Hi! I just had surgery yesterday and I'm recovering. I'm already home taking my medication so I'm doing well.
Now, speaking of the Crimson Queen fanfic... it's my first fanfic and I'm procrastinating and feeling lazy, but I haven't given up on it yet. Sorry for the delay. If it takes any longer, I'll post the first part, which isn't ready yet. So thank you for your patience.
For anyone wondering about the operation, I had four wisdom teeth removed. I had general anesthesia for it because I suffer from some sensitivity, nothing serious, so there's nothing to worry about.
I cannot with the idea that Mihawk either has feelings for a reader who's part of the Strawhats/on their ship OR they're already in a relationship as is, so the ONE TIME that Zoro decides to sass Hallucihawk back! It turns out it is not Hallucihawk it is Mihawk staring at him very intently and very slowly unleashing Kogatana-
Anon, you are a TREASURE
You made me giggle about this concept all day
You have assisted in breaking me loose from a far too extensive writer's block and now
NOW—
I DID IT I DID THE THING I DID THE WRITING THING GUYS GUYS GUYS LOOK LOOOK I DID IIIIIT
Reality Check
OPLA!Mihawk x AFAB! Reader
Mostly SFW?? Like PG-13ish I think?? What are warnings¿?? Uh, warnings may include Mihawk being afraid of commitment?? Because he totally would be. Just don't tell him I said so, pls.
Wordcount: 3,152
♫♬♫ Serenade in Vain - Jon Fratelli ♫♬♫ yes I'm still on my Fratellis bullshit shut up
Take this born again liar, read his mind and light his fire
Write his story, sing it halfway to the sunset
It was mostly by chance that Dracule Mihawk happened upon the Going Merry the previous night.
Mostly.
His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that he had ventured to this particular stretch of the Grand Line intentionally, that he had been curious about the ragtag little crew you had chosen to follow. It was no surprise you had chosen to leave, really — you had been a prisoner of Don Krieg when he found you, and you had born witness to Mihawk slaughtering the man’s entire crew and sinking his fleet for little more than sport. It was more than natural that, though he had chosen to leave you alive, you might have been a bit spooked. It had only been his intention to deliver you to some populated port or marine outpost.
His pride also wouldn’t allow him to admit that intention had changed by the time you reached Baratie, no more than he could begin to fathom why it had. You had simply gotten under his skin.
And then you had left with that Strawhat imbecile to help look after his equally foolish first mate while he recovered from his injuries. Your medical knowledge was limited, but you were older than the others, had been at sea longer, and knew far more about tending to near fatal injuries than any of them.
He could hardly deny to himself now that curiosity and an irritating sense of lingering attachment had led him this close to the Red Line, toward the entrance at Reverse Mountain, to see whether the Strawhats had made it through— whether you had made it through with them. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he found the ridiculous caravel, its smiling ram figurehead bathed proudly in the moonlight, the captain asleep atop its head with his prized straw hat covering his face..
As such, sneaking aboard had posed no issue at all.
No, denial was useless with the dim light of early dawn filtering through the porthole of your cabin, with your nude form curled up against his side beneath the sheets of your cot, your temple resting against his shoulder and your arm slung across his chest, sleeping soundly. He still wasn’t sure what his exact intention had been in seeking you out, but it certainly hadn’t been this.
He lifted his free hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. A mistake. An error in judgment. That was all this was. Attachments, emotional or otherwise, were nothing more than complications.
He froze when you shifted at his side — evidently his movement had stirred you, ruining his intention of sneaking out quietly while you and the rest of the crew slept on, blissfully unaware. Instead, you were stretching, bending a knee across his thigh as your sleepy murmur met his ears.
“You’re thinking too loud.” A small yawn followed the accusation. “Too early for that nonsense.”
“It is early,” he agreed, his tone level, carefully detached. He didn’t glance down at you, letting his hand fall to the pillow and keeping his eyes shut. “I’ll need to leave soon. Before your crew mates wake.”
“Yeah…” You let out a resigned sigh. “They might not be too happy to see you. Considering.”
“Considering,” he repeated, a scoff escaping him. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t be too pleased to find the man who nearly killed their first mate aboard their ship first thing in the morning.”
“Mmm…” Despite your agreement on the matter of his departure, you shifted a little closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Well, I’m not complaining. Though I am curious why you’re here.”
He did open his eyes at your quiet inquiry, though they remained locked on the wood planks of the ceiling overhead. Of course you would be curious — he had anticipated that much. And still, he hadn’t planned a response for the question. He frowned, running his hand back through his hair, considering. He had spared your life, a prisoner to a low-life crew of pirates, a woman he knew nothing about. He had spared the life of Roronoa Zoro after the bold idiot had dared challenge him for his title. He had left Baratie without fulfilling Vice Admiral Garp’s order to capture his grandson.
All three decisions had been made on a whim, one he didn’t even fully understand as yet.
“I suppose,” he said slowly, weighing each word as they left his lips, “I was curious as well.” The admission cost him more than you knew. His frown deepened. “I chose to spare your life. It would have been a shame to learn that decision had been in vain, had you not made it beyond the Red Line with this ship full of idealistic imbeciles.”
“Oh, is that all?” You finally shifted away a bit, but only to roll onto your back, stretching your arms over your head, your body arching from the mattress just enough to pull the sheets down a few inches. “I’d ask if you give everyone you spare the same treatment, but I’d venture a guess you wouldn’t have taken the same course of action had Zoro been the one you found in the galley last night.”
He did finally turn his head to look at you at that — a grave mistake, as the sight of your insolent little smirk, of the sheets barely concealing the swell of your breasts and the curve of your hips, rendered him momentarily speechless. The fact that you weren’t wrong grated at his nerves, nearly as much as did the memory of his own actions last night. Finding you sitting alone in the dark galley, gazing through the porthole, a glass of whiskey in your hand and an expression of deep contemplation across your features, would have been enough to seal his present fate alone. The way you had looked at him when he made his presence known had done little to help. The initial shock had been expected, but what followed hadn’t been the anticipated fear or loathing; it had been pure, honest curiosity.
