Hockey Boyfriend! Aerion & Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Headcannons about what Hockey player! Aerion and Valarr Targaryen would be like as boyfriends, knew I had to write these as soon as I saw this fanart ughhhh
Warnings: Suggestive, Some violence obv we're talking about Aerion
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who teaches you to skate on the team's private ice during off-hours. He holds both your hands, skating backward, pulling you along while you wobble and curse. He laughs at you with that sharp, beautiful laugh but he never lets go. When you fall, he falls with you, cushioning your body with his, and suddenly you're both lying on the cold ice, his breath fogging in the air between you. "Again," he says, helping you up. He'll stay out here all night if that's what it takes. He loves watching you improve. He loves catching you when you fail even more.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who makes you sit as close to the penalty box as possible, right on the aisle, first row, directly in his line of sight. Because he knows he's going to get sent there. It's not a matter of if, but when. And when he does, skating off the ice with his helmet off and his silver-gold hair plastered to his forehead, he wants the first thing he sees to be your face. He'll sit on that narrow bench, jaw still tight, and mouth three words to you across the divider: Worth it. Every time.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who insists you wear his jersey to every single game, home or away. Not just any jersey. His. The one with his name arched across the back and his number on the sleeves. He pulls you into it himself before each game, tugging the hem down over your hips, smoothing the fabric over your shoulders like he's dressing a prized possession. "Let them see," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. "Let every man in this arena know exactly whose name you wear." He gets a certain look in his eye when he skates past your seat and sees his number on your back. It's the same look he gets right before he scores.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who fights like a man possessed every time someone on the opposing team so much as looks at you in the stands. He doesn't care if it costs his team a power play. The moment some defenseman checks you through the glass, accidentally or not, Aerion drops his gloves and goes for blood. The refs have to pull him off. He'll sit in the penalty box with his knuckles split, breathing hard, and the only thing that calms him down is your hand pressed against the glass. He doesn't look at the coach. He doesn't look at the scoreboard. He looks only at you.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who has your name written inside his shoulder pads, right over his heart. You discovered it by accident, rummaging for a clean towel in his gym bag, and found the lining of his pads marked with a silver Sharpie. Mine, he'd written next to it. When you asked him about it, he just shrugged, but his ears went red. "Superstition," he said.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who smells like ice, sweat, and something sharp, like winter air and cedar. But after a shower, he smells like your shampoo. He uses it on purpose. When you confronted him, he said, "If I can't have you on the road, I'll have you in my hair." He travels with a tiny travel bottle of your conditioner. His teammates tease him relentlessly. He threatens to break their kneecaps. They stop teasing.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who keeps every ticket stub from every game you've ever attended. They're in a box in the back of his wardrobe, rubber-banded in chronological order, along with the first napkin you ever wrote your number on. You found them once when you were looking for a spare hoodie. He caught you with the box open and, for the first time in your relationship, looked genuinely embarrassed. "Don't," he said, voice rough. "Don't look at those." You looked anyway. You saw your handwriting on a crumpled bar napkin from two years ago. You kissed him so hard he forgot to breathe.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who, after a win, pulls you into the empty locker room before the press gets there. The team knows to give him five minutes. He's still in his gear: sweating, flushed, adrenaline humming through his veins and he lifts you onto the equipment table like you weigh nothing. His hands, still wrapped in sweaty tape, grip your thighs. His forehead presses to yours. He doesn't say anything. He just breathes. And then he kisses you deep, hungry, tasting of Gatorade and victory. "This is what I play for," he whispers against your mouth.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who has a very specific ritual after particularly brutal away games when he comes home at 2 AM. He finds you in bed, half-asleep, and peels off his clothes in the dark. He slides under the covers and pulls you against his chest, his body still cold from the ice, his skin smelling of arena air. He buries his face in your hair and holds you so tight you can barely breathe. "Need you," he mumbles, already half-gone. His hand slips under your shirt, not grabbing, just resting flat against your stomach, feeling your warmth. He falls asleep like that, his palm pressed to your skin, his thumb stroking slow circles. You've never felt more wanted in your entire life.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who, on nights when you're both restless, pins you against the mattress with his body, not aggressively, but deliberately, like he's settling into the only place he belongs. His weight presses you into the bed, his thighs bracketing yours, his forearms planted on either side of your head. He looks down at you with those sharp violet eyes, still half-feral from practice, his silver hair falling across his face. "Say my name," he whispers. You do. He shudders. He lowers his mouth to your neck not biting, not yet, just breathing against your pulse point. "Again." And when you do, he smiles against your skin. That slow, dangerous, possessive smile. The same one he wears right before he scores. Only this time, you're the goal he's been aiming for all along.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who plays Centre like a ghost: silent, precise, almost invisible until he isn't. He doesn't fight. He doesn't trash-talk. He just reads the ice better than anyone, steals pucks with surgical precision, and threads passes through defenders like he's weaving thread through a needle. He leads the league in assists three years running. The announcers call him "the Silver Shadow." His teammates call him "the quiet king." He doesn't correct them. He just skates to the faceoff circle and wins another draw.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, before every game, finds you in the crowd, section 112, row C, your seat and holds your gaze for exactly three seconds. No wave. No smile. Just a look. He doesn't need to say anything. You know what he's telling you: I see you. Thank you for being here. Then he turns away, taps his stick twice, and drops into position. His coach has learned to give him those three seconds. His team has learned to wait. It's not a ritual. It's a lifeline.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who never asked you to wear his jersey. He just left one in your closet one day, folded neatly, with a note that said: Only if you want to. You wore it to the next game. He saw you from the tunnel and, for the first time all season, missed his pre-game stretch because he was staring. He didn't mention it. But you caught him tracing his name on your back during the post-game hug, and you felt his heart hammering under his pads. He doesn't need you to wear it. He needs you to choose to wear it.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who has anxiety before big games but handles it with quiet composure. He doesn't tremble. He doesn't hide. He sits in the corner of the locker room, eyes closed, breathing slow and measured, running through every play in his head. He doesn't ask you to calm him down. He doesn't need you to. But when you brush your fingers over his knuckles, he relaxes , just a fraction, and he opens his eyes to look at you. "Thank you," he says, and nothing more. He doesn't need you to save him. He just needs you to remind him he's not alone.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, after a loss, processes it in silence. He doesn't disappear. He doesn't break down. He sits in the locker room, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling with a stillness that unnerves his teammates. His coach tries to talk to him. He listens, nods, takes responsibility for the missed assignments. He doesn't deflect. He doesn't blame anyone else. "I should have been faster on the backcheck," he says, voice level. He carries the weight because that's who he is. Later, when he finds you waiting outside, he pulls you into a quiet embrace and presses his forehead to yours. "One more game," he says. "I'll fix it." And he always does.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who has a pre-game routine he doesn't break: black coffee, no sugar, exactly seventeen minutes before warmups; a specific playlist he never shares with anyone (mostly classical, some ambient); and a five-minute phone call with you, no matter what time zone he's in. He doesn't tell you he loves you. He doesn't need to. He just asks, "How was your day?" and listens to you talk about something mundane, traffic, your boss, what you had for lunch. He takes that sound, that grounding, ordinary warmth, and carries it onto the ice with him. It steadies his hands more than any superstitious ritual ever could.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, on road trips, texts you one thing before bed every night: Goodnight. Be careful. I'll call tomorrow. It's not clingy. It's not desperate. It's matter-of-fact, steady, like a man who knows he has something good and doesn't need to overcomplicate it. Sometimes you reply with a photo, your face, a cute animal, something silly. He saves every one. He doesn't tell you that, either.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, when he comes home from away games at 2 AM, finds you in bed and slips in behind you without waking you. He doesn't pull you close. He just lies there, one hand resting on your hip, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing. He doesn't need to talk. He doesn't need to be held. He just needs to be near you. In the morning, you'll wake up to him already up, making coffee, looking at you with those tired, steady eyes. "Morning," he says, and it sounds like home.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, when you initiate intimacy, responds with quiet intensity. He's never rough. He's never demanding. He's simply present, completely and utterly present, his hands on your body like he's memorizing the shape of you. He looks at you like you're the only real thing in a world of noise and speed and bright lights. He just breathes your name, once, like it's a prayer he's been saving. And when it's over, he doesn't fall asleep immediately. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes open, watching you. "You're still here," he says, not a question. You kiss him. "Still here." He closes his eyes. He finally lets himself rest.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, at the end of every season, gives you something small, a puck from his first goal, his A from the alternate captaincy, a necklace with a silver skate charm that he had custom-made. He doesn't make a speech. He doesn't get emotional. He just hands it to you and says, "I don't keep much. But I keep you." That's all. That's everything.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, on the rare nights when he has anger from a game left over, rolls you onto your back and hovers over you with that tired, wondering look, like he can't quite believe you're real. He doesn't rush. He never rushes. He takes his time undressing you, kissing each inch of skin as it's revealed, murmuring your name like a prayer. His hands shake, they always shake, but his touch is so gentle it almost hurts. "You're the only thing that quiets my head," he whispers against your collarbone. "The only thing." He makes love to you like he's apologizing for every game he lost, every night he kept you awake, every time he came home too exhausted to hold you properly. And when it's over, he curls into your chest, smaller than a man his size should be, and sleeps for ten hours straight. You don't move. You wouldn't dare.
Notes:
GUYS I'M BACKKKK!!!! Exams had me so damn drained but I missed writing SOOOOO MUCHHH UGHHHH
I'm literally so excited to continue PR Stunt and Chivalry, I've also finished the sequel for Hung by a Thread, just editing it now and I'll post it later !!
Alsoooo I'm writing some more headcanons but for Vampire! Aerion & Valarr which i might make into a series but I want to finish PR stunt and Chivalry first :)))
summary: Once Prince Maekar set his eyes on the most promising of all cooks, no one could pull him away from her. He is too young, too smitten, and much too prideful to hide the affair and its fruits.
Alternative version of my fics with reader who is the kitchen's head servant and an undercover queen of the Red Keep’s underworld – where Maekar and reader met when they were younger, long before the prince even met Lady Dyanna
[Hidden Presence & Human Nature universe]
As a young man, Maekar was keen on knighthood and making himself a memorable warrior. He wallowed in pride about the guarded wall he built around himself, as well as his temper that some called unapproachable. He used it to deal with any worries he might have – deal or simply hide them. Few people knew his true nature that he never intended to reveal. As it is often for young men, he viewed roughness as strength and mistook care for weakness.
Not even his eldest brother’s intervention could do much. Maekar wasn’t cruel, but the seriousness that he clung to worried even Queen Myriah who cherished all of her sons. She would never expect that a brief meeting – you, the young kitchen adept, passing her son in the door of the queen’s room – can change Maekar for good. Or at least make him less indifferent to gentleness. There was no ill will in his mother, yet she instructed your head keeper to keep you away from his son.
But who can stop two young souls, especially so fierce? Who could hold back the prince, who for the first time in his life felt like his side of sensibility wasn’t threatened? Not put on a display to mock, to look for his weaknesses.
He wore dark colors with stubbornness, like it was a statement. Even though he knew it didn’t befit a prince, he straightened his back in this specific way. Still like a teenager who simply wanted to look more mature. You sometimes pointed that out jokingly, which made him blush and poke you with a finger. He started screaming whenever one of his brothers did what you did or tried to lecture him, and yet… When the words came from you, all he could do was lower his head like he knew he was wrong.
You never mocked him, though, just noticed when his ‘acts’ were turning more theatrical than fearsome, as he intended. You didn’t belittle his force. On the contrary, you made him feel more aware of it.
He wasn’t fond of the jokes, nonetheless. Sometimes when he was particularly cross and you messed with him, he made sure to prove his points, no matter how fake they could be. He moved you easily with his strength, either dragging you to his lap or standing over you, his broad body covering yours completely. “Said something?” he dared.
He should be shocked that he found himself at the mercy of a servant, a woman who ran simple – as he thought – tasks for his mother. And yet, surprise never crossed his mind. It came so naturally, so simply, that he grasped it in fistfuls. Led by the customs of his age, he tended to be greedy, but that wasn’t about to change as long as you allowed him.
Gods, he would be a liar if he said that he wasn’t amused by how much smaller you were than him. It never failed to make him feel strange; deep warmth scattering all over his body. Much bolder than older Maekar, he would gather your hands to keep them in his, watching how they looked together. Such a small thing that could make him obey any order, just with a simple ask…
He wasn’t big on giving gifts before your romance started. He was a prince surrounded by royals who could have anything they wanted. Fine, he handed a book to Aemon once or twice, had a sword made for his eldest brother’s name day, and picked up flowers for his mother, but that was all. Only when he could care for you properly, he started giving you presents. Silently at first, feeling too awkward to mention it, forget asking if you liked it. He feared rejection too much, despite all the pride he tried to show. You just found new things on the kitchen counter when you came back to your quarters. Embroidered handkerchief, an ingredient you mentioned that was difficult to find, a shawl made of pure silk... Maekar could spot when your eyes settled on something a lady you passed in the hall wore. During the next week, it was waiting for you: lace gloves, frilly collars… You, a simple kitchen maid, were slowly in possession of an impressive collection.
Then he stopped running away after placing a new reminder of his devotion in your chamber. He stayed silent but watched. He felt something tighten in his stomach when he took in the sight of you unwrapping the paper that hid a see-through nightgown. The previous night he feared that he would rip the delicate thing, but he couldn’t force himself to let go of it, squeezing it in a desperate grip and wondering if he should run to you right now, probably disturbing your well-deserved sleep. He resisted the need, but it only made him more eager to see you blush when you realized what you were holding.
You forbade him from gifting you jewelry. You could sense the problems you would have if someone found out you kept valuable jewels in your simple wooden chest. He couldn’t hold back from giving you a ring, though. A silver piece with a ruby, small enough to not cause you discomfort. The dragon engraved on the side made him feel pride when the thing shined on your ring. You accepted it, much to his relief. “I couldn’t… I had to—” he muttered before he spotted the fondness on your face. He expected you to scold him for such a bold gift. “If I can’t make you wear the true stones you deserve, then at least…”
“I love it, Maekar.”
Gods, he was so glad. The ring replaced a much smaller one you wore before. He asked you to give it to him as a ‘payback’. You laughed and called him silly, but he insisted on taking the piece made of iron. To his eyes, it looked like a handle of a spoon, cut and curved together to fit around a finger. You wore it because it carried memories, and it was the same for Maekar now. He carried it on a leather band around his neck and he was sure it would stay there until the day he would die.
But no ring nor loving word could match another gift that you gave him.
A son.
Boy of silver hair whom Maekar wanted to legitimize the moment he picked him up for the first time. Feeling the little fists tighten on his calloused hand was like standing on the battlefield for Maekar. The same thrill, blood boozing in his head that still ached from screaming at maesters that kept him outside the room. He almost went mad hearing your own screams. He was fucking ready to carve his way through the old men and midwives with his sword.
Goodness, the boy was smaller and paler than Maekar thought a newborn should be. He instantly worried, thinking if he didn’t care for you enough. Fuck, he used to be so sure you were taken care of; he paid attention to if you ate properly, he arranged a comfortable room for you, everything he could… He was following the maesters like a maniac, asking if the child was healthy. “He is fine, my prince,” he heard over and over again until one of the men felt brave enough to mutter under his breath, “As fine as a bastard can be.”
Blood would be spilled that day if not for your weak call of Maekar’s name. It reminded him that he still cradled the innocent creature in his arms. A child that he owed care and gentleness.
He never understood your wish to keep the boy just as he was – a bastard. You forbade him from naming him a prince, and despite his obvious white hair, you demanded Maekar’s promise to not admit his fatherhood publicly.
He finally understood your motives when the rebellion came. You were simply protecting your child. But gods, did you really think he would allow anyone to hurt him? All he wished for was to gather his son in his arms and show off to others. His son was his beacon; alongside you, making Maekar move through life with more care. He learned to not be hasty, but no matter how hard he tried, he lost patience whenever he saw the boy. Not at him, no, just at the lords and ladies of the court to whom he wished to show his child. He wanted to make them kneel, bend their heads in front of the small child who carried his features, and slept in the kitchens.
Despite the domesticity and heart-warming safety you provided for the boy, Maekar’s breath never failed to hitch when he thought about where you lived. His son hid behind you whenever someone entered the kitchens, clinging to your skirts. He was of gentle nature, easily scared but smart over his young years.
Only when he spotted his father in the door did his pale cheeks blushed in excitement. He was a well-behaved child. Better than any prince ever was, and Maekar respected you for that even more. After looking up at you for permission, he threw himself at Maekar and giggled when his father reached out to pick him up.
Maekar understood the position you and your child were in very well, as well as your attempts to protect him from Targaryen’s enemies, but god, he was furious sometimes. If cared for you and your opinions any less, the boy would be a legal prince at once.
He used all sorts of quiet punishments on you… If you didn’t want to give him his own son, he would start showing off with you much bolder. You were the mother to his firstborn, after all. You were his as much as he wanted to be only yours.
Whenever he walked with you to the gardens, he stopped caring if someone saw. He would pull you to his lap on a bench and let his hand wander. If he met the eyes of a lord strolling nearby, he would hold it until the man felt too awkward to bear it and ran away. You tried to get away from the prince, but his grip was tight, so eventually you hid your head in his neck to avoid facing the embarrassment.
People who viewed Maekar as stubborn and dangerous would be shocked if they saw how your arguments about the child usually ended: with the prince begging for your forgiveness on his knees. The only subject he was absolutely adamant about was teaching his son how to wield a sword. His word was final, and no matter how hard you cried, he dragged him to the training grounds and made sure he could protect himself. Maekar would wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes as well as the dust from his son’s cheeks.
He would be a failure, a disgrace to his own name, if he didn’t teach his firstborn how to stay safe when the tough times come.
captain PLEASE aerion smut where he is mean but also completely pussy drunk but like crazy whiny
oh hell yeah
18+ (fem!reader + no y/n, SMUT, he’s not superrr mean but he’s a whiny little shit and he’s aerion soooo)
he’s been in a foul mood all day.
yelling at servants, snapping at your chamber maids, berating the minor lords who request a word with him. he’s a snake on the hunt: slithering through the halls with his eyes sharp and fangs bared.
and having been married to the man for a considerable amount of time, you know just what he needs, even if is he reluctant to admit it.
“gods, look at you. such a filthy fucking whore for your prince,” aerion utters as his hands clamp down on your hips, your core hovering just inches from his face. you grip the wood of the headboard, your legs trembling as you hold yourself up, aerion’s words thick with lust. “pussy’s dripping all over my fucking face.”
he groans as he pulls you to him, gluing his mouth to the slick slit of your core and curling his serpentine tongue against you. you huff out a breathless moan of his name, the heat of his mouth blistering against you.
aerion licks through your folds before delving deep into your drooling hole without any warning. a rumbling purr leaves his chest, and you can’t help but rock your hips, chasing the vibrations where the slope of his nose meets your clit.
he pushes you up slightly, warm air fanning over your core, making you keen, fingers tight on the headboard.
“needy girl. she’s drooling for it, isn’t she?” aerion speaks into you, his tone sharp and condescending as his eyes fix on your cunt. “s’just pathetic. so desperate for my mouth.”
you whine when his mouth is back on you, tongue stuffing deep inside you in one unfurling thrust. he guides your hips, grinding you down onto his face as he takes what he needs, eyes fluttering closed as the taste and smell of you completely overwhelm him.
you’re hot and wet and sweet on his tongue, your thighs bracketing his head are plush and warm, the sounds falling from your mouth are airy and melodic. his cock jumps against the fabric of his breeches, quickly growing hard.
you gain a slight bit of autonomy when aerion’s cock hardens and the blood seems to rush from his head. he moans loudly into your cunt as his breeches tent, fingers pushing indents into the flesh of your hips. but you begin grinding yourself harder against him, his nose a firm push against your swollen clit, his tongue thick and deep inside you.
he’s grunting against your core, the vibrations settling a deep-rooted pleasure inside of you, but you can’t let it overwhelm you. not when he has been such a brat today, especially.
behind you, you know he’s bucking his hips, chasing the rub of his linen breeches on the sensitive, leaking head of his cock. his chest rises and falls rapidly, and he’s panting like a dog, the sounds mostly swallowed by the slick squelches of his tongue shifting in and out of you.
so with as much strength as you can muster, you lift yourself from his face.
aerion’s eyes snap open, pupils blown wide, irises dark with need. his face is shining with your slick, and his eyes dart from your pussy to your face.
