunging at his cousin. For a second you thought he was going to snap, to attack Aerion with his bare hands. But then his body went still, and he looked at Aerion with a cold smile.
"You should get that head checked, cousin," Valarr said, his voice dangerously quiet. "It seems you are confused on who kneels for who."
You saw Aerion's hand twitch towards the hilt of his sword, but before he could respond, a group of kingsguard arrived, leading his horse by the reins. Aerion let out a sigh, the tension in his body easing as his anger faded. He mounted the horse, a sour expression on his face.
"Another time," he said, looking at the two of you. "Enjoy your victory, Valarr. It won't last." And then he rode away, leaving the two of you standing alone in the arena.
Valarr said nothing. His hands had gone slack at his sides, and when you finally dared to look at him, you found him staring at the space where Aerion had been. His expression a little angry, but mostly just sad. He looked younger in that moment, like the boy you'd married who still feared he'd never be enough.
"Valarr." You reached for him.
He flinched away, then caught himself, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It's fine. You're right. It's only a ribbon."
But his voice cracked on ‘ribbon’ and you knew it had never been about the ribbon at all. He turned on his heel and began striding back towards the keep, not looking back.
You hurried after him, following him into the cool shade of the castle. The halls were blessedly empty, save for a few servants who ducked out of sight.
You caught up to him in your chambers, already halfway out of his armor, tossing the pieces aside with careless abandon.
"Are you alright?" You asked, stepping closer.
"No," he snapped, pulling off his gambeson and throwing it to the floor.
"Val," you said, your voice softening.
"He had no right," Valarr said, his hands clenching into fists. "No right to ask for your favor. No right to touch you."
"He didn't," you reminded him. "I barely touched his hand, that was all."
"He wanted to humiliate me," Valarr said, turning to face you, his eyes blazing.
"And you showed him, you won. He didn't."
Valarr didn't say anything, he simply looked at you, his jaw tight and his breathing labored.
"Why did you give him your favor?"
You blinked, caught off guard by his question. You could tell he was hurt, but his tone was more curious than accusatory. "I had to," you said, taking a step toward him.
Valarr snorted, shaking his head. "You didn't."
"I did." You took another step closer, until you were close enough to touch him, to soothe the tension from his shoulders. "Remember what your father said, these are delicate times, we cannot look divided."
Valarr sighed, reaching out and pulling you flush against him. "I know," he murmured. "But it still felt like a slap to the face."
"I'm sorry," you whispered, winding your arms around his neck.
Valarr rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "He'll never have you," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.
"And I'll never want him," you replied, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
His hands tightened on your hips, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He kissed you again, harder this time, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.
You moaned, tangling your fingers in his hair. He lifted you easily, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you toward the bed.
He sat down on the edge, placing you in his lap, your skirts bunched around your waist. His mouth found your neck, biting and sucking at the tender skin.
"Mine," he groaned, his mouth hot against your skin. "My pretty little wife."
"Yes," you gasped, tilting your head back as he trailed kisses down the column of your throat. "All yours."
Valarr tugged at the ties on your dress, slowly pulling until the fabric loosened.
His warm hands slipped beneath the fabric, pushing it aside, and skimming over your breasts. Your nipples pebbled at his touch, and he groaned, brushing his thumb over one of them.
You shivered, arching into his touch. His other hand drifted down, fingers tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your dress.
"I should have ran him through after I knocked him from his horse," Valarr muttered against your skin, his voice muffled where his face was pressed to your neck. "For looking at you. For trying to claim what is mine."
"Yes," you murmured, your fingers working at the lacings of his tunic.
He groaned when you finally tugged the garment off, revealing the hard planes of his chest. His muscles flexed beneath your fingers, and he shivered at your touch.
His hands slipped beneath your dress, cupping your ass and squeezing it and pulling you closer against him, grinding you against the growing hardness in his breeches.
"I'll keep you safe from him, little wife," Valarr murmured, pressing his lips to yours, swallowing your answering moan. "Always."
He kissed you again, slower this time, but no less passionate. His hands continued their exploration, pushing your dress down your shoulders until it pooled around your waist where you sat in his lap. The air was cool against your skin, but Valarr ran hot, his palms warm where they settled on your bare hips.
You helped him push the rest of your dress aside, and he lifted you briefly to tug it free completely. When you settled back in his lap, you could feel exactly how much he wanted you, hard and insistent beneath his breeches.
"He said you were on your knees for him," Valarr murmured, the words tight. "But I know better, don't I? I know who you kneel for."
"Only you," you breathed, and to prove it, you shifted in his lap, grinding down against him. He let out a sharp breath, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs.
"Only me," he echoed, his voice strained. "Say it. Say that you kneel only for me."
You leaned forward, kissing his throat, teasing the skin with your teeth. "I kneel for no one," you purred, and then you pushed him backwards on the bed, his eyes going wide. "But my husband," you finished, straddling his hips and smirking down at him.
You reached down and tugged at the laces on his breeches, making quick work of them, before hooking your fingers in his waistband and pulling them down over his hips.
You trailed your fingers along his length, watching the way he trembled beneath you, the way he gripped the sheets beneath his hands. He was beautiful, stretched out beneath you like this. His mismatched eyes were dark, his hair tousled. You would never tire of seeing him like this.
"What does my prince need from his princess?" You teased, wrapping your fingers around him and giving him a few languid strokes.
Valarr groaned, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut. "Everything."
You leaned over him and kissed his jaw, then down his neck. "Say the words, Val," you breathed, kissing the hollow of his throat. "What do you need from your princess?"
His eyes snapped open, staring at you with those beautiful mismatched eyes that still made your stomach flutter even after all these months of marriage. His hands came up to grip your thighs, thumbs tracing circles against your skin.
"I need you to ride me," he said, his voice low and rough. "I need to watch you take what's yours. Need to see you move on my cock like you belong there. Because you do. You belong right here."
The raw honesty in his words sent heat pooling low in your belly. You lifted yourself up, positioning him at your entrance, and slowly, deliberately, sank down onto him.
Valarr's head fell back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. His fingers tightened on your hips, guiding you as you began to move. The stretch of him inside you was perfect, familiar and new all at once.
"Gods," he breathed, his eyes fixed on where your bodies joined. "Look at you. Taking all of me like the perfect little wife you are."
You set a rhythm, slow at first, rolling your hips in lazy circles that made him shudder beneath you. His hands roamed your body, palming your breasts, tracing down your stomach, settling back on your hips to help guide your movements.
His grip tightened as you picked up speed, your thighs burning with the effort. You leaned forward, bracing your hands against his chest as you began to bounce up and down, taking him as deep as you could.
Valarr grinned up at you, watching as your eyelashes fluttered and your breasts bounced in time with your movements. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting off the mattress. He knew what you liked, how to angle himself inside you to make your legs shake, make you tighten around him like a vice.
You leaned forward, your hair falling around both your faces as you pressed your lips to his. "Val," you breathed, the sound catching in your throat.
Valarr wrapped an arm around your back and rolled the both of you, pressing you into the mattress, your leg up over his hips. His lips never left yours as he started thrusting, his strokes slow and deep and aching.
Your hands wandered down his chest, fingers splaying out against his skin, feeling every hard line and ripple of muscle as he moved above you. His eyes were bright, watching your face as you both neared your end, the pressure building inside you both.
"You feel so perfect," he murmured against your mouth, "I could spend all night inside you. Could make you come around me again and again and again."
The thought made your walls clench, and Valarr let out a sharp breath. You both knew he wasn't lying, that he would make good on those words if you let him.
You could feel the tension in your core coiling tighter, your breath coming in sharp gasps, the sound punctuated by the soft slap of skin against skin as he pushed you towards the edge.
He must've sensed it too, because he picked up speed, thrusting faster and deeper, making you arch off the bed. His mouth was hot against your throat, leaving kisses and bites that would mark you later.
"You're mine," he growled, "and I'm yours."
You nodded, too caught up in the pleasure to do more than babble out your agreement. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, your bodies tangled together, sweat-slick skin against skin.
He leaned his forehead against yours, his hips stuttering against you, and he let out a strangled groan, his thrusts turning into long, deep grinding motions, like he wanted to be as close to you as humanly possible.
You held on to him, clinging to his shoulders as you followed him over the edge, squeezing around him as your climax washed over you in waves of bliss. His mouth crashed down on yours, swallowing the sounds you made. He kissed you as you shook through your release, his hips moving in slow circles to draw out every ounce of pleasure he could.
When he finally pulled away, you both were gasping for air, your chests heaving as you stared at each other, a thousand words and emotions passing silently between you. You didn't have to say it out loud for him to hear your I love yous, and you could read it clearly on his face.
Valarr eased himself out of you, collapsing next to you on the bed.
You curled into his side, resting your head on his chest, his heartbeat thudding against your cheek.
"How do you feel, my prince?"
Valarr turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Better," he murmured.
You smiled, kissing his chest.
"I suppose I should go apologize to my cousin," Valarr sighed, his fingers trailing lazily down your spine.
"What? Why?" You asked, propping yourself up on an elbow.
Valarr grinned at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "So I can rub my victory in his face."
"Well, in that case," you laughed, sitting up and swinging a leg over his hips.
Valarr's hands slid up your thighs, his eyes darkening.
You bent down, brushing your lips against his, teasing and light. "I have an idea."
You found Aerion on the way to dinner, his mood no better than earlier. He was limping slightly, his expression sour.
"Good evening, cousin," Valarr said cheerfully, his arm looped around your waist.
Aerion looked up, his gaze going to Valarr's arm around you, before flicking to the state of disarray the both of you were in, hair a mess, clothes rumpled, cheeks flushed.
It didn't take much to figure out what the two of you had been doing, and his expression darkened further.
"Cousin," Aerion replied, his voice icy.
"How is your head?" Valarr asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Fine," Aerion muttered, his jaw tight.
The two of you strolled in front of him, walking a little too close, letting the air hang heavy with your shared secrets.
Valarr's hand slipped lower, cupping your ass and giving it a light squeeze. You giggled, swatting at his hand and he pulled you closer, bending his head down and nipping at the skin of your neck.
Aerion stopped walking, watching the two of you. "Do you not have any shame?" He hissed, his fists clenched at his sides.
Valarr laughed, his breath hot against your ear. "None at all."
"See you at dinner," you said sweetly, linking your arm with Valarr's and pulling him away.
You found a quiet corner and fixed each other's clothes, making yourselves presentable. Valarr was grinning the whole time, letting you comb through his hair with your fingers
"Your laces are crooked," he teased, his hand sliding down to brush against the ties on your dress.
You laughed, batting his hand away. "Stop that."
He grinned, stealing a quick kiss and properly smoothing down your skirts. "Ready, my princess?"
"I am, my prince," you replied, taking his arm.
The two of you were still chuckling when the two of you entered the hall, taking your seats at the high table.
Valarr shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He deserves it."
"Perhaps we were a bit mean to Aerion," you whispered, though you couldn't keep the grin from your face.
"Don't get cocky now," you teased, elbowing him in the ribs. . "Arrogance is a slippery slope for a prince, you know. Better not let it get out of control."
"But I have you to keep me in line, don't I? My clever little wife." Valarr smiled, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your cheek.
"You do," you said, lacing your fingers with his under the table.
He brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "I would be lost without you," he murmured.
"I will keep you on track for your destiny, my prince. But you have to remember to take the time to enjoy your victories along the way." You looked up at him, squeezing his hand.
Valarr looked at you, the love shining in his eyes, and he grinned, his eyes twinkling. "And what a victory it is."
i think i’m going to need some modern valaar from the queen herself
(i’m mourning never seeing him again after this next episode)
🙏🙏🙏🙏
──── Valarr Targaryen┆College Loverboy
author’s note: first modern fic kinda nervous This work contains: modern au, they both are in college, fluff, lazy morning with your beautiful boyfriend, bit of family drama, smut, p in v, protected sex, eating out, lazy, morning sex
Valarr Targaryen x girlfriend!reader
mdni
The sun was shining through the large windows of your loft when your eyes fluttered open. Your nose scrunched slightly before a small smile bloomed on your face the moment Valarr's hair came into view. He has fallen asleep with his head pressed against the crock of your neck, arms wrapped around your waist and legs tangled with yours.
You ran your hand over his back – your nails grazing over the freckles that adorned his skin and the muscles that still were taut from whatever he was dreaming about now. With a gentle stretch you reached for your phone to the bedside table while the other ran over his messy hair – toying softly with the white streak that always was stealing your attention.
You checked the time – eight in the morning and it was Saturday. Finally Saturday – the day you will not have to get up and go through your morning routine half asleep just to sit in the lecture class and try to appear as if the subject interested you at all. Law was interesting of course – it’s what you wanted to do since the beginning of high school. What you planned to do after graduating Old Town College – becoming a lawyer and working with your boyfriend, then maybe even husband. Opening your own law firm and living happily ever after.
It was optimistic – you knew it was maybe a little too optimistic but Gods, wouldn’t it be nice? You two, grown up and living in something more than the loft you were currently sharing, working together, getting married.
In moments like that – those easy, lazy morning moments with Valarr snoring gently, still asleep against you, you could feel that it all was possible.
“Why are you moving?” a muffled voice caught you off guard before Valarr finally lifted his head and looked at you as if you, stretching personally offended him. “I was comfortable”
“I literally just reached for my phone.” you said as your hand reached to run through the map of his hair.
They were sticking out in every direction imaginable – a sight you were waking up to every morning before he tamed them in the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth and you trying not to smear your mascara all over your eyelids.
“That’s still moving.” he mumbled and dropped his head against your shoulder. “It’s Saturday, we’re supposed to be sleeping in.” he added
“Do you see me standing up from bed?” you asked moving to press a kiss to his temple.
“Laying and sleeping are two different things.” he huffed but when his mismatched eyes met yours he only moved to press his lips against yours. “We’re supposed to be relaxing,” he added between kisses.
His lips were warm – he was warm, all the time, no matter what season, what hour or how many degrees there were outside. That was why most of the time he was having only his boxer shorts on – pretending like he’s not overheating himself under the thick duvet that you’d be shivering without. Or maybe the fact you were always cold was just an excuse to cling to you in his sleep – to warm you up and cool himself down.
“Okay, okay, fine” he said as your thumb grazed over his cheek. “So what do we do to relax?” you asked and fixed the shirt as it fell off your shoulder – perhaps because it was his shirt with your college logo after you lost yours somewhere in the beginning of you starting to live together.
“Nothing, obviously.” Valarr said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “We just lay here… wrapped up… you can let me kiss you some more.” he said and raised his eyebrow slightly in suggestion. “sounds good?”
“Mhmm, wonderful indeed.” you snickered before wrapping your arms around him.
The kiss that came next was slow – like he was trying to devour you with precision, being careful with how his tongue grazes over your bottom lip and asking for permission and entry. You can feel how his hands from sheets sneak to wrap around your waist and hold you against him. Or how his knee moved between your legs so he could be as close to you as possible. Yet instead of his tongue entering your mouth he moved to press kisses on your jaw and neck – making a path downwards marked by pink bruises and gentle bite marks.
You could only chuckle quietly, sliding your hands into his hair as his own traced the skin of your waist after finding their way under your shirt.
The phone on his nightstand buzzed and a groan left him before you felt him dropping his head on your shoulder in resignation. Before he finally parted from your body three other messages came what only caused a pained whine.
With heavy eyelids he raised his head to read the messages and then you heard and saw how his fingertips tapped against the screen. And you could see that it was something serious by how a crease between his eyebrows appeared and how the tapping quickened as if he was in a hurry.
“Something happened?” You mumbled and reached to brush his hair away from his life before your thumb brushed over his cheekbone and fell back on the mattress by his elbow.
“It’s my dad.” He mumbled only, reading the messages as the duvet kept his lower half covered and only his freckled back was adorned by the sunlight. “Something with company… I’ll have to fly back home for a few days and help him” he mumbled and moved to rub his face.
“Something serious?” You asked and pulled the sheets tighter around you.
“Don’t know yet—… probably Aerion or Daeron fucking something up… and I have to clean after them” he sighed and gave you a knowing look before his eyes returned to the screen.
“…you’ll be gone for how long?” You asked and your fingers lifted to trace shapes over his forearm.
“Don’t know..” He grunted and fell back on the pillows before turning his head to you. “But you’re coming with me” he added in a voice that was not accepting a ‘no’ and yet—
“No— Valarr.. I have to stay, I have classes, someone has to stay home—.”
“Absolutely not.” He moved again to hover over you as the phone and texts with Baelor were forgotten. “You’re coming with me. I’ll get to show you off and it’s been ages since you last visited, mum wants to see you.” He said and leaned on his elbow to press a kiss to your lips — a small peck that made you smirk a bit.
“But only for a bit ‘kay?” You said and lifted your hand to cup his cheek “and you get back here” you added.
“Only a bit” he nodded and moved to press kisses down the column of your throat. “And we go back home.” He said and a smirk bloomed on his lips as if some wicked thought appeared in his mind.
Perhaps it did.
“What on earth are you doing?” You asked as he pulled the covers off of you and moved down to snuggle between your legs.
“What? Can’t have my girlfriend anymore?” He raised an eyebrow as his hands gripped your thighs to part them.
“Valarr—“
“I’m having my breakfast.” He smirked and your cheeks flushed as you stared at him, pulling your panties off and tossing them on the floor beside your bed.
“This is such a dirty way to say this.” You said trying to sit up but his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs firmly kept you in place.
“Don’t want to make me feel better?” He asked and a fake pout appeared on his face.
“I do but—“
“Shush then.” He said only
You could only gasp again when his hot breath hit your cunt – already clenching on nothing when you finally managed to bend your knees. The slow drags of his tongue made you flush and squeeze your fingers on the sheets as your gaze flickered between the ceiling and his head between your thighs.
You could feel his tongue pressing against your cit – toying with it almost as he focused on gathering your wetness from your core. You felt the way his jaw worked against you and when your gaze finally dropped to look at him you were met with the sight of the mismatched eyes already staring at you – as if taking pleasure in seeing you so flustered.
It was not often that his head ended up between your legs – for him it was way too little but you couldn't shake off the feeling of unfairness. You knew Valarr liked going down on you – seeing that he is able to make you cum with a few kisses and licks, fall apart on your tongue and there was no shame in it. You sometimes thought that he’d prefer not to come out from between them at all – by the way his hips rocked into the mattress as if mimic what he will do later or by the way his licks were unhurried or by the way his hands smoothed the skin on your thighs just to squeeze on them from time to time when he felt you trying to writhe away.
You could feel his tongue on you all the time – the sloppy, wet sound filled the air as he lapped on your cunt. His tongue circles your clit in a lazy manner, plush lips sealing around it to suckle gently, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make your thighs shake.
“Valarr–” a shake in your voice was unmistakable as you felt the warmth in your belly threatening to spill.
Only a grunt of acknowledgment left him as he wrapped his arms around you, not letting you go anywhere. Your hips shifted on their own though as your mind focused only on his swift and trained movements that managed to bring you closer and closer to your release.
“Fuck–... please, please.” you mumbled as your back arched slightly – your body trying to run away from the source of teasing. “Fuck.”
You came on his tongue – with a cry of his name and shameless whine that followed right after it when your entire body tensed – You felt him shift, his hand finally released your thigh, letting it fall down on the softness of your mattress while he moved up. You saw his chin soaked when he hovered over you and pressed his hips to yours – his want and need pressing against your inner thigh as a silent alert – waiting to be acknowledged. Your juices stained his pale skin as you clenched on nothing again.
“So pretty…” he whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before pressing his lips to yours as his hips gently rocked against yours. “Can I–... please?” Only a weak nod made him move in an instant – hands reaching to the drawer of his nightstand as he practically yanked it open.
His fingers quickly found the box as he pulled it out, not bothering to close the drawer after it – too desperate to side into you to care. With shaky hands and lips not wanting to leave yours, Valarr tore the packaging and struggled with the fabric that stayed clinging to his hips. He was leaking already — onto the fabric of his boxers as he finally managed to pull them off, onto his hand as it wrapped around his cock. His hips kept grinding against yours before he lifted them only a bit and rolled the condom on.
With almost painful slowness he pressed into you – his hands seeking yours as he intertwined your fingers and moved your one hand above your head, pressed your lips back together in soft, slow kisses. The other stilled on your hip as he thrusted deeper until he was fully buried inside you.
The movements were careful – precise as he always was until he was losing control and giving in to the need that was calling him from the back of his brain. His thrusts were firm and the moment his cock hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl you could only whimper before his lips pressed to your forehead in a silent way of comfort.
You hooked your leg over his hip, swallowing, needing him just as much as he was needing you. Valarr inhaled sharply – his eyes met yours as his hand pushed your shirt up to reveal the soft curve of your chest. His head moved, lips pressing gently to the hardening nipple as he sucked on it gently while his hand cupped the other breast.
Then a groan left his lips and he moved harder as your fingers squeezed and tugged at the strands of his hair. “So beautiful, my love…” he mumbled against your skin as his eyes met yours in a silent act of worship. “Yet teasing me so much–” he said and whined as his forehead fell against your sternum and his hips rolled faster – chasing the pleasure that coiled in his pelvis.
“Valarr–” a breathy moan that was, something that was driving him absolutely mad. “Fuck, it feels so good.” you assured seeing his needy yet worried gaze. “You feel so good” you nodded against the pillows, trying to hide your face in the funky pattern you chose while apartment shopping.
How the head of his cock was hitting that one spot inside you – this one sweet spot faster with slightly more urgency than before. Rosy pink tip driving you absolutely insane with every push and roll. He moved as if he was chasing after something. And he indeed was – perhaps you both were with how your hips buckled to meet his – uncontrolled or the way your back arched to press against his chest to get closer to him as you started cumming.
He followed a few thrusts later, spilling inside the condom – his cheeks were flushed, looking like he might as well be feverish before pressing a kiss against your sweaty temple. His breath was ragged and he shook his head gently as if coming back to his senses.
“...Always know how to make my day better.” he chuckled breathily, holding you in his arms.
Thank your for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and please interact with this post - it means the worst. Modern, soft, boyfriend Valarr... I crave you...
summary: Valarr has neglected his soon-to-be wife, no passion in their political union. But one glance at you in your simple nightgown manages to completely unravel him.
warnings: smut; inexperienced!reader; inexperienced!Valarr; Valarr is an eater (it's the enthusiasm that counts); cumming untouched
words: 3.4k
notes: No physical description of the reader (only that she has hair). If you don't feel comfortable with these warnings/topics, please do not read. I am not responsible for the media YOU choose to consume. I literally wrote this before bed, so if you see something suspicious?? No, you didn't.
When Valarr was first betrothed to his soon-to-be bride, it was a union forged from duty rather than desire. He sought to honour his father’s wishes, securing the alliance that Prince Baelor had so deftly arranged. To Valarr, you were an obligation, a means to an end. Yet, despite the coldness of his motives, he treated you with the manners befitting a true gentleman, for his father had raised him in the values of courtesy and respect.
With a subtle smile gracing his lips, Valarr would speak to you in tender tones, his words laced with a polite charm that could not entirely mask the absence of warmth. He opened doors for you, his strong hand at your back or entwined with yours as he guided you through the bustling halls to grand feasts. Such gestures were the height of chivalry, yet all you craved was the fire of passion and the bloom of love, emotions that danced just out of reach.
Over time, you found solace in accepting this harsh reality, making peace with the truth that your marriage was merely a political arrangement, binding your noble house to his in a web of duty and allegiance. It was a bitter truth to swallow, yet you resolved to fulfil your part in this grand tapestry of power and lineage, even as your heart ached for something more.
This wasn’t the worst fate you could have endured, you knew that well. You were surrounded by a multitude of maids to attend your every whim, feasting on the finest delicacies the realm had to offer, and your future son would rise as the heir to the iron throne. Yet, the last point bore a certain weight, for the honour of ruling was often shrouded in peril and intrigue.
It's not that Valarr found you unsightly or undesirable, far from it. In his eyes, you were a vision of beauty, with hair that shone and skin as smooth as the finest silk. You possessed the enchantment of a siren, beckoning sailors to their doom upon treacherous shores.