You hadn’t even managed to get a word out before he had pulled you to your feet by your wrist and kissed you, drank you in like you were the only source of water in some vast desert wasteland, and allowed you to lead him to this very cabin.
For the briefest of moments, he considered doing it again — leaning down to capture your lips, finding out how many screams he could draw from your lips before the rest of the ship woke.
Instead he rolled his eyes away from your knowing gaze with a dismissive scoff, sitting up on the small cot. “Insolent woman,” he accused in a grumble — one he had intended to come across as irritable, though it sounded almost fond. “You are correct in one matter, however,” he went on, his tone clipped now, far less personal. He swung his legs over the side, lifting his discarded pants and boxers from the floor and setting to the task of dressing himself. “Your new friends likely wouldn’t be pleased to find me aboard their ship without invitation. And I’d hate to have to kill them this early in the morning.”
You gave a small snort of laughter at that, the sound making him pause as he stood from the bed to fasten his belt. Infuriating, indeed — you didn’t even flinch at the threat. Idle though it had been, most would have taken it far more seriously. “I’m sure it would be far too much of a hassle,” you agreed, an air of dry sarcasm in your tone that said you knew otherwise. You pulled yourself to your feet behind him before he could stoop down to pick up his coat, your arms snaking around his middle, your smaller form molding against his bare back as you stood on your tiptoes to murmur against the shell of his ear, “Plus, you’d have to kill me too. Which I think we both now know you wouldn’t do.” You punctuated the accusation with a light, playful nip at the edge of his jaw.
It was truly a testament to his self control that he didn’t turn to throw you back onto the bed and take you again on the spot.
He did, however, turn his head just enough to capture your lips in a brief, searing kiss, drawing in a sharp breath through his nose before breaking the connection. “Don’t test my patience,” he warned in a low purr against your lips. He shifted to face you, pulling an arm tight across your waist, finally meeting your eyes. He lifted his other hand to curl his fingers beneath your chin, pressing the pad of his thumb lightly into your cheek as he tilted your head back. “I might not be so generous as to let you live a second time.”
The smirk that curved one corner of your lips said without the need for words that you had called his bluff. That smirk, the way you met his gaze without so much as a single flicker of fear, of reservation, of regret — it was as infuriating as it was captivating.
It hardly helped when you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his as you breathed your response against them.
“What about a third time?”
Your lips met his then in a kiss that was far slower, far more thorough, your tongue grazing across his bottom lip in blatant invitation. He accepted without thought, tugging you infinitesimally closer as his own tongue swept into your mouth, his hand drifting from your chin to tangle into your sleep-mussed hair.
This was madness. Utter insanity. No one should have been able to tear through his defenses this easily. Yet you, in all your insolence and audacity, had all but demolished them with a single, taunting invitation.
He tore his lips away, though his forehead remained pressed against yours, his grip tightening in your hair. “Why did you join this crew?” The question surprised even him as it left his own mouth in a breathless whisper. It had, loathe though he was to admit it, been the question he had planned on asking you last night, before impulse had outweighed his own intent.
You lifted an eyebrow as you processed it, that infuriating smirk returning to your lips. “You said you were leaving me at the next port,” she pointed out. “What difference does it make if I decided to leave a little earlier?”
He closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath through his nose. Damn you, you saw straight through his intentions, and you dared to toy with them instead of offering a real answer.
But you went on before he could form a fitting response, you went on, “But even had you been planning on keeping me...they needed me. Or, at least, they needed someone aboard this deathtrap of a boat with enough sense to stop them from getting themselves killed.” You tilted your head back enough to rest your chin on his chest, your gaze never breaking from the intensity of his yellow eyes. “They may be a bunch of silly little dreamers right now, but…” You shrugged a shoulder. “Everyone has to start somewhere, don’t they?”
Your statement hit him with more force than he cared to admit. Only through years of blood, sweat, and tears had he reached his own status — Dracule “Hawk-Eyes” Mihawk, Warlord of the Seas, the World’s Greatest Swordsman. Before all of the prestige, he hadn’t been so different from the moronic youth who had challenged him to a duel at Baratie. He knew that was why he had deigned to let the boy live, to continue chasing that dream, even if it meant his own eventual fall from grace.
“Indeed they do,” he finally conceded. With that small concession, he released you from the iron bar of his arm across your back, turning away at last to pick his coat up from the floor. It was both a relief and a torment when you sat back down at the edge of your bunk, putting further distance between the two of you. “I may have to check in from time to time,” he went on as he slipped his arms into the sleeves, the familiar weight of the garment settling over his shoulders. His tone remained clipped, though his words were a stark contrast to the impersonal, almost clinical cadence. “Out of...curiosity.”
“They are curious bunch,” she said with a small chuckle. He glanced over his shoulder, watching you lie back across the bed, tucking your hands behind your neck, wholly unashamed of your present state of undress. There was no indication of how the sight affected him aside from the slightest feathering of a muscle in his jaw. The smirk that graced your lips told him you hadn’t failed to notice. “And I definitely wouldn’t object to the occasional check-in.”
He gave a small, somewhat undignified grunt before tearing his eyes away from you, taking a few steps further away from the bed to grab Yoru from where it rested against the wall, slinging the sword over his shoulder to fasten it back into its rightful place. “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he shot back, his teeth grating together at the sound of your responding laughter, light and melodic in the early morning silence. He picked his hat up from the nightstand, setting it firmly back into place atop his head.
Infuriating, insolent bloody woman.
Your voice, teasing and melodic as your laughter, met his ears as he was leaving — “I’ll see you again soon, Hawk-Eyes.”
He refused to dignify that with a response.
Still silently seething at your audacity as he emerged onto the deck of the caravel, he very nearly didn’t notice that someone else was already awake. He froze for a moment when the sound of a blade slicing through the air met his ears, lifting his gaze sharply to hone in on the source of the disturbance.
Roronoa Zoro. Awake. Training at the break of dawn.