“what the fuck are you doing?” he growls, hands tight on your hips. “sit down.”
you release a shaky sigh. “n-no, aerion. you need to ask nicely.”
the corner of his mouth curls into a snarl, and he tries to pull you back onto his mouth. but you resist, legs trembling either side of his head, fingers straining on the headboard. aerion lets out a low grumble, more animal than human, and it makes your breath hitch.
“you disobedient little—” he takes a deep breath. “sit on my fucking face or i’ll—”
“you’ll do nothing,” you retort, dropping just a fraction so the tip of his nose brushes against you. he surges upwards, his mouth meeting your slick folds for a moment, but you quickly rise out of the contact. he groans, brows furrowing as you tut at him. “you’ll get nothing until you ask nicely, aerion.”
one of his hands moves from your hips, as if to reach up and grip your arm, but you slap it away. he lets out another growl, but his hand returns to your hip as he stares up at you.
“i am blood of the dragon,” he seethes before licking his lips, tasting you there. “if i want my wife to sit on my face—”
“then you will ask nicely. you are my dragon, aerion, do not forget that,” you remind him coyly, growing braver with each word you speak.
you wriggle your hips above him, and he groans, watching your slick seep from your pussy, your inner thighs damp and glistening. he needs you so bad—his cock is too hard in his breeches, and sweat beads on his forehead.
after a tense moment, his jaw clenches. “please.”
you peer down at him, rocking your hips slightly. his eyes flit to watch the movement, then flick back up when you begin to speak. “please, what? what do you need?”
a loud, desperate groan finally rips free of aerion’s throat, his hands tightening on your hips. “fuck, fuck—okay, okay, please. i need you. i need you to sit down.”
“sit down where?” you question, and delight in the frustration and desperation that passes over your husband’s slick face.
“my face,” aerion whines. “please, my love, please let me—let me put my mouth on you. i need it.”
you coo down at him as you sink. “aw, but only because you asked so nicely, my prince.”
when his mouth makes contact with you again, his eyes roll and a reverberating whine passes through him. his tongue curls inside you, bullying into your cunt with only a couple of thick, fast thrusts. you rock yourself against him, soft moans of his name making his cock twitch behind you.
“gods, aerion, so good. you’re doing so good,” you praise him, and his mind goes blank.
Here we are, eons later with a part two for Blood from a Stone, so please have a look at that first if this is the first you glimpse of me and my small delulu world.
I love every single person who lays eyes on this with kindness and takes time to read. Blessings be upon you and all you hold dear <3
Warnings for canon typical violence, description of a panic attack, angst, gore, suggestive material and anything vaguely associated with horror themes. 18+ only!
The wind is strong and erratic, your skirt whips around your knees, billows out and then claps tight to your legs again. It's exciting. Your hair is tousled and as you breathe in and your chest expands you imagine wings growing out of your spine. It is glorious. The lake laps anxiously at the shore, small violent squalls stirring up the waves, short and quick to break. The sinker bobs in and out of view and as you follow the line back to where it's attached to your fishing rod. You spy a crayfish scurrying on the lake floor, struggling to find purchase in the short unpredictable currents kicked up by the vengeful weather.
You close your eyes and speak a silent prayer to the Old Gods, just as mother taught you. May they preserve you from lightning, may they preserve you from this lake's anger and any spite the creature you're about to hunt might feel. May they steel your heart so that it leads in fears stead.
It is somewhat like a soldier's prayer, you sometimes hear the men riding South whisper such words under their breath. You love the stories of knights valiantly going off to war, you wish yourself on a warhorse with a claymore resting on your shoulder. Stories such as these keep evergreen here, feeding their roots on plentiful blood soaked battlegrounds.
Carefully you wedge the fishing rod in a crack of a tree stump and approach the lake's edge. The water feels oddly warm, underneath it the wind can't lash at you and it feels almost peaceful if it wasn't for the constant movement of entirely another nature. You stalk the creature slowly, it's movement is so hindered you feel a pang of pity for it. You have half a mind to leave it be.
But your brother said that small girls are not hunters and you just have to prove him wrong. A double edged slight, sharpened to cut at your skill and your sex. Your brother forgets, you too are a Blackwood and the forest and the lake will provide for you. Sight will guide you and the Old Gods will protect you as long as you follow the rites.
The fact that it was a Targaryen feast you escaped thank to this familial scrap is a different matter altogether. You know that the royal visit has little to do with you and everything to do with Raventree Hall. The King casting his gaze directly through his heirs in search of a suitable residence. It was eerie seeing prince Maekar look over your ancestral home with detached, assessing eyes. The King must be a warg your imagination supplies, but he possesses his kin and not wild beasts like in the tales. The King, you think, is a creature of its own kind, ever hungry, as if the circle of gold around his temples compelled him to take and take and yet again take more.
Nevertheless mother was furious and father- dissapointed as you ran out barefoot wild and cackling outside the keep walls and into the wilderness.
These woods are your home. Not even the Dragon Scourge has reached here yet. And in the North the land remembers, it knows who you are and it is ever watchful.
Blackfyre is a mystery and a constant fear. In your mind it is like to a huge monster slowly devouring the continent, waiting for someone to ride in a glorious charge and fell it. As it stands it is more of a sprawling desease twisting and gnawing at people and nature alike, slowly scouring the realm of anything good and green.
As it started taking root on the Westerosi shores people were convinced that it was a show of strength from the Free Cities, a pestilence brought as a threat with a timely and suitably expensive antidote ready to be shipped over after a succesful negotiation. Trade has been at a standstill at that point, the few ships that made it over to King's Landing were kept in quarantine. Still, crows were sent, a single messenger Clipper followed a fortnight after none of the birds returned. Weeks later they found a wreck near Blackwater Bay, planks covered in ichor that's bitten into the wood so hard that even the sea's fury couldn't lap them clean. None of the crew or their bodies returned.
That started the panic. The bards dubbed it the Exodus of King's Landing. People say that sea water curdled and turned black as the last of King's Daeron's retinue left.
That Gold Cloaks abandoned post shortly after, is only spoken about quietly when the night is heavy and what became of Flea Bottom your father calls "repulsive business" but only when he's well into his cups.
With one swift movement you reach into the water and grasp the creature by the thick chitin coat on it's back, careful not to allow it space to grab you in kind with one of its pincers. It's beautiful, you think, murky green and reddish and well grown, a sign of a healthy lake.
A small gasp comes from the shore behind you, you whip around but forget to adjust to the density of water and tangle in your skirts. You fall backwards into the churling waters, for a moment fully submerged.
For one confused second you are unsure which way is up, atavistic fear seizing your heart as your instincs grapple with the possibility of dying. Then the years of practice kick in as you kick your feet out and feel for the sandy lake floor. When you do, you come up for air, spitting water pushing your hair out of the way. As you fell you dropped your prize and can only imagine it is counting its blessing thanking whatever gods a crayfish might follow for the cover of mud you just kicked up. A hiss escapes your lips as your teeth begin to chatter, winds now batting at your wet skin and dress making the outside world feel all the more colder.
You drag your gaze up expecting to find your brother in a fit of laughter, instead your gaze falls on a small boy with a shock of silver gold hair donning the Targaryen red and black. He isn't laughing, his violet eyes wide, expression stuck somewhere between shock and awe with a lick of curiosity. Suddenly his gaze falls to the water and he runs up to where you're struggling to collect yourself.
"You dropped it!" The he exclaims. He's small, sickly looking. You balk for a full minute and watch him mill his hands through the murky water, searching. You take a step towards the boy, lips trembling equal parts due to humiliation and the cold, fully intent on smacking him over the head.
Just as you reach him he exclaims triumphantly, hand flying out of the water small wispy fingers clamped around one of the crayfish's pincers.
It takes a second, maybe less and you see a flash of blood where the creature managed to get at it's hunters limb. The boy hisses but to your surprise he doesn't start crying or screaming, he just goes very, very still as if fascinated by the situation he found himself in. It must hurt like hells.
He lets go of the pincer and allows the crayfish to hang off of his skin, tearing through it more with its weight now suspended.
You seize his wrist, and he still doesn't move, doesn't react to your touch which is probably for the better cause the situation is entirely inappropriate, even your ten years of experience in life speak to that.
You pry the pincers open let the animal fall into water then catch it by its back and cast it far into the middle of the lake with a growl more than a cry.
"What in the world are you doing!?" You aim your words like one would a club, angled for a fight no matter what response will follow.
To his credit the boy doesn't flinch away or even back down.
He stares listlessly at the water, at the spot where it splashed with impact.
Then something seems to return to him, a sense or maybe the pain finally catches in is body. He turns his hand slowly looking at the mark bleeding bright red.
"I've never seen one of those before." He nods to where you aimed your throw.
He turns his head to you, eyes closed in a bashful smile, as his hand moves behind his back.
You gape.
Then decide not to bother as you start getting out of the water muttering about Targaryen madness under your breath.
"You made quite a spectacle earlier in the Hall." The words themselves are not surprising, what you didn't expect is the matter of fact-ness with which they are uttered. It isn't a preface to mockery, just an observation.
You scoff anyway and continue walking, pointedly not looking back. You let out a low whistle and wait.
There are footsteps trailing behind you.
A dark shape detaches itself from a a tree crown high above and makes directly for your shoulder. Suddenly there is a hand on your arm, you flinch and are pushed behind the small boys frame as he puts himself between you and the crow. His back is rigid and though the act itself is valiant you can tell it cost him a fair bit of courage.
Sunshine won't have any of it, he doesn't flap his wings at the boy, seemingly knowing better than to attack a princeling but sits on top of his hand on your shoulder.
"It's okay he's mine. Or is it the first time you see a crow as well as a crayfish?" You mutter, cheeks growing red because you are now joined together in this strange blessing from a bird of carrion.
Sunshine's claw catches on the boy's wound and he finally hisses and snaps his hand away. It spurs the bird up and you get a wing flap on the side of your face as the world rights itself and there is now some distance between you two.
There is a humming on the air, something heavy and watchful settling in the forest clearing, you smell ozone and feel deep in your bones a shift, somewhere a sword has fallen over someone's neck. Somewhere a piece of land has spoiled beyond rescue and here a crab walks away with its life and you must return to your father's halls defeated and with trouble in tow. There is a world in which you read this omen for what it is- for now, you're distracted and you can't tell if it is fear that fills up your chest or nervousness.
You're shaking. It's spoken soft, with a bashfulness again that you begin to associate with this odd boy. He then steels himself, stands an inch taller and you really should make fun of him again or just cut it short but there is all of the sudden something keeping you oddly meek in his presence. Like some pact has been made and you're not quite sure what kind.
"My name is Aerion, I'll escort you back. "
You scoff again and start walking away. He follows closely, like a guard would, which you find strange because you can't imagine he guards people often. It might be nature over nurture, you suppose.
"I'm"
You go to say your name and choke, can't catch your breath and your heart is racing and it lasts hours. You cry and writhe and eventually fall to the ground digging your hands into the soil, but they don't sink in like they should, there is no smell of decay and foliage. Sunshine isn't fussing at your hair like he would normally.
It is only when the dawn breaks and you finally manage to regain some calm that you realize that you are in your monastic chambers, shivering on the stone icy floor, haunted and wringed out by a dream of a memory of a time long lost. A dream about a hope that started that day and took everything with it when it was scorched away.
Summary:In the shadowed halls of King’s Landing, love does not bloom freely—it lingers, forbidden and unspoken. Torn between duty to the realm and desire that cannot be named, two cousins find themselves bound in a devotion that threatens to undo them both.
Author’s note:This is my FIRST attempt at writing smut, so any inaccuracies or awkward phrasing are due to inexperience and writing in a non-native language. I appreciate your understanding.
WARNINGS:+18, smut, incestuous relationship (cousins), consensual but socially forbidden relationship, Targcest, political marriage themes, emotional distress, angst, jealousy, possessive love, explicit sexual language, oral sex, unprotected sex, rubbing, dirty talk.
When news of your birth spread across the realm, it was met with both shock and reluctant joy. Many had believed that Aerys had not even consummated his wedding night, so the arrival of a child had taken everyone by surprise.
Of course, some continued to whisper. Rumors spread that you were a bastard—that Aelinor had taken a vow-breaking knight or lord into her bed. The gossip grew and lingered… until your hair began to grow.
The gods may have given you your mother’s eyes, but your hair… your hair was unmistakably Targaryen silver. And yet, a few soft strands of brown—your mother’s—still wove through it, quietly refusing to disappear.
Despite everything, the lords of the realm had always loved such talk. Clearly. It never truly stopped—but you learned to stop listening.
One of the biggest reasons for that was Valarr.
Your cousin, a year older than you, had been by your side for as long as you could remember, especially when it came to this. He had always been a quiet anchor for you. Since your father Aerys resided in King’s Landing, you spent most of your days with your uncles Baelor and Rhaegel’s family—unfortunately, your uncle Maekar was far away. Being in Summerhall felt both comforting and isolating.
The good part was being away from Aerion. His unsettling attention, his whispers of “we must unite our dragon blood, cousin”—being free of those was a relief.
The bad part was missing your other cousins. You had different dynamics with each of them, but none were monsters like Aerion—and for you, that was enough.
Maekar was a different matter. There was no hatred, but like your father, he could sometimes ignore your presence. Then again… who did Maekar truly get along with? With whom was he ever at ease?
Still, you knew he cared for you in his own way. As much as he cared for your father.
In the suffocating air of King’s Landing, the greatest source of comfort you found was Valarr. Over the years, the two of you built something quiet… something hidden.
At first, you were just children—just cousins.
But as the years passed, especially in adolescence… feelings began to take shape, undeniable and real.
Valarr, like you, had reached the age of marriage—though by Westerosi standards, both of you were considered slightly late.
Suitors for Valarr were considered more quickly, yet more carefully. He was the heir to the heir, after all.
You, on the other hand… you could wait. A few more years would not matter. Eventually, the right match would present itself for political reasons.
In recent years, your father Aerys had begun to neglect you just as he had your mother, paying you little attention within the keep.
Though, at times, you still drew notice—especially when it came to your closeness with Valarr. After all, this city, reeking as it was, had a tongue that never tired of speaking.
You both knew what this was.
It was obvious.
And what you chose to hide, you kept alive behind closed doors—through fleeting touches, quiet kisses.
Valarr was an honorable young man.
But in the end, he was still a man.
And you were the only thing that disrupted the rhythm of his heart. How could he stay away from you—from your scent?
He was not cruel—he was gentle, a trait he clearly took from Baelor. But Valarr was still a prince of the realm. The heir to the heir… a Targaryen. Inevitably, there was pride in him. A certain arrogance. A touch of recklessness—not born of malice.
He carried a quiet indulgence within himself. Even if he appeared modest in the way his position demanded, it was impossible for someone like him not to be a little spoiled. Not in the way he crushed others—but in the way he held his own worth higher.
With the fire of youth running through his veins, how could he ever truly stop touching you?
Of course, he would never go so far as to dishonor you.
Never.
But he never denied himself entirely, either.
On the other hand, you were the more active one between the two of you. You were far from plain. Yours was a real kind of beauty. Striking, in its own way—and for Valarr, that was more than enough.
What drew him in was your boldness—your willingness. Or perhaps it was simply the recklessness of youth. Where the marriages within your family were cold and distant… yours burned with something far more alive.
Not in a way the septas would merely frown upon—but in a way far more sinful.
For him.
And that hunger only grew stronger, fed by touches that never quite crossed the line—but lingered close enough to make it unbearable.
********************************************************You were in the solar chambers. Together with your younger cousin, Aelora, you worked on needlecraft while exchanging small, quiet conversations. Today, her twin Aelor—who rarely left her side—was absent. The boy was in lessons, being taught the history of the realm.
Though you had grown accustomed to Aelora’s quiet nature, at times it still unsettled you. Unlike her father Rhaegel, she showed no clear signs of madness—yet there was still something… peculiar about her. Just like her twin.
Her golden-silver hair shimmered under the midday sun, while you chose to remain seated in the shaded alcove. The summer heat was already warming your skin unbearably, and even with the windows open, the air that seeped inside remained heavy and warm—despite how high up you were.
“Are you interested in Valarr?”
The question broke the peaceful silence so suddenly that you nearly pricked your thumb with the needle. You managed to stop yourself at the last second.
You lifted your head to look at the girl, ready to scold her—because this was not something to be spoken of so freely.
But when you met Aelora’s soft, delicate features, you didn’t.
She was only a child.
You steadied the flicker of unease within you and spoke carefully, your tone firm yet not frightening.
“I do not know what you mean, cousin… but you should not speak of such things so openly. The wrong people could twist such words to their advantage in dangerous ways.”
Aelora slowly smiled, that gentle expression settling on her face. She set aside the small floral embroidery in her hands.
“I heard my Handmaid's speaking… some of them said you and Valarr cannot keep from looking at one another… like two lovers.” She hesitated slightly. “Still, if I’ve upset you, I am sorry… I was only curious.”
A knot tightened low in your stomach.
Not because of being paired with Valarr—nor being called lovers.
But because it had become so obvious that servants could speak of it so freely.
When had it become this loud?
When had it grown this careless?
Still, your anger was not for her. Your composure did not falter.
“People talk, Aelora. They enjoy inventing stories about us—about our family. Soon, when you come of age, they will speak of you as well. So you must learn not to listen… or rather, to listen without letting it guide you into recklessness.” You paused, lowering your gaze back to your work.
“They are only rumors.”
You softened slightly as you added,
“And you need not apologize to me, sweet cousin.”
The girl fell quiet for a moment—but eventually, she spoke again. This time, the same question… in a different form.
“And what about Aerion…? It is known that he is interested in you…”
Though she asked it innocently, the moment you heard his name, the needle finally pierced your skin.
“Ah—”
It was a small sting, but the discomfort that spread through you had little to do with it. You brought your finger to your lips, drawing in the small bead of blood.
Aelora looked at you with wide, apologetic indigo/violet eyes, clearly regretting her question.
You slowly pulled your finger away from your mouth.
“I have no interest in him.”
You did not use his name.
Not cousin. Not Aerion.
Not even prince.
He was nothing to you.
“Not now… nor ever.”
The words left you like a vow—one that felt as though it might reach the gods themselves.
*******************************************************Later in the day, before supper, you made your way to the library. You enjoyed reading beautiful stories—small things to stir the quiet excitement of the young woman within you. You were a romantic, but a realistic one. You preferred love stories written with sorrow… or the lost ones within your own history. The ones that had slipped away.
Every second spent in that silence was a clear, steady kind of peace. Of your family, only your father came here often—but you had memorized the hours he did not, which gave you more chances to be alone.
Of course, you had a prince who knew your habits just as well.
Your dearest Valarr.
Unable to see you throughout the day, he had come here in the hope of finding you alone, if only for a moment. Your seat faced away from the door, yet the rhythm of his steps—and the way his scent quietly filled the room—told you exactly who it was.
You lifted your head from the book resting in your lap and turned toward him, just to see him as he always was—effortlessly striking. That smile, the one he gave to no one but you, rested on his lips.
He dipped his head in greeting, hands clasped before him, every movement measured with princely decorum.
“My princess…” he greeted softly.
He always did this. Whether in public or alone, he remained formal. Even when he used your name, he never failed to place your title before or after it, preserving the distance.
Because his respect was real—and because he refused to give others reason to think otherwise.
To him, you were not simply a cousin. You had not grown as siblings, and you were not siblings.
You were his princess.
But behind closed doors—only at night—you were his. And he was yours. In those moments, Valarr would abandon titles altogether, speaking only your name as he gave you everything you desired.
You inclined your head in return, mirroring him.
“My prince…”
You closed the book slowly but did not rise. Though his presence stirred something deep within you, you hid it just as skillfully as he did.
How easy it would have been to kiss him now…
“You should not sit with your back to the door. I do not know how many times I must remind you—but in dangerous situations, you may need to protect yourself, princess.”
His tone carried the same authority you might have heard from uncle Baelor, yet there was unmistakable mischief in his expression.
He stepped closer—but never crossed into your space. Each step tightened something in your chest, and you swallowed quietly. He noticed, and his smile deepened.
“Do not worry. Next time, I shall follow your command, Prince Valarr.” You spoke his name with the slightest shift in tone. Though he did not favor the hierarchy in your words, he did not dwell on it.
