Some short imagines of being the lover of those in House Hightower
Dark! House Hightower/Reader
Age gap imagines with my favorite house <3
Dark! Otto Hightower/Rhaenyra's Twin! Reader
♱ The younger twin sister of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you had taken more after your mother. Gentle and quiet in nature, you had developed into a wallflower of sorts, often overshadowed by your sister and forgotten by your father. Whilst Rhaenyra paraded around as heir, you are left to your own devices, and you much preferred it that way.
As did your father's closest companion.
♱ Otto Hightower watches as you grow from an anxious young girl to a delicate and elegant young lady, and he finds himself enraptured by you, as taboo as it may have been.
While your sister fled to Dragonstone, you remained in King's Landing, too worried about your father's condition to leave him alone. You don't marry due to your delicate health, and your days are spent in the library or in the sept, and it absolutely sets Otto aflame.
♱ Otto had no intention of finding love or lust after the death of his wife. Otto seems to find both in you as he snakes his way into your personal life.
You feel the grip of Otto's fist as he bunches up your gown, and you pray that no one enters the library as you whimper gently into the pages of your beloved book.
You can feel the hardness of his cock through his breeches, crying out as his thick, ringed fingers press into your cunt.
You knew Ser Otto to be an honorable man, but this was the farthest thing from honorable.
"M-My Lord," You stumble over your words, shivering at the kiss he pressed against the nape of your neck. Otto groans against you, a certain revulsion taking his mind. He had not felt lust overtake him in nearly a decade, and here you were, tempting sin from every inch of his being. A woman no older than his own daughter, a princess of the realm.
It was debauched.
It was vile.
It was arousing.
Otto thrust forward, his cock bottoming out with a roughness no one would expect from a man of his station. He'd have to manipulate your dying father into marrying you to him; that much Otto was sure.
Afterall,
You couldn't have any bastards running around, now, could you?
Dark! Ormund Hightower/Targaryen! Reader
♱ You were the last child of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, your twin brother dying along with your mother. You'd never met Aemma Arryn, and no one ever spoke of her to you. She existed as a ghost in your childhood, and you knew that your older sister blamed you to some extent.
Rhaenyra could not love you fully, but you had a family.
Alicent had raised you alongside her own children, loving you deeply.
So, when her cousin asks for your hand, there isn't much hesitation from your mother's side.
♱ You meet Ormund on an occasion when he comes to King's Landing, and before you know it, you are being courted by a man old enough to be your father. Ormund is older, yes, but he is kind, and he shares your dislike for your home. You never felt welcome in the Red Keep, and Ormund offers you a way out.
He's the yearning type, pining for you in a way he knew was not appropriate. You were so gentle, pious in a way that aroused Ormund to no end. He wanted you carnally, yes, but also in such a pure way. Ormund wants to worship you; he believes that you deserve it more than any god could.
♱ He marries you as quickly as possible, thinking that your union is preordained despite the age difference.
It didn't matter that he has been married before, it didn't matter that you were leagues younger than him.
Ormund wanted you.
So, he took you.
Ormund's hands are gentle as he holds your cheeks in his palms. A gasp leaves his lips as he catches your eyes glancing up at him. He can feel your tongue, your throat, your teeth. It's all too much to bear, and he's vaguely aware that you aren't married yet, and that he is corrupting you. A sin more egregious than murder, he would say.
Normally.
Your lashes flutter softly, and Ormund groans into your mouth; his fingers slip past your ears to cup your nape to keep you in place as he kisses you deeply. You're inexperienced; it's obvious in the way you move your lips uncertainly against his own, and how your hands fist his shirt anxiously.
It should bother him, Ormund thinks.
It should bother him that he is corrupting such innocence, taking your first kiss under the moonlight in the royal garden. It should bother Ormund, but it instead arouses him, his cock straining against his pants as his tongue slips past your lips and teeth. It isn't the first kiss you deserve, he knows, but he is losing his composure.
You gasp suddenly as his tongue runs over your own; the sensation is odd, yet not entirely unpleasant.
You pull away, then. Your voice is shaky as you pant from the lack of oxygen, suddenly hyperaware of the public setting of your encounter.
You are the very image of innocence, and it sets Ormund on fire.
He wouldn't take you tonight; he had his limits. Ormund would not debase you in such a manner; he was still a man of faith, as thin as his patience was being stretched.
It kills him to escort you to your room, kissing you goodnight, yet he does it without complaint.
Because a woman such as you deserved to be worshiped, not ravaged.
Dark! Gwayne Hightower/Lady! Reader
♱ No older than Gwayne's oldest nephew, you are a close companion of Daeron's, and you constantly have Gwayne questioning his morals.
A soft, gentle lady from the House of Ashford, you were a sweet little thing. Intelligent, yet naive in many ways. It came with your age, Gwayne thought, but you were a loyal friend to his beloved nephew. Daeron adored you, as did many others in Oldtown where you had been sent to Ward all those years ago. Four years Daeron's senior, your friend remained protective of you, much like a dragon would be over its treasure.
♱ Gwayne hates himself for being so attached to you. You were younger than him, a sixteen-year difference enough to make him feel just a little bit gross. Yet, he cannot stop himself from vying for your attention...
You are a gentle creature, Gwayne knows. He isn't used to the gentle hands or soft words that you offer him without thought, and so you often have him reduced to a fluttering mess of obsession.
It is you who has Gwayne wrapped around your finger, and the knight can no longer imagine his existence without you taking a vital part in it.
♱ Gwayne's love isn't intense or overstimulating; it is gentle and overcoming. He loves much in the way that he serves honorably. A knight's duty is to protect the innocent, and that is how Gwayne approaches your relationship.
He protects every aspect of your being, whether you believe you need him to or not.
Gwayne holds your hands tenderly, pressing his lips against your knuckles in a gentle gesture of pure devotion.
He can see your embarrassed expression, and it sets him alight with a certain fire he could not put into words even if he tried. He can feel your fingers tremble slightly as he holds them. You are a nervous creature, unable to help yourself at the feeling of his smooth lips pressed against your skin.
The intimacy of kissing your hands has Gwayne flushed down to his bones, yet he remains still, ignoring the arousal that stirs in his loins.
Gwayne glances at you as you whisper a simple utterance of his name, the syllables smooth against your tongue.
If you'd let him, Gwayne swears he'd worship you like a god. It may have been sacrilege, but a part of him didn't care. The Seven had nothing on his religion, the holy arousal that flowed through his veins instead of blood whenever you were near, whenever you allowed him to touch you like this.
Ser Gwayne was your devoted lover, in every sense of the word.
Dark! Alicent Hightower/Lady! Reader
♱ Alicent, who develops an unhealthy infatuation with one of her ladies-in-waiting. You are similar in age to Helaena, yet you chose to serve the Queen instead. You found a similar spirit in Alicent, looking up to her more than you could put into words, and Alicent enjoyed your company greatly.
You follow Alicent around like a duckling who had imprinted upon someone, and she finds it so enthralling.
♱ Alicent had been powerless for such a long time, never having had anything to call her own, so when she has you, she feels a certain power in her veins. You are willing to stay by her side, rejecting plenty of marriage proposals so you could continue under her watch. You would need her leave to marry, and you find that Alicent does not find any man worthy of your hand or womb.
Alicent does not know that she sees you in a romantic light until after Viserys passes. In some twisted way, she thinks of you as a sisterly companion. Her jealousy, she thinks, is due to her not having any friends at court. Alicent cannot bear the idea of you leaving her, especially not for some man.
♱ It's only after you come to comfort her in her chambers after her husband dies that Alicent's self-control snaps like a thread under a candle.
Two bodies melted together against Alicent's bed, a mess of gowns and misplaced undergarments. Alicent moans above you; a gentle whimper leaves her lips as she humps softly against your thigh, her fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. Her hips are stuttering, and you can feel the sticky wetness swear and drip against the soft flesh of your thigh.
Your own thighs tremble, your queen thumbs at your clit, and Alicent presses her lips against your own to stifle her own moans of pleasure.
It's a feeling of sweet relief, Alicent having never felt so satisfied a day in her life.
She had taken you much in the way men took their wives, and it was so...
Arousing.
Your nose bumps against her own, and you shyly grip at the dark green fabric of her gown, keeping it pulled past her hips so she could continue to hump at you like a depraved dog. Alicent can feel her core throbbing intensely, and she knows that she wouldn't trade this for anything.
She'd dreamt of this, she admits to herself. Dreamt of bending you over one of the wax-riddled sept corners, riding your backend like some sort of common whore.
These fantasies had resided in the darkest part of Alicent's mind, only allowed to surface in the quiet moments she allowed herself, usually in the comfort of her bath.
She intended to make the most of it now that she finally had you.
Criston Cole is such a realistic character because I, too, would become a munch if Alicent were my queen.
Imagining a desperate yandere who just can’t keep his hands off you….
Tags: yandere x reader, fingering, soft, gentle, dumbification, noncon, gn neutral reader, afab reader
He's plunging his thick fingers deep into your cunt, achingly slow. Other hand holding your face against his heart while you lay your back on his naked chest. His breath shaky as he watches his digits disappear past your folds, your juices forming a puddle beneath you.
The soft touches leaving you weak and shaky, unable to exert any more energy than a feeble push at his arm, nothing compared to the layers of muscle lining his body. Feeling the slow pumping, in, out, in, out - infinite and soooo fucking slow. Whining as drool slips down the corner of your mouth.
He cradles your face with his unoccupied hand, eyes drowning in your own. He leans in and messily licks up your spit, tongue flat against your face as his heavy breath hits your feverish flesh. You can’t even shake your head ‘no’ as he slobbers all over your cheek, his palm keeping you firm in place. Keeping you there for hours. Lazily fingering you until your brain melts out your pussy.
First like actual post on this account holy shit 😓
Will you make more of the Yandere Cult headcanons?
A new Cult idea has been inspired! Co-written by @sillyness343 who helped me out with this wonderful idea. The beginning is written by her! She deserves all the praise in the world for writing this and I hope you continue to write, my love <3
(everything @sillyness343 wrote is in itallics!)
- gender neutral darling this time!
Yandere Cult: Elves Addition
- oh fuck I had a dream abt this a while ago. It was amazing. But the elves were like, Tolkien elves, so they had some magic. They protect their forest zealously, but allow travellers to pass through the woods, so long as they do not step foot off the path. they throw joyous and bountiful parties beneath the trees, deep in the forest. But should any fool wander off the path and disturb them, the lights shall go out, the food piling the tables high, disappears, the laughter and revelry vanishes, leaving the foolhardy adventurer to stumble about blindly in the dark. Eyes previously blinded by the bright light illuminating the clearing, now blind in the all-consuming darkness. Blind to the terrible monsters reaching out for the easy prey, free to hunt in the elves' absence.
- The elves get attached to a darling that loiters around the entrance to the forest, never quite venturing further than the fringes, but thriving in the comforting presence of the trees at the edge of the forest. Dancing among the border trees, flitting in and out, just out of the elves' reach. Clearly exulting in the embrace of the younger, more welcoming trees on the outskirts, but too afraid, too flighty to travel any further. The elves are prevented from snatching them up, by the ancient agreements between their race, and the race of men. The edge of the forest isn't sacred ground, since new saplings are always taking root, and an honest woodcutter may chop down a few trees in order to feed his family.
- So the elves try to lure the darling.
- They somehow get the darling to go on walks furthur through the forest, instead of just loitering at the edge. Maybe they influence another human to talk to them (as opposed to doing it themselves, so as to not scare the darling away)?
- “Oh go on, you like being around trees, right? It’s really beautiful further inside the forest and nothing can go wrong if you just stay on the path! Give it a try!”
- And from how I see it, the only way the elves could convince another human to convince you into venturing deeper into the forest is with a little incentive, a little violence, a death threat sprinkled here or there. Perhaps, they’re holding an adventurer’s team hostage and the only way they can leave the forest alive is if the leader goes and convinces the cute human loitering around the forest to go inside.
- A shame that, even if they do complete the task, they won’t be leaving the forest alive but in boxes of black.
- The elves try to get the darling to leave the path, showing them warm, glowing lights and tinkling laughter coming from just behind those trees to the right of the path. There must be a clearing just through there, where you can be sure you would have a wonderful time. Or they try to entice them with a delightful smell, the promise of fresh-baked goods, of things sugary and savoury, warm and soothing. All you need to do is follow the scent (don't even worry about where your feet are taking you).
