how they react to their wife needing a stuffed animal to sleep
headcanons for a reader who is vocal in bed
Baelor Targaryen
The hand that feeds (Baelor x Daughter!Reader + Maekar x Niece!Reader, dead dove)
have the lambs stopped screaming yet? (Hannibal!Baelor x Reader imagine)
song of the turtledove (Modern!Priest!Baelor x Reader, smut) â part 1 â part 2 â part 3
Baelor and Maekar being insecure about their looks (Baelor x Reader & Maekar x Reader fluff headcanon)
an encounter in ashford forest (Vampiric!Baelor & Vampiric!Maekar x Ashford!Reader)
Your father being saved by Baelor in the Rebellion (Baelor x Reader Imagine)
genesis (Dark!Baelor x Daughter!Reader, dead dove, 18+)
bound (Baelor x Wife!Reader x Maekar, bondage, smut drabble)
a question (Baelor x Niece!Reader)
Maekar Targaryen
The hand that feeds (Baelor x Daughter!Reader & Maekar x Niece!Reader, dead dove)
by blood (Modern!Maekar x Niece!Reader, smut, dead dove-y)
we can escape to the great sunshine (Modern!Maekar x Reader, smut)Â â part 1
bottom of the deep blue sea (Modern!Merman!Maekar x Reader, smut) Â â upcoming
Baelor & Maekar being insecure about their looks (Baelor x Reader & Maekar x Reader fluff headcanon)
the garden of evil (Modern!Maekar x Reader, smut)
an encounter in ashford forest (Vampiric!Baelor & Vampiric!Maekar x Ashford!Reader)
crowned (King!Maekar x Reader drabble, angst)
after the rain (Maekar x Second Wife!Reader, fluff)
in heat (Alpha!Maekar x Omega!Niece!Reader, smut)
oldschool (Modern!Maekar x Reader drabble, suggestive)
bound (Baelor x Wife!Reader x Maekar drabble, bondage, smut)
the dour brother (Maekar x Second Wife!Reader drabble, angst-y, suggestive)
fire in your blood (Maekar x Niece-Wife!Reader drabble, smut)
hypnos (Maekar x Wife!Reader drabble, somno, smut)
The DILFiest DILF (Modern!Maekar x Socially Awkward & Nerd!Reader, fluff)
thinking of bodyswap (Maekar x Niece!Reader, thoughts, smutty)
metamorphosis (Maekar x Wife!Reader drabble, lactation, smutty)
persuasion (Modern!Maekar x Girlfriend!Reader drabble, smut)
If you do not mind OFC x Character, I do have a throuple long fic on ao3 for Baelor & Maekar: love is (the death of duty)
And if darker content interests you, I also have a Targcest, Dead Dove one-shot with Niece!OFC x Baelor & Daughter!OFC x Maekar: everything in its the right place
tumblr exclusives for li(tdod):
Faceclaims
Faceclaims Alyssa's children
Trailer/Edit
Baelor/Alyssa fluff
Baelor & Maekar jealousy
Daeron/Alyssa musings
Lore on Alyssa's children â Part 2 â Part 3
Maekar gifts Alyssa a puppy
I am happy to write about:
Baelor Targaryen & Maekar Targaryen (AKotSK)
Ormund Hightower, Otto Hightower & Daemon Targaryen (HotD)
I might also write about (if the asks are particularly interesting or in conjunction with my mains):
When my asks/requests are open, I will write about pretty much anything with these characters. My only limits are anything to do with bodily waste, extreme gratuitous gore and extreme underage or underage in general that feels predatory. I will decide edge cases on a case to case basis.
One of Baelorâs arms is hooked beneath your knees as the other keeps you perched securely to his torso. He plants kisses to your crown between the beats in which he is not entertaining another one of your musings.
âAnd what does âkepaâ mean?â the question is muffled against his attire; your face is pressing against his chest, directly above his heart, as he carries you to your shared chambers.
Baelor pauses before answering, making you wonder if perhaps he had not heard you, but when you open your mouth to repeat yourself, he speaks. âFather, or uncle.â
âKepa,â you say slowly, noticing the way his step falters.
Heâs quiet when he opens the door with a quick twist of the knob and a firm kick of his boot; when he enters, he places you at the end of the bed with a gentleness that makes your heart ache before he takes a stepâor, rather, several stepsâback.
âI quite like it.â your hand is outstretched in a silent request for his warmth. âKepa.â
His hands clench at his sides and back straightens in a feeble effort to disguise the inward reaction he has to you addressing him as such.
âIt is not, however, what one should ever use to call their husband,â he explains delicately, throat bobbing when he audibly swallows. His eyes are transfixed on a portion of the bedding to your left, glossy and slitted as they trace the embroidered design that had been sewn into its plush exterior with an unusual level of concentration.
âKepa?â you croon, voice sultry smoothâbeckoning him to heed your hum like a siren who lures fishermen to the edge of their ships before she pounces on their unguarded forms.
Baelorâs eyes snap to yours, heavy and lit with want; his jaw twitches below his beard and expression is contorted from his fraying restraint.
Promptly, your hands fly out to pull him into your embrace with a harsh, unsuspected yank at the sashes draped around his waist. He catches himself before he collapses on top of you, hands forming dents in the padded bedding below as he braces his weight above your wriggling figure.
âHow obvious you are, dear husband,â is rasped against the coarse hairs along his chin, causing his breath to hitchâit blends into a ragged sigh when you nibble on the bobbing lump of his throat. âOr should I say, kepa?â
Baelorâs hips immediately propel forward, seeking the sweltering centre of your spread legs. He knows this is wrong, not even in his familyâs history of strange customs did parent and child ever establish a martial union, and yet, hearing that word from you, in the manner and circumstance in which you spoke it, undid something in him.Â
The sizzling, wanton repetition of, âKepa,â leaves your throat in a melodic slur, entering his ears from where your teeth drag against his lobe, and settles at the base of his spine. A growing pool of lust accumulates within his lower abdomen, threatening to drown him in its lapping waves.
âGods,â Baelor bites out, chest heaving as the air leaves his lungs in unsteady pants. âYou should not call me that.â
âKepâ,â the term falls flat because heâs twisting to lay on his back, pulling you atop him.Â
His hands move to hastily unbuckle the belts around his waist, as well as the laces keeping his breeches from coming undone under the tension of the taut tent thatâs formed.Â
âRide me.â he commands, voice laden with a desperate urgency.
His cock is a dark, flushed hue when it escapes its confines; it slaps against the fabric covering his abdomen, leaving a clear string of fluid that keeps it connected to the garment when it jumps up. Before you can move, heâs pulling your skirts and smallclothes to the side, tearing whatever does not submit to his tugs with a feverish forcefulness.Â
âPlease,â Baelor begs, lips parting and cheeks flushing as he peers up at you. âRide me.â
As if something switches in your head, you grasp his blistering length with a tight grip, align it with the opening of your dripping entrance, and slide down until heâs fully sheathed within your constricting passage.
An unrestrained, guttural groan escapes him when you tighten around him like a vice, followed by a garbled pleading. âGods, yes, ride me, take whatever you wantâtake it all.â
Your hips unsteadily slide against his; there is no elegance or gentility in your union. The frantic, desperate pace conveys that this is a primal coupling, an unbridled, selfish act in which the both of you take what you need from the other.
âKepa, oh.â
Baelorâs hands are latched around your waist with a bruising strength. âThatâs it, ride your kepa.â
A bolt of arousal shoots up your abdomen before it trickles down the length of your limbs. Gods, he loves it, you realize with a gasp, taking in the debauched look plastered across his face and furrowed brows.
His drooping eyelids make it difficult for you to hold his gaze, especially when paired with the bewitching black of his blown pupils; the thin, circular slithers of his irises have practically vanished, giving him a predatory appearance.
The obscene sound of you repeatedly slamming down onto him, enthusiastically meeting every one of his vigorous upward cants, reverberates in the chamber.Â
Two of your fingers use the opportunity his ajar mouth creates to press against his tongue, startling both him and yourself. Surprise swiftly turns into excitement when his lips enclose around the digits to suck them further into the wet, suctioned cavern of his mouth. A whimper escapes your throat at the sensation of his tongue wrapping around the digits, sending a new flood of slick that coats his cock and smears against the inner flesh of your thighs.
