✶ cherie, ny baby | she/her | ﾒ𝟶 , daughter of cain | 23. (18+ mdni)
writer. reader. victim of my own fictional interests.
currently writing for akotsk
—˚. ᵎᵎ find my writing under #cheriewrites
while in school i took pretty much every single literature course offered. i got into writing because i fell in love with stories, everything about them, but i kept writing because there was always more to say and it was a way to spend a little more time in the worlds i grew to love.
pairing: modern!valarr targaryen x fem!reader | modern!aerion targaryen x fem!reader
summary: … you were finally ready to be valarr's wife ⟢
wc: 4.4k | part one | part two
content warning: 18+ mdni | smut | established relationship | mentions of infidelity | love triangle | reconciliation | guilt | angst | oral (m!receiving) | unprotected p in v | sub!valarr if you squint | praise | implied pregnancy | creampie
this was supposed to go up on friday, but here we are.. whoops
masterlist ────୨ৎ──── taglist
After successfully digging your claws into your sweet, trusting boyfriend, you didn't waste a single moment. You got him right back into bed, doing your best to show him what he means to you. And gods, it's good. He's so careful with you, and so tender, even after everything. When he pushed inside you, it was almost enough to make you cry. His eyes were locked on yours, searching for any sign of regret, but he found none. Because that's what you do; you met his every thrust, pulling him deeper, whispering how much you love him, how you've always loved him. When he came, it was with your name on his lips over and over. Valarr was devout, a man who prayed to the gods only when said gods were your body and the sound of your voice.
You held him through it, through the aftershocks and the quiet that follows, stroking his hair and kissing his temple. It wasn't your fault he was so easy to read. You knew exactly what to say and how to say it to get what you wanted. You needed him, he wanted to be needed. Easy. Besides, Aerion had made you this way. He had taught you how to be selfish and greedy and only think of yourself first; it wasn't your fault you were good at it.
Valarr didn't stop by the next day to drop your things off. The following day, a package arrived at your door with a note attached: "Wear this tonight." Inside was a simple but elegant black dress, one you recognized from your favorite boutique—the one you always looked at but never bought because it was too expensive.
You called him immediately, excitement bubbling in your chest. "What's this for?" you asked when he answered.
"I'm taking you out," he said, his voice carrying that familiar warmth that made you feel safe. "If you still want that future with me, I want to start proving you made the right choice."
"I do," you assured him, running your hand over the soft fabric of the dress. "I really, really do."
"Good," he said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. "I'll pick you up at seven."
It felt almost like it used to, the anticipation building as you got ready. You put extra effort into your makeup and hair, wanting to look perfect for him. When the doorbell rang, your heart raced the way it always did when you knew he was on the other side.
He looked breathtaking as usual—his hair perfectly styled, that silver streak catching the light, his suit tailored to perfection. The bouquet of roses he handed you made you laugh.
"You're spoiling me," you said, inhaling their sweet scent.
"I plan to spoil you for the rest of our lives," he replied, leaning in to kiss your cheek.
The restaurant was your favorite, the one with the private booth in the back where you could talk for hours without interruption. Over dinner, you felt yourself relaxing, the tension of the past few days melting away. Valarr was attentive, charming, and completely focused on you—just as he always had been.
But then, over dessert, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Your breath caught in your throat as he opened it to reveal the most stunning ring you'd ever seen.
"Before you say anything," he began, "I want you to know this isn't me rushing you. I just... if you meant what you said, about wanting to marry me..." He looked nervous, which was so unlike him it made your chest hurt. "You... well, just... you should have a ring on your finger."
Tears sprang to your eyes as you looked from the ring to his beautiful, earnest face. "Valarr, I..."
"It's okay if you want to wait," he rushed to say. "I just wanted you to have it, to know that I'm serious about—"
Your hand shot out to cover his mouth, stopping his nervous rambling. "Of course I meant it, Valarr. Stop talking before I throw myself at you in this restaurant."
His eyes widened, and then he laughed, the sound so genuine it made you want to hear it every day for the rest of your life. He took your hand from his mouth and kissed your palm before sliding the ring onto your finger. "You're sure about this?"
"More sure than anything," you promised, leaning across the table to kiss him. "I want to be your wife."
He kissed you back, his hands framing your face with such reverence it nearly brought you to tears again. "I'm going to make you so happy," he whispered against your lips. "I swear it, my love."
As you left the restaurant with your hand in his and the ring sparkling on your finger, you allowed yourself to believe it could all work out. That you could have this—have him—without looking back. You told yourself that the ache in your chest wasn't longing for someone else, but just the remnants of guilt for a mistake you'd never repeat. You were starting over with Valarr, building the future you'd always wanted. Everything else would fade away in time.
You repeated this to yourself all the way home, and once more as he kissed you goodnight at your door.
The two of you had set a date for the wedding. Six months away, giving you time to plan and adjust to the idea of being his wife. Your parents were thrilled, of course. They had always liked Valarr, mostly approved of his family, and wanted nothing more than to see you settled with someone so clearly devoted to you.
Everyone was happy. Everyone except Aerion, who you hadn't seen or spoken to since that night at your apartment. Valarr had mentioned their relationship was strained, that Aerion was avoiding family gatherings and barely responding to messages, but you tried not to let it bother you. You were committed to the choice you'd made.
Three weeks after Valarr gave you the ring, you were at his apartment helping him sort through some old photos for the wedding album when you noticed him becoming unusually quiet.
"What's wrong?" you asked, setting down a handful of pictures and moving to sit beside him on the couch.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Nothing. I... sometimes I just worry."
"About what?" You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.
"About whether you're truly happy," he admitted, his eyes fixed on your joined hands. "Whether this is what you really want."
"Of course it is," you insisted, squeezing his hand. "I love you, Valarr. I'm so happy with you."
He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of hope and doubt. "I believe you, but... sometimes I remember seeing you with him, how you looked at each other." His jaw tensed slightly. "And I wonder if you're just trying to do the right thing by staying with me."
"Stop," you said softly, moving closer. "I'm not doing this because it's right. I'm doing it because I want to be with you. Because I love you."
He was silent for a long time. Too long. You could see the wheels turning in his head, the questions he wasn't asking. So you gave him time, pulling one of your hands free to stroke his cheek gently. Despite everything, you knew this man better than anyone. You knew how his mind worked, how he needed reassurance, how he would rather suffer in silence than demand something from you. But you couldn't bear to see him doubting.
After a while, you realized that doubting wasn't the only thing he was doing. His eyes had a look to them that you knew very well. He was thinking, calculating, considering something. His brow was furrowed slightly, and his lips were pressed together in that way they did when he was wrestling with something difficult. You started to see his jaw clench and unclench repeatedly. The hand that wasn't holding yours was gripping his knee tightly enough that his knuckles were white.
"Valarr? Baby—"
"You let him finish inside you."
He said it so low you almost missed it. But once the words registered, the blood drained from your face. You pulled your hand away from him as if burned, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest.
"What?" you whispered.
"When I walked in on you," he continued, his voice still eerily calm. "I didn't see a condom. And his fingers were... and you've never let me—"
"Stop," you cut him off, the panic now rising. "Stop. This isn't... we don't need to talk about this."
"How long?" he asked, and now there was a tremor in his voice. "How long were you sleeping with him without protection?"
"Valarr, please don't—"
"Was it the whole time? Did he ever use protection with you?" His eyes were wild now, the hurt and anger he'd kept so carefully contained finally breaking through. "Tell me the truth!"
You couldn't look at him anymore; all you could do was avert your gaze to your lap. "It was just... a few times. At the end."
"So you let him," he said, his voice cracking. "You let him do that, but not me. Not me, when I've loved you for years, when I've asked you for nothing."
"It wasn't like that," you protested weakly, knowing how pathetic it sounded even as you said it.
"What was it like, then?" he demanded, standing up suddenly and pacing the room. "Explain it to me, because I'm trying to understand how the woman I love could let my cousin come inside her when she's never even let me touch her without a condom!"
You flinched at his words, the harshness of them making tears spring to your eyes. "I don't know! It just... happened. It wasn't planned."
"Unfuckingbelievable," he laughed bitterly, running his hands through his hair. "So it was spontaneous for him, but with me it requires discussion and planning and—"
"It's different!" you cried, standing up too. "You're different, Valarr. You're the one I want a future with."
"The one you want a future with," he repeated, turning to face you with so much hurt and betrayal in his pretty eyes. "But apparently, he was the one you wanted to be reckless with. The one you trusted with your body in a way you never trusted me."
"It wasn't about trust," you insisted, though you weren't even sure you believed that anymore. "It was stupid, it was a mistake, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry isn't enough," he said, his voice breaking. "Do you have any idea what this feels like? Knowing you gave him something you've never given me? Something I've wanted for so long but was too respectful to push for?"
You were crying openly now, moving toward him. "I'll fix it. I'll do whatever you want. I just—"
"Don't," he said, holding up a hand to stop you from getting closer. "Don't touch me right now. I need to... I need to think."
The rejection stung more than you expected. You watched helplessly as he walked to the window, his back to you, his shoulders tense. The minutes passed in silence; the only sounds in the room were your muffled sobs and his heavy sighs.