“You know I do not like giving orders to ladies… it is merely a suggestion. If the realm were to lose a princess such as yourself, it might collapse.”
The realm—or him?
“Why are you here?” you asked, brushing past his small attempt at flirtation—though you already knew.
Valarr let out a quiet breath and moved to sit in the nearby chair. His posture was as elegant as ever as he turned toward you, meeting your gaze with those mismatched eyes.
He was not here as he had been before.
This time, it was something heavier.
He remained silent for a few moments, simply looking at you—as if trying to take you in.
“A few names have been considered,” he said at last, carefully steadying his voice. By names, he meant suitors. For him. The inevitable.
A sharp discomfort settled deep within you. You looked away, focusing instead on the cover of your book. Your fingers pressed lightly against its firm surface as your heart quickened—not with love this time, but with a quiet, growing sorrow.
“And who are the fortunate ones?” you asked, your tone low—your interest hollow, almost ironic.
Valarr knew what you felt. He felt it too. Their grandfather, King Daeron II, had always kept his distance from such unions, intent on binding each of his grandchildren to different houses.
“One is from Tyrosh… the others from Houses Blackwood and Tyrell.”
He did not give you their names. He knew they would linger in your mind, disturb you in ways neither of you could bear.
As your thumb traced the edge of the book’s cover, your gaze drifted to the faint mark on your finger—the small wound from earlier. Unease settled deeper into your chest. You were about to speak—
“—May I come tonight?”
The question came too quickly, too openly. You lifted your head at once, your brows knitting as you looked at him, almost scolding. Regret flashed across his face immediately. He swallowed and looked away.
The burdens of the realm weighed on him as heavily as they did on you. He only needed a moment of peace.
“If it please you, should you have the time, I would be honored to join you for your evening readings, my princess. We might… discuss the affairs of the realm, if it suits you.”
Of course, that was not what he meant.
You were angry with him. Angry at this cursed order that would never allow you to marry him. The unrest and sorrow within you turned, unfairly, toward him—even though it was never his choice.
And yet, when he looked at you again—softly, carefully—you faltered. The prince held far too much power over you.
“I am free this evening for readings.” you said, your tone composed and formal. “But I do not feel steady enough to discuss matters of the realm.”
Having received the answer he wanted, Valarr seemed, for a moment, to forget the names prepared for him. That beautiful smile returned to his face.
In moments like these, you were both so defenseless. So helpless—for one another.
You wished that fragile, electric moment might last—but the door suddenly opened, cutting through it. Like two children caught doing something forbidden, you both startled and turned toward the sound.
A servant.
She had likely come to clean.
The moment she saw you, she bowed quickly.
“M—my apologies, my prince, my princess… I thought the room was empty. I will leave at once.”
You rose before she could go, the heavy book still held in both hands. You faced the middle-aged woman calmly.
“It is no matter. We were just leaving,” you said evenly.
“You may continue your work.”
Though irritation stirred within you at the interruption—and a single glance at Valarr told you he felt the same—you did not direct it at her.
She was only doing her duty.
“Prince Valarr,” you said, inclining your head in farewell.
He returned the gesture with the same measured respect.
You were uneasy because of the whispers spreading through the court. Valarr’s upcoming marriage only made it worse, and for a brief moment, you felt small again—like a child caught in something far too large for her to understand. After Valarr, it would be your turn. They would look at you the same way. You would one day watch the man you loved belong to someone else, just as you would be expected to do the same to him. A life sealed inside a golden cage, always close enough to see, never close enough to hold.
In times like these, your mother had always been the only place you could fall apart.
She never asked for explanations. She never needed them. Aelinor would simply pull you close, fingers moving through your hair with a steady, absent kindness that somehow made everything inside you loosen at once. She was your mother—there was nothing more complicated than that, and nothing more certain.
That night, before sleep, you had gone to her.
Your father, Aerys and your mother did not share a room, and so hers had always felt like something separate from the rest of the Red Keep—quieter, dimmer, untouched by the weight of the court. A place where sound softened before it could reach you.
She had just finished her evening prayers when you came in. Without a word, you lowered yourself at her feet and rested your head in her lap.
Aelinor did not react in surprise. She only shifted slightly, making room for you, and resumed her gentle strokes through your hair, humming under her breath—old lullabies that weren’t meant to impress anyone, only to soothe. Outside the window, the day’s heat was finally giving way to a thin, cool breeze that brushed against your skin like relief.
And then it hit you all at once.
It always did, with her.
Something inside you gave way—quiet, inevitable. A tear slipped free before you could stop it, then another. You didn’t sob, you didn’t break in any loud way; you just… fell apart in silence, staining her dress as if even your grief refused to make noise.
Only when it became impossible to hide did you finally look up.
She looked exhausted too. Not distant, not absent—just worn in the way women become when they carry too much for too long and still choose gentleness anyway.
In a strange way, you were both grieving love. Just not in the same shape.
Yours still had a name you could hold onto.
Hers had long since turned into something quieter, heavier.
At least you had Valarr.
And yet—
What did she have left of hers?
An arranged marriage she had tried, in her own way, to survive. A husband who had given her little warmth, and even less attention. And still, somehow, life had allowed her one fragile mercy: you.
The only thing she could truly call hers.
Her hand moved to your cheek, wiping away your tears with a tenderness that felt almost practiced—like she had done it so many times she no longer needed to think.
“No tear in those beautiful eyes is worth this world,” she said softly.
Her thumb lingered just a moment too long, as if she could press the pain out of you by force of will alone.
“One day, what hurts you now will close over. It will become something you can touch without bleeding.”
A pause.
“And then it will only be a scar.”
Not gone. Never gone. Just… bearable.
Your voice trembled before you could stop it.
“What if it doesn’t close?”
For the first time, something like a tired sadness crossed her face—not for you alone, but for everything she already knew about life and what it takes and what it refuses to give back.
Then, after a beat. “In the end, there will always be another wound waiting for us, my dear… until all that remains is a quiet pain, a grief that has been slowly forgotten.”
By us, she meant women. Not just you. Not just herself.
All of you—born into roles where love was never allowed to be simple, only survivable.
You didn’t answer.
You just turned your face into her dress again, breathing in the only kind of safety that had ever truly been offered to you.
And Aelinor held you there—wordless now, steady, as if silence itself could be a form of protection.
Your gaze moved restlessly between your untouched bed and the door. A knight stood guard outside, and Valarr—who knew the rhythm of the shift changes by heart—would slip inside during those brief moments of quiet. You wore a thin nightgown, light enough for the summer heat, and you hadn’t bothered with a robe. Perhaps you hadn’t thought of it… or perhaps you wanted him to see you like this, your body only faintly hidden beneath the fabric. Your handmaid had brushed your hair and left it loose at your request. Valarr loved your hair—loved to run his fingers through it, to tug at it gently as he kissed you. And you loved his as well, especially that silvery streak threading through his light brown locks.
Even with the anticipation coiling in your chest, the weight of the day lingered faintly, dulling the sharp edge of your excitement. You were his only in stolen moments—brief, fleeting moments—and the thought of what that meant, of what would come one day, pressed uncomfortably at the back of your mind. That another woman might stand where you could not.
The thought barely had time to settle before he arrived.
As always, he knocked softly before entering—a quiet courtesy that never failed. You rose quickly, your bare feet meeting the cool stone floor, and opened the door just enough to let him slip inside before locking it again. When you turned back, he was already there, standing a few steps away, still in his clothes, breath uneven as his eyes found you.
There was no mistaking the look in them.
Longing. Hunger. Something deeper that neither of you dared name too easily.
He never rushed you. Never closed the distance all at once. His restraint only made everything feel sharper, heavier. You, however, were less patient. You stepped toward him, drawn in by the way his gaze seemed to take you in completely, as if he could memorize you in a single breath. You stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth of him, tilting your head back slightly to meet his eyes. The intensity there was almost overwhelming, something fierce and consuming, like fire waiting just beneath the surface.
“I spent the whole week counting the seconds, my love,” he murmured at last, his voice softer than usual, touched with something fragile beneath the desire. His gaze moved over you slowly before returning to your eyes. “You look… unbearable like this. I don’t know how much longer I can endure it.”
Neither of you moved closer. Not yet. The tension stretched between you, almost deliberate, something you both seemed to savor even as it bordered on painful.
“Sometimes,” he continued, his voice lowering as he leaned in just slightly, still not touching, “I want to pull you close in the middle of a feast and kiss you in front of everyone. I imagine it more often than I should.” A faint breath brushed against your lips as he hovered there. “I hold myself back, though it takes more strength than I care to admit.”
He shifted closer, his nose grazing yours without quite touching, his presence overwhelming in its closeness. “And sometimes...” he added more quietly, “I think about what’s beneath those dresses… and how much I want to know it again.”
Your breath caught as he moved, slow and deliberate, until his lips hovered near your ear. “Tell me,” he whispered, “how many nights have I held you, wanting more?”
“It’s been three years,” you answered, the words leaving you almost automatically.
A quiet breath escaped him. “And still… I can’t get enough of you.”
This time, he touched you. Lightly at first—his hand finding your waist, then sliding to your ass, drawing you closer as his lips brushed against your ear. The contact sent a clear reaction through your body, your hands rising instinctively to the back of his neck as you leaned into him, closing the last of the distance between you.
“You undo me,” he murmured, his voice softer now, roughened at the edges. “Even if I had you completely… I don’t think it would ever be enough.”
You whispered his name—just Valarr, without title—and the effect was immediate. His hold on you tightened, his face pressing closer to your neck as if the sound itself had undone whatever restraint he had left.
“My love,” he breathed, almost pleading now, “tell me what you want tonight. Tell me how to make you happy.”
A faint smile touched your lips despite everything, despite the weight of the day still lingering somewhere far behind you. For this moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.
“I want you closer,” you said quietly, leaning in so your lips brushed near his ear. “I want to feel you… even if you don’t go all the way. Just stay there. I just want all of you"
The words clearly stirred something deeper in him, something immediate and sharp, yet he held himself back, his restraint still intact even as his grip on you tightened slightly.
“Not yet,” he whispered, his voice low and steady despite the tension beneath it. “Let me take care of you first.”
And you didn’t argue.
You couldn’t.
The moment you accepted it, he didn’t hesitate—he pulled you into his arms and carried you straight to the bed, urgency in his movements but care in the way he laid you down, as if even in desire he couldn’t bring himself to be anything less than gentle with you. He barely took the time to kick off his boots before his lips found yours, one hand sliding behind your head to keep you there while the other cradled your face, holding you in place as if you might slip away.
Settling between your legs, he shifted his weight carefully, close enough for you to feel him, but never enough to overwhelm you, and the kiss that followed was immediate, deep, breathless—so consuming that you didn’t even notice the strength in his grip as his fingers tightened around you.
There was no practiced ease in the way you moved together, no learned rhythm from elsewhere—everything between you had been discovered slowly, together, built through stolen moments and quiet curiosity.
Valarr had never sought out other women, never lost himself in passing touch or empty affection, and you had never given your attention to anyone but him, so every kiss, every brush of skin carried a weight that made it feel new every time.
He knew you now—knew how you responded, how you softened, how to pull those quiet sounds from you—and you gave him everything in return, more than he ever asked for, more than he even seemed to expect.
Between kisses, he pressed himself against you through the thin fabric of your nightgown, a reminder that lingered there, insistent and warm, and when he murmured “I love you.” against your lips, the words came out broken, almost lost in the rhythm of his breathing.
You wanted to answer, but he didn’t give you the space to speak, so instead you answered with your hands, letting them move from his arms to his shoulders, then up into his hair, your fingers threading through the soft strands as you held him closer, and the reaction it drew from him was immediate, a quiet shudder that only deepened the way he kissed you.
His thumb traced your cheek slowly, almost absentmindedly, while the kiss grew heavier, wetter, mirroring the warmth building between your legs, and when you finally drew your lip between your teeth before meeting him again, he let out a low sound against your mouth, something caught between restraint and want.
Time pressed in around you, unspoken but understood, eventually he pulled away, though only just, your noses brushing, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to steady your breathing.
“Seven hells…” he murmured, voice rough and quiet, “I could die like this—with your lips on mine.”
A small smile broke through despite everything. “For someone who insists I keep you alive,” you whispered, “you speak of death far too easily.”
That earned a soft, fleeting laugh, but it faded as his hand slid beneath your nightgown, fingers brushing along your thigh with slow intention, his gaze lifting to yours.
“Maybe I want both of them to come from you." he said quietly, almost as if the thought had surprised even him. The words settled deeper than they should have.
“Valarr…” you breathed, but it came out weaker than you meant it to, because there was truth in it that hurt—truth in the way these moments could feel like everything and still not be enough.
He saw it, of course he did, and instead of answering, he kissed you again, softer this time, less desperate, as if trying to take that weight from you before it could grow. “Don’t think,” he murmured against your skin as his lips drifted from yours to your jaw. “Just feel.”
And for a moment, you did.
His mouth moved lower, slower, along your neck, behind your ear, every touch careful, measured, leaving no mark even as he lingered in all the places that made you soften for him, as if even now he was holding something back—not his want, never that, but the part of him that refused to let you be hurt by what this was.
You let yourself sink into it, into him, into the quiet safety of the room where the world outside didn’t exist, where the weight of everything waiting beyond those walls couldn’t reach you.
Because out there, nothing was simple.
But here, with him—
it felt like it could be.
As he slowly moved down from your collarbones, his lips reached your soft, curvy breasts through your nightgown and he sucked tightly, wetting the delicate fabric with his lips. With his other hand, he kneaded your other breast gently, focused entirely on pleasing you.
You simply held onto that feeling for a while, letting your beloved cousin drown you in love inside your locked room in the castle, where the weight of politics always watched over you.
As the subtle movements of your lips continued, you slowly tilted your head and looked at him—the young man who gave you nothing but love and care.
He shifted and began to lift the hem of your nightgown. You waited for him to remove it while opening your legs slightly, making things easier for him, but he didn’t.
“It will stay,” he said in a more authoritative voice than he usually used. That tone sent a faint shiver through you. Sometimes you liked that balance in your relationship—sometimes he was dominant, sometimes you were—but the difference was that you could be stronger, you could even turn him into a little puppy.
He held his authority gently, never cruelly, though he could be firmer when you wanted. “Although seeing you like this is a gift to me, tonight I want you to feel good in this beautiful nightgown, my darling,” he added in a softer tone.
You didn’t object. On the contrary, you were glad he liked the nightgown, because you had worn it for him.
With a small smile, you spread your legs a little further and looked at him playfully, your arousal visible in the dim light of your room.
Valarr laughed softly in excitement and reached for a pillow. You lifted your hips to help him, as you always did. He placed the pillow under your lower back so you could relax more easily. Then he leaned down and began kissing your inner thigh.
“I can smell you,” he whispered against your skin.
As he moved closer to where he intended to go,
you stopped him. “All for my sweet cousin,” you said.
He paused immediately. He was lying forward, holding your ankle, his legs half hanging off the bed. He didn’t like the word cousin. And you knew that when you used it.
“You shouldn’t…” he warned in a low, serious tone, but still pressed another kiss to your inner thigh. “You don’t like this… so what should I call you? Would 'brother' be better?” You were playing with him now, knowing it would provoke him even more, since everyone around you treated you like siblings.
Valarr reacted by biting your inner thigh—not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt.
“A-ahh!” you gasped, half in pain, half in mischief, pulling his hair instinctively.
He grinned against your skin and kissed the spot he had bitten. “You know… at times, I almost don’t see the harm in calling you my sister,” he teased. “After all, we are Targaryens, aren’t we? The gods themselves are witnesses to it.”
You laughed, though something in his words made you falter for a moment, thinking of Aerion. He noticed immediately, softening again.
“Hey… stay with me, baby,” he said gently. It was so easy for him to pull you back.
As a smile slowly spread across your face, your attention was distracted once again by the interest in his eyes.
To lighten the mood, you added, “—Ah...or maybe I should call you my whore. Right now you look more like an eager brothel whore than a cousin or brother.”
That made him laugh.
“My princess,” he said warmly, “it is my duty to fulfill your desires. So go ahead… Name it as pleases you want, my love.”
And with that, he finally buried his face where he wanted.
As his warm mouth moved toward you, he began to kiss your slightly hairy outer lips with torturous softness. It always started with compassion. Without missing a beat, his hands caressed their way from your ankles to your hips. Once they settled just beneath them, he squeezed the soft flesh. Even though the light kisses around your crotch and vulva were short-lived, you didn’t care when he began using his tongue.
“I’m going to taste heaven...” You weren’t sure whether he said it to you or to himself, but his voice sounded deep.
Licking your wet cunt from your hole to your clitoris, he opened you with his tongue as if he were turning the pages of a book. Just before you could fully shudder at the touch of his hot tongue, he sucked your clit, pulling it back slightly—with clear pressure—before slowly releasing it.
“—Mhmmhh... don’t stop.” The words slipped quickly and quietly from your lips. He noticed immediately when you involuntarily lifted your hips toward him again. His grip tightened slightly—not enough to hurt you, but enough to keep you from slipping away.
Valarr had never been reckless with affection. Even now, there was something so careful about the way he touched you; as if you were made of glass that might shatter under too much pressure. Every movement of his tongue was deliberate. He wasn’t rushed or frantic, but slow and indulgent.
He enjoyed the way your body reacted to his touch; every sensitive tremor told him he was doing something right. His hands squeezed your hips gently as he deepened his mouth against you—he wanted more of those beautiful sounds you made for him.
When Valarr began to eat you like a starving man, you unraveled even more. Your toes curled into the sheets while your hands tangled in his hair, pressing him closer. “Ahhh...! Seven... bless you... Val—my Val...”
You melted further with every second he played with your hole. When he pressed his nose against your clitoris, your voice thinned. In that moment, he lost himself.
As you leaned into his touch like a flower turning toward sunlight, his right hand moved slowly along the curves of your body and slipped beneath your nightgown to your left breast.
He kneaded it carefully, brushing the tip with his thumb before pressing the hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah... yeah, just like that...” the words slipped out softly.
You were like lemon cake to him—slightly sour, but irresistibly good.
As you silently thanked the gods for his mouth returning to where it belonged after a week, you savored every second of this sinful moment. You surrendered to him completely, encouraging him with a soft, pleased murmur. “Mmhmph... keep going, Val.”
You were certain Valarr was grinning at your reaction, but in that moment, you were focused only on the pleasure his tongue gave you. He parted and rolled your inner lips with his tongue again and again, making everything wetter, before returning to the same spot—starting softly, then harder—as he sucked your clitoris.
Then he continued, leaving behind wet, breathy sounds. Lowering his head further, he pushed his tongue inside you, then sucked your inner lips tightly once more, sending a wave of pleasure through you.
With that, your back arched as you lifted from the bed, unable to stop yourself from moaning his name like a prayer.
“—Valarr!” As if sensing you slipping away, he pulled you closer with the hand on your hip. His other hand remained where it was. “Shhh... you must be quiet, my love...” he warned, his voice muffled between your thighs.
But he was devouring you, doing everything to keep you quiet. The low, masculine sounds he made only aroused you more. He felt as if tasting you like this could consume him entirely. His cock was already hard inside his trousers, but you were his priority.
He was merciless. You writhed as his tongue, with devilish softness, claimed you. You bit your lip, struggling to suppress the loud moans threatening to escape. Your gaze blurred, your head resting sideways against the sheets, shadows dancing along the walls.
“You’re so sweet...” Valarr’s muffled murmur reached you softly. He was so lost in you that he didn’t even notice the trembling of your body.
His hand on your breast slowly moved downward, gripping the sheets instead. Now both his hands held your hips firmly again, but this time he buried himself fully between your thighs. He didn’t care whether he could breathe or not.
You could feel the shape of his face against you.
He was hungry—desperately so. After tracing the edges of your inner lips with his tongue, he took them between his lips and sucked, refusing to let go. He wanted you to feel that overwhelming sensation as he pressed himself against you.
“Ahhmm... ahh... Val... please—” your voice trembled. The pleasure cut straight through you. You tried to stay quiet—so the knight at your door wouldn’t hear...
But it was impossible. The sounds of Valarr’s mouth were louder than your own voice. You were soaked, teetering on the edge. When his mouth met you again, a deep, lewd sound filled the room.
The knot in your stomach tightened further when his eyes met yours for a brief moment. Those mismatched eyes were fixed on you with unmistakable hunger—like a hunter.
You were his prey.