The air is humid with the mixed scent of sex, sweat, and indecency.
Another husky wail of, âKepa,â fills the space, followed by the action of your unoccupied hand sliding up the expanse of his chest to loosely wrap around the column of his throat.
Baelor purrsâactually purrsâdeep within his chest, sending the vibrations of the muffled sound up the length of your arms. His fingertips scrabble at your hips in an effort to distract himself from releasing too soon; itâs a futile attempt, you can feel the telltale signs that his climax is rapidly approaching, which catapults you into your own.
Your body goes slack above him, clit flush with the short hairs around the base of his cock; every tiny shift sends a burst of molten pleasure throughout your trembling frame.
The hand around his neck tightens a fraction in the midst of your blissful release, hips still moving in small, circular motions between the chorus of mewls that exit your throat. âI need your seed.â
His teeth graze your knuckles, piercing the hard ridges until small dents appear. A deeper wrinkle forms between his brows; he can feel the pull of your cunt, it mimics your words, begging for him to fill you as it continuously compresses his cock.Â
âYou were so handsome today,â you reveal, thinking back to how he had conducted himself during the banquet. âI wanted to pleasure you where you satâwith my hands and mouthâfor all to see.â
A low, needy groan escapes him as he recalls the way you had stared at him from across the hall for a majority of the feast.Â
âWatching you be such a good kepa with Matarys,â your walls clench around him when you replay the way he had affectionately guided his youngest son through the court. âInvoked me to ask the Gods for a babe of our own.â
Baelorâs eyes roll back at your words.
One final, hard plunge up into your core, followed by another light squeeze around his windpipe, sends him over the edge.Â
His balls tighten, pulling taut to his body as he releases inside of you. Thick, seemingly neverending, pumps of cum spurt against your insides, continuing even as it drips out to seep into the cloth still covering a majority of his lower half.
You bend to kiss the faint bruises along his neck as you remove your fingers from his mouth, cunt spasming around his softening length when a thick trail of saliva keeps the digits attached to his lower lip.Â
Baelor releases a light, incredulous laugh as he basks in the buzz trailing throughout his body. His palms glide up your figure to cup your cheeks just as his head rises to meld your mouth against his in a tender kiss.Â
Withdrawing from your heat requires too much effort; itâs something neither one of you are willing to do as the euphoric tingles of your coupling simmer along the span of your limbs.
âYou must not call me that around others,â he murmurs between your kisses, words soaked in shame.
âBut, when it is only the two of us,â you start, petting the underside of his beard with your thumbs. âMay I call you so?â
You feel his pulse jump; his pupils shrink and grow under your playful scrutiny, alternating the size of the blue and brown they reside within.Â
Baelor hesitates before, finally, he answers with a quiet, âIf you wish to.â and then buries his warm face in the crook of your neck.
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms: Prince Baelor Targaryen x niece!reader x Prince Maekar Targaryen
Rating: Mature (MDNI)
WC: 4.8k
AKOTSK Masterlist
Tags/Warnings: Targcest, canon divergence, adjusted timeline, polyamory, threesome, double penetration, oral, cum eating, cum sharing, biting, Aerion is a jerk, reader is the daughter of Aerys and Aelinor, no use of y/n, reader is mentioned to resemble Naerys, but her appearance isn't described in detail, no beta we die like Beesbury
A/n: For a request sent to me by @clumsycopy, who requested Baelor x Maekar x niece, where she claims a dragon in Dorne. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any future works. Translation for  "HÄros Bartossi" comes from here
Summary: Despite being the first born grandchild of King Daeron II, you are the only one in the family left without a dragon. Having had enough of Aerion's relentless teasing, your Uncles accompany you to Dorne for respite, and there you find your mount.
Jealousy danced on your tongue, tasting thick as bitter tea leaves. Dragons circled the sky in flashes of red, blue, green, and gold. The reign of Queen Rhaenyra brought many dragons under her yoke, evoking memories of Old Valyria, and her lineage continued the legacy. She ensured her descendants understood the responsibility that fell before them. Dragons were a power to be used wisely and with great discretion. She valued the opinions of the dragon keepers, who understood the creatures even more than their riders did. They held revered positions and worked closely with the royal household to preserve the mystical beasts, ensuring they flourished.
Tears burned your eyes, fingers slowly curling into fists before you tore yourself away from the happy scene playing out in the cerulean and cream skies. You walked over the red and black chest that sat by the foot of your bed, opening the latch and lifting the shimmering purple egg swirled with silver and pink into your arms, cuddling it close. It was the egg your Uncle Baelor had placed in your cradle. The one that never hatched. The only Targaryen without a dragon. Even your studious father had bonded with the elusive Grey-Ghost, the two shy beings finding companionship with one another.
A knock sounded at your door, and you quickly wiped your tears away before the guard announced your Uncle's presence, granting him entry. Baelor frowned when he saw you cradling your egg, tears rolling down your cheeks.
"I came to see if you'd like to ride with me on Vermithor," he said softly, walking over and pulling you into his warm embrace. Your Uncles were always kind enough to offer their dragons, their saddles big enough for two. Vhagar remained the largest left, but she had made a home in Pentos, living out the rest of her days in peace.
"That is kind of you, Uncle," you whispered, tucking your egg between you.
"We will find you one yet," he assured you. "The keepers say Silverwing has been spotted over the Gullet. Perhaps with her return, you will at last have one.
"Mayhaps." But you did not wish to get your hopes up.
"Come, sweet girl, ride with me. I'm certain it will lift your mood," Baelor whispered, kissing your temple.
"Allow me a moment to change," you smiled.
You were left to your thoughts as your ladies helped you into your riding leathers, egg tucked safely back into your chest. It felt unfair that, as the eldest grandchild, you were the one left without a dragon. One should be yours by rights. How is it that Aerion could claim one, yet they avoided you as if you were a plague? You pushed the tears down and went to join your Uncle, your hand pressed tightly in his. How you loved him. How you loved Maekar.
The Bronze Fury waited in the courtyard, and immediately, you felt in a better mood. While he was not yours, you had spent much time on his back with Baelor. Almost as much time as you had with Maekar and Meleys. You had a soft spot for the Red Queen. Vermithor snorted, letting your gloved palm rest against his muzzle before you climbed the leather netting up his body to slip into the saddle. Baelor joined, sitting behind you with one arm around your waist and the other on the reins. His breath was warm against your neck, nose nuzzling your soft flesh before stealing a kiss. A roguish gesture; one you expected from Maekar, but you enjoyed it when that side of Baelor came out to play.
"Uncle," you gasped against his mouth, though you knew that while high up on Vermithor's back, none were likely to see.
"I have half a mind to chase them all from Dragonstone so it can be you and I alone there," he whispered in your ear, hand spanning across your belly.
"Even Maekar?"
"I suppose he may stay, but I do enjoy having you to myself at times," he admitted. He was not immune to jealousy.
"Both of you make me happy. I do not think I could choose between you." Your father was kind enough, but it was Baelor who placed the egg in your cradle, and it was Maekar who took you for your first ride. They nurtured this need growing inside you, more than your father did. They filled a void.
"Luckily, we would never make you." He drew another sweet kiss from your lips before taking to the skies on Vermithor. "SĆvÄs, Vermitos!"
A crimson slash cut through the clouds as Vermithor approached Dragonstone, and you grinned as Meleys swooped down, the two dragons flying side by side until they landed on the bridge. You climbed down Vermithor and ran into Maekar's arms. Meleys spread her red wings, offering a shield as you kissed him.
"Crying again?" Maekar said, studying your wet eyes and puffy face before smoothing his leather-clad fingers over the remaining tear tracks and wiping them away. "Girl, you must move on from that damned egg. We'll find you a dragon."
"Baelor says Silverwing has been spotted."
"If she makes home in the mount, we'll have her brought to you."
"Thank you."
You held onto their arms while entering the castle, vibrant with the family's energy. Once a month, everyone rode their dragons to the Dragonstone and supped together in a grand feast. Aelora, Daella, and Rhae twirled around the great hall as the musicians practiced and Aemon and Aegon chased each other with wooden swords. Daeron huddled in a corner with Aelor, each sipping on wine, while Aerion sat in a chair, leg thrown over one of the golden arms, using his dagger to cut into a green apple. Matarys walked with Myriah, your grandmother, who was bathed in bright orange silks and held onto his arm. Valarr stood with your grandfather and father, no doubt, discussing history together. Alys rested on a bench, belly swollen with a third child, while Rhaegel fed her grapes.