Finally, he spoke again, his voice so quiet you had to strain to hear him. "I tried to be okay with this. I told myself I could move past it, that our love was stronger than what you did. But knowing this..." He turned around, his face pale. "I don't know how to look at you the same way."
"Please don't say that," you begged. "Please, Valarr. I love you."
"I know you do," he said sadly. "But it seems there are parts of you I'll never truly have. Parts you gave away so easily to someone else."
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it? When we're together, am I always going to be wondering if you're comparing me to him? If you're wishing it was him instead?"
"No," you shook your head vehemently. "Never."
"How can I believe that? When you've already chosen him over me in so many ways?"
You couldn't answer. Because the truth was, you had chosen Aerion in ways you'd never chosen Valarr. Not because you loved him more, but because with Aerion, there were no consequences, no future to consider, no expectations to meet. It had been easy to be reckless with him, to give him pieces of yourself you'd guarded with Valarr.
But you'd given it up. You stopped seeing him. You swore you'd stop and you did. There was nothing you were looking forward to more than being Valarr's wife, and now you could feel it all slipping away, and you couldn't figure out how to stop it from happening. When Valarr stepped in front of you, you let him. When his hand came up to brush the tears from your face, you closed your eyes and took the deepest breath. He had always been so gentle, and you took that for granted. You wouldn't do it again.
"Valarr, please," you whispered, opening your eyes to look up at him. "I chose you. I'm choosing you now."
He held your hands in his. He held them for so long you finally started to believe he wouldn't let go again. His thumbs were rubbing soothing circles into your skin, the way he always did when you were upset. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and let yourself breathe.
He spoke into your hair, so softly that you had to strain to hear him. "This is killing me. Every day, I can't stop thinking about how you let him... It's like this poison in my mind. I don't want to feel this way, but I don't know how to stop."
You tightened your arms around his waist, feeling the pain in his voice like a knife twisting in your chest. "I haven't seen him. Not since that day. I swear to you, I haven't even thought about it. You're all I want."
"Are you sure?" His voice cracked slightly on the question. "Because sometimes I look at you, and I wonder if you're thinking about him. If you miss what you had with him."
"No," you insisted, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "I don't miss him. I miss you. I miss us before all of this. I'd do anything to go back and change it."
His arms wrapped around you fully then, pulling you against him so tightly you could only feel the scent of him taking over your senses. You felt him press his face into your hair, taking deep breaths as if trying to anchor himself to this moment, to you. You loved him like this. You loved how much he needed to hold you. You wanted to be the only person he ever reached for like this. He was yours. He was meant to be yours.
"I love you so much," you whispered, your hands stroking his back. "Let me show you how much. Let me prove it to you."
He didn't respond at first, just held you tighter. Then, slowly, he began to press soft kisses to your hair, your temple, your cheek. When his lips finally found yours, they were hesitant at first, questioning. You answered with all the certainty you could muster, pouring everything you felt into that kiss. He deepened it, his hands moving to cradle your face as his tongue moved against yours with increasing desperation.
This was your Valarr. The one who loved you despite everything, who wanted you even when he shouldn't. You guided him toward the bedroom, your hands working at the buttons of his shirt as you walked. He let you undress him, his eyes never leaving yours as you pushed the fabric from his body.
Once you had him naked, you pushed him gently to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling before him. His breathing quickened as your hands ran up his thighs, your eyes locked on his.
"I want to show you," you whispered, leaning in to press kisses along his hip bone. "I want to show you how much I love you."
He groaned softly as your mouth moved closer to where he wanted you most. "You don't have to—"
"Please," you interrupted, looking up at him through your lashes. "Let me do this for you."
His resistance crumbled at your words. You took him in your hand first, stroking slowly as your tongue darted out to lick beneath the tip. His head fell back with a moan, one hand coming to rest gently on your head. You took your time, wanting to make this perfect for him, wanting to erase any lingering doubts about where your loyalty lay.
When you finally took him into your mouth, his reaction was visceral. His fingers tangled in your hair, simply holding on as you worked him with your lips and tongue. You paid attention to every little sound he made, every twitch of his hips, learning all over again what drove him wild. It had been weeks since you'd done this for him, and you had missed it. Missed the power it gave you, the intimacy of it. How you could turn the most even-tempered man you knew into a mess of need and want with just your mouth.
"Sweet girl," he breathed, his voice husky. "Feels so good."
You hummed in response, the vibration making him gasp. Your hands moved to what your mouth couldn't reach, one caressing his balls, the other stroking in rhythm with your movements. He was getting close, you could tell by the way his thighs tensed under your hands, the way his breathing suddenly changed to short, shallow pants. So you pulled away, ignoring his whimper of protest. You didn't want him to finish like this, not this time.
"Baby, what—" he started, but you silenced him by pushing him back on the bed and climbing over him. You straddled his thighs, leaning down to kiss him deeply, letting him taste himself on your tongue. It was wet, and messy, and he groaned into your mouth the moment you ground against him, his hands shooting up to grip your hips almost painfully.
"Take my clothes off, Valarr," you whispered against his lips.
He obeyed instantly, his hands shaking as he pulled your top over your head and unhooked your bra. You stood just long enough to remove your skirt and panties before returning to your position above him. His eyes devoured your naked body, his hands reaching up to caress your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. You caught his hands, pressing them to the bed above his head as you leaned down to kiss him again.
"Be good and keep them there. Don't touch me yet. I want to make you feel good."
He nodded profusely, his eyes dark with desire as he laced his fingers together above his head. You rewarded him with another kiss, then began to move your body against his, sliding your wet heat along his length without taking him inside yet. His hips bucked up involuntarily, seeking more friction, and you smiled at how desperate he was already becoming.
"So beautiful," you praised, running your hands down his chest. "So patient for me."
"I'd wait forever for you," he breathed, his eyes never leaving your face.
You continued to tease him, grinding against his cock, feeling him become impossibly harder beneath you. When you finally positioned him at your entrance, you both gasped at the contact. But instead of taking him inside right away, you held him there, just barely pressing against your opening. He was so thick and hot against you, the head of his cock nudging at your sensitive flesh. You could feel every throb of his heartbeat in this position, every twitch of anticipation.
"A-Are you going to tease me all night?"
"Maybe a little longer," you smiled, rocking your hips just enough to create friction without giving him exactly what he wanted. "I like seeing you like this."
"Baby, please," he begged, and the sound of Valarr Targaryen begging had you moaning with satisfaction at the fact that you did that. "I need you."
You knew he did. You could see it in the desperate look in his eyes, in the way his arms strained where he kept them above his head, in the way his cock pulsed against you, seeking entry. Finally, you relented, sinking down on him slowly, watching his face as you took him inside. His eyes rolled back, his mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure as you enveloped him completely.
"Fuck," he sighed when you were fully seated on him. "You feel... sweet girl, you're incredible. Perfect."
You stayed still for a moment, just letting him feel you, skin on skin. The heat of him inside you, the stretch of your body around his—it was almost enough to make you come right then. When you began to move, you kept it slow, torturously slow, rising up until just the tip remained inside before sinking back down again. His hands fisted above his head, clearly fighting the urge to grab you.
"You can touch me now, baby," you whispered, and the relief on his face was almost comical.
His hands were on you instantly, sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips, pulling you down harder on his next thrust. You gasped at the change in angle, the way he hit that gummy spot inside you that had your vision going white at the edges. You leaned forward a little, bracing yourself on his chest as you began to move faster, riding him in earnest now. His eyes were locked on where your bodies joined, watching himself disappear inside you with each movement.
"Is this what you wanted?" you asked, your voice breathy as you increased your pace slightly. "To be inside me like this?"
"Y-yes," he choked out, his hands moving to cup and squeeze your breasts. "Fuck, I've wanted this for so long."
You let out a soft moan at his words, the idea of how long he'd been fantasizing about this, waiting for you, making you impossibly wetter. You sat up straighter, giving him a better view as you began to bounce on his cock, your breasts bouncing with each movement. His hands moved to your hips, helping to guide you, his eyes never leaving your body.
"You're so good for me, Valarr," you praised him. "So patient, so loving. You deserve everything."
He shook his head, his eyes glassy with pleasure as he watched you. "Just you," he ground out through gritted teeth. I just need you."
You leaned down to kiss him again, swallowing his moans as you continued to ride him. The angle changed, allowing him to thrust up into you more deeply, and suddenly you were both racing toward completion. You could feel him swelling inside you, his fingers digging into your hips as he fought to hold back his orgasm.
"Let go, baby," you whispered against his lips. "I want to feel you come inside me."
Your words undid him completely. With a strangled whine, he bottomed out inside you, his body tensing as he came. The feeling of him pulsing and throbbing within you, the knowledge that you were finally giving him this intimacy, sent you over the edge as well. You cried out his name as your orgasm broke through, your body clenching around him, milking every last drop.
As the pleasure subsided, you collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing heavily. His arms wrapped around you before you could adjust, holding you close as you both recovered. You could feel his heart racing beneath your ear, could feel the slickness between your thighs where his release was already leaking out of you and onto him. It was perfect. This was exactly what you both needed.
"Thank you," he whispered after a long silence while his hand stroked your hair gently.
You lifted your head to look at him, finding his eyes all soft and full of love despite everything. "For what?"
"For choosing me," he said simply. "For giving me this."
You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I'd choose you every time, Valarr. You're the only one I want."