You weren’t sure how tight his grip was, but Valarr didn’t care—you could pull at every strand of his hair if you wanted. “Please... please...” were the only words that left your lips.
Valarr’s lower face glistened as he pulled back slightly, shifting himself to bring you to your final edge. He pressed his nose against your clitoris, then twisted his tongue toward your opening, curving it downward—and with that sensation, your eyes shut.
A sharp warning from your mind made your body jolt, and you bit your lip until it bled, trying not to cry out. The knot in your stomach slowly unraveled, yet your breath refused to steady. You surrendered to it, taking in every wave as it washed over you.
As you let yourself go, your eyes remained closed, and your grip on his hair loosened. Valarr gave you time. He could sense the exhaustion settling into your body after your release. Knowing you were still sensitive, he leaned in and placed a warm kiss against your slightly hairy outer lips before pulling back.
His kisses trailed along your lower abdomen, brushing over your nightgown as they moved up to your cleavage, while his hands slid from your hips to your upper thighs in a slow, gentle caress.
When he reached your neck, he pressed a small kiss to your earlobe. “You were beautiful, my darling...” he murmured. Another soft kiss followed. “You were so divine...” he continued, his voice low, as if wanting to soothe you further. “Your taste was so good... I felt like I could drink it from a glass every night.” The words came out a little awkwardly, but he didn’t seem to mind.
He brushed his cheek against yours, then kissed your cheeks, and the tip of your nose. You could feel the warmth of his damp skin, the softness of his lips. “Look at me, my love. Let me see those beautiful eyes,” he murmured.
Slowly, you opened your eyes and found him already looking at you with a deep, quiet calm.
His face seemed almost to glow—and it was because of you. A soft, princely smile spread across his lips as he held your gaze.
His right hand slid up to your waist, his thumb brushing over your skin, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You were made for me.”
You wrapped yourself around him, accepting him completely. In the kiss, you wanted to taste yourself—that same sweet-and-sour flavor. His tongue filled your mouth. “Mhhm...” he let out a low, pleased sound, and you immediately felt his hard erection pressing against your stomach.
He needed you—just as much as you needed him.
As the kiss deepened, one of your hands slipped down to the drawstring of his trousers. It took you a moment to untie them, your hands still unsteady, your emotions lingering—but Valarr waited patiently, focused only on your lips.
When the ties loosened, you slipped your hand inside and wrapped your fingers around his cock, thick and curled toward his stomach, stroking it slowly in your palm. At the sudden contact, Valarr pulled his lips away. Resting his forehead against yours, he shut his eyes, let out a guttural whine. “Aghh... fuck...”
You felt his grip tighten around your waist and thigh.
You immediately brushed your nose against his cheek and, without stopping the movement of your hand, continued stroking him through the slick pre-cum. “You’re hard as a rock. It’s making me wet all over again,” you murmured playfully, letting out a half-fake moan in the tone he liked.
You wanted to push him further.
Valarr grinned despite himself at your teasing. As he pressed his forehead more firmly to yours, the hand on your leg shifted, gripping your wrist tightly to stop you. You tilted your head back slightly, looking at him in confusion.
“If you keep touching me like that, I won’t be able to hold back for long, my love...” he said, his voice strained with both frustration and desire.
Still, there was something else in his eyes—something eager. He wanted to try something different.
Pulling away, he moved to the edge of the bed and began undressing, your gaze fixed on his disheveled form. There was nothing crude in the way he did it—it was slow, deliberate, almost graceful. Exactly the way you liked to watch him.
A pleased expression lingered on his face as he shed each layer, revealing the body shaped by years of training. He could see it in your eyes—the hunger, the way your lips parted slightly.
In that moment, you hated him. For being so beautiful. For not truly being yours. In some ways, he was—but in the eyes of the gods, you were nothing more than cousins.
His cock brushed against his stomach, the tip flushed and damp with pre-cum.
“Despair doesn’t suit you,” he teased.
Then he climbed back onto the bed, bare, your hands immediately finding him again—resting against his chest, pressing gently, roaming as if you couldn’t get enough.
“There’s someone here more desperate than me,” you shot back, your gaze flicking his cock. “Like a green boy...”
Valarr leaned closer, bracing his hands beside your head, his hips deliberately held back, avoiding the contact you both wanted.
“That shouldn’t amuse you...” he murmured.
He buried his face in your neck again, drawing in your scent, before brushing his lips behind your ear in a soft kiss.
He was positioned between your legs—but still holding back.
“To control the dragon, you must guide it... not provoke it.”
You drew him closer, one hand sliding to his shoulder, the other tangling into his hair, giving a soft tug. “I’m a dragon too,” you reminded him, your lips hovering just shy of his. There was heat in your voice—something fierce.
Valarr’s answer came with a slow, wide smile. He licked his lips before speaking, his tone low and full of heat. “Then there’s no escaping this without being completely consumed by fire, my princess.”
And then he kissed you.
This time, it was harder. Deeper. Hungrier.
There was no hesitation left—only heat.
You melted into him instantly, chasing his mouth, demanding more. Your hand tightened in his hair as your bodies pressed closer, your breaths mingling between stolen pauses. The air between you grew heavy, charged, as if the world outside no longer existed.
Your tongues moved together, slow at first—then with urgency, with need—until there was nothing left but the two of you, caught in the pull of it.
Sometimes, you wondered if you were doing it right. You had never kissed anyone but him, and finding your way had been a long, uncertain journey.
But in that moment, you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. As long as it felt good—nothing else did.
Perhaps it was wrong. But what in this damn land had ever been right? So why should something as harmless as your intimacy be expected to follow the rules?
He kept kissing you—one hand tangled in your nightgown, the other brushing over your lower lip—while his hardened length, slick with pre-cum, pressed against your wetness. He guided it with his hand, dragging the tip slowly along you.
The sensation sent a sharp shiver through both of you. A soft moan slipped from your lips between kisses, but he didn’t stop. He rubbed the tip against your inner lips with a rough insistence, moving back and forth, pressing harder whenever he reached your entrance—but never pushing inside.
He couldn’t.
“Immh... a little more...” you breathed, pulling away just enough to speak, your voice unsteady.
He leaned into you again, pressing his face close, leaving damp, lingering kisses along the corners of your swollen lips as he increased the pressure—right there, at your entrance... as if he might give in.
The teasing closeness blurred your thoughts, sending mixed signals through your body. You were both aching for more.
“Gods... I wish I could,” he murmured, dragging himself up to your clit, the friction almost overwhelming. When he paused there, he pressed his hips closer still, your bodies slick, heated between you.
“If only I could cast aside my pride and truly have you,” he added, his voice lowered so only you could hear.
One of your hands slid to the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair, mirroring the way he held you.
“Don’t say that...” Your voice trembled as it reached him. “We both know why you can’t.” Softer now—touched with something sad.
Regret flickered across Valarr’s face, deep and unguarded. He wanted nothing more than to make his love undeniable—despite everything.
Still, he moved against you again, firmer this time, as if trying to lose himself in the feeling. Pressing his nose to your cheek, he held your gaze.
“Ohh—I love you so much... and it’s tearing me apart, my darling.”
He pulled you back into a kiss, deeper this time, his movements below falling into a slow, aching rhythm.
He did love you.
And that was the cruelest part of it all.
Because no matter how much he might have been willing to give, there was still a line he refused to cross.
Years ago, you had almost convinced yourself you could surrender that final piece of yourself.
But he never allowed himself to consider it.
The power to truly ruin you—to take something that would cost you everything in the eyes of this merciless world—was something he could not bear.
He knew exactly what it would mean for you.
And still...
He was here.
Still touching you. Still wanting you.
Still finding ways to deceive himself.
You kissed him with the same hunger. The slick press the head of his cock along your folds made you flinch slightly, and he tightened his hold on you.
“—How perfect it would be...” he murmured, breaking the kiss for a fleeting moment, guiding the swollen, wet head of his cock toward your entrance. He dragged it there again, just to feel it—just that faint, aching pressure.
“...to belong there... to belong to you... only to you...”
The words left his lips with complete conviction, the quiet intensity in his eyes striking something deep inside him.
Your hands rose to his face, holding him firmly as your foreheads pressed together.
“You belong to me,” you whispered, as if reminding him—your voice trembling.
Valarr seemed to unravel at that, the weight of your words settling deep within him.
“Say it again.”
“You belong to me. Only to me. You belong to my heart...” you said, softer this time—more tender. But the emotion caught in your throat, stealing the rest of your breath. Even as his movements slowed, the rhythm between you only deepened.
A sharp sound left him, and he buried his face in your neck again, as if he could disappear there—stay there, forever.
You felt the steady brush of him against you, the tension between you coiling tighter with every movement. And still—whatever this was, however incomplete—it felt perfect.
Almost without thinking, you wrapped your legs loosely around his hips, drawing him closer. The contact deepened—not the same as before, not as consuming—but enough. Just knowing he was there, pressed against you, was enough to send a quiet thrill through your body.
A fragile illusion.
But it kept you alive.
Valarr’s low sounds spilled against your throat as his lips followed—kisses, then the soft pull of his mouth against your skin, sending shivers racing down your spine. His free hand rose to your lips, covering them gently—not to silence you harshly, but to soften the sounds you couldn’t hold back.
“I know... I know...” he whispered, almost helplessly, against your ear.
His hips moved faster now, more urgent. Then—just for a moment—he pressed himself more firmly against you, right at that same place, as if this time he might truly give in.
As if he could.
Your eyes shut tightly, your body arching away from the intensity as broken sounds escaped into his palm. Your hands clung to his back, nails pressing into his skin—and he didn’t stop you.
He turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple.
“You smell so good...” he murmured, breathing you in, burying his face in your hair.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me...” His voice was muffled, distant—but you barely heard it.
All that mattered was this feeling. Holding him. Being held like this.
He found your ear again, whispering your name—over and over.
As if he were trying to memorize it.
As if it were the only thing he wanted to know.
“Val... I... more—” Your voice broke against his hand as the tension inside you tightened again, sharper this time. It wasn’t enough. Not yet.
Your eyes opened, glassy, meeting his.
He pulled his hand from your lips, letting it rest instead against your cheek.
“Tell me, my love...” he said, wholly present, ready—whatever you needed.
“I just need more touch—ahhhm... please...”
For a moment, he hesitated—uncertain. Then, trying anyway, he pressed a soft kiss to your head before shifting away, lying back beside you. His hand tapped lightly against his thigh in invitation.
“Come here.”
A shiver ran through you at the quiet command.
You moved quickly, lifting the fabric of your nightgown as you swung your leg over him, straddling his hips. His cock rested against his stomach as you settled over him, your thighs bracketing his body.
His hands found your hips instantly, steadying you, while yours braced against his chest as you leaned over him—both of you caught in the same breathless pull.
You were moving against him, your soaked cunt sliding over his cock as it lay stretched along his body. Everything felt slick, almost overwhelming—and he was already on the edge. You could feel the tension in him, the way his hardness waited for you, as if it belonged there.
You pressed yourself down, moving as though he were truly inside you, finding a steady rhythm and holding onto it. Your lips stayed sealed, your moans trapped in your throat—just like the tension building inside you. It was better this way.
You had done this before—against pillows, against blankets, imagining him. But this… this was real. His skin, his warmth—it was everything.
The motion dragged against something deeper, something you couldn’t ignore, something that made your body ache for more. Still, you let yourself stay in the moment.
Your hands slipped beneath your nightgown, gliding from your hips down along your thighs, then back up again, gripping your own flesh as if grounding yourself.
“Yes… like that… you’re doing so well, darling—fuck… don’t stop… just like that…” your voice broke out louder than you intended.
You didn’t silence him the way he had silenced you—you couldn’t risk it. Instead, you leaned down, cupping his face, pulling him into you.
When your lips met again, your shared breaths, your soft cries, blurred together. You could feel everything—every subtle movement, every shift of him beneath you—the way it sent small, electric sensations through your body, making you even wetter.
You moved faster.
Your hips rolled more deliberately now, chasing the friction, angling yourself just right to feel it where you needed it most.
“Mmhmph…” was all you could manage.
Valarr.
Valarr.
Valarr.
His name echoed through your mind, the only thing that existed. Whispering it only made everything sharper, more intense. Every glide against him sent a tremor through you, making your body react in ways you couldn’t control.
When he finally pulled away from your lips, breathless, you straightened, your head falling back, eyes closed. All you could feel was him.
Soft, broken sounds left your lips as you lost yourself completely in the sensation.
Valarr was unraveling beneath you.
“My love… tell me you’re close…” His voice was strained—he needed to know. He had been holding himself back for too long.
But you barely heard him.
He understood anyway.
As you pressed your face deeper into his neck, his hand tightened on your hip, guiding you, pressing you down so the contact deepened. He moved with you now, helping, controlling the rhythm just enough to push you further.
Your skin burned with the friction, both of you teetering on the edge.
Your hand slipped between your bodies, wrapping around him, lifting slightly as you adjusted, pressing yourself down again. The added contact sent a sharp wave through both of you.
“Val—Val… I—I’m close…” you finally managed, your voice breaking as you looked at him.
Relief flickered across his face.
“Come, my love… come for me…” he urged, sitting up quickly, pulling you into him. One hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you close as his forehead rested against yours.
His voice dropped, rough, intense.
“Don’t stop… just like that… let go… let me feel you…”
He held you steady, supporting you as your body began to tremble, his other hand guiding your hips, keeping that same relentless rhythm.
“I’m—ahh… I’m coming—” you gasped, your body tightening as the sensation finally broke over you.
It hit hard.
You clung to him, pulling him close, your voice spilling into his ear as your body gave in completely.
That was all it took for him.
Valarr lost himself with you, overcome by the same intensity he had been holding back, his body finally giving in.
For a moment, neither of you could move.
You were shaking, breath uneven, overwhelmed by everything—his warmth, his scent, the lingering sensation still coursing through you.
He held you there, not letting go.
Only when your breathing began to slow did he ease you down beside him, pulling you into his arms. Your head rested against his bare chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his skin.
He was still catching his breath, low sounds leaving him as he held you close. One hand stroked your hair, the other drifting along your back beneath your nightgown.
“My one and only… my love…” he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your head.
“My peace…”
It wasn’t just what had happened between you.
It was this—being like this. Together. Close.
That was what stayed.
His fingers moved gently through your hair, lingering, as if memorizing every strand. He loved it—more than he ever admitted. The silver, the softer tones beneath it—it was all yours.
You melted against him, your eyes slipping closed, your body finally relaxing. One of your legs draped over his, pulling him closer.
In that moment, everything else disappeared.
There was no duty. No world beyond this.
Only him.
“I should call you my wife.”
The words sent a sudden shiver through you. Your eyes snapped open as you lifted your head, searching his face to make sure you had heard him right.
Valarr looked at you with something deep, unwavering. A soft, almost wistful smile touched his lips.
“After everything… if I belong to you, then that’s what you are to me,” he said quietly. “Even if the gods would deny it… you are the only truth I have.”
You didn’t know what to say.
He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before pulling back again, meeting your tear-filled eyes.
“Whatever happens… I will endure it, my love.”
Then, more firmly—
“If I must, I will speak to my father. I will end this distance between us. But I will not give my heart to anyone else. Not while it beats for you.”
He didn’t wipe away the tear that slipped down your cheek.
He let it fall.
Your hand rose to his face, fingers tracing along his jaw as your voice barely formed the words:
“Promise me…”
You needed it.
Valarr pulled you closer, shifting until you were fully facing him.
“I swear it,” he said softly. “Before all the gods—one day, you will be my wife.”
For a moment, it felt real.
Too real.
And yet… beneath it all, there was still something that hurt.
Because no matter how beautiful his words were… a part of you knew the truth.
Valarr was a man bound by honor.
And you weren’t sure love alone would ever be enough.
nothing good grows here q: have either of them ever tried to seriously (or not seriously) move on and what ended up happening? obv we know aerion is still hung up on reader and still sees her as his, but curious if (1) there was ever a specific instance where reader actually like went on dates or something more overtly romantic than her little interactions with dunk, and how aerion responded to that, and (2) if the inverse has ever happened and if reader is as hung up on aerion as he is with her
anon, the answer is yes! i fully wrote this at like 4 am running on fumes because why would i sleep when i can yap <3
but yes, both have happened, and both were very, very different experiences.
wc: 2.9k [ nothing good grows here ]
The thing about being a parent is that you don't have the luxury of being subtle about things. Not when your child is involved. Not when the people around you have known you both for years. And when your child is involved, you don't really want to bring anyone into their life who isn't there to stay.
You tried once, a year after the split. It was set up by Margaery at the diner. Her husband's friend, a man named Robb Stark who'd moved to the Crownlands from the North. He was nice. Older than you by a few years, polite, the kind of man who opened doors and remembered to call if he said he would. He wasn't Aerion, and that was exactly the appeal. He was steady. He worked in construction, had a dog, and his hands were calloused from labor, but he never smelled like cigarette smoke. You thought that might be good.
You went on four dates. Four perfectly pleasant dates where you talked about your jobs, your hobbies, you flirted. He asked about Maegor, seemed genuinely interested, and once offered to take both of you to an amusement park. He didn't know about Aerion yet, not really. You hadn't told him that your son's father showed up at your house unannounced sometimes or that the blue truck parked outside your place every odd weekend wasn't up for discussion. It felt like lying, but you weren't sure how to explain Aerion without explaining everything.
Aerion found out on the third date.
You weren't the one to tell him. He found out from Maegor, who was two at the time and was talking about some dog he referred to as "Gwin" because a two-year-old can't pronounce Grey Wind. At first, Aerion didn't think much of it. Then Maegor mentioned the man who brought the dog. The only words out of his little mouth were "Mama laugh" and "'Ob" not Robb, because again, he was two. And Aerion lost his goddamn mind.
He showed up at your house a week later, after smoking half a pack of cigarettes and driving around town until he cooled off enough not to break something. It was well past two in the morning when he knocked on your door, or rather, slammed his fist against it until you opened it. You were wearing one of his old t-shirts, which only made him angrier.
"What the fuck is this about Maegor talkin' about some other guy and a dog?"
You blinked up at him, confused and still half asleep. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't fuckin' play dumb with me. Maegor's been talkin' about some asshole you're datin'."
"Aerion, it's two in the morning—"
"I don't give a fuck what time it is! Are you seein' someone?"
It was the first time since the breakup that he'd asked you something like that. Like you owed him an answer. You should've told him it was none of his business, but you were tired, and you wanted him gone so you could sleep, so you just sighed and said, "I went on a couple of dates. It's not serious."
The look on his face told you that to him, even one date was too many. "A couple? How many is a couple?"
"Three. Maybe four."
He slammed his fist against the doorframe before walking down and back up your driveway with that same fist pressed against his browbone. You wanted to close the door and go back to bed, but you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't leave until he'd said his piece.
When he came back to the door, his voice was lower, more dangerous. "What's his name?"
"Aerion—"
"What's his fuckin' name?"
"Robb. It's Robb, okay? It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal," he repeated like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're bringin' some stranger around my son, and it's not a big fuckin' deal?"
"He's not a stranger! He's a nice guy! He just—"
"If he's so nice, why hasn't he come around to meet me? Huh? Why doesn't he know me?"
"Why would he need to?"
"Because I'm Maegor's goddamn father!" His voice was getting louder, and it would only be a matter of time before Maegor woke up. "You think I'm just gonna let some random fucker into my son's life without even meetin' him?"
"It's not like that..."
"It's exactly like that! You're replacin' me, just like I fuckin' knew you would."
"I'm not replacing you!" You hissed, stepping outside and closing the door behind you. "Jesus, Aerion, I'm not trying to replace you! I'm just trying to move on!"
"With him?" he demanded, gesturing vaguely toward the street as if Robb might be hiding somewhere nearby. "You think this...this fuckin' perfect guy is gonna be around when things get tough? When Maegor's screamin' his head off at three in the morning? When bills are due, an' you're too tired an' overworked an' underpaid to give a shit? You think he's gonna stick around like I did?"
"You didn't stick around," you snapped before you could stop yourself.
That silenced him. The hurt on his face was raw, but it was quickly replaced by something harder, angrier. "I'm here now, aren't I? I've been here for every fuckin' thing that matters. But you're too busy tryin' to pretend you don't need me anymore to see that."
"I never said I didn't need you. But I can't keep... this isn't healthy, Aerion. We're not together. We haven't been together for a long time. I deserve to try to be happy with someone else."