"Oh, darling, you're here," your mother smiled, rushing over to greet you. While your father's love was dim, your mother's shone through like the brightest star in the sky. You were the one thing she had desired above all else. A precious child to call her own. Her only one. The Gods had blessed her with the first royal grandchild, but none after that. Perhaps that is why she understood your yearning for a dragon more than Aerys did.
"I promised to deliver her safe and sound, Aelinor," Baelor smiled, passing you into your mother's arms. It felt a bit foolish considering you were a young woman of twenty, but you still craved the fuss she made over you. Her gaze lingered on Baelor a bit longer, and you wondered if perhaps she knew. She had always been observant. Yet she made no move to pull you away from your Uncles. When the time came, she knew one of them would do the honorable thing and take you to wife. But which would it be? Only time would tell.
"My darling girl, I've heard Silverwing has been spotted. Mayhaps your time is coming," King Daeron smiled, leaning on his cane and holding his hand out toward you.
"I am hopeful," you said, taking his hand and squeezing it. You heard Aerion scoff. For some reason, he took pride in teasing you over not having a dragon.
"Some of us are late bloomers," your grandfather assured you.
You went to greet your grandmother, kissing her cheek before venturing further down towards the mount, sitting on the edge of the gantry and letting your legs dangle over the stone lip. It was warm and misty, smelling of smoke and burnt meat. You could hear the dragons moving through, claws digging into rocks, and the slither of their bellies. Moondancer ventured closer, leaning her head down to sniff you.
"Rytas, HĆ«rlilios," you greeted her, extending your bare palm. She grazed her massive head against it before slithering back into the mont.
You basked in the warmth the space provided, enjoying the music of the dragons with their lilting chortles and deep brays. You closed your eyes, singing the lullaby you knew by heart,
"Drakari pykiros. TÄ«kummo jemiros. Yn lantyz bartossa. Saelot vÄedis. (Fire breather. Winged leader
But two heads. To a third sing.)
You looked out into a sea of glowing eyes as they gathered around you in a thunder, listening to the song. If only you had one of your own to sing to, to call forth and bound with. You stood and made your way to your guest's chambers to change and get ready for dinner. Golden silk and jewelry adorned your frame, choosing a warmer color in honor of your grandmother's house. It often felt luxurious and otherworldly to be at Dragonstone, and you wished to express that through your dress. It seemed other members of the family had picked up on this as well, a sea of color scattered around the long table. Your grandfather looked rather dashing in his blue silks, emulating the color of his beloved Dreamfyre. You took a seat next to your mother and cousin, Aelora.
"Morghul loves your singing," she whispered to you, an almost dreamy look in her indigo eyes.
"All the dragons do, it comforts them," Baelor smiled before lifting the golden cup to his lips.
Aerion pierced a bloody piece of venison with his knife, shoving it into his mouth as his gaze settled on you. How you wished another had stolen his attention tonight.
"Caraxes couldn't care less about your pretty voice," he hummed. "He'd rather be hunting down a pig."
"One that resembles his rider no doubt," you murmured under your breath, and noticed Baelor's lips quirk briefly with amusement before he gave you an admonishing stare.
"Boy," Maekar warned, anger flashing in his violet eyes.
"There must be something off with you. All of us have laid claim to a dragon," Aerion said. Picking on you seemed to be his favorite pastime.
"Aerion," Myriah scolded, and your mother placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"Young man, this is not the place for such childish taunts. Leave your cousin be," King Daeron chided.
"A pity too. Even our dear great-grandmother flew on the back of Silverwing. They say you look like her. 'Tis a shame, your blood must be too diluted," he sneered, managing to insult you and your mother in the process.
Gentle, jovial Uncle Rhaegel bounced to his feet, balling his hands into fists. Your grandmother placed a gentle hand on his arm as the sound of forks clattering against plates clanged through the room.
"Do not fret, my darling," Myriah told him soothingly, and he sank back into his chair, next to Alys. He was rather protective of your grandmother, and many taunts swirled around her Dornish appearance; he would not stand for it. She gave Maekar a pointed look.
Maekar smacked the back of Aerion's head so hard that a sudden silence fell through the hall. Your grandfather did not subscribe to the belief in Valyrian blood purity; the proof was in his own children and grandchildren. It was a sharp, cruel jab that Aerion took, and he meant it with every bit of venom. It was foolhardy as he backhandedly insulted himself in the process. His mother had been of Dornish stock, and he was no more Targaryen than you. Baelor's head dropped, face red with embarrassment from Aerion's words. It seemed all felt shame except for your wretch of a cousin. Your chair scraped agaisnt the floor before you fled the hall, no longer possessing an appetite.
The handmaidens were finishing preparing the bath you requested after dinner, surprised to see you so soon. You thanked them, then dismissed them, wishing to stew in silence. However, you were not surprised to find Baelor and Maekar entering your rooms mere moments later. Baelor moved behind the tub, gently washing your back as Maekar paced the room.
"I do not know when that boy became such a vicious creature," he seethed.
You and Baelor stayed silent, knowing full well this was how Aerion coped with Dyanna's death. The heart of that family was gone, and damage was dealt in various forms, lingering behind like deep scars. Baelor had slipped into melancholy after Jena's death, finding strength in his sons and you. Everyone dealt with tragedy differently.
"One would think I'd be used to it by now, but it still stings," you admitted.
"You are no less Targaryen for not having a dragon," Maekar said gruffier than he meant to.
"I know," you sighed. "But that self doubt lingers. Why am I the only one? Even my father, with his nose stuck in books, bonded with one."
"I think you need to get away from King's Landing for a bit. We should send you to Dorne, you might find peace there and be away from the family," Baelor reasoned.
"I do not wish to be separated from either of you," you whispered.
"I can find an excuse to join you. Brother?" Baelor responded.
"I could take the children to Starfell to visit with Dyanna's relatives, then join you in Sunspear," Maekar said, perching on the edge of the tub before dipping his hand into the warm water to squeeze your calf.
"I would like that very much," you smiled.
"You may not have a dragon, sweet girl, but you have managed to capture two powerful princes," Baelor hummed.
"Yet I can hardly brag about that feat," you chuckled.
Their lips were warm on yours after the bath, stroking your flushed, damp skin with eager fingers slipping between your thighs, guiding you into the blissful throes of pleasure. You were in a floaty stage of peaceful slumber when you heard the soft voices bickering outside the door. Grabbing the chamberstick, you ventured toward your doors and pulled them open, finding Maekar's younger children standing there.
"It is late," you told them flatly.
"Silverwing has returned!" Egg told you excitedly.
"We were going to see her," Rhae smiled.
"By yourselves? That is dangerous!"
"That is why we came to get you," Egg reasoned, and you noticed Aelora swaying in the shadows. The twins had been longtime companions of yours while you were growing up in the Keep.
"Aelora came just in case," Aemon explained.
"Please, cousin, she is pretty, and she might be yours!" Daella whispered.
"Alright, let us go," you sighed, taking hold of Aelora's hand. She was only four years younger than you, and her gossamer robe billowed around her. She was sweet and kind, but in no such mindset to protect the children if they were attacked or harmed. You handed Daella your chamberstick and lifted one of the torches into your hand. The amber glow flickered over the rocks and magma until a flash of silver caught your eye.
"Naejot mÄzÄ«s, GÄliotÄ«kun," you called to her.
She merely blinked her blue eyes in response; they shone through like sparkling sapphires in the dim light.
"Sing to her," Rhae whispered, tugging on the sleeve of your robe.
"Hen ñuhÄ elÄnÄ«: Perzyssy vestretis. Se gÄlÈłn irĆ«dak. Änogrose (From my voice: The fires have spoken.
And the price has been paid with blood magic.) You continued the song from earlier.
She crawled closer, warmth seeping from her silvery scales. Her breath was hot against your cheeks; meanwhile, you held your own as she crept closer. Her muzzle hovered mere inches from your face. Hope flooded your chest as you reached your hand toward her. You could almost taste the magic in the air. It was all dashed away when she snarled, snapping her large jaw before crawling away into the dark confines of the caves. Anger and disappointment swirled through your body.