- But it doesn't work. Darling doesn't leave the path, no matter how tempting the visions the elves present are.
- However, the darling ends up getting chased by some dick from the local village, some young guy who can’t take a bloody hint, and darling being darling, runs away very fastly. Unfortunately, running in a more-or-less straight line along a very predictable path doesn't do much to deter pursuit, and the village boy is gaining on them.
- Darling swerves off the path, desperately weaving through the trees, and trying to make sense of their surroundings through their terror and their tears.
- Until they slam into something solid. They thrash around in their panic, even as strong arms wrap around their middle section. The look up, only to see the most stunning face they have ever gazed upon.
- They turn around and see two other strong, incredibly beautiful strangers are holding the village boy by his arms. The boy is dangling off the ground with how big the height difference between the elves (they had to be elves with the way they were dressed almost primitively in leafs and leather, armed with the wooden weapons they held and those pointy ears, too!) and him are. He is thrashing wildly but that does not deter the elves.
- The one who is holding the darling looks down and gently sets them down on their feet. He is a wonderfully beautiful man struck with Aphrodite’s arrow. He cups the side of their cheek and with his calloused thumb, gently wipes away the tears that had begun to pool in their eyes. “You’re safe now,” he says. “No harm will come to you. We will make sure of that.”
- If only you knew that they would count yourself as a harmful entity, too, and would do anything to ensure that no self-inflicted harm would occur, even if it meant they’d bound you with ropes and chains.
- Now, there are two ways this route can happen with two different version by two different writers. @sillyness343 offers one view and I offer another.
@sillyness343 - a meeker darling:
- Now, the darling is finally in the possession of the elves now, since they stepped off the path. Darling is given something or someone sings to them to relax them. They are sitting on the lap of one of the elven elders, surrounded by the rest of the elves in attendance. For a forest full of elves, there’s only a few in this tribe.They explain about how everything's alright, that they'll be well taken care of from now on. Darling isn't really listening cos they're all warm and sleepy, and this pretty person's warmth and voice is incredibly soothing. They drift off to sleep, and the elder just gently pats their head, and quietly orders for the darling's room and bed to be prepared.
- Extra: All of the elves are soo much older than the darling, even the youngest ones, who view the darling as a weaker, much more vulnerable sibling (or a potential mate hehe) are many decades older (which is, like I said, still young for elves).
- Hence, infantilization central.
- Everybody thinks that Darling is the sweetest, most innocent thing in the universe, and when they get “grumpy” or “throw a tantrum” (ie. “has had enough of everyone treating them like a child, and wants very much to go home now”) it’s just because they’re tired, and need a nap.
- You won’t be able to escape from them. These elves have lived in the forest for centuries. They command its very nature and fuel its rejuvination. The elves are the forest, but this is not the only tribe within it, and if you venture too far (if you get the chance, that is), you might just find yourself in the possession of another tribe.
- And they might not be as nice as the first one.
My version: the manipulative
- The elves worship you. They think you are beauty and nature embodied and they thrive off of any attention from you. Though the elves may be much older than you, there ways are more primitive and well, they probably haven’t been educated about the ways of psychology and operant conditioning.
- Yes, at first, you were confused and slightly scared about the predicament you found yourself in but slowly, the elves warmed up to you. They made it crystal clear that they had no intention to harm you and they were practically on their hands and knees for you. It would be a lie if you said that having such handsome men and women on their knees, bowing before you and pledging their heart and souls to you wasn’t a turn on.
- These elves are slender and strong and that is seen in the muscles that buldge from their arms and thighs and the way they can effortlessly lift up large logs of wood with ease. They are at your service 24/7 and but a simple command or word will have them rushing to your side.
- And you thrive off of it. I mean, who wouldn’t? Having these powerful and magical elves hang off of your every word was a power trip in and of itself.
- You are constantly surrounded by elves, guards and those who attend to you in any way possible. You are given the finest and freshest fruits and vegetables to munch on. They hunt the biggest animals to present to you as scared offerings and in every feast, you are the first to eat, a sign of great respect.
- The elders adore you and they are comprised of the most powerful and strongest elves. They command nature and the other elves like its nothing and wield an iron fist over the rules and sanctions over you. If you are on their good side (and you often should be as long as you don’t try to escape or continously reject the elves’ affections), you are given all the privilegs you could even think of, but if you are on their bad side...well, you don’t ever want to think about it.
- The elves are not a violent species. They are mostly pacificistic in their natures, but should you express delight in their physical prowess, you can best be certain that the more ambitious youngsters of the tribe will be hosting tournaments in your name. The prize often ends up being something relating to you and, like I said before, it’s too much of a power trip to decline.
- You adore the forest and the trees and once you heard that the elves could use magic, you were the one all over them. You beg and plead and whine for them to show you just a little whisp of their powers and they can’t help but give in. Their egos sky-rocket when you are in absolute shock of their gifts, face contorted into an expression of wonder and awe. Though the elders have commanded them to not use their magic excessively, they can’t help but show off a little whenever you’re around, pumping out more magic than necessary to rejuvinate the grass lands around them.
- But this new life does come with some unfortunate consequences, such as loss of freedom and minor autonomy; social isolation from any and all humans and sentient beings outside of the elves and the animals around; obsessed elves who could easily snap you like a twig who can’t control their clinginess and weird fetishes.
- But hey! At least you’re having fun...right?
- You are. You hate to say this but manipulating these elves, these supposedly hundreds of years old beings, is incredibly fun. You get away with it, too. A little bit of positive reinforcement or negative reinforcement here or there, an aversive stimuli sprinkled to the left, a pleasant one sprinkled to the right, and suddenly, they’re all putty in your hands and obeying your every will with voluntary behaviours that suit you in the end.
- Aka you manipulate them into being your bitches.
- You tend to listen to them mostly and not venture away from the tribe and its stronghold fortress of trees and buildings. It’s nice to be doted on and the novelty of the experience brings you great joy and boosts your ego to the max. Though, curiousity does get the better of you and you do try to leave sometimes. The first time, you were caught immediately and taken to the elders, to which they found great amusement in your pouts and complaints. But they soothed you as they took you into their laps and gave you pets, cuddles and kisses. You weren’t a big fan of the infantalisation, honestly, but when you’re suddenly engulfed in the mightiest elder in terms of physical strength, whose arms were easily the size of a tree trunk and whose chest was fluffy and warm and squishy— well...you can’t really complain.
- The mightiest elder is a bit (understatement of the year) of a himbo. He is kind and warm with the heartiest laughter you have ever heard. He takes great joy in drinking ale and wine made from the freshest grapes and streams, and he is not above (like the other elders) to fool around with the youngsters and partake in their immature contests. And hate to say it, but he’s my favourite hehe.
- The other elders are a little more sly, a little more wiser. They know about your manipulation but they do nothing to deter or stop you. If you are having your fun and are not looking to escape or cause any physical or mental harm, what’s the problem? They find it cute and they always watch you from above in the cavern inside the trees as you mingle and manipulate down below. Their eyes are predatory, as fierce and sharp as the eyes of a snake and sometimes they make you shiver and unnerve you but when they are staring at you from below, head buried deep between your thighs...yeah what’s there to complain?
- You are given so much freedom and liberty whilst with these elves only because you know that it comes from good behaviour and actively wanting to be with these elves. You are no fool. You know that the minute you step out of line or you majorly hurt the feelings of more than ten elves (because why would they blame you if one elf gets too close for comfort and you’re forced to slap them because you aren’t comfy? No, they’d blame the assaliant and give them a massive scolding about consent and a major punishment, too— because anything that brings harm to you in any way, shape or form is practically treason), you’re screwed. As long as you make an effort to like them back, the elders and the elves will let you do anything.
- You want to go out and tour the rest of the forest greatly, that has always been your wish since before you ventured deep and fell into their grasps. It was just that your fear stopped you. You have always been told about stories of violent and savage beings dwelling in the forest, who slaughter humans left and right if they stray from the perfectly paved path.
- Your fear deterred you back then and you waited years before you went inside. Your patience does not run very thin and you are simply biding your time until you are given the permission to leave and tour to your heart’s content with guard dog privileges, aka the multiple incredibly strong elves by your side.
thinking about baelor being forced to marry once more to a younger maiden from a wealthy house, and being made to have a bedding ceremony. he'd never had to have one before, but now, the lords seem worried that he will refuse to consummate his marriage with her.
thinking of baelor instructing her through their first time together, his words low for only her to hear, guiding her through each movement as she looks up at him, frightened every time a noise comes from behind the sheer curtains, reminding her of the eyes watching them.
"settle yourself like this" "lower your hips for me" "relax into it" "let me in just a little more, darling"
thinking of how even if it's not a night born from love, he's kind to her, helping his new wife through what is an unpleasant experience for them both, but especially for her.
and mostly, i'm thinking of baelor returning to his chambers the next night and finding his new wife waiting for him on his bed, all dolled up in a silky nightgown, and her timidly asking him,
"how would you like me, husband?"
gods, he should send her back to her room; he knows that, but he finds himself inching towards her, tugging at the laces of his doublet.
"on your back... so i might see your face," he commands.
thinking of baelor who hasn't felt a woman's touch in years, and now his pretty young wife is trembling in his arms, her nails scratching at his sides as he slides himself inside of her once more, filling her up so much that he can see her brows pinching at the stretch he gives her, her mouth parting in a strained gasp.
"you can take it, darling. breathe into it... let me in"
he's all about the praise too, telling her she's a good girl for him, and that she's doing well, and baelor quickly learns that his praise helps her loosen up, but it also makes her wetter, her wetness coating his cock more with every kiss and word of praise.
and at the end of it all, once he's spilt inside of her and lies panting beside her?
"you've done very well, darling. you've pleased me greatly on this night"
she's flushing under his attention, and quietly she asks,
"would you like me to return tomorrow night as well, husband?"
he's pausing for a moment, and then nodding. he needed to carry out his duties, did he not?
tw ( yandere , stockholm syndrome kind of ? , reader has already been kidnapped )
lol i havent posted since january i think ... long overdue
you thought that if you stayed in there long enough, he’d go away. unfortunately, you were wrong.
“…you locked the door,” he said eventually, as he slid down to sit against the door, “that’s okay. i’d be scared too,” he added, softer.
don’t speak, you reminded yourself.
“it’s quiet in there, yeah?” his tone stayed even, careful, like anything sharper might send you further away. “i bet it feels safer in there for you, doesn't it?”
a small pause.
“gets lonely, though,” he murmured. “you know it does.”
his hand pressed lightly against the door.
“did i do something wrong?”
fuck.
he sounded so sincere.
that was the problem.
he would always make you feel guilty, his stupid words, the way he would just say them so gently, as if his words were full of concern rather than control-
“i just…” he exhaled quietly. “i’ll give you space, okay? i mean it. just… open the door for me.”
“please.”
your fingers trembled as you turned the knob.
he moved back the second he heard it, shifting away from the doorway without hesitation… just like he promised to give you room.
his eyes found yours immediately, softening in a way that made your chest twist.
“that’s better,” he murmured.
your grip stayed tight on the door.
ready to close it again. he noticed, but knew to not comment.
(You asked and you got delivered, this is kind of shitty sorry tho)
Dark!Dunk is actually perfect especially if the reader grew up with him, because then she would not suspect a thing. She would trust him with her life and she still has the memories of old sweet Dunk.
She probably does not even notice he changed because truthfully he hasn’t. He is still sweet, respectful and kind. He is just more possessive over what he consider his.
The first time he set his gaze on you he was over the moon. Your beauty was just out of this world. Your eyes, gods, your eyes were like shiny stars. And your voice was like a warm embrace, he missed it whenever he had to be apart from you for even a few seconds.
After ser Arlan died he was more free to act on his thoughts. Whenever he saw a men wanting to approach you, he wrapped his arms around you. To you it seemed like just him trying to guide and protect you through the crowd of people. But he was actually glaring daggers at the poor man who had even dared glance your way.
During your small breaks at some tavern he has started a fight more than once after hearing men talk about his pretty companion. If he wasn’t stopped he would have killed them.
But when you were tending to him, looking at him with such disappointment that he wished for the ground to swallow him whole. He never wanted to see that look on your face again, especially when it was directed to him. He tried to excuse himself, telling you that it had been the man to provoke him and that he had done the right thing.
And poor naive you believe him, because your sweet Dunk would never do anything harmful unless it was really necessary.