"You were happy with me," he said. "Before I fucked it up. You can be happy with me again."
You shook your head. "It's not that simple."
"It is that simple. You're just too stubborn to see it."
It was an argument you'd had a hundred times before, and it wasn't going to get resolved at two-thirty in the morning on your front porch.
"I'm not doing this with you right now. I'm going back to bed. You should go home before you wake Maegor."
But Aerion didn't go home. He stared at you with his jaw clenched, and you could practically hear his teeth grinding. "You gonna keep seein' him?"
"Yes, Aerion. I'm going to keep seeing him. Because he's nice to me. He doesn't make me cry. He doesn't show up in the middle of the night yelling about things that aren't his business."
"So that's it? You're just done? With us?"
"There is no 'us,' Aerion! There hasn't been for a long time."
"Bullshit," he spat, stepping closer until you could feel the heat coming off him. "You're still wearin' my fuckin' shirt. You still call me when Maegor's sick. You still look at me like you want me to fuck you against every wall in this house. Don't stand there and tell me there's no 'us'."
"Maybe there is. But there's also Robb. And he doesn't make me feel like I'm constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him. Just wait."
"No, you're not. You're not going to do anything except pick up your son on Saturday morning. And maybe by then, you'll have pulled yourself together enough to act like an adult."
Aerion didn't kill Robb, but he certainly made an impression. Robb moved back up North within the month. He was polite about it, called to say he'd accepted a job offer, that the distance was too much. You didn't blame him. He'd asked once if Aerion was someone he needed to worry about, and you'd said no, because you genuinely didn't think Aerion would do anything to him. But you couldn't blame Robb for deciding it wasn't worth finding out.
Aerion didn't bring it up again, but for weeks afterward, he looked smug every time he came to pick up Maegor. Like he'd won something.
Aerion's attempts at moving on were more sporadic and more public. You heard about them from everyone else, never from him. There was the redhead from the bar who'd lasted about two weeks before Aerion got bored. There was the girl from the gas station who he took out a few times until she realized he wasn't interested in anything serious. There was a woman named Cerelle who worked at a salon in King's Landing and lasted just over a month and a half before she got tired of his constant talk about his kid and his kid's mom.
The only one that truly bothered you was Jynessa. Some Dornish girl from the next town over who came to work in the garage while one of the Targaryens was on medical leave. She was pretty, confident, and had no problem making it clear she was interested in Aerion. They went out a few times, and you had to hear about it from Egg, who thought it was hilarious that his brother was "finally getting laid again."
It was a weird feeling because you'd told yourself you didn't care who Aerion dated. At first, you didn't care. Truly. You figured he deserved to move on as much as you did, even though he'd made it a point to interfere with anyone you tried going out with. But Jynessa was different. She was the first woman since you that he seemed to genuinely like. The first one he brought around his family. The first one you had to see at the grocery store, looking at him like he hung the moon while your son sat in the cart talking to you about frogs.
You didn't say anything. She didn't even know who you were. But it felt like a punch to the gut every time you saw them together. It wasn't exactly jealousy. It was the fact that he could be like that with someone else. That he could smile like that, laugh like that, look at someone like they were the only person in the room. And you wondered if you'd ever actually had that version of him, or if you'd just been too young and too in love to notice you were getting the broken one.
Aerion didn't introduce her to Maegor right away, which you were grateful for. But eventually, it happened. And you thanked every god you could think of that you didn't have to be around when it did, because hearing about it from your son was bad enough.
Despite that sharp pain in your chest, you were glad he sounded happy about it. And naturally, you were glad for Aerion. You really were.
So the realization that you were as hung up on Aerion as he was on you came slowly, creeping up on you like fog over the Blackwater in the early morning. At first, you told yourself it was just because Maegor was involved. You'd always be connected through him. But then you caught yourself thinking about Aerion at random times—when you heard his favorite song on the radio or you drove past the garage, when you saw a blue pickup truck that wasn't his. You found yourself saving leftovers after dinner, forgetting that he wasn't coming around as often, if not to drop Maegor off. You'd catch yourself smiling at something and your first instinct was to tell him, before remembering he wasn't there to listen.
What solidified it for you was when Aerion had texted that he couldn't pick Maegor up for his weekend because he had to leave the truck at the shop and asked if you'd be willing to drop him off. You said yes, no problem. Because you really had no problem with it. No problem with Jynessa being there either, because you knew she would be. The actual problem was that every pickup, every drop-off, you'd hang around for a while until Maegor settled down. Or Aerion would, if it was happening at your house. It was an excuse to see each other. And everyone knew it.
On that particular Friday, Jynessa answered the door. She was sweet, smiled at Maegor, but when she saw you, her expression changed just slightly. She'd clearly been told about you. She said Aerion was just getting out of the shower, told Maegor to go find Daddy, and then stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.
"You're Maegor's mom, right?"
"Yeah. Just dropping him off for the weekend."
She nodded, but she didn't move aside. "He talks about you a lot. Maegor, I mean."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. He's a great kid. Really smart."
Aerion appeared then, fresh out of the shower, his hair still damp, pulling a clean shirt over his head. Maegor was a few paces ahead of him, and he'd opened his mouth to start telling you about the "super cool new toy" Aerion must have given him when Jynessa cut him off.
"Mommy, look at this! S'a dragon that lights up! Daddy says we can go to the river tomorrow and—"
"Maegor, remember, your mom's gotta go now. Why don't you go put your new toy in your bin?" Jynessa's voice was bright, but her eyes were on you.
The speed at which Maegor's little face fell broke your heart. He looked from her to you, confused. "But I'm not done showing Mommy—"
"Fuck did you just say?" Aerion's voice cut through the room like a knife. Maegor was already on his way to the back room with his head down, but Aerion was staring at Jynessa like he'd never seen her before.
"I just thought—"
"You'd tell my son to stop talkin' to his mother? In my fuckin' house? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"
"She was about to leave, I just thought—"
"You thought wrong. You don't ever tell my kid what to do. Especially not when it comes to his fuckin' mother."
It was the first time you'd heard Aerion defend you to someone else in years. It was also the first time you'd seen him defend you against someone he was sleeping with. You wanted to leave. You should've left. But you were rooted to the spot, watching the whole thing unfold.
Jynessa looked like she'd been slapped. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was such a big deal."
"It is a big deal," he snapped. "She's his mama. She'll stay as long as he damn well wants her to. You got a problem with that, well you're already standin' at the fuckin' door, yeah?"
You couldn't breathe. You wanted to walk out, but you couldn't leave Maegor like that, thinking you were upset with him or that he'd done something wrong. Aerion must've seen your hesitation because he sighed, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had come. He walked over to you; he spoke lower then, gentler.
"You ain't gotta go yet, baby. He's got a million things to show you. I'll be right back."
You shook your head. "No, I should go. I've got a shift in the morning. But I can just put him to bed before I go?"
"Yeah. 'Course you can."
Jynessa stood there awkwardly, the picture of someone who'd overstepped and knew it. She mumbled something about going to get groceries, but Aerion didn't even look at her as she left. His focus was on you, on the way you kept looking at the hallway Maegor had disappeared down.
When you were alone, you turned to him. "I didn't mean to cause problems—"
"You didn't cause shit. Don't be stupid. She knew what she was doin'."
"She didn't. She was just... trying. I get it."
"You don't gotta defend her, baby. She was wrong."
You didn't know what to say to that. So you went to find Maegor, who was sitting on his bed with his new toy and watery eyes. You sat beside him, let him show you every feature of the dragon, promised him you'd play with him next weekend, and tucked him into bed. Aerion watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed as usual.
When you walked back out to the living room, he followed you all the way to the front door. At that point, he caught your wrist to stop you before you could leave.
"You don't gotta worry about her. I ain't bringin' her 'round Maegor again. She made it clear she don't like you bein' here. And that's a problem for our son. So it's a problem for me. End of."
After that, Jynessa wasn't around anymore. Aerion never said what happened, and you never asked. But two weeks later, when you ran into him at the grocery store, he was alone. And when he saw you, he smiled like he was genuinely happy to see you. You didn't realize until later that it was the first time in ages you'd seen that smile directed at you.
You thought about him most nights afterward. Thought about the way he'd stood up for you, the way he'd looked at you like you still mattered, and always would. And you realized that no matter how many dates you went on, no matter how many nice, stable men you met, none of them would ever be Aerion.
None of them would ever know you or love you the way he did. Even when he was an asshole. Especially when he was an asshole.
Need a family day with reader and baby daddy Aerion taking Maegor somewhere fun during the summer and they have so much sexual tension and mutual pinning for eachother 😮💨
neeeed him and need this ! (you're all freaked outt in my inbox; everyone let's take a cold shower, yeah?)
You weren't all that into cars. But Aerion had been going on for weeks about the annual classic car show that always rolled through the Crownlands every July. Maegor was at the age where he was into everything Aerion was into. Everything. So naturally, when the flyer went up at the shop, Aerion showed it to him. And then Maegor showed it to you, begging to go with wide, pleading eyes.
You'd agreed, mostly because it would be nice to do something different. You'd been working extra shifts at the diner; Aerion had been working even longer hours at his dad's auto shop. And Maegor was going back to preschool soon. You figured a family outing was the least you could do for him.
The drive was hot. The kind of summer heat that made the asphalt shimmer and the air thick. Aerion's truck had decent air conditioning, but it still smelled like smoke and gasoline, like it always did. Maegor was strapped into his booster in the back, kicking his legs and singing some song he'd made up about engines and tires at the top of his lungs. You smiled at him in the rearview mirror, while Aerion drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. You tried not to stare at the veins in his forearm. Tried not to stare at the way his bicep flexed when he changed gears. You failed, mostly. But he didn't notice, too focused on the road and muttering something about "fuckin' tourists" under his breath.
When you got to the fairgrounds, the place was already packed. Rows of cars stretched out under the sun. People milled about, kids with ice cream cones dripping down their hands, older men arguing about carburetors. It was loud and hot and exactly the kind of thing you'd normally avoid.
But Maegor was in heaven. He tugged on your hand the second you got out of the truck, his eyes nearly coming out of his head as he took everything in. "Mommy, look! A red one! And a green one! Oh! That one's brown! And that one has two doors! Can we go see that one, Daddy? Please, please, please!"
Aerion just grunted, but you could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He picked Maegor up, settling him on his hip. "Yeah, bug. We'll see 'em all."
They looked so alike sometimes it hurt. Maegor had Aerion's hair and nose, the same stubborn set to his jaw when he didn't get his way. It was like looking at a loud, four-year-old version of the man you'd spent most of your adult life in love with. And even now, after everything, watching them together made your chest tight.
You walked through the rows of cars, Maegor pointing at every shiny hood and chrome bumper like they were treasures. Aerion would hold him up to see better, explaining things in a low voice that made Maegor nod seriously like he understood anything about torque and horsepower. You found yourself watching Aerion more than the cars—the way the sun hit his hair, the way his jeans hung just a bit too low on his hips, the way his calloused hand looked so big against Maegor's back.
You didn't mean to stare. But old habits die hard.
At one point, Maegor demanded to be put down so he could "run fast," and Aerion let him, watching like a hawk as your son sprinted down the row of cars, narrowly avoiding a group of elderly men inspecting a vintage Corvette. You both laughed, and when Aerion looked at you, his eyes were lighter than they'd been in months.
"See? Told you he'd love this shit."
"I guess you were right."
"Damn straight I was. Don't sound so surprised, baby."
Your heart stuttered at the nickname. He still called you that sometimes, when he wasn't thinking. Like it was natural. Like nothing had ever changed between you. You looked away, focusing on Maegor, who was now trying to climb into the front seat of a Mustang while the owner wasn't looking.
Aerion caught your arm before you could rush over. "He's fine. Let him be."
"I don't want him bothering people—"
"He's fine, baby. Trust me." And he was right. The owner laughed, helped Maegor pretend to drive, and even let him honk the horn, which sent Maegor into a fit of giggles that could probably be heard from the other side of the fairgrounds.
As the afternoon wore on, the heat became unbearable. Maegor, of course, was still going strong, but you could feel your skin sticking to your dress and your hair frizzing in the humidity. Aerion noticed, his eyes glued to the back of your neck where a few strands had escaped your ponytail.
"Hey," he said, nudging your arm. "Let's get outta the sun. Over there." He nodded toward a group of trees at the edge of the fairgrounds. "There's shade."
You followed him. Maegor was still talking a mile a minute about "vintage" this and "engines" that, his face flushed pink from excitement and the heat. Once you reached the shade, you sat down on the grass, leaning back on your hands while Maegor tried to climb a tree he had no chance of actually scaling.
"You're gonna fall, bug," you warned, but he just grinned and kept reaching for the lowest branch.
Aerion sat down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. You could smell him—the sweat and cheap cologne. It was intoxicating in a way that made you feel sixteen again, sitting behind the shop while he showed you how to change a tire. You hadn't realized how much you missed being near him until you were.
"He's gonna be just like you," you murmured, watching Maegor struggle to pull himself up.
"Hope not. World can't handle two of me."
You laughed softly, and he looked at you then, really looked at you. His eyes didn't leave your face. "What?"
"Nothin'. Just... you look good, baby. Been a while since I seen you smile like that."
You didn't know what to say, so you just looked away and started picking at the grass. "It's been a long time since I had a reason to."
He reached behind your head to brush the strands of hair away from your neck. But he didn't pull away once they were moved. His hand lingered there, grazing the nape of your neck, which sent a shiver down your spine. "I can give you a reason."
"Aerion..."
"I know, I know. But damn, baby. You're killin' me today." His thumb traced the edge of your collarbone, his voice dropping an octave. "How'm I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you're lookin' like that?"
You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you leaned into his touch. You hadn't been touched like this in months. Not since the last time you'd both been too tired and too lonely to pretend you didn't still want each other. "You're the one who said we shouldn't do this anymore," you reminded him.
"Yeah, well, I say a lotta stupid shit." His hand moved to your cheek, turning your face back toward him. "You miss me?"
You hated how much you did. Hated how easy it was to nod, how your eyes fell closed when his lips brushed yours. But he didn't kiss you. Just hovered there with his breath hot against your mouth and his fingers sliding into your ponytail. He brought his free hand up to push down the straps of your sundress, brushing over your bare shoulder. You shuddered. He noticed; of course he noticed.
"God, baby. You're so fuckin' sweet." He kissed your neck, right where your pulse was hammering. "Always so fuckin' sweet for me."
You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet because Maegor was still playing just a few feet away. But your body didn't care. Your skin was burning under his touch, your thighs pressing together as his hand slid lower, cupping your breast through the fabric of your dress. You didn't stop him. Couldn't. You wanted this.
"Aerion."
"Hmm?" He kissed your shoulder as his thumb brushed over your nipple. "What d'you need, baby?"
You couldn't say it. Couldn't bring yourself to be that vulnerable with him, not here. But he knew anyway. He always knew. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide. "Open your mouth."
You did. And he leaned in again, spitting into your mouth like he used to, watching as you swallowed. The filth of it made your face burn, but he groaned like it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. His hand moved to your thigh then, pushing your dress up so he could trace the edge of your panties with his fingers.
"Can I touch you, baby? Or you gonna make me beg?"
The thought of him begging nearly did you in. But it was Maegor who finally broke the spell, running back over and flopping onto the grass between you.
"Daddy! I saw a bug this big!" He held his hands apart to show the size. "Can we get ice cream now? Please?"
Modern Aerion and cock warming but he's really not patient enough for that? 👀
𑣲⋆｡˚ the blue glow of the tv blanketed the living room, the light flickering the dark living room. you shifted, your shorts riding up to expose your ass even further. you climbed onto Aerion’s lap, back to his chest, eyes still on the screen. you reached down, pulling your loose shorts to the side, guiding his thick cock into you, sinking down in one smooth motion.
Aerion groaned, head snapping back against the couch. his hands clamped onto your hips, fingers digging into your skin. “fuck, baby. you feel so fucking good.” he hissed.
“shhh.” you whispered, leaning back. “just watch the movie.”
he didn’t listen. he never did when following rules came in the way of getting what he wanted. he tried to shift his weight, attempting to flip you over so he could drive into you from behind. you slapped his hands away with a sharp crack.
“i said stay put.” you teased, voice a low purr, “it’s literally just about to get good,” you said, pointing at the tv, which was currently playing some 1970s horror that you had insisted upon the night prior.
“i don’t give a fuck about the movie.” he bucked his hips upward, trying to chase the pleasure he so desperately wanted.
“stop it!” you pushed back against his chest, trying to hold him down like he was some kind of barely-containable animal. “no moving. just let me sit!”
“i’m not a fucking statue, you little slut.” he snapped. “y’cant just put your pussy on me and think i’m not gonna do anything about it.” he tried again with a desperate surge of his hips, but you just clamped your thighs shut, locking him in place.
“god, you’re so impatient, Aerion.”
“m’done waiting.”
“you weren’t even waiting in the first place.”
his hands locked around your waist and hauled you off his lap, slamming you face down into the cushions. the air left your lungs in a sharp huff. he didn’t give you a second to recover, just ripped your shorts down and drove himself back in. he buried himself deep, hitting something inside your cunt that made your head spin.
you whimpered, fingers clawing into the fabric of the couch. Aerion griped your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat while he hammered into you. the sound of skin slapping against skin was louder than the film, and drowned the audio out completely.
“is this… better?” you said between moans, tone teasing.
ৎ୭ the devil is in the mirror, he's staring right over me’ ── .✦
⟡ the strategic heir. the first time aerion had killed. it was impulsive. clumsy. disgustingly messy. there was no finesses to do it. as valarr looked at the disfigured body he swore if his cousin is going to follow the old family tradition, he'll make sure he does it right.
⟡ the first time he had seen her, he didn't think of her twice, not even once actually. he never registered her as someone in his head. her hair was never brushed properly, her clothes seemingly a day's old, and her mind always wondered away, far from the lecture, she rarely paid attention, and her only notes were doodles. so he did what he did best. to improve his image, he started sitting next to her, decided to make her his project, fix her. he was ignored. a single glance was directed at his direction then continued drawing stars on her notebook. huh. guess they have found their third victim then.
⟡ aerion was hard, he always was after a fresh kill. the body turning cold at their feet. he looks at valarr, pupils blown wide, lips smeared red with splattered blood. he is always so messy valarr thinks with mild fondness in his heart. valarr tries not to look at the shape of his hard length, straining against the confines of his trousers. he tries not to take notice of his heavy breathing. he always fails. but never mind that. he has a body to dispose off. then something unexpected happens. aerion closed the gap, his lips were on valarr's, hard, rough and bloody. and valarr... he didn't hesitate to kiss back.
Summary: Recently widowed sister-wife to Baelor, Rhaenyra Targaryen, is denied her right to the iron throne, which is given to Prince Maekar instead. Together, the two of them form a pact to get Rhaenyra on the throne. Marriage.
Warnings: MDNI 18+, not canon AT ALL, mixed timelines, Rhaenyra is Valarr and Matarys' mother, Baelor is Jace, Luke and Joff's father, Rhaenyra is Egg and Rhae's mother, mentions of smut, mild smut, tags will be added per chapter!
ARRANGED MARRIAGE AU WITH MODERN!VALARR —HEADCANONS / SCENARIOS ₊⊹
cw: mdni (18+), nsfw, fem!reader, arranged marriage, political/family pressure, emotional distance, angst??, marriage of convenience, emotional distress, explicit sexual content, intimacy after conflict
a/n: finally, the promised arranged marriage au with valarr is here!! i might actually turn this into a full fic someday because i’m already attached to the concept. the storyline will probably stay pretty similar, but we’ll see where it goes.for now, enjoy these headcanons/scenarios
^ྀི the first few weeks after the wedding feel like living inside a beautifully staged photograph. valarr holds your hand when the photographers call for it, his palm warm and steady but the moment the flashes die he lets go like the contact burns. he opens the car door for you every evening, always the same polite distance in his eyes and you learn to smile through the hollow space that sits between you on the leather seat
^ྀི the house is too large for two people who barely speak. you sleep on opposite sides of the king bed, the space between you growing wider every night. sometimes you wake to find the blanket pulled over your shoulder even though you never remember tugging it there. valarr’s side is always cold by morning
^ྀི at charity galas he stands close enough that his sleeve brushes your bare arm. when someone asks how the two of you met he answers with the rehearsed story, but his fingers find the small of your back and stay there, thumb moving in the tiniest circle against silk.you feel it for hours after.