"IâŠI'm sorry, we all thought she might choose you," Aemon said softly, squeezing your hand.
You gave him a little smile. "It is alright, but I wish to go back to bed."
You and Aelora saw the little ones back to their beds, and she kissed your cheek just outside your rooms. "It is not the mother you seek, but the daughter. You will find her in the sand," she whispered in your ear before twirling her way back to her quarters. Exhaustion clung to the corners of your mind, too tired to try and find the meaning of her words.
After seeing your cousins settled in Starfall, you departed with your Uncles for Dorne. You flew with Maekar on Meleys, your arms wrapped around his waist, and your cheek pressed against his shoulder.
"TymÄs, MÄlÄ«!" he bellowed out. The Red Queen spun through the air, making your belly lurch and tighten when she turned upside down. Laughter chimed through the air as you clung to him.
Dorne proved the perfect respite, full of warmth, delicious food, intricate fashions, and interesting people. It was a good distraction for your mind, and while your Uncles had their dragons for people to fawn over, you slowly came to terms with being dragonless and accepting that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
What was the saying? Things happen when you least expect them.
Your great-aunt Daenerys arranged for you and your Uncles to enjoy the Water Gardens by the Summer Sea. The turquoise waters were healing, and you enjoyed the sound of them crashing against the cliffs.
"I fear I do not wish to return to King's Landing," you smiled, head resting in Baelor's lap. He wore cream and gold silks in the Dornish fashion, his dark chest hair laced with gray on display. You lie topless, soaking up the warm sun.
"It is rather freeing here," Baelor commented, massaging your scalp.
Maekar sat in the shade of a red silk parasol, a cup of strong wine in hand, clad in green silk. The hot sun proved a bit intense for his skin. You suspected it was refreshing for him to have a break from his six children. He was half asleep, and you didn't have the heart to wake him. You stood, wading into the water and letting the silk fall away from your body. Baelor nudged Maekar awake, and soon your Uncles joined you in the water, their hands all over your bare body.
Maekar's mouth wrapped around a nipple while Baelor's cock nudged between your thighs. You paid no mind to the sun's dimming overhead; Vermithor and Meleys lingered nearby, and their wingspans were wide enough to cast a shadow over it. Besides, you were too lost in the full feeling of your Uncles stretching you wide with their cocks, legs wrapped around Maekar's thick waist. Baelor's furry chest tickled your slick back, his large hands supporting your arse. It wasn't until you heard the soft, familiar chortle of a melody you knew by heart that you cast your gaze up toward the sky.
Your finger's tangled in Maekar's white hair, Baelor's mouth hot on your neck, then your shoulder. You were so close, but you couldn't pull your gaze from the dragon looming overhead. The dragon that was neither Vermithor nor Meleys. The dragon that was mimicking the lullaby. You clung to Maekar, reaching a hand behind you to squeeze Baelor's hip as a sweet release washed over you as the shimmering sea lapped at your uncles' ankles.
"IâŠI have to go to her," you whimpered.
"What?" Maekar huffed against the swells of your breasts, teeth grazing over your delicate flesh.
"Look up," you whispered, tugging on his hair to lift his gaze, then nudged Baelor's chest with your elbow.
Their gazes turned to the sky and saw the dragon overhead, her body blending in almost seamlessly with the sky, but you could see the delicate, pale pink membranes.
"Seven Hells," Baelor whispered against your neck, carefully withdrawing his cock, his seed leaking down your thighs. "Maekar, put her down."
Maekar grumbled, but did so. You waded farther into the sea, washing between your thighs before making your way up the golden sands. The dragon began to swoop lower just as you finished drying off and draping the green silk around you. She was smaller than your Uncles' dragons, closer in size to Egg's Stormcloud. She crawled toward you using her back feet, chortling the song once more.
"Perzyro udrÈłssi. EzÄ«mptos laehossi. HÄrossa letagon. AĆt vÄedan (With words of flame. With clear eyes to bind the three. To you I sing.) She brayed as you sang, moving until she stood in front of you and gently nudged your chest with her periwinkle muzzle. You gently grasped her warm maw, smoothing your thumbs down the concave of her snout. "Hae mÄrot gierĆ«li:
Se hÄros bartossi. PrĆ«mÈłsa sĆvÄ«li. GevÄ« dÄerÄ« (As one we gather: And with three heads. We shall fly as we were destined. Beautifully, freely.) Her lilting chortle matched your pitch, and you finished the song together.
"Rytas, I have been waiting for you," you smiled. Aelora's words played through your mind once again. You knew Silverwing made home in Dorne from time to time and most likely laid a clutch or two. This must be one of her hatchlings. Upon closer inspection, you could see silvery scales intermingled with the pale periwinkle ones. Her muzzle bumped your cheek before she lowered her long, elegant neck and stretched out a wing, tipping it toward you.
Mayhaps it was a bit foolish to climb onto her in silks and bare feet, her scales hot against your skin and the spikes rough against your palms, but you pushed through the pain until you were on her back. You had come too far to let yourself be deterred. Once you were settled, she lifted into the air and flew around the perimeter of the Summer Sea. Baelor and Maekar looked like mere specks on the sand beneath. After a few laps, she descended onto the beach once again, and you slipped down her wing, rushing into your uncles' outstretched arms, letting them hug you between their sun-warmed bodies.
"Well done, sweet girl," Baelor whispered, kissing your temple before lifting your palms to inspect the sore skin from gripping the dragon's spikes.
"Without a saddle, most impressive," Maekar murmured, nuzzling the spot just below your ear. "But hardly surprising, it is in your veins."
"We should have a feast tonight at Sunspear to celebrate," you beamed.
"I could think of a better way," Maekar smirked, his hand curling around your hip.
You had to admit that claiming a dragon had gotten your blood pumping, so you let them ravage you once more, after returning to the Water Gardens. You wished to be splayed over cushions instead of the sand.
"She needs a name," Baelor murmured, stroking your back as you rested against his chest. Maekar's head rested between the curve of your arse and thigh, his teeth marks embedded in the tender skin.
"VÄedra, a play on the word for song," you smiled, reaching down to stroke Maekar's hair.
"Very beautiful," Baelor said.
You celebrated again with your Uncles late into the night. Dornish sour rolling down your breasts in ruby rivulets, gathering and splashing onto their eager tongues. Baelor held your thighs back, pink scrapes marring them from climbing VÄedra earlier, while Maekar's cock sank deep inside, so deep that your legs turned to jelly in Baelor's hands. Maekar's thick, pearly seed seeped from your swollen cunt, his flushed mouth and skilled tongue lapping and suckling it down. The two switched positions, Baelor fucking your tender cunt next, sinking just as deep as Maekar's had, making you mewl and whimper. But you were helpless under Maekar's strong grasp, knees nearly bent to your shoulders. Baelor's seed filled you, thick, dripping, and strong.
Once you regained your strength and your limbs felt slightly more solid, you took turns pleasuring their cocks. Your Uncles stretched on the bed, side by side, as your mouth alternated sliding over their velvety, stiff shafts, feeling their veins pulse against your tongue. Pearly seed filled your mouth, and you swallowed it down greedily, like a famished creature. Opalescent remnants clung to the corners of your lips, which your Uncles kissed away.
"Our dragon princess," Baelor smiled, massaging your legs to help you fully regain feeling in them.
Maekar stood, naked, on the balcony, glancing up at the moonlit sky as he drained a cup of red wine. The three dragons circled close to the beaming, silvery moon.
"Is it wrong that I yearn to see the sour look on Aerion's face when we return to the city?" you smiled.
Maekar scoffed. "He has been relentless in his teasing. You deserve to gloat."
"I would say it is well earned," Baelor hummed, usually one to take the high road, but he had hated Aerion's harshness toward you.
"The children depart tomorrow, so they'll arrive at the Red Keep before we do. We'll keep it tight-lipped until then," Maekar said, returned to the bed with you and Baelor.
"I will cherish the few days we have left here. It's like being in a private paradise."
"Mmm, but we must face reality sooner than we would like," Baelor said, smiling as he kissed your fingertips while Maekar tucked his long, warm body against your back.
Outside the palace, the dragon mimicked a similar position on the beach; the three wrapped around one another.