When you had meet your small bald companion who called himself Egg, you were so motherly toward the young boy. Always talking to him softly and gently, it made Dunk imagine that was how you would be talking to your future kids once he will marry you.
During the tournament he has basically caged you in his arms to shield you from the hungry men gazes, he was sure to remember their faces for later.
But what he didn’t except was when the young prince, Aerion to set his gaze on you.
He still remembers how the prince raked your figure with such a hungry gaze.
So he was not to be blamed when his fist had collided with the prince’s face. He found pleasure in doing it. Had it not been for the guards he would have continued, each hit with more strength.
Thankfully you had thought he had done it to save the puppeteer girl. He couldn’t even remember her name.
-🐞
You'd think he was being so brave, saving a defenceless woman from an impulsive and angry prince, and when you're praising him, he's more than happy to play along.
He's been in love with you for so long now that he doesn't really remember what his life was like before you came into it, and he doesn't want to think about a life without you in it, either. You and he are going to be together forever. Even if Egg can't keep travelling with you, he'll happily give you another sweet child to coddle and coo over.
But now he's got this pesky trial of seven to deal with, and he's trying to figure out how to keep you away from Aerion, too, and now Egg's stupid older brother is eyeing you up? Dunk's shoving you into Rowan's tent and telling her to watch you, hoping that he can focus better now that you aren't hovering nearby looking all pretty.
I think nobody's gonna know whose baby healer is going to have since all of them take turns to enjoy her. I don't think it would be too relevant to her situation either since she can always have more. Sure, there is jealousy and caution between them as they try to figure out who the real baby daddy is but surely it will be fine, right?
A brawl here and there between Valarr and Aerion over who bedded you more, fists colliding until they bleed and the knights decide it's time to intervene. Now they sit opposite sides on the infirmary, glaring at each other as Baelor explains with an icy anger reflected on his eyes. That fighting can stress her and the baby out. He doesn't need the overzealous heirs of house Targaryen messing with his baby's mother—Surely they don't want to upset her now that she's with child! Her health is delicate!
Desperate whispers from a highly intoxicated Daeron rutting against her leg, eyes tearful and pleading as he begs to know if that babe is his. He saw it on one of his dreams, surely he deserves his first-born in his arms. This suspense is tearing him apart. He'll drink less as long as you give him a family.
Maekar is already surrounded by six devils—I mean kids— so what's one more? A babe with your beautiful hair and his deep violet eyes. Aegon would adore a little sibling from the gorgeous woman who stepped in to care for him while away from his father. It just proves how maternal she is! "This first one better be mine." He'll growl, a hand braced over the gentle swell of her belly before spreading her thighs wider and going deeper as he rocked his hips against her. Oh, you thought the pregnancy would stop them? No, it makes them worse!
Baelor is more deceptively gentle! Maybe she hasn't shown signs of any pregnancy and now she fears Dunk will suffer from her inability to provide the realm with an heir. So our sweet Baelor starts helping her out (like all the others). As pregnancy moves along, he'll come around her lavish quarters bearing gifts and asking her how she's is doing. Have you eaten well? You must rest! Is your body aching? He brought this relaxing oils from Lys just for you! Let him strip you so he can massage it into your radiant and plump curves~ Don't mind if he helps himself to that oasis between her legs!
Then you give birth to a cryptically Targaryen baby. Pale hair and mismatched eyes that give nothing away about his parantage aside from looking like he belongs to the family.
I can imagine them circling her like vultures during her healing period so they can be the first ones to try for the next babe. As soon as the maester gives the OK, she's doomed to spend most of her day spreading her thighs and holding onto their heaving muscular bodies with painful pleasure.
Being a concubine for the Targaryens sure is hard work🔥
Oh my god, this is perfect! I don't think I have anything to add, for once!!!
Baelor's so sweet! Daeron sad and pathetic (just how I like him). And Maekar? So mean!
pairings: girldad! baelor targaryen & daughter!reader (THIS IS PLATONIC)
synopsis: baelor targaryen would be the ultimate girldad
a/n: sorry to those who wanted wife!reader, i just ended up rolling with daughter!reader bc i really wanted some girldad!baelor fluff in my life, but if you still want wife!reader after reading this, pls let me know in the comments!
daughter!reader who was the apple of Baelor's eye the second you came into the world - crying, screaming, and oh, so perfect.
Baelor burst out of the council room and stormed through the Red Keep's halls to his destination. All morning, he had been locked in discussion with the members of the Small Council; this year's harvest from the Reach was less than expected, and their lords were demanding the crown's intervention in settling matters of the small folk. A discussion that should have only lasted two hours at most nearly took up the entire morning.
And due to the lords' prattle, Baelor was neither informed the moment your mother's labour began, nor was he present at your birth.
A fact that would never be forgotten - Baelor would ensure that.
"A girl, your Grace," Maester Yormwell announced, voice trembling and eyes misty, as he handed the prince the newest addition to the royal family. "A healthy princess - ten fingers and ten toes."
Baelor 'Brakespear' Targaryen, firstborn son to King Daeron and Queen Myriah, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.
As soon as he laid his eyes on your face - scrunched and oblivious to the world - he was reduced to your loyal servant for all your years.
Baelor took you in his arms, and in that moment, he swore - on his name, on his life - that he would make the world safe and sound for you.
daughter!reader who Baelor insists on taking everywhere with him. Everywhere the Hand of the King went, you were in his arms, balanced on his hip - your tiny, chubby hands always clutching your father's doublet and pawing at his beard. Anytime someone entered the Hand's solar, Baelor would be revising numbers and queries with you sitting in his lap. Eyes glued to the paper, one hand writing out solutions to whatever problem was addressed to him, the other holding you close to ensure that neither of your tiny, chubby hands grabbed anything that could mean potential harm.
He had been staring at this piece of parchment for far too long. Impassive was his face, but exhaustion was stark in how his shoulders sagged and the furrow in his brow. Royal finances were always tedious to look over, but they needed to be done. If not addressed immediately, it would result in the kingdom's suffering. Baelor refused to allow such a future arise.
Setting the quill down, Baelor closed his eyes and leaned back against his chair. A moment's reprieve to ease some of the tension. But the weight in his lap shifted, and a soft gurgle entered his ears. Baelor opened one eye to peer down to see you looking up - eyes wide with innocence and completely unaware of the burdens that your family name demanded. Your father's expression softened immediately and decided to impart some words of wisdom to you.
"Remember this well, sweetling," he whispered gently, the familiarity of his voice enraptured all your attention. "This family will require much strength and test your will." He stroked your round cheek with the back of his finger as he continued to take in the sight of you. "But steady patience and a firm morality will help prepare you for any obstacle that may come your way."
You grabbed his finger with both hands and placed it in your mouth. Baelor softly chuckled as his eyes filled with absolute love and adoration for you, his little princess. Too engrossed with your actions to even look up when the door to his solar creaked open and see who interrupted his peace. But there was no need for Baelor to break his concentration - the steady, measured strides gave away his eldest.
Valarr stopped before his desk. He nodded in greeting and spoke in an even tone, "Father."
"Valarr," Baelor nodded back.
"It has been one hour past since Grandfather called for the Small Council meeting today."
"Has it?" Baelor looked at the sundial in confirmation. Indeed, it was as his son stated, an hour had passed. He stood from his desk, still holding you in his arms as he strode past your brother. "Thank you for reminding me, son. Let us be off."
Valarr stepped in front before Baelor could pass through the door. "Father."
"Yes?"
"Grandfather told me that I need not attend this meeting as cupbearer, therefore," Baelor watched your brother open his arms with great amusement, "in the best interest of the princess, I should take over in watching her."
daughter!reader who was equally spoiled by her older brothers, no matter how much they pretended otherwise.
Baelor raised a brow, "I do not think that necessary.
"I assure you, it certainly is."
Baelor held you a bit tighter, "Her highness' attendance will prove most beneficial for her education."
"Not if the king and his Hand spend the entire time cooing after her," Valarr declared as he ever so patiently eased you in his arms, his and Baelor's mismatched eyes lighting up in joy at the sight of you snuggling to your eldest brother's warmth. "Ease your worry, the princess will not notice your absence in mine and Matary's company."
"How very generous." Baelor gave a flat stare to your brother for his quip, but upon looking at your peaceful face, his irate gaze softened. Pressing a kiss on your temple and a comforting pat on your brother's shoulder, he bid his goodbye. "I shan't be too long."
"Take all the time needed, Father," Valarr replied. When Baelor left the room, and your eldest and most serious brother was confident the heir to the throne was out of earshot, he took on a more jovial tone. "Hello, little sister! Big brother will watch over you today!”
Unknownst to his son, Baelor remained just outside his solar. An amused chuckle gave way when he continued his way to the council room. It filled his heart with joy to see his sons receive their newest sibling so warmly. While they met his second wife with skepticism, they were more than happy to play with their little sister.
daughter!reader who Baelor could never deny anything of which you desire.
A lemon cake before dinner? Alright, just one, but no telling your mother, and you must finish all your veggies.
You brought in a bunny from the woods to take it in as a royal pet? How wonderfully fitting. Fantastic idea. Yes, sweetest, you can absolutely name it “Ser Flounce.”
You drew on the carefully drawn up diagram for the new drawbridge that had been thrice-revised by your grandfather, your father, and the architects? Well, in your defense, it was a very pretty pony.
You think Papa, Uncle, and Grandpapa should be decorated with pink ribbons? Oh, but of course, what a lovely idea. Yes, your Uncle Maekar certainly could use some brightening up. No, no, no, dearest, even bigger - perfect.
daughter!reader who grew up escaping her nursemaids and running out of her septa’s lessons without consequence.
You little feet pitter-pattering across the stone floors of the Red Keep, giggles ringing like small bell-chimes as you was chased down by whomever was supposed to be watching you, and would always run to Baelor, regardless whomever he discussed with at the moment.
“PAPA!” You called out to your father with glee.
The Hand of the King recognized your voice in an instant and turned to see you running towards him with a smile that beamed brighter than the Dornish sun. He crouched down with open arms as you barreled into him, arms flinging around his neck and you clung onto him tightly.
Baelor stood tall with you secure in his arms, “Byka prumia,” he whispers, as he presses a kiss to your round cheek, humming in appreciation at your erupted giggles. “And to whom do I thank for you gracing me with such a warm welcome?”
Before you could answer, a cry rang through the hall, “Princess!” Further down the hall, an exhausted figure ran to the little Princess and her father, and finally stopped to catch her breath when she reached them. “My Prince, my Lords, please forgive me. I did not mean to present myself in as such an unkempt mess.” Bereft as she was, the old septa still bowed in respect to the prince and the lords surrounding him. She bowed once more before setting her sights on you. A furrowed brow and pursed lips made clear that a stern lecture was in your very near future. “Princess, how many times have I asked you not to run out of your lessons?”
You gave it no thought, having been in this discussion many times already in your life, “Lots.”
Septa Lemore’s furrowed brow grew deeper, “And yet, you still do not obey?”
You shook your head with a toothy grin, “No!”
“Ah, running away from Septa Lemore again, my heart?” Baelor bounced you in his arms. His pointed stare gave off no heat as you snuggled closer. “That is very un-princess-like, indeed.”
“But I was bored!” You pitifully whined at your father. If you had to stitch another flower, you would surely expire! “I told Matarys that there were mermaids in Godswoods lake, and he laughed!” You pouted at the memory of your eldest brother - you’d show him! “He laughed at me and called me ‘silly,’ Kepa! So you must come with me so that we can prove him wrong!”
Your father laughed at your logic. A genuine, loud laugh. Truly, there was not another child in all the realms with an imagination as whimsically active as yours. Nor as demanding, likely.
You huffed in indignation, “You, too, think me silly!”
Baelor shook his head, “No, no, no, my sweet girl - no, of course not.” He pressed little kisses on both your cheeks to placate your ire. “Not at all. But searching for mermaids must come at another time, I’m afraid.” He gently placed your feet on the ground. “As you must return to your lessons with Septa Lemore.”
“…and after my lessons?”
“After your lessons will be supper, my sweet.” He tapped your nose with a smile. “But if you are patient and treat Septa Lemore with respect, then we will look for the mermaids in the lake for a whole day. Will that suffice, dearest?”
You thought of it for a moment. Lessons were very boring, and you certainly did not want to return to them. But the idea of an entire day with your beloved father to prove your brother wrong was most definitely better than a few short hours. Even if that meant you’d have to suffer more dull lessons.