He seemed to believe you, pulling you down for a deeper kiss. When you finally made it to the shower, he washed you tenderly, his hands lingering on your body as if it were the first time he was seeing you, touching you again. Afterwards, you curled up in bed together, your head on his chest, his fingers trailing lazily up and down your spine. It felt like a new beginning, a chance to leave the past behind and build something stronger from the wreckage.
You fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's arms, and for the first time in weeks, you didn't dream of silver hair and a wicked smile. There was only the steady heartbeat beneath your ear and the knowledge that you were right where you belonged.
When morning came, the light streaming through the windows woke you before Valarr. You watched him sleep for a while, marveling at how peaceful he looked, how happy you were to be waking up beside him. You pressed a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder, careful not to disturb him. It wasn't until you were about to slip out of bed that you felt the slight stickiness between your thighs, a reminder of last night's intimacy.
For a brief moment, you thought of a different bed, different arms, a different voice whispering filthy praises in your ear as you rode him just as eagerly. You shook your head to clear it, pushing the image away. That was over. This was your reality now, and it was what you wanted.
You were still smiling as you padded to the bathroom to clean up, already planning what you would make for breakfast when Valarr woke up. You had chosen your future, and it was bright and beautiful and filled with love.
Or at least, that's what you told yourself before you actually made it to the bathroom, and the sudden nausea hit you like a brick wall. You barely made it to the toilet before you were heaving, your body rejecting everything in your stomach as you clung to the porcelain.
kiss, kiss in which you try to drag them into the bathroom of a nightclub because you desperately want to kiss
features: dunk, aerion, baelor, daeron, valarr
cw: 18+ mdni | alcohol consumption | semi-public | oral mention (f!receiving) | implied p in v | just a whole lot of kissing <3
masterlist ────୨ৎ──── taglist
Aerion, he doesn't even let you get three steps.
His fingers close around your wrist before you've reached the hallway, and when you pout up at him with glossy eyes and insist it's "just for a minute," he looks toward the bathroom door, watches another couple stumble out laughing, then slowly looks back at you.
"...Absolutely not."
You're already pulling on his hand, slurring his name in a way that would probably make him give in if he wasn’t already feeling borderline homicidal about the state of this place.
"Aerion,” you whine, leaning into him, and he catches you with an arm around your waist, exhaling sharply through his nose.
"You're not pulling me into that—whatever the fuck that is," he mutters, glancing at the bathroom again like he's imagining contracting six diseases just from looking at it. "This jacket costs more than your entire wardrobe, and I'm not sacrificing it to whatever cesspool you're trying to drag me into."
You giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, tilting your head to try to kiss him right there in the cut.
He dodges smoothly, but you barely notice, too focused on the way his fingers grip your waist, and he's genuinely considering just tossing you over his shoulder and leaving.
"You're a buzzkill," you accuse, and he rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck.
"Let's go home," he says flatly. "You're getting sloppy."
"You're hot," you mumble into his chest, and he sighs, reaching up to rub his temple.
"Yes, I know," he mutters. "And you're drunk. Come on."
You let him lead you out, complaining the entire way, and he ignores every word because he knows you'll forget all of this by morning—and he'll absolutely hold it over you. Only not before he puts you in the backseat of the car and shoves your dress up over your hips, mumbling something about "making up for wasting my time" while you giggle because he's annoyed and turned on, and the filthy bathroom really wasn't that bad of an idea after all.
Valarr, he lets you pull him toward the bathroom but stops right outside the door.
He's not mean about it, just gently plants his feet and gives you that soft, amused smile that makes your heart skip, especially when you're drunk and stupid and full of bad ideas.
"You really want to kiss me in there?" he asks, and his voice is calm, soothing, like he's talking to a toddler who just suggested eating dirt. "Baby, it's disgusting."
"It's fine," you slur, gripping his shirt, his waistband, whatever you can reach. "Just—just one kiss."
He looks at you, just stares, his mismatched eyes bright with the laughter he's holding in, but he doesn't budge. "We can kiss anywhere else," he says reasonably, and it's infuriating because he's not even mad; he's just... sensible.
You groan dramatically, trying to drag him closer, and he sighs, wrapping his arms around you to stop your wiggling. "How about I take you home, hmm?" he murmurs against your hair. "And we can kiss all night."
You mumble something that sounds vaguely like "yes" but also "no," and he chuckles, scooping you up like it's nothing.
"You'll thank me in the morning," he promises, and you pout because you know he's right, but right now, you just want his mouth on yours, and you don't care if it's against a dirty bathroom wall.
But Valarr does, so he takes you home, lets you flop onto the bed, and kisses you properly, slow and deep, until you forget all about the club and the bathroom and anything else that isn't him.
Daeron, he goes along with it because he’s just as shitfaced as you are. He drags you to the bathroom. Even tries to do much worse than kissing, and you have to swat his hands away because there is a line, even for drunk you.
"Come on," he whines, backing you into the wall near the sinks, and you laugh and push him back, tripping over your own feet.
"No," you giggle, and he groans, reaching for you again, all big hands and messy blonde hair and eyes that are way too intense for a bathroom this nasty.
"Just one—fuck," he laughs when you dodge him again, spinning out of reach.
He's grinning, though, because he's having fun, and he catches you eventually, dragging you against him and kissing you until you're both breathless and the bathroom doesn't seem so dirty anymore.
"We should go home," you mumble against his lips, and he nods, still smiling.
"Yeah," he agrees, but he doesn't move, just holds you tighter and kisses you again because he's Daeron and he's never met a bad decision he didn't like. "Just… baby just let me touch you a little—"
"Daeron."
But he just about whimpers. So you let him. You’re even the one who pulls him into the stall, ignoring the way he cackles because you're too drunk and too happy and too into him to care. He ends up on his knees, and you forget all about the gross floor and the sticky walls, because his mouth is on you and he's good at this, really fucking good, and you're gasping and holding onto his hair, and he’s just lapping at you like a man starved.
He’s grinning when he pulls back to take a breath, looking up at you with those wild eyes, and you're already pulling him up, fumbling with his belt, and he laughs, helping you because he's just as desperate as you are.
It's messy and fast and everything you shouldn't be doing in a place like this, but it's perfect, and when you're both spent, he's still laughing, still kissing your neck while you try to fix both your clothes.
"I’m getting another shot before we go," he says, and you hit his arm but follow him anyway because you're just as bad as he is, and that's why you work.
Baelor, he's calling a taxi before you even finish your sentence.
You're tugging on his sleeve, trying to look seductive, and he's just gently prying your fingers off, his expression somewhere between fond and exasperated.
"Darling," he says, calm and steady like always, "we're not doing that."
You huff, glaring up at him, and he just smiles, brushing your hair back from your face. "Let's go home," he suggests, and his voice is so reasonable it makes you want to scream.
"I’m just going to kiss you! It’s fine,” you protest, and he sighs, glancing toward the bathroom like he's calculating how many germs are probably breeding in there.
"It's really not fine, my love," he says. He's already guiding you toward the exit, his hand warm and firm on your back.
You grumble all the way to the car, and he listens patiently, nodding like he's actually taking your complaints seriously, but you know he's just humoring you.
When you get home, he sits you down on the couch, gets you water, and kneels in front of you, looking up with those kind, gentle eyes.
"Better?" he asks, and you sigh, and you cross your arms because he's always right, and it's annoying.
He leans in to kiss you with a hand in your hair, and it's sweet and perfect, and you forget all about the club because Baelor's kisses are worth waiting for, even if he's a little boring sometimes.
But you love him, so you don't even mind, especially when he pulls you into his lap and keeps kissing you, thoroughly making up for not letting you have your way.
He knows you'll be embarrassed in the morning, so he doesn't tease, just holds you close and lets you fall asleep against his chest, the faint scent of his cologne lulling you into a peaceful, drunken sleep.
Dunk, he's blushing before you can even get through the crowd.
You're grabbing onto his belt loops, babbling something about wanting to kiss him, and he's just following along, wide-eyed and flustered, because he's still not used to you wanting him this much.
When you point toward the bathroom, he actually stutters, "Uh, really? Here?"
"Yes," you insist, dragging him along, and he lets you, because he's Duncan and he can't say no to you, even when he probably should. And he’s definitely been in much worse places than a club bathroom.
Once you're inside, he looks around like he's not sure what to do, and you have to practically climb him to get his attention back on you.
"You're drunk," he says, but he's already smiling, hands settling on your hips, and you nod profusely, a cheesy grin plastered on your face.
"Very," you agree, and he laughs, ducking his head to kiss you, sweet and a little clumsy because he's still nervous even after all this time.
You deepen the kiss, and he groans, pushing you up against the wall, all that solid muscle pressing into you, and you forget all about the fact that your hair has just been pushed into something sticky because Dunk is kissing you like he means it, and that's all that you wanted in the first place.
"I think we should… maybe we should leave," he mumbles against your mouth, but he continues kissing you, and his hands are roaming under your shirt, and you know you're not leaving anytime soon.
Eventually, someone bangs on the door, and he jumps, pulling away with a guilty look. And you laugh, grabbing his hand and leading him out because you've had your fun.