Luckily, you had your riding leathers with you, which made for a more comfortable flight back to King's Landing. Maekar had helped braid your hair that morning. VÄedra would be fitted for a saddle and reins by the keepers, but you had found an agreeable enough position on her back, and your gloves made it easier to grip her spikes. She seemed to sense all this, keeping her flight smooth and easy. She landed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, shaking the ground and letting out a loud bray before you slipped down her wing, tugging your gloves off with your teeth.
"Well done! I knew you would find your mount," your grandfather chuckled, and you rushed into his arms to hug him.
Happy tears shone in your mother's eyes before she tenderly embraced you. "Well done, my darling."
"What say you now, cousin?" Matarys teased Aerion before clapping you on the back.
Aerion scowled, face red as the Targaryen sigil, before storming off.
Aelora kissed your cheek. "The daughter is found." Her words were not lost on you this time.
Your younger cousins gathered around, eager to meet your dragon. You introduced each one to VÄedra, letting her get used to their scent and touch.
"Oh, she's so pretty," Rhae beamed.
"She is," you agreed.
You glanced over your shoulder, watching Baelor and Maekar walk off with your grandparents and parents. It gave your belly a nervous twist, but you agreed to let your Uncles handle that matter. Part of you wished to be Maekar's wife only because you had no desire to be queen one day, but you would happily accept either as your husband. However, you couldn't bear the thought of Baelor taking a second wife and losing him. You shook such thoughts from your head and stroked VÄedra's neck. You only hoped the decision would not be left to you. How could you choose between the men you loved?
In the end, you received what you wished. Your grandparents and parents agreed to marry you to Maekar. Just in time, it seemed. VÄedra had woken you early three days after the betrothal announcement to fly you around Dragonstone before venturing into a cave to show you the clutch she had lain. Her proud bray made your eyes water. Then your eyes widened as you pressed a hand to your stomach after her muzzle gently pressed there.
"Oh, fuck," you whispered before laughing softly and nuzzling the scarly space between her eyes.
You returned to the Keep, summoned your Uncles to your chambers in the Holdfast, and told them the news.
"Are you certain?" Baelor asked, pressing his hand agaisnt your stomach.
"I would need a maester or midwife to confirm, but one who is discreet," you replied.
"You do not wish for moon tea?" Maekar asked curiously.
"If we are wed within two months, it will be of no concern," you reasoned.
"I will find a discreet midwife then, I only trust the maesters so much," Baelor said before kissing you.
Maekar walked over and captured your mouth after Baelor finished. "One more mouth for me to feed," he teased you.
"We could kick Aerion out, then it would even out," you said cheekily.
"The babe will be well loved and well cared for," Baelor smiled.
"Indeed," Maekar agreed, and you snuggled between them.
It seemed the Targaryen line would never lack for dragons nor descendants.
Not all Hightowers post dance are his descendants lol, Rhaena married 3rd Hightower son and had only daughters and we don't know what happened to those daughters. So Hightowers don't descend from her.
There's this thing called a headcanon. I have those for my fanfic. That's why I tagged the post that mentions that with "fanfic".
In my headcanon one of Rhaena's daughters marries her Hightower cousin who is heir.
need to know what alyssas life wouldve been if she had been born a targaryen! i mean we see baelor thinking about itâŠlove this fic so much, congrats on writing such beautiful work!
In one word: messy.
I'd probably have her be Rhaegel's eldest child, it just seems right to me.
With Aelor and Aelora quite a few years younger than her (Daenora even younger, she's not even born until like 210 AC), a father that cannot really be a father but is sweet and does try his best and an overwhelmed mother also doing her best to manage her children and her husband, it feels fitting.
The twins are Inseparable, in their own world, and Alyssa is the oldest, the good, studious one, the overlooked one.
Targ!Alyssa has her moments of being a little strange and she is more whimsical than Flowers!Alyssa, and being Rhaegel's daughter the court dismisses all of it as a touch of Targaryen madness (she dreams, of her own future mostly, of being with her two uncles, and knew from a young age that she would eventually be theirs)
She would be closest to her cousin Daeron, but he's away in Summerhall most of the time. Valarr - the other Targaryen her age - is busy being the heir's heir, securing an alliance with Tyrosh. Targ!Alyssa is, perhaps, even lonelier than Alyssa Flowers.
King Daeron is hesitant to marry her off into another house - in canon all of Rhaegel's children marry within the family and I'm going to pretend it's on purpose in case Rhaegel's children inherit his madness.
With that reasoning, most people assume Alyssa will eventually marry Daeron, but they both dream and they both know it's never going to happen. There is an attempt at making it official but Daeron never shows up for the feast, Alyssa clings to King Daeron and he does not have it in him to upset his granddaughter.
Then Ashford happens, and Baelor survives. (Alyssa told her uncle to pack his armor, just in case, to soothe her mind.)
The Great Spring Sickness happens - King Daeron, Valarr, Matarys and Jena all die. Baelor needs a new wife, new heirs. A woman who can understand his grief, who will not be glad his sons are dead so that hers might take their place. Who sees becoming Queen as an honour, a duty, and not a step in a ladder.
Baelor talks about all of this with Alyssa - she's a good listener, and he has always treasured and loved his niece. "You might marry me," is what she offers. And Baelor accepts.
Maekar becomes Baelor's Hand, and somewhere along the line folds into their marriage.
But it's not his desire for Alyssa that grows first. She finds her husband and his brother kissing - Hammer and Anvil falling upon each other, and she asks her uncle sweetly whether he might kiss her like that as well.
and if we go with a "the dragons lived AU" Alyssa would ride either Sheepstealer or have her own hatchling that looks very...let's call it unique. She likes the ugly ones.
need to know what alyssas life wouldve been if she had been born a targaryen! i mean we see baelor thinking about itâŠlove this fic so much, congrats on writing such beautiful work!
In one word: messy.
I'd probably have her be Rhaegel's eldest child, it just seems right to me.
With Aelor and Aelora quite a few years younger than her (Daenora even younger, she's not even born until like 210 AC), a father that cannot really be a father but is sweet and does try his best and an overwhelmed mother also doing her best to manage her children and her husband, it feels fitting.
The twins are Inseparable, in their own world, and Alyssa is the oldest, the good, studious one, the overlooked one.
Targ!Alyssa has her moments of being a little strange and she is more whimsical than Flowers!Alyssa, and being Rhaegel's daughter the court dismisses all of it as a touch of Targaryen madness (she dreams, of her own future mostly, of being with her two uncles, and knew from a young age that she would eventually be theirs)
She would be closest to her cousin Daeron, but he's away in Summerhall most of the time. Valarr - the other Targaryen her age - is busy being the heir's heir, securing an alliance with Tyrosh. Targ!Alyssa is, perhaps, even lonelier than Alyssa Flowers.
King Daeron is hesitant to marry her off into another house - in canon all of Rhaegel's children marry within the family and I'm going to pretend it's on purpose in case Rhaegel's children inherit his madness.
With that reasoning, most people assume Alyssa will eventually marry Daeron, but they both dream and they both know it's never going to happen. There is an attempt at making it official but Daeron never shows up for the feast, Alyssa clings to King Daeron and he does not have it in him to upset his granddaughter.
Then Ashford happens, and Baelor survives. (Alyssa told her uncle to pack his armor, just in case, to soothe her mind.)
The Great Spring Sickness happens - King Daeron, Valarr, Matarys and Jena all die. Baelor needs a new wife, new heirs. A woman who can understand his grief, who will not be glad his sons are dead so that hers might take their place. Who sees becoming Queen as an honour, a duty, and not a step in a ladder.
Baelor talks about all of this with Alyssa - she's a good listener, and he has always treasured and loved his niece. "You might marry me," is what she offers. And Baelor accepts.
Maekar becomes Baelor's Hand, and somewhere along the line folds into their marriage.
But it's not his desire for Alyssa that grows first. She finds her husband and his brother kissing - Hammer and Anvil falling upon each other, and she asks her uncle sweetly whether he might kiss her like that as well.
summary: Maekar had ended things too scared to acknowledge the growing feelings after months of being friends with benefits. He thought he could live with the hole you left, but now here you are at dinner, trying to get under his skin.
words: 2.3k
cw: MDNI 18+ p in v, choking, roughish sex, pussy slap, unprotected sex, creampie, infidelity, voyeurism, name calling, age gap, she is not the best person, but like always we support women's rights and wrongs! lmk if I missed any
a/n: here's my 2k followers gift to all of you! again thank you so much for all your love and support and I hope you enjoy!