However, he kept busy in the web of politics, far too entangled in the affairs of state to fall for your siren song just yet. His gaze was set on aiding his father to rule the realm wisely.
But all it took was one evening for Valarr to finally see the woman in you, not just a beautiful maiden he was to wed, awakening a desire he had kept locked away for too long.
In your private chambers, the dying fire flickered, casting warm shadows across your freshly bathed skin, still faintly fragrant with honey and dates—a scent that wafted through the air like an aphrodisiac. He had stopped by as he did each night, but this time it felt different.
You turned to him, a sweet smile curving your lips, your hair left loose, untamed, and perfumed, an allure he had never before witnessed. Gone were the elaborate gowns and intricate braids. A soft blush on the apples of your cheeks, feeling almost naked in the rather flimsy nightdress.
This was something else. This was raw.
As he lingered in the doorway, his gaze roamed over your figure, dressed in a nightgown, the fabric sheer enough to unveil the gentle curves of your body in the dim light.
Valarr had never seen you in such a state of unready before. As if the Gods had conspired to unveil your softness.
It was like tossing a scrap to a famished wolf—his breath quickened, sweat beading on his brow, the air thick with a growing warmth that made the chamber feel as though it had reached a fevered pitch. The sight of you stirred something deep within him, illuminating the desire he had kept locked away until now.
For a moment, it seemed as though Valarr's throat had gone dry, his gaze fixed upon you. The sheer nightgown's fabric betraying just enough to fuel his imagination, the soft candlelight playing a teasing game with your curves.
He took a step closer, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. His eyes roamed over you, tracing the contour of your hips, the gentle swell of your breasts. His voice, normally controlled, now held a rasp that betrayed his desire.
"My lady," he murmured, his voice low. His eyes drank you in, lingering over the slope of your shoulders, the gentle arch of your neck. The sweet scent clung to your skin, adding an intoxicating edge to the moment.
He took another step forward, the distance now mere inches. His hand moved of its own accord, his fingers gently tracing the line of your collarbone, the touch soft yet possessive. "You look…" He swallowed, his eyes finally meeting yours. "Breathtaking."
You blushed, feeling goosebumps rise on your arms as he grazed your skin. Feeling such a gentle touch for the first time from him, swallowing with slight nerves. "My prince, do not be silly. I am simply in my nightgown," you joked with a light tone, your voice breathy.
You felt a warm flush spread across your cheeks, and a shiver coursed through you as his fingertips danced lightly upon your skin. It was a gentle caress, unlike any you had ever known from him, igniting nervous anticipation in your belly that made you swallow hard. “My prince, do not be foolish,” you bantered softly, a teasing lilt gracing your breath.
“I am clad in my nightgown.” Your words hung in the air, sweet as honey, while your heart raced at the intimate closeness between you.
He hesitated, fingers barely touching your collarbone, worried he might cross an unwelcome line. His mind raced with thoughts that made him ache, nearly choking on his words.
“I’m not joking. You look... ravishing." The word fell from his lips like a confession, barely above a whisper. "Like a goddess made flesh,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. Valarr’s gaze devoured you, trailing down your body to the low neckline that had him yearning and weak in the knees.
Valarr swallowed hard, realising he had never allowed himself to acknowledge the depth of his attraction to you until now. He felt blood rush to his cock so fast it almost made him dizzy, breeches tightening against his bulge.
His hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing the swell of your breast through the thin fabric. He felt your nipple stiffen at his touch, betraying your arousal. The air between you crackled with tension, heavy with unspoken desires.
You gasped as Valarr's fingers brushed your soft breasts, your nipples stiffening instantly at his touch. "Valarr," you breathed out, instinctively arching your back to press your breasts more fully into his palm. Your eyes fluttered closed, body burning with a sudden, intense ache that made your core throb.
"Touch me," you murmured, voice husky and low, a plea laced with newfound hunger. Your own hands moved to cover his, holding his touch against you as you felt your heart pounding. The cool air and your racing pulse made your skin prickle with goosebumps.
Now that you'd had a taste, you could never go back.
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, the action slow and deliberate, an unspoken invitation. The air between you felt electric, heavy with the promise of passion about to be unleashed.
Unable to resist any longer, Valarr cupped the soft mounds fully, thumbs grazing over the hardened peaks. He leaned down, breath hot against your ear as he murmured, "As my princess commands..."
Valarr leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss. His mouth moved over yours hungrily, tongue delving past your lips to taste you deeply. One hand remained at your breast, kneading the soft flesh, while the other slid down to grip your hip, pulling your body flush against his.
He could feel his own heart pounding in his chest, his cock throbbing almost painfully against his breeches.
You kissed him back clumsily, but with growing fervour. Your tongues tangled awkwardly as you let out a muffled moan into his mouth. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging in as you tried to steady yourself and simultaneously pull him closer.
Gods, but he kisses like a starving man, you thought dizzily, your own hunger rising to match his. You could feel the evidence of his desire, hard and insistent, against your stomach. It thrilled and intimidated you in equal measure.
Valarr's hands slid down to grip your rear, squeezing the firm globes as he pulled you harder against him. He could feel your body melting into his, your soft curves moulding perfectly to the hard planes of his body. His hips rocked forward, grinding his cloth-covered erection against your core, seeking friction even through the layers of fabric separating you.
Breaking the kiss, Valarr's mouth trailed down to your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point. He nipped and sucked at the tender skin, determined to mark you as his own. His hands slid under the hem of your nightgown, calloused fingers skimming up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Valarr was inexperienced, having lived a sheltered life and never visiting the brothels as his cousins often did. But he was a man—a Targaryen. He instinctively knew where to trace his fingers.
"I want to taste you." He whispered, voice shaky with how many thoughts and feelings were swirling inside him.
Driven by a yearning that stirred deep within, he needed to taste you, to have your honey on his tongue.
You let out a shaky sigh at his bold confession, the breath catching in your throat for a fleeting moment. "Taste me?" you inquired, uncertainty lacing your voice.
Your knowledge of intimacy came from books or your handmaiden, who kept the description of the act rather vague. Teaching you that the main purpose of a man and woman being together was to reproduce.
Valarr's hands slid further up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin at the apex. "Here," he murmured, voice low and thick with desire. "I want to put my mouth on you, taste your essence, feel you come undone against my tongue..."
"Forgive me, I forget myself. This is new for me too." His thumb caressed your inner thigh soothingly.
I want to put my mouth on your sweet cunt until you're writhing and begging for more. That is what he truly wanted to say, but he kept his baser instincts at bay.
Your eyes widened, and you let out a breathy gasp, "Oh! I see..." You bit your lip, a blush spreading across your cheeks. "Well, I suppose that could be... pleasant." You trusted him; that's what made you agree almost embarrassingly quickly.
Valarr's heart raced at your breathy consent. Slowly, almost reverently, he eased you down onto the bed, settling between your parted thighs. He gazed up at you, eyes darkened with lust and a hint of tenderness.
"Pleasant doesn't begin to cover it," he murmured, hands sliding further up, thumbs brushing maddeningly close to your core.
With that, he leaned in, breath ghosting over your clothed sex. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your mound, breathing in your scent before pulling the fabric aside.
Gods, she smells divine, he thought, mouth watering.
Your stomach fluttered nervously asyou felt Valarr's breath ghosting over your most intimate place, thighs clenching instinctively. A breathy, almost mortified whimper escaped your lips as he pushed your nightgown up and exposed your womanhood to his hungry gaze. "Ah," you gasped, cheeks flushing crimson. Yet, you made no move to stop him, pulse quickening in anticipation.
Valarr paused, looking up at you with a mix of hunger and tenderness in his mismatched eyes. "Shh, don't be nervous," he murmured. "I would never hurt you, my princess."
He leaned in, inhaling your scent deeply before placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss on your bare mound. His tongue flicked out, parting your lower lips, tasting your essence. He groaned at the flavour of you, eyes fluttering closed.
"Sweet gods, you taste even better than I imagined," he rumbled against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them.
His tongue delved deeper, exploring your folds with a growing hunger. He lapped at your essence, savouring the taste of your arousal. His hands slid up to grip your rear, kneading the flesh as he pulled you tighter against his mouth.
"Valarr~" you mewled, back arching off the bed as jolts of pleasure shot through you. Your fingers clawed at the sheets, bunching the fine linen in your fists as you gripped them for dear life.
What is this feeling? You thought dizzily, overwhelmed by sensations you had never known before. Soft, breathy mewls and whimpers spilt from your lips uncontrollably.
"So... so good..." you trailed off, unable to even articulate the depth of your pleasure, your body writhing with a hunger you had never known before.
Valarr groaned against your sex, the sound vibrating through you. Behaving more like an animal rather than a prince.
He sealed his lips around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud. His tongue flicked over it in quick, teasing strokes, drawing more of your essence.
Your breathing grew ragged, mingling with the obscene sounds of his suckling, filling the room with a symphony of lewd noises.
Valarr's thumbs spread your glistening folds apart, revealing your slick, little hole to his hungry gaze. "Exquisite," he breathed, the sight of your dripping sex making his painfully hard cock throb against his breeches.
Unable to resist any longer, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, savouring your ambrosial taste, before delving inside your tight channel with a low moan.
He thrust his tongue in and out, fucking your hole with his mouth as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you harder against him. His nose brushes your sensitive clit with each thrust, the stimulation driving you wild.
Valarr's movements might have been clumsy, but he was too focused on making you feel good. Listening what exactly you seemed to like, ears trained on the pretty sounds you made for him.
He could feel your walls fluttering around his invading muscle, your body instinctively trying to draw him deeper. Nothing else mattered in that moment but bringing his princess to the pinnacle of ecstasy.
One hand slid up to splay across your belly, feeling it quiver beneath his touch as he pleasured you with lips and tongue. The other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place.
"Oh fu- gods!" You cried out, voice ragged with pleasure. Your body undulated beneath him, thighs quivering and clenching around his head. You could feel every drag of his tongue, every suckle and nip, stoking the fire building in my core.
Moans spilt freely from your lips, growing louder. In that moment, you cared not who might hear. Your fingers tangled in his brown hair, nails digging into his scalp as you held him to you, pushing his face into your cunny.
Valarr's eyes rolled back in bliss as he feasted on your dripping sex. The lower half of his face was entirely coated in your juices, but he didn't seem to mind at all.
"Ah, gods, I can't... I can't..." you gasped, voice breaking as your body began to tremble uncontrollably.
He pushed his hand more firmly on your stomach, holding you in place so he could continue lapping at your cunt, making sure you couldn't run away from the pleasure.
A broken cry tore from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as a coiling heat gathered in your core. Valarr's grip on your hips held you in place, preventing any escape from the intense sensations consuming you.
His cock had been hard and leaking the entire time, pulsing against the mattress as fresh beads of precum kept staining his breeches.
Valarr's hips began to hump the bed instinctively, his painfully hard cock rubbing against the mattress as he lost himself in pleasuring you. The friction of the fabric against his aching arousal only heightened his lust, making him hump against the bed like a dog in rut.
Uncontrollable, near animalistic moans spilt from your lips, your body writhing beneath him. "Valarr!" you choked out, your voice ragged and raw with pleasure.
The coil of tension in your belly wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. You could feel the impending release building, your walls clenching and fluttering around his invading tongue.
You had never known such intense sensation. It felt as if you were possessed, leaving you a writhing, mewling mess.
Valarr's own body was wound tight, his cock throbbing almost painfully as he rutted against the bed. He needed to make you come, to feel your pleasure crest before he sought his own release. Only then would he allow himself the satisfaction of spilling in his breeches like a green boy.
He could only whine into your cunt, the sound muffled by your dripping flesh. He sees your body tensing. He knew you were close. He needed to taste your release, to feel you come undone against his mouth.
He sucked your clit hard, his lips sealing around it as his tongue flicked over the tip rapidly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
He could feel his own release building as well, his balls drawing up tight as he rutted desperately against the mattress, chasing his own end. But he focused only on you, determined to please you before seeking his own.
"Valarr!" You cried out, voice ragged and raw with ecstasy. Your body convulsed beneath his touch, back arching off the bed as you shattered into a million pieces.
"Mmhhh~" you mewled shamelessly, fingers fisting in his hair, holding him tight against your sex as you rode out each intense wave of your climax.
Valarr's own body seized, his cock pulsing hard as he found his release in his breeches. With a muffled cry against your sex, he found his own release, his body stiffening as hot seed spurted from his cock, staining his breeches. His hips jerked and shuddered as he came, the sensation of your quivering walls under his tongue pushing him over the edge.
He shuddered and twitched below you, gasping for breath as the intense pleasure of his climax rolled through him. Hecouldn't remember the last time he had come so hard, so intensely. The taste of your sex, the sound of your cries, the feel of your body writhing above him—it was all too much.
He held you close as you trembled and shook, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he helped you ride out each intense wave of your climax.
Finally, as your body went limp beneath him, he slowly pulled back, looking up at you with hooded eyes.
"Fuck," you panted, chest heaving as you stared up at the canopy above. "That felt... really good." You sat up on your elbows, meeting his gaze. "I didn't know men did that to their women." You admitted shyly, still catching your breath. "Can you do it again sometimes?"
Valarr smiled, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he gazed up at you. "Anytime you wish, my princess," he murmured, voice still rough from his own intense climax. "In fact..." He leaned in, placing a soft, lingering kiss on your sensitive mound, making your muscles twitch. "I look forward to it."
Valarr smiled, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he gazed up at you. "Anytime you wish, my princess," he murmured, voice still rough from his own intense climax. "In fact..." He leaned in, placing a soft, lingering kiss on your sensitive mound, making your muscles twitch. "I look forward to it."
He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, sensual kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the musky flavour of your release. His hands slid up your sides, cupping your breasts and kneading the soft flesh.
"I must be patient until we are married," he murmured against your lips. "I need to be proper. But once you are mine, I will have you every day if you only let me. I want to fill you with my seed until it takes, until your belly swells with my child."
Rolling onto his back, he gathered you to his side, one arm wrapped possessively around your waist.
You sighed in bliss as he held you, relaxing into his touch. Finally feeling loved and appreciated in this union, caressing his chest softly while your lids grew heavy with sleep.
His other hand slid up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your kiss-swollen lower lip. "You're exquisite, my princess," he whispered, studying your face as if committing it to memory. "I am not nearly done with you."
syonpsis. valarr takes you to summerhall to introduce you to his family and has to protect you from some gossiping old-money wives.
words count. 5.7k
warnings. none.
a/n. I fucking love modern! valarr
based on this post.
it is currently 2:15 pm.
you were supposed to be downstairs and ready at 2pm sharp. valarr hates nothing more than being late.
you can’t even remember why you agreed to meet his family on a weekend at their private estate in the countryside. a whole weekend with valarr and his family.
when you finally pull open the heavy lobby door, the beige 1962 mercedes 190 sl is already waiting for you. your boyfriend is leaning against the driver’s side door, his arms crossed over the chest of a beat-up barbour jacket that looks like it’s survived three generations of targaryens.
he doesn't look angry but he looks pointedly at his watch, a heavy silver piece that glints under the afternoon sun. he taps the glass once, twice, and then lifts his gaze to find yours.
he looks exactly like the kind of man you used to make fun of in magazines when you were younger. cream cable knit peeking from his collar. hair wind-tossed. boots scuffed with real mud from real land that probably has its own staff and gardeners.
"fifteen minutes," he says, his voice a low, dry rumble. he doesn't move to help you with your bag at first; he just watches you, a slow, crooked smirk beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth.
"my father has already called me twice to ask if we’ve hit the valley. if we’re late for tea, my uncle will spend the entire evening lecturing us on the decline of punctuality in the ‘modern age’."
he finally pushes off the car and strides toward you, his movements fluid and effortless.
he takes the bag from your hand, his fingers brushing yours—a brief, warm contact that makes the adrenaline of your rush settle into a low hum. he tosses the luggage into the back of the car as if it weighs nothing.
"i missed you too," you say mockingly as you move to give him a kiss.
the second your lips brush his, his hand travels to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold you there. he leans into the kiss, shifting his weight until the cool metal of the car hits your back and the warmth of his barbour jacket is pressing against your front.
when he finally pulls back just an inch, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin in the crisp spring air.
"sorry," he whispers in a low, ruffled tone, his eyes still closed for a beat. "i shouldn't have started with the time. i've been sitting in this car for twenty minutes just rehearsing your introduction to my family in my head."
you huff. “that bad?”
he exhales a quiet laugh against your mouth. “worse. i rewrote it three times.”
he gives you one last, soft kiss—a slow, apologetic lingering on your lower lip—before he finally lets you go. he steps back, looking you over with a gaze that is entirely too adoring for a man who was just complaining about being late.
"you're lucky you're charming," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip. "if anyone else kept me waiting for fifteen minutes, i’d have left them on the curb. you look incredible, by the way" he murmurs, his voice still a bit rough. "... you're going to make it very difficult for me to pay attention to a single word my family says today."
he reaches out and catches your hand, pulling it to his lips to kiss your knuckles before leading you toward the passenger side. "come on. let's get out of here before i decide to cancel the whole weekend and just take you back upstairs."
then he rounds the front of the car to climb into the driver’s seat. the interior of the car is a world of its own—cracked leather, heavy metal switches, and a dashboard that looks like it belongs in a museum.
“seatbelt,” he commands softly, already shifting the heavy gear stick into first. “the suspension on this thing wasn’t built for comfort, and the roads toward summerhall aren’t much better.”
as the engine shudders to life and he pulls away from the curb, the car filling with the scent of expensive saddle soap, old tobacco, and the faint citrus bite of his cologne, he reaches over the center console.
his hand finds yours and squeezes, not letting go even as he navigates the tight city turns. his signet ring on his pinky is cold against your skin, but his palm is warm.
“it’s going to be a long weekend,” he says, gaze fixed on the road as he guides the car through traffic, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “the family’s already out in full force—my aunts are there, the cousins are probably halfway through a bottle of gin, and my uncle’s already checking his pocket watch. my mother’s been fussing over the gardens for a week, and the grass courts are set. i truly love them but sometimes they’re a bit much. it won’t be the quiet getaway i promised, but they’ll be too busy drinking on the terrace to bother us.“
as the tires hit the gravel of the three-mile driveway leading to summerhall, the house appears through the budding oaks.
summerhall in the spring is almost overwhelming—the pale limestone of the manor is nearly hidden behind climbing wisteria and ivy, the purple blooms hanging like heavy grapes from the stone balconies.
dozens of cars—all variants of high-end suvs and vintage roaders—are already lined up at one side.
"don't let the scale of it put you off," he murmurs, his gaze briefly leaving the road to catch yours. "most of the rooms are just for show, anyway. just stay close to me."
valarr kills the engine, but he doesn't get out immediately. his hands stay gripped on the wheel, his knuckles a little paler than they were five minutes ago. he looks out at the sprawling terrace where splashes of white linen and colorful silk mark the presence of the rest of the targaryens.
"just remember," he says, his voice dropping to a low, private register. "they’re just people. loud, slightly eccentric people who happen to own too much land."
he reaches across the center console, his hand covering yours for a brief, firm second before he climbs out. he rounds the car and opens your door, offering a hand to help you down onto the mossy stones of the walkway.
as you round the corner of the east wing toward the main terrace. men in light-colored chinos and loafers, and women in flowing floral dresses with gold jewelry clinking at their wrists are already waiting for you
"valarr! finally," a booming voice calls out.
a man who looks like a more weathered, jovial version of valarr stands up from a wrought-iron table. this must be his father, baelor. he’s wearing a dark blue polo and has a pair of reading glasses tucked into his collar. he walks over with a genuine, wide smile that instantly cuts through the stiff atmosphere of the estate.
"we thought you'd broken down in the valley again," baelor says, clapping a hand on valarr’s shoulder before turning that warm gaze to you. "and you must be the reason he’s been so distracted lately. it’s a pleasure to finally have some fresh blood at summerhall. i'm baelor."
valarr clears his throat, his posture a bit more rigid than usual. "dad, this is—" he starts, but he’s cut off by someone clearing their throat.
his uncle, maekar, approaches from the shade of a large umbrella. he is the polar opposite of baelor— white hair and stern looking, and dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit despite the spring sun.
his eyes are like ice, scanning you with a detached interest that makes you want to check if your hair is perfectly in place.
"baelor, don't overwhelm the poor girl before she’s even had a drink," maekar says, his voice dry. he offers a stiff, formal nod. "a bit late, valarr. i assume the car is to blame, as usual."
valarr’s jaw tightens just a fraction. "the car is fine, uncle."
a group of cousins, all with varying shades of silver and blonde hair, are gathered near the stone balustrade, laughing over a game of croquet on the lower lawn. they wave lazily with glasses of pimm's in hand, their eyes lingering on you with a curiosity that feels more like an audition than a greeting.
valarr’s hand finds the small of your back, a steadying weight that feels like a shield. he’s usually so composed, but you can feel the slight tension in his frame, the way he’s hyper-aware of every glance cast your way.
"come on," he murmurs, leaning down so his breath hits your ear. "my father already likes you, and my uncle is unimpressed by everyone, so you're doing better than most. i'll give you a quick tour."
valarr keeps his hand firmly anchored in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors of summerhall.
he moves with that familiar grace, like he knows every corner, every stair.
in the library wing, shelves climb to the vaulted ceiling, stacked with books that have been in his family longer than you’ve been alive.
valarr stops at a massive bay window, pulling you close, his arm draping over your shoulders.
through the glass, the gardens stretch out, and he points to a small stone bridge in the distance. “that’s where i used to hide when i was supposed to be practicing latin,” he admits quietly. it’s almost funny, a tiny crack in the weight of the house, and you can’t help but smile.
you turn from the window, and the quiet of the wing seems to press in around you. valarr stops in the shadow of an archway, his gaze dropping to your lips with a sudden intensity. before you can even think about tea or etiquette, he’s leaning into you, his hands framing your face.
the cold stone behind you hits your back as he pushes you against it. he kisses you hard, messy, breathless. his fingers twist into your hair, ruining the careful styling you’d spent ages on, and your chest hammers against his.
“i’ve been wanting to do that since i picked you up,” he murmurs, voice low and rough against your skin.
somewhere deep in the house, a clock chimes, but it’s drowned out by the pulse of your hearts. he pulls back just enough to look at you, hair mussed, eyes dark and fierce, the tiniest spark of vulnerability flickering behind that composed mask. his hand rests against the wall beside your head, shielding you, anchoring you for just a few seconds longer.
he exhales, smoothing the front of his jacket, and tries to recapture the composure that usually comes so naturally. there’s a small, dazed smile on his face as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
"the best part of this house is the room we’ll be staying in."
valarr slides his hand into yours as he steers you up the main staircase. the heavy oak steps creak under your feet.
“our room’s at the end of this hall,” he says, voice low, just for you.
when he opens the door, the suite takes your breath away. soft sunlight pours through tall windows. a pair of armchairs flank a low table, a stack of well-worn books waiting to be thumbed through, and a four-poster bed dominates the room, draped in crisp white linens.
valarr closes the door behind you, the click echoing in the space. he finally lets go of your hand, just enough to pull off his jacket, tossing it onto a chair. the tension from the terrace and the library melts out of him in slow, deep breaths.
“so,” he says, leaning against the foot of the bed, his hands tucked in his pockets. “i figured you’d want to know what we’re really doing tomorrow.”
you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms playfully. “tell me, mister ‘i-schedule-every-minute,’ what’s the plan?”
his grin tilts, warm and mischievous. “polo.”
your stomach flips. “polo?”
“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “my family hosts a private match every spring, just for the family and a few invited guests.”
you can’t help but laugh. “and you? you play?”
valarr’s expression softens, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “sometimes. mostly i watch, mostly i tease my cousins when they fall off their horses. but tomorrow, i’ll stay with you.”
he crosses the room and plucks a soft throw pillow from one of the chairs, tossing it lightly at you. it bounces off your shoulder, and you catch it, laughing, and then he’s leaning against the windowsill, looking out at the gardens, the afternoon light catching the silver strand in his hair.
you glance up at him, heart thudding, and notice the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “and tonight?”
“tonight,” he murmurs, leaning down so his forehead rests against yours, “tonight we unpack, maybe read a bit, and pretend like no one else is in this house. tonight, it’s just us.”