He's blushing the whole way back, but you just lean into him, happy and drunk and so in love with your big, awkward knight who'd follow you anywhere, even into a grimy bathroom in the middle of the night. You end up in his bed, and he's still a little shy, but you kiss every blush away, and he holds you like you're something precious until you both fall asleep, tangled up in each other—or rather, you're sprawled across his huge body, and he doesn't mind a bit. He just wraps an arm around you and smiles into your hair, completely content. He'd do it all over again tomorrow if you asked.
Two days had passed. Only one week until the showcase, and your nerves were beginning to feel unbearable.
You sat at your small kitchen table, staring at the same half-finished canvas you'd been working on for days. Something about it wasn't working, but you couldn't figure out what. The colors seemed off and every attempt to fix it only made things worse.
With a frustrated sigh, you set down your palette and reached for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts, you hesitated when you reached the name you'd finally entered last night: Baelor Targaryen. It felt absurd to call him. He was a busy man. But then you thought about his kind eyes, his genuine interest in your work, and the way he'd spoken to you like you were worth his time. Taking a deep breath, you tapped the screen before you could second-guess yourself.
It rang only twice before his calm voice answered.
"Good morning. This is Baelor."
"Hi," you said, immediately regretting how hesitant you sounded. "It's... um, from the gallery. The waitress. I'm not sure if you remember—"
There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “I wasn’t aware I’d met so many waitresses that I’d need the distinction.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. “The art student,” you corrected quickly, laughing under your breath. “We spoke about my portfolio.”
“Of course I remember. I’ve been hoping you’d call.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the phone. “I was wondering... if you were still serious about wanting to see my work. Only if it wouldn't be an inconvenience, of course.”
“Not at all. I’d be delighted. Would this afternoon be convenient for you? I could arrange for a car to pick you up, and you could bring a few pieces to my office.”
The offer was so generous it nearly took your breath away. "I—yes, that would be fine. But you really don't need to send a car. I can take the metro—"
"Nonsense. I wouldn't hear of it. Send me your address, and I'll have someone there... let's say... one o'clock?"
You hesitated, then nodded even though he couldn't see you. "One o'clock. Thank you. I really appreciate this."
"It's my pleasure," he said, and there was something so genuine in his voice that you couldn't help but smile. "I'll see you soon."
After hanging up, you stared at your phone for a long time, a long time, half-expecting to wake up and realize you'd imagined the entire conversation. But the screen still showed his name, the time still ticked forward. And in a few hours, you would be showing your art to one of the most influential men in the city.
With a deep breath, you stood and walked over to the stack of canvases leaning against the wall. Choosing three of your best pieces, you carefully wrapped them in protective cloth and set them by the door. Whether anything came of this or not, at least someone would see them.
The car that arrived outside your apartment building was sleek, and so spotlessly clean it almost seemed wrong to step inside. The driver greeted you politely, opening the door and helping you secure your canvases in the back before you slid onto the leather seat. It was the sort of luxury you'd only seen in films, and it made your hands feel suddenly clumsy as you smoothed your skirt over your thighs.
The drive to Targaryen Tower was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of gray buildings and green parks. By the time you arrived, your stomach was a nervous knot. The tower was a breathtaking structure of glass and steel, standing proudly against the sky. The lobby was just as impressive, all polished marble, fresh flowers, and a receptionist who greeted you by name before directing you to the elevator.
When the doors opened on the top floor, you were greeted not by an assistant but by Baelor himself. He stood in the doorway of his office with a smile on his face, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit.
"Welcome," he said, stepping aside to let you in. "I'm glad you could make it."
"Thank you for having me," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.
His office was spacious; you could fit your entire apartment in there at least twice. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes, and the large windows offered a stunning view of the city skyline. A few carefully chosen pieces of art hung on the walls, each one clearly selected with intention. Fresh white lilies sat in a vase on his desk. You didn't take him for a lily kind of man, but there they were.
"Please, make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing to a seating area by the window. "Would you care for something to drink? Tea, perhaps?"
"Tea would be lovely, yes," you smiled at him, setting your canvases carefully against the wall before claiming one of the armchairs.
He moved to a small table where a silver tea set was arranged, pouring two cups before handing one off and sitting down across from you. For a moment, he simply looked at you. It wasn't uncomfortable per se, but it was... thorough, as if he were studying you the way you might study a painting.
"You're nervous," he observed quietly.
"A little..." you admitted, smoothing your skirt again. "I've never shown my work to someone like you before."
You were more than nervous. For many reasons. Your hands were shaking, your heart was beating like a drum, and you felt like you were about to throw up. You weren't nervous because you didn't want him to see your work; otherwise, you wouldn't have come. You wanted him to see it. It was important to you that he liked it. He was simply a very handsome man. Who was probably old enough to be your father, but a handsome man nonetheless. And now you were looking at him. He was... exquisite. The silver in his hair was striking, and his eyes were... you couldn't help but notice how blue one was. It seemed to pierce right through you, and for a second you had the insane urge to reach forward and touch his face, just to feel the scruff of his beard beneath your fingers, or against your—
Your eyes kept flicking to his hands, the way his fingers wrapped around the teacup, and how large they were.
"There's no need to be," he assured you. "I'm genuinely interested in what you've been creating. May I?" He gestured toward the canvases.
"Yes, of course," you said quickly, setting your cup aside and standing to unwrap them.
You unveiled each piece carefully, stepping back as he rose to examine them. The silence that followed was agonizing. You watched his face for any sign of reaction, but his expression remained thoughtful, even as you tried to tell yourself he hated them all. Finally, he turned to you with a new softness in his eyes.
"These are exceptional," he said, and you felt a rush of relief so strong it almost brought tears to your eyes. "You have a remarkable ability to convey emotion. It's raw... really, it's beautiful."
"Thank you," you whispered, your fingers twisting together. "That means a lot."
He stepped closer, studying the painting of a rainy street at dusk, the lights reflecting off the wet cobblestones; the street outside your building. "I'd like to feature these in the Foundation's upcoming exhibition for emerging artists." He quickly glanced at you. "With your permission, of course."
"You're fucking joking," you blurted out, then immediately covered your mouth in horror. Of course, you'd mess this up. "I'm so sorry—I didn't... are you serious?"
His laugh was warm and disarming. "I am, yes."
"I just... I can't believe it," you said, shaking your head in disbelief.
"You deserve it. I'd also like to commission a piece for my personal collection, if you'd be interested."
"Mr. Targaryen... sorry, Baelor, I don't know what to say."
"You could say yes," he suggested with a smile.
"Yes," you laughed. You felt lighter than you had in months. "Yes, of course!"
"Excellent." He moved to his desk and opened a drawer, retrieving a checkbook. As he began writing, he glanced back at you. "Now, regarding payment for the exhibition and the commission..."
"Oh, you don't need to pay me," you said quickly, already nervous enough being there. "Just the opportunity to be part of the show is enough."
He looked at you as though you'd just said something entirely absurd. "Nonsense. Your work has value, and I intend to compensate you appropriately for it."
You opened your mouth to argue but stopped when he handed you the check. £20,000.
You stared at the number, sure you'd misread it. "This is... far too much," you protested, holding it out to him. "I can't accept this."
"You can, and you will," he said firmly. "Consider it an advance for both the exhibition and the commission. If there's any leftover, I trust you'll put it to good use."
Tears pricked at your eyes as you lowered the check, overwhelmed by his generosity. "I... how do I even thank you for this?"
"You already have, more than once. I only wish I'd found you sooner."
There was something in his voice that made your head spin, but before you could dwell on it, he stepped back and offered you a reassuring smile. "Why don't we celebrate? There's a restaurant nearby I think you'll enjoy. We can discuss your work more, and I hear the university is hosting a showcase next week."
"I'd like that."
The weeks that followed felt like something out of a dream.
The exhibition at the Targaryen Foundation had been a success beyond anything you could have hoped for. Your paintings had drawn attention, and even a few offers from collectors. The university showcase had gone equally well, and you'd received a scholarship offer for the upcoming academic year.
Baelor had been there for both events, standing quietly in the background, always present. He'd introduced you to gallery owners, museum curators, and other patrons, always with a hand at the small of your back or a quiet word of encouragement when your nerves threatened to get the best of you. You'd started to look for him in a crowd, reassured by his presence and the way his eyes seemed to find yours no matter how many people filled the room.
One evening, after the final guests had left another event hosted by the Foundation, you found yourself sitting with him in the empty gallery, the soft glow of overhead lights illuminating your work.
"I still can't believe all of this happened," you admitted.
"You made it happen. I merely opened a few doors."
You glanced at him, noting the way the light caught the silver in his hair. "You've done so much more than that. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."
He turned to you fully; now he looked more serious. "You don't need to. But if you're truly determined, there is one thing you could do for me."
"Please. Anything."
He hesitated. You'd never seen him do that before. "I'd like to take you out."
The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you weren't sure you'd heard him correctly. "Take me out?" you echoed, barely above a whisper.
"To dinner. Or the theatre. Wherever you'd like. I've enjoyed getting to know you, and I'd like to do so properly. Just... us."
Your heart raced, and you felt suddenly aware of how close he was sitting. "Okay," you said softly. "You can pick me up?"
"Absolutely. This weekend."
The first date was nothing short of magical. He took you to a small, candlelit restaurant all the way in Oldtown, where the food was as exquisite as the conversation. He listened as you talked about your dreams as an artist, your favorite books, your childhood, little things that made you happy. He shared stories about his work and his travels. By the end of the evening, you felt as though you'd known him for years.