It was supposed to be fun, and perhaps that was the problem was that he never truly had fun anymore. Not since graduating school, not since becoming a father or even becoming Baelor's COO.
You were younger, only slightly older this his eldest. You were in the prime of your life. Fun was all you knew. For some reason you had set your sights on Maekar. He had been the one to keep it casual. Then slowly over time, it began to not be so.
And like most thing that involved an emotion outside anger or frustration it scared him. You scared him.
So he broke it off. It was easier he told himself. To live in the sadness and emptiness of life without you. It was for the best for him. For you, because Gods you deserved so so much better.
You deserved someone younâYou. You?
He could hear your voice, your laughter, and for a moment he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him. It would mot be the first time. Sometimes he swore he could still feel you next to him or hear your laughter as you made coffee in the morning.
But this was real. You were real, and you were here. You walked in on Valarr's arm. His nephew. You were here. With. His. Nephew.
His fists bawled slightly, watching as his mother moved to greet you, and you did not look at him. Purposefully he would assume. He knew this was all an act. To get under his skin, and he knew he should not be playing into it. He would remain, calm, collected, not giving you what you wanted.
And then he was on his feet. Myriah turned from you to her youngest son, "Maekar?" she questioned, confusion filling her features.
You raised a brow as if you were daring him to cause a scene, "This is my Uncle Maekar," Valarr then introduced ever the gentleman.
He turned toward you, and you nodded holding his mismatched gaze, a fond smile pulling at your lips which further caused Maekar's blood to boil. You then turned back to the man, "I don't believe we've had the pleasure to meet," you lied.
Valarr's hands were on you, and you were smiling. You were the vision the perfect girl for his brother's golden boy. You were radiant. You were polite. You were charming. Which was something he already knew.
And you were successfully getting deeper under his skin as the clock ticked another second.
You listed to Baelor's stories as if he held your entire attention. Trying to impress your new boyfriend's father. But Maekar knew better. Your eyes kept glancing to him, gauging his reaction that he was trying to remain as neutral as possible, but he was failing.
During this horrid dinner he had learned things about yours and Valarr's new blossoming relationship. Everything entirely against his own will.
You had been together almost two months. Two days after Maekar had called things off. You had met through friends. Your first date was absolutely perfect, because of course anything Valarr planned would be.
Baelor though you were perfect together. Though he had not said the words directly, his youngest brother could tell solely based off the way he kept looking at the pair of you.
He talked about you as if you were the love of his love, and you kept gushed about him with a bright smile on your face that almost seemed real. He would have believed it more if he had not seen the real things so many times before.
You leaned forward whispering something into Valarr's ear, his hand moving to run up and down your back causing Maekar's vision to momentarily go white. You stood, with a polite smile. He did not hear what Valarr said, instead watching you closely watching you disappear.
Less than a full. minute later he was moving before he could stop himself.
He pushed the bathroom door open, which was not locked. You had been expecting him. You had been waiting for him. You were against the counter pretending to fix your makeup when you turned to him.
"Do I know you?" you asked, raising a brow, an innocent smile on your lips.
Maekar stood there for less than a second. He reached forward wrapping his hand around your throat, forcing you to strain your neck to meet his gaze. His palm pressed against the center, and he did not squeeze. Not yet.
"Don't be a brat," he hissed at you, his head dipping at an attempt to be eye level.
You let out a laugh, holding his gaze, "You like when I am a brat if memory serves."
"Fuck you," he grit out, his face hovering over yours, his fingers digging further into your neck. He wanted them imprint into your skin, a reminder of that you would never belong to Valarr the way you did him.
"You already did," you reminded him as if he needed it. As if you both didn't already know it was on constant replay in his mind all night.
He pushed you back into th encounter, and neither of you moved. Simply staring at the other your ragged breaths filled the air. "I bet you are soaked right now," he whispered, not moving his hand from your throat.
You said nothing in reply.
Maekar nodded, his eyes trailing down taking in the black dress you wore that had started to bunch around your thighs, "Take your panties off," he instructed.
You held his gaze, "No," you answered firmly, but your lips gave you away. They turned up slightly showing just what you were doing. You were playing him. You were pushing his buttons further as if he was some game.
He squeezed a little harder drawing a small moan from your lips, but neither of you moved, "Take them off," he said again, voice sterner. He removed his fingers from your throat.
You hesitated, only a second before reaching down and dragging the red lace down your legs, slipping them over your shoes. You threw them at him, landing in his face. He did mt moved them right away instead inhaling your arousal from them.
After a moment he reached up pulling them from his face as he tucked them into his pocket. Both your gazes met as his hand moved trailing down your belly. You opened your legs. Out of want. Or perhaps reflex, and he was met with the glory he had spent far too many nights missing.
"Just as I said. You are soaked. You fucking whore."
You chuckled, your lips turning up in a smug smile, "For Valarr. I am thinking about all the things he is going to do to me tonight."
He clicked his tongue, "How many lies have you told tonight?"
"None." Another.
He brought his hand back before having it collide with your soaking cunt. You recoiled slightly from the feeling, letting out a sound you did not even know you could make, "What do you want?"
He leaned his head down resting against your neck, just sitting there allowing his breath to meet your flushed skin, "If you be good and tell me exactly what you want I will give it to youâŠYou know I will," he whispered, moving forward to press a kiss to your pulse point.
Your body trembled in anticipation, "Cock. I want your cock, Maekar," you said, your voice low, but not quiet allowing him to hear the shakiness in every word.
"As you wish. Turn around," he instructed, lifting his head.
You turned around, your hands wrapped around the counter top of the sink. Your head dipped no longer looking at yourself in the mirror. Maekar wondered if it was shame, but you never had seemed to show that emotion.
He freed his hardened cock, stroking himself lazily with one hand as the other bunched your dress up around your hips. He leaned forward running his tips through your folds as his head dropped near your ear.
He notched his cock at you drooling hole, "Are you so wet you can take me without any prep?" he asked. You nodded eagerly causing his lips to turn up slightly, "Good," he whispered, in approval.
He bit your bottom lobe, before pushing himself in fully. He let out a groan as your hands tried to brace yourself, but gave out entering. You were flush against the cool counter, his large hands finding home on your sides.
"You are so fucking perfect," he muttered, feeling your cunt stretch around him, "Made just for me."
He began to move, thrusting into you, and the sound was immediate. It was beautiful. It was music to his ears. It was the glorious sounds that kept on repeat in his mind when away from you.
He could not believe he had given this up.
He could not even fathom the fact of a life without you.
With the gaping whole in his chest.
The fact that you had tried to move on. Or at least pretended to.
With Valarr. His nephew. He would have been forced to watch you for the rest of his life.
Miserable. Alone. A hole in his chest that was the shape of you.
You with Valarr. Happy. In love. A life without him.
You had done it to get under his skin. It was the only explanation, and of course you had succeeded.
He angled his hips, grinding into you harder, causing you to cry out, "Be a little louder. I want everyone to hear just who is making you feel this good."
"Maekar," you cried out, your brain seemed to be fuzzy, as if you forgot where you were.
He did not care. He wanted everyone to know. He wanted to be caught buried into you. To let everyone in the Gods forsaken house to know you were his. That Valarr could never, even imagine to give you what he had. What he would.
He fucked into you harder, faster, your hips bones driving into the counter top, more than likely going to bruise by morning.
Good. More marks. More reminders. More proof.
You clenched around him, your breathing getting more ragged by the minute.
His hand wrapped around your throat forcing you to look into the mirror. Your eyes met your own reflection, your mouth half open with drool trailing down your chin, make up smudged around your eyes,"Look at how wrecked you look. Such a good little whore taking my cock."
You opened your mouth to reply, but you could not piece the words together you wished to utter. You looked drunk on his cock. You were beautiful. A ruined masterpiece of his making.
"I want to see your face when I finish inside you," he commanded, and awaited some protest, but you gave none. He wished he could hear what was going through your pretty head. To hear the thoughts your sharp mind seemed to conjure knowing you did not always share everything.
He pulled you back into him, his hands trailing down your stomach meeting your clit. He drew circles around them causing your eyes to immediate clamp shut. He knew that face. He loved that face. You were trying to hold on. To push off the orgasm a little longer to prolong your moment together.