^ྀི when his father calls, valarr’s voice changes. it becomes measured, polite, the perfect son. the second the call ends his shoulders drop and he looks at you like he wants to say something that isn’t about duty. he never does. instead he asks if you’ve eaten.
^ྀི he keeps every single invitation the two of you receive in a folder on his desk. you find it open one night and realize he’s marked the ones you seemed to enjoy with tiny checkmarks in the corner. he never asks you to go; he just makes sure the schedule works around the ones you like.
^ྀི the night you tell him you’re fine with how things are, that you don’t expect anything more, valarr goes very still. he doesn’t argue. he just reaches across the table and brushes a crumb from your lip with his thumb, the touch so careful it feels like an apology he can’t say out loud.
^ྀི your family’s business starts doing better because of the targaryen connections. your mother sends flowers. valarr reads the card, sets it aside, and later you find the flowers arranged in a vase on the dining table with a note that simply says "they’re beautiful" you don’t know if he means the flowers or you
^ྀི valarr’s hand finds yours under the table at dinner with his parents. he doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t lace fingers, just rests his palm against yours like he needs the anchor. you don’t pull away.
^ྀི the first time he kisses you like he means it is after a fight that wasn’t really a fight, just two people too tired to keep pretending it’s late, the lights are off and he tastes like the wine neither of you finished.when he pulls back he rests his forehead against yours and breathes like he’s been holding it for months.
^ྀི you notice the way he loosens his tie the moment he walks through the door, like he’s letting the mask slip just a little. sometimes he sits on the couch beside you while you read, close enough that your knees touch, and stays there until you both fall asleep.
^ྀི he doesn’t say "i love you" instead he fixes the leaky pipe in your bathroom when you’re asleep. because he heard you complain about it once. he buys the exact brand of shampoo you mentioned liking in passing and leaves it in the shower without comment. he learns your favorite song and plays it low on the speaker when he thinks you’re asleep
^ྀི sometimes valarr comes home later than usual and finds you already in bed, turned toward the wall the way you’ve started sleeping lately. he stands in the doorway for a long moment, tie loosened, watching the rise and fall of your shoulders. when he finally climbs in he doesn’t touch you, but the mattress dips and the heat of him settles close enough that you feel it anyway. In the dark he whispers your name once, like he’s testing whether you’ll answer. you don’t. he stays awake longer than you do.
^ྀི the first time you cry in front of him it’s after a long dinner with his father. baelor spent the entire evening praising Valarr’s restraint, his perfect public image, the way he never lets personal feelings interfere with duty. you smile through it, play the part, and only break once the door closes behind you in the apartment. valarr watches the tears start and something in his face cracks. he crosses the room in three strides and pulls you against his chest without asking. his arms are tight, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other spread wide across your back like he’s trying to hold every piece of you together. he doesn’t say anything at first. Just holds you while you shake, his cheek pressed to the top of your head, breathing slow and steady until yours matches his.
^ྀི later that same night he kisses you like he’s starving for it. the hug turns into something else when your hands fist in his shirt and you pull him down with you onto the bed. he strips you slowly, almost reverently, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he fucks you once he’s inside. it’s deep and steady, his forehead pressed to yours, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. he keeps saying your name against your mouth like it’s the only word he remembers. when you come he follows right after, buried deep, shaking with the effort of not saying the three words that have been sitting behind his teeth for months now
^ྀི the nights you do reach for each other grow more desperate. he pins your wrists above your head and fucks you until you’re shaking, whispering "tell me what you need" against your throat like he’s begging you to ask for something he can’t give. you never do. you just hold hold him tighter afterward, pretending the way his arms tighten around you means something more.
^ྀི the ache settles a little deeper every time he presses a kiss to your forehead before leaving for work. it's the softest thing he gives you and the cruelest because it feels so much like love without the promise of it
^ྀི you finally tell him you’re tired of pretending this is just an arrangement, your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. valarr goes very still across the kitchen island. then he’s around it in seconds, pulling you into his arms again, this time lifting you onto the counter so he can stand between your legs and hold you properly. he buries his face in your neck and breathes you in like he’s been waiting for permission. when he finally speaks his voice is rough. "i never wanted to make you wait this long" he fucks you on that counter like he’s trying to make up for every quiet night.
^ྀི the first time he says "i love you" it’s after another fight that isn’t really a fight, just exhaustion and too many unsaid things. you’re crying again, quiet this time, and he pulls you into his lap on the couch without asking. his arms wrap around you tight enough that you feel the tremor in his hands. he presses his mouth to your temple and says it like the words have been burning a hole in him for months. you cry harder. he just holds you through it, rocking slightly, one hand stroking your hair until the shaking stops.
^ྀི after that the sex changes. it’s still intense, still a little desperate, but there’s a new softness to the way he touches you. he takes his time now, learning every sound you make, every place that makes your breath catch. he fucks you slow and deep some nights, holding your hands above your head, whispering against your skin that you’re his, that this stopped being an arrangement the first time he saw you cry. other nights he lets you take control, lets you ride him while he grips your hips and watches your face like he’s memorizing it.
^ྀི valarr keeps every small thing you’ve ever left behind in a drawer in his office. a hair tie, a tube of lip balm, the spare phone charger you keep forgetting. he never tells you he collects them. just lets them sit there like proof that you exist in his space even when you’re trying not to
^ྀི when you tell him you love him too his breath catches like he didn’t think he’d ever hear it. he kisses you until you’re both breathless, then fucks you with the kind of reverence that makes you cry again, this time for an entirely different reason
Do you have any more crumbs about pervy!stepbro!peter??? I’d love for his stepsis to unexpectedly MATCH HIS FREAK!!! OUTFREAK HIM EVEN!!!! 🥺🙏
OUTFREAK ALL THE WAYYYY!! okay so little mini thought
you "accidentally" left your bedroom door ajar one afternoon, knowing he'd be walking past. you were on your bed, facing away from the door, with your laptop open.
but instead of studying, you had your hand down your sleep shorts, and you were moaning his name....softly at first, then louder. "petey... oh god, petey..."
he froze in the hallway, his cock instantly straining against his jeans. he could hear the wet, slick sounds of your fingers working your cunt, and he had to bite his fist to keep from groaning out loud.
the next day, you "borrowed" one of his hoodies. you wore it, and only it, around the house when your parents were out. the hem barely covered your ass, and you made sure to bend over a lot in front of him, "looking for something." he could see the swell of your ass, the hint of your pussy lips. when you finally turned around, your nipples were hard little points against the soft fabric of his hoodie…
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ aerion isn’t very fond of you , a bit weird since you two are to marry , he doesn’t like the way you look or frankly the way you act . this trip to ashford was one for him , one for him to prove his knightly hood in whatever way he wanted to . but he didn’t expect was to end up in a bit of predicament with you , to end up in . . . love you could say . screams and threats and near death experiences are the only things that can move aerion to uncover his hidden truths
𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ⸝⸝ reader is described with dark hair and similar features as baelor and valarr . there is a tad bit of smut but nothing too much , just something i added to create a bit of tension for the story to move throughly . also lowkey soft aerion at the end
the breeze in ashford is warm , the heat trickling down your body making things even worse than they were before . it’s been a couple of long hours riding on horseback to this tiny kingdom and you feel worn out , as if you’re about to drop dead . your legs are sore , your back is aching for some real support , and your hands are marked with the leather of the reins . everyone can see the dissatisfaction on your face , nothing goes unnoticed when it comes to you , the princess , baelor’s sweet daughter , but there’s not much anyone can do . not with aerion’s sharp looks whenever someone talks to you , with the exception of your father , with just a glance he shuts them down leaving you still in that dreadful state
. . .
you two have been betrothed for a while now , a shocking discovery you made one day after your father called you into his study and there before you sat your uncle and aerion ready to talk about this . . . proposal . you sat across from aerion , fidgeting with the hems of your skirts as he eyed you the whole time . in all realness it was something you didn’t expect as aerion would constantly claim you were too plain for him . growing up he would call you a fake targaryen because you didn’t have silver hair and bright violet eyes , just dark hair with a sliver of white and your fathers eyes . ‘ plain . that is what you are ’ . you never took it to heart , you would partially agree with him as your tutors taught you to do , ‘ always respect a prince . always agree with a prince and do whatever he wants ’ . it was all you heard growing up which is why you felt it was your duty to accept the proposal
aerion would have rather settled for better . he wanted to marry one of his sisters as they had silver hair but maekar wouldn’t allow it . instead he introduced his son to many ladies but he dismissed all of them claiming he wanted to keep targaryen traditions and marry in the family , hypocritical as his mother was dornish . well , who was maekar to turn him down when all wanted was to make his boys happy ? but even if aerion had to settle with you , had to tolerate your dark hair and foreign eyes , had to live with the fact that all of his children won’t have silver hair , he seemed to be very overprotective of you . weird as he wasn’t very fascinated by you
. . .
but you’re here for him . only him . at least that’s what he thinks , so of course he needs to make sure your attention is on him only . give a prince what he wants , right ? when you all finally arrived at ashford , completely worn and ready to hit the freshly made bed awaiting you , you almost beamed in excitement , if only aerion didn’t have to ruin it all in a matter of minutes . he got off his horse and walked right passed you , his attention on a stable boy rather than you . you frowned at his ignorance but who were you to say anything to him
valarr was by your side in an instant , his hand out to help you down , you looked over to aerion , instinct by now , and took his hand into yours . ‘ still can’t believe you said yes to marrying him . look how he treats you ’ you sighed softly and gave valarr a sorry smile , he saw you weren’t in the mood for any conversations , nothing really , he pulled you into a hug and was about to walk you up -
‘ princess ’ aerion’s voice cut through the air like a blade , you took a sharp inhale and looked over to him ‘ yes ? . . . my dear ’ valarr made a face of disgust as he still clung to you , he hated whenever you called him that . and you hated it too but it was one of the only names aerion wanted you to call him . ‘ accompany me on a walk through the fields will you ’ it wasn’t a question , but a demand . he walked towards the two of you and grabbed your arm , gave valarr a nasty look that made him draw back and forced you to walk with him . aerion hates valarr , he’s to be heir to the throne one day and he’s your brother ; now valarr doesn’t like you like that , in the way aerion thinks every brother should love their little sisters , no valarr is just your sweet older brother but aerion loves to keep you away from him
you two walked in silence , aerion’s arm snaked around your waist , bodies close together as if you’re a token to be looked at . well , you are prince baelor’s daughter , the princess of the seven kingdoms and you make aerion look good . you make him look so powerful and he’s enjoying that , maybe it is a good idea to take your hand in marriage . the majority of the knights already stationed here in ashford looked at the two of you walking , aerion’s smug face and your bright fake smile putting on a show for these . . . lowlifes basically . it’s always a show when it comes to aerion and he knows very well that you’re not one to shut him down to whatever he asks you do . but it does get boring at one point , when you just agree with everything he does , you don’t bicker , you don’t scream at him , you don’t threaten him at all . you’re as quiet as a mouse , ‘ you’re no dragon , no wonder you don’t look like our ancestors ’
‘ i am getting a bit tired , a - my dear , shall we head back ? ’ aerion sighed very loudly and turned to look at you , you had that pout on your face that always made him frustrated ‘ wipe that stupid frown ’ you immediately did , or at least tried to , he rolled his eyes and led the way back to the castle . he didn’t seem to notice , or rather care , that your steps are faltering , that you’re growing weaker by the second . valarr was waiting for the two of you , his steps quickened when he saw you trailing behind aerion , his arms out to help you but aerion pushed him and helped you instead . something he would never do if valarr wasn’t there to be a savior . he guided you up the stairs and handed you over the a couple handmaids who led you to your room where you plopped on the bed and dozed off for a while before dinner
. . .
you freshened up , your face back to its radiant self , you felt good , you felt perfect and definitely hungry . the handmaids escorted you to the dining room where everyone was alreadly seated . the mood was down in here , your uncle’s doom and despair reining over everyone due to your two other cousins pronounced missing . valarr and aerion were glaring at each other and the lord , or whatever he was , was trying to make conversation with your father , to which he wasn’t in the mood for . you sat in between aerion and the ashford’s lord daughter , giving her a small smile that she reciprocated . ‘ okay she’s here ! can we eat now or what ? ’ maekar glared at aerion but he didn’t pay any mind ‘ yes of course ! please dig in my dear guests ’
the dinner was nicely served , freshly out the ovens of the kitchens of the castle . everything was really good , fulfilling all the stomachs around the table that seconds couldn’t even be served . there was a shift in the air when the food was consumed , smiles here and there , chattering between the grand princes and the lord . conversation sparking between the daughter of ashford , you and valarr . of course only aerion was out of the picture , drowning in his drinks and sitting way back in his chair , picking at the food like he always does . his eyes were fixated on you , the smile you possessed , the light in your eyes , the warm laugh that escaped your lips . the glint of sunlight in your hair that seemed to make you look pretty in his eyes
he looked hungry . but not for food
after dinner you made your back to the room ashford had given to you , you unpacked your nightgown and slipped right into it , washed your face and sat by the window combing your hair as you watched the sun set over the fields . aerion walked in but you didn’t notice , you were too captivated by the glistening sun to notice him hovering over you by the canopy bed . he watched as the brush ran through your silky hair , as the sun glowed over your whole entire body allowing him to see what was under the nightgown . just like you , he seemed to be captivated , under a spell because he wanted to touch you so bad in that moment . he moved to you , his footsteps quiet , he placed a hand on the top of your head and you flinched ‘ shhh . just keep being pretty for me okay ? ’ you didn’t know what he meant by that but when you felt his hands moving downwards , pressing lightly on your breasts and fiddling with your now harden nipples , well you couldn’t help but relax into his touch
you hid your face in his chest and he let out a low laugh , nothing sincere just cheeky . ‘ i want you . can you let me fuck you princess ? ’ if there even was an ounce of you that didn’t want this , it probably wouldn’t have allowed you to say no . you did your duty and nodded at him , eyes wide as he picked you up and placed you the bed . he was quick with it , placing soft kisses on your neck and the rest of your body , pinning you down while he undressed himself and stuffed his cock deep inside of you . he kept thrusting and thrusting as your moans filled room , as you scratched his back which only made him rut deeper into . he filled you up twice , the warmth cascading all over your insides , he fell right beside you and whispered something only you could hear in your ear . you sat up in disbelief , in sadness and in anger ‘ get out ’
‘ oh come on i am just messing with you ’
‘ you can’t say things like that aerion ’
‘ shhh , don’t argue with me after i just fucked you ’ you frowned at him and locked yourself in the wash room . he didn’t knock or beg you to come out , not that you expected him to do so . you stared at yourself in the mirror , picking the ends of your dark hair that he had just wished was silver like his . that he probably would be able to dye if he found a way to do so . aerion picks you apart everyday , it’s something you’re used to but it’s crazy that he’s able to persuade you to let him stick his cock in your body and then insult your features like it’s nothing . but what can you expect
you don’t know if he left during the night or before you woke up but he was gone when you finally stepped foot out of the washroom . he was probably out overseeing the preparations of the first tourney but all you knew was that you didn’t really want to see him right now
. . .
the next couple days went by quickly , you refused to leave the comfort of the ashford castle , only ever leaving your room when dinner time came around in which you sat farthest away from aerion . they all noticed the small shift between the two of you , it wasn’t like you two got pretty well with each other before but this time it was different . but no one questioned , not even your father and brother . valarr would fill you in on the tourney , telling you about his victory and about aerion’s supposed one in whisper , he would say that you aren’t missing much to try to make you feel better but it wasn’t really working . on the fifth night of being in ashford aerion didn’t show up to dinner , you supposed he was in his quarters so you went out that night to see the puppet shows valarr had told you about . alone
when you got there it was crowded with many people , civilians who came to watch the tourney and the knights in their simple attire too . you were wearing a clock over your dress and the hood to cover your face , you sat in the furthest corner of the little tent watching the show play before you . there was a dragon and a brave knight , a dragon slayer they called her , you thought to yourself that aerion would hate this play because it depicted the dragon as weak but it didn’t bother you at all . after all it was just a play . you left the tent for just a minute to buy a refreshment when all of a sudden there was a commotion . you hesitantly walked back to the tent to find aerion torturing the poor puppeteer and before you could do anything to stop him this tall man came in and started to beat aerion to pieces
you didn’t know what to do , if to interfere or to let him fight to hearts content , to his death probably . but after contemplating for a long time your heart was able to betray you and find a way to get this big tall strong man off of him . you shoved but he didn’t budge , the guards around looking at you in confusion as this hooded figure tried to take down a man . you huffed and took of your hood and announced your presence ‘ gods will you get off of him ! who do you think you are ? ’ the man stopped for a second to get a look at you but there was no real interest , not when aerion was still gripping at his neck ‘ get off of him now ! that’s an order from the princess you big hunk of shit ! ’ only then did he stop , he stood up and kneeled before you but you paid him no mind just went straight for aerion
you helped him up but he just flicked you away but you pulled him aside in hurry to leave ‘ what is your problem aerion ? ’
‘ i don’t need your help ’ he kept his voice down in a whisper , as if he was afraid anyone would hear this
‘ sure did look like it ’
‘ there’s no need for a princess to try and play savior ’ his eyes flickered to the crowed all looking at , you saw it in his eyes , embarrassment playing all over his face
‘ oh i’m sorry are you embarrassed ? ’ the sarcasm was evident in your voice and aerion’s eyes stayed glued to yours ‘ i don’t care what you feel aerion ’
‘ we’re leaving . all of us , take the big one too . and don’t try to run away again aegon ’ you made a guard retrieve aerion’s little brother who was hidden in the crowd and watched as they dragged the three of them back to the castle . aegon was taken to baelor , the knight to the dungeon and aerion to maekar . you were pacing in your room , thoughts flowing through head in need of some escape , you were angry , with aerion and the way he acted . to the girl , to the knight , to you most of all
you made your way to the parlor where you left aerion and his father , ‘ i would like to speak to aerion alone , uncle ’ your words were direct , straight forward with a hint of attitude in them
‘ in a bit - ’
‘ i think you’d be pleased to know that aegon is here . he is with my father ’ maekar looked at you in disbelief but hearing that his son was found made him seem to forget what he was talking about with aerion . he left in an instant leaving the door ajar . now it was just the two of you , it hasn’t been like this for a while ‘ again , i would like to know what your problem is ’
‘ my problem ? ’
‘ as in why did you decide it was best to hurt an innocent women ’
‘ innocent is far from what she is , did you see the things she was showing everyone , the slaying of dragons ? ’ you scoffed but he kept on going ‘ we are dragons , our family was built on dragons , the portrayal of one being killed is like a rebellion ’
you couldn’t help but laugh at his stupidity ‘ rebellion ? it was all but a bit . a play . a show . you’re taking this a bit too seriously ’
‘ this is our family - ’
‘ we don’t have dragons ! we haven’t had dragons in a long time . you’re not a dragon ! the only thing we have is our sigil and that is just but a drawing at this point . there was no need for a fight ’
‘ i didn’t need your help in that ’
‘ one more punch and he would have knocked out more than just your pretty little teeth aerion . you’re lucky i stopped him ’
‘ well i didn’t ask for help ! ’
‘ you did not have to . incase you forgot we are to get married in two months , excuse me for trying to keep my future husband in one piece ’
aerion let out a low laugh ‘ i will not stay here and argue about things you should not be involved in ’ he was walking towards the door that was wide open ‘ well i wasn’t done talking to you and you should listen to me as i am of higher rank than you ’
‘ higher rank ? look at you . look at your father and your brother , if anyone should be in line to the throne it should my father . not targaryen bastards - ’ you struck him in the face , it was unexpected to you and to him . he held onto his cheek , unsure if he should be impressed or frustrated with you
‘ i am sick of your stupidity aerion ! you can say all you want , you can call me a bastard , you can say that i’m plain and not perfect for you ! i don’t care but believe me when i say this ’ you took hold of his chin forcing him to look at you ‘ if there’s anyone who’s not perfect in this house it’s you . you act like a child , think like one , you try to be laid back but it’s all a facade . you want more , you want power , you want respect ? well then man up ’
you dropped his face but didn’t make leave ‘ we’re seeing this marriage through , that’s for sure , because it is my duty as the princess to do so . i will make sure that it does happen and if you don’t comply well then i’ll just make your life living hell . remember you were the one who wanted this . . . no one behind the walls of the keep cares for you , just us . it’s best that you don’t lose these ties ’
you left him there standing in disbelief , his face full of something new , a shift in the air and frankly in his heart . surely the people in this castle heard everything but the two of you didn’t seem to care , you were too busy making your way back to the room and aerion was just thinking about what to do next
. . .