“it’s just us and all you want to do is read? i expected more from you, valarr,” you tease him as you take a few steps closer to him, “i have an better idea how we could spend our night.”
“oh? maybe you could demonstrate that.” he slides an arm around your waist, drawing you close.
the next morning, you're standing at the mahogany vanity, a delicate piece of furniture with a triptych mirror that shows you your own reflection from three different, equally anxious angles.
the surface is cluttered with a heavy crystal carafe of water, a silver tray holding a single invitation to the afternoon's polo match, and the velvet-lined jewelry box valarr left open for you.
inside, the string of heirloom pearls glows with a soft, milky light. they aren't flashy, but they carry the weight of the family name. valarr told you that they once belonged to his grandmother before she died.
you're staring at them, your fingers hovering over the silk lining. your dress—a simple, elegant slip of silk you bought specifically for this weekend—suddenly feels like a costume. you don’t even know the rules of polo.
the floorboards creak and valarr’s reflection appears in the mirror behind you.
he steps into your space. he doesn't say anything at first; he just reaches into the box and lifts the pearls. his hands are steady as he brings them around your neck, his fingers cold against your skin for a split second before the heat of his body replaces it.
he fumbles slightly with the delicate gold clasp, his brow furrowed in concentration, before it finally clicks into place. instead of pulling away, he lets his hands linger on your collarbones, his thumbs stroking the skin there. he leans down, resting his chin on your shoulder, his hair brushing against your cheek.
his eyes meet yours in the middle pane of the mirror. he sees the tension in the set of your jaw and the way your shoulders are bunched toward your ears.
"you’re overthinking, darling," he whispers, his voice a low, vibrating hum against your skin. "there won’t be that many people. just my family— who seem to like you— and a few hundred guests and family friends. they’re just people. most of them are currently arguing over whose mallet has the better balance or which vintage of champagne is 'too aggressive' for a tuesday. none of them are half as interesting as you."
“is that supposed to reassure me? a few hundred guests?”
“it could have been a thousand.”
he presses a brief, firm kiss to the side of your neck, his gaze steady in the glass. "and the pearls? they look better on you than they ever did on my grandmother. stop looking for reasons to hide."
valarr straightens up, his hands sliding from your shoulders down to your waist, anchoring you. he reaches for a large, cream-colored box sitting on the edge of the mahogany bed—one you hadn't noticed before. it’s heavy, tied with a silk ribbon the color of a bruised plum.
"the slip dress was a lovely thought," he says, his voice dropping as he pulls the ribbon. the silk sighs as it hits the rug. "and you truly look amazing with it, but it is not quite the right dress for polo. and my aunt is wearing her emeralds today. we can't let her have all the glory."
he lifts the lid, and the fabric inside seems to catch the afternoon sun and hold it. it’s a bespoke tea-length dress.
"valarr," you breathe, the name catching in your throat as you touch the hem. the label inside is a name you’ve only seen in the glossiest of magazines and the runway shows you sometimes watch, the kind of designer who doesn't even put prices on their website. "i can't. this is too much. i’ll look like i’m trying too hard."
"you’ll look like you belong," he corrects gently, stepping closer until he's boxed you in against the vanity. he holds the dress against you, looking at the reflection. the color of the silk makes your skin glow, making the heirloom pearls look like they were made specifically for this pairing.
"besides, i had it made to your measurements weeks ago. if you don't wear it, it’ll just sit in the back of a cedar closet gathering dust. and that would be a tragedy."
he sets the dress down on the velvet stool and turns you around to face him. his thumb brushes the line of your jaw, his expression softening into something tender. the nervous energy that was buzzing under his skin when you arrived has settled into a quiet, protective pride.
he leans in, his forehead resting against yours for a brief second. "change into the dress. i’ll be waiting at the bottom of the stairs."
he gives your hand a final, lingering squeeze before turning to head for the door.
the polo grounds near summerhall are a vast, emerald expanse of perfectly manicured turf. the smell of crushed grass and damp earth is sharp in the afternoon heat, mingled with the expensive scent of leather and the heavy floral perfume of the crowd gathered under the white linen marquees.
the car is parked among a line of polished bentleys and vintage sports cars.
valarr hops out and rounds the hood, his boots crunching on the gravel. when he opens your door, he offers his hand, his eyes sweeping over you in the silk dress. the look he gives you is thick with a quiet pride that does more to steady your nerves than the pearls ever could.
"breathe," he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles as he leads you toward the private pavilion.
the pavilion is a hive of high-society motion. tables are draped in white lace, topped with silver buckets of champagne and crystal bowls of strawberries. valarr’s family is scattered throughout—his father is laughing with a group of men in tan linen suits, while his uncle stands near the railing, looking like he’s inspecting a battlefield rather than a game.
the moment you step onto the grass, the conversation in your immediate vicinity dips just a fraction. eyes drift from the field to your dress, then to the way valarr’s hand is firmly anchored at the small of your back.
"valarr, you're late for the warm-up," maekar says without turning around, his voice dry and biting. he finally lowers his gaze and looks at you, his pale eyes tracking the shimmer of the silk. he offers a short, almost imperceptible nod—the closest thing to a compliment you’ll likely ever get from him. "at least you managed to find someone who knows how to dress for the weather.
valarr’s jaw tightens, but he doesn't let go of you. "we took the long way through the valley. i wanted to show her the view."
one of the family friend, a tall girl with brown hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, saunters over with a glass of pimm's. "it's a lovely dress," she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp, looking for a designer tag that isn't there. "bespoke?"
"yes," valarr answers for you, his voice cold and final, cutting off any further interrogation. "from a friend in the city."
he leans down, his lips brushing your temple in a move that feels pointed, meant for the entire pavilion to see.
you are now standing with a group of women whose names all seem to end in "vowels and double-barreled surnames," their floral silk dresses fluttering in the spring breeze.
valarr stands just behind you, his hand a constant, grounding weight at the small of your back. he’s listening to the chatter with a look of practiced, polite boredom, his thumb tracing the seam of your dress.
"it really is a marvelous shade," one of the older wives says, peering at you through oversized sunglasses. "so vibrant. tell me, dear, where did you say your family was from again? i don't believe i've seen the name in the registries."
a younger woman, married to one of valarr's distant cousins, let out a sharp, melodic little laugh. she leans in, her voice pitched just loud enough for the neighboring table to hear.
"oh, don't be so provincial, beatrice. it’s the era of the entrepreneur, isn't it? fresh energy. 'new blood' is all the rage in the city. it provides such a... functional contrast to the rest of us. though, i suppose the transition to a house like summerhall must be quite the culture shock when you aren't used to the, shall we say, weight of it."
the circle goes quiet. it’s the kind of insult that is wrapped in enough sugar to be swallowed, but the poison is there. you feel the heat rise in your cheeks, the "newness" of your clothes suddenly feeling like a neon sign.
valarr’s hand stops moving.
he doesn't stiffen, and he doesn't raise his voice. in fact, he leans in closer to you, his entire demeanor shifting into something terrifyingly still. the casual, windswept boy vanishes. he looks at the younger woman.
"it’s funny you should mention 'functional' contrasts, claire," valarr says, his voice a low whisper. he offers her a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "because i was just telling my father how much i admired your husband’s latest venture. it’s so brave of him to try and rebuild the family coffers with discount retail parks. it’s exactly the kind of... new energy this circle usually avoids."
the woman’s face drains of color instantly. her husband’s struggling business is the one thing they never speak of in polite company. valarr doesn't give her a chance to recover.
"as for my girlfriend," he continues, his gaze sweeping the rest of the group with an air of finality that makes it clear the conversation is over, "she doesn't need a registry to justify her presence here. now, if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to focus on the match."
he doesn't wait for a response. he turns you away with a firm, protective sweep of his arm, leaving the group standing in a vacuum of awkward silence.
as you walk toward the edge of the field, the sound of the thundering hooves returning, he lets out a long, jagged breath. he looks down at you.
"sorry about that," he mutters, his fingers interlacing with yours, his grip almost too tight. "i forgot how annoying done of these people can be. let’s go find a horse. they have better manners."
the noise of the polo grounds—the clinking glasses, the false laughter, and the sharp bite of the gossip—fades into a dull hum as valarr leads you away.
his hand is a steady, warm pressure against your lower back, guiding you toward the long, low-slung stone building of the stables. the moment you step under the arched timber entryway valarr finally lets out a breath he’s been holding, his shoulders losing that rigid set.
he doesn't head for the main stalls where the grooms are working. instead, he pulls you into the shadows of a side aisle, leaning his back against a heavy oak pillar.
he reaches out, his fingers tracing the delicate line of the silk on your shoulder. "claire is a viper. her family’s been losing money since the fifties, so she spends her time tallying up everyone else's. i shouldn't have let her get close enough to speak."
he shakes his head, then looks down at your feet. "how are the heels? be honest. if they’re ruining your day, i’ll carry you back to the house."
before you can answer, a soft huff comes from the stall beside you. a massive, deep-chestnut horse pokes its nose over the gate, its dark eyes blinking at valarr. valarr’s expression shifts instantly—the coldness he showed to the wives on the lawn evaporates, replaced by something soft and genuine.
"shh, easy, boy," he whispers, reaching into his pocket. he pulls out a small piece of sugar he must have swiped from the tea service. he lets the horse take it from his palm, his other hand stroking the velvet bridge of its nose. "this is sunray. he’s retired, mostly. he has no interest in who your father is, as long as you have a snack."
he catches your hand, pulling you gently closer until you’re standing in the small space between him and the horse. he places your palm against the stallion's warm, pulsing neck.
"you're doing fine," he murmurs, his chest brushing your shoulder as he speaks into your ear.
he leans his head against yours, his hair messy and catching the light filtering through the high barn windows.
the silence of the stable is thick and comfortable, punctuated only by the horse’s slow breathing and the distant, muffled sound of a whistle from the field. for the first time all day, the heavy weight of the targaryen legacy feels light enough to carry.
he looks at the empty saddle sitting on the gate, then back at your silk dress. "the match won't be over for another hour," he says, a reckless look in his eyes. "let’s go."
"valarr, we can't just take him," you whisper, glancing toward the open barn doors where the distant thud of mallets and shouting players echoes. "everyone is right there. your father—"
"my father is busy looking at the scoreboard," he interrupts, already lifting the latch on the stall. he tosses a heavy wool blanket over the horse's back, skipping the formal saddle to save time. "they're focused on the field. no one is looking at the treeline."
he lifts you easily, your silk dress bunching up as he settles you onto sunray’s back. he climbs up behind you, his chest a solid, steady heat against your spine. you feel the vibration of the horse's breathing under your thighs, and your heart hammers when sunray’s hooves clatter against the stone floor. valarr reaches around you, his large hands covering yours as he takes the reins.
he guides sunray deeper into the shade of the oaks, the horse’s hooves softening as they hit the mossy earth of the trail. he keeps the pace slow, his arms a protective cage around you.
"have you ever even sat on a horse before?" he asks, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. "besides the ponies at the state fairs when you were five?"
you shake your head, your fingers tightening around the leather reins. "no. and definitely not a stallion while a high-society match is happening five hundred yards away."
he chuckles, a low sound that you feel more than you hear. "he's mine. and you're doing fine. stop fighting the movement." he adjusts his grip, his calloused palms sliding over the backs of your hands to show you how to give the horse more slack. "if you stay rigid, he thinks you're afraid of him. he can smell hesitation a mile off. just relax your hips and follow the rhythm."
“sounds awfully familiar.”
“you’re the absolute worst. why do i even put up with you?” he lets out a breathy, frustrated laugh.
still, you try to do as he says, letting your body sway with sunray's long strides. the tension in your shoulders starts to bleed away as the treeline swallows the sound of the crowd. out here, the air smells like damp earth and pine instead of expensive perfume and lawn clippings.
"better," he murmurs, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder for a second.
he leans forward slightly, pointing toward a narrow break in the trees that leads toward the creek. "we’ll take the long way around the estate. by the time we get back to the house, the sun will be down and the vultures will be gone."
on sunday evening, the house is quiet again; the cousins have scattered back to their own estates, and the "friends" have disappeared in a blur of expensive tailpipe exhaust.
you’re standing in the foyer, the cool marble floor a stark contrast to the humidity of the spring day. valarr is upstairs, and for a moment, you find yourself staring at a portrait of a targaryen ancestor.
then, the sound of his boots hits the grand staircase. valarr is back in his barbour jacket, the collar turned up, carrying both your bags. he looks lighter, his jaw no longer set in that rigid line of defense.
"the car is packed," he says, stopping at the bottom step. he looks at you, taking in the way you’re wearing the cashmere sweater he bought you over your casual jeans. he walks over, dropping the bags to pull you closer, his hands sliding under the hem of the sweater to rest on the small of your back.
"you're sure you're ready to leave?" you ask, glancing around the cavernous hall. "your father said—"
"my father knows that i have a law exam coming up," he interrupts, his voice low. he leans down, resting his forehead against yours.
"i also promised him that we’ll come back for easter, and we’ll stay in the gardener's cottage so no one can find us. how does that sound?"
he doesn't wait for an answer, already leading you out to the drive. he helps you into the passenger seat, his hand lingering on yours before he shuts the door with that heavy thud.
as he pulls away, the manor shrinking in the rearview mirror, he reaches across the center console to interlace his fingers with yours.
"i've already told the staff to clear out the north wing of my apartment in the city," he mentions casually, as if he’s talking about the weather.
"we'll start moving some of your things in on tuesday."
"on tuesday?" you repeat, a small smile playing on your lips.
"on tuesday," he confirms, shifting gears and accelerating toward the gates. "and don't worry about the furniture. i've already picked out a few pieces. you just need to bring yourself."
summary: prince valarr knows his duty as baelor’s heir is to secure the targaryen line and its claim to the iron throne for generations to come. a pretty wife like you has only made the responsibility easier to bear.
valarr targaryen x reader
warnings: smut, quickie, fingering, p in v, mating press, creampie, slight breeding kink.
you’d always known your husband to be a dutiful prince, even before you wed; still, valarr’s devotion to siring an heir takes you by surprise. for the second time since morning, he’s sought to have you, seeking you out between his other less…titillating commitments.
he’d given you time enough only to disrobe before he laid you on your marital bed, his lips pressed against yours in a hungry kiss. his palms roam your skin freely, tracing a path down your body to where you truly need him.
“but, my prince, the small council meeting—” you’re silenced by your own gasp as his hand slips between your legs, circling your most sensitive spot. you feel the length of his hard cock pressed against your thigh; his urgency clear.
“they’ll wait,” he mumbles, trailing his lips down your neck.
his finger slides into you with ease, and he works you open gently, until a second digit is met with no resistance. you moan quietly, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling lightly at his silver streak. the prince smiles against your skin, grazing your throat with his teeth as he braces himself on either side of your body with his strong arms.
he aligns himself at your entrance and sinks into you in one graceful motion, his muscles rippling with strain. almost instantly, his head drops into your shoulder, his eyes screwing shut as your warmth envelops him.
“gods, you feel good,” he groans, rocking his hips steadily. your breathing is shallow, hampered by the fullness inside you. the prince quickens his pace as your walls relax around him, biting back another moan when he sees you reach between your bodies to touch yourself.
“i’ve been told it can…help the pregnancy take,” you tell him cautiously, your cheeks hot.
valarr’s mismatched eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watches your self-pleasure. fuck. careful to stay sheathed inside you, he hooks his hands under your thighs and pushes your legs back until you’re completely exposed to him. you whine at the newfound depth, feeling your cunt pulse around him rhythmically.
the new position sets fire coursing through the prince, whose thrusts become harder, unrestrained. your fingers move faster and your soft whines of his name melt into pleas as your belly tightens, your release building dangerously fast. valarr can’t help the smugness that tugs at him at the sight of you trembling at your own touch, so visibly overwhelmed by the size of him and his strong hands holding your legs open.
“wait—valarr, i’m—”
you cry out abruptly, unable to finish your thought as an orgasm tears through you fast and hot, burning you up from within. your cunt squeezes around him with abandon, the haste of the moment only adding to your arousal.
“fuck,” he rasps, his voice raw and his skin sheened with sweat. he’s fighting his own climax, but the feeling of your walls clamping around him, milking him, is almost too much to bear. yet, you give him no respite; you have a duty to him, after all.
you lock your ankles around his waist and pull him closer to you by the nape of his neck, your fingers coiling through his soft hair. “please,” you breathe, “come inside me, my prince. make me yours.”
those words are all it takes; with a deep groan, valarr throws his head back, spilling his seed into you in hot, thick spurts. you feel him twitch inside you as his sensitivity mounts, and when his hips finally stagger to a halt, his body drops onto yours.
his limbs feel molten and his heart rattles in his chest; the temptation to stay like this—buried inside you, with his face tucked into the crook of your neck and your hands running through his hair—is almost too strong to deny. still, a foggy memory of the small council meeting, to which he was now inexcusably late, drags him out of his bliss.
he sighs heavily and presses a loving kiss to your neck, lifting himself off you with care. you whimper when he slides out of you, the sudden emptiness unfamiliar. tucking your knees to your chest to keep his release inside you, you follow valarr with your eyes as he dresses himself with haste.
“do you think it worked?” you ask after a moment.
“time will tell,” he says, fastening his belt. he conceals it, but a smirk pulls at his lips.
the prince makes his way to you again, peering at your exposed cunt and the small droplet of his seed that seeps out of you. there’s a hint of pride on his face—something he oft tries to suppress, though you know it simmers just beneath the surface.
“until then, we will try again. and again. and again. as many times as it takes.” his voice is gentle, but you see fire behind his eyes.
“you’ll carry the blood of the dragon soon enough.”
❥┆ Valarr is tender in aftercare, always ensuring you feel cherished and comfortable. He’ll wrap you in blankets, gently caressing your hair, and whisper sweet nothings to soothe you until you fall asleep.
𝐁 = 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 (𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫t)
❥┆ He has a weakness for your thighs; he loves their strength and softness, often planting kisses along them as a means of showing his admiration for you, before feasting on you.
He loves laying his head on them anytime. It’s his comfort place.
𝐂 = 𝐂𝐮𝐦 (𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐮𝐦, 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲)
❥┆ Inside you, from behind, on your breasts, face, this man loves to see you filled with his cum. But he likes it best inside you, it adds to his breeding kink…
"how pretty, covered with my seed"
𝐃 = 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 (𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬)
❥┆ I think Valarr has a fantasy about being semi public, getting a thrill from the idea of being caught in the act. He might not act on it, but he often imagines the intensity.
It leads to a point where you’re pinned aganist the walls of the Red Keep while he’s profaning you, whispering you to keep it down but you can’t help your moans.
𝐄 = 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲?)
❥┆ mmm, it’s hard to tell, but I don’t think Valarr whored that much. At least not like his cousins. He’s more reserved, and everything he’s learned is from drunken lords and books he reads to know how to please you.
𝐅 = 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠)
❥┆ His favorite position is definitely classic missionary; he enjoys the intimacy of eye contact and closeness, allowing him to connect deeply with you and your reactions.
He doesn’t mind having you on top of him though, riding him with grace while he can have an amazing view of your breasts bouncing…
𝐆 = 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐲 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭?)
❥┆ Valarr tends toward being serious during intimate moments, appreciating the connection and emotions, but he’ll share teasing smiles to lighten the mood, what the hell, sure.
𝐇 = 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 (anything to do with hair)
❥┆He loves so much when you pull his hair. Not even joking, he whimpers when your fingers are intertwined with his hair, it’s just a hot yes for him.
And about his hair, he’s very clean and organized (he’s the Prince, come on) he keeps everything in order down there.
𝐈 = 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲
❥┆ He interlaces his fingers with yours and looks at your face, kisses your neck and cheeks and reminds you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you.
Intimacy is crucial for him; he believes it strengthens your bond, and he often engages in….prolonged foreplay? to enhance the connection.
𝐉 = 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟 (𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)
❥┆ Yes, he does masturbate, especially when he’s apart from you and misses you. Or the simple fact of thinking about you in a tight dress gives his pants enough reasons to lock himself in his room to please himselffff.
𝐊 = 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 (𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬)
❥┆ Okay so, breeding kink (that Dragon blood damnn) he just loves to see you pregnant with his baby. Agoraphilia (semi-public, public) Praise kink because that man in obsessed with you and every inch of your body. Marking, Begging, because oh, he begs. Size kink (?)
𝐋 = 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬)
❥┆ His favorite places are secluded spots around the Red Keep or Dragonstone—like the library or the balcony under the stars—or simply in your chambers.
𝐌 = 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐧)
❥┆ Whoah, literally anything. Valarr is turned on by the way you look at him, and just being slightly suggestive. The thought of you wanting him is a powerful motivator for him.
You can be doing something as simple as reading and he still wants you. You don’t even realize until he’s already untying the laces of your dress and kissing your neck.
“You looked so pretty…”
𝐍 = 𝐍𝐨 (𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐨)
❥┆ He wouldn’t engage in anything that causes harm or discomfort to you; trust and safety are paramount in the relationship.
𝐎 = 𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠)
❥┆ Valarr takes great pleasure in giving oral; he finds it incredibly intimate and thinks of it as his way of worshipping you because he’s #1 yearner.
𝐏 = 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐞 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥?)
❥┆ He can be both rough and sensual, adjusting his pace based on your mood—sometimes passionate and wild, other times slow and deep. He’s up for what you like and wouldn’t force you to anything.
𝐐 = 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞
❥┆ Yes, yes, he would be so down for a quickie when the moment arises, finding excitement in the spontaneity. And mostly because it helps him forget about his duties.
𝐑 = 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)
❥┆ He enjoys taking risks, whether it’s a little flirtation in public or sneaking away from a feast for a moment of indulgence when others are nearby.
𝐒 = 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚
❥┆ PLEASE YESSS, Valarr possesses impressive stamina, able to go for longer than most, which he attributes to his Targaryen lineage.
𝐓 = 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬 (𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬?)
❥┆ mmm, the question is, was there any toys by the time? If there was, he’s open to anything that can please you.
𝐕 = 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 (𝐡o𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞)
❥┆ Valarr is moderately loud; he expresses his pleasure with deep groans and breaths, but also knows to keep it down when necessary.
“Shhh, you want they to find out what we’re doing?”
𝐗 = 𝐗-𝐫𝐚𝐲
❥┆ He is well-endowed, a fact that often leaves you pleasantly surprised and satisfied.
𝐘 = 𝐘𝐞a𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠
❥┆ Yes, he is a yearner. In every universe, please, he craves not just physical connection but emotional intimacy, wanting to feel deeply bonded with you. You’d call it, his ‘Valyrian feature’.
𝐙 = 𝐙𝐳𝐳 (𝐡o𝐰 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬)
❥┆ Valarr tends to fall asleep quickly afterward, often pulling you close as he drifts off, feeling content in the afterglow of the shared moment.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: He had never once thought of you in any improper way.. you were simply a friend, the keeper of his secrets, the quiet comfort he sought in troubled hours, the childish princess he adore. But the moment he saw you in that dress, something shifted; for the first time, he did not see a companion standing before him, but a lady… a princess of grace and quiet strength.
his future wife.
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Valarr Targaryen x cousin!F.Reader(Daeron's twin)
𝙒𝙘: 3.5k
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: MDNI +18, soft & fluff, little bit humor, shy!Valarr(then became confident gentle!Valarr), targcest(cousins), love birds and stupid crushes, drama queen!Valarr(sorry but i cant) some plot with porn Smut: kinda male masturbation, heavy make out, inexperienced!reader/Valarr(you both just go with the flow), gentle!Valarr, first time, dry humping, p in v, riding, loss of virginity, kissing (like lots of it), Valarr calling you(doll), creampie.
Likes, comments, and reblogs are deeply appreciated ꨄ︎
꩜ Masterlist
𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: idk how I managed to write this one after that Aerion fic, they’re like a sunrise and a storm, hell of a difference i cantt😭. be aware that English isn’t my first language, so please forgive me for any mistakes/errors <3
You both had always been opposites. He was the careful, composed prince, measured in every word and movement, while you a princess -though he sometimes doubted you remembered that- were reckless, childish, and endlessly spirited.