It never worked. Your body always gave in one way or another. Whether it was from want or need he never asked.
"Open your eyes," you did as you were told, and once you had it came crashing down against you even though you wished it had not.
He was soon to follow, toppling over the edge as he painted your walls with him. More proof.
Your ragged breaths filled the air and he did not pull out, merely staying inside you even as his cock softened slightly. It was a few breaths later when he finally pulled out. Your hands moved forward resting against the sink trying to steady yourself.
Maekar heard the water run as he placed his cock back into his trousers.
His mind was a mess as he stared blankly at the back of you trying to make sense and search the sea of thoughts for something that would make sense. A way to organize his words to not sound like a fool, "Leave with me," he then declared, his voice firm, as if it was a declaration rather then a question.
"What?" you asked, laughing, as you smoothed your dress out, straightening your hair and make up, before stepping out into the hallway.
He followed after you, not fixing his appearance in the slightest. He wanted to be caught. He wanted for someone to take one glance a the pair of you and put the pieces together. "Leave with me instead of Valarr," he repeated.
"You are fucking mad," you laughed once more, shaking your head.
"I know. I neverâ" his words were cut off by the calling of your name, and your lips turned up slightly causing his stomach to drop.
"Ready to go?" Valarr asked, he approached hesitantly, his eyes flickering between the pair of you as if he was trying to figure out what he had stumbled across.
Maekar's eyes were on you, ready for you to turn the younger man down. "Of course, my love," you instead replied, lacing your arms through his and letting him guide you out. All while ignoring his uncle's burning gaze, as if his spent wasn't still running down your thighs. He could not see the grin of your face, nor hear the burning thoughts inside your head.
You were even now. He had left you once, and now you had done the same.
the scratch of the quillâs nib on parchment, the slight tink of an inkwell being dipped into, the dripping of wax onto a brass chamberstick, kitten-like mewls muffled against the side of his throat.
baelor shushes you, one hand firm on your hip. his fingers squeeze, kneading flesh, as you gently rock yourself back and forth on his lap. he sits comfortably at his desk, the quiet of his solar illuminated by dozens of flickering candles. you mouth at the side of his neck, feeling the steady thump of his pulse beneath your spit-slick lips, another breathy sound falling from the back of your throat.
baelor shushes you again, hand pulling you further into him. the movement angles you down, his cock stretching you open, the head reaching and rubbing that perfect spot inside you before he stills again.
âdonât start fussing,â he whispers, quill to parchment as if he wasnât splitting you apart. his cock gives a feeble jerk inside you and it draws a low moan from your chest. he hums, fingers gripping. âyouâve been so good for this long, sweetheart, mâalmost finished.â
you whine, heat coiling thick behind your navel. thereâs a dull ache in the base of your womb too; the pain of being so close but not quite there as you sit on his cock. one of your hands plays with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, your arm curling over his shoulder, while the other drags up and down his chest, feeling along the soft padding of his doublet.
you lift your head and press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. you whimper there too, dragging your nose back down his neck, following the shift of his pulse. you hear the quill pause against parchment, and your heart leaps, clattering against your ribs, when the hand on your hip pushes you down even further.
you take more of his cock, pussy stretching full to swallow around the thick of him. it flutters, hot and wet, all silken as he tries to even his breathing. you moan quietly, hips twitching, trying to gain some kind of friction aside from the stagnant press of your puffy clit against the thicket of hair at the base of his cock.
âdâyou need something?â your husband asks, tipping his head to speak closer to your ear. he asks, deep and rolling, as if he doesnât know what you want.
you whine in response, attempting to pick yourself off of his lap, even by just a fraction, to push yourself down again. but he holds you firm, and you let out another airy whine into the dewy skin of his neck, a solid pressure unmoving in the base of your spine.
âuh-uh, none of that,â baelor chides, swatting lightly at the top of your arse. you hear him start writing again, clued by the gentle glass tink of steel into the nearby inkwell. reaching deep inside you, his cock gives another twitch as he speaks, âiâm almost done, sweet girl. be good for me.â
you huff into his neck. âbaelor.â
âbe good,â he repeats firmly, and you ignore the heat building near-painfully in the pit of your stomach.
itâs a tension you know, but you canât quite break. it settles, like the ash that cakes thick across the glowing hearth. your cunt clenches around him again, spurred on by the shallow ache in your clit and the hammering of your heart against your sternum. you can feel yourself, with heat pooling in your veins, dripping around him: pussy drooling out onto his lap, wetting the hair, the soft skin of his thighs.
you canât help the whimper that escapes you, perfectly wanton and needy and it hits your husband right in the heart. the hand on your hip tightens and his cock jerks, and he leans his head to the side to plant a delicate kiss to your warm forehead.
âi know, i know, i can feel her too,â baelor mutters against your forehead as you pant into the side of his throat. a muffled baelor falls from your tongue, and a hum rumbles from his chest. âyouâre doing so well, sweetheart. youâre doing so good for me, just hold on.â
you hush out a moan, barely a whisper in response. thereâs a light tremble in your thighs where you part around him, the fat of your arse snug against his lap. your pussy flutters again, and you feel something tugging deep across the base of your womb. it makes you roll your hips, just slightly, to drag the pearl of your clit against him and shift the head of his cock over that perfect spot inside you.
âoh, gods,â you whisper, eyes screwing shut as you lean your head against baelorâs shoulder. you hold the back of his neck gently, an anchor for you, while you continue drawing circles across his chest with the other. you huff, smelling ink and cedar and the salt of his skin. âbaelor, please.â
your husband doesnât respond, but you hear the moment he finishes his work. you hear the slide of parchment against lacquered wood, and you hear the drop of the quill into itâs cup.
âso needy,â baelor says, leaning back in his chair and taking both of your hips in either hand. you pick yourself off of his shoulder to match his gaze. he smiles at you, close-lipped and knowing. âbut you did so well.â
you nod as he urges you to lift your hips. you do, gladly, heat sticky between your legs as you rise. his cock slips from you slowly, and you moan when just the head remains, your body quivering as you hold you position. baelor looks you up and down, a gentle stroke of his eyes over you, before pulling you back to him.
he fills you instantly, and your lips part around a soundless moan as he knocks up towards the base of your cervix. your pussy takes him, wet and warm and wanting. you drool out onto his lap as he guides you, drops you up and down over and over.
baelorâs eyes lower for a moment. thereâs a subtle, almost disbelieving shake of his head as they settle on where your pussy parts around him. âgods, youâre making an absolute mess of me.â
you whine, hands clutching his shoulders now as you roll your hips. the thick stretch of his cock renders you breathless as you chase your releaseâthe release which has sat immobile in the pit of your belly for the better part of an hour.
his gaze flicks back up to you as you rut yourself onto his cock. he leans in then and presses his mouth to yours, swallowing your moan as you return it. itâs wet and needy, a desperate exchange of tongues and spit, and you feel his lips curl into a smile as you whine into it, chasing more, more, moreâ
âthis is what you needed, isnât it?â baelor whispers against your mouth before your head tips and you rub your cheek against his, feeling the scratch of his beard. you puff out a whine, barely a distinguishable sound, as your release packs hot in your womb and deep across the base of your spine. your husband coos at your lack of response, hands kneading your hips. âoh, my sweet girl, my perfect girl, thatâs it. thatâsâyeah, thatâs it.â
you moan, cunt clenching tight around the thick of him. he groans, hips angling to meet you, the chair beneath the pair of you creaking with your combined movements.
âsheâs needy today too, isnât she?â baelor mutters, and your entire body burns from the inside out as you listen to the constant wet schlick-schlick-schlick of your pussy as you take his cock. you moan, and he shushes you gently, hands heavy on your hips. âitâs alrightâsâalright, sweetheart, iâve got you.â
the pressure in your womb and at the base of your spine finally bursts apart, and you come around your husbandâs cock with a shaking moan of his name into the candlelit quiet of his solar. your cunt wraps tight around him, and he responds to the fluttering and your moaning with a deep, grumbling sound of his own, his cock jerking and his balls twitching tight as he chases his own release.
you writhe in his lap as you come, heat swimming through you. whining, you grind yourself through it as his hips meet, and your legs are still shaking, your heart is still racing, when he moans your name and spills deep inside you. you choke on a gasp at the thick warmth that fills you as his cock twitches deep where he sits up against the plug of your womb.
baelor breathes you in, muttering your name as he spills, and spills, then finally, as you pull your head across to kiss him, he stills. he kisses you back, gentler this time. your teeth skim his lip, and he pulls back with a small smile and a gleam in his mismatched eyes.