the time in between your argument and the battle of seven , an impulsive decision aerion made to honor his dignity , he seemed to be very attentive . very much present . you have no idea why but he just seemed to be there . whenever you needed something he would appear , if you had the slightest mood change he would try to make it better . he would do the simple things that he’d never done before . walk with you whenever you wanted to , sit with you and do nothing in particular , watch you do things he had no interest in but did them because you did
you would catch him staring at you for a long time , in his eyes admiring your beauty that he somehow didn’t see before but this time admiring all of it , not just when he was drunk but all the time now . ‘ what ? ’ he would just nod and not say a word to you . in truth your slap put some sense into him , the way you screamed at him and threatened him , he liked it . he liked you when you were angry with him not when you complied to his words , he liked this version of you better than the other . for some reason this worried him a lot , it was big problem for him more than it was for you because what if something were to happen to him during the battle . what if he died ?
he wouldn’t have you . this time you couldn’t interfere and he knew that , it was the rules , you couldn’t use your superiority to stop this madness and he hated that . aerion regretted his decision deeply
the battle was hell for the two of you , imagine having to watch your father fight against your soon to be husband . you don’t have side , you didn’t chose one but it still hurts seeing them fight on different sides . and then aerion crashes , his screams billowing across the entire field and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it , he’s ready to surrender , you can see it . you’re begging to the gods to make him say it , say those words and when he finally does he just drops to the floor . unconscious or dead , you don’t know but you run down and push your way through the knights to him . the others are still there on their horses , everyone looks like shit , whether they won or they lost they all have the same expression on their faces . you take aerion’s helmet off and he’s bruised up pretty bad , his perfect face not so perfect anymore
you shake him , pat his face lightly to wake him up but he won’t budge . he’s alive , you can see his breathing body moving but it somehow still hurts . just a couple days ago you were screaming at him like there was no tomorrow , you were angry at him and didn’t want to hear from him anymore but now seeing him before you in this state really tore something inside of you . he’s been so . . . present lately that you can’t help but feel empty , you were afraid of this , afraid of him getting hurt again . some guards came to pick him up and take him back to his quarters , to which you followed leaving the rest of ashford behind
. . .
the rest of the time spent in ashford was one full of emotions , your father was pronounced dead , valarr was off the rails deep in his emotions . aerion was recovering slowly but steadily , he had just regained consciousness and the ability to speak properly but you were kind of scared to talk to him . what if he’s back to normal ? his cocky , bitchy self ? what if he’s doesn’t . . . feel things anymore . there was a knock on your door , maekar took one step in just enough for you to see and hear him ‘ aerion requests your presence ’ you nodded and made your way to where he was . you saw him before you entered , his body laying in the same position as it was when he was in a deep sleep , you hesitantly stepped forward , your footsteps quiet
‘ finally , i’ve been meaning to see you ’
‘ i’ve been dreading to see you ’
he lightly laughed , as much as his body could allow him too , ‘ there she is , my rude princess ’
my . you sat next to him on the bed ‘ you scared me , i hate to admit it but you did ’
‘ i think i scared myself too ’ you gave him a soft smile , ‘ i . . . i am sorry . for everything , this death experience made me see that i think . and you of course hitting me made me kind of fear you . in a good way ’
you lightly pressed your palm to his forward and caressed his hair , he didn’t stop you from doing so just melted into the touch ‘ do you feel okay ? ’ he laughed once more ‘ maybe i am crazy right now , tired but i am truly sorry . for your father , for all the things i’ve said . your hair is perfect , your eyes are perfect , you are perfect . not plain ’
‘ i like this . . . but it’s weird . you being nice ’
‘ you’ll have to get used to it my dear ’ now it was your turn to let out a laugh , he smiled at you before taking your hand into his
‘ we can’t get married like this ’ aerion looked at you like you just cut him up ‘ not when you look like this , i need your pretty face back . . . i guess i’ll have to wait for you ’ you rolled your eyes at him and he pulled you in for a kiss . it was sincere , it was real , it wasn’t sloppy or rushed or anything bad . it was meaningful
‘ beware , i’ll come back better ’
‘ not as good looking as me though ’
‘ never that my love ’
maybe aerion was going crazy . but during the entire time of his recovery back home he was kind , loving , attentive , and always there just like before . it seemed like this was here to stay and you didn’t have a problem with it . nights together were probably the best , he wasn’t tame at night and you loved that , he was free in your bed , in your body . a dragon he was . he did come back better in time for the wedding , prettier and healthier . and lucky for you those vows that he said were kept , he never went behind your back , never said shitty things to you ever again , you two did argue a lot but it only made the heat rise between the two of you
let’s just say every other argument led to the birth of a babe and of course just more sparks of love between the two of you
WARNINGS... : 18+, fem! reader, Aerion Targaryen is his own warning, fingering, pinv, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), creampie, explicit smut, modern au, toxic relationship (kinda...?), Aerion gets slapped, public sex (sex on a highway at night), car sex (but they weren't inside though), bloody kisses, mentions of knife play, rough sex, hair pulling, mild spit play, name calling (princess, whore, slut) (lmk if i missed anything!)
synopsis... : the fight keeps getting heated until it finally boils over and now you're in the middle of nowhere getting fucked within the inch of your life!
w.c: 2.6k
a/n: it's been too long since I have written smut, any feedback on what you liked, or what to improve would be appreciated!
The argument was petty, it was stupid, it should have never escalated as far as it did but now neither of you were refusing to back down. You were used to Aerion's obsessive tendencies, accepted it long ago at the beginning of your relationship. Aerion Targaryen is a jealous, possessive, mad man, and likes to keep his things close to him, never out of his sight.
Yet, you strayed a bit too far today, making small to the various guests at the fundraiser both of you were forced to attend by his dad, Maekar. It wasn't really your fault, no matter what Aerion thought about it. All these rich men and women were suffocating and you needed a bit of air, so you stepped out of the venue for just a moment, a minute really, and those seconds were enough for the dragon blood to panic and look for his most precious treasure. Of course he would never show it on his face how ice filled his veins when he couldn't find you on the floor, or when you didn't the pick up the phone because it was on DND.
It didn't take him to long to find you but it felt like an eternity to him anyways. That wasn't acceptable, a stark reminder of how important you are to him, he didn't like that and you know it, the blank look on his face telling you more than a thousand words can. He didn't berate you with one of his cutting comments, simply looked over at you once as if checking if you're whole, before giving you a curt nod, "We're going home."
The fight happens midway when you're about to say sorry, thinking he had calmed down a bit, but oh, you're wrong. He is harsh and cruel, even more so than usual, spurned on by the fact that you're a mere mortal who can be gone from this world in a blink of an eye. The dragon doesn't like this reminder and he shows it too, listing all of your flaws (that he fucking loves), all of your mistakes (that he doesn't care about), all of your failures (he's wins enough for the both of you, does it really matter if you lose a little here and there? He's always there to cheer you up anyways, never mind the fact sometimes he's behind your losses.… just trying to ensure you don't leave him when you finally do a bit too good for yourself.)
Any other day you wouldn't let the poisonous words touch your heart, after all, it's Aerion, you know better, but today had a lot of small things piled up together. Your own anxiety for attending such a 'prestigious' event, Maelor's not so obvious disapproval of Aerion and you, not to mention your boyfriend's own fucking covetous behaviour regarding the fact he has to 'share' you with others for one evening.
So today you bitched back at him, screaming louder, and louder than he did. It wasn't a surprise when he pulled the breaks of the car, stopping the vehicle on the highway at night with no-one else at sight. Aerion liked to use this route because the traffic were always less to none, too many animals, too much of a risk, he loved it though, loved the greenery when it was day and loved the menacing chill of this place when it was night. You knew no-one is going to come here to witness whatever hell fuckery scene you two were about to make.
"Get out." His voice is calm, collected, cold.
"No," you snapped, heated, you have never had the control Aerion did, pulling himself back together in seconds, it gave him an unfair advantage whenever the both of you fought and he wasn't ever shy about using it. He would remain collected, stare down at you with nothing in his beautiful violet eyes, making you feel like you're in the wrong, that you're dragging it too far and simply overreacting.
"Get in the back," he said, "I won't repeat it twice. You need to learn a lesson."
You get out of the car, but don't open the door to enter the backseat instead you take your phone out to call an Uber. Suddenly Aerion is in right front of you snatching the phone away and throwing it behind him, you watch him, your jaw slacked, your eyes wide. His face is still blank, you don't see any signs of agitation from him, and you hate it, because calm men don't throw away their partner's phone. You need to him to act out, to react in a way that shows his madness, you fucking hate this unruffled facade of his.
There's only one way to get his insanity forward, and you knew you couldn't do it with your words, so you did a horrible, horrible thing, and considering the fact Aerion Targaryen won't ever redeem himself to be just, this will be the first of many times. The sudden slap turns his left cheek red, and he turns his head, looking deep into your eyes with the promise of death in his.
Finally, something.
You should have feared it, feared him, instead you could feel your heart racing, anticipation filling your veins. His fingers find your hair, pulling at the strands without a care, and you whine from the sharp, stinging pain at your roots. He comes forward, pressing your body to the car, trapping you.
"I hope-" the words were clipped, measured and his voice ice cold but it burns you, "you're ready for the consequences."
Your lips twist, it looks wrong on your face and it's nothing like the usual small smile you love to flash at him. You leap forward, closing the small gap between the both of you, your lips clash with his with the intention of violence. Your teeth nipping his flesh, his lower lip bleeding in your mouth and you taste the iron on your tongue and moans into his mouth, the sound muffled with his tongue tangling with yours. Spit makes a mess of your chin, dripping down as the kiss gets messier.
The blood coating both of your tongues takes over your senses, it wasn't just his either, Aerion's teeth kept digging into your lips, the sharpness cutting the flesh. The pain you makes you moan louder, the sound fading away in the dark of the night, the air was chilly, and his body a furnace, you tried to get closer to him even if it was impossible, and felt how tight his trousers were, his hard cock pressed against your thigh. He moves back, breaking the kiss, but a string of saliva keeps you both connected to each other.
A needy loud noise breaks away from you without your permission, your hands taking a handful of his shirt to drag him closer to you again. "Aerion," you cry out, your strength failing you as he doesn't, the dragon won't budge.
"Get in the back, princess." He echoes his earlier words, soft and slow like he was trying to get a stupid girl to obey.
He gives you the space to move but you step forward instead, your lips touching the cheek you had just slapped, your tongue slipping out to lick him, tasting the salt of his skin. You move your head to kiss the pulse below his jaw, it was the closest apology you could give him right now. His hand grips your arm, he squeezed it in warning.
'Your lovely impatient boy,' you think. "I love you," you whisper, you can't help yourself, your heart aches for him even when your head is clouded with ire, the words won't calm him down, it won't lessen your punishment, but you just wanted to remind him of it. You love him and he does too in a way only he can. A stupid fight, your rage and his madness won't change the indisputable fact.
He growls your name. Pushing you to the car, metal hitting your back and you wince as pain blooms on your shoulder. His tongue is poking the inside of his injured cheek, his lips swollen and bloody from the kiss you shared. Aerion looked beautiful like this.
Your cunt aching between your legs wasn't comfortable, you know your panties are drenched with want. You bit your tongue so you don't call him out, hoping he doesn't find out how needy you are now.
He steps in front of you. His grip on your hair returns with a voracious force. "Do you think your ears are mere accessory?" He mocks, the grip tightens and you whimper against your will, he is waiting for an answer and you shake your head in reply. The pain on your scalp distracts you from the detached amusement sweeping into his eyes.
"Are you sure, princess? Because I didn't see you listen to a single word I said today. Don't go out of my sight. Don't smile too much. Don't laugh with others. Don't mingle. Such simple instructions and yet you failed at each one marvelously. You never cease to surprise me, you stupid bitch." His words stabs into you like a dragger would. Aerion would have liked to see you bleed, too bad he doesn't have an actual knife to cut your delicate skin with, an oversight he will fix soon.
His free hand is on your thigh, you had worn a short dress, shorter than you would have liked but Aerion had picked it out and it gave him the easy access he needed right now. His hand raises up, leaving a trail of fire on your skin. He pulls your underwear down, his fingers press into the heat between your legs, and you gasp softly, your eyes flicker shut as you feel him grind his palm against you.
"Eyes on me," he demands, pulling your hair tighter. A high pitched whine comes out of you. "Aerion," you nearly chide but shut yourself up quickly when you see him raising an eyebrow in question. He moves hand against you in slow motions, back and forth, his fingers getting coated in your juices.
"I wanted to be nice to you tonight," he whispered, his teeth nipping your ear lobe, tugging the earring you had worn tonight. His tongue licks upward, tasting your wants and needs, his breath hot on your skin, a contrast to the coldness of the metal behind you. His lips softly, gently grazes your temple.
"Wanted to fuck you out on our bed tonight while you wore this pretty dress I picked out," he continues, "but no you had to be a whore, smiling at others, forgetting who you belong too, hitting your owner." His fingers are inside you, all wet and thick. It's slow, the way he pumps these three fingers inside of you, each thrust perfectly timed with his words as he carefully avoided the sweet spot inside of you.
"You slut, you have forgotten your place." He takes out his fingers, and you whimper, your knees weak and legs jelly. "This will remind you." He steps back, popping the fingers covered in your juices in his mouth, he makes an entire show of cleaning the digits, the space between his knuckles, his palm and you can't take your eyes off of him, you never want too.
After he's done, he looks at his watch leisurely, "I'll fuck you however I want, either you cum on my cock or don't, I don't care, I'll fill you up with my dragonseed and we'll go home, and you'll think about your actions while I decide a more suitable punishment, is that understood?"
He waits for the nod to come and you give him one hastily, you want him inside you, you want him to destroy you and ravage you. You want him to take you and ruin you. It won't be the first time and it won't be the last, and you know it will feel just as good as before, if not more.
Your eyes follow his hand as he frees himself from his confines, stepping forward to cage you again. His other hand is on your throat, a finger dancing to the rhythm of your pulse as he guides himself to your entrance, his cockhead popping itself inside without a fight. You cry out when he pushes in completely with a single thrust, filling you up without any hesitation, next thing you know he's fucking into you, not caring about how rough he is. It burns in all the best ways possible. His hand around your throat tightens, and his right hand guides your leg around his waist, making it easier for him to push through you. Aerion ruts into you, his grunts louder than anything on this empty road. The car is shaking behind you from the force of it, if it weren't for vehicle you would have lose your balance a long time ago.
You're breathless, he was stealing your air, you couldn't form a coherent thought. Only Aerion, Aerion, Aerion, Aerion. Moans escape from you, mixing with his groans when he hits the secret spot inside you oh so perfectly. Your pussy fluttering around him, pulling him into the temptation of you even more. He lets your neck go free, and you gasp, taking the cold air back into your lungs. He cups your jaw, before holding your face roughly, his nails digging into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open into a 'o' shape.
Your body knows what's he about to do before you can even think about it. It's instinctual, and oh, oh my fucking God, you're so into it, you're so ready for it, you want it. His tongue swirls around his mouth, and soon he leans in close, his lips a mere thread away from yours, he doesn't hesitate. He spits inside your mouth, before using his palm to seal your lips, you're given no choice expect to swallow. You do it without any hesitation. He moans louder when he sees your throat bob, his thrusts turning frantic and shallow, his pace erratic, speeding up more than it should be humanly possible.
He keeps your mouth covered, your sounds getting eaten up by the blockage. Only his pleasure is clear, and he pressed his lips on the hand that was on your face, and you pray to the seven stars above that he will push his tongue inside your mouth for a proper kiss.
They don't listen to your wish. His forehead is pressed against yours, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him close. He is on the edge and he knows it, and Aerion forces himself to slow down, to let himself enjoy your warm, tight pussy for a bit longer. It doesn't last long because the next minute, you can feel his dick twitch inside of you and you're so close yourself, you know it will only take a thrust or two for you to cum as well.
Please, please, please, you beg in your head.
He removes his hand from your mouth and his teeth crashes into yours. The kiss is everything. It's love. It's madness. It's the way his tongue twirls around yours, spelling violence and need, his sharp teeth reopening the cut on your bottom lip. He grunts into the kiss, and you eat it up, your fingers finding his white locks to grip and tug at, making sure he doesn't break the kiss until you're both desperate for air.
He fucks into you once, twice, thrice, and the groan he lets out is loud, the sound torn out of his soul. He lets himself go, his cum filling you up as your cunt milks him for all he's worth. You're twitching around him uncontrollably, your own climax washing over you. Your eyes roll back, and you swear your heart had stopped beating for a second before you come back to your senses.
Aerion is remains pressed against you, holding you close. He whispers, his lips touching yours as he speaks, "Never disobey me again."
But you think you ought to do it more if it gets fucked like this.
I just have to request Maekar Targaryen with possessive breeding, (because that man has a breeding kink and I will die on that hill), maybe mirror sex? And prompts 1 and 32
1. “You’re mine to cherish and devour. Let me breed you full while you moan my name.”
39. “Bite me back while I mark your breasts and thighs.”
Possessive Breeding Kink + Mirror Sex.
I might have gotten carried away with this, sorry if this isn't what you had in mind but I most definitely am on the breeding kink train as well, cause I used the word breeding excessively. I believe this man would undoubtedly remind you what he intends to do to you.
The feast in the Red Keep’s great hall roared with life, minstrels strumming lutes, lords laughing too loudly over their cups, and the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. You stood near the high table, cradling little Rhae in your arms. The youngest princess was half-asleep against your shoulder, her hair tickling your neck as you gently rocked her, murmuring soft nonsense to soothe her after the long evening.
Maekar’s gaze found you across the room like a brand.
He had been brooding at the head of the table as usual, armored in black and crimson, jaw set beneath that Targaryen scowl. But the moment his violet eyes landed on you holding his daughter, his blood, safe and cherished in your arms and something feral ignited in him.
His hand tightened around his goblet until the metal groaned. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, raw and hungry, loud enough that a few nearby courtiers glanced over in confusion.
Desire. Pure, possessive want.
He rose so abruptly the bench scraped back. In three strides he was on you, massive frame towering, calloused hands already reaching. Rhae was gently but swiftly passed to a waiting nursemaid with a curt nod. Before you could even gasp his name, Maekar bent, seized you around the thighs, and threw you over his broad shoulder as if you weighed nothing.
The hall erupted in startled laughter and cheers, but Maekar ignored them all. His large palm clamped possessively over the curve of your ass, holding you in place as he strode from the hall like a conquering knight claiming his prize.
“You’re mine to cherish and devour,” he growled, voice low and rough against your hip. Each step jostled you deliciously against his armored shoulder. “Let me breed you full while you moan my name.”
He carried you through torchlit corridors until he kicked open the door to his private solar. The heavy oak slammed shut behind you. Only then did he set you down, right in front of the tall, polished silver mirror that dominated one wall. Candles flickered across the surface, casting warm light over your flushed reflection.
Maekar’s hands were already working at the laces of your gown, impatient. Fabric tore. He didn’t care.
“Look at yourself,” he commanded, voice dark velvet as he stripped you bare. One thick arm banded around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest. His other hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing the sensitive peak. “See how perfect you are, carrying my daughter like you were made for it. Made for me.”
You met his eyes in the mirror, violet and violent, burning with that infamous Targaryen intensity. He was hard already, the thick ridge of his cock pressing insistently against your lower back through his breeches. He ground forward once, letting you feel exactly what you did to him.
“Maekar…” you breathed.
He groaned again, that same wanton sound from the hall, and shoved his breeches down. His cock sprang free, long, heavy, already leaking at the tip. Without preamble he bent you forward slightly, one hand guiding himself between your thighs.
“Watch,” he rasped, lips at your ear. “Watch me breed you.”
He thrust in deep in one powerful stroke, stretching you open around his girth. The mirror captured everything, your parted lips, the way your breasts bounced with the force of it, his large hand splayed possessively over your belly as if he could already imagine it swelling again.