“Very well,” you nodded in agreement. But before the Prince of Dragonstone could return to his royal duties, you held out your hand, and looked at him expectantly. “But first, you must walk with me back to my lessons.”
“Oh? Must I?”
“Yes, you must.” You looked him straight in the eyes with all the seriousness you could muster. “Princely fathers must always escort their princess daughters.”
And how could one argue against such sound logic?
Baelor nodded in understanding, turning to the lords that were still waiting. “Excuse me, my lords, I must honor my duties to the princess.”
He gently held his most precious daughter’s hand as the two of you, along with Septa Lemore, walked back to your lessons.
"You realize our family name and image will long be dragged through the shit-stained streets of Flea Bottom before you deny that child anything."
Baelor looked up from the scroll to see his Maekar, his youngest and most loyal brother, stare down at him with all the severity his nickname, the 'Anvil,' promised. Sadly, though, his little brother's sour and stern glower proved to be of little effectiveness. What, with the addition of pink ribbons and flowers tied to his silver-gold strands. Try as he did, Baelor could not stop the peals of laughter fighting their way out of his chest. Gods, he had not laughed so hard since the first time Maekar's little jewel donned a crown of roses and brushed him with rouge.
"Oh, fuck off," Maekar spat, crossing the room in three strides to sit across from his brother at his desk. The brutish scowl did little in drawing any attention away from the reddening tips of his ears. "That child is a fucking menace."
"Such discourteous words, brother," Baelor scolded, though there was no heat in his words. No, he was much too amused by the sight - that much was clear. "Especially when they are directed at your niece, who has yet to celebrate her fifth name day."
"Gods help us all," Maekar shuddered at his brother's reminder. "Dare I ask how much damage the royal treasury will take?"
Baelor shook his head with a chuckle, "You need not worry. I managed to talk our father out of hosting a tourney. We'll have a feast, as is customary." He picked up his quill to begin his writing, continuing on with his original task. "I trust Mother is pleased to have her jewel so close again?"
"Fucking hells, don't remind me," Maekar pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes. "Since our arrival, Mother's been badgering me nonstop to betroth my daughter to Valarr. I've had to all but lock my girl in her room, stating that she was ill just to get a fucking moment's peace."
The eldest among the two chuckled softly and was met with another narrowed glare from his younger brother. "You laugh now, but soon your girl will be of age, and it will be your turn with Father breathing down your neck for suitors for her hand."
Baelor's amusement came to an abrupt stop. "That day will not come for many a year."
Maekar barked a short laugh. "Not so many, believe me." But his amusement was short and faded to a serious line. "No, the years come much too fast."
A somber silence fell upon the two brothers. The once-light mood in the solar shifted to something tense. An atmosphere too taut until the large doors opened with neither a knock nor announcement, and the two brothers looked up to see the centers of their worlds peeking in as if to test the waters of a dock.
Baelor relaxed immediately. A small smile curves at his mouth and gives silent permission for you and your favorite cousin to enter.
"Hello, Papa!" you dashed into the room straight to your father, you stood on your tippy-toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Mandia and I made tea!
"Hāedar, you must announce yourself before entering," your sweet cousin instructed while following close behind. In her hands balanced a silver tray with tea and a plate of honeyed dates. She set it aside before kissing her father's cheek and nodding to her uncle. "Kepa, Uncle, I hope you don't mind, but I brought a pot of tea. The tea is a blend I cultivated in Summerhall."
"Thank you, niece," Baelor gave a warm smile to his brother's eldest daughter. "My brother has told me your blend is quite miraculous."
"Father likes to boast," she replied, cheeks flushed at the praise, but still pleased nonetheless, while handing her father a cup. "It is none too special."
"Nonsense," Maekar scoffed, waving off his child's modesty before taking a sip. The familiar taste was enough to ease much tension in his aged body. "Every other tea now tastes of horse piss in comparison."
You gasped at your uncle's language and pointed an accusatory finger at him, "Papa! Uncle said a bad word again!"
Baelor nodded and lifted you onto his lap, "Yes, and you must never say those words yourself, sweetling." He tickled your tummy, causing you to burst with laughter. "Were you good and helped your cousin prepare this tea?"
"Yes!" You nodded triumphantly, chest puffed up with pride at your accomplishment. "Mandia wanted to give you and Uncle fruit, but I told her you liked honeyed dates better!"
"A most wise pairing, daughter," your father's praise gave you reason to beam. "It will certainly aid your uncle and me as we discuss royal finances."
"Do you require any assistance, Uncle?" your cousin asked as she handed Baelor his cup. "I've assisted Father in looking over the accounts at home. Perhaps I could help ease the load."
Maekar waved his hand, "Absolutely not," he shot down immediately. He turned to her with a stern frown. "Tonight we'll be joined by your brothers, and gods help us all, I'll need to borrow as much as your strength permits in handling them."
Your cousin pursed her lips, "But-"
"Mandia!" You tugged on her skirt with a pout. "You promised to read to me when we finished serving the tea! Do not break your promise!"
"Oh," she gave a cheeky grin, "did I?"
"Yes!"
"Oh, very well," she took your hand in hers before saying her goodbyes to your father and hers. "Father, please remember to rest a bit yourself. You always look a bit worse for wear whenever we come to Kings Landing."
Maekar rolled his eyes, but Baleor could tell his brother was touched by his daughter's concern. There was a reason she was his very favorite amongst the seven. "My own child lecturing me on my horrid appearance, how very befitting," he drawled, but took her other hand in his and softly patted it to give her some ease of mind. "This will not take long."
You waved to your father and uncle before exiting the solar, eager to spend the day with your most beloved cousin before supper. "Bye-bye, Papa!"
"See you at supper, dearest."
"Do not take too long, Father."
"Yes, yes."
The large doors closed again, and the solar grew quiet once more. But the air held much less intensity than before. No doubt due to the princesses that graced their fathers with their presence, if only for a short while.
Yes, the future was uncertain, but if their girls could remain safe and happy - all was right in the House of the Dragon.
roll credits...wait-
a/n: yea, i'm also planning to make girldad maekar hcs w/ an eldest daughter!reader
credit to @cursed-carmine and @222luvr for the beautiful dividers!
tagging (lemme know if you wanna be tagged in all akotsk works or only for a specific character!): @ethereal-athalia, @witch-of-letters, @cardeakelsey, @sphynxestrel, @magpie-dimes, @theoriginalwifeofhanjumin, @fanatic1080, @priscsstuff, @lovelyreader17, @mypizzawizard, @ksuumin, @calicospirit, @hieronymph, @a-badbitchwithwifi, @juliettesenna, @baelorandmaekarinparis, @shiningdyingmoon, @ae-gax
Hiiii! So I saw your fic where you wrote about Yandere Valarr when his wife went “missing” and I was hoping if you could do the same with Yandere Aerion?
Hi, Anon! Thank you so much for the request, I had a blast writing this and I hope it's what you were looking for! Hope you like it!
There Is Nowhere to Run (Where I Will Not Find You)
Yandere!Aerion Targaryen x wife!reader—in which he thinks she's gone and he loses it.
TW: 18+ MDNI, outside sex, sexual thoughts, death, obsession, possession.
Aerion has always wanted you. Has always had his plan, his way to ensure that you were his, his way to make you his wife. The plan of wooing not with sweet words and gifts like his fool of a cousin would, but of threatening and bribing and harming, scaring away all suitors to ensure you were his. That no one else would dare to touch you.
And it worked. He had you, you were his. You were his wife, his life, his light; the crown jewel of his dragon’s horde. You were the sanctuary for him, the shelter against his storms, the flame which spurred his fire, the eye of his storm. His place of calm and serenity. You were the place where he could shelter, where he could return to over and over, bury himself inside and ignore the outside world.
And he protected you with a ferocity that only a dragon could have. He married you and moved you into his chambers, preventing you from having your own because you being too far from him was dangerous. There was no telling what might happen, what he might do if he did not have you to return to.
No, there was a way to tell. He would burn the world down for you, burn the world down and watch it turn to ash with you in his arms, safe and secure. Guarded.
He has made sure that you cannot leave him, has made every exit simply another wall, locked you and put you away to keep you safe. Keep you secure. He does it to guard you from the dangers of the world, he does as a proper dragon should.
Prevent any treasure from escaping the horde.
***
Aerion is tired of the drills and manoeuvres, the practice that he doesn’t need for a sport that has become nothing but a nuisance. A nuisance because it means that he cannot be with you—of course, you could just watch him practice, but that invites wandering eyes upon you, eyes of knights that lust after you. Eyes that he has to threaten, possibly remove for looking upon you in a way that only he can.
Because you are his.
He slams his sword forward, against the knight tasked as his practice opponent, hoping that you watch him from the chamber’s window, the one he placed so that you are always in his line of sight, so that he can watch over you even when he trains. So that you can watch him and admire him as well.
Because you are all he thinks about as he attacks. He thinks about the way your voice teases and tilts, lilts and softens. The way it caresses against him. He thinks about the way your voice breaks in the throes of passion, the way you sound when you moan his name before release, before you let go around him.
He thinks about the way you look as you writhe beneath him, the way you react to his touches, the way you look when your body betrays your pleasure, nipples stiffening just so, just perfectly so and he can lean forwards and flick them with his tongue, drawing forth a murmured exhalation, breathy and quiet and loud all at the same time.
He thinks about the way you taste, the way your skin is sweet and your release even sweeter when you come apart upon his tongue.
And, seven help him, but it’s hard to focus on the opponent before him, the knight who senses weakness. The knight who dares to attack him while his mind is on much more important matters than sword fighting—something he’s been raised to do. And so, he grows violent, more than violent than normal, cutting down the knight’s face, the man rearing back with a cry, hand dropping his sword, hands rising to cup his face, blood trickling through his fingers as he forfeits.
As he frees Aerion from his duties, freeing him for you. And Aerion does not wait, simply turns, not bothering to strip his armour, lay his sword aside. No. He just runs up the field towards the waiting castle and you. Always you.
He imagines you waiting in your rooms, waiting for him, ready and willing and waiting. He imagines walking in, still in armour to see you sitting at your desk, the one he decorated with dragon inscriptions so that you were always surrounded by him, your husband. The man whom you belonged to. He imagines you turning from your desk, smiling at the sight of him and standing, walking to him and helping strip him of his armour, laying each piece aside with carefulness and tenderness, your voice gentle as you speak to him. As you speak to him about nothing of importance, simply what you read or wrote or saw, your very voice gentle and calm—the opposite of him.
He imagines you stepping back and himself reaching for you, grabbing you and tugging you back to him, your chest pressed to his, his body heightened with desire for you and yours for him, him being able to feel the stiffening upon your chest, the reddening of your cheeks. Him being able to brush a strand of hair behind your ear before taking your mouth in his, his teeth tugging, tugging, tugging your bottom lip, biting hard enough to draw forth a bead of blood, his tongue lapping it up.
And gods, he cannot reach you soon enough, the armour unyielding, forcing him into an uncomfortable position of tightness, of pressure that is not you.
He chose you long ago, chose you for your gentle nature, for the way your eyes softened on him rather than hardened. Because you saw something in him to love where everyone else saw something to hate and fear. He wanted your love, didn’t care if he deserved it or not. He wanted it, he wanted you and he always got what he wanted because he would do whatever it took to get it.
And now, he wants you underneath him, wants the breathy sounds you make, the way you say his name when he leaves his marks upon your body. When he reminds you that you’re his. All his. Only his.
Ever his, forever.
And that is what is on his mind when he enters the chambers, breaths already short with anticipation of your touch, your love, your cries and moans and simply the feeling of you. Only you.
“My fire, I have returned!” he cries, his fingers finding the sheath of his sword, the way it ties to his armour, his metal covered fingers pulling it free, sword clattering to the floor, metal hitting stone, the only sound in the room. There is no quiet laughter at his dramatic exclamation, no delighted greeting.
Nothing.
“My fire?” he calls, stepping further into the room, heart rate clawing up his throat, pounding against him, adrenaline coursing through his veins at the silence. He scans every room of your joint chambers, heart rate growing faster, vision tinting red. But there is nothing.
There is nothing and that is when he lets the rage swallow him, the idea of you running from him, from your love. Of you being taken and seduced by someone dangerous. Someone who wants to simply defile you, return you to him broken and mangled.