The rookie swordsman noticed him in an instant — but instead of addressing Mihawk’s presence with expected volatility, he let out an irritated growl and returned to his training without any further acknowledgment.
Mihawk’s brow furrowed at the dismissive reaction. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps this entire ship was simply full of humans who defied normal logic, but that wasn’t good enough. No, the younger swordsman had regarded him as if he all but expected him to be there.
Curious, indeed.
In spite of the pressing situation, the need to make himself scarce, Mihawk found himself crossing his arms, leaning back against the door frame behind him, watching for a moment longer. He let out a quiet, contemplative hum.
“Heavy-footed,” he commented. “Your form needs improvement.”
“I’d have an easier time improving if you’d shut the hell up, you goddamned birdbrain.”
Silence, cold and murderous in intent, followed the blatant insult. Zoro hadn’t so much as ceased in his movements, growling the words out between clenched teeth. Mihawk’s eyes widened for a moment in his astonishment at the utter audacity, before narrowing into slits. He had allowed this insolent fool to live out of respect for a promising potential adversary.
He had no intention of making the same mistake twice.
He didn’t bother to draw Yoru — just as he had last time he faced Zoro, he lifted a hand to reach for kogatana —
And his fist closed around empty air.
Once more, his eyes widened. He looked down, and found the golden cross that normally rest against his chest to be absent.
No. No.
He hadn’t. He couldn’t have.
And yet he heard hurried footsteps through the doorway behind him seconds after the realization, heard your voice cutting through the tension, “Hey, you forgot your —”
Your words were cut off abruptly as Zoro paused in his movements, his head whipping around to stare at you. Mihawk turned his head slowly, arms still crossed, to look your way as well. You had dressed, at least, in a simple black tanktop and shorts, and you were holding out the concealed knife, still attached to its chain, your gaze locked onto Zoro’s across the deck.
Zoro’s eyes shifted briefly to Mihawk before locking onto yours as he slowly straightened out, his arms hanging limply at his sides, eyes wide as saucers.
“Y...you...you see him too?” he asked slowly. Quietly. Cautiously.
Your brows furrowed. “Wh — what?” you blurted out incredulously, looking at Mihawk before jerking your head to look back at Zoro. “What the hell do you mean? Of course I see him, he’s literally standing right here — what?”
The silence stretched for several seconds — you staring at Zoro as if he had lost his mind, Zoro’s eyes flickering incredulously between you and Mihawk, and Mihawk himself utterly speechless for the first time he could recall in years. At last, Zoro sheathed his katana, shaking his head as if trying to clear what he was seeing from his mind. “I…think I might have had too much to drink last night,” he said finally, his tone gruff, before hurrying across the deck, pushing past you to descend below deck into the living quarters.
You and Mihawk simply stared at the door for several seconds, before turning your heads and meeting each others’ eyes.
“I swear I have no idea what that was about,” you said finally, clearly fighting to keep a straight face.
“Mm...hmm,” he hummed slowly, still marveling at the spectacle himself, lifting a hand to lightly pluck kogatana from your grasp. As he fastened the chain behind his neck, he added, “I trust you’ll figure it out before I return.”
Your expression slid into a full, knowing grin at his words — at the confirmation that he wholly intended to see you again. “Oh, I’ll definitely be asking him some questions after that,” you affirmed, stepping around in front of him. Your hands slipped beneath his open coat, looping around his hips as you stood on your tiptoes, your breath fanning across his lips. “I promise to have a full report prepared upon your return.”
You didn’t have to close the distance this time — his hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him as his lips crashed down upon yours in a deep, furious kiss that spoke of both promise and the possibility of mutual ruin. His lips parted from yours just as a small, far too enticing moan rose up from your chest. He lifted a hand from your hips, his touch far more tender as his fingers touched your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your bottom lip.
“Good.”
And with that, he captured your lips again, turning you around to press you against the wall in one final, claiming kiss before his inevitable departure — a departure that was just as inevitable as his return.
English is not my native language, so I use a translator. This is my first fanfic, so I welcome criticism.
This is a fanfic about Knights of the Seven Kingdoms; I'm still thinking everything through, so so far I've only written the prologue.
It's likely that Dunk, Aerion, and Baelor will appear more than the others, based on what I'm thinking of the story, but that will probably change. I'm in exam season, so the chapters are coming out slowly since it's just a hobby.
Prologue follows:
In a small village, fifty people at most, on the edge of the cliffs of Tempest Harbor, a house in the forest caught fire three moons and three suns ago. When the woodcutter went to check the charred house, he found the burned corpse of a woman, not a baby in her arms, but a crimson dragon egg, something rare. The last dragon eggs were lost, everyone knew that. But there was a crimson dragon egg, hatched and broken. He heard a noise in the burning wood, and the old woodcutter approached carefully… a baby, a baby with white and crimson hair crawling in the ashes. The girl stopped crawling, still damp from the slime of the hatching egg's core. Instead of a dragon, a baby smiled. A baby with white hair and sparse crimson streaks and small horns, Marcius in tempura, still covered by skin. The baby already had sharp teeth, large fangs, and small pointed teeth. Small, soft crimson scales were on the baby's neck, shoulders, and back. The old woodcutter dropped his axe in shock and scratched his rough, half-gray beard. A fire ignited in his heart, in his soul, when the baby Draco smiled at him. He picked her up, held her, and relaxed. She would be his dragon, or rather, his daughter—not a Targaryen dragon, but his daughter. Now the woodcutter no longer had a dragon, but a baby who had sprung from the greed of men.
pairings: dark aerion x reader, dark valarr x reader, dark baelor x reader, dark daeron x reader, dark maekar x reader, ser duncan x reader
warnings: dub-con, non-con, graphic sexual descriptions, blowjob, fondling, heavy petting, fingering, nipple play, babytrapping (debatable), manipulation, coercive relationship, exhibitionism (?), sad dunk, kiera slander (girl i'm so sorry babe, it's not personal), maekar and baelor aren't really in this one sorry
The Red Keep was cold. For a city as sweltering and filthy as King's Landing, the Red Keep sent a shiver down the healer's spine. She didn't know if it was the physical structure itself, or more likely, the men who inhabited it, that had her stomach churning, but as soon as she set foot inside the castle, her body was on alert.