The second date came a week later, this time to the King's Landing Opera House. You'd never been, and the beauty of the performance left you breathless. He held your hand during the intermission, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, and you wondered if he could feel how quickly your pulse was racing.
The third date was simpler—you had suggested it—a walk through the botanical gardens, followed by coffee. He seemed genuinely delighted by the idea, and as you strolled beneath the cherry blossoms, he surprised you by pulling a small sketchbook from his jacket pocket.
"I noticed you never leave home without one," he said with a smile. "I thought perhaps you could use a new one."
It was such a thoughtful, personal gift that you couldn't help but squeal and throw your arms around him, your cheeks flushed with happiness. He wrapped his arms around you in return, holding you close, and for the first time, you felt something more than gratitude or admiration. You felt... cherished.
That evening, as he walked you to your door, he paused, his hands resting lightly on your waist. "May I kiss you?" he asked, his voice soft.
"Most guys would've just done it by now," you teased, though your heart was pounding.
He smiled, his eyes searching yours. "I prefer to ask."
You nodded, your breath catching as he leaned in. The kiss was unhurried and so full of tenderness it left you dizzy. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed over your cheek, not looking away from you once.
"Goodnight, darling," he whispered.
"Goodnight, Baelor," you replied, and only after he'd gone did you realize he'd slipped another check into your jacket pocket—enough to cover your rent for the next six months.
You'd been to Baelor's estate twice by the time summer arrived, each visit more comfortable than the last. The house was a masterpiece of classic architecture, set on sprawling grounds with gardens that seemed to stretch forever. It was a world away from your small apartment, yet Baelor had a way of making you feel like you belonged there.
The first time you'd stayed overnight, he'd given you a guest room with a view of the gardens, but the second time, you'd found yourself in his bed, your body curled against his as the rain tapped softly against the windows. He was a patient, attentive lover, always putting your pleasure first, his hands and lips exploring you with reverence.
But you didn't want a patient lover. At least, not all the time. He always carried himself so well. And the more nights you spent watching him read in that armchair, twisting his rings around his fingers, or how his hands flexed when he was deep in thought, you couldn't help but imagine how he would look using those hands to bend you over the nearest surface. The thought alone made your thighs press together, a warmth pooling between your legs. God, you were hopeless. The desire to be fucked within an inch of your life had started to consume you.
And he just kept buying you things. You'd told him to stop, but he'd only smiled and kissed you, and told you you were being silly. He was an impossible man. Every week, there was a new dress in your closet, a new pair of shoes, a new coat. He'd even hired a driver for you, so you didn't have to take the metro. It was all too much, and yet, you couldn't deny how much you enjoyed it him.
Your friend, Tanselle, had been the one to bring it up.
"Did you start an OnlyFans I don't know about?" she'd asked over coffee.
"No," you'd answered, but you weren't looking her in the eye.
"Then what's going on?" she'd pressed. "Because you went from being short on rent to being driven around in a Bentley, and it's not because you suddenly sold all your paintings."
You didn't respond. Only because she hadn't let you. She'd started listing off all the things she'd noticed, and the more she'd talked, the more you realized she was right.
"Oh my God," she'd gasped. "You have a sugar daddy!"
"I do not," you'd hissed, looking around to make sure no one else heard.
"Are you sleeping with him?"
"Yes, but—"
"You're sleeping with a man who gives you money. That's a sugar daddy."
"Shut up," you'd muttered, covering your face with your hands. "He's not... he's not like that. He's just... nice."
"Mhm," she'd said, clearly not convinced. "And how much does this 'nice' man give you?"
You'd glared at her, but she'd only laughed and stolen a bite of your scone. And that was the end of it.
One afternoon, you brought it up to Baelor; only you didn't bring up Tanselle. You were sitting on the sofa in his study, sketching while he worked at his desk. The room was quiet, the only sounds the scratch of your pencil and the occasional rustle of paper. He'd given you a knowing smile earlier when you'd walked in wearing a new dress, the one he'd bought you last week. You'd stuck your tongue out at him, but the truth was, you loved it. It was soft and flowy, and made you feel beautiful.
"Baelor?" you asked, breaking the silence.
"Hmm?" he answered, looking up from his work.
"I saw this post online yesterday... about sugar daddies and their babies." You didn't look at him as you spoke, focusing instead on the lines you were drawing.
"Did you?" he asked, his tone curious.
"Yeah, and I think... I think we might be one."
You felt his eyes on you, but you still didn't look up. "Is that right?"
"Well, you're older, and you give me money and buy me things. And we sleep together. So, yes." Your face was heating up as you spoke.
He was quiet for a moment, and then you heard him stand and walk over to you. He crouched in front of you, taking your sketchbook from your hands and setting it aside. Then he took your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek.
"Do you have a problem with that?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.
You shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "No."
"Good," he said, smiling. "Because I quite enjoy spoiling you."
Then he kissed you, and you forgot all about sugar babies and everything else, except how much you wanted him. He pulled you onto his lap where he sat on the ground, his hands sliding under the skirt of your dress and over your thighs. You moaned into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers coming up to rest in his hair. His beard was rough against your skin, and the scent of him was intoxicating. You felt his cock hardening beneath you, and you shifted, pressing down on it, wanting more.
"Fuck, Baelor," you whispered, grinding against him.
He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. "Patience, darling."
"I don't want to be patient," you pouted. "I want you to fuck me."
"Such language," he chided, but his pupils were blown by his desire. "We can't have that."
"Yes, we can," you argued, reaching between you to stroke him through his trousers. "Please?"
He hissed, his head falling back, and for a moment, you thought you'd won. But then he lifted you off him and stood, his breathing heavy as he looked down at you. "Up," he commanded, holding out his hand.
You took it, letting him pull you to my feet. Then he led you to the desk, bending you over it. Your hands came up to grip the edges, and your heart raced in anticipation. You'd been waiting.
"Stay," he said, and you heard him move away. You turned your head to watch him, seeing him open a drawer and pull out a length of rope. Your eyes widened, and you felt a thrill run through you.
"What's that for?" you asked, your voice breathless.
He came back to you, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. "To keep you still."
You trembled as you nodded, and he began to bind your wrists, the rope scraping against your skin. When he was done, he stepped back, his eyes roaming over your body while he admired his work. Then he lifted your skirt, baring your ass to him. You felt his hand caress your skin, and then he spanked you, the sound echoing in the room.
"That... was for being impatient," he said, his voice low. "And this..." He spanked you again, harder this time, and you moaned. "Is for using such filthy words."
You were panting now, your body on fire, and you wanted more. "Please," you begged, trying to look back at him. "More."
"Naughty girl," he said, but he gave you what you wanted, his hand coming down on your ass again and again until you were dripping wet and crying out his name. Only then did he finally give you what you needed, his fingers sliding between your thighs, finding your clit, and rubbing in just the right way.
His fingers worked you to the bone; all of the gentle touches from your previous encounters tossed aside because he finally admitted to himself that he wanted to watch you break.
"Come for me, darling," he commanded, and you did, your body shuddering as the orgasm swept through you. He didn't stop, though, his fingers still working you, pushing you into another, and then another, until you were a sobbing, begging mess.
"Please," you cried, not sure if you were begging him to stop or to keep going.
"Shhh," he soothed, his free hand stroking your hair. "I've got you. Just one more, love, can you do that for me? Isn't this what you wanted? Be a good girl and give me one more."
Your body was beyond words, tears streaming down your face as you nodded, and then he pushed you over the edge again, your orgasm so intense it left you shaking and gasping for air.
"That's it," he whispered, untying your wrists and gathering you in his arms. "You did so well, my darling. So well."
He held you, stroking your hair and kissing your forehead, murmuring praises until you calmed down. When you finally caught your breath, you looked up at him, a lazy smile on your face. "God, Baelor, I didn't know you had it in you."
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Let's get you cleaned up and into bed. You'll need your rest. And tomorrow, we'll discuss that mouth of yours."
pairing: sugar daddy!baelor targaryen x fem!reader
summary: … some encounters are one-offs; this one leaves its mark between the pages of your sketchbook ⟢
wc: 1.5k
content warning: 18+ mdni | none, just an intro to the terms & conditions series
masterlist ────୨ৎ──── taglist
The art studio always smelled faintly of linseed oil and turpentine by the end of the afternoon.
It clung to everything—the unfinished canvases lining the walls, the wooden easels scarred by years of use, the oversized aprons hanging from metal hooks by the door. Even after hours spent there, you rarely noticed it anymore. It had become as familiar as graphite dust beneath your fingernails or the ache that settled comfortably between your shoulders after a day of painting.
Outside, the campus had begun to quiet beneath a gray evening sky. Students drifted across the courtyard with coffees balanced between their hands, laughing as they hurried toward apartments, buses, dinner plans, or whatever came after a Tuesday full of lectures. You watched them through the studio’s tall windows for only a moment before looking back down at your own canvas, carefully adding one final brushstroke.
"There," Professor Redwyne said as he wandered behind you, folding his arms across his chest. "Much better."
You leaned back on the stool, unconsciously chewing the inside of your cheek while studying the painting again. "Do you still think the composition looks crowded on the left side?" you asked, tilting your head. "I’ve tried playing around with everything, but it feels..."