Someone who wants to ruin the love you two share.
And that is when his tether on sanity snaps, the tether that only stays in place because of you, because of your gentle touch, the only gentleness he’s ever known. And so, he lets the sanity go because sanity will not get you back, only the dragon will.
And so, he lets it out.
He lets it out with a roar, a yell, a scream, his hands grasping that oak book case he had made for you and all your trinkets, pulling it down, the glass trinkets shattering against the floor, pieces of things he’s bought you ruined. He will ruin everything if it will only get you back.
He tears the tapestries from off the walls, takes his sword from where he dropped it, unsheathes it, swinging it wildly, hitting into the posts of your bed, hacking away, woodchips flying before he pivots, sword cutting and tearing and rending, metal against stone, tip breaking off, chaos reigning.
His every move is damaged and haunted and angered and all he wants is you here, now. You coming back to him because really…there is nowhere to run. Nowhere to go where he will not find you even if he has to tear this world apart with his bare hands, forgo his dragon nature in order to have you in his arms again.
“Sire? Sire, what is the matter?” a guard calls, two of them running into the room, hands on sword hilts, prepared to draw and fight. Aerion hears them and he turns around, every muscle in his body taut, drawn like a bow, face strangely calm. But it’s just an illusion.
“Where. Is. My. Wife.” Each word is its own sentence, a growl and a roar and a threat all on their own and the guards turn confused and then scared. Scared because they watch as Aerion’s calm expression changes, the dragon shining through in those blazing violet eyes. Eyes that speak of retribution for their failure.
And pay they will because Aerion jabs his blade forwards, the sword sticking in the shoulder of the guard who asked him what the matter was. The man who dared to speak to him rather than notice who was missing. The one who didn’t stop you from leaving.
The guard lets out a scream, a pathetic sound as his hand flies to the wound, to the sword embedded in his flesh, fingers pressing against the flow of blood, trying to staunch the wound, the other guard moving to attend to him, but Aerion steps forwards, holding up a hand.
“Find. My. Wife.” The words are not suggestion, they are an order, an edict. The guard doesn’t even question it, simply runs and flees, the threat implicit in the prince’s words. “You will bleed out before help ever arrives. That is what happens when you lose what is the dragon’s,” he hisses at the still screaming guard who has fallen to his knees, an artery cut and spewing blood, even more so when Aerion pulls forth his sword from the wound, tucking it back in its scabbard and running from the room.
Aerion checks every room in the Keep. No corner is left unchecked, untouched. No, he scans every corridor, every room, bangs on every door, threatens every guard. He goes to the library, hoping you will be there, hidden among the stacks, having gotten lost in Targaryen history, in the rituals of the blood, devouring folktales of dragons. He hopes you will be there, will have anticipated more time before his return, but you are not.
You are not anywhere and he can feel sanity slipping from him, his grasp on reality untethered because you were his reality. You and your voice and your laugh and the way the skin by the corner of your eyes crinkles when you smile. You and the way that you say his name and the way you tell him that you love him like it’s easy to say. Like it’s not the biggest declaration someone can make and yet you say it all the time, for no reason at all. Simply because it is true and you do.
You are not anywhere and Aerion cannot control himself. Not anymore. He leaves the library where he has been frozen, remembering you during the betrothal time and the way you would hold up a book to him, pointing out the important part, the way you always smoothed out the wrinkle between his brow when it furrowed at what you shared (even when he yelled at you for touching him, even when he was cruel. You kept doing it. You told him once, why wouldn’t you? You loved him, why would you not show it?).
He runs from the room and runs to the Great Hall, where all the guards are gathered, waiting, tensed for his arrival. He runs in, the room strangely empty, a small council meeting underway and he loses his sanity all over again. He loses his sanity and roars, roars as if the sound alone, that auditory acknowledgement of his loss will bring you back. As if you will hear it and return to him, return to him and tell him that you never left, not really.
That you were somewhere he has simply forgotten to look.
“The castle is empty, my prince,” a guard says, running in, others behind him, hands resting on pommels of swords, ready to draw at any moment of the threat pacing the dais.
“You’ve only searched THE CASTLE?!” Aerion cries, his hand scooping a heavy golden goblet left abandoned on the table, throwing it with all his strength, the metal slamming into the forehead of the guard, cutting in, blood trickling as his eyes close and he falls face forwards, body slamming into the stone, the sound echoing around the room, all the guards tensing as they wait.
“FIND HER! SEARCH EVERYWHERE YOU HAVE TO! BRING HER BACK TO ME!” The command scarcely leaves his lips before the guards are off and running and Aerion, in his ever-consuming rage, lifts one end of the wooden table, flipping it before he runs from the castle, runs to the grounds.
He will scour every inch of the world, will raze every place that you are not to the ground only so he can bring you back to him. Can have you in his arms again. Can taste you and love you and hear you. Can have you touch him again, can hear you tell him you love him, the words slipping out so easily as if it is easy to love. To give yourself over to someone else.
He checks every field, every courtyard, every garden, but there is nothing. No sign of you. You seem to be nowhere, to have vanished like a ghost yet you must be somewhere. You can’t have gotten far since he just saw you hours ago, saw you and spoke to you. Heard you say I love you.
And that is when he decides to check the woods, to check the river where he used to fish, just in case you are there. Where you should not be, but still within his grasp. Still where he will not have to raze the world down to get you back. He crashes through the underbrush, swatting away the dead branches and fallen foliage, snatches of your voice, humming, echoing to him carried by the rushing of the water.
“Aerion! You made it!” you cry when he crashes through to the river, to you. He watches as you stand, smoothing your skirts and setting your book down on the rock where you had sat, two fishing poles leaning against the trunk of the tree across from you. “I didn’t know how long your training would take, but I was getting worried that you weren’t coming.”
“What?” He finds it hard to speak, his throat thickened as he watches you walk towards him, rage and relief warring within him.
“You don’t remember, do you?” you ask and he watches, a twinge in his heart when your expression falls, folding in on itself. He doesn’t like seeing that, has done his best to never see that and truly it should be he who folds in on himself. He was where you were supposed to be, but yet you weren’t.
“Remember what?” he sneers, rage winning out over relief. “Remember that you were to be waiting in our chambers where you are safe for me to find you after training? Where I could have you like I always want to? Remember that I have killed a guard and grievously injured another while tearing the castle apart to find you? To find you because there is no escape from me?” You take a step back from him, the distance widening and hurting him deep inside, your face twisting with your own rage.
“Remember that you promised to teach me how to fish today,” you snap, your hand flying out and gesturing to the rods leaning against the tree. “You had promised that after training you would teach me—as long as I was already here and waiting! I’ve done what you asked! Don’t you dare get angry at me because you forgot!” And then you turn your back on him, the relief that you had not been trying to escape expanding through his body, filling him and he reaches forwards, grasping your wrist, pulling you back to him, pulling you against him, delighting in the hitch in your breath.
His hand reaches out, stroking down the side of your face tenderly as he whispers, “I love you, darling” his mouth claiming yours, body pushing into you, your back slamming into a tree, his mouth leaving your lips and trailing down your neck, biting and sucking and licking a trail to your pulse point. To your pulse point where his tongue flicks out, testing the racing of your heart, a mirror of his own.
His hands trail down your body, digging into your hips through your skirts, his mouth coming to your chest, tongue tracing the shape of your breasts as they rise from the bodice of your dress, hitching with your gasps. He pushes your skirts up with one hand, freeing himself with the other and pushing into you, delighting in the whispered way you say his name. The way it sounds like you need him, like you want him, like he’s everything—the same as he feels for you.
“I thought. You’d left. Me,” he groans, thrusting in and out, his head falling forwards, tongue tracing shapes upon your nectar sweet skin.
“Never,” you breathe, your hands on his back, nails digging into him through his shirt, dragging down his back at the ever-growing fire inside of you.
“There is. Nowhere. To run.” His words punctuate every thrust, every moment where you and he both come closer to release. “There is. Nowhere to. Run. Nowhere I. Will not. Find You.”
His mouth is hot on your neck, his thrusts sloppier, the two of you so close, so close. He presses his lips to your neck, delighting in the already developing marks, chains that tie you to him, his teeth nipping and biting and sucking more onto the delicate skin of your throat, his moans vibrating through into your throat as he comes, the same time as you, his moans and your breaths a quiet chorus of pleasure.
“You belong to me, darling,” he whispers, lifting his head and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes narrowing at you with both possession and desire and love. “There is nowhere to run. I just need you to know that. There is nowhere to run where I will not find you. I will burn the entire world down to get you back. I will burn it down to keep you,” he lowers his voice, pressing his forehead against yours, one hand gripping your hip possessively, “What do you say to that?”
“Are you done talking?” you breathe. “Because I want you to take me again.”
Aerion is very happy to oblige, growing hard again at every word that leaves your mouth and he shoves inside you again, every thrust, punctuated with his new mantra for you.
“There,” In.
“Is,” Out.
“Nowhere,” In.
“To,” Out.
“Run,” In.
“Where,” Out.
“I will,” In.
“Not,” Out.
“Find,” In.
“You.” And the two of you find your release once again, together, your skin bruised and marked with the possession of your prince.
“There is nowhere to run because you are mine. And I do not take kindly to the loss of what is mine, my darling. And you are all I care about. You are mine!”
YANDERE (PLATONIC) TARGARYEN DUNK&EGG ERA WOULD INCLUDE...
Characters included; Daeron the Good (mentioned), Baelor Breakspear, Valarr, Matarys, Rhaegel, Aelor, Aelora, Daenora, Aerys I, Maekar, Daeron the Drunken, Aerion, Aegon (Egg), Aemon, Rhae, Daella
Note - FEMALE (adopted) READER. this has been something i was working on the longest time and it heavily pulls from the BOOK but the show assisted a lot in adjusting. It's mostly platonic but there are romantic interpretations with some. The timeline is very messy and all over the place
Many talks have spread through the realm of how you assimilated through the Targaryen family. The rumors spread like wildfire, were you some bastard? A noble orphan? A child of some lowborn? Whatever it was, history would say it doesn’t matter. For Daeron the Good erased any possible findings of your origin. You are a Targaryen by name now, your parentage will forever remain a speculation only in whispers.
The children of the king and queen are very much confused, just like the entire court. Who was this stranger they must now call kin? You showed no such features of a Valyrian child, they couldn’t agree if you had any noble features either. That same confusion passed down to their grandchildren as well, Baelor with his sons as well Rhaegel and Maekar’s children. But over time they have come to think of you as one of them.
Baelor the oldest son, the heir to the iron throne was the first of the family to formally greet you. He, as any person with common sense, didn't know what to think of this situation. He knew to be kind, even took some pity. This whole thing was not your fault; thrown into such a dangerous court with eyes on you at all times. With the most prominent family in the entire realm. It must be a huge shock to a little one like you.
It's not long before just like his parents, Baelor truly comes to see you as part of the family. Imagine the bewilderment of everyone to see the heir and prince of Dragonstone so openly fond of this foreign child who can’t be any more different than them. He’s seen standing beside you in halls, making you smile with much needed praises, proudly introducing you to other lords and ladies.
Valarr and Matarys quickly warm up to you as well. It’s from their father encouraging them to spend time with you. When Valarr remarks of you not being ‘truly’ Targaryen, Baelor scolds him. Telling his sons that from now on, they must protect and care for you as they would one of their own.
It came unnatural to Valarr at first, he just couldn't understand why; this whole ordeal was strange, but he ought to be a good son and listen to his father. Matarys on the other hand, didn’t need much convincing, he was quickly enamoured by you. Giving you his dragon toys, flowers from the garden. He liked holding your hands as you both walked in the halls. It wasn’t long before Valarr starts getting jealous of his brother, mimicking him and nudging you to walk with him instead.
Rhaegel and Aenys stood in the same lane of being in disbelief but they didn’t voice their complaints, especially when Maekar had already done so and was merely dismissed. It also didn't help that you seemed to have won their oldest brother over. They kept their distance from you, but too many family dinners together and their occasional talks with you. It seems you have won them over too.
Rhaegel has given you little trinkets he thinks a young lady like you would enjoy and sometimes pats on the head as he walks by. Even before growing fond of you, he made no move to stop his children's curiosity. Faced by the twins; Aelor and Aelora as they inquire about you, Daenora accompanying them. You couldn’t explain their growing fascination; they would have you sitting between them, tugging your sleeve when they want your attention. Daenora starts calling you her “sister” and neither the twins nor her father correct her.