You would throw your arm around his neck like a careless boy, laughing when you noticed the color rising to his cheeks. It embarrassed him terribly. You were a lady, a princess of the realm, and he believed you deserved dignity, respect from everyone at court. Yet you possessed not a trace of shame, nor any desire to behave as they expected.
He couldn’t remember a single time he had seen you in a dress or a skirt. Most of your clothes were breeches and loose shirts, sometimes with a leather bodice thrown over them, practical things that allowed you to run freely through the castle yards. Keeping up with your brother, Aegon..for chasing, climbing, and laughter.
He still remembered the day you and Egg appeared before him with your cloaks pulled low over your heads.
“What is the trick this time?” he had asked, setting his cup of wine aside with a weary sigh.
Without warning, the two of you threw the cloaks away dramatically. There you stood, both of you wearing ridiculous crooked mustaches stuck to your faces with something sticky he suspected was honey.
“We are knights,” you declared proudly.
“The Mighty Mustached Knights” Aegon added.
Then the two of you stood back-to-back, chests puffed with ridiculous pride.
Valarr looked from Aegon to you in disbelief before a quiet laugh escaped him.
“And where,” he asked in his usual calm voice, “did you find such hair?”
You simply lifted the end of your braid. “I cut some of it” you said, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.
And perhaps that was what he loved most about you, your unfiltered honesty… and the bright, untamed kindness of your spirit.
You are Daeron’s twin, and for the longest time Valarr had assumed you would end up just like him: both of you sprawled in taverns one day, drunk from morning to night. Yet the bright, lively spirit you carried everywhere was a surprise to him.
Misery, rage, grief… even madness were things often whispered to run in the blood of his house. But you were somehow different, and Valarr found that strangely fascinating.
Once, you had stolen a crossbow and rushed to show it to him, just as you always did whenever you managed to get your hands on a weapon or anything unusual that caught your attention.
“Shall we hunt a deer with it?” you asked, lifting the crossbow and aiming it around the room with great enthusiasm.
“Easy now. Where exactly would we find a deer here?” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. You were standing in his chambers, after all.
Then the crossbow turned toward him.
“I think I see one now,” you said thoughtfully. “Wide, beautiful eyes.” Your tone sounded teasing, though in truth you did find them the prettiest.
The corner of his mouth lifted for a moment before the smile faded again.
“Stop playing around,” he said, placing his fingers gently against the edge of the crossbow and lowering it from his line of sight. “Go practice dancing instead. The feast your father will be holding is approaching”
“Perhaps we’ll even find you a suitable husband” He added.
“Oh, mother, stop please,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you tossed the crossbow aside and dropped into a chair, swinging your feet up onto the table.
“Your feet.”
With an annoyed sigh, you dropped them back to the floor.. “You are terribly boring”
A moment later your gaze drifted to him again.
“Your hair’s gotten long,” you said suddenly. “Doesn’t it bother your eyes?”
You had already begun rummaging through his table for something sharp.
Valarr blinked, only then noticing the stray strands falling across his vision as he brushed them aside.
Before he could protest, you had already darted out of the room. “Wait for me”
You returned moments later holding a pair of scissors.
“Careful, I don’t-..” he began, but the words died as your hands pushed lightly at his shoulders until he sat down again.
“Just a little,” you said, already tugging his fringe between your fingers. “We cannot have our prince tripping during training because his hair is in his eyes”
With a quiet sigh he simply watched you.
You were closer than he had ever really noticed before. He saw the details of your face in a way he never had, the curve of your lips, the brightness in your eyes. Up close, you were… breathtaking.
Something strange twisted in his chest.
His gaze dropped without thinking, catching the careless fall of your tunic, and the sudden glimpse of skin beneath.. your bare chest.
His eyes shut at once. He grabbed your wrists and gently pushed you back as he stood.
“I think you’re finished,” he said quickly. “I’m busy. You should leave”
“Just a moment,” you insisted.
You rose onto your toes to reach him again, your body pressing lightly against his as you tried to steady yourself.
That, unfortunately, was the final blow for poor valarr.
He took the scissors from your hand, tossed them onto the bed, and guided you firmly toward the door.
“I think,” he said tightly, “you should find new hobbies”
“Valarr,” you protested with exaggerated offense just as the door closed in front of you.
On the other side, he leaned back against it and glanced down at the bulge in his breeches, the embarrassing evidence of his fluster.
“…Damn”
A moment later he was already calling for the servants to prepare a bath.
How in the world had he allowed himself to disrespect you like that?
There were times you insisted on sparring with him, swords in hand, despite the guards who trained him who would tell you it was improper, yet Valarr had assured him it was perfectly acceptable.
“I have defeated that rascal Aerion. Your turn now,” you said, readying your sword. Valarr smirked “You bested Aerion? Strange… I feel like you cheated” he remarked, though he knew better. He could barely contend with Aerion himself, yet he would never underestimate his skill in a duel.
“Of course not,” you said, casting your eyes away. Your lie was obvious, but he let you continue nonetheless.
All he did was parry your strikes. He never sought to harm you, not even accidentally.
“I’ve chosen a gown for the feast,” you said, breath coming quickly as you launched another series of futile strikes against his blade.
“A gown? I’m impressed” he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Will you miss me when I marry and leave?” you asked out of nowhere, pausing to catch your breath.
A dark feeling stirred in Valarr at your question. He couldn’t t imagine spending his days in dull routine without you, the spark you brought to his life every day.
“No,” he said, feigning indifference. “I’ll be relieved of your reckless acts”
But little did Valarr know, you had been seeking a very different answer, a small sign, just a tiny gesture to feed the quiet crush that had begun to grow within you over the past year.
You tossed your sword to the ground with a dramatic flourish and declared, “Boring!”
He just shook his head, utterly helpless, a small, exasperated smile tugging at his lips.
The Feast Day..
You were among the guests, your cheeks flushed with a vivid warmth. You wore dresses only for occasions such as this, usually unremarkable, just something simple for the end of the day. But this time, the gown highlighted your form, with a low-cut bodice that drew attention in ways it never had before.
You walked arm-in-arm with Daeron. Your father, Prince Maekar, had insisted you attempt propriety to keep him sober as long as possible, unaware that you were just giving him any cup of wine you see.
Your breath caught when you noticed Valarr beside his father, the heir to the Iron throne Baelor Targaryen. You quickly withdrew your arm from Daeron and glanced back, smoothing out any wrinkles of your gown, adjusting your hair, and stepping toward them with a wide, confident smile.
Valarr’s eyes fell upon you, and a surge of emotions overwhelmed him. The gown accentuated your beauty in a captivating way, for he had always remembered you only as the girl caked in mud. You greeted his father with perfect courtesy, no jumping, no cheek-kissing, just a simple, elegant politeness. For the first time, he witnessed such a display.
A princess. A lady. He could not understand how his mind pictured you sparring with two children, who looked like him, as if you were his… wife.. he blinked trying to stop his ridiculous thoughts, this is not the right time.
“My prince, cousin, we are honored by your presence,” you said, your words refined, your appearance impeccable. Valarr seemed almost stunned by your courtesy and the elegance of your presence.
You tried to mask your nerves, fingers interlaced and fidgeting slightly, waiting for a word from him… perhaps a gentle compliment, even if he said it jokingly. Yet he said nothing.
Then your brother Aerion strutted forward, showing off a little before Valarr. Disappointment pricked at you, and you retreated to Daeron with a broken heart. Was he not fond of girls like you? That question lingered in your mind.
Everyone danced and laughed around you. You wished to join, but not today. Today, you wished to behave as a proper princess. You clapped politely, lightly nodding your head.
Then you felt the tap on your shoulder. You turned to see Valarr extending his hand.
“May I have this dance, Princess?”
You wanted to leap and shout “Yes!” but instead you nodded your head gracefully.
Among the crowd, you moved through the steps, hands meeting in the middle as you turned together. He drank in every inch of your appearance tonight, committing it to memory.
Was it the gown that drew him now? He wondered. But no; many princesses in many dresses would catch the eye in seconds. The difference was that it was you wearing it. To Valarr, you were something entirely different.
His gray life had gained color because of you. He realized it this night.
His heart wanting to follow you everywhere. Everything in him only wanting you.
After you both grow tired you didn’t even notice how you had reached the balcony overlooking the castle gates, sipping a little wine together and exchanging trivial words.
“You haven’t said anything about my gown… do I look foolish in it?” You finally broke your silence, wanting to know his opinion, truly.
“The most beautiful among the guests,” he said, as though stating facts, swallowing the last drops of his wine.
You could not have known how his words made your heart race. Your eyes met, and suddenly his fingers took your hand in his, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles.
“Your grace-..”
“Enough with the formality. I know how you like to say my name,” he said with a sigh, stepping closer.
Suddenly, you kissed him. Just a small kiss. He did not kiss back.
You stared at each other in shock. You tried to understand what you had done wrong, hearing your own heart hammering in your chest, your gaze wide with disbelief.
Meanwhile, he still processing that it was you who had done it, though he had wished to act first, had wanted it so desperately.
His expression was unreadable to you. He let go of your hand, stepping away, and left you there, filled with regret over what you had done.
—
He entered the chamber prepared for him, still unable to believe what had happened. How could he leave you like that without a single response? How could he leave you at all when you returned his feelings, yet he had ruined everything.
“Fool,” he muttered, dropping into the chair.
Just thinking of you and that kiss, made his breathing quicken. It had not only been the sight of you in that gown: no. It was every moment he had shared with you. Your face, your impulsive nature, your laughter, every reckless thing you did. He was hopelessly drawn to you.
He dragged a hand over the fabric of his breeches where a small bulge showed through the fabric, shame prickling beneath his skin. It felt like an insult to you, doing this while thinking of you… yet he needed to rid himself of the unbearable tension coiling through his body. His fingers curled around himself, moving slowly as a strained groan escaped him. Gods, how he wished he had not ruined everything earlier.
Meanwhile, you stood outside his chambers, nervously chewing at your thumb.
You had never felt this kind of nervousness before. Usually you would burst into his room without knocking at all.
You thought you heard a strange sound from within, but shook your head. Perhaps it was your imagination, your thoughts too loud in your mind.
“Valarr… my prince” You knocked hesitantly. Had you misunderstood the moment? Had you ruined your bond with your childhood friend over a foolish little crush? “I’m sorry”
Your gaze dropped to the floor, disappointment settling in your chest when no answer came. You were about to leave when suddenly the door opened. A hand caught your wrist and pulled you inside, your back pressed against the door with a soft gasp.
His breathing was uneven.
You lifted your hand instinctively, touching his cheek with concern. “What is wrong?”
His skin was warm. Thinking your own hand too cold, you leaned closer, pressing your cheek gently against his to feel the heat. “You’re burning”
“Cousin,” he murmured hoarsely. His mismatched eyes held yours for a long moment before he suddenly closed the distance and claimed your lips. The kiss was desperate, almost hungry, like a man who had been starving and had finally found food.
“I’m sorry for leaving you alone,” he whispered against your mouth before kissing you again. “It was never your fault”
Relief melted through you at once. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you returned the kiss.
“Finally,” you murmured breathlessly, teasing, “Valarr the brave”
His hands slid down your back until they reached your thighs, lifting you easily from the floor, though you barely noticed, far too lost in the kisses you shared until both your breaths ran short.
He fell back onto the bed, sitting as you settled in his lap. For a moment you both pulled away to catch your breath, but the way he was looking at you made your heart flutter wildly. You leaned forward again, pressing soft kisses across his face, his cheeks, his nose, and especially upon his eyelids.
“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful?” you whispered playfully, tapping his nose.
He smiled, placing a quick kiss upon your lips “You always say it in that mocking tone.”
He buried his face against your neck, leaving soft kisses along your skin.
“I was afraid you’d avoid me if you knew I truly meant it-… ”Your breath hitched when his lips started sucking against your neck, leaving a bluish red mark behind.
“You speak of beauty and forget yourself,” he murmured, his hands moving to your waist, holding you carefully as if afraid you might break. “The gods must have taken their time when they made you. The most beautiful girl in all the kingdoms”
Another mark, and then another. Despite the small stings you felt, the thought of Valarr marking his claim over you sent a shiver of unexpected intensity through you.
He continued his motion across your shoulder, carefully adding detail to the canvas of your skin. You could feel something hard beneath you, and out of curiosity, you shifted slightly, made you both letting out a moan. You felt that simple pleasure from the friction and continued, while he looked at you his hurried hands moved beneath the dress to your small cloth.
“May I?” he asked, and you nodded quickly. He helped you out, then back to straddle his lap now your cunt is bare soaked on his clothed cock and the pleasurable feeling becomes better and better while rubbing yourself on him.
You wanted, needed more friction, caught up in the moment, and whispered, “P-Please”
Your brows furrowed, eyes closed, focusing on the sensations. He was captivated by your expression, but wanted your attention. You heard him say softly, “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
“Do you want to do this?” he asked.
“Yes!” you replied eagerly.
He helped you carefully up, to free his cock with the hand on your waist he guided you slowly sinking down you winced slightly, and Valarr stopped but quickly you shooked your head “No, I-.. I can handle it” you insisted.
“This isn’t about testing your limits,” he said, his voice tinged with regret, “I don’t want you to get hurt ”
But you continue, ignoring him with your sweet moans and whimpers you let out from your mouth
“L-let’s continue, please,” you said, and he replied softly, “If you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell me and I’ll stop immediately” He focused on you entirely, attentive to every reaction as if nothing else mattered, looking for any discomfort.
He was so mindful that you looked at him with tenderness before giving his cheek a gentle kiss. “My Valarr,” you purred. You had thought, from the tales of other princesses and the septon, that first experiences were always the hardest, but with Valarr, all your worries and discomfort seemed to vanish.
“Tell me when you’re ready, doll” he said, and your cheeks flushed at the words. Doll? Your heart raced with nervous excitement, and you lightly hit his shoulder. “Shut up,” you whispered.
“My beautiful doll,” he repeated before leaning in to kiss you gently, as if he couldn’t get enough of your closeness. You moved slightly in response, and said softly, “I think you can move”
He thrusted slowly and carefully, watching for any sign of discomfort, he couldn’t bear to see you upset. “It feels so-ah good, Valarr,” you admitted, cheeks flushed in shame, but you wanted to reassure him as well.
“I feel good too, your cunt is swallowing me fully- ah” he groaned, as you responded with a little moan and a small smile, Valarr completely captivating in your expression. A light sheen of sweat glistened on your brow as you tried to keep your movements in sync with his rocking against you.
“You look magnificent. I want you by my side forever, please,” he whispered, lowering his forehead to yours chest trying to anchor himself while you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head.
“I have always been and will always be yours,” you whispered into his hair, not knowing how deeply it stirred something within him, something instinctive that he started pushing into you with vigorous, faster pace.
The heat that pools in your stomach like it about to burst and you hold him like your life depends on it.
He carried you slowly and carefully, then turned you so that your back was on the bed holding your waist tightly continued with his fast rhythm.
You lay there between his sheets, his gaze poured over you, caught between awe and the urge to summon a painter or someone alike to immortalize this breathtaking sight. Your effect on him was intense, teetering on the edge “ fuck, stop being so beautiful! You’re driving me insane”
At that moment, he recalled some of the men’s words, and he lowered his eyes to where you met. He slid one of his hands that are on your waist, and with his thumb, began to rub your pearl, watching your expressions to see if what he was doing was right.
“Ohh, please, Valarr, please…” the heat was about to explode and spread inside you, this was strangely pleasurable feeling you didn’t want it to end. When he felt himself over the edge, he captured your lips with his for the last time, muffling both your moans.
You felt something hot fill you, painting your inside, your body trembling as you reached your peak too. You clutched his back tightly while he swallowed your moans with his lips, pushing you through your climax until the very end. He lay soft inside you, withdrawing slowly, and you sighed at the emptiness.
He was panting but kissed your forehead, making you release that weak, breathless laugh. He joined in your laughter, even though he didn’t know the reason. “What’s so funny?”
“Here’s little Valarr now,” you said, laying your hand gently on your belly, stroking it slowly over your dress. “I don’t think things are moving this fast” he murmured, collapsing beside you on the bed. He gently brushed your hair from your face, with care… with love… until you lifted yourself to sit, and he spoke “careful”
You were staring into the void when, suddenly and without warning, you asked, “Will the baby’s hair be like the cow’s color?” Valarr was truly taken aback by the way your mind worked but he laughed. He laughed heartily.
Valarr was certain you would be his future wife, despite everyone else.
Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it ꨄ︎
Idk, but I really love the dynamic between these two, so cutesy and cheesy ughh oh mannn. Maybe there will be some drabbles about them sometime someday ;)
- Summary: Y/N Targaryen is dragged to the Ashford tourney to get her out from under Aerion’s obsession, only for Valarr to publicly ask for her favor and spark a feud that erupts into a brawl in the royal pavilion.
- Pairing: cousin!reader/Valarr Targaryen
- Rating: Explicit 18+ (There’s no explicit content until Part 3. However, Aerion appears earlier in the story, and there are implications about things he may have done to the reader character.)
The small chamber behind the royal pavilion smelled of vinegar, crushed herbs, and hot linen, the practical scents of men trying to mend flesh before bruises could become stories. Torchlight wavered against the canvas walls and turned everything the color of old gold, so even clean cloth looked stained. Outside, Ashford Meadow still pretended it was celebrating. Music drifted in, dulled by distance and fabric. Laughter rose and fell like waves. Somewhere a drunk knight was singing off-key, and the sound might have been funny on another night. In here it only felt obscene, as if the world had decided noise was more important than consequence.
Valarr sat on a plain stool with his shirt unlaced and pulled aside, shoulders bare, skin already blooming purple where Aerion’s fist had landed. A cut split the inside of his lip, and the swelling along his cheekbone was starting to thicken, the kind that would make his face ache every time he breathed through his nose. He held himself still, but not the stillness of comfort. It was restraint, the sort men learned when pain wasn’t allowed to make them undignified. He kept his gaze fixed somewhere just past the maester’s shoulder, jaw tight, fingers flexing once and then going still again.
The maester, grey-haired and brisk, clicked his tongue as he dabbed at Valarr’s cheek with a cloth soaked in something sharp enough to make the eyes water. “You’re lucky,” he muttered, as if luck was a diagnosis. “No fracture that I can feel. Just bruising. And your lip will heal if you stop biting it like a dog.”
Valarr’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “I wasn’t aware I was biting it.”
“You’re aware,” the maester said, and pressed a thumb along the ridge of Valarr’s cheekbone in a way that made Valarr’s nostrils flare. “You’re simply refusing to admit it. Hold still.”
Baelor stood a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back, posture composed, expression quiet. He had changed out of the heavier ceremonial layer he’d worn for the feast, but he still looked like himself, solid and grounded in a way that made other men feel less inclined to act foolish. He watched the maester work without hovering, but his attention never wandered. There was nothing soft in his eyes tonight. Not anger exactly. Something more controlled and more dangerous: disappointment that had turned into resolve.
When the maester finished cleaning and began pressing a warm compress against the swelling, Baelor spoke at last. “Leave us.”
The maester glanced up, hesitated only a fraction, then bowed his head. “Of course, my prince. I’ll return with a salve for the bruising and something for sleep.” His gaze flicked to Valarr, sympathetic but stern. “Try not to get hit again before sunrise.”
Valarr didn’t answer. The maester gathered his things and slipped out, pulling the curtain closed behind him. The sound of the celebration muffled further, leaving a quieter space, heavy with the kind of silence that made words feel inevitable.
Baelor did not fill it immediately. He walked closer, slow, and sat on the bench opposite Valarr rather than standing over him. It was a small choice, but it mattered. It made this less like a reprimand in court and more like something private, something that belonged between father and son.
Valarr met his eyes. He looked older than he had earlier, not because of the bruises, but because his composure had been cracked and he could not pretend it hadn’t.
Baelor’s voice was calm. “You lost control.”
Valarr’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”
“Do you know why that matters?” Baelor asked.
Valarr exhaled through his nose, slow, like he was trying to keep the answer from sounding like excuse. “Because Aerion wanted it.”
“Because everyone wanted it,” Baelor corrected gently. “Aerion wanted it most, but he’s not the only one who feeds on a spectacle. Lords, knights, smallfolk. They love to watch princes behave like animals. It makes them feel safer. It makes them feel equal. And it gives them stories they can twist.”
Valarr’s gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted again. “He spoke about her.”
Baelor’s eyes focused. “I know.”
“He spoke about her like she was…” Valarr’s hand flexed once on his knee, the motion restrained but violent in its intent. “Like she was something to be claimed. Like fear was a game.”
Baelor’s voice lowered. “And you responded by giving him what he wanted.”
Valarr’s throat moved as he swallowed. “I know.”
Baelor held his gaze. “Then tell me why you did it anyway.”
Valarr’s lips parted, then closed again. He seemed to wrestle with the shape of the truth, the way a young man wrestled with admitting he cared too much. Finally he said, voice rougher, “Because I couldn’t stand hearing it.”
“That is not enough,” Baelor replied, not cruelly, but firmly. “Not when the cost is higher than your pride.”
Valarr flinched, just slightly. “It wasn’t pride.”
Baelor’s expression did not soften, but something warm flickered under it, brief and reluctant. “Then call it what it was.”
Valarr looked at the torch flame dancing in the bracket, as if he needed to stare at something that wasn’t his father. “It was fury,” he said. “It was… protective. It was shame, because I could see the way he spoke and how no one stopped him soon enough, and I thought if I didn’t stop him, then I was complicit.” He forced his eyes back to Baelor. “And yes, it was personal.”
Baelor’s gaze stayed steady. “Personal because of her?”
Valarr did not deny it. “Yes.”
Baelor sat with that for a moment, letting it settle. Outside, a distant cheer rose, probably for a song, probably for a drunken boast. The tent walls didn’t care. They only held the air and the truth inside.
Baelor spoke again, quieter. “You asked for her favor.”
Valarr nodded once. “I did.”
“In front of half the realm,” Baelor said.
“Yes.”
Baelor’s mouth tightened. “Do you understand what you did to her by doing that?”
Valarr’s eyes narrowed slightly, not defensive, more desperate to be understood. “I didn’t mean to trap her.”
“You may not have meant it,” Baelor said, “but intent does not erase consequence. You placed her in the center of a storm she did not ask for. You made Aerion’s fixation visible to people who now have permission to whisper. You made Maekar’s refusal a matter of public curiosity again.” He paused, then added, quieter still, “And you made your feelings a matter of politics.”
Valarr’s shoulders rose and fell with a controlled breath. “I know.”
Baelor’s gaze searched his face, taking measure the way he did when he wanted the truth and not the version a son offered to avoid shame. “Then why did you do it?”
Valarr’s answer came faster this time, as if he was tired of circling around it. “Because she deserved to choose something in public that wasn’t chosen for her. Because if I asked quietly, it would have meant nothing. Aerion would still speak about her like he owns her. Lords would still assume she exists only to be bartered.” His voice tightened. “And because I wanted them to see that she is not alone.”
Baelor’s eyes softened a fraction, but the steel remained. “You think your visibility protects her?”
“I think silence doesn’t,” Valarr replied.
Baelor sat back slightly, as if adjusting the weight of what he was hearing. “You sound very sure for a young man with a fresh bruise on his face.”
Baelor nodded once. “Good. Certainty makes men reckless.”
The curtain shifted then, and the maester returned with a small jar of dark salve and a folded cloth. He muttered as he moved, spreading the ointment with practiced hands. “This will help with swelling. It will still hurt. If you can’t sleep, that is your body’s problem, not mine.” He pressed the cloth into Valarr’s hand. “Hold it there. Ten minutes. And stop looking like you’re about to ride into battle again. You’re in a tent.”
Valarr took it without comment, pressing it to his cheek, eyes never leaving Baelor.
The maester turned to Baelor. “He’s fine,” he said bluntly. “Fine enough to be foolish again if allowed. My prince.” He bowed and withdrew once more.
The silence returned, deeper now, because the practical interruption was gone and the real issue still sat between them.
Baelor leaned forward, voice low. “Tell me the truth, Valarr. Not the noble version. The truth you haven’t said yet.”