The looks directed her way from the other bodies within the castle did little to soothe her nerves. Every noblewoman, maid and septa alike looked at her in confusion, awe, disgust – or some combination of the three, though she supposed she couldn't blame them. A new face suddenly attached to the arm of Aerion? If it were anyone else, maybe her eyes would linger too.
It had been two days since she arrived in the capital, and in those two days, she had been unable to see Dunk. Her kind knight was nowhere to be seen, and somehow, she knew it wasn't coincidental. In the new chambers she had been allocated for her stay, only little Egg had come to visit her. The first time he had appeared at her door, Maekar had been with him, standing poised behind his son. His eyes had scanned the room with curiosity, landing on her after a beat. The pair stared silently at each other for a moment, the healer feeling her heart beating against her ribcage as she wondered for a moment if he would step over the threshold. Alas, he ended their stare-off with a grunt, shoving his son forward before returning down the hall. Egg and the healer had spent most of their hours together, content to pass the time with board games and shared stories. It was there, on her second day, that she felt brave enough to ask sweet Egg more about his family.
"Egg," she murmured, bringing the boy closer to her as they sat in front of the fire. "Might you tell me more of your family?"
Egg looked up at her, taking in her expression. When they had been on the road together, she was often full of joy, widely smiling and sharing laughter with Egg and Dunk. She had made him feel warm and safe inside. Now, he noticed, she hadn’t smiled in days. Her eyes seemed duller, as if someone had stolen the light out of them.
Egg nodded.
“Well, there is Prince Baelor, my uncle. He is the Hand of the King and the heir to the Iron Throne. He is good and just and a better man than most in my family,” Egg determined. The healer nodded, his words aligning with the other descriptions she’d heard of the man, though her mind recalled the way he’d gazed at her days ago — far less honourable than he supposedly was.
“Then there is my father, Prince Maekar. Some people call him 'The Anvil' after his win during the rebellion. He can be mean to me… and to my brothers, but I think he does like us sometimes.” She nodded again at that. Maekar seemed like a scary man, and she wished to spend as little time in his presence as possible.
“I have my older brothers and then my younger siblings. Daeron was once very happy and glad, my father says, but now he is no fun. He has dreams of the future… and they always seem to come true. It saddens him,” Egg stated. Things made more sense to the healer now, with the events of the previous night tracking now that she learnt of his dreams. He’d literally dreamt of their attempt to escape.
The healer spoke quietly next, almost fearful for what she might learn. “And Aerion?”
Egg paused, a decisive mix of rage and pity filling his visage.
“Aerion is a monster! He killed my cat! And he has threatened to hurt me. He is evil, and – and I wish he were dead!”
The healer was stunned — she hadn’t expected such an outburst from her sweet little Egg, though from his words, she understood his fury. Dragging the boy into her arms, she soothingly rubbed at his back, letting him cry into her chest as she whispered sweet reassurances to him. The shudders that wracked his frame slowly lessened after a few moments until the boy pulled away.
“There’s also Valarr,” Egg added after a silent pause. She hummed in acknowledgement, her curiosity prompting him to continue. “Valarr is much like Baelor. He is good and kind, and the people like him. He is strong and brave, and he fights well too! Aerion becomes jealous of all the praise and attention he gets.”
She could tell by his tone that Egg greatly admired Valarr and likely wished for him to be his older brother instead. He sounded like a good man, and in her mind, she filed away his name in case she needed assistance. He’d already confronted her at the wine station and was alert to her presence in the Red Keep, but maybe he could be persuaded against Aerion one day. He didn’t seem to like him much anyway.
“It seems the crown is in good hands with Baelor and Valarr then," she acknowledged.
The pair talked for a short while longer before finally parting ways — Egg had been commanded to sleep in his own rooms that night, much to his chagrin. As she slept alone that night, her emotions returned to the surface, and she felt hot, wet tears sliding down her cheeks once more. During the day, she was strong enough to compose herself and hide her pain. But at night? With the silence and the darkness? She couldn’t hold it in any longer, and her choked sobs echoed around the room.
Dunk stood inside the grand dining room as his duty demanded, watching silently as the Targaryens ate dinner together for the first time since returning from the tourney. He had expected an uneventful evening, but the tension in the room had been high once Aerion had arrived, bringing his mistress –Dunk's healer – on his arm. To bring a mistress to a family dinner was against protocol, and yet no protest could be heard. Dunk had stiffened in shock, unable to stop the anger coursing through his body as Aerion directed a mocking glance his way. Dunk wished he could throttle the little cunt.
He'd had to endure a mix of false pleasantries, taunting jokes, and tense conversations between the family all night. Even Baelor seemed fed up as the hour grew long, letting his eyes unabashedly roll as he heard another squabble between Daeron and Aerion begin. But for Dunk, the worst part of his evening had been witnessing how the men at the table treated his healer. He couldn't be certain, but it seemed like all the men at the table had been letting their eyes linger on her, giving her long, appreciative looks. Some were more obvious, but he swore even Baelor had paused for a moment too long. Aerion had dressed her in a deep red gown — one clearly befitting a woman far above her station, and she sat adorned with heavy gold jewellery and rings. And yet, no one could deny that it suited her. Dunk struggled to reconcile that this was the same woman he had spent a year on the open road with, sharing stew and ale at taverns and sleeping under the stars.
Dunk's reminiscing was interrupted by a sharp screech, all attention falling towards Aerion. The prince was now upright, the healer firmly pressed against his side. Dunk's hands curled into fists at the sight of the prince's hands firm against her waist – he could see from her face that she was uncomfortable.
"Well, I shall take my leave from tonight's... titillating conversation," Aerion proclaimed. "I believe I have far more interesting things to attend to."