"No," he said gently. "You’ve found the balance. Don’t second-guess yourself now. It’s lovely work—honest. Leave it alone for tonight. Sometimes the best thing we can do is step away before we convince ourselves something is wrong when it isn’t."
You exhaled, lowering your brush into the jar of cleaner beside your station. "I guess I’m just nervous about the showcase next month."
He smiled, resting a hand briefly on your shoulder. "You’ve come a long way in two years. Just trust your instincts; they’re better than you realize."
You nodded, offering him a small smile of gratitude before turning back to wipe down your brushes. Around you, other students were packing up their supplies, chatting about weekend plans, deadlines, the terrible coffee from the campus café. The hum of voices was familiar, comforting, even if you rarely joined in. Socializing after hours felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford when there were still bills to pay, groceries to buy, and an increasingly concerning amount of assignments waiting at home.
After rinsing your brushes and securing the painting on the drying rack, you slid your well-worn sketchbook into your bag, shrugged on your jacket, and said a quick goodbye to the few classmates who noticed you leaving. The spring air outside was cool against your cheeks, carrying the faint scent of rain that hadn’t quite fallen yet. You adjusted your scarf as you walked off toward the metro, your boots clicking softly against the cobblestones.
By the time you stepped off the train and made the ten-minute walk to your apartment, the streetlights had flickered on and were casting long shadows across the pavement. Your building was nothing special—brick, aging, with a flickering light near the entrance that you knew wouldn't be fixed for at least another four months—but it was home. You unlocked the door, stepped into the narrow hallway, and climbed the creaky stairs to the third floor.
Inside your small one-bedroom, you dropped your bag onto the table by the window and let out a soft sigh. The space was modest, filled with secondhand furniture, potted plants, and stacks of art books you’d collected over the years. A half-finished watercolor sat on the easel by the window, and a vase of fresh daisies (one of your few indulgences) sat on the kitchen counter.
After hanging up your jacket and kicking off your boots, you crossed to the desk and flipped open your sketchbook. There was something therapeutic about revisiting old drawings, seeing how your style had changed, how your lines had become surer. You turned a few pages, smiling at a sketch of an elderly man you’d seen reading on a park bench last summer, then paused when you reached the back.
Carefully tucked between the pages was the business card that had been given to you nearly a month ago.
The paper was thick, expensive, with a simple, elegant design:
Baelor Targaryen
President, Targaryen Foundation | Patron of the Arts
+44 1632 960 481
[email protected]
You stared at the name for a moment, the familiar flutter of uncertainty settling in your chest. You still weren't quite sure why it had happened. You’d picked up a catering shift at the art gallery in the Street of Steel, serving champagne to wealthy patrons during an exhibition opening. The only reason you'd even been there was because the regular waitress had called in sick and the manager had begged you to cover. It was meant to be just one evening of extra cash and an opportunity to see the artwork up close. It had been a busy night, and you'd barely had time to notice the guests until someone approached you.
He’d been striking—tall, broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed—with graying hair at his temples and beautiful heterochromatic eyes. You'd nearly dropped the tray when he asked you what you thought of the exhibition. To your surprise, he actually listened while you stammered something about technique and the use of light. He’d smiled, introduced himself simply as Baelor, and then asked if you were an art student. You'd admitted that you were, expecting the conversation to end there. Instead, he handed you his card, telling you to call if you ever needed advice about navigating the art world.
That had been weeks ago. You'd kept the card tucked away, unsure what to do with it. Calling a millionaire philanthropist seemed absurd. What would you even say? "Hello, I'm one of the eight waitresses who served you alcohol and canapés, could you help me get my paintings into a gallery?"
With another sigh, you slid the card back into your sketchbook and closed it. Whatever generosity he'd shown that night was probably just politeness. Men like him didn't spend time thinking about struggling art students. You had finals to focus on, and a painting that still wasn't quite right. That was enough to worry about. Oh, and your rent.
Three weeks later, the gallery on the Street of Steel was crowded for the opening of the "Visions of the New Century" exhibition, the sort of event that brought out the city's elite: trust fund heirs, museum curators, diplomats, and the occasional celebrity. You had been hired again for the evening, this time with slightly more confidence than last time. At least you knew where the coatroom was and how to navigate the crowd without spilling champagne on anyone important.
You moved through the room with a silver tray balanced carefully in your hands, offering drinks to guests who barely glanced at you. The art on the walls was stunning. Bold, contemporary, priced well beyond anything you could ever afford. Still, it was inspiring to see it up close, to imagine what it might feel like to have your own work displayed here one day.
As you circled back toward the bar for a fresh tray, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.
"Excuse me," he said, and you turned to find those same striking eyes watching you with amusement. "I remember you."
Your cheeks warmed instantly. "Mr. Targaryen," you said, trying to sound professional despite your sudden nervousness. "It's nice to see you again."
"Baelor, please," he corrected gently, his smile warm. "And the pleasure is mine. I was hoping I might run into you again tonight."
"Oh... were you?" Surely he was just saying that.
He nodded, gesturing toward the nearest painting. "I've been thinking about our conversation last time. You mentioned studying fine arts at the university. Have you had any luck with your portfolio?"
You hesitated, unsure how much to admit. "I've been working on it," you said carefully. "It's... a work in progress."
"If I may ask—do you enjoy working at events like this?"
The question caught you off guard. "It's fine..." you said honestly. "The pay helps."
"But it's not where your passion lies."
You glanced down, adjusting your grip on the tray. "No. I'd rather be painting, obviously."
There was a pause, and when you looked back up, his expression had softened. "I'd like to see your work sometime," he said simply. "If you'd be comfortable showing me."
Your heart skipped. "You... would?"
"Of course." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another business card, identical to the one you already had. "Call me. Perhaps we could arrange a time for you to bring a few pieces to my office. We're always looking for new talent to support."
You stared at the card, then back at him, unsure whether this was some sort of polite formality or a genuine offer. "I... that's really kind of you, Mr. Targaryen—"
"Baelor," he corrected again with a smile. "And I mean it. I'd be delighted to help if I can."
Before you could respond, someone called his name from across the room, and he turned to offer them a polite nod. When he looked back at you, he lowered his voice slightly. "Think about it. And please, call me."
You nodded, watching as he stepped away, instantly surrounded by people who clearly wanted his attention. Carefully, you slipped the second business card into your apron pocket, your mind racing as you returned to the bar. It was ridiculous, surely. But he had remembered you. He had asked to see your art. That had to mean something, didn't it?
summary: art school is expensive. fortunately for you, baelor targaryen has always believed beautiful things are worth investing in
please read the fine print and review all clauses carefully
clauses:
i. 18+ mdni
ii. explicit sexual content
iii. age gap: ~24 years
iv. sugar daddy/sugar baby
v. ...
ᵎᵎ Acceptance of this agreement may result in financial stability and unintended emotional attachment.
ᵎᵎ Individual content warnings will be listed in each installment.
part one | part two
masterlist ────୨ৎ──── taglist
for @rosph0ria, who inspired [terms & conditions] this wouldn’t exist without you yapping about it with me for weeks ♡
pairing: modern!aerion targaryen x fem!reader | modern!valarr targaryen x fem!reader
summary: … you always thought aerion was cruel. until valarr tried to leave ⟢
wc: 10.1k | part one | part three
content warning: 18+ mdni | smut | established relationship | infidelity | love triangle | emotional affair | lying & deception | emotional manipulation | guilt | angst | fingering | protected & unprotected p in v | slight???? cumplay | dirty talk | praise | fingers in mouth | reader is, again, genuinely twisted i'm sorry valarr!! (these are not good people. i don't condone cheating, please)
masterlist ────୨ৎ──── taglist
Six weeks. Six weeks of lies. Six weeks of stolen afternoons and locked bedroom doors. Six weeks of kissing Valarr goodbye for the day, only to spend the evening tangled up in his cousin’s sheets. Six weeks of promises to stop. Six weeks of promises broken.
The worst part was how normal it had all become. That was what frightened you most when you allowed yourself to think about it for longer than a few seconds. Not the affair, not even the guilt, the normality of it.
At some point, sneaking around with Aerion had stopped feeling shocking. You knew which days Daella stayed late after classes, even though she knew. You knew which excuses worked best when Valarr called unexpectedly. You knew how long Aerion’s cologne lingered on your skin and exactly how many times you needed to wash the bedsheets before the guilt stopped clawing at the back of your mind.
You had become good skilled at it.
That realization carved its way up through your chest and made a home there.
Aerion was sprawled across your bed now, one arm behind his head as he watched you move around the room.
"You’ve folded the same shirt three times."
You looked up from your pile of laundry—Valarr's shirt.
"I know."
"No, seriously." A lazy smile tugged at his mouth. "I’ve been watching."
You threw the shirt at his face.
Aerion caught it effortlessly. "Very mature."
"I hate you."
"No you don’t."
Unfortunately, he sounded entirely too confident about that. The smile never left his face as he tossed the shirt back toward you and began scrolling through his phone.
Outside, late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains. Inside, everything felt warm and comfortable. Dangerously comfortable.
Valarr was supposed to be in Braavos for another four days. You knew because he’d called yesterday morning. You knew because you’d listened to him talk about meetings and investors while Aerion slept beside you.