Valarr held the cloth to his cheek, his other hand clenched on his knee. The torchlight carved his profile into stern lines. When he spoke, his voice was steady but stripped of performance. “I want her,” he said. “Not as a favor. Not as a symbol. I want her as my wife.”
Baelor did not react outwardly, but his eyes sharpened, attentive. “You want her,” he repeated, and the words were not judgment, just confirmation.
Valarr swallowed. “I’ve wanted her for a long time. Longer than I admitted to myself. I told myself it was concern. Family duty. The usual things men say when they don’t want to admit their heart is involved.” He breathed out slowly. “But when I watched Aerion look at her today, when I heard him speak, I realized concern isn’t enough. I can’t keep hovering at the edges of her life like I’m some convenient cousin who steps in when Aerion gets too loud. That does nothing. It only delays harm.”
Baelor’s gaze stayed on him, weighing. “And you believe marriage solves it?”
Valarr’s jaw flexed. “It doesn’t solve everything. But it gives her protection Aerion can’t reach without making war inside the family. It gives her a place beside me that the realm recognizes. It gives her… an ally with standing.” He paused, then forced himself to say the part that mattered most. “And it gives me the right to stand between them without it being a scandal every time.”
Baelor’s eyes narrowed. “You are speaking like a prince, not a boy. Good.” Then his voice hardened slightly. “But marriage is not a shield you hand someone and walk away. It is a chain and a promise. Do you understand what you are asking of her?”
Valarr’s gaze didn’t drop. “Yes.”
“Do you understand what you are asking of Maekar?” Baelor continued.
Valarr’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”
“And do you understand what you are inviting from Aerion?” Baelor asked, and there was no softness at all in that now.
Valarr’s eyes flickered, the first sign of uncertainty in his expression. Then he nodded once. “Yes.”
Baelor sat back, studying him. “Then why ask me now? Why tonight?”
Valarr’s answer was quiet, raw. “Because if I wait, Aerion will move first. He always does. He can’t tolerate being denied. He will find a way to corner her, to humiliate her, to force Father’s hand through scandal or cruelty. And because after today…” Valarr’s voice tightened. “After today I can’t pretend I don’t see the end of that path.”
Baelor’s gaze softened again, but the softness looked tired. He looked like a man who had spent his life cleaning up after other men’s pride and had finally decided he was done doing it gently. “You are asking for permission,” Baelor said slowly.
Valarr nodded. “I am.”
“And you are asking me to involve myself,” Baelor added.
“Yes.”
Baelor’s lips pressed together, and for a moment he looked not like a prince but like a father, caught between love for his son and the brutal math of politics. He looked toward the curtain as if he could see through it, could see the pavilion beyond, could see Maekar’s controlled rage and Aerion’s hungry spite and the way a whole realm would gossip about a ribbon.
When he spoke again, his voice was measured. “This is not something I can decide alone.”
Valarr’s fingers tightened on the cloth. “I know.”
Baelor’s eyes returned to his son. “But I can tell you this: if you intend to ask Maekar for his daughter, you will do it with respect. You will do it with clarity. And you will not do it under the illusion that love is enough to make it simple.”
Valarr’s throat moved. “It isn’t love alone.”
Baelor’s gaze held him. “Then tell me what else it is.”
Valarr’s answer came without hesitation now, because the night had already torn pretense away. “It’s responsibility,” he said. “And it’s choice. And it’s the fact that she deserves one man in this family who doesn’t treat her like a piece on a board.”
Baelor’s expression tightened, and the words landed harder than Valarr intended because they carried an accusation against everyone else. Against Maekar for not ending Aerion’s behavior sooner. Against Baelor for allowing the family to fester. Against the whole House for letting a girl become collateral.
Baelor did not lash out. He simply nodded once, slowly, as if accepting the indictment.
“Very well,” Baelor said. “You want her as your wife?”
Valarr’s chest rose with a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yes.”
Baelor’s voice was quiet but firm. “Then you will ask properly. Not with favors and spectacle. Not with fists. You will ask her father first, and you will accept his answer whether you like it or not. And you will remember that if he says yes, you are tying yourself to her life in all the ways that will hurt.”
Valarr’s eyes did not waver. “I want that.”
Baelor watched him for a long moment, then leaned forward and placed a hand on Valarr’s uninjured shoulder, firm and grounding. “Sleep if you can,” he said, voice softer now, almost gentle. “Tomorrow we speak to Maekar.”
Baelor’s gaze hardened again, because Baelor knew delay was a luxury when Aerion was involved. “Tomorrow,” he repeated. “Before Aerion has time to turn tonight into another weapon.”
Valarr nodded once, slow and solemn. “Yes, Father.”
Baelor rose, and with him the small chamber seemed to gain weight, as if the decision had pulled the future closer. At the curtain, Baelor paused, looking back once.
“And Valarr,” he said.
Valarr lifted his gaze.
Baelor’s eyes held his, steady and unyielding. “If you ever put your hands on Aerion again in front of a crowd, I will be the one to correct you. Do you understand?”
Valarr’s jaw tightened, shame and acceptance mixing. “I understand.”
Baelor nodded once and stepped out, leaving Valarr alone with the ache in his face, the jar of salve, and the quiet, terrifying relief of having finally said what he wanted out loud.
Outside, Ashford Meadow kept singing.
Inside, House Targaryen began to rearrange itself around a girl who was asleep and had no idea how fast the world was moving toward her.
Morning at Ashford came pale and stingy, as if the sun itself regretted what it had watched the night before. The meadow was quieter, but not clean. Smoke from dying cookfires clung low to the grass, and the air carried the sour bite of spilled ale and stale sweat. Men slept where they’d fallen, wrapped in cloaks or sprawled against wagon wheels, mouths open, armor half-unbuckled. Stewards moved through the mess with pinched expressions, trying to restore dignity to a place that had never truly had it. Somewhere beyond the tents a rooster crowed, insisting on normalcy, and the sound felt absurd against the memory of torches and blood and a prince being restrained like a common brawler.
Inside the royal pavilion, the world was quieter still, not because anyone was resting, but because everyone was measuring their words. A scandal in a lord’s hall did not vanish with daylight. It hung in the seams of conversation like smoke. Servants kept their eyes lowered. Guards stood straighter than usual. Even the soft scrape of a cup against wood sounded too loud.
Baelor watched Maekar from the moment he stepped through the inner curtain, because a man could love his brother and still recognize when the brother was a blade held too tightly. Maekar sat at a table littered with maps, ledgers, and the remnants of a late, joyless meal. He wore no smile, no softness. He looked like he had not slept, and if he had, it had only annoyed him. His hair was brushed back, his jaw set, his gaze fixed on something in the middle distance as if he was planning what to do with a son he couldn’t control and a family that refused to behave like a family.
Aerion was not present, which was its own kind of warning. Aerion never stayed away from anything unless he had been forced, or unless he was sulking in a way that promised retaliation.
Baelor entered first, calm as ever, shoulders relaxed, face composed into a neutrality that could pass for peace. Valarr followed half a step behind, his cheek still bruised beneath the morning light, the swelling less angry now but impossible to hide. He wore a plain tunic instead of court finery, and the lack of ornament made him look more serious, less like a boy playing knight and more like a man who had decided something and would carry it regardless of how it hurt.
Maekar’s eyes lifted as they approached. They flicked to Valarr’s bruised face, then back to Baelor. His expression didn’t change, but Baelor could see the tension pull tighter across his brother’s features, the same way a horse’s muscles stiffened when it sensed a predator nearby.
“What is this,” Maekar said, not a question so much as a demand for justification.
Baelor did not waste time with pleasantries. “We need to speak privately.”
Maekar’s gaze narrowed. “About last night?”
“Partly,” Baelor admitted, voice level.
Maekar leaned back slightly, fingers tapping once against the table, a slow, controlled rhythm that meant he was restraining himself. “Aerion is confined to his quarters,” he said. “He will not attend the lists today. He will not be seen until he remembers he is not the only dragon in the room.”
Baelor’s mouth tightened faintly. “That’s wise.”
Maekar’s eyes focused at the compliment, as if he suspected it was also a criticism. “Say what you came to say.”
Baelor held his gaze for a moment, and in that pause you could feel the history between them: Baelor, always the steady hand; Maekar, always the hammer. Brothers who loved each other, and still could not agree on how to keep their house from tearing itself apart. Then Baelor gestured slightly toward the side chamber, the one separated by another curtain, away from servants and ears.
Maekar stared at him, then rose with abrupt motion. “Fine.”
They moved into the smaller space, the one used for quiet councils, where the light was dimmer and the air smelled of wax and old parchment. A guard remained outside the curtain. No one else followed.
Maekar stood rather than sit, arms folding across his chest, posture hard. “You have five minutes.”
Baelor sat, because Baelor understood something Maekar often forgot: sitting down did not make you weaker. It made you harder to provoke. Valarr remained standing at Baelor’s shoulder, respectful but not submissive, his hands loose at his sides, his spine straight.
Baelor spoke first, voice measured. “Valarr intends to ask for your daughter’s hand.”
The words landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water. Maekar didn’t blink. He didn’t move. For a heartbeat there was nothing, only the sound of the tent fabric shifting slightly in the wind.
Then Maekar’s mouth tightened. “After yesterday,” he said quietly. “After last night.” His gaze cut to Valarr. “This is either bravery or stupidity.”
Valarr met his eyes. “It’s intention.”
Maekar’s expression hardened further. “You already involved her publicly.”
Valarr didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
Maekar’s voice turned colder. “You think asking for her favor was a kindness?”
Valarr answered honestly. “I think it gave her a choice in front of witnesses.”
Maekar’s jaw flexed. “Witnesses also gossip.”
Baelor cut in before Maekar could turn it into an interrogation. “Maekar, we are not here to argue about the favor. That is done. We are here because Valarr wants to make it right, and because it will not get safer for her if we pretend none of this is happening.”
Maekar’s eyes snapped to Baelor, irritation flaring. “Make it right,” he repeated, like the phrase offended him. “As if she’s a mistake that needs correcting.”
Baelor’s gaze stayed calm. “As if she is your daughter and deserves protection that you cannot provide alone while Aerion is still breathing and still convinced the world owes him everything.”
Maekar’s nostrils flared. His voice dropped, dangerous. “Be careful.”
Baelor didn’t back down. “I am being careful. That is why we are doing this in private.”
Maekar’s gaze flicked again to Valarr’s bruised face. “You struck Aerion.”
Valarr’s voice was steady. “Yes.”
Maekar’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think that makes you a better man?”
Valarr shook his head once. “No. It makes me a man who failed to keep his temper.”
Maekar’s expression did not soften. “And yet you’re here asking for a bride.”
Valarr’s gaze held. “Yes.”
Maekar let out a breath through his nose, the closest he ever came to a laugh. “You have nerve.”
Valarr didn’t deny it. “I have reason.”
Baelor watched Maekar closely, because he could already see the reaction building in his brother’s shoulders, the urge to reject out of sheer resistance to being cornered by circumstance. Maekar hated being forced into decisions by other people’s chaos. He hated feeling like he was reacting instead of controlling. And this, Baelor knew, would feel like reaction.
“Say it plainly,” Maekar demanded, eyes on Valarr now. “Why?”
Valarr didn’t reach for poetry. He didn’t dress it up. “Because I want her,” he said. “Because Aerion’s fixation has already caused harm, and it will keep causing harm unless the family draws a line that he cannot cross without consequences. And because she deserves to belong to someone who will not treat her like a possession.”
Maekar’s gaze cooled on the last word. “Possession,” he echoed, bitter.
Valarr didn’t look away. “That’s how he speaks of her.”
Maekar’s mouth tightened, and something flickered in his eyes then, something ugly and exhausted, because Valarr wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know. Maekar knew. That was part of the problem. Knowing did not automatically solve it. It only made the failure heavier.
Maekar’s voice dropped lower. “You think marriage stops Aerion?”
Valarr answered carefully. “It makes it harder for him to reach her without exposing himself. It gives her a shield he can’t dismiss as ‘Father’s rules’ or ‘sister’s duty.’ It gives her standing beside me.”
Maekar’s eyes narrowed. “Standing doesn’t stop a determined man.”
“No,” Valarr admitted. “But it gives me the right to respond without it becoming a family squabble everyone excuses.”
Baelor spoke softly, because he could feel Maekar’s anger twisting toward the wrong target. “You know what Aerion is. You know what he has already done to her.”
The room went colder.
Maekar’s gaze snapped to Baelor, and for a heartbeat there was raw fury in it. “Do not speak of my daughter as if she is some… broken thing to be discussed.”
Baelor didn’t flinch. “I’m not speaking of her as broken. I’m speaking of what has been done to her.”
Maekar’s hands tightened at his biceps, arms still folded, as if he was holding himself together by force. His voice came out tight. “And what, exactly, do you think has been done?”
Baelor held the silence, because this was Maekar trying to control the conversation by pretending ignorance, and Baelor would not allow him that escape. Instead he looked at Valarr, a silent permission: tell him.
Valarr’s voice was steady, but it carried heat beneath it. “Aerion has tormented her for years,” he said. “He needles her. He corners her. He makes her feel watched in her own home. He speaks to her like she’s obligated to endure whatever he decides to do. And he does it because he believes she will not be protected from him.”
Maekar’s jaw flexed. “I have protected her.”
Valarr did not accuse. He simply stated truth. “You have tried. But you can’t be everywhere. And he’s learned to behave around you and worse when you aren’t looking.”
Maekar’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Has he touched her?”
The question came out like a blade, and for a second Baelor wondered if Maekar had been forcing himself not to ask it for years because asking made it real.
Valarr held Maekar’s gaze. “He has crossed lines,” he said carefully, because he was not going to invent details, but he wasn’t going to soften the truth either. “He has taken liberties that no brother should take. He uses fear and embarrassment as tools. He thinks he’s entitled to her attention, her time, her space. He punishes her when she resists.”
Maekar’s breathing went slow and heavy. The air in the chamber felt too thick.
Baelor’s mouth tightened at the phrasing, because it was the language of men who thought a girl’s worth could be altered by what was done to her. Valarr’s eyes focused too, but his reply was controlled.
“She is herself,” Valarr said. “And she is strong. And she has had to learn strength the hard way because of him.” He paused, then said the part that mattered, the part that was not politics at all. “I want her as she is.”
Maekar stared at him for a long moment, and in that stare you could see the battle happening inside him. The protective father. The rigid prince. The man who hated disorder. The brother who had watched Baelor become the steady center of the family while Maekar carried the uglier work. The father of Aerion, who had to admit his son was dangerous. The father of Y/N, who had to admit his daughter had been harmed under his roof.
Baelor waited, because forcing Maekar faster would only make him snap the other way out of stubbornness.
Finally Maekar spoke, voice low. “If I agree to this, Aerion will see it as theft.”
Baelor replied quietly. “Aerion sees anything he doesn’t get as theft.”
Maekar’s lips pressed together. “He will retaliate.”
Valarr answered without hesitation. “Let him try.”
Maekar’s eyes narrowed. “That is easy to say when you’re not the one who raised him.”
Valarr’s voice softened slightly, not pity, not patronizing, just honest. “I know it’s not easy.”
Maekar’s gaze flicked to Baelor, and there was something almost resentful there, because Baelor’s life had not been without burden, but Baelor’s burdens were different. Baelor did not have Aerion as a son. Maekar did.
Baelor kept his tone calm. “This is not about humiliating Aerion. It’s about giving your daughter a future that isn’t shaped by his obsession.”
Maekar went very still. Then he exhaled slowly, like a man letting go of a weapon he’d been gripping too long. “If I agree,” he said, “there will be rules.”
Valarr nodded once. “Of course.”
Maekar’s gaze hardened. “You will not use her as a banner against Aerion.”
Valarr’s answer was immediate. “Never.”
“You will not parade this as some public victory,” Maekar continued, voice clipped. “No songs, no grand speeches, no romantic foolishness that invites gossip. She will not be turned into spectacle.”
Valarr met his eyes. “I won’t.”
Maekar’s jaw tightened again. “And if Aerion tries to interfere… you will come to me. Not to fists. Not to the lists. Not to a crowd.”
Valarr’s gaze flicked briefly to Baelor, then back to Maekar. “Yes.”
Baelor could see Valarr’s pride balk at the idea of asking permission to defend her, but Valarr swallowed it. That alone told Baelor this was not a boy’s infatuation. It was a decision.
Maekar’s gaze held on Valarr for a long moment, reading him like he read battlefields. Then he said, simply, “I agree.”
The words were plain. No blessing. No warmth. But in Maekar’s mouth, agreement was a mountain moving.
Valarr’s shoulders loosened by a fraction, a breath released. “Thank you.”
Maekar’s expression didn’t change. “Do not thank me,” he said. “Earn it.”
Baelor felt the tension ease in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. He nodded once, solemn. “We’ll speak with her when the time is right.”
Maekar’s eyes remained stern. “She will be told directly,” he said. “Not through rumors. Not through court whispers. I will not have her hearing about her own betrothal from some lady who thinks it’s entertainment.”
Valarr’s voice stayed steady. “I would never allow that.”
Maekar’s gaze flicked down to Valarr’s bruised cheek. “And you’ll keep that face intact until then.”
Valarr’s mouth twitched, the faintest hint of humor, quickly restrained. “I’ll try.”
Maekar’s eyes cut to Baelor. “Your son provoked mine by existing.”
Baelor’s expression remained calm. “Your son provoked mine by being cruel.”
Maekar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue, because arguing would require him to deny the truth, and he had already agreed. Instead he turned slightly away, as if looking toward the curtain where the guards stood and beyond them the rest of the pavilion, the wider world, where Aerion’s fury was undoubtedly fermenting in confinement.
His voice dropped. “If Aerion ever lays a hand on her again,” Maekar said, and there was a threat in it that made the air feel heavy, “I will end it. I don’t care if the realm calls it harsh. I don’t care if it stains the House.”
Valarr’s voice was quiet but certain. “He won’t get the chance.”
Maekar’s gaze snapped back to him. “Do not promise what you can’t guarantee.”
Valarr didn’t blink. “It’s not a promise. It’s a decision.”
For a moment, Maekar looked almost like he might respect that.
Baelor rose, signaling the meeting’s end before Maekar’s temper could find a new edge. “We’ll proceed carefully,” he said. “Quietly. Properly.”
Maekar nodded once, stiff. “Quietly,” he echoed. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And Valarr.”
Valarr paused.
Maekar’s eyes held his, hard and direct. “She is not fragile. Don’t treat her like glass because Aerion tried to crack her. She’ll hate you for it.”
Valarr’s reply came without pause. “I know.”
Maekar studied him a second longer, then turned away as if he was done, as if agreement was something he could file away like a duty. “Go,” he said. “Before I change my mind.”
Baelor and Valarr left the chamber together, the curtain falling back into place behind them. Outside, the meadow waited, brightening toward another day of tourney and spectacle, and somewhere within the royal pavilion Aerion simmered, caged but not cured.
Baelor walked a step ahead, face composed, but when he was out of Maekar’s hearing, he let out a quiet breath, the kind of breath that carried relief and dread at the same time.
Valarr touched his bruised cheek absently, then looked toward the edge of the pavilion where the path led to the women’s quarters, where a princess slept or woke with no idea that her life had just been rerouted by men who loved her and men who wanted to own her.
“It’s done,” Valarr said, voice low.
Baelor didn’t look at him. “It’s begun,” he corrected.
Can I request a valarr x reader where his wife, just like the reader in “until the morning, yes” she can’t get enough of him? She’s always pulling him away from his duties and waking him up because she always horny for him? But also lovey dovey because I think valarr is an affectionate sweetie with a good heart 🥰
AT LEAST FOR NOW, YES
✧ |summary: valarr has a day full of duties, and a wife that can't get enough of him.
✧ |pairing: valarr 'the young prince' targaryen x reader.
✧ |tags: 18+, mdni, p in v sex, needy!reader, pussy pronouns, breeding kink, valarr is a cockblock
✧ |note: you shall ask, you shall receive... i hope you like it, anon! and special thanks to @faeryemperor for being my beta reader :-)
The air in the Red Keep was chilly. You wore a small cape, courtesy of your husband’s closet, as you watched the training yard as both princes sparred with one another.
Valarr wore a deep purple gambeson and Matarys wore a green one. Matarys was young yet, he was only a squire waiting to be of age to be knighted. And Valarr, ever so demanding, always tried to win so Matarys would be a good knight.
You watched his sweaty face as he taught his little brother how to defend himself, his resolve not faltering one bit. He wasn’t aggressive, his movements controlled as the end of his sword kept on smacking Matarys.
“Stop it” Matarys complained as Valarr kept on hitting him.
“You think Blackfyre bastards will stop?” He said, shaking his head. “Do not yield easily”
You fanned yourself with the expensive fan that Daeron’s wife had brought from Tyrosh as a wedding gift. Valarr was the pinnacle of chivalry, just after his own father, and no doubt that Matarys would be too once he was knighted.
“My wrist hurts” Matarys complained..
“Stop complaining” Valarr said, as Matarys managed to hit him in the chest once.
“I’m not complaining” Matarys said “I’m just saying. Besides, blunt weapons do little to hurt me, but you strike me as if you are upset with me.”
“That’s enough, my princes” The master-at-arms intervened as both princes threw their swords on the mud.
You smile: it was the right time to approach your beloved husband. You walk closer to where he was, not minding your dress getting muddy.
“Valarr!” You called him out, taking him by surprise when you hug him faster than he can respond to your voice calling him.
“My love” he says, breathless, catching you in his arms.
Matarys huffs, “Good morrow to you too, goodsister.”
“Good morrow, Matarys” you say to him, hiding your face in Valarr’s gambeson, near his neck. “Mmm, you smell good.”
“I have been training all morning” he mumbled, his tone amused as his arms were around you. “I must make time for a bath.”
“Oh?” Your face immediately moved upwards to smile at him, and you say “Would you… mind company?”
You have been wed for a little time, just a few moons. You had been so excited to marry him, because he had courted you like a proper man did. He would take you on a stroll of the gardens, whispering to you confessions of love when your walking rhythm was too fast for your septa to follow up in the conversation, and when she was distracted, he would steal a kiss to your cheek.
And you were smitten by him, always tending to him, doing things for him, embroidering doublets, making sure the maids would wait for him with warm water and rose scented soaps.
In truth, you were slightly obsessed, fussing over him at all times. He didn’t mind, he had told you once you asked him if it was too much. Just proves how much you think of me, as I think of you.
“I apologise, my sweet, but I am afraid the council will take long hours. I need to be there.”
“You only have to fill cups” you mumbled, as if that could excuse his role.
“For the King and my father. And all the masters that control the Realm. It is no little task.”
You knew you couldn’t argue with him, he was just like his father when speaking like this. It sounded so divine, so essential that you didn’t contradict his words.
Yet he looked so handsome, a smile on his face as he looked at you with utterly adoring eyes. His sweet mismatched eyes, looking at yours as if nothing else mattered.
You move to press insistent kisses on his neck, wrapping your arms around his neck, nuzzling him as a cat in heat would. “Then… then we can be quick.” You say against his skin..
“My love-” he said, chuckling at your advances, yet his hand wrapped around your arms to pull you away. “We are not in our chambers”
“It’s only Matarys, and Ser-”
“Still” he said, not dismissive. He’s amused, even endeared by your affections. “You just wait for me, yes?”
“Alright…”
The next time you managed to catch him, he was at council hours, yet you saw the Kingsguard outside the library.
You looked at your ladies in waiting, curious as if they knew the answer. As you walk to the Kingsguard, you ask.
“Good morrow, ser Roland” you greet him, and trying to peek at the library, you asked “Is my husband there?”
“He is, princess. The Good King asked for some scrolls of the North. The prince proposed himself to seek them.”
You smiled.
“Good!” You said, walking inside the library and closing the door behind you, leaving ser Roland and your two ladies-in-waiting behind.
As you peeked through the halls, you found Valarr checking the scrolls quietly, making sure he got the right ones. He was so kind in your eyes, eager to prove himself, he did everything so dutifully.
“Valarr” you call for him, smiling as you wrap your arms around him once more. “I came in search of you.”
He was a bit surprised, as one hand wrapped around your waist as he chuckled.
“It seems you have me located at all times” he said amused.