Aerion's meaning was clear as day to anyone in the room.
"Very well, nephew. Do be careful," Baelor said, dismissing the pair with a grunt. With a firm tug, they started towards the door, only for Aerion to halt suddenly. All watched on, curious for the delay. When he turned to look at Dunk, the healer knew it couldn't be anything good. Aerion winced slightly as he felt her fingers dig into the muscle of his upper arm in protest but ignored her.
"Ser Duncan," Aerion drawled. His tone was menacing, much like that when he had asked for the healer, back when he thought she was the knight's wife. It was clear he took great pleasure in taunting the knight.
"I do believe you should guard my mistress's chambers tonight. I would feel most..." A pregnant pause. "Pleased to know you would be close by if she needed assistance."
You could hear a pin drop with the silence of the room. The Targaryens were stunned. The weight of his actions was clear, as were the supposed outcomes. Dunk was horrified – how could he even suggest such a thing? Though, when Dunk looked for assistance from Baelor, or maybe even Maekar, he found none. The older men returned only blank stares, hands folded in their laps. He would not be saved from this, he realised. Dunk felt like a man waiting for his death, knowing the fate he was to face.
Dunk finally looked at his healer, only to quickly avert his eyes. Her face – he had never seen that look from her before. Not even when she had told him to leave the council chambers at Ashford. Pure devastation sat on her features, eyes shining with unshed tears. Aerion shrugged off the soft words she pleaded in his direction, dropping her expression more. She had already been stripped of all her dignity and control, and now he wished to humiliate her like this? To permanently alter how her truest friend saw her? To debase her as such?
"Please, my prince... do not do this, I beg of you."
Unceremoniously, Aerion shoved her through the open doors and directed her to her chambers, demanding Dunk follow them lest he grow mad. He trailed behind them, watching as they arrived at the chamber. Dunk could only get a glimpse of her disappearing into the rooms before Aerion slammed the door in his face. The knight stood still in disbelief, going to stand in his assigned spot, when the door suddenly opened again.
Aerion poked his head into the hall, landing on Dunk's frame, and grinned.
"Be good, Ser Duncan. You wouldn't want me to hurt her now, would you?"
Dunk instinctually lunged towards the prince, catching sight of his grin as he ducked back inside her chambers. He swore to himself and promised that one day he would rescue his healer and take her some place quiet and peaceful, where they could forget about everything that had happened in this wretched place.
Inside the room, the healer studied Aerion silently. In the few days she had known him, she struggled to understand what he was thinking. He seemed to switch from irritability to excitement instantaneously, and his anger and rage were well known. So far, she had managed to avoid his bad side. Maekar had kept him occupied for most hours of the day since they returned, and thus, he'd not been able to get his hands on her properly, though, she supposed, her luck had run out now.
"Hello, pretty dove," Aerion mumbled, making his way towards her. "How I've been waiting for this... for you."
His hands made their way to her waist, feeling the curves of her body under his palms, slowly exploring her body. He was so close to her now that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin and smell the Dornish wine on his breath. The scent of him overpowered her, oud invading her senses as he leant towards her neck, placing a tender kiss at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She couldn't help but shudder as he pressed up against her, continuing his warm, open-mouthed kisses across her decolletage. He was so close to her, and it made her uneasy, and yet she felt her body yearn for more.
The healer let out a sharp gasp as she found herself suddenly flipped around, Aerion's fingers impatiently tugging at her laces intent on baring her to him. He continued his kisses, occasionally nipping at her skin just enough to have her gasp and flinch at the sensation. She was left only in a delicate shift, the hands at her waist returning her to face the prince once more. Aerion's body pushed up against her, his chest pressing against hers, and at the first touch of his hand against her breast she couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. She felt warm all over, and her body began to tingle as his fingers toyed with her flesh, groping at her breast and placing a heady kiss on her lips.
After his first kiss at the tourney, she had sunk into a deep pit of shame. She hadn't enjoyed it, but she hadn't disliked it. She didn't know which was worse, but the prince was skilled with his mouth and tongue, and he knew how to draw out sweet sounds with each drag of his tongue against hers. Of course, Aerion wished for her to enjoy this – the louder her noises, the more torment the knight standing at the door would endure. She felt her hands make their way over the prince's body, letting them press against his firm chest as he continued to crowd against her body. She didn't even notice Aerion smiling into the kiss as she let out another whimper, his hands having reached down towards the fat of her ass and delivering a sharp squeeze. Part of her was shocked that he had not simply thrown her on the bed and had his way with her, and the other part of her almost wished that had been so. Maybe then she would not feel so guilty for sinking in to his kisses more than she should have.
Aerion pulled away first, and the sight in front of him – gods. She was divine. Her previously done-up hair was now loose and tousled and accompanied by swollen lips that let heavy breaths pass through them. He'd barely even touched her, and she was like this, he thought to himself. He'd wreck her one day, no doubt about it.
"Kneel," Aerion commanded. For a moment, she hesitated but swiftly let her knees meet the carpet after she met his fiery gaze. Aerion took in the sight before him, groaning lowly at her wide eyes staring up at him.
"You're going to suck my cock, do you understand?" She nodded. She felt Aerion tangle his fingers in her hair, dragging her closer to his breeches.
"Take it out, pretty dove," he ordered.
With hesitant hands, she reached for the button at his waist, slowly peeling at the fabric until his smallclothes were visible. Looking up at the prince, he only hummed, directing her to continue. His hands were still stroking her hair as she removed his cock from his smallclothes, surprise flitting across her features as it sprang free from its confines. Aerion's cock was pretty, she thought, much like him. It was currently a deep shade of red, the tip visibly darker than the rest of the length, and the precum that weeped at his tip shocked her. He had been enjoying this much more than she thought.
It seemed Aerion had little patience for her appreciation of his length as he was soon shoving her head towards his tip, commanding her to open up. She could only oblige, and she quickly found her mouth full of the prince's cock.