Aerys is the most distant of the family. Don’t get it wrong. He does care for you as the others do; it is simply his nature. He is less likely to be involved with your matters, letting his brothers make the decisions. Still, Aerys lets you remain in his company, sitting there discussing the things you have seen or read. Even gifting you a book he notes only has two copies in the entire realm. To Aenys, this is the most sincere he can ever be.
Maekar is the last of the brothers to warm up to you. He wasn’t just resistant but furious at the whole thing. Thinking it was madness taking place. Maekar wasn’t afraid to let it be known. You being part of this family with no dragon blood? Absurd. It seems as if the madness has infected his brothers. Couldn't fathom how Rhaegel and especially Baelor would let you sit and play with their children.
Even metal as hard as it eventually bends, may even melt. Maekar is no different. He refuses to admit he's getting used to your presence. He wasn’t going to succumb to it, even telling his children to not entertain this nonsense. But when you look up at him with those puppy eyes, when you pout and tears are seen. He curses you for the soft ache he feels in his chest. And Maekar curses you again when he is forced to admit to himself that perhaps, just perhaps he has the tiniest care for you.
Baelor’s sons are warm and gentle, Rhaegel’s children are quite clingy but enjoyable to have around. It’s when Maekar’s children are now involved, the somewhat peaceful atmosphere turns on its head. Aerion and Daeron at first heard nothing but complaints from their father. Their other siblings are far too young to understand the gravity of the situation.
You can imagine after everything, Daeron and Aerion are very much confused when they see their father being pleasant with you. Did they just witness their father ask of you, informing Baelor you must have more guards? Since when did he care for your safety? Daeron didn’t think he would ever see this day and Aerion is seething at this whole debacle.
Daeron like most didn’t know what to really think. His earliest impression didn’t come by seeing you but from overheard conversations. He recalls his uncle Baelor defending you adamantly against his father. And when his younger siblings, who were very curious, asked what he thought of the whole thing, Daeron merely shrugged. Yet he was deeply unsettled. Dreams, he had where you appeared. Clearly you play a significant role in the family’s fate. So when the face to face meetings finally happened, the passing conversations. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that he became another victim to you. More fond of you than he cares to admit that when Aerion spoke badly of you, Daeron snapped at him to hold his tongue.
The rest of the siblings are quick to adore you. Aegon, Aemon, Daella and Rhae all take to you in their own ways. The first is Aegon, who may even sneak away from his father to speak with you at last. Rhae and Daella are just eager to get to know you. Rhae insists on doing your hair whether you ask her to, she’ll speak and gossip like you are the bestest of friends. Daella, quieter but just as affectionate, does let Rhae do all the talking.
When you are all gathered together, Daella rests her head on your side. The sisters sometimes are jealous of one another, trying to distract you from the other but they are much more likely to compromise. Aemon is content trailing behind you and his siblings.
Out of all the children, the most open in their fondness has to be Aegon. He follows you around like a duckling. Aegon thinks it’s fate, a blessing sent to his family. He loves you the most out of his family, you are the sister he needs, nothing like Aerion who is cruel. If he is to go missing, one must assume he’ll be with you. Aegon loves to talk to you about anything and I mean anything. He’ll let you know of the cat he saw in the yard, what he had for breakfast, how he thinks he might have a stomach ache.
On the other hand of the spectrum lies Aerion. It's no question Aerion detests you. How dare they be insulted like this. The Targaryen family, a noble house that survived old Valyria, what are you to become one of them? He will not call you a kin or a targaryen. You are a disgrace, a parasite. Aerion couldn’t understand how the king would do this, how the rest of his family would allow this. Now you got his father telling him to be quiet whenever he raises the matter. His siblings and cousins follow your every whim. Aerion realizes he no one is on his side and it’s making him hate you by the second. He’ll corner you, say all manners of harsh things only to go compliant and silent when he notices his father or uncle looking.
As the princess, you are expected to do your duties. To learn the history of “your house” and every other house. To remember their sigils, their words, their alliances and old grudges. Instructed how to courtesy and even taught High Valyrian. It’s something all the brothers agree on, overseeing your septas. You’re everyone’s favorite gossip and what you will not do is give them more to whisper about. There are times you share lessons with Valarr or Aerion. Trying to not let it it get to you when hearing Aerion snort when you mispronounce a name and there is Valarr who gives you a nudge of encouragement beneath the table.
Back to Aerion. He would rather lose his head than admit he cares the slightest for you. His mocking of you never ends, acting like the little boy who annoys the girl he likes in the playground. And when you try to ignore him, it just agitates him further. He’s forced to be a little more gentle if he’s to have your favour. His father has given him enough scoldings. In his usual fucked up way, Aerion grows to feel affection for you, hesitant to share you with anyone else, even his siblings.
It’s no secret Baelor might just be your favorite. Always running to him first whenever in trouble or in need of advice. It very much helps how every mistake and slight you throw in his way is swiftly forgiven. Baelor himself is pretty much aware of how you have him wrapped around your finger. When guards inform him you were caught sneaking into the stables or septas complaining you haven't been paying attention to your lessons. Baelor will sigh and scold you, but he can’t ever be truly angry, not when you seem so remorseful.
Maekar can’t help his jealousy, he knows why you go to Baelor. He and his brother disagree on a lot of things when the matters involve you. His brother was always the easy one to talk to, just knows all the right words, more laid-back. As it’s Maekar who ensures you are not left alone for too long, even hiring guards he personally picks to accompany wherever you go. He knows it frustrates you as it would anyone. Knowing you’ll just go to his brother to complain, and while Baelor will smooth your hair and say all the nice things; it’s clear you aren't winning this one.
A lot of instances of you falling into trouble can be traced back to Maekar’s children, his sons. Baelor’s boys, of course, are considered the angels of the household. Even when they quietly ignore the schedules assigned to them. The twins are troublemakers in their own way too, but they are far more skilled in covering their tracks. Maekar is not so fortunate. He is left scolding his sons more often than not, especially during the family “meetings” where he is painfully reminded his nephews and nieces are much better beheaved.
It’s Daeron who tries to sneak you away, wanting alone moments with you. His younger siblings and cousins try to follow much to his annoyance. Daeron shoos them away, attempting to bribe or making deals and more than often it doesn’t work for long. One can’t even begin on the things Aerion has pulled.
With Aerion his jealousy knows no bounds. He foams at the mouth at you giving the slightest attention to anyone else. You are his now, you belong to him, you were given to his house, to him. He hates how you smile at Daeron’s japes, how you giggle at whatever stupid gossip his sisters are sharing, how you and Aemon converse in the corner of the room and how you seem to indulge Aegon. With his cousins, the jealousy gets worse. He accuses everyone of having ulterior motives, why else Valarr would be so nice? He must want something, does he wish to marry you? He wouldn’t dare Aerion thinks, his father will never allow it and nor would he.
Table times are a headache for all the adults. Everyone wants you seated next to them, it doesn't matter if it’s breakfast or supper. They have to intervene or else their children will fight each other as they all can’t seem to come to an agreement. With some insisting you must sit next to them Aerion & The twins, the other bunch accusing them of being unfair Valarr, Rhae, Aegon, the very few just wanting this over with Daella, Matarys, Aemon, Daenora & Daeron. You end up sitting between Baelor and Maekar or even next to Aerys or Rhaegel. The kids all want to talk to you, especially the girls and Aegon that Maekar snaps at them to please do it once a time.
No surprise to anyone that you’re very much spoiled. Your chamber is overflown with all sorts of gifts. Silk from Dorne, books from Oldtown and jewelry from Braavos. You’re adored by the whole family and they must ensure you and the entire realm see it. No secret Baelor spoils you the most, mostly because he has all the resources to do so.
The family often gathers together just for you. And when they can’t, they compromise. There are short periods of time where you remain in King’s landing, with the King and queen as well as with Rhaegel and Aerys. The twins and Daenora are delighted to have you all to themselves.
Then going to Dragonstone, where Baelor and his sons give you a warm welcome. Valarr and Matarys dote on you. One imagines Matarys as something of an artist, gifting you the sketches and poetrys he made of you. And lastly, Summerhall. Maekar goes so far to have an entire study built there for you, hoping you stay just a little longer. Before your “visit”, rules are laid down to his children to make sure your time is divided fairly among them. They follow these rules for at least a day or two.
You very much enjoyed Aemon’s company, it saddened you to see him leave for the citadel to become a maestar. The many times he’ll make himself refuge in your “study”, even offer to read out loud for you. Always sweet and gentle. Aemon makes you promise that you will continue writing him letters and he’ll do the same. If you give him a token, something to remember you by, Aemon will cherish it to the very end. That many years later, old and taking his last breath, your name is also uttered from his lips.
Other than being spoiled beyond measure, you are fiercely protected by the most powerful family in Westeros. No one in court could dare utter a word of ‘your lack of features’ and shall any fool forget to address you by your proper title; there shall be punishment. Maekar takes it very personally with Baelor calming him down. Aerion, hypocritically so, also takes the offense personally. Even Valarr surprisingly finds offense if he believes someone is questioning your legitimacy. God forbid, you suffer a slight injury or fall slightly ill. The whole family goes into panic, the best maestars summoned and the entire realm might as well halt till they declare you well again.
It's quite difficult to make easy friendships at court, surprisingly it’s not the rumors of your very existence but the girls. Either it be Aelora, Daella, Rhae or even Daenora who will be offended if you made a new “lady friend”. I mean what secrets you have to tell her and not them. They will foil plans, interrupt conversations, whisk you away mid-sentence linking their arms with yours. Aerion is another obstacle. If he is present, he’ll follow you around, openly questioning who you’re speaking to.
Now the most damning topic of all; marriage. The family is in complete arrangement, absolutely not. Once the realm is forced to accept you as one of the Targaryens, whispers quickly spread. Either from the servants, the guards, the ladies of the court. They all murmur that you are the flower, no the diamond of the family. Lords soon realize that winning your favour could mean power, alliances or perhaps some may just find your beautiful. But every Targaryen has blocked their attempts.
Baelor at least tries to be reasonable. He’ll grant the lords an audience. You deserve a chance of happiness, to be cherished, to have a family of your own. He does dismiss those who live too far such as the North or Dorne. Baelor attempts not to let words of his doing reach the rest of the family. Maekar will pretend to listen to the lord but not even a minute in and he already identifies one fault after another.
Even sweet little Aegon will sabotage any efforts. If a lord is acting too “familiar”, Aegon will tug at your skirts inventing some urgent excuse. Later, he will list every flaw that man possesses; he keeps mistresses, bad breath, he is illiterate. Valarr too will approach you with claims of urgent business, subtly warning the suitor to halt his pursuit. When questioned by his father, Valarr pretends ignorance. And Aerion…will do anything to ensure no match ever comes to fruition. Lords know not even stand within a mile of you if he is there.
There are disagreements within the family on things you’re allowed to do. Baelor, as said, is the most lenient. On Dragonstone, he allows you to ride as you wish with his sons accompanying you of course. He even permits you to sneak into the training yard where you perch along the fences, watching as he instructs his sons.
Maekar strongly disagrees. Too many things could go wrong. Rhaegel and Aerys share his concerns, the world is far from gentle and you are far too precious for them to take a risk. Baelor doesn’t want you to feel like your world is too ‘small’. To feel caged. Yes, you attend tourneys and feasts but they are heavily regulated. When you complain to him of your conditions, he reassures you gently that the family only wants the best for you. Doesn’t help Daeron jests your beauty is wasted behind these stone walls.
Speaking of Daeron, as mentioned before, he sometimes dreams of you. It scares the hell out of him. Unsure whether they are omens, are you in danger? Sometimes in his drunken stupor, he visits your chambers at odd hours at night. The guards allow him in. Where he confesses of his dragon dreams, saying far more than he should. It's strange how he can go from the brother who enjoys making you smile to this sad, almost desperate state. He lets you hold him, comfort him. And if you allow it, he’ll sleep at the foot of your bed.
Once, you were a young orphan who may have come from nothing. Now, you belong to the most powerful family in all of Westeros. Who all adore you, each in their own way. Growing up in their halls, sleeping under their roofs, dining at their tables, chasing butterflies with them in the lazy afternoon gardens. They defend you with unwavering loyalty. In many ways, you are the one thing they all share, one thing they can all protect. Despite the quarrels, the rocky edges, the tension, things were going well. Well enough. Until the day everything changed. Meant to be a simple travel to a tourney. Daeron insisted on sneaking away to an Inn, and you with Aegon at your side followed after him. Unaware that you’ll eventually meet the tall man who would alter the course of all your lives.