You knew because afterward you’d spent ten minutes staring at the ceiling trying not to think about the fact that your boyfriend had ended the conversation by telling you he loved you.
A sharp knock echoed through the apartment.
You froze.
Aerion looked up.
Neither of you were expecting anyone. Daella had her key, and your friends usually texted.
The knock came again. Three slow raps on the heavy oak door.
Your throat tightened.
"Expecting company?" Aerion asked.
"No." Something felt wrong. You couldn’t have explained why. Just a feeling. A sudden shift in the air.
The sort of instinct that made the hairs rise on the back of your neck, and had your stomach twisting in on itself like you'd had five drinks too many.
You walked toward the living room on instinct. Aerion followed a step behind you, shirtless, barefoot, and entirely unconcerned.
Then you saw it through the peephole. Dark brown hair. Broad shoulders. A face that had haunted your thoughts since the day you met him.
Valarr.
Valarr, who was supposed to be in Braavos. Valarr, who was standing outside your apartment at three in the afternoon on a Thursday.
Your breath caught in your chest. "Fuck," you whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"It's fine, just... shut up. I'll go to my sister's room." Aerion was already moving, his hand on your shoulder. "Breathe. Don't panic."
Don't panic. As if that were possible. As if the world wasn't tilting sideways beneath your feet.
You unlocked the door, forcing your face into something resembling a smile. Your hands shook slightly as you pulled it open.
Valarr stood there, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, looking exactly like he always did—beautiful, composed, and so out of place in this moment that you felt like you might be sick.
He blinked when he saw you, then smiled in that way that made your stomach flip.
"Hi," he said. "Surprise."
He stepped forward, arms opening to hug you, and you were stuck.
Every nerve in your body screamed at you to step back. To stop him from touching you before the truth became impossible to hide. But you couldn't move or speak. Could only stand there as he wrapped his arms around you and breathed in the scent of your hair.
"I missed you," he murmured against your neck. "The Braavosi are insufferable. I cut the trip short. Thought I'd surprise you. Are you... okay?"
He pulled back slightly, searching your face with those mismatched eyes—the blue one and the brown one that had looked at you with such tenderness so many times before. Now, they held a flicker of confusion.
"Yeah, of course," you lied. "I'm just... surprised. Really surprised."
You stepped back, putting space between you. Your mind raced, trying to calculate how much time you had. Whether Aerion could slip out through the fire escape. Whether there was any way to salvage this.
Valarr stepped inside, setting his bag down by the door. His gaze swept across the room, taking in everything.
His eyes paused on the second coffee mug on the kitchen counter. The one you hadn't put away yet.
"I'm sorry, do you have friends over? I should have called ahead. I didn't think—"
I'm sorry. He's sorry.
"No! It's fine, Val. Just Daella. She had a free morning, and we had breakfast together."
"Oh, of course," he nodded, and you could have cried with relief when he seemed to accept your explanation. "Is she going to be gone long? I feel like I haven't seen her in ages. Any of my cousins, really. Speaking of, I told Aerion to bring you some groceries before I left. Did he? He can be useless sometimes."
You smiled, hating yourself for how easily the lie came. He practically handed it to you on a platter. "He did. Two days ago, actually. We still have plenty of food."
Maybe it was the relief, or the guilt, or maybe you were just stupid, but you leaned in to kiss him then. To ground yourself in something familiar. Something that wasn't this sinking feeling in your chest. His mouth was warm against yours, his hand finding the small of your back like it always did.
He pulled you closer, and for a moment, you almost forgot.
Almost forgot that Aerion was somewhere in your apartment, probably losing it in Daella's room. Almost forgot that you'd been with him less than an hour ago, his hands in places Valarr's were now holding, doing things you'd never let yourself imagine with anyone else before this mess began.
Valarr's hand moved up your back, his fingers threading through your hair. The kiss deepened, and you kissed him back with an intensity that surprised even you. As if you could somehow make up for everything with this one moment of honesty.
"Someone missed me," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.
You forced a laugh, your hands still clutching the front of his shirt. "I'm always missing you."
The words weren't entirely a lie. That was the worst part.
He kissed you again, softer this time, then pulled back with a sigh. "I need to drop off some documents at the office. I came straight here from the airport. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours, two or three. Then I'm all yours for the rest of the night. We can order that Volantene food you like so much."
"Perfect," you managed to say, though your voice sounded thin even to your own ears. "I'll be here."
He studied your face for a moment longer, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I've been thinking about you all week."
He kissed your forehead, grabbed his briefcase from beside his bag, and headed for the door.
You followed him, feeling like you were moving through water.
"Val?" you called just before he opened the door.
He turned back with one eyebrow raised.
You wanted to tell him everything. Right there, in that moment. To let the words spill out and deal with the consequences. But you couldn't. It just wasn't in you.
"I'm glad you're home early," you said instead, and it wasn't a lie. Not completely. Because no matter how much you felt for his cousin, you still wanted Valarr.
His smile, his stupid, trusting smile, was warm enough to melt you. "Me too," he said, and then he was gone.
The moment the door clicked shut, you collapsed against it, your head falling forward as you took deep, shaky breaths.
By the time Valarr returned, the panic had mostly worn off. Though every now and then your stomach still tightened when you thought about how close it had been. How close Aerion had been to opening Daella’s bedroom door at the wrong moment. How close Valarr had come to deciding he wanted to stay instead of returning to the office. How close everything had come to collapsing because of one unexpected flight home from Braavos. But close wasn’t the same thing as happened.
And nothing had happened.
The apartment was spotless now. The second coffee mug was gone. Aerion had left nearly two hours ago after making several extremely unhelpful jokes about your impending death and stealing one of the pastries you and Daella kept on the counter. The bedsheets had been changed, twice. All of the laundry had been folded. Everything was exactly as it should be, which meant you had finally stopped feeling like you were about to throw up.
The knock came around seven, just as you were considering whether to order dinner ahead or just wait for Valarr so you could do it together. Your heart did a little flip when you heard it, a complicated mix of happiness and guilt and that familiar feeling that made you want to be close to him immediately.
When you opened the door, he was standing there with takeout bags in hand and that soft smile he saved for you. The one that made you feel like the only person in the world who could see him like this.
"I come bearing gifts," he said, holding up the bags. "Volantene crab stew, that flatbread you like, and tiramisu from that place by my office."
You let out an embarrassingly happy squeal and stepped aside to let him in, immediately reaching for the bags. "You're perfect," you declared. "I was just about to starve to death."
"A tragic end for sure," he agreed, toeing off his shoes. "I couldn't let that happen."
As he followed you into the kitchen, you felt his eyes on you, watching as you unpacked the containers. When you turned around, he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, studying you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm.
"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing," he said, but the smile playing on his lips suggested otherwise. "Just... I really did miss you."
The sincerity in his voice hit you harder than it should have. You set down the food and crossed the small space between you, wrapping your arms around his waist. His arms came around you immediately, one hand smoothing down your back as you pressed your face against his chest.
"You're awfully sweet tonight. Is this how it's going to be every time you go away? Should I expect romantic declarations upon your return?"
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Don't get used to it. I'm tired from traveling. My defenses are down."
"Noted," you said, tilting your head back to look up at him. "I'll take advantage while I can." You reached up, running your fingers through the streak of silver in his hair. "You're growing this out."
The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Is that a complaint?"
"No," you said quickly. “I like it. Makes you look... distinguished."
"Distinguished," he repeated, amused. "I'm hardly old enough for distinguished, my love."
You shrugged, stepping back to finish unpacking the food. "Doesn't have to be an age thing. Could be a status thing. Heir to a huge empire and all that."
"Ah, so it's my position you're attracted to." He moved to help, retrieving plates from the cabinet. "Good to know."
"Among other things," you said, giving him a pointed look that made him laugh again.
As you moved around each other, preparing the small feast, you felt the familiar comfort of domesticity settle over you. This was what you loved most about your relationship with Valarr—the ease of it, the way you fit together without effort. The way he knew to put extra parmesan on your plate without asking. The way you knew to pour his wine first.
You were just sitting down at the small dining table when your phone buzzed on the counter. You glanced over, saw Aerion's name on the screen, and felt a familiar knot of guilt twist in your stomach.
"Are you going to get that?" Valarr asked, already serving himself.
"It's just Aerion," you said casually, trying to sound unconcerned. "He can wait."
Valarr raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay with him? I tried calling earlier but he didn't pick up."
You forced a laugh, scooping some of the crab stew into your bowl. "Probably hungover. He was out last night... according to Daella. She says he smelled like he'd bathed in whiskey."
Valarr made a disapproving sound. "He needs to get his life together. He's not twenty anymore."
You smiled, relieved to be on familiar conversational ground. "You sound like his father."
"Someone has to," Valarr replied, taking a sip of wine. "His actual father certainly doesn't."
The comment surprised you into a real laugh. Valarr rarely spoke so bluntly about his family, especially not about Maekar. "That's harsh."
"True, though." He shrugged, his expression neutral. "Aerion's capable of more than he shows. He just doesn't care to apply himself."
You hummed in agreement, though your mind was half on the text message still lighting up your phone screen. Aerion didn't typically text unless he wanted something, usually something inappropriate. The timing tonight couldn't be worse.