Aerion groaned in ecstasy as he felt the warmth of her mouth envelop him. She struggled around him, spasming as he insistently shoved himself further down her throat before pulling back slightly, only to push further on his next thrust. He revelled in the grunts and gags that she emitted as he began a punishing rhythm, feeling her hands meet his thighs, pushing against the muscles. He wondered if she thought such a display would make him slow down, pull back and let her breathe. She would be sorely mistaken if she did. Instead, he was pushing deeper, grabbing at her hair to hold her down on his cock. She struggled as her nose met the base of his cock, her face smushed in coarse silver hair that surrounded his cock. Aerion grinned as she tried to pull back, only to find herself unable to move. Her palms slapped at his thighs now, a desperate attempt to gather air into her lungs once more.
"Look at me, dove."
Aerion watched her eyes meet his, tears streaming down her cheeks as he pulled her back a fraction, only to push her right back into his pelvis. A loud gag echoed around the chamber, and Aerion laughed loudly. He knew the sound of her gagging on his cock would've made it past the door and out to Ser Duncan. Finally pulling from her warm mouth, Aerion watched in glee as she slumped forward, heaving as she tried to fill her lungs. Drool ran down her face, sliding down her chin and onto the floor below. She looked like a filthy brothel whore, and yet none of those men could ever be worthy of her affections. Only a prince. Only him.
She thought maybe it had been over then, but when his fingers tightened in her hair once more, she found his cock back in her mouth with an unceremonious shove. She knew she was not doing it properly, or gracefully, and yet Aerion didn't seem to care. He didn't even seem to care whether or not she had done this before, only that her tongue was on his length and her throat was tight. She winced as she was once more dragged up and down his length, this time with Aerion's fingers clasping at her cheeks, hollowing them around his length. She heard him groan deeply and felt his hips pick up speed, now jackhammering into her mouth. He was close to his peak, and she desperately hoped he would pull her off him soon. It seemed her prayers would not be answered when the prince's hips began to stutter and he pulled her even closer, groaning loudly.
"Stay still and take it, pretty dove. Take it all down your throat. Swallow the seed of the dragon," he rambled loudly, growing closer to his peak. "If you – ugh, if you let a single drop go to waste, I'll make you lick it up."
She couldn't even nod as her face was suddenly pressed to his pelvis a final time, and she began to gag at the feeling of his warm, salty cum spurt down her throat. He only seemed to enjoy that, grinding himself deeper into her. She felt her nails dig into his thighs harder now and knew that she had broken skin. If he felt it, he didn't show it. He kept her there for a moment until he was sure all of his cum had been swallowed, and she was sure her face crinkled in disgust at the taste.
Unceremoniously, Aerion pulled his softening cock from her mouth. He looked down at her, seemingly pleased at her efforts. She let him drag his finger to the side of her mouth, swiping at the drop of his seed that had begun to dribble from her lips. He tutted, slowly pushing his finger into her mouth and raising his brow, signalling to her to suck it from his digit. As she did, he spoke.
"It seems you know how to worship your god, dove. You did well," Aerion praised. She did not know if she wished for his praise, but she supposed it beat facing a slap to her cheek if she had not. The healer watched as Aerion tucked his cock back into his breeches, humming to himself lowly. During the ordeal, her shift had slipped off her shoulders, baring her smooth skin to his eyes – which he lapped up greedily. She truly was beautiful.
Aerion moved towards the door, leaving her weakened frame kneeling on the floor. She knew she would have bruises the next morning.
"I will come find you again tomorrow night," he decreed, his hand resting on the door handle, "though perhaps I will not be so gentle then." With that, he disappeared behind the door, leaving her to stew over his words in the silence of the room. Gentle? If that had been gentle, she wondered whether throwing herself from the balcony of the keep would be a kinder fate than the one that awaited her. Would he make her bleed? Beat her black and blue? Or would he just fuck her until she was a shell of herself?
It was only the low murmurs behind the door that snapped her back into reality, realising with a gasp that Dunk had been outside her door the whole time. Her tears returned, thinking of the pain he must have been in while listening to the wretched prince defile her as such. She froze, waiting for the sound of voices to stop – she needed to speak to Dunk, but Aerion could not catch her. She knew he must have been taunting him, recounting the way he had filled her mouth in ghastly detail and made her swallow his seed like a common whore.
Feeling filthy, the healer quickly rid herself of the now sweat-soaked shift, replacing it with a nightgown and covering herself with a heavy velvet night robe before inching towards the door tentatively. She felt the rapid beating of her heart in her chest, its beat reverberating in her skull, as she worried that Aerion would be standing in the hall. She thought that perhaps he would, just to see if she would seek out the knight. Ever so quietly, she tugged at the handle and let her head inch forward, peeking into the hallway. However, to her dismay, it was not Dunk, nor Aerion, who stood in the hallway. Instead, the hallway was empty, not even a guard in sight.
Where had they gone? She needed to talk to Dunk desperately. With a look back at her chambers, she slipped into the hall, lightfooted as she made her way down towards what she believed was the main wing of the Red Keep. Wandering through the Red Keep at night was eerie, with flames casting shadows on the walls that made her skin crawl, always feeling like someone was watching her every step. It was deathly silent as she ventured further into the Keep. With every step, she felt the panicked feeling inside her grow – she needed to find Dunk. He had to hear her out. He had to know that she never wished for him to hear that. The healer didn't even notice the way her hands had been trembling since Aerion left her chambers or how her pace had started to pick up as she began to curve around the corners of the Keep. It seemed the adrenaline had not worn off yet.
The sound of a rat scurrying somewhere behind her had the woman whipping around, catching only the tail of the rat as it disappeared down another corridor. With a start, she continued on her journey, now somewhat distracted as she rounded another corner.
"Oh!" The healer exclaimed as she collided with a hard body, only to become speechless at the prince before her – Valarr.
He looked down at her curiously, and she supposed it made sense; Aerion's mistress running around the halls alone at night in a state of improper dress was a sight to see. She'd look at herself oddly, too.
"Hello, my lady," Valarr began, pausing as he caught her taking a step back.