“Fuck— so tight for me,” he growled, hips snapping forward. Each thrust was deliberate, claiming. “This womb is mine. Going to fill you until my seed takes root. Until you’re round with another of my children. Mine. Ours”
His pace quickened, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit while the other kept you pinned against him. The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room, obscene and perfect. In the mirror you watched his face, jaw clenched, silver hair falling across his forehead, eyes locked on where you two joined.
He fucked you harder, bending you further so you had to brace your hands on the mirror’s frame. The cool glass fogged with your panting breaths.
“Say it,” he demanded, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Tell me whose cunt this is. Whose womb I’m breeding.”
“Yours— Maekar, yours—” you moaned, voice breaking as pleasure coiled tight.
He snarled in satisfaction and drove deeper, angling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. When you came, clenching around him, he followed with a deep, possessive groan, flooding you with hot pulses of his seed. He didn’t pull out. Instead he stayed buried, rocking lazily, making sure not a drop escaped.
“Not done yet,” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck as he met your dazed eyes in the mirror. His hand stroked over your stomach again. “I’m breeding you full tonight, wife. Again and again. Until everyone in that hall knows exactly who you belong to.”
He turned you in his arms then, lifting you onto the nearby table so he could take you face-to-face this time, still watching your reflections tangle together in the silver glass, his obsession and love and raw breeding hunger written in every thrust.
The mirror still fogged from your earlier frenzy when Maekar finally carried you to the massive bed, his cock still buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around his waist. He sat on the edge first, keeping you impaled on his thick length, and guided your hips with those large, commanding hands.
“Ride me,” he ordered, voice gravel-rough with need. “Take what’s yours while I fill you.”
You braced your palms on his broad, scarred chest and began to move, slow at first, then faster, grinding down onto him. Maekar’s head fell back with a groan, silver strands sticking to his sweat-damp forehead.
His hands roamed your body possessively, squeezing your ass, cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they ached. Every roll of your hips pushed him deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing obscenely.
“Fuck— look at you,” he growled, eyes dark as he watched where you swallowed him whole. “Taking my cock so greedily. This womb was made to be bred by me.”
You leaned forward, chasing the angle that made stars explode behind your eyes. Maekar’s grip tightened, helping you bounce harder. His own hips snapped up to meet you, driving his seed from the first round even deeper.
Then the control snapped.
With a feral sound he surged up, arms locking around you as he threw you onto the bed. You landed on your back with a gasp, but he followed instantly, covering you with his massive frame.
Your scream of pleasure was muffled against his shoulder as he thrust back in, hard, relentless. You bit down on the thick muscle there, teeth sinking in as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Maekar hissed in pleasure-pain, hips stuttering for a moment before he laughed low and dark.
“Bite me back while I mark your breasts and thighs,” he rasped, the words hot against your ear. “Let me feel how much you need this.”
He pulled out only long enough to flip you onto your back fully, spreading your legs wide. His mouth descended like a man starved. First he latched onto your breast, sucking hard, teeth grazing, then biting down just hard enough to leave a blooming mark.
You arched with a cry, fingers tangling in his hair.
He moved to the other breast, sucking and biting a matching claim, then lower, down the soft plane of your stomach to the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.
Each bite was deliberate, possessive. Red marks bloomed under his mouth, his tongue soothing the sting right after. You writhed beneath him, thighs trembling.
“Maekar— please—”
He answered by hooking your legs over his shoulders and diving in. His tongue fucked into your cunt with the same demanding rhythm he’d used with his cock, deep, relentless strokes, curling to taste every drop of your combined release.
He groaned against your folds, the vibration shooting straight to your core. Two thick fingers joined his tongue, stretching you open while his mouth worked your clit.
You came again with a broken moan, biting his shoulder harder as your walls clenched around his tongue. He didn’t stop, lapping and sucking until you were shaking, oversensitive, dripping down his chin.
Only then did he crawl back up your body, cock sliding back into your soaked heat in one smooth thrust. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other stroking over the fresh bite marks on your breasts and thighs like sacred brands.
“Mine,” he whispered fiercely, rolling his hips deep and slow now, savoring the way you fluttered around him. “Every mark, every drop of my seed. I’m breeding you full again tonight, wife. Until you can’t walk without feeling me.”
He kissed you then, deep, claiming, swallowing your moans as he built you both back toward the edge, the mirror across the room still reflecting every possessive movement.
The firelight danced across Maekar’s sweat-slicked skin as he kept you pinned beneath him, cock buried to the hilt. Your thighs were still trembling from his tongue, marked with his teeth, and he rocked into you with slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside.
He lowered his mouth to your ear, voice a low, rumbling growl thick with lust and something deeper.
“You think I didn’t see it?” he murmured, nipping at the shell of your ear before soothing it with his tongue. “The way you look after my brats. All of them. Even when they’re little terrors running wild through the Red Keep. You hold Rhae like she’s the most precious thing in the world. You chase after the boys when they cause chaos. You mother them, truly.”
He thrust deeper on the word, grinding against your cervix as if to drive the point home. A broken moan slipped from your lips.
“And Aerion…” Maekar’s voice dropped even lower, almost a snarl of pride. “That cruel little shit. I heard how you scolded him today, sharp and fearless, putting him in his place when he was tormenting the servants again. No one else dares speak to my blood like that. But you do. For their own good. For our family.”
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, violet gaze burning with possessive fire. One large hand slid down to press firmly over your lower belly, right where his cock bulged inside you.
“You were made for this,” he praised, voice rough with want. “Made to bear my children and raise them strong. Fuck— the sight of you with Rhae tonight nearly made me take you right there on the feast table.”
His hips snapped forward harder, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room again. He kept his hand on your stomach, rubbing slow circles as he fucked you.
“I’m going to plant the next one right here,” he growled, pressing down with each thrust. “The first child I fill you with tonight… I’ll make sure it takes. I’ll breed you so full, so deep, that you’ll feel it quicken and know—without question—that you are mine. My wife. My woman. No one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever fill this womb.”
You clenched around him at his words, and Maekar groaned in pure male satisfaction. He hooked one of your legs higher, opening you wider so he could drive even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful stroke.
“Take it,” he commanded, biting down on the swell of your breast again, leaving another vivid mark. “Milk my cock like the perfect little breeding wife you are. Let me give you a child tonight. Let me watch your belly swell with proof that you belong to Maekar Targaryen.”
His pace grew punishing, relentless, every thrust accompanied by more filthy praise, how beautiful you’d look round with his babe, how he’d fuck you through the pregnancy, how he’d keep you dripping with his seed until the maesters confirmed you were carrying.
When he finally spilled inside you again, it was with a deep, guttural roar, flooding your womb with hot, thick ropes of cum. He stayed buried deep, grinding lazily to push it further, his hand never leaving your belly.
“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you slow and claiming. “All fucking mine.”
He didn’t give you long to catch your breath.
Maekar pulled out with a wet sound, his seed already leaking down your thighs, and flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. You barely had time to push up onto your elbows before his powerful arm slid around your throat from behind, locking you into a firm headlock. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that you felt utterly claimed, controlled, his.
“Up,” he growled, hauling your upper body back against his chest as he knelt behind you on the bed. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking you into position. “I want you to watch.”
He angled your bodies so the tall mirror across the room captured everything. You could see it all in the reflection, your flushed face, lips parted, eyes glassy with lust, Maekar’s massive frame behind you, silver hair wild, muscles flexing as he held you in the headlock. His thick cock, still glistening with your combined release, nudged against your soaked entrance.
“Look at us,” he ordered, voice dark and low right beside your ear. His arm flexed slightly around your throat, a possessive reminder. “Watch me breed my perfect wife.”
He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. The new angle had him impossibly deep, the head of his cock pressing right against your cervix. You moaned loudly, the sound vibrating against his forearm. In the mirror you watched his hips snap forward, the powerful muscles of his ass and thighs flexing with every thrust. His free hand slid down to spread your thighs wider, giving the mirror an even better view of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt.
“Fuck— so good for me,” he praised between gritted teeth, pounding into you. “Taking my cock while I hold you like this. Such a good little mother to my brats… scolding Aerion when he needs it, cradling Rhae like she’s yours as much as mine. You were born to carry my seed.”
Each thrust jolted you forward, but his headlock kept you firmly in place, forcing you to keep watching. The reflection showed everything: the way your breasts bounced, the fresh bite marks he’d left on them and your thighs, the obscene stretch of your pussy around his girth. His hand moved from your hip to press over your lower belly again, rubbing possessively.
“I’m going to fill this womb until it swells,” he rasped, tightening the headlock just enough to make you feel lightheaded with pleasure. “The next child I plant in you tonight will be the one that binds you to me forever. You’ll feel it quicken and know, no other man will ever have you. No other cock will ever breed this cunt. Only mine.”
He fucked you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing. In the mirror you watched his face, jaw clenched, eyes locked on your reflection with raw obsession. Every thrust pushed more of his previous load deeper, and you could see the way your belly slightly bulged with the force of him.
“Bite my arm if it’s too much,” he growled, but his pace never faltered. “I want to feel you come while I’m breeding you like this.”
You did exactly that, clamping down around him, teeth sinking into his forearm as your orgasm ripped through you. Maekar snarled in satisfaction and followed right after, flooding your womb with another heavy load of cum. He kept you locked in place, grinding deep, making sure every drop stayed inside.
Even as he softened, he didn’t release the headlock right away. He simply held you there, both of you watching in the mirror as his seed slowly leaked around his cock.
“Mine,” he whispered again, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your temple. “All fucking mine to breed and cherish.”
The intensity ebbed slowly, like a storm giving way to warm rain.
Maekar loosened the headlock with care, his thick arm sliding down to wrap around your waist instead. He pulled you back against his chest as he rolled onto his side, keeping you spooned securely in his embrace. His large body curled protectively around yours, broad chest to your back, one heavy thigh draped over your leg, caging you in the safest way possible. His cock was still nestled inside you, half-hard but refusing to slip out.
“Easy, kesrio paŋi,” he murmured, voice now low and rough with affection rather than command. His lips brushed the bite marks on your shoulder, then your neck, soothing each one with slow, open-mouthed kisses. “You did so well for me. So perfect.”
One big hand stroked gently over your marked breasts, thumb brushing softly across your nipples, while the other rested possessively yet tenderly over your lower belly.
He held you like that for long moments, simply breathing with you, the heat of his body chasing away any chill. In the mirror across the room you could still see the two of you, tangled together, his silver hair mixing with yours, his powerful frame enveloping you completely.
“You take such good care of my children,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss there. “Rhae adores you. Even Aerion listens when you speak… I see it all. You’re already the mother of my house in every way that matters.” His hand rubbed slow circles on your stomach. “And soon you’ll carry our first child together and I’ll make sure of it.”
He began to move then, slow, lazy rolls of his hips. Not the punishing thrusts from before, but a deep, tender grind. His cock, now fully hard again, slid in and out of your cum-slick heat with unhurried strokes, pushing his seed even deeper on every gentle push. The wet, intimate sounds were softer now, almost soothing.
“Look at us,” he breathed, tilting your chin so you could watch in the mirror. “See how perfectly we fit. How full you are of me.”
You moaned quietly, pushing back against him as the slow drag of his cock stoked the embers of pleasure again.
Maekar’s arm tightened around you in a tender hug, his free hand continuing its gentle exploration, tracing the marks he’d left, then slipping down to circle your clit with feather-light touches.
“I love you like this,” he confessed softly between kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Warm, dripping with my cum, safe in my arms. I’m going to keep you full tonight… slow and deep, until your body has no choice but to take my child.” His thrusts remained languid and deliberate, savoring every inch. “You’re mine to cherish. Mine to breed. My beautiful wife.”
He kept that slow, intimate rhythm for a long time, holding you close, praising you in that deep, reverent voice, filling you again and again with gentle rolls of his hips until another soft, shuddering orgasm washed over you both. Even after he came, he stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tenderly around your body, murmuring quiet words of devotion as sleep began to pull at you.
“Rest now,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you.”
warnings: +18 mdni, sex worker!fem reader, religious themes/guilt, dubcon (on account of being paid to have sex but reader gives explicit consent multiple times), porn no plot (so spoiler free!), dry humping, heavy petting, nipple sucking, marking, possessive behavior, dirty talk, begging, praise, a little bit of intimidation, size difference, finger sucking, ormund fucks you on a desk, clit stimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink towards the end, might be ooc because this is the first time i've ever written for him, lightly edited!
wc: 1.8k
thinking about pious ormund hightower and whore!reader who is so fucking pretty that she immediately becomes this man's kryptonite.
you're first presented to him as a gift. delivered to his bed chamber late one night by some castellan who'd gotten him all wrong, an offer to find common ground.
but ormund isn't an indulgent or lustful man. he honors the seven and resists his impulses. he'll be married one day, after all. he doesn't want to disrespect his future wife by sullying himself before he's even met her.
but you are...gods. the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. and ormund is well traveled, has seen all matter of beautiful women before and has never looked twice.
but the moment he lifts his eyes from the scrolls on his borrowed desk, he feels his resistance waver.
and, yeah. he knows he should send you away. should tell his guards to take you elsewhere, should give you a golden dragon for your troubles and tell you to buy yourself a nice gown or a good meal.
he should do the right thing. the godly thing. but then you come near him smelling of honeysuckle and ambrosia and every godforsaken tempting thing in all the seven kingdoms, and ormund is done for.
at first, you only sit in his lap and kiss his cheeks. and he tells himself it's fine, you know? it's not like you're really doing anything wrong. just worshipping a man you'd been paid to make feel good. and it does make him feel good, your soft lips against his skin.
but then he lets himself touch you.
slow at first. a hand on your thigh—over your dress. albeit a thin barrier of lace and silk, but a barrier still. and then he drags his knuckles down the back of your smooth neck, stroking the sweat-slick hair that clings to your nape.
you thread your own fingers through his curls, mouth drifting lower to lay kisses over his pulse. you're good at what you do, he realizes quickly. because before he can even register what's happening, you're turning fully to staddle his hips and hiking your dress up your legs.
he can feel you, even through his trousers. the heat that emits from between your thighs, the wetness, the desire. it makes him feel dizzy. drunk, even.
you give a tentative roll of your hips over his bulge and his head falls back, knocking lightly against the top of the mahogany chair. it's too much, and he knows it, and there's a thought in the back of his head as you create a delicious rhythm that he might be damned for this.
but he's too far gone now, that iron grip on his control slipping through his fingers like smoke. he can only feel the remnants of it like a thick humidity, can hardly remember those life-long teachings of the faith.
when your fingers unbuckle the iron buttons of his doublet, he lets you. doesn't push you away like he should when you push it over his shoulders and down his strong biceps, either.
you're so soft. tracing his scars with eager hands, still humping his clothed cock like you're the most desperate girl he's ever seen. he tugs roughly at the tie at the back of your dress, the fabric over your chest falling away with little resistance.
his big hands come to cup your breasts, massaging the supple flesh, calloused thumbs stroking over the peaks of your nipples. his mouth waters at the sight of you, bare and free and open, all for him.
his for the taking.
his for the feasting.
ormund leans forward and suckles your tit into his mouth, tongue demanding as it flicks across your nipple. he kisses his way across your sternum to the other, sucking and biting, unable to stop himself from making some sort of claim on you despite being fully away you're not his to claim.
he's not an indulgent man, no. but greedy? well...that's another matter.
your breath is warm against the shell of his ear as you say, "i want you inside me."
he should say no. he knows that.
but then you say, "please, ser."
and gods. what's a man to do? deny a pretty woman? deny the prettiest woman?
ormund doesn't have the strength. not when you beg so beautifully.
"get up," he says.
you do without a moment's hesitation. perfect girl. obedient girl.
ormund stands to his feet and crowds your space until you have to take a step back. one, and then another, and another. he tilts his head and smiles with a wolfish grin until your back hits the edge of the desk.
he sees it there, for a fleeting moment—the fear in your eyes. but you don't have to be afraid, not of him. he's a godly man, don't you know? he would never hurt a woman, let alone one like you.
gently, he lifts his hand to your face and strokes the back of his knuckles over the curve of your cheek. "do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"
the fear subsides, and ormund traces the shape of your sweet mouth with the pad of his thumb.
"if it weren't for coin, would you still want this? and don't lie, girl."
he watches as your pupils dilate. you nod, slowly at first, but then again with more certainty. "yes."
"good." he presses his thumb past your lips, feeling the soft wetness of your tongue and she sharpness of your teeth. you hollow out your cheeks, staring up at him through your lashes the whole time.
a moan escapes him at the sight of you. pretty and sinful and irresistible all the same. he lets you suck his thumb for a few precious moments, committing the feeling of your warm mouth to memory.
but the moment his desire for you grows impossibly more suffocating, he brackets an arm around you and lifts you onto the desk. ormund pushes your shoulders back and pulls your dress up right over the ravens he'd been writing moments before you'd stepped foot into his space, ink likely still drying.
you lift your legs; the heels of your feet hooked right at the edge. ormund gorges himself on the sight of you; bare and spread wide for him, beautiful and womanly and so very wet.
with one hand, the knight undoes his belt. and with the other, he strokes a finger through the seam of your cunt. finds your clit and circles it carefully, delighting in the way your eyes flutter closed and a hum leaves your lips.
his cock is aching now. throbbing in his hand as he pulls it from his breeches and strokes it desperately.
this would be enough to finish him, he knows. a firm grip around the base of his cock and the most mouth-watering sight before him. an interactive display of indulgence.
it should be enough.
and yet it is not.
ormund brings his hand, wet now with your arousal, to his lips. he inhales deeply, taking the scent of you deep into his lungs, before he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks the taste of you off of it.
he makes space for himself between your spread thighs and watches curiously as you prop yourself up on your elbows. "i want to watch it go in," you admit sheepishly.
there's a tone of innocence in your voice that has him trembling with need. it makes him feel...powerful, almost. like you're at his mercy.
and maybe you are.
ormund knows he shouldn't like the feeling, but he does. and he's already gone this far, and so he grips the back of your neck hard and pulls you forward, abdomen curling to get a better view.
he lines himself up at your entrance, coating the tip of his cock in your slick, and then slides in deep.
the thought crosses his mind that you feel like heaven.
tight and wet, a kind of worship in it's own right.
ormund fucks you hard. tugs at your hair and slams his hips against yours with reckless abandon. kisses your cervix with the tip of his big cock, stretching you wide.
he doesn't kiss you, because it's too intimate.
but his lips hover over yours, breathing in your moans, swallowing up your exhalation. ormund thinks you're beautiful as you are, but when your eyes are wide and you're all filled up with him?
gods.
it's something else entirely. makes him throb inside of you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he holds you upright. "you're perfect," he says, and means it. doesn't throw the word around lightly.
but it's true.
ormund circles your clit with his free hand after gathering spit from his own mouth for ease of friction. he smears his saliva over your cunt, slapping his fingers against you slit, twice gently, and then once sharp.
but he soothes the ache quickly, shushing your whining with a steady pressure against your swollen clit.
he spreads his fingers and slides them down, two on each side of his cock that still pistons into your opening. sweat begins to bead along his hairline. "tell me you want me," he murmurs, voice low and thready.
"i want you," you say.
and it satisfies him, but then you keep going and his knees grow weak.
"want you to—to defile me. feels so good. so—so good inside of me, please. don't stop. please don't stop. i want to be your woman. i'll do anything, my lord. anything, please."
there's a part of him that doesn't believe it. ormund tells himself you're being paid to say these things. that it's about the gold and not about him.
but you beg so beautifully and he thinks that yeah, he might want that, too.
might want to keep you at his bedside for his own twisted pleasure. for his own relief. his pet. his plaything.
his woman.
your cunt squeezes tight around him, and your knuckles around the edge of the desk blanch as you hold tight. "oh, gods."
he groans, the sound reverberating deep in his chest, and then empties himself deep inside of you. fills you up and doesn't stop his thrusts. his cock twitches and becomes coated with your release and his.
he doesn't slow his pace until your muscles go slack, until the oversensitivity becomes borderline painful.
carefully, he releases his hold on you and lays you back against the desk, a small smile forming on your pretty face. a look of pure bliss, provided by his touch alone.
ormund gently pulls himself back, and watches as the sticky white mess of his cum spills out of you. he gathers it with his fingers and pushes it back in, thumb stroking lightly over your clit.
it's wrong, and he knows it, but he hopes that it sticks. hopes that one day your belly will be rounded with his baby, and he'll have no choice but to marry you. to raise you up from a girl in a brothel to a lady of his house. a hightower.