Aerion and Daeron sharing the same darling would include...
note - and is anyone suprised i did this during an all nighter nopeee, and I apologize in advance for the terrible smut and i want to thank @briefwinnapersona for giving me the idea with their post
TAGS: YANDERE, EXPLICIT CONTENT, DUBCON, jealousy, polygamous, loss of virginity, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, hj, threesome, double penetration, FEMALE reader
To all of the gods above, if there was a time to pray for mercy, it would be now. To attract one prince is enough of a burden but to attract two? It’s truly a spectacle to behold, a fate inflicted upon you. And to make matters worse, they were brothers - brothers who couldn’t be any more different. Them coming to share is nothing short of a miracle.
Aerion simply does not share. It is not in his nature. Selfish in his ways. Catching Aerion’s eyes is terrifying enough. The moment he realizes a simple interest is an attraction. He’ll already believe you are his; you belong to him. Rejection isn’t something princes like him typically face. He has always taken what he wanted, the world rarely told him no. So what stops him from having you?
Daeron is not as volatile and loud as his brother, but he too can be just as selfish in his own ways. He knows he wants you, perhaps long before Aerion did. It would not be right, you were a lady after all. Damaging your decency and honor, but Daeron would still indulge himself. Because that too lies within his nature.
Daeron had a seduction plan in all of this. He had already charmed you enough; that part had been easy. Daeron only needed you alone. Perhaps a quiet room, a few drinks, and soon enough you would wake up in his bed. He could not think of any other way to have you fully to himself. Marriage proposals? Too much work and his reputation… Certainly not the best. He didn’t mind just being your lover.
But his plans are foiled. The very disturbance being his brother. Aerion was always there; he couldn’t ignore him even if he tried. Aerion was not subtle, not even in the slightest. Aerion would stare unapologetically across the room. Also straight up interrupt any conversations you have with someone else just to have your attention on him. Daeron sees how you tense up when he enters a room, how nervous you get and Aerion simply has no care. It would take a fool not to notice.
For one thing, Daeron knew you liked him far better. To be fair, your options were quite limited. It was either him..or you know. One would choose the drunk than the man whose troubling rumors have reached your ears. Besides, Aerion always stood a little too close. Touches always lingering, even reaching for the necklace at your throat without asking. He never tore his eyes from you, staring at you with open desire.
Daeron was truly no better. He would offer you a seat beside him. It was your small refuge from a certain person. He makes a jest one or two. But he too stared a little too long, a little too intensely. And it was there where Aerion noticed something he should have seen quite a while ago. His brother wanted you as well. How could he have missed it?
Daeron only looks up when he felt it. Aerion’s glare from across the room. There was a brief moment of exchange that said a hundred words. Daeron turns his gaze to your face again as if nothing happened. He leans closer, lips almost brushing near your ears to whisper something. You chuckle politely and when Daeron glances up again; Aerion was gone.
There were no words to describe Aerion’s fury at the realization. His brother, of all people, of course it had to be him. Aerion corners you the second he finds you alone, pressing you back against the cold stone walls. “Did you fuck him?” So blunt you didn’t even have a second to gather your thoughts. His eyes almost look crazed, you swear you haven’t as his fingers dig into your arms. Even if it had only been a kiss. Even if it was merely a kiss on the cheek. Aerion wouldn't have it.
You are his, he has already said it. You will choose him. Anything less would be a betrayal. And Aerion utters the same words to Daeron, he makes no attempt of civility or subtlety. Telling his brother, he will do what he does best, move along and “lay in the mud” as he always does. Daeron does not rise to the insult, “Yours?” he asks mildly. “I don’t recall you ever formally declaring your courtship to her. Father certainly does not know.”
Aerion tightens his jaw, biting back a retort. “So is she truly years,” Daeron continues, “When she has so many suitors waiting in line?’ “Are you one of them?” Aerion demands, cutting to the chase. Daeron hums, pretending to consider even when they both know the answer. “Well she prefers my company far more than yours, brother.” Aerion’s hands curled into fists at his side. For a single moment, he looks as if he’ll strike him and perhaps he nearly does.
Daeron is not stupid in all of this. There is no way to come out of this unscathed. He knows Aerion can be quite the monster. He’s reckless, destructive, willing to ruin him and everyone else if it meant having you. Hell, Aerion may destroy you himself if you dared to reject him. The better choice is to just hand you over to Aerion.
But the thought makes him ache more than he cares to admit. There will be a day where you wed his brother and he’d have to see you bear his children. Forced to act indifferent at the feasts and suppers you shall attend together. Left pondering what could have been. Left to lie awake at night imagining what your lips would feel against his. No, that decision would be his very torment. So Daeron does something most unexpected. He approaches Aerion not as a rival but as a brother; proposing an arrangement that would satisfy them both.
One cannot imagine your bewilderment as you are taken nudged along into a hidden chamber by the two brothers. Aerion stands before you while Daeron lounges in the seat beside you. “You will have me,” Aerion demands. And the way he says it as if it’s an order, as if you can’t refuse. Daeron coughs under his breath and Aerion pauses just briefly clicking his tongue against his teeth, “You will have us,” he clarifies. Daeron’s hand hovers over yours briefly before letting it rest there, “We both want you,” he says.
Aerion demands an answer right away, he doesn’t want a flick of hesitation or doubt. Daeron’s hand moves to your face, a thumb brushing your cheek. “Just accept it,” he murmurs, “We will not harm you.” It's not a decision you can just walk from, not here, not alone with just the two of them. If Aerion had you alone, it would be suffering for you and for Daeron. If Daeron had you alone, Aerion would never allow you to live in content. And to reject them both? What were you left to do then accept the offer.
Daeron allows his brother the privilege of claiming your maidenhood. He won’t fight him on that, for he shall have you countless nights after. And Aerion is all the eager to ravish you. He’ll hand you right back to his brother’s arms. But what a shame his brother won’t be the first to gaze upon your bare skin. Won’t be the first to touch your tender nips till they stiffen under his touch.
Won’t be the first to sink his fingers between your legs, to discover the slick heat. Won’t be the first to know how tightly you feel around him as he fills you to the brim as you helplessly cling to his shoulders. When Aerion spills inside you, he grips your hips too tight to bruise. You are left taking your breath, his seed mixed with a little bit of your blood damping your thighs and the sheets below. “My brother will have to content himself with what little remains.”
When it’s Daeron's turn, you’re already exhausted. Watching as he unfastens his clothes, his bare body lies next to you. He takes you in his arms. And Daeron kisses you, his tongue prods the crease between your lips before his mouth enveloped yours. Your lips were dry, your throat aching with the way Aerion made you cry out. His fingers slide down to the entrance between your legs – you whine a little too loud. It's so sore down there from how Aerion ravished you and you are also quite embarrassed to find yourself still aroused. “Look at you,” he chuckles against your lips, “you got it in you for one more.” His fingers move in and out of your cunt.
His lips move to leave hot open-mouthed kisses along your skin, from your warm cheeks to that sensitive side of your neck where a mark already resides from his brother. He pauses to suck on it gently and you can’t help but hiss. And then he pulls his fingers away and you whine at the loss of touch. Daeron moves down your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses down from the valley of your breasts to your belly until he reaches between your legs. His eyes lock into yours as he settles your trembling legs over his shoulders.
Then his mouth is on your cunt, your body jolts but the prince holds you in place. His tongue moving up and down your walls, lapping at your cunt as if you were a fine meal. Already sensitive and overstimulated, you came quickly, crying out his name as your thighs clenched around his head. Daeron moans at the taste of you. He rises, knees resting on the bed, stroking his cock a few times before sliding it between your legs. Pressing you down with his body, leaving you caged against the mattress. Daeron rolls his hips slowly at first, resting his forehead on yours, his breath coming in harsh pants before he quickens his pace.
Aerion still persists with his “she is mine” declarations. Even when Daeron has claimed you more times than one can count. Aerion’s jealousy is one of a dragon; an all consuming fire, showing in the days he has you. Covering your body with love bruises and bite marks. But Daeron simply kisses Aerion’s little patterns of evidence tenderly, “You would think my brother was a hound with how he goes at you,” before still taking you all the same. And on the days Aerion has you after, he knows which are his and which belongs to his brother. The hickies on your inner thighs, the marks on your breasts when Daeron sucked them. Aerion is quick to try to cover them with his own.
As said, Aerion cannot be subtle even if he tried. He can’t stand to see you entertain any company, even his brother’s. Daeron uses his older son status to have you sit beside him at feasts. Aerion merely glares at you both from across the table. It's the few moments Daeron allows himself to poke at the dragon. Risking to plant a light kiss against your neck when no one's looking. And then his fingers lift your gown just enough to slide them between your legs. You gasp, softly grabbing his forearm for support, the very arm that belongs to the two fingers burying itself in your heat.Biting your lip to hold back the moans threatening to escape, squirming in your seat. When you glance back at Aerion, you see he hasn’t torn his eyes away not even once. Not even when Daeron brings you to your release, thighs trembling as you bite the inside of your cheek till it bleeds to keep from crying out.
Aerion takes his revenge soon the moment the three of you are alone. Aerion orders you to sit on his lap. And when you hesitate, worried a guard or a servant might walk in, or anyone in the matter. “I won’t say it again. Sit.” Daeron is on the other side of the lounge with a wine in hand, staring at his brother with curiosity. The second you are on his lap, Aerion immediately pulls you in for a kiss. His tongue demands entry; plunging it inside your mouth to tangle with yours in a messy dance. Aerion unlaces himself, releasing his cock into the open, placing your hand there. You know what’s expected of you. Wrapping your fingers around him, moving up and down. Aerion can’t help the groans that sound muffled against your mouth. His eyes lock with Daeron’s over your shoulder, who seems to be in a trance. Not tearing his eyes from the sight before him.
The brothers have taken you in all sorts of places. There is not a location in Summerhall left unscathed. It’s a miracle how their father hasn’t caught on to all of this. From the many sneakings to each other’s chambers. To the lovely lakes at Summerhall where you and Daeron drunkenly jumped in nude deep in the night. Where you then made love on the ground at the water’s edge, the soft grass underneath as you clumsingly wrap your legs around his waists; both of you giggling breathlessly between kisses. Having to wash again after to erase the evidence of your coupling activities.
Or the gardens in an area where the bushes are big and plentiful providing just enough cover. Where Aerion has you bent over, your hands pressed against the tree trunk. Moans and groans can be heard if one walks back by. As he pulls your rear back to meet his quick punishing thrusts. You cling to the tree, fingers digging into the rough bark.
Or one of the storage rooms; was it for armory or healing supplies? You couldn’t recall, not when Daeron’s face was buried between your legs. Soft moans released from your lips as you hold into whatever shelf is behind you to keep yourself upright. The other hand clutches his sandy brown hair, pulling him closer to your mound as you ride his face.
Or Aerion pretending to walk you late at night to your chambers, but he had seen you entertain some foolish lord and just couldn't wait. Dragged underneath the stone staircase where it’s dark. Aerion hastily removes his trousers and you know to hike up your skirts and open your legs. His thrusts are rough and harsh, driven by jealous fury. At some points, he slows when he hears someone walking up or down the stairs above you. He clasps a hand over your mouth but Aerion doesn’t stop. He keeps moving while your eyes stare at him wide with fear of getting caught.
It’s not often that the brothers share you but when they do it’s just as overwhelming as one can imagine. Daeron is typically content to be the voyeur. He’ll drink from his cup as he watches his brother thrust into you, cock so deep inside as you throw your head back. The sounds of moans, of skin on skin can be heard throughout the chamber. Daeron sometimes pulls you in for a kiss, his mouth tastes of sweet wine as he swallows all your pretty sounds. At other times he’s content suckling on your breast, taking your nipple into his mouth. Meanwhile, Aerion is between your legs who, like his brother, is a messy eater. Your arousal drips down his chin as his tongue drags against your sensitive folds.