“I do not. My path simply always crosses yours,” you said simply, kissing his cheek. “You look handsome.”
“I always look handsome according to you.”
“Because you are-” you said, and then “-Why don’t you take me here?”
Valarr looked at you, your boldness never stopping to surprise him. “In the library?”
“Yes. I miss you terribly… No one will catch us here.”
“My heart, we did it last night” he whispered to you, low enough so no one else could hear. “And in the morning we cuddled and kissed before I woke up. You kept me long enough for people to notice.”
You smiled, your cheeks a bit rosy with his comment. “Well, you’re my husband. I always want you.”
“I also always want you, dearest” he said with a smitten look in his eyes. “I think of it in council, and when I do everything else. You are all I think about, when I wake up beside you and when I sleep by your side.”
You pressed your lips against his, your hands on his jaw, guiding him to meet your lips. You already felt the heat forming between your legs, you always craved him so deeply.
“Wait, wait, wait-” Valarr stopped you for a second, stepping back with a chuckle. “You do not mean to do it here” he says amused.
“But…” you stuttered. “But we have time, we’re alone”
“I have to go back to the small council. What if they found the heir’s heir with the future Queen copulating in the library?”
You shrunk in your place. “We do not ‘copulate’, we… we make love”
He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We can see to that at night, yes?” He said tenderly. “I love you”
It felt unfair, having him dismiss you because he was so dutiful that it was becoming exasperating. Yet you supposed that it is reasonable for him to do everything by the rules.
“Love you too…” you mumbled as he walked with scrolls in his arms.
You turn in bed. Once, and then another time. Valarr has just blown out the candles, and you could not help but think. He was already dozing off, his busy day catching up to his body. He was tired, yet you couldn't help yourself.
“Valarr?”
“Yeah?” He mumbled, grunting slightly.
“We never saw to that.”
“To what?”
“I said we make love. You said that we will see to that at night,” you reminded him.
Valarr turned over to face you in the darkness of the night, his mismatched eyes never looking at you with any less affection, not now or ever.
“Seven Gods…” he said chuckling, dragging a hand through his face. “Insatiable, you are. Obsessed with me.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Like I said, not at all,” he said, pulling you closer to him as he moved to press a kiss on your cheek softly. “But I am exhausted, love. Perhaps we could, in the morning.”
“No! I have waited for you all day” you complained, looking at him. “I want you to fuck me. Now, please”
He chuckled, sitting up as he said “All day?”
“Yes…” You say, as you have given much thought to this. “I have waited for it, I imagined every second of it… I would start by going down on you. I’ll suck your cock until you cum, then I’ll…” you squint your eyes, thinking for a second “I’d ride you, because I know you’ll be overstimulated”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, rolling his eyes, amused, looking at you as he muttered “I’ll still fuck you how you like it.”
“You haven’t fucked me all day.”
Valarr’s movements were teasing, as he chuckled to accommodate you to his liking. He left you seated against the headboard of the bed, making sure your back was against the many pillows in your gigantic bed. As his fingers moved to undo your nightgown, he rambled once again.
“I’ll show you what I can do, then” button after button, his mismatched eyes glazing over at all your naked skin that presented to his sight. “I ought to spank you for your bratiness against your husband” he said playfully “But I feel indulgent tonight, with a surge of energy.”
“Energy? Not lust?”
“It could be both,” he said simply, as he took off his linen shirt and pulled down his breeches. He was hungry, taking clothes off more quickly than any maid could. “The lust I feel for you, usually I work it off so it can be useful for my duties.”
“The lust you feel for me should go to me. To fucking me,” you complained “not to the realm.”
Valarr wasn’t surprised at finding you wet, he has never found you anything but since you were together. It pleased him greatly, you knew that for a fact, to find his wife always ready for him, that craved his busy attention all day.
He slid his fingers against your slit, as he hummed “Hmmm, look at how wet she is” he murmured, feeling the slick heat. “All for me?”
“All day” you mumbled, a bit grumpy as he chuckled, moving to press a tender kiss on your lips.
“We shall fix that immediately. Can’t have the wife of a prince this needy… this drenched.”
“Don’t tease me,” you say to him, as he pressed small insistent kisses on your neck. He was amused, and it was impossible for him not to tease you from time to time.
“Alright. Shall we fill her then?”
Valarr’s movements were swift, as he positioned behind you, kissing you neck softly and his hand raising your thigh carefully. He was most tender at this time of the night, as he was tired from the day’s duties that had him running around, each second of his day counted and it was more valuable to him.
“My needy wife” he murmured, kissing your neck as his cock slid into you making you moan, finally getting what you have been craving all day. You had grown used to feeling a small sting inside, trying to accommodate your husband’s length, and it had become pleasurable with time.
Valarr’s groans were always a delight, hearing him moan against your ear is one of your favourite parts of being intimate with him. He was young and full of energy, and he did not hold back to his pleasure.
“You feel so good, my love…” He murmured against your ear, his chest feeling sweaty against your back as he rocked his hips, thrusting each time harder against your cunt. “She always feels so good for me.”
He had a way with words, that always made you blush even as he fucked hard into your cunt. The muscles in your thigh would hurt by morning, but you did not care, moving your torso slightly so you could face him a little better.
“I needed this so bad” you whimpered against his mouth, small hairs of your head sticking to your sweaty forehead.
“I know, my love. Me too”
“We should go to Dragonstone and fuck there all day. No, for a whole week.”
He smirked, his mouth pressing against yours as his thrusts become more desperate by the second. The drag as his cock slid in and out made you moan loudly, feeling Valarr’s arm wrap your waist as he moved his fingers to press the small nub in your pussy. He never left you unattended, and then he’d ask himself why you always were so needy about him.
“You’re insatiable” he murmured, his breaths shorter, as he whimpers “Fuck…”
It all became too much, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, his fingers circling your clit at the same time, and his mouth all over your nape and neck, always having a handful of you each time he fucks you.
“That’s it, take this dick…” he groaned, “she was made for my cock, huh?”
He rarely spoke so dirty when in bed, he was the image of chivalry at all times, but it seemed that this time you have pushed him to the limits.
“Yes, Valarr, please…”
“Shh… I love being so deep inside you…”
“I’m going to come, Valarr” you moaned, the pleasure becoming too overwhelming and exasperating all at once “I’m going to come, m’gonna come…”
“Seven above…” Valarr groaned, arousal evident in his tone, burning each drag of his words, so unlike him not to speak with such property and poshness, but pleasure was too much for him as well. “I’m gonna fill you full of my babes, that shall have you calm, hmm?”
“Yes!” You moaned, cumming as he kept stimulating you, not leaving you alone for a second. His fingers were insistent against your clit, pressuring it just enough as his gorgeous eyes looked deep inside yours, even if your eyes are closed, you can feel him staring at you.
“Fuck, I will” he promised “I’ll fill you up- There you go, take it…”
You could barely make sense of what he rambled on, feeling limp as you feel his hip shaking, burying himself inside as deep as he can as he cums, his seed filling your womb as you try to catch your breath between whimpers. The thigh he held with his hand was already shaky, as your muscle has become tired much more after your orgasm, yet you do not wish to move.
“I love you” he murmured, as you both tried to catch your breaths, he smiled before kissing you softly. His cock twitched inside you, still leaking the small amount of cum inside his balls.
“Love you too…”
“Are you satisfied?”
“Mhm, perhaps” you said smiling. “At least for now, yes.”
Betrothed! Valarr Targaryen x spoiled cousin! reader
In which cousin! reader tries to prevent his and Kiera wedding with all her might. request is from @tefffiii
disclaimer: !english isn't my first lenguage! !not proof read!
warnings: targcest! spoiled brat reader! matipulativ reader! extreme hatred towards Kiera from reader! maybe spoilers? threats! false innocence!
You've always been spoiled by most people your father especially tends to do that, but even your cold and distant brother Aerion had a talent for spoiling his younger sister rotten. Maybe that's why you became the way you are today. Your admiration for your cousin prince Valarr went deep and far, Like the Wall in the north itself. You don't know when it started perhaps it was that one birthday where he giftet you that necklace that you never seem to take off now. The necklace specifically costomed to you, a gift so thoughtful that even your fathers gift couldn't compare. You remeber that birthday like it was yesterday even though it was six years ago. That was your 13th name day around the time people started relishing in your beauty. Or mayhaps it was that first time he crowned you Queen of Love and Beauty after winning the tourney with your Favor. It's unclear to you when it started but ever since it has been growing and blooming like the flowers in the gardens of House Tyrell. Tho you're unsure if the feelings grow both ways since he is to marry another, but that doesn't necesarry mean he has feelings for her it's not uncommon to marry just for the political gain of it especially in the royal family. So it must be political right?
Well you are yet to find that out. Currently you are sitting next to your brother Aerion in the gardens, he is reading a book of Targaryen history while you're sketching the flowers of the gardens. Orchids have always been your favourite of them all. "Aerion?" you ask softly. "Hmh?" he awnsers with slight disinterest. "Do you think Valarr likes his betrothed?" you ask looking at my brothers face now. "Why are you asking dear sister? Does it matter?" He asks glancing up from the page looking at your face. "Just wondering that is all. I would assume he talks to you more than me, since you're closer in age." you state trying not to show my genuine interest. "He doesn't talk about her much. I can't really tell if he likes her or not." Aerion states before returning to his book. You don't awnser his statement just keeping quite. You think about what you could do to figure out if you have a chance at taking Lady Kiera's place. "If I wanted to find out about their situation what would you suggest I should do?" you ask after a some time of thinking. He looks up again. "Ask Valarr himself, or his betrothed." He awnsers with a smug look on his face. "What are you so smug about all the sudden?" you ask already fearing he knew why you asked theese questions in the first place. "Nothing my sweet sister, just the growing feeling of your questionable Intrest in our cousin." He smirks now. You look at him with an offense that you hope comes of convincing before getting up and walking off with a pout on your face.
At dinner you sit in your usual spot between your father and your other brother Daeron usually Aegon would sit next to you but he is currently traveling with Ser Duncan. oposite of you sits the subject of your desires your cousin, prince Valarr. Gods how many sleepless nights you had just thinking about him is beyond you. The necklace he gifted you to your 13th name day sitting arounf your neck like usual. You just listen to the talks about political intrests between your father and his brother your uncle Baelor. You feel a slight touch of a foot below the table, the tip of your foot being slightly touched by anothers. You look up and around the table in confusion. Aerion is smiling at you from across the table oddly enough he decided to sit next to Valarr, they usually don't get along well for a loger span of time which is why usually he'd sit on the other side of your father. You frown is it him touching your foot? No most definitly not his legs aren't long enough to reach yours, since he doesn't sit directly in frot of you. So who is it then? You look at Valarr and see him pay an odd extreme of attention to his fathers words. Not the usual way he does but like what is being said is extremely importent, which it isn't you listened and they're talking about some tounament being hel for another young Lady's name day nothing out of the usual and not something that would need that much attention. After some time you just decide to see who reacts when you pull your foot back, the person would feel it shift away and most definitly look out of habit. So you do and as if you called it Valarr turns to look at you. So it was him. But why? Accidental? Or purpose? You don not know in the slighjtest but decide to ignore it for now. Suddenly the conversation shifts. "Y/n your own name day is soon to come is it not?" asks your uncle. "Yes it is, in a month I'll have my 19th name day." You state your father looking pleased at your awnser to his brothers question. "We shall hold a tounament for you aswell then. Your name day must be celebrated in a grand manner as it is cummon." Says uncle Baelor. I give a thankful nod. "That sounds like a good way to celebrate for sure." you say. Your father and his brother already starting to plan the event out. Your father emensly pleased at the idea of his only daughter getting such a grand name day celebration.
When you awake a few weeks later you realize it's your name day. You quickly get out of bed and let your handmaids dress you in your favourite dress and do your hair the most elegent and asthetically pleasing way possible. You skip down the halls of the Red Keep the dining hall having the table served for breakfast and only a short distence away you spot another table full of Presents for you. Your father is the first to greet you with a big smile and a bear hug. "Happy names day my little girl." he says. You wait patiently for the rest of your family to arrive for breakfast so you can finally unwrap your gifts. After breakfast is over you finally get to unwrap the gifts everyone watching with amused looks on their face. Everytime you pick one up the gifting person explains it's theirs and why they picked it out for you. Until only one is left, you haven't unwrapped Valarr's yet. What a wierd fate that it's the last. Safe the best for last or however that saying goes. I carefully grab it and open it. "I saw it in Dorne on one of the political travels I attended with my father. It stuck out to me and I knew it would make the perfect gift." He explains as soon as the Colorful dress of different pink shades came out of the wrap it was hidden under, the silky fabric detailed and elegently sewn together at the arms is a golden emblem of our house definitly done just for this dress. the golden emblems holding a silky cape like fabric at the back of the dress. "It's perfect." you exclaim admiring the dress in your hands. "Go put it on." Urges your father. You get up and walk into your room to let the maidens redress you in the new dress. You look in the mirror admiring the details. You walk down into the dining hall again the whole family waiting in anticipation. Their faces lighting up when you walked in. Valarr specifically looks emensley pleased. Aerion's gaze flickers between me and our cousin a smirk playing on his lips. Valarr walks past me and stops shortly next to me. "It looks good on you suits you perfectly." before leaving to welcome his betrothed. You try hiding your stunned and flustered expression but not many fail to see the expression you made.
The tourney is to start in due time. The Lords and Knights getting ready to compete under them your brother and cousin. Aerion was pushed to by your father so he could make a good impression and hopefully find a suitable match. You see Kiera on her way towards the stairs of the stands of the nobility box. You think about your brothers words: "Ask Valarr himself, or his betrothed." it's time you start your plan of getting what you want. You skip over and link your arms with hers, "Hello Lady Kiera." you say joyfully. "Oh? Hello Lady Y/n." she says slightly startled by your presence. "May we dit together for the tourney?" you ask smiling at her. "Sure if that's what the princess wishes for." she says politley. You nod eagerly. You pull her to your seats in the nobility box and sit down. "So how are things with my cousin going?" you ask after a short while. "Quite alright he has been quite distant over the last month tho." she says looking down. Interesting you think to yourself. "Oh? that is sad to hear he is back in his patterns again." I exclaim ready to plant the seeds of doubt in her. "Huh?" she looks up at you to her left with a questioning gaze. "What pattern?" she asks. "Oh? You didn't know? Valarr had a history of blocking out women when he desires another." you explain, what she doesn't know is that this explanation is a complete lie. Valarr has never been unfaithful and also never had any Girlfriends or anything of the sort, but she doesn't need to know that. "Didn't you know he was betrothed before?" I ask her. she just shakes her head. "Yeah he scared her off after she found him with another Lady in his lap and their family broke of the engagement." you explain. Truth is he was betrothed before but she didn't run because of the lie I just told. She saw Aerion and his way of handling things and got scared of Valarr thinking he would act the same. Again she doesn't need to know that tho. She looks down with a frown, "Oh..." she awnsers. "Don't let the sadness show he doesn't deserve you anyway." You say playing the roll of the perfect friend just fine. She smiles looking at you. "Thank you for telling me." she says greatful that you told her the "truth". "It's no problem, I couldn't imagine being quite about this when the consequence would be to live with hime forever and bearing his heirs." you tell her your false reasoning. Shortly before the tourney begins Valarr rides over standing infront of the nobility box. Who's favor is gonna ask for. Let's hope not hers it would only make my claims seem more real. "Lady Y/n Targaryen may you give me the honors of giving me your favor. You get up and walk to the railing of the box the braided flower circle in hand. You throw in onto the lence he's holding smiling down at him. Perfect the gods are with you today that he didn't ask for hers. When you return she looks disappointed. "Hey it's most likely just because it's my name day." You try cheering her up. Aerion watching from a distance in the lines on his horse seeing exactly through your behaviour smiles and plays along. He rides over and asks for Lady Kiera's favor which she gives him.
After hours of cheers and lances kicking other participants off their horses your brother and cousin are the last to fight against each other. Your brother glances up at you winking in a way that made his plans of loosing for your sake clear. And that is what happened He purposley let his lance miss Valarr with a short distance to make it seem accidental. That means Valarr wins and thus meaning he is going to choose his Queen of love and beauty. "Princess Y/n of house Targaryen I want to crown you my Queen of love and beauty!" He exclaims loudly over the field getting of his horse and grabbing the flower crown from his squire. You get up and make your way down onto the field and as you get closer you realize it. The crown is woven with orchids. The whole flower crown consist of them. He places the Flower grown on your head gently and leans to your ear and whispers: "Only for my beautiful cousin." You look up into his mismatching eyes when he leans back into place smiling down at you. You smile up at him in a flustered way. He leans in and gives your forehead a chaste kiss. The stands are all cheering and whistling all except Lady Kiera who runs off the stands with tears in her eyes. You smile victoriously at that. Bye Lady Kiera and thanks for the now free place next to my Cousin. The celebrations went on way into the night. A few days later a letter comes in per Raven that Lady Kiera of Tyrosh breaks of the angagment. You smile at dinner when your uncle informs from the tragic events of change. Valarr looking at you knowingly nudges your foot under table again while giving you a pleased look.
breakfast tables are for family warfare. walks in the garden are for secrets about to spill over. (aka: aerion is a prick and valarr wants to shout his love from the rooftops)
౨ৎ valarr targaryen x twin!reader ౨ৎ 1.9k ౨ৎ MDNI 18+, targcest, established relationship, secret relationship, aerion fat shames reader, but aerion also wants that cookie so effing bad, slight angst ig, alludes to oral in conversation ౨ৎ click here for part one ౨ৎ
A SERVANT LAID THE LAST of countless platters onto the long oaken table in the center of the private hall reserved for family meals. The morning was pleasant. A calm breeze swished the sheer white curtains that flanked the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the hall. You could hear birdsong and faint laughter from the garden down below.
It was wisteria season.
Even here, two floors up from the garden, you could smell the purple blooms sweet scent mingling with the vast spread laid before you: warm pastries, fresh fruit, drop biscuits accompanied by ramekins filled with different jams, jellies, and butter, and much, much more.
You decided to start with a bowl of porridge.
"Could you pass the cream?" you asked your twin.
Before Valarr could even lift a hand, Aerion had snatched the handle of the small ceramic pitcher.
"Is that wise, cousin?"
Your father, seated at the right side of your grandsire King Daeron's empty chair, paused mid-scoop of scrambled eggs to arch a brow at your cousin. Beside him, your uncle Maekar — who had just stabbed a curiously tiny sausage with his fork — wore a reflexive look of revulsion for whatever ignorant game his spawn was playing. Daeron was already on his third cup of wine, which meant the lucky fool didn't even notice the dreadful shift in atmosphere. Little Egg simply looked exhausted and, on your side of the table beside your twin, your younger brother Matarys watched Valarr with a wary expression that knew too much.
And Valarr…
…well, if looks could kill, Aerion would've been well on his way to the Silent Sisters.
"Cream is awfully fattening," said Aerion. "And I see our beloved Valarr has already put two peach fritters on your plate. You do know how they make those, don't you? The peaches are battered and dipped in hot oil before being rolled in cinnamon and sugar. Not to mention all the butter in the crust — and the icing drizzled ever so generously on top."
"The icing is what makes them good," chimed Egg, reaching for a peach fritter of his own.
Aerion slapped his brother's hand, making Egg's fritter fall back onto the platter. Crumbs flaked onto the white tablecloth. "The icing is what makes people fat," he said.
"You need not worry about my sister's weight," said Valarr.
Aerion laughed. "I think we should all worry about my cousin's weight."
Aerion looked about the table then, addressing everyone now. In his head, you knew he must have pictured himself a king in this moment: Aerion Brightflame, seated high on his flaming throne of excellence to inform his lessers of their inherent inferiority.
In reality, he looked mad and insecure.
"What if the Rebellion should breathe new life?" he asked. "My indulgent cousin here is the only woman of our House who is of marriageable age. How can we use her to form alliances with would-be enemies if she grows heavy as a heifer?"
Valarr tensed beside you.
Maekar pointed his fork — tiny sausage still hanging from its prongs — at Aerion. A warning burned in your uncle's violet eyes. Quiet, boy.
Aerion shrugged it off. "It is a valid concern. House Targaryen needs her in prime condition."
"Prime condition?" Valarr's laugh was dry and dangerous. He lunged across the table to snatch the pitcher from Aerion's grasp. Aerion jolted backwards as if he'd been snapped at by a wild dog, successfully keeping the pitcher out of Valarr's reach. Your lover growled, "She is in prime condition."
Panic spiked through your heart.
Your father broke the tension with one measured word.
"Valarr."
Unlike his brother, Baelor Breakspear could communicate expectations to his children without sacrificing composure. You, Valarr, and Matarys all heard his silent message: Do not stoop to Aerion's level, son. You are better than him. Why are you not behaving as such?
Your father did not understand the high cost Valarr paid in settling back into his seat, jaw clenched with barely controlled rage. He did not understand that it was not merely his sister that Father asked him to abandon to Aerion's cruelty, but his lover.
Under the table, Valarr's hand found your knee in an effort to ground himself. His touch brought you comfort, too.
You pushed his hand aside when Father spoke again.
"You speak of the Rebellion and would-be enemies, Aerion, yet was it not you who proclaimed only days ago that my daughter's hand should belong to you? And not for the first time, I should mention. Tell me: what alliance would it bring us to tie my only daughter's life to yours? Do you suggest that you are one of our would-be enemies? Surely not. Surely Blackfyres are all we must be cautious of, not a trueborn prince of House Targaryen."
The insult lashed at Aerion. Does he dare compare me to baseborn scum? his face said.
Egg held back a laugh at his brother's embarrassment, utilizing the distraction of Aerion's public shaming to sneak a peach fritter without fear of rebuke.
Before Aerion could respond, there was the scrape of a knife against porcelain as your Uncle Maekar cut the already tiny sausage into pieces. "Give your cousin the cream," he told his son.
"But—"
Maekar looked up from his plate. "Give. Her. The cream."
Aerion did.
MATARYS PRACTICED SUMS UNDER a flowering fruit tree while you and Valarr strolled down the garden path.
Wisteria was everywhere: delicately twisted vines crawled up the rust-colored walls of the Red Keep while thick clusters of purple blooms hung from the latticed arbor tunneling the pathway. A faint breeze stirred the blossoms, sending them dancing across the stone path.
A petal caught in Valarr's hair, just below his silver streak. You smiled and decided to leave it there. Beauty attracts beauty, you thought.
Valarr was still fuming.
"I should have stabbed him with your spoon," he said of Aerion, kicking a pebble off the path. The back of his hand kept bumping yours. He wanted to grab it, you knew, to interlace fingers and find comfort in your touch.
But not with Matarys nearby. Not when he knew you would scold him for it.
"My spoon?" you asked incredulously. "Why my spoon?"
"So you could taste our cousin's blood with every bite you took."
"Disgusting. I wanted cream in my porridge — not cowardice."
Valarr did not laugh at your jest. Mismatched eyes remained pinned to the tops of his boots. You could hear him suck his teeth, considering the merit of speaking whatever thought ran rampant in his mind.
"As it stands," he finally grumbled, "I would say you're quite familiar with the taste of cowardice."
You stopped walking. "Are you calling me a coward?"
"Never." Valarr stopped too, turning to face you head-on.
You didn't know what to focus on: the fact that he was standing a little too close to you for it to appear sibling-like or the expression on his face, akin to a bad-tempered puppy who had gotten its nose rubbed in an accident. Your father was the puppy's handler, no doubt, the one who had dealt punishment — in this case, forcing Valarr to bite his tongue while Aerion shamed you.
Did that make you the accident, then? The mistake Valarr paid penance for?
You frowned.
You didn't like that thought at all.
Begrudgingly, Valarr glanced over your shoulder at Matarys; you found your head twisting to do the same. Your younger brother was still sitting under the flowering fruit tree. His parchment and books lay on the grass beside him — studious in appearance, yet curiously useless in practice. Why had he stopped practicing sums? His focus seemed fixed on the garden's entrance.
Low enough that Matarys couldn't possibly hear, Valarr explained, "Every time you get down on your knees for me, it is a coward's pleasure going down your throat — and if I recall, you always swallow just fine."