"Might I ask what you're doing?"
When Valarr found her in the halls, he recognised what an opportunity he had been presented with. He could tell by her ragged breathing and tousled hair that Aerion had done something to her, but to what extent? That he didn't know. But her guard was down, and with a sweet word or two, he'd managed to get her into his chambers. Now here she was, sitting timidly on his chaise, waiting for him to speak – to realise why she was brought here.
Valarr looked at her, taking in the sight of her. He needed to tread carefully. He'd let his annoyance take over at their first meeting, and he didn't want her to be scared of him – the opposite, in fact.
"Your position in this court is not safe, my lady," Valarr stated plainly, though not unkindly. "Aerion could change his mind in an instant, and you will be cast out onto the streets. Though he is... enamoured with you now, you must think ahead."
The healer was still, taking in his words. They had all heard stories of the women chewed up and spat out by the royals of times past, but for it to now be her facing this fate? Her whole body felt tense, confused and scared. She just wanted to be on the open road again, selling her tonics and sharing bread with Dunk.
"Think ahead? How – what could I do? I have no power here, my prince," she lamented.
Valarr directed his attention to his wine glass to hide the small smirk that tugged at his lips involuntarily. He knew that she had no power, obviously. She was going along with his plan so far.
"You must become useful to someone else, my lady."
"Useful?" she questioned. "As a healer, you mean? I could do that!"
Valarr quickly cut her off. He looked at her, still curled up on the chaise, her previous tremors having subsided. Gods, she was beautiful, he thought.
"Not quite... You see, my father came to me today with an interesting proposition. He spoke of the future of our house and of our line. Tell me, my lady, do you know of your family?" Valarr questioned.
She thought for a moment, pondering why he had begun such a line of questioning. She grew up in a small village in the Vale – nothing remarkable. She had lived with her family until she joined Dunk and Ser Arlan on the road.
"Yes, my prince. My mother was a healer as well, and my father a blacksmith."
"And do you have siblings?" he probed. She nodded in agreement.
"Many, my prince." That seemed to please Valarr, and he hummed lowly. She watched as the prince slowly ambled over to where she sat, setting himself down by her side. She felt her breath hitch, now being able to see the prince up close – even closer than in the council chambers. Here, she could see his mismatched eyes, the furrow of his brow, and the weariness that seemed to show in the bags under his eyes. Having him in such close proximity made her body feel alive, a warm heat spreading across her in such a pleasant way that made her inch ever so much closer to the prince.
Valarr reached out gently, letting his fingers trace the fabric of her nightgown. He had been a gentleman since he found her in the halls, but now he finally let his eyes run over her body. Aerion's doing, certainly, for the nightgown was truly indecent. Scraps of silky white fabric and lace covered her body, a low plunge highlighting her figure to him. In that moment, Valarr felt thankful to his cousin for gifting him such a pleasant sight.
"You should not have to live at the mercy of my cousin's temper, my lady."
His hand reached up to her jaw, his fingers lingering for a moment before finally cupping her face softly. His fingers brushed tenderly over her cheek, and the softness of his touch momentarily disarmed her, allowing Valarr to lean in close and press his lips to hers.
The soft gasp that escaped her lips was music to Valarr's ears, and he found himself invading her space, crowding his body closer to hers. To his satisfaction, he felt her practically collapse into his frame, limp and plush in his arms. Valarr supposed that, compared to the grunt and brutality of Aerion, he was a welcome respite, allowing her guard to drop (even if it shouldn't have). He let his other hand move lower, finding her thigh and pulling her even closer into him, feeling her own hands reach for his shoulders as if to grasp onto. The healer was eagerly kissing him back now, letting him push his tongue into her mouth with surprising agility. He could taste the need on her lips, like a desperate ache to be cared for, loved – cherished. It was when Valarr felt the first minute grind of her hips – something that he was sure she hadn't even realised she had done, against his own hardening cock – that he sharply pulled away, panting.
Valarr thought he might break then at the sight of the woman in front of him, her lips swollen from their kiss and chest rising and falling as she tried to gather spare air into her lungs. The movement only highlighted her hardening nipples to the prince, and he held back a groan that threatened to escape his chest.
He watched her open her mouth, then, as if thinking better of it, purse her lips tightly together.
"What is it?" He asked, kind and sweet as he reached to brush her cheek. He saw her hesitate again, but it seemed she finally gathered up the courage to speak.
"Did I...did I do something wrong, my prince?"
Oh, gods. She was so precious, Valarr thought. "No, my sweet girl," he reassured her, moving her off his lap gently, "it is only that I wish to move us somewhere more comfortable."
At that, she seemed relieved and let the prince lead her to his bed – a large, four-postered thing covered with deep velvet covers and plush pillows. As he lay her down, she could only think of how magnificent it was, though she quickly found her thoughts growing fuzzy once more as Valarr climbed on top of her, his warm, soft lips back on hers. Hands finding his shoulders once more, she barely noticed that he'd shed his tunic and now only his blouse remained.
The healer sank into the bed, growing more entranced by the brunette prince atop her: the way he felt and moved and how he touched her. Compared to Aerion, his touch was soft and gentle – like he revered her. It was the first moment that felt soft since she'd first met the Targaryens, and she never wanted the feeling to end. Valarr pulled away, slower this time, so as not to startle her, and looked softly down at her.
"I—gods... I promise to protect you, always. I will claim you as my own, give you a title, whatever I must do to keep you here, just like this, and far, far away from my cousin," Valarr stated, taking her in once more. The prince went to kiss her again but paused only a fraction away from her face, close enough that she could count every eyelash on his perfect eyes with him this close. She swore she saw a flicker of something in his eyes for a second – perhaps hesitation? But as soon as she put a name to it, it was gone, and he was leaning closer, moving to kiss down her neck. He mouthed at the soft skin, leaving small red marks and nipping in a way that made her gasp, tilting her neck to the side to give him better access. Valarr, pleased, let his hands wander to her thighs, pushing the silky nightgown higher until he had access to the bare skin. He groaned into her neck and slotted himself between her legs, letting his fingers wander higher and harshly gripping the flesh of her thigh as she began to wriggle under his body, the sensation of his tongue laving across her upper chest causing her to whine breathlessly.