Unlike Daeron, Aerion doesn’t stay content being a watcher for long. He sits for a few moments before he is out of his seat. Whether it's Daeron’s mouth on your clit or his cock sliding in and out of your cunt, Aerion is already reaching for your hand to wrap around his length, making you stroke him. He even urges you to suck his cock, guiding your head towards him. And he’s eager to take his brother’s place when it's done, almost shoving Daeron aside to slide his dick inside you. Mixed with his brother’s seed and your release, easing in it is so much easier, He mocks Daeron for eating you out after, but Aerion would be lying if he claims it didn’t arouse him to see his brother kiss you with those same lips, sharing the taste of all of them.
When the brothers decide to penetrate you at the same time, it’s because Aerion was too impatient to wait for his turn and just wants to bury himself inside you. Your mouth and hands do so little to satisfy him at this moment. There you were, riding Daeron, both of you lost in pleasure. Your face buried in his neck, his hands on your waist holding you as he rolls his hips up to meet yours. Aerion approaches from behind, his hands groping your ass kneading the flesh before spreading you apart. You feel the blunt blunt head of his cock pressing against your other entrance, jolting forward with a gasp. It’s all too much. You didn’t even think this was possible, being filled so wholly. Tears prickle from your ear, but Daeron shushes you with a deep kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth to muffle your sobs. Aerion slides his cock all the way inside, each inch feeling tortuous. Aerion stops for a moment, maybe his own way of giving you mercy to adjust.
Then he starts moving his hips, slowly at first, then faster. The slap of your ass meeting his pelvis mixing with the wet sounds of Daeron’s dick sliding in and out of your gleaming folds. You and Daeron share loud moans between desperate kisses. Already so sensitive, you’ve already reached your peak, crying out between them. Daeron follows soon after. Whimpering as you feel his cum fill up your throbbing cunt. Still, Aerion hasn’t reached his release, continuing his harsh pace, chasing his own pleasure. Your moans sound so broken at this point, voice growing hoarse. Daeron beneath you can’t hold back his whimpers. Sounds escape Aerion too. At how tight you feel. Gods, it's as if you were made for him. For both of them. When he finally cums, his body falters, almost falling over. Taking deep breaths laying his hands on the mattress at either side of Daeron’s head, sweat beads trickling down his forehead, before he pulls away.
Aftercare isn’t exactly their forte. Aerion doesn’t bother with it much. His way of doing it is just a bath with the two of you. Where he does make you ride him, if he is still in the mood which is often. Leaning his head against the tub as he guides your hips to move up and down on his cock. The water sloshing over the sides. Daeron on the other hand just lays content for a bit. His eye peeking at you from the corner as you bring a wet rag to clean the mess down there. He’ll let you cuddle to his side after, if you wish. For Daeron, it’s easier to slip away. Everyone is used to the prince going missing more often than not, so at times he just stays in your chambers until morning where he must slip away before your servants come in.
Besides the many days and nights spent with you in passion. They care for you in their own ways. Aerion loves to spoil you despite this whole arrangement being a secret. He just can't help himself, Daeron jests. As Aerion gifts you jewelry or fabrics that seem to match the colors of his house. Daeron has gifted you a lovely bangle once and he tries not to show his content when he sees you wearing it in front of everyone.
At feasts, Aerion always asks for your first dance. Seeing the look on his face when he knows he must give you up for another man to dance with. When you’re too tired, sitting down when everyone is too distracted with wine and with one another. Daeron will slide next to you, holding your hand from underneath the table. When feeling bold making sure no one’s looking, he’ll press a quick kiss to your palms. He does move away when his father gives him a questioning look.
As said, most days they each take their own turns and sometimes they respect the agreement. Sometimes. Times with Aerion walking in the chambers already removing his brooches and unlacing his shirt, “Move over, you’ve had her for hours now,” he’ll say. Only for Daeron, who shows no sign of moving replies with, “And you, brother, had her this morrow, the day before, and the day before that.”
In rare moments they have a truce. Aerion has you lying on his side, an arm over you. His hand on your waist and when he’s feeling cheeky will slide a hand down to grope your ass. Most of your lower body lays over Daeron, where a hand rests on your leg, sometimes sliding his hands further up your legs to make you squirm. The two brothers in those rare moments of peace, talk of matters such as their father, the tournaments or feasts being planned, the lord that made a fool of himself today or demand kisses from you on occasion.
Both brothers share a streak of jealousy and frankly, Daeron is willing to let Aerion do all the work. It makes it so much easier for him. He lets Aerion be the one to shoo away all your suitors, bribe and scare them away. And it's not beneath Daeron to mock anyone who tries to woo you in front of him, all in good jest, of course. The talks of marriage had been brought up between the brothers but they let it die down. Westeros only allowed one exception and that was Aegon the conqueror. Even Maegor the Cruel paid for such acts.
Many have been entangled with passionate love affairs. But with two princes who feel so strongly for you with the blood of the dragon flowing through them. It’s certainly a unique position to find oneself in. It lasted longer than anyone expected, and it was well for a time. But servants, guards, stable boys, ladies, and nobles all have eyes. And people talk. The princes have been seen near your chambers, have been seen walking you, riding with you, entertaining you at feasts. It’s too much of a coincidence. No one dares to accuse Aerion Targaryen of impropriety or scandalous acts and no one dares to cross Daeron. He is not his brother, but he is just as much as a prince. The gods only know what would occur if words reach Prince’s Maekar’s ears.
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.
The school suspects you're keeping a secret ranking of them and everyone loses their minds. Even your parents become involved.
content: gender neutral reader, parody, Patreon request
Your parents knew it had gotten out of hand when the students started showing up at their front door, begging for the faintest answer to everyone’s dilemma. Rumor got around that you were keeping a book of sorts, perhaps with your favorite students, or your preferred teachers. You weren’t discreet about it: every now and then, you’d glance intensely at someone, then quickly scribble down in your pages. You refused to say what you were collecting, joking that you did it for motivation.
“I just need to know one thing,” the classmate pleaded on his knees, “number one. Is it me? Yes or no. That’s all I’m asking for.”
Your mother clicked her tongue in annoyance. Having these damn youngsters loitering around was one thing, but even your teachers, grown adults, had sheepishly called your home number for “advice”. It was causing a ruckus in the classroom, they said, and many were losing their focus. Perhaps your parents had an idea about this so-called ranking? And – just out of sheer curiosity, of course, nothing more – were they also part of it? No, they weren’t being serious, naturally…but hypothetically speaking, would they make it in the top 10? Has (Y/N) ever mentioned their teaching skills? The last thing they’d hear was the monotonous beep of an interrupted connection.
What could you possibly be doing? Sure, you’ve had a crush, or two, but a whole list of them? Your mother paced back and forth, analyzing the situation.
“We should let (Y/N) be independent,” she spoke hesitantly.
“But at what cost,” your father nearly whimpered in fear. “There’s a massacre out there. They think our kid is keeping favorites. You know how much that weighs on us – a proper yandere will always strive to be first. It’s in our blood. They won’t stop until they’ve won this made-up competition.”
Indeed, in a place as competitive as Yandere School, there’d be no way to predict the possible consequences. Not when feelings were this strong.
You’re startled by a knock on your door.
“Honey,” your parents pry, “we, uh, we accidentally heard you talking about some secret book of yours? Won’t you tell us about it?”
Your chair rolls back, and you raise a brow in confusion as you turn to face them.
“You mean my list of rivals?”
“…Your what?”
“You told me some time ago that Yandere School is a cutthroat institute, and I should try to find more role models to challenge myself. I’ve been writing down whenever someone’s doing better than me, so I eventually get back at them.”
The father wipes a tear threatening to form in the corner of his eye. To think you took their words to heart. Good God, what a precious child. They’ve been truly blessed to have you.
“That’s amazing, Darling,” they praise, leaning against your desk and ruffling your hair. They look over the pages, filled to the brim with names, dates, and observations. It was all a misunderstanding, thankfully. Now they can finally-
“Oh my, that’s a lot of pages.”
“Yeah, I forgot the entire school is doing better than me,” you confess.
Would you ever consider writing a small blurb of an alt scenarios where Dunk and Healer!R are faking being wed because a woman traveling alone is frowned upon and the Targaryens’ reaction to finding out she’s ‘wed’?
"Unless..." Aerion mutters lowly. Dunk's head perks up as he lets himself feel a small sliver of hope.
"Unless, my prince?"
"Unless you give me your pretty wife," Aerion suggests tauntingly, barely able to hide his lust. The heads of all in the room snap to the young prince incredulously. Baelor eyes his nephew silently for a moment before turning his attention to the woman who came in with the hedge knight.
Dunk stills, looking at Aerion incredulously. His wife? It's only then that he remembers that he'd introduced her at the tourney as his wife, continuing the ruse that the pair often carried out when exploring towns and villages without Ser Arlan. It was unwise for a woman to be alone, let alone one as pretty as her, and so they would simply pretend that Dunk, the giant towering oaf, was her sweet but protective husband. It worked a treat, with men averting their eyes and women giving her small nods of approval as the pair ambled past stalls, bodies close.
So Dunk continues the ruse, thinking that surely these princes in front of him would respect the oath of marriage.
"She is my wife, my prince. She is not for the taking."
Aerion could only grunt in annoyance, but his interest was piqued even more. He loved a challenge.
Baelor and Maekar were less pleased, however. An unmarried woman was far easier to draw into their grasp than a married one, and especially one with such a strong husband. He was an obstacle in their path. An obstacle that needed to be dealt with. Perhaps if she suddenly found herself without a husband, then an offer could be made - a royal court could always benefit from a skilled healer, surely?
Luckily for the princes, their word was law.
"Very well, Ser Duncan," Baelor spoke, a slight edge to his words, "you will need to find six other men to fight by your side. If you are unable, you will face the hangman's noose." At that, he directed his gaze to Dunk's wife, watching as she took in the situation with great fear.
God, she would look so pretty crying to him, begging him to spare her husband's life. He would play along, pretending to be kind, considerate - all the things the people thought he was. And then, once the sun was at its highest point in the sky and he had failed to gather the men, Baelor would order his guards to drag her husband from their camp, stringing him up for her to see. For her to fall into his arms, as he pretended to be afflicted by the weight of carrying out such a gruesome duty.
As Ser Duncan and his wife left the council chambers, Baelor called over his guards, giving them his commands. He even pondered having Dunk removed during the night and pretending that the great and honourable man had left his wife alone, running away to save his own life. She would be weepy and sad then, just enough for him to soothe her cries. Alas, he wanted her to have one last night of hope.
With regard to the Yan!Dad Laenor universe, how chaotic do you think the birthing chamber would be when the time comes for the Reader to give birth? I imagine Aegon, Aemond, Jace and Vis would all INSIST on being in the room and staying right by the reader’s side, all silently fighting over who gets to hold her hand and brush her head with cooling cloth. The rest of the family would be equally nervous - Laenor and Joffrey sweating buckets with everyone else desperately trying to be of some use
You would be absolutely right, chaos enfolds every single time you are in labor. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the first child or the fifth. There is always panic and always some form of arguing between them. They don’t care whether they suspect it might be Viserion’s babe or Aegon’s. One thing remains for certain; they all care deeply for your well-being.
It also adds to the chaos that it's highly unusual for husbands at the time to enter a birthing chamber. The first time a Maestar suggested they wait outside, he nearly lost his head so since then he held off his tongue. Even so, Maestars and midwives are visibly nervous the whole time, aware of the numerous princes watching their every move. Daring them to make a mistake.
The men are all attentives in their own way. Aegon grows anxious whenever you are birthing. He just doesn’t know what to do. He offers reassuring words, but he hates seeing you in such pain; feeling helpless. Aemond will take your hand. He tells you to be strong, pressing a kiss to your temple when the Maestar says to push once more. Viserion also holds your hand, demands you squeeze as hard as you can, he can take it. Urging you to pull through, you must. You are his strong fierce girl, are you not. Jace is the sweetest and the most terrified for your state. He’ll press a cool cloth to your forehead, murmuring encouragement, pressing a kiss to your knuckles to lend you strength to keep pushing.
If there are too many of them in the chamber, sometimes their mothers will intervene. Laenor’s pleas often goes in deaf ears. All he wants is for his sweet little girl to be safe. It worries him half to death every time you announce another pregnancy. At the end, it’s Alicent or Rhaenyra who come to the chambers, demanding at least one stay to let the Maesters do their damn job.
When you finally push and the child is brought into the world with a loud cry. Everyone gives a sigh of relief. The men all take turns doting on you, even Laenor praising you for making it through . And somewhere in the background you can hear Joffrey asking if he can please hold the baby already.
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