Your brow furrowed. "What?"
Valarr stepped closer. Your chin instinctively tipped upwards so you could look him in the eyes. Too close — his face was too close to yours as he hissed, "I can't even defend you."
You hardly registered his words, mind reeling. If anyone saw, your close proximity could be explained away by claim of an argument, yes? That was believable. Aerion got in Daeron's face all the time, and no one at court took that to mean they were locked in a passionate love affair.
There were details that would be harder to dismiss, though. Like the desperation gleaming in Valarr's eyes. How his teeth worried his bottom lip to the point of redness.
How you couldn't stop staring at his lips.
With a heavy sigh, Valarr squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I am unworthy of you."
Plain.
Simple.
Fact.
"I have always been unworthy of you," he said, "which is precisely why I will so happily spend a lifetime kissing your feet for being so wonderfully foolish as to choose me with all my faults. But this weight, sister…the strain on my heart, it…it becomes harder to bear with each day you choose to make us walk in the shadows. Do you not wish to feel it?" he asked, eyes still closed. "Do you not wish to know what it's like to love in the light of the sun?"
Breathing became an impossibility. You weren't sure your heart was beating.
"I—"
Matarys shouted, "Valarr! Kingsguard!"
Everything moved fast.
Valarr took several steps back from you. His shoulders squared into the guise of perfect princely composure.
Your own mask — the good princess — did not come so easily.
Panic pulsed in your veins. Your lips stayed parted as your lungs bade strenuous, chest-heaving breaths. Why were you afraid? No member of the kingsguard would hurt you. Matarys's shout had simply been a kindness, a brotherly warning so you and Valarr would have time to—
You whirled to face your younger brother, blinking at him as if seeing him for the first time.
Matarys knew.
Yet he hadn't told Father. Hadn't told anyone, apparently. And rather than summon the High Septon for a blessing or — gods forbid — convince Father to have you shipped off to the furthest corner of the Seven Kingdoms, far from your twin, Matarys had simply…come out to the garden. Pretended to practice sums, keeping watch over the garden's entrance, protecting you and Valarr from being found out. Because he was ashamed you? No. You didn't think that was it.
There was no time to consider as Ser Donnel approached. His white cloak dragged the ground, cutting a clean path through fallen wisteria petals.
"My Prince."
"Ser Donnel. What business have you?"
"Prince Baelor requests your presence in the Tower of the Hand."
Valarr nodded.
You had both know this was coming. Your father would want to question Valarr over his lack of control at breakfast. Why had a future king lunged at his own blood? What had gotten into him to make him act so out of sorts? Your father would be concerned, not angry. And what would Valarr say to quell Father's worried spirit when the truth was not available to him? He would never explain without your permission.
With not even a parting word, Valarr left with Ser Donnel.
Matarys — who had risen from his spot under the fruit tree, gathering his books and parchment — offered you a sad, sympathetic smile.
Perhaps it was past time you gave Valarr permission.
a/n | not me writing a pt.2 to something for once in my life - how wild. anyway, thank you all for all the love on pt.1 of this little piece! it's been fun and i hope to write more, though the next valarr piece i share is probably gonna be a lowborn!reader because i <3 lowborn!reader. also, if anyone wants to talk about this fic or valarr or literally anything asoiaf related, my ask box and dms are always always open!
Valarr Targaryen x reader
Synopsis: In which you come back home
word count: 4.9k
The celebrations had been lovely. The baby, little Valerya, named after her darling husband in a fit of sentimentality that you still felt slightly smug about, was perfect, with your brother's eyes and his wife's nose and a tiny tuft of dark hair that made her look like a particularly adorable potato. The food had been plentiful, the company warm, and the excuse to escape the Red Keep for a while had been genuinely refreshing.
For the first two days.
By the third morning of your absence, you had begun to wonder if Valarr was managing alright. He'd looked so tragic when you'd left, standing in the yard with his hand over his heart like a knight in a sad song, watching your wheelhouse disappear down the road. You'd waved until you couldn't see him anymore, touched by his devotion, mildly concerned by its intensity.
By the fourth day, you'd stopped wondering and started knowing.
The first letter arrived at breakfast.
It was from your good-father, Prince Baelor, and it was masterfully diplomatic, which immediately told you something was wrong, because Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen was many wonderful things, but diplomatically subtle was not typically among them.
My dear Y/N,
I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying your time with your family. Please extend my congratulations to your brother and his wife on the birth of their daughter.
I write with a small matter that has come to my attention. Your husband, my son, has apparently been unwell since your departure. He has not attended council, has taken his meals in his chambers, and has been observed by multiple servants staring at the southern road for hours at a time. Matarys reports that he is "utterly pathetic" and "in desperate need of intervention."
I do not wish to alarm you or cut short your visit. However, I feel you should be aware that Valarr has commissioned a portrait locket which he kisses approximately every few minutes, has forbidden the servants from changing your bedsheets, and was overheard having a lengthy conversation with your pillow.
A pillow, my dear.
If your visit could be concluded in a timely manner, I would be most grateful.
Your loving good-father,
Baelor
You read the letter three times, each time with a broader smile. He'd commissioned a locket? With your face? And he was kissing it? You pressed the letter to your chest and giggled like a girl of twelve.
"Oh, Valarr," you murmured. "You ridiculous, wonderful man."
Your sister-by-law, seated across the table with the baby in her arms, raised an eyebrow. "Good news?" "Excellent news." You folded the letter carefully and tucked it into your pocket. "My husband is losing his mind without me."
This was said with such obvious delight that your sister-by-law laughed. "That's… a good thing?"
"The best thing. The absolute best." You reached for another pastry, suddenly ravenous. "He loves me. He loves me so much he's talking to my pillow. How could that not be wonderful?"
The second letter arrived that afternoon. This one was from Matarys, and it was considerably less diplomatic.
Y/N,
Come home. Now. Immediately. I cannot stress this enough. Valarr has taken to wandering the halls at night, sighing loudly and clutching this locket he had made. He looks like a ghost. A very sad, very lovesick ghost who keeps asking people if they've heard from you. I ran into him at the godswood at midnight. He was just standing there, staring at the moon, and when I asked what he was doing he said, "She liked the moon. Did you know she liked the moon?" I did know. Everyone knows. She's mentioned it once or twice. He then showed me the locket for the seventeenth time and asked if I thought the painter had captured your smile correctly. I said yes. He said he wasn't sure, that maybe the left side was slightly off, that he was considering commissioning another one from a different artist just to be safe. Y/N. He is planning to commission a SECOND locket. Father is worried. Grandfather is amused, which is somehow worse. Even Aerion offered Valarr his condolences yesterday, and Aerion has never offered anyone condolences for anything. Please come home before he commissions a third one. Or starts talking to your shoes.
Your desperate good-brother,
Matarys
P.S. He also had the kitchens make your favorite lemon cakes and left them in your solar "so they'd be ready when you return." They are not keeping well. The servants keep eating them and replacing them with fresh ones so he doesn't notice. This has been going on for three days. The man is a menace to the household staff.
You doubled over laughing.
You read the letter again, savoring every detail. The locket. The moon. The shoes. The lemon cakes being constantly replaced. He was so thorough in his misery, so committed to missing you with every fiber of his being.
Your heart felt like it might burst. The third letter came the next morning.
This one was from Valarr himself, and it was so utterly, perfectly him that you had to stop reading twice because you couldn't see through the tears of laughter and love.
My love,
I am writing this at dawn because I couldn't sleep. Your pillow doesn't smell like you anymore. I think I've used it up. Is that possible? Can missing someone actually wear away their scent? I've asked the servants not to wash it, but maybe I should have asked them to preserve it somehow? In a jar? Is that strange?
(Don't answer that.)
I miss you. I miss you so much that I've started telling people about your laugh. Complete strangers. Guardsmen. The man who sharpens my swords. I told him, "My wife has the most beautiful laugh in the Seven Kingdoms. It sounds like bells. Happy bells. Bells that have just heard excellent news." He looked at me strangely. I don't think he understood. I had a locket made. Matarys probably told you. It's beautiful—you're beautiful in it, I mean. The painter captured your eyes perfectly, but I think your smile might be slightly off. I'm considering having another one made so I can compare them. Is that too much? It's probably too much. I don't care. I talked to your shawl yesterday. It was nice. Not as nice as talking to you, but nice. Please come home soon. I'm running out of your things to talk to. The shoes are next, and while I'm sure they'll be excellent conversationalists, it's not the same.
Your devoted husband,
Valarr
P.S. I love you. I love you I love you I love you. I'm going to write it a hundred times but the maester says ravens can only carry so much weight so I'll stop here. But imagine a hundred. Imagine a thousand. Imagine more than that, because that's how much I love you.
You pressed the letter to your heart and simply sat there for a long moment, overwhelmed by the sheer muchness of him.
Then you stood up.
"I have to go home."
Your brother, who had just entered the room with news about lunch, blinked at you. "What? Now? The celebrations aren't finished—"
"My husband is holding my shoes and talking to my pillow and commissioning lockets of my face." You were already moving toward your chambers, mentally cataloging what needed to be packed. "He's telling strangers about my laugh. He's having the servants replace lemon cakes so they'll be fresh for me. He's—" You stopped, turned, and beamed at your brother. "He loves me so much he's falling apart."
"That sounds… concerning?"
"It's romantic." You grabbed his arms and kissed his cheek. "I love you, I love the baby, I love that you named her after him, but I have to go. My husband needs me. He's out there being ridiculous and devoted and I need to go kiss him until he stops looking at the moon and asking if people know I like it. Tell your wife goodbye for me. Kiss the baby. We'll visit again when Valarr can be trusted to survive a separation of more than a week."
You were packed within the hour.
The wheelhouse was readied within two.
And as the horses began their journey south, toward King's Landing, toward the Red Keep, toward your ridiculous, perfect, shoe-holding, pillow-talking, locket-kissing husband, you sat back against the cushions with a smile so wide your cheeks hurt.
You couldn't wait to see him. You couldn't wait to let him hold you properly, to breathe you in, to stop talking to inanimate objects and start talking to you again.
You also couldn't wait to tease him about every single detail from the letters. The moon. The shoes. The pillow. The locket. The lemon cakes. The guard who'd heard about your laugh.
You were going to make him blush so hard.
And then you were going to kiss him.
"Faster," you told the driver, leaning out the window. "My husband is waiting."
---
The wheelhouse rolled through the gates of the Red Keep as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and rose. You pressed your face to the window, heart hammering against your ribs, scanning the yard for a glimpse of dark hair and brighter eyes.
You didn't see him, he didn't know you were coming. You'd sent no raven, wanting to surprise him, and now that impatience clawed at your chest like a living thing. The wheelhouse hadn't even fully stopped before you were pushing the door open, leaping down with absolutely no regard for dignity or the servants rushing to assist you.
"Where is my husband?" you asked the nearest guard.
The man blinked at your sudden appearance. "The Prince? I believe he's in your chambers, my lady. He's been—"
You didn't wait to hear what he'd been. You were already running. Through the yard, past the startled faces of guards and courtiers alike, your slippers slapping against the stone, your traveling dress bunched in your fists to keep from tripping. Up the stairs, along the corridor, past the Targaryen banners hanging still and silent in the evening air.
You burst through the door of your chambers and stopped.
Valarr was seated at the window, his back to you, his shoulders curved forward in a posture of such profound loneliness that it pierced you straight through. He held something in his hands—the locket, you realized. He was holding the locket, his thumb moving gently across its surface in a slow, rhythmic stroke.
Evening light fell across his dark hair, picking out that distinctive streak of silver-gold that marked him as dragon-blooded. He looked thinner than you remembered. Tired. Like a man who hadn't been sleeping or eating properly, who'd been pouring all his energy into simply existing until you returned.
"Valarr."
His name left your lips before you could stop it, soft and broken and full of everything you felt. He went completely still. For one heartbeat. Two. Three.
Then he turned. The locket clattered to the floor, forgotten. His eyes, those mismatched eyes that had looked at you with love every single day of your marriage, went wide, disbelieving, drinking you in like a man dying of thirst who'd suddenly stumbled upon an oasis.
"Y/N?"
His voice cracked on your name.
And then he was moving, rising from the window seat so fast he nearly stumbled, crossing the room in four desperate strides, and then his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks, tilting your head up so he could look at you properly.
"You're here," he breathed. "You're actually here."
"I'm here."
"I was just—I was looking at your locket, thinking about you, and now you're—" His thumbs traced across your cheekbones, gentle and reverent. "You're real? This is real?"
"Valarr." You covered his hands with your own, pressing them more firmly against your face. "I'm real. I'm here. I came back."
Something broke behind his eyes.
With a sound that was half sob and half sigh, he pulled you into his arms and held you. Not carefully, he crushed you against his chest, wrapped himself around you so completely that you could feel every line of his body, every tremor running through him.
"I missed you," he whispered into your hair. "Gods, Y/N, I missed you so much. I didn't know it was possible to miss someone this much. I thought I understood missing you before, when you visited your family for name days or when I had to go with Father on progress, but this—this was different. This was worse. This was—"
You felt wetness against your hair.
He was crying.
Your strong, devoted, ridiculous husband was crying into your hair because you'd come home.
Your own eyes burned. You pulled back just enough to look at him, to see the tears tracking down his cheeks, the way his jaw was clenched tight against the flood of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
"Look at me," you whispered, framing his face in your hands. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"I know. I know, I just—" He laughed, wet and broken. "I talked to your pillow. Your pillow, Y/N. I told it about my day. I held your shoes. I—" He shook his head, fresh tears spilling over. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes. And when you're gone, I don't know how to be myself. I don't know how to exist without you. You're half of me. You're the better half. You're—"
You kissed him.
It wasn't like your usual kisses—the quick pecks goodbye, the gentle brushes goodnight, the teasing presses when you were laughing together. This was different. This was desperate and deep and full of everything you hadn't been able to say across the miles between you.
His arms tightened around you, one hand sliding into your hair, the other pressing against the small of your back, holding you as close as physically possible. He kissed you like you were air and he'd been drowning. He kissed you like you were water and he'd been crossing a desert. He kissed you like you were home, and he'd been lost for four endless days.
When you finally broke apart, breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours.
"I commissioned a locket," he murmured. "Two, actually. Three, if you count the one I'm having made with both our faces. I—" He huffed a laugh. "I'm sorry. I know that's too much. I know I'm too much. I can't help it. I love you too much."
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
"You talked to my pillow."
His cheeks flushed red. "I… yes."
"You held my shoes."
The flush deepened. "Matarys told you about that?"
"And told strangers about my laugh. And asked the servants to preserve my pillow in a jar. And commissioned a locket of my face that you kiss constantly."
Valarr's expression shifted from embarrassed to horrified to resigned in the span of three seconds. "I did say it was too much."
"Valarr."
He braced himself, clearly expecting teasing, expecting laughter, expecting you to make gentle fun of him the way you always did when his devotion tipped into absurdity.
Instead, you reached up and touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek, the soft skin beneath his eye where tears still lingered.
"I love you," you said simply. "I love every ridiculous, excessive, overwhelming part of you. I love that you missed me so much you talked to furniture. I love that you commissioned lockets of my face. I love that you told strangers about my laugh." You rose on your toes and pressed your lips to his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, each point of contact a silent promise. "I love that you held my shoes. I love that you couldn't sleep without me. I love that you're standing here, crying because I came home, because it means you love me as much as I love you."
He stared at you, eyes bright with fresh tears.
"As much?" His voice was barely a whisper. "You can't possibly—I love you more. I love you most. I love you in ways that don't have words. I love you—"
"I know." You smiled, soft and warm. "I know, Valarr. I've always known."
He kissed you again.
This time it was slower. Deeper. A conversation rather than a desperate plea. He mapped your mouth like he was learning it for the first time, like he'd forgotten the shape of you in his days apart and needed to memorize it all over again. You let him, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the silver-gold streak that made him yours.
"I dreamed about you," he murmured against your lips. "Every night. You were always just out of reach. I'd wake up reaching for you and you weren't there and I'd—" He shuddered. "I'd lie in your spot and pretend you were still warm."
"Valarr."
"I know. I'm pathetic."
"You're romantic." You kissed the corner of his mouth. "You're devoted. You're the most loving man I've ever known." Another kiss, this one to his cheek. "You're mine."
His arms tightened around you. "Yours. Always yours. Only yours."
You drew back, taking his hand, leading him away from the door and toward the window seat where he'd been sitting when you arrived. The locket still lay on the floor, glinting in the fading light, but neither of you moved to pick it up. You didn't need a painted version of his face. You had the real thing.
You sat together in the window, you tucked against his side, his arm wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair. He kept breathing you in, deep and reverent, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.
---
The candles had long burned down to nothing, leaving your chambers awash in moonlight and shadow. The city had gone quiet beyond the windows, the distant sounds of guards changing shifts and the occasional bark of a dog the only interruptions to the deep, peaceful silence of the night.
You lay on your side, eyes half-closed, drifting in that warm space between waking and sleep. The sheets were soft beneath you, the pillow perfect beneath your cheek, and behind you—wrapped around you like he might never let go—was Valarr.
You could feel him everywhere. One arm curved beneath your head, pillowing it gently. The other draped across your waist, his hand splayed warm against your stomach. His chest pressed against your back, solid and steady, rising and falling with each breath. His knees tucked behind yours, fitting together like you'd been made to rest just so.
Perfect.
This was perfect.
You were almost asleep when you felt him shift.
It was small at first, a slight adjustment of his hips, a tiny movement of his hand. You dismissed it as him settling, finding comfort, letting sleep take him as it was taking you.
But then he shifted again.
And again.
His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, as if the inches between you were an unbearable distance. His breath hitched against your hair, warm and uneven. His legs moved, tangling with yours, trying to pull you even nearer.
"Valarr?" Your voice was thick with approaching sleep. "Are you alright?"
"Mm." The sound was vague, distracted. "Fine. Go back to sleep."
You should have. You were so tired, so warm, so perfectly comfortable. But there was something in the way he held you—a tension, a need—that kept you hovering on the edge of awareness.
His hand moved.
Just a little. Just the barest slide across your stomach, fingers spreading wide as if he could absorb you through touch alone. His thumb traced a slow circle against the thin fabric of your nightgown, and you felt the gesture all the way through you, a shiver of response that had nothing to do with cold.
"Valarr." This time his name was a question.
"I can't—" He stopped, his voice rough. "I can't get close enough."
You turned your head slightly, trying to see him in the darkness. Moonlight caught the edge of his profile—the silver streak in his hair, the curve of his cheek, the intensity in eyes that should have been closed in sleep.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer with words.
Instead, he moved.
His arm withdrew from beneath your head, and for a moment you felt the loss like a physical thing. But then his hands were at your shoulders, turning you gently, and you went willingly, rolling to face him in the tangle of sheets and moonlight.
He looked at you like you were everything.
"I need—" He swallowed hard. "I spent four days without you. Four days of nothing. Of empty space where you should be. And now you're here, and I have you, and it's still—" His hands came up to frame your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. "It's still not enough. I don't think it will ever be enough. I want to be closer than this. I want—"
He broke off, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut.
"I want to crawl inside you," he whispered. "I want to wrap myself around your bones and live in your heart and never be separate from you again. I know that's insane. I know that's too much. But I spent four days alone and I can't—I can't be far enough away from you ever again. I need to be closer. I need—"
Your heart cracked open.
This man. This ridiculous, beautiful, overwhelming man who loved you so much it hurt him. Who couldn't sleep because the inches between you felt like miles. Who wanted to crawl inside you and never leave.
You kissed him.
It was soft and slow and full of everything you felt—the love, the tenderness, the absolute wonder that someone could want you this much.
"Then come closer," you whispered against his mouth.
His eyes opened, searching your face in the darkness. "What?"
"Come closer." You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "However close you need to be. I'm yours. All of me is yours. Take what you need."
For a long moment, he simply stared at you, his expression caught between wonder and disbelief. Then something shifted in his eyes—a decision made, a need acknowledged—and he moved.
His hands went to the laces at the neck of your nightgown.
Slowly, carefully, he worked them loose. Not pulling, not rushing—just undoing, one by one, until the fabric gaped open at your throat. Until there was space enough.
"Tell me if it's too much," he breathed. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"I won't."
He kissed you once—soft, quick, a promise—and then he moved.
His head ducked beneath the fabric, slipping through the opening he'd made. You felt him against your skin, warm and seeking, as he pulled the nightgown over himself like a second layer. His arms slid around your waist beneath the cloth, wrapping around your middle, pulling you flush against him. His body pressed along yours, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, legs tangling together beneath the sheets.
And then his head emerged from the neck of your nightgown.
It was absurd. It was ridiculous. His dark hair was mussed, the silver streak catching moonlight, and he was looking at you from inside your own clothing, his face inches from yours, your breath mingling in the small space you now shared.
But it wasn't absurd. Not really.
It was the most intimate thing you'd ever experienced.
He was inside your clothing. Wrapped around you beneath the fabric, his arms around your waist, his legs intertwined with yours, his heart beating against your heart. You were as close as two people could possibly be without ceasing to be two people.
"Valarr." His name left your lips on a breath, soft and wondering.
"Closer," he murmured, and there was something almost desperate in the word. "I'm closer. I can feel all of you. Every part of you. You're everywhere."
His hands spread across your back beneath the nightgown, palms flat, fingers splayed, as if he could touch every inch of you at once. His face pressed into the curve of your neck, nose tracing along your pulse point, breathing you in with deep, reverent breaths.
"I can feel your heart," he whispered against your skin. "It's beating against mine. They're beating together. Can you feel it?"
You could. Two pulses, separate but synchronized, thrumming through the space where your chests pressed together.
"Yes," you breathed. "I can feel it."
His arms tightened. His legs wrapped more firmly around yours. He curved himself around you like a second skin, like he was trying to pour himself into your very bones.
"I love you," he said, and the words were muffled against your throat, but you heard them anyway. Felt them. They vibrated through your skin and settled somewhere deep inside. "I love you so much. I never want to be apart from you again. Not for a day. Not for an hour. Not for a moment."
"Valarr."
"I know it's not possible. I know you'll have to leave sometimes, and I'll have to leave sometimes, and there will be moments when we're separate no matter how much I hate it. But right now—" He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes in the darkness. "Right now, you're here. Right now, I'm inside your clothes and wrapped around your heart and as close to you as I can possibly be. Right now, you're mine and I'm yours and nothing else exists."
You felt tears prick at your eyes.
Not sad tears. Not even happy tears, exactly. Just—tears of overwhelming muchness. Of being loved so completely, so excessively, so thoroughly that you didn't know what to do with it except feel it. Let it wash over you. Let it fill every empty space you'd ever carried.
"Kiss me," you whispered.
He did.
It was different from before, slower, deeper, more intimate. You kissed in the small space inside your nightgown, your breath warm and shared, your lips moving together like you had all the time in the world. His hands never stopped moving on your back, gentle circles, soft strokes, mapping every inch of skin he could reach.
When you finally broke apart, breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"For what?"
"For letting me be close. For not thinking I'm insane. For—" He huffed a soft laugh. "For letting me wear your nightgown."
You laughed, the sound muffled by the fabric around you. "You're not wearing it. You're in it. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes. Wearing it would be far less romantic."
He smiled, you felt the curve of it against your cheek and pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"I love you," he said again, and it wasn't repetitive, it was essential. Like breathing. Like heartbeat. Like the only words that mattered.
"I love you too." You wrapped your arms around him beneath the nightgown, holding him as close as he was holding you. "Now try to sleep."
"I don't know if I can. I'm too—" He paused, searching for the word. "Too aware of you. Too full of you. I don't want to waste a moment of this on sleep."
"Then don't sleep. Just rest." You pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Stay here, inside my clothes, wrapped around me, and just—rest. I'm not going anywhere."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, you felt some of the tension leave his body. His arms loosened just slightly—not releasing you, never releasing you, but relaxing into the hold. His breathing deepened, evening out. His eyes fluttered closed against your skin.
"Closer," he murmured, already half-asleep. "Always want to be closer."
You smiled into the darkness and held him.
You lay like that as the night deepened around you—two people tangled together beneath a single nightgown, wrapped in each other, breathing each other's breath, heart beating against heart, and somewhere in the darkness, the line between where he ended and you began blurred into nothing.