âyou feeling better?â he asks you, breathing deeply, a hand lifting from your hip to cup the side of your face.
you lean into the contact like a puppy, closing your eyes and humming a pleased yes before heâs bringing you back to him for another kiss.
How would the AKTSK guys react to a screamer in bed? đ
Headcanons for a reader who is vocal in bed
(including: Baelor, Maekar, Valarr, Daeron, Dunk and Lyonel)
Tags/Warnings: 18+, Smut, Implied Age Gap for the DILFs
Words: about 150-200 for each
BAELOR would tell you to be quiet, lest you be overheard. He'd shush you with a ringed hand covering your mouth, cooing in your ear as he continues thrusting, burying himself inside of you again and again, pummelling the spot that made you scream in the first place.
He wants desperately to make you come, but he does not want the whole castle to hear you. Not because of embarrassment, but because he does not wish others to know what you sound like. Baelor has to give so much to the realm. Your sounds are one of the only things that are his.
If you were on Dragonstone, on the other hand... he would encourage you to make whichever sounds you please. He loves knowing that he pleasures you so much that you become unable to regulate yourself, that he unmakes you so thoroughly. The only time he would muffle your sounds in the privacy his seat on Dragonstone affords him is when he kisses you, swallows your sounds into his own throat, consuming you as you consume him.
MAEKAR would be undeniably proud. He takes immense pride in his prowess, and he does not mind everyone knowing how much his lady wife enjoys him and his thick cock. In fact, he wants them to know. All those young, simpering knights that follow you with their eyes - they'll hear your pleased screams and know that your husband is the one making you feel this way. Not them. Never them.
If anything, he encourages you to be even louder, egging you on as he fucks you harder, faster, whatever you need. If you like your hair pulled, he'll do that, too. Maekar can get a little mean with it. This man has no shame, and he can be almost as vocal as you with his groaning and grunting.
The only thing that would dampen his ardour is if his children were staying close. When he needs to be mindful of his brood, Maekar has been known to put something into your mouth to keep you quiet. A gag, his fingers, his cock... it doesn't matter. He'll make you peak regardless. He knows your body well enough.
VALARR would be startled at first. He was raised on gentle courtesies, the politeness of court. He is used to refined speech, people concealing their wants and desires behind mild manners. But that does not mean that he dislikes how vocal you are.
In fact, he learns to treasure it, his longing for your screams in the sanctity of your chambers becoming quite ardent. It's a respite, a break from his burdens. In bed with you, his head bracketed by your thighs, he feels at home. He is finally not afraid of failing, not when you sing so prettily for him and there is no doubt to be had that you enjoy his touch.
With you he knows that he does not need to be perfect for you to love him, though he still always puts you first, wringing at least one peak from you before he even enters you. Valarr himself is quiet, rarely even sighing in pleasure, but you more than make up for it and he would have it no other way.
DAERON would barely notice initially. Other than you, he was used to whores, and they were always vocal in their performances. At first he assumes you are the same, acting to please him, pretending.
Once some time has passed and he realises that you actually like what he is doing, that you are being honest, he becomes more nervous. There's a pressure on him now. What if he cannot make you scream the next time? What if he drinks too much and cannot be good enough for you?
It fucks with his head a little. Daeron is used to being perceived as a failure. That you like him, like the way he makes you feel, is foreign and strange. But with time he learns that it is not bad. To be wanted. That your "expectations" are not hard to meet, that it's different than what he's used to. There's no punishment, no disappointment. Only love.
DUNK would stop immediately. He would freeze above you, scared to death, his broad, towering frame supported by his huge arms, needing to make sure that your scream was a good sound. He's not used to making people feel good.
When you encourage him to continue, when you reassure him, he becomes more confident, bolder. He'd start experimenting with what makes you scream the loudest - a kiss here, a squeeze there, his cock pushing into you in a maddeningly slow drag.
Eventually, he grows to love your squeals, your screams, your sighs. Everything that shows him that he's doing a good job. He knows he can be slow to understand, but he finds that your sounds make your reactions easier to interpret. He almost doesn't even mind the grins and salacious winks people shoot at him when he emerges from his rooms after a rigorous night of activity. But his blush betrays him.
LYONEL would chuckle and tease. All in good fun, of course. He loves a confident woman, a woman that knows what she likes and expresses that. If you are usually shy, he'll like it even more. Seeing a side of you that no else sees, coaxing it out of you with his mouth, hand, or his cock - it drives him crazy.
He's utterly unashamed - Lyonel likes fucking you where people will hear your sounds. If anyone mentions it to him, he'll boast, take it as a compliment. If he's feeling particularly naughty, he might make a comment doubting the other's sexual prowess if they cannot make their wives scream as he does his.
His favourite is when he crooks his fingers inside of you, seeing your face twist in pleasure at the same time. He loves watching that scream form in your throat, loves watching your eyes flutter as you peak. His name on your lips makes him unbearably smug.
soz same anon as earlier ik im dragging it but just saw this and it sums up my point about the gloating and fetishising https://www.tumblr.com/housefordolls/821209390481817600/tbh-i-dont-care-if-theyre-endgame-i-just-want
anyway im very excited for your own ormund fic and your portrayal. duh also excited for more alyssa and her dilfs (who she met when she's a legal westerosi adult đ„ž) i cant wait for more of her and baelor specifically
Pic is the first ask, what I'm answering to the second.
I cannot speak for the first fic (which the link you sent refers to) as I have not read it so I will refrain from making judgements, but in general I am someone who tends to be on the author's side on these kinds of discussion, as I am an author myself and I do not believe in ostracizing people.
I understand you might not have bad intentions and that people have things they are simply uncomfortable with reading and or writing. That is why one of the biggest, most important tenets of fandom is "don't like, don't read"
I do not think it is quite fair to question why "authors can't be normal".
Strangers is a fic that is clearly tagged as "Grooming" and "Dead Dove: Do Not Eat", thus I do not agree with that fic romanticising child abuse. It portrays it, but those two things are not the same.
Writing about it does not mean it is something the author agrees with, or would ever endorse in real life. In the end, the characters we write about are fictional. They cannot be abused, as they are not real.
Fanfiction can be about many things. Wish-fulfillment, catharsis, or simply to explore themes you cannot explore in other media.
I do not think my fic is morally superior to another fic because my character is by modern standards of legal age and I would love if people would stop looking at writing in terms of perceived moral purity.
I hope you can understand my stance on this, anon. I'm not trying to call you out especially and I am very thankful you read my story, but I really wanted to say all of this to make my position clear.
You definitely do not have to read things that make you uncomfortable, but I would urge you not to judge others.
now i reaaally need to know what a relationship between alyssa and daemon would be likeâŠđââïž
Listen, I love Daemon, but I fear he is too TargsexualđI think especially if she were to stay a Hightower (bastard) he would NOT like her.
While I do not see her as being Team Green if she were to live in that time, I do not think she would be very Team Black either.
I think she'd try to live a very quiet life, and wouldn't even come into contact with Daemon. She'd not be at court, she'd stay in Oldtown for the duration of the war.
BUT IF WE GO INTO DELULU LAND: if she were to come across him and he didn't capture or kill her simply for having Hightower blood (maybe if she can prove she has no particular love for the majority of them), I think she'd be very intrigued by him.
I think Alyssa would be so fascinated by dragons, and imo Caraxes is one of the most interesting dragons in general. Maybe that's what would endear Daemon to her.
She'd be very respectful to Caraxes, and admire him and I think our danger noodle would notice and love that. He's used to being disliked for his strange looks by everyone but Daemon, Rhaenyra and Syrax.
Alyssa would love to touch him, and I think he might actually let her - I think she could win Caraxes' trust with enough patience. Only a little pet on the snout and she's laughing with joy and so so happy and Daemon would walk in on that and be furious.
Because how dare she touch a dragon, but seeing Caraxes actually being okay with it would make him pause and consider her more closely. And perhaps something more would come of that.
"You wish to touch dragons? Come and touch me then. See what happens."