"But there is one thing I need from you, my sweet girl," Valarr mumbled lowly, coming to rest his chin on her breastbone. It allowed him a clear view of the mindless nod she gave him in response, her body desperate for him to continue his ministrations.
"I need an heir."
That made her pause. Valarr felt her legs drop slightly, no longer practically wrapped around him. The fingers that had been tangled in his hair froze, and Valarr managed to hold back a whimper at the loss of sensation. He thought his heart might break at the sight of her face – crestfallen. Instantly, Valarr was dragging her up, gathering her face in his hands and wishing to know what she was thinking, rather than the silence he was getting.
After a moment, she spoke. "An heir? But – but should that not come from your wife, my prince?"
"Please, it is Valarr... not my prince. Not here," he requested, staring up at the woman now sitting in his lap. "My wife and I are not a love match. She has a duty, and at that she has failed. It is time I must consider other options."
The healer looked at him, stunned, still unsure of the proposition. A child was not a small ask. To give him a child would change her entire life, and in ways she could not predict. Never had she really thought too deeply of the possibility of a family, aside from knowing it would be expected of her one day, but for a long time she had been content with travelling on the open road. And now, Valarr came to her with such a proposal. A future King’s bastard to grow in her belly — surely it would not be well received by the smallfolk.
"Surely, you jest?" She asked.
"Your mother was fruitful," he began, returning his hands to her thighs, "and I see no reason you would not be too. Otherwise, perhaps I have misread this."
She looked at him in confusion, offhandedly noting the way Valarr's fingers had crept under her nightgown once more, the fabric now pushed up to bare the full expanse of her bare leg.
"Perhaps you wish to return to Aerion's side... I am certain he would be glad for it," he continued, watching as she flinched at the suggestion, almost imperceptibly. "I do not doubt he would be pleased to fill you with his monstrous child in my stead."
At that, he saw the flash of fear in her eyes, and he knew – he had her. The notion of being tied in eternity to a man like Aerion could convince even a Septa to take up his offer. Valarr let his fingers move once more, slowly inching towards her core. At the first swipe of his fingers through her slick folds, she was falling into his arms again, whimpering at the pleasure coursing through her body. He moved lower, slipping a finger inside of her cunt and cupping his hand just so to let it press against her sensitive bundle of nerves, watching as this time, she cried out. When she began involuntarily grinding into his hand, Valarr felt his own cock harden even more. Pulling her head back from its now slumped position on his shoulder, he sought an answer.
With Valarr letting his finger be joined by another, curling and rubbing against her ribbed inner walls, she spoke in between moans. "I – are you sure? You – oh! You will protect me? You swear it?"
Valarr nodded, letting his free hand squeeze tenderly at her breast, fingers rolling her nipple just so to make her squirm. With the dual stimulation, she was finding herself growing hazy with the pleasure.
"Give me a son – even a daughter would suffice, to start, and I will make sure no one ever dares to wish you harm. You would not stand to wonder whether your days would be filled with kindness or pain. You would be mine."
Valarr watched the last shred of sense leave her head and, with a sense of sheer unbridled victory, witnessed the moment she nodded in agreement. He saw the hesitancy still lingering, and yet he could not find it in himself to care. Surging forward with a passionate kiss, Valarr removed his hand and pushed the nightgown up and fully off her body, baring her entirely to him. Gently dropping her back into the mattress, he hovered over her and took in her bare frame. She was The Maiden herself, lying there for the taking.
"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered whilst finally freeing himself from his breeches, "you will be so loved."
A sharp knock drew Valarr from his slumber, though it seemed it had not woken the woman curled up at his side. Tenderly removing himself from under the covers, he made his way to the door. Behind the wood stood Baelor, still and stoic as ever.
Baelor took in the sight of his son, bare except for linen sleep shorts. Valarr's neck and chest bore signs of a pleased woman, with splotchy red marks and scratches scattering his skin. Looking past his son, he laid eyes on the woman sleeping in his bed, tangled up in sheets and as bare as the day she was born. Baelor took in the sight, tracing his eyes upon the pieces of exposed skin available to him, and pretending that the slight stir of his cock was simply an inconvenience. That the sight of a well-fucked woman was not spurring envy in his chest.
"I see that she agreed to the proposition, then?" Baelor questioned, still not drawing his attention from her figure.
Valarr's head tilted slightly, watching his father's lustful gaze. He noted to keep an eye on that.
"She did," Valarr agreed, "though she was hesitant at first."
"Good. I suppose I shall speak to Aerion on the morrow, then," Baelor grimaced. His nephew would not take well to losing such a precious gem, least of all to the cousin he despised. The cousin with the title, the reputation, and the power that he craved.
"He will not take the news kindly, Father," Valarr uttered. He, too, turned back to look at the healer in his bed, grumbling in expectation of the new day. She was too alluring, her form too enticing – he almost wished she'd been plainer; that way, he wouldn't have had to compete with his cousin. But knowing that he could soon flaunt her in front of Aerion sent a sick shiver of satisfaction down his spine. Maybe he'd let Aerion watch next time – make his cousin fist his cock in his own hand while Valarr thrusted into her, making her cry out in pleasure. He'd probably like that, Valarr thinks.
Baelor interrupted his darkening train of thoughts with a firm grip on his shoulder. "You have done well, my boy. Return to bed, and we will speak soon."
Valarr nodded, watching his father leave with one last glance at the healer, before he himself returned to the bed, slotting in by her side. Subconsciously, her body found his, pushing herself into his willing arms and snuggling closer to his chest. She felt safe with him; that was clear. She stirred ever so slightly as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, a pleased hum ever so quiet escaping her lips.
Tomorrow would bring chaos, but for now, Valarr sank back into sleep with his healer in his arms, content at the thought of the life they would bring into the world together.