Sometime in the deepest part of the night, you woke to find that Valarr had somehow managed to get even closer. His face was pressed into the curve of your neck, his nose against your pulse point, his breath warm and steady. One hand had found its way beneath your nightgown to rest directly over your heart, palm flat, as if he needed to feel it beating.
The other hand was tangled in your hair.
You didn't move. Didn't dare disturb the perfect peace of this moment. You simply lay there, wrapped in him, and marveled at the miracle of being loved this much.
"Y/N," he breathed in his sleep, the sound barely more than a sigh.
"Shh." You pressed your lips to his hair. "I'm here. I'm right here."
His arms tightened reflexively, pulling you closer even in sleep, and you smiled.
In the morning, the servants would find you like this—tangled together, sharing a nightgown, utterly ridiculous and completely content. There would be gossip. There would be raised eyebrows. Matarys would never let you forget it.
pairing: valarr targaryen x fem!maekar’s daughter!targaryen reader
synopsis: in which it’s your name day and a tournament is being held in your favour. however, you hadn’t expected a certain relative who you loved for as long as you could remember to participate.
tags: targcest, maekar is a bit of an asshole, jealous!valarr, protective!valarr, yearner!valarr, a few not detailed combat scenes included, childhood lovers, aerion being irritating as expected, mutual pining, hurt/comfort.
word count: ~3.7k
based on this request. gif credits to rightful owner.
a/n: i got so carried away with this one :,) introductory fic on this brand new blog with my underrated husband!!! enjoy. :) likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated. english isn’t my first language. <3
Is one’s nameday supposed to feel like this? You think.
So ominously anticipating?
And yet, it seemed like it was. Being Maekar The Anvil’s daughter was no easy feat. Having many siblings, including one who was gradually drowning into his own pile of madness as he grew older, is also no easy feat. However, all of that had to be forgotten today. Especially, today. The tournament being held in King’s Landing was about to take place very soon.
Your handmaidens were tightening the seams of your gown specifically designed for the day’s occasion, crimson red lines stitched on the ebony colored dress which was hugging your upper body with its velvet fabric. Truly, how could such an extravagant gown feel so light? Another question that you took account of to contemplate in your bath later that day.
Unusually so, your brain was filled with many questions. You always had been curious about many things. Since the moment you grew into having the ability to talk and comprehend. A rather, irritating mannerism, as your father would call sometimes whenever you’d bother him with your silly questions during his Master of Coin duties.
You couldn’t help but think, however, of one person. One person who has never questioned your attributes and your curious nature. One person who would be willing to answer all of your concerns, your worries. Your very own cousin, Prince Valarr Targaryen.
Since the minute the young Prince had laid eyes on you years ago it felt like the gates of the seventh heaven opened themselves to him, and you, at the mere age of eight, were standing in the center of it. That’s when he realised. When his young brain had sorted it out, you would be his center. And he had to take advantage of that. Make you his, in any shape or form.
As the years passed, and the both of you entered your teenage years. Words, gestures and affections got bolder and more profound. Of course, with the blessing or curse—which you still weren’t able to determine—, having Maekar Targaryen as your father meant having the moon and the sun follow you at all times. He noticed. Noticed the amount of time you’d spend in each other’s presence, noticed the glances you’d exchange with one another.
Foolish love, your father would think. As the dragons in the Targaryen dynasty had left no trace since almost a century ago, the arranged marriages between the Targaryen family members had ceased. And with useful alliances being formed with other noble houses in order to restore the realm’s power after the impactful Blackfyre rebellion, Maekar had always intended to marry most of his children to lords and ladies of such sort.
Therefore, a few moons prior to your nameday, the Master of Coin demanded you restrict yourselves from interacting so freely with Baelor Targaryen’s firstborn son. And when that warning came, you swore you felt the earth dropping beneath your feet. Your safe space, your comfort person, the man who you could bet your life was a living gift for the realm and for yourself by the Gods, officially wasn’t allowed to speak with you. Embrace you and hold you to his chest whenever you’d feel too suffocated to exist or confide in you about his pressure as second heir to the Iron Throne, as you’d soothe him with your sweet words and your touch landing on his soft skin, his two-toned eyes getting lost in your violet ones. Which by now, he essentially thought was his favorite sight to behold.
So there you were, your hand maidens having left by your own command, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. Wishing there was the person you so intensely needed, to reassure you, tell you that all would be well. You could feel your eyes tearing up at the reminder of his absence, carrying the weight of living up to the expectations of your very own family.
Regaining your composure, you walked out of your chambers, having strictly advised yourself to look happy at all times. No one should be able to sense the emotion conquering you that almost could be defined as grieving, a man who’s alive and well. It’s your name day, be grateful father and the realm took the initiative to hold a celebration for you. You remind yourself.
As time passed and having already arrived with the rest of your family at the tournament, you had settled on your seat. Between your father and your brother. After the announcers had officially declared the start of the tournament dedicated to the firstborn daughter of Maekar Targaryen, cheers erupted from the audience. Your siblings and father remaining as stoic as possible. Showcasing the signature Targaryen expression.
As you fiddled with the fabric of your dress, holding it so tightly you felt your grown crumple beneath your fingertips. Your breathing got heavier, and you realise, that even a glimpse of the silver streak on his hair, of his two-toned eyes, of his figure, anything of him would be able to calm you down. And then it hit you, he wasn’t there. You hadn’t spotted him, and he couldn’t be competing in this tournament. Father had sworn to you he wouldn’t compete, he wouldn’t even consider it. Maekar would make sure of it. So where was Valarr? He despises me, you thought, he officially resents me now, your breathing got even heavier. It’s only natural he wouldn’t wish to speak with me, after everything-
“What is the matter, sister?” Aerion made you snap out of your thoughts, your gaze snapping to his. Convincing your father to also subtly observe the interaction between his children that was about to occur. “Cannot function without your Prince, not even on your nameday?”, a smug smile present across his lips. You let out a loud sigh, not even bothering to reply, being already so overwhelmed by the entire event.
“Let her be, son. It’s your sister’s name day.”, Maekar looked over to his son, with his signature judgmental gaze. “Try not to make a fool of yourself until this tournament has concluded, will you?” he turned his gaze towards the fighting area, while the shouting of the audience could be heard, eager for the two first participants to enter the venue. Aerion didn’t reply to his father’s words and simply let out a sigh of irritation as he sat back in his seat, as if he was a little child despite his actual age.
And yet, with everything going around you. You still couldn’t think straight. Ten and eight, is the age you were turning, about the time you’d been married, the court would whisper. And you sensed it, your hand was to be offered today. And you had no idea who would take it, something that sent a shiver down your spine at the mere thought of being betrothed to a stranger. More importantly, someone who isn’t Valarr Targaryen, your beloved cousin.
The kind wind blew a few thin strands out of your hair, which was held up in a stunning braided bun, sapphire jewellery decorating your skull, your neck and your hands, you suddenly found interest in your unique bracelets and rings. Fiddling with them, your gaze landing on your lap again. Trying to distract yourself from looking effortlessly depressed at your very own celebration.
A rider was heard galloping on his horse, arriving at the centre of the venue, “Ser Tybolt Lannister, of house Lannister, lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West!”, the announcer exclaimed. Cheers came from the bleachers, encouraging the young warrior. As he looked around, his gaze landed upon you, the princess who he’d compete for her honour. Her hand. Tybolt Lannister flashed a small grin towards you, confident in his win. You looked back, observing his long golden hair and overall lion-like appearance. The songs weren’t wrong about him being a living lion, you thought. The man a few feet away from you and beneath you wasn’t titled “Shield of Lannisport” for nothing. A skillful knight, you had heard. His opponent would surely be given a hard time by the man who practically competed with the sun for who shines more. Yet, his predatory gaze made an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach.
“And Ser Valarr Targaryen, of house Targaryen and firstborn son of Prince of Dragonstone, Baelor Targaryen!” the announcer exclaimed once again, and you felt like the oxygen had been completely knocked out of your lungs. Something you were probably sharing with your father to your right, “Fucking hells…” he muttered straightening his back and spotting his brother next to him. Who happened to be as unaware as Maekar was.
“You had no idea of this?” Maekar said sternly, the Prince shrugged in mutual confusion and replied, “No, brother. He had informed me about his absence today. Said he’d travel for a few days to Dorne. Not competing for my niece’s hand.” he informed the furious Targaryen, as the silver-haired man let out a scoff of disbelief.
There he was, in all his glory and beauty. Valarr Targaryen, your Valarr. On his horse, making his way towards his position inside the venue, his two-toned eyes practically being glued to yours. Almost finding your reaction to his sudden appearance amusing. He had missed you so much. Valarr could’ve sworn all his sanity had left his mind during the time you had ceased to talk to one another, and yet, he had been able to construct this entire plan. For him to be eternally tied to you. By law and by love, with no shame. He was the young Prince after all, he had his own privileges to take advantage of.
Of course, Valarr wouldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t let another man touch you, let alone look at you as if you were some meat to grab without consequence. Without him reminding these men, who were unworthy of your love and your attention, that the Princess’ heart had already been claimed a countless moons ago. His title and his privileges be damned, he was going to marry you. Spend the rest of his life with you. And no uncle or father of his was going to change that. Ever. The young Prince thought as he turned to glare at his opponent and was met with a smug look on the Lannister’s face. Making Valarr scoff under his breath.
You could feel your heart beating out of your chest, as the two men settled in their positions. Ready to strike. Your emotions probably had never been more tangled than they were right now. You were afraid. Afraid that your beloved would be hurt while attempting to rightfully ensure your wedding, in front of everyone else. Get out! you wanted to scream. I don’t want you hurt and ridiculed for my own sake! you wanted to scold him, take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.
But then you didn’t. You just didn’t.
You wanted him to keep going, to fight for you with all of his being. As this was the only true chance the both of you had to shamelessly love each other. To hold and to taste one another. To continue the Targaryen lineage together. Tied together by heart and by law. So you just stayed quiet, feeling your eyes slightly tear up due to the overwhelming sensation you could feel inside your ribs.
As the fight and also first round began, the Lannister lad already seemed exhausted from constantly having to dodge the young Prince’s forceful attacks. Meanwhile, Valarr hadn’t even dared to take his eyes off of his opponent. Observing him, one could bet his right hand the man was competing to attain eternal wealth. Hence why he looked so determined to capture his victory.
The young Dragon and the Lion were sparring one another on top of their horses for a while, Valarr evidently having the most impactful strikes. One more of those, and Ser Tybolt Lannister is on the floor. The two-toned eyed man makes his way over to the fallen knight, the edge of his spear pointing at his chest. “Yield.” a low rumble released from his throat, loud enough for all to hear. As gasps were heard from every corner of the venue.
Tybolt yields. Valarr advances to the next round. For your hand, your honour. And you felt like crying. From joy or from anxiety, you weren’t so sure. Not yet. However, at the announcement of his advancement you released a breath that felt like you had been holding since your eyes noticed his shiny armor. Since they spotted his eyes through the gaps of his helmet.
Any minute now, you were expecting your father to burst into flames by the events happening right before his eyes. Albeit to your own surprise, your father stayed quiet. Observant. Furious, you were sure of it. But restrained, quiet. As if he had internally declared to himself any further attempt to separate the two of you was of no use. Perhaps, Maekar Targaryen was confiding in the Gods. Praying that they would make the young Prince falter and trip. Make him lose as gracefully as he could and finally put this situation to rest.
The Gods sure do love utilizing the concept of irony. Overly so, sometimes.
By now, you had ensured the fact that your heart would leap out of your body. Just like that. Seeing a slightly bruised Valarr who had been on his horse fighting knight after knight for your honour, would surely be the death of you. Wouldn’t it? But no, it couldn’t be. You had to live. He was yours and you were his. For once and for all. You hadn’t let a word slip out of your mouth since your arrival at the tournament. Only swift and heavy breaths, gasps and exclamations.
The final battle of the Princess’ name day tournament. There it was. Whoever would win, would have the ability to demand as a prize what he thought deserving of himself. Valarr Targaryen stood opposite some Hightower noble man, ready to give his life if needed. For you. As aforementioned, you had barely spoken so far. But every time your Valarr would win, it seemed as if you'd speak to him. With your eyes, your mind, in some way. You had this profound feeling that he was receiving every single one of your internal phrases and monologues. How you were encouraging him silently. Advising him to hold on just a little longer. A little longer so you could rush into his embrace and never untangle yourself from him.
The Hightower knight was good. Actually, he was magnificent. And there was no denying that. You were worried that Valarr was too spent from fighting worthy warriors this entire time. Perhaps, Ser Hightower was more durable. And certainly undesirable, as you had no wish of being wed to this man.
The Hightower knight struck Valarr, almost making him lose his balance off of his horse. As he held his weight from the horse’s saddle he got up stealthily. The Hightower knight had turned around, boasting about his supposed achievement of taking down the son of the heir to the Iron Throne. To Hightower's dismay, Valarr Targaryen had regained his composure and was galloping towards him. The minute the knight realised what had occurred behind his back, he was swept off his feet. And Valarr could start sobbing out of hope, joy and relief.
He briefly looked up at you, at your face, at your eyes that were ready to release a river of tears from the variety of the nerve racking emotions conquering your heart. He pointed the sharp edge of his spear at the knight’s chest, “Yield!” Valarr yelled this time. Louder than all of the times he’s won so far. For all the realm to hear. For Maekar Targaryen to never forget. To remind him that fate works in mysterious ways.
“I-I…” the Hightower knight had lost all of his oxygen and certainly all of his pride. “I yield.” he submitted to the Prince above him. And there it was, the crowd was buzzing with excitement. House Targaryen had been victorious once more, as expected. Maekar Targaryen, however, felt defeated. As now, he wasn’t able to go against your marriage. Your love and adoration for one another.
The moment his victory had been announced, you let out a sob. Of relief and pride for Valarr. Your Valarr.
You saw him gallop towards you, taking his helmet off, now being able to clearly observe his two-toned eyes. Noting down how his very own were threatening to spill tears from them. “My princess,” he bowed his head subtly as a sign of respect, “my Queen of love and beauty.” he uttered and the crowd swooned. All of the Targaryen royal members were surprised at this confession of their young Prince.
You smiled, so widely your jaw hurt a little. But you couldn’t help it, not when you were to be betrothed to the man you’ve always cherished with your heart. “Allow me,” he looked up at you, delighted to say the next sentence, “to take your hand. Marry you under the protection of the seven Gods and make you mine.” you noticed a tear slip out of his eyes as he declared his urgent need.
“I would be foolish to deny such a proposal, my Prince.” were the first few words that came out of your mouth all evening. And now the crowd was cheering, enthusiastic about witnessing the newest betrothal, who would become King and Queen of the seven realms in a few years from now.
_____________________________
You were running among the halls of the Red Keep, looking for the man you so eagerly wish to speak to. After so many moons and words being shoved down your heart. So deep you’d like to believe they would disappear. But in reality, they never did.
There was a feast taking place in your honour, to celebrate the feast and the participants. But your feet lead you to your place, a little corner in the gardens filled with nature and many creatures to look after.
You looked around, letting the fabric of your gown fall from your hands, as you had been desperately needing to get here the minute your eyes lost track of Valarr at the tournament.
You had lost hope for a split second, not having spotted him anywhere around the garden. Yet, your breath hitched as your gaze landed upon his back. Valarr Targaryen was bent down on his knees, cutting down flowers, as it seemed. Purple tulips. Your favorite kind, you once confessed to him many years ago. At this very spot.
One of the things you had asked your mother before her passing, was about these flowers. As they had truly fascinated you in every aspect as a small child. “They represent elegance, dearest.” Dyanna Dayne would inform you while you were picking the petals of the stunning flower, noticing how close they were to each other. “On other occasions, love as well.” she grinned at you, observing your features and the expressions they’d make. “One day, I want someone to love me so much they’ll give me tulips!” you exclaimed so enthusiastically, making your mother giggle.
And now here you were, practically staring at your cousin, who was picking the same flowers in hopes of giving them to you. Valarr still hadn’t taken notice of your figure. Until he placed one of the tulips right next to him, turning his head around and meeting your gaze.
“Cousin,” Valarr instantly stood up, “I hadn’t noticed you there. Excuse me for that. I was just-“, “Stop talking.” you said with a stern tone. Valarr’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “What?” he frowned softly. You started walking towards him with almost an angered demeanor, “I said stop talking, my Prince.” and with that, you grabbed his face. Leaning your face to his and connecting his lips with yours.
All the flowers he had been holding fell from his grip near your footwear, but you didn’t pay mind. You slowly felt Valarr’s hands wrap around your waist and pull you even closer, the heat radiating off of his body. As your lips danced with his, you pulled away to catch your breath. Both of your foreheads are leaning against one another.
“I am sorry,” you shook your head, “I didn’t mean to cut you off I just-“, “I know.” he reassured you softly. Just like he always has, for years on end. “I missed you, my fire.” he let out a shaky breath, about to break down from the ongoing conversation. Valarr raised his hand to caress the side of your face, tilting it upwards to look into your violet eyes for what seemed like eternity.
“I couldn’t allow them. Couldn’t allow them to take you away from me. I would not be able to live with the idea of another man kissing you, touching you like I am supposed to.” You shook your head at these words, “I’m yours, my Prince. Eternally yours. Any other way would have been equal to death for me.” you both leaned closer as your nose brushed against his.
“I love you.” Valarr confessed as if it had been his greatest and yet his proudest sin. Holding your face in his hands like they were merely created for such a purpose. “I love you, husband.” you said as he grimaced at you, feeling at permanent peace.
As you leaned to kiss one another once more, the both of you had been thanking everything sacred. Anyone and anything that had led you to this moment, right here, in each other’s arms. A place you both wish you could never move from.
For once, you had anticipated your future. In spite of its heavy involvement in politics and royal duties, you had your soulmate by your side. Your lover, and nothing else mattered. Every obstacle to be met, you’d have him to stand with you and that’s all it needed for you to be content in your life. Additionally, so was he.
king!valarr x queen!reader | draft, short. | valarr survives great spring sickness, reader is implied hand of the king and sits at small council meetings. | early into valarr’s rule. he is still recovering from his losses but has to resume his duties. | slight smut toward the end. | SPOILERS for the series & books.
art cred: crazytom0712
Unease gnawed at your spine.
Fingers interlocked, elbows resting upon the table, you listened closely to the words of your Master of Coin. The Seven Kingdoms were to reap consequences of the Great Spring Sickness.
Scarcity. Famine. Children, women and men alike, their bodies burned, having succumbed to the disease.
When Valarr’s own grandfather, the previous king, and his sweet brother did too, you undoubtedly saw a great deal of his resolve… crack.
Duty was thrust upon him at once. Overnight, he had been crowned king.
Now, moons upon moons had passed, and here you sat: Queen Consort, having been given a seat at the Small Council by your own husband and King, Valarr Targaryen.
Last night, Valarr had woken up once again in the middle of the night, plagued by his own dreams. He would not speak of the contents. You could guess what they contained.
You immediately got up from your chair once the meeting was over, and searched the halls for him. You wandered off and crossed into the halls toward his chamber, where guards would let you in with no words spoken.
He did not often sit in on the Small Council’s meetings; he entrusted you to do so, while he resumed other work in the meantime. Albeit, it was hard to focus this time as he was the only thing that had been on your mind.
The second you entered, he called out your name, and you saw him smile—perhaps a bit of a strained smile—and you bit on your lower lip as you slid toward him, sitting on the corner of his desk.
“How’d the meeting go?” Valarr asked, reaching over to hold your hand, setting a pamphlet down. You leaned forward, grip firm around his hand, other one stroking his face.
“We shall figure out the details of it all,” you spoke, and brought his hand to your lips, planting a soft peck to his knuckles, “But the council stays cooperative, still.”
“That is… at least good…” he nodded off, then got up, your hands still interlocked. He strode over around and now stood in front of you. “I know you are worried for me, dove.”
“So let me speak.” you smiled, wrapping your legs around his hips to bring him closer toward you. His lips parted, eyes trailing over you. “The wound is still fresh, I know. Yet, my heart breaks when you refuse to help yourself.”
“Help myself? I…” he scoffed, a gentle thing, eyes looking at your intertwined hands, “I am the king. It is my duty to… overcome these pains and… I choose to instead, thrust more duty upon you.”
You shook your head, “Do you thrust duty upon me because of your absence of ability, or because of the presence of my own?”
Valarr smiled, then pressed his lips into a line, “You are certainly good at arguing and debating me with every breath you take.”
“I’ll answer for you, it is the latter,” you then placed your hands on his shoulders, “You are capable. As your grandfather was. As—”
“Love.” He protested.
“—your father was. You—” you pulled him closer, gently, “—shall be great. You already are. The good in you that you’ve shown me, will now be the same good the realm is to see as well.”
“Goodness is not the only quality a king should possess.”
“You are right,” you cocked your head to the side, “Besides being painfully perfect in every way, I do suppose you are quite intent on pissing your wife off.”
“Ah.” Valarr smiled, arms wrapped at your waist, “How have I pissed her off now?”
“Denying facts. Acting illogical despite your smarts. So the only logical reason must be that you want to irritate me.”
He blinked once, letting out a small sigh as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I do not think I… I can ever fill the emptiness he left behind.”
You frowned; Valarr was haunted by his continuous losses. Yet, he could not see his own greatness—he used to be so proud, so certain—in only moons, his world turned upside down.
“Valarr. Love. Husband?” he laughed softly as you kissed the tip of his nose, tilting his chin with your finger, “We haven’t seen many kind kings. You are one of few. Stubborn, smart, strong, good.You have it in you.”
Valarr began to protest. You were quicker.
“And to say otherwise, would be to disgrace the effort your father had put in the raising of those very qualities.”
Now, you have left him dumbfounded. You ran your thumb along his jaw. “You are grieving still. And before you were king, you were human first. And mayhap, if you need to mourn forever… Seven hells, who gives a fuck?”
A scoff left his lips, and when you looked better at him, tears welled up. Valarr bit his lip, and a drop fell from the shutting of his eyes. You physically felt weakened at the sight.
Bringing him in, you hugged him whole, and he buried his face in your shoulder. You heard him let out a small, quiet, muffled sob. You felt tears of your own come close.
Valarr sighed out as you played with his hair, as you knew he loved, to calm him down. Here, in the comfort of you, he could escape all thoughts of Baelor Breakspear. All thoughts of little Matarys, his mother Jenna, the late king and the images of the hedgeknight. The damned Aerion, that fool, who wreaked havoc upon his father.
They all disappeared in the love that you brought. Oh, how could he doubt himself? As a son. As a brother, now king, and husband, when you loved him as he is? He must be great to deserve such love. But how? Why?
Teary-eyed still, he pulled away to look at you. You brought him in for a soft kiss, which he accepted gladly, for in your lips there lied a quiet solace.
You felt so warm in him, and for all the power you held in this realm as Queen, he truly had you wrapped around his finger. And maybe, you him around yours. Tangled up in each other, you were. And… oh, how you adored it this way.
With little struggle, he carried you up from the table, and over to the bed that lied in his chamber. Placing you down on the soft cushions, you felt him press against your warmth, and you tugged softly at the silver in his hair.
Valarr moaned softly. He was always so sensitive with that little streak in his hair. You just couldn’t resist.
His hand trailed down your torso and waist, to your hips and thighs, lifting and feeling up your skirts. He squeezed there, at your thighs, and only so eagerly moved against you, if the friction of it could ever satisfy him.
“Love you, ‘loveyouloveyouloveyou,” he murmured against the skin of your neck as he pressed kisses to it, and you giggled. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, only to flip him over with the bit of strength you held.
Valarr breathed out as you straddled his lap as if it were the Iron Throne itself. The two of you were like two halves; breathing in sync, moving toward one another as if were the very flow of nature.
“I’ll remind you just how good a king you’ll make,” your hands slipped under his shirt, and up his torso as he watched. He smiled, too pleased.
“And if I don’t learn?”
“Until you do, though I think you’ll need your legs for the remainder of your reign, no?”
romaincrisis
origamiaround
kaledo-art
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
discoholicmusic
2087
titsay
germansingergirl