As if reading your mind, Valarr asked, "Do you see him much when I'm away?"
The question was casual, but you felt a flicker of nervousness. "Sometimes. I live with his sister, remember? He stops by occasionally."
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Good. I worry about him being alone too much. He gets... ideas when he's left to his own devices."
You almost choked on your wine, the irony of his statement hitting you with uncomfortable force. If only he knew just what kind of ideas Aerion got. “Ideas?" you managed after swallowing.
"Business schemes," Valarr clarified. "Last year he tried to convince me to invest in some ridiculous app that was basically just Tinder for dogs."
You laughed, the sound coming out slightly too high. "That sounds like him."
"He's brilliant when he applies himself," Valarr said, and there was genuine affection in his voice despite his criticism. "Just needs motivation."
The conversation moved on after that, flowing naturally to other topics—his trip, your classes, plans for the upcoming weekend. You listened attentively, responded appropriately, but part of your mind kept drifting back to your phone on the counter.
When dinner was finished and you were clearing the plates, Valarr caught your wrist gently.
"Leave those," he said. "Come sit with me."
You let him pull you toward the couch, your pulse quickening slightly at the look in his eyes. It had been weeks since you'd been alone together like this, with no looming departure or early morning to worry about.
He sat down, pulling you with him until you were straddling his lap, your hands on his shoulders. His hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking the skin just above the waistband of your leggings.
"Hi," he murmured, looking up at you with those sweet, beautiful eyes.
"Hi," you whispered back, feeling that familiar warmth spreading through your chest.
His hands slid up your back, pulling you down for a kiss that had you sighing into his mouth. It was soft and sweet and deepening by the second, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before slipping inside to meet yours. You shifted closer, the position bringing your core against the growing hardness in his pants.
"Valarr," you breathed when the kiss broke, your forehead resting against his.
"Hmm?" His hands were moving now, sliding down to cup your ass, encouraging you to rock against him.
"Missed you," you said, the words barely audible as you moved your hips experimentally. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through you.
"I can tell," he replied, his voice lower than before. One hand slipped beneath your shirt, finding bare skin. "You're so warm."
You bit your lip, continuing to move against him slowly. "It's been a while."
"Too long," he agreed, his other hand coming up to tangle in your hair, guiding your mouth back down to his.
The kiss this time was hungrier, more demanding. You could feel the restraint in him, the careful control he always maintained even when you tried to push him past it. Tonight, you didn't want careful. You wanted him undone.
You broke the kiss, sitting back slightly to reach between your bodies. His eyes darkened as he watched you unbutton his shirt, pushing it aside to run your hands over his chest.
"Take this off," you demanded softly.
He complied, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it aside. Your hands immediately returned to his skin, tracing the lines of muscle, the scattered silver-white scars from his youth, running your fingers through the hair that trailed down from his navel.
"You're so beautiful," you murmured, leaning down to press kisses along his collarbone.
He made a sound that might have been amusement or pleasure as his hands gripped your waist tighter. "I think that's my line."
You smiled against him, continuing your exploration downward. When your lips reached his nipple, you flicked your tongue against it experimentally. His sharp intake of breath encouraged you to do it again, more deliberately this time.
"Where is this coming from, sweet girl?"
You looked up at him through your lashes. "Can't I just appreciate my boyfriend?"
"You can," he said, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "But you're being particularly... appreciative tonight."
You shrugged, moving to his other nipple and giving it the same treatment. "Hm, guess I'm feeling grateful."
His laugh turned into a groan as you shifted against him again, grinding down on his erection. "Fuck, don't stop doing that."
You didn't plan to. You continued moving against him, establishing a rhythm that had his head falling back against the couch, his eyes closing in pleasure. One of his hands moved up to cup your breast, his thumb circling your nipple in time with your movements.
"Valarr," you gasped, feeling your own pleasure building. "I need—"
"Tell me," he demanded, his eyes opening to meet yours. "What do you need?"
"You," you breathed. "Inside me. Please."
The words seemed to break something in his composure. Suddenly he was moving, lifting you and flipping your positions so that your back was against the couch cushions and he was hovering over you.
"Better?" he breathed against your mouth, his hips pressing between your thighs. "Is this what you need?"
You nodded desperately, your hands pulling at his belt. "Yes, please. Don't make me wait."
He kissed you again, harder this time, as he helped you remove his belt and unfasten his pants. When his cock sprang free, you reached for it eagerly, stroking him from root to tip. He groaned into your mouth, his hips thrusting slightly into your hand.
"Fuck, that's good," he panted. "But not what you asked for, is it?"
You shook your head, releasing him to push your own leggings and underwear down your hips. Valarr helped, tugging them off completely and tossing them aside before settling between your thighs again.
He reached between you, and the sound of his fingers sliding through your wetness made you blush.
"So ready for me," he murmured, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth and licking them clean with a satisfied hum. "My eager girl."
You whined in protest, pulling him down for another kiss. "Stop teasing."
"I’ll be right back," he said, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Don't move."
He disappeared into your bedroom, returning moments later with a condom, which he quickly opened and rolled on. When he positioned himself at your entrance, you were practically trembling with anticipation.
"Look at me, my love," he commanded softly, waiting until your eyes met his before pushing forward.
The first thrust had you gasping, your hands clutching his shoulders as he filled you completely. He paused, giving you time to adjust, his forehead resting against yours.
"You feel incredible," he whispered. "I hate being away for so long."
You couldn't form words, could only nod and lift your hips, encouraging him to move. He did, pulling back almost completely before sliding back in slowly. Each thrust was measured, hitting places inside you that had you whimpering his name.
His pace gradually increased, one hand braced beside your head while the other gripped your hip, holding you exactly where he wanted you. The sounds of your pleasure filled the room—his deep groans, your higher-pitched cries, the wet slap of his hips against yours.
When his thumb found your clit, pressing and circling with just the right pressure, you felt your orgasm approaching rapidly. "Valarr," you gasped. "I'm—"
"Come for me," he urged, his rhythm never faltering. "Want to feel you, sweet girl."
The combination of his voice, his touch, the relentless pace of his thrusts pushed you over the edge. Your body arched beneath him as you came, your inner walls clenching around his cock as waves of pleasure washed over you.
"Gods, that's it," he groaned, moving a little faster. "So beautiful when you come."
A few more thrusts and he followed you, his body tensing above you as he found his release with a guttural moan. He collapsed against you carefully, his weight feeling perfect as you both caught your breath.
You lay tangled together for several minutes, your fingers running through his hair as his face rested against your neck. The scent of sex mixed with his cologne filled your senses, making you feel drowsy and content.
Finally, he stirred, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone before sitting up. "Let me clean up," he murmured, disappearing briefly to dispose of the condom and return with a warm washcloth.
The gentle care he took as he cleaned you made your heart ache with affection. When he was done, he pulled you against his chest, arranging your limbs comfortably together on the couch.
"Better than being away," he said into your hair, his hand stroking up and down your back soothingly.
"Much better," you agreed, feeling sleep beginning to claim you despite the early hour.
You were nearly drifting off when your phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter. This time, it was impossible to ignore in the quiet of the room.
Valarr shifted slightly. "Aerion again?" There was no suspicion in his voice, just mild curiosity.
"Yeah, probably," you mumbled, not wanting to move from your comfortable position. "I'll check it later."
"It might be important," he said, but made no move to let you go.
"Nothing's more important than this," you replied, nuzzling closer to him.
His chest vibrated as he laughed. "Flatterer," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Go to sleep, my love. I've got you."
As you drifted off in his arms, your last coherent thought was that maybe everything would be okay. Maybe you could find a way to navigate the complicated mess you'd created. Maybe you could love them both in different ways, and maybe that didn't have to break anyone.
It was a comforting thought, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew it was just that—a thought. Just a pretty lie to help you sleep.
The next morning, you woke up alone in bed, which wasn't unusual. Valarr had always been an early riser, especially when he had work to catch up on after traveling. He must have moved you to the bedroom. The scent of coffee brewing drifted through your small apartment, bringing a smile to your face as you stretched lazily.
You stayed in bed for a few more minutes, enjoying the rare luxury of a morning without classes. Taking the time to finally go through all the messages from last night.
Aerion had sent several texts—initially checking if the coast was clear, then growing increasingly suggestive as the evening progressed without a response. By midnight, the messages had turned to complaints about your neglect and dramatic declarations of how he was "dying of blue balls” because you’d kicked him out.
You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but couldn't help smiling. The last message, sent just after two in the morning, simply read:
Hope you're having fun with lover boy. Call me tomorrow, baby.
The term of endearment sent a pleasant shiver through you, even as the guilt followed close behind. It was new, something he'd started using only after you'd confessed your feelings for each other. You typed out a quick response:
Alive and well. Will call after breakfast. Miss you.
After hitting send, you climbed out of bed and pulled on one of Valarr's shirts that you'd "borrowed" during his last stay. The familiar scent of him clung to the fabric, bringing another smile to your face.
In the kitchen, you found Valarr standing by the sink, coffee mug in hand, already dressed for work. The morning light highlighted the sharp planes of his face and that irresistible silver in his dark hair. He turned as you entered, his expression softening when he saw you wearing his shirt.
"Good morning," he said, setting his mug on the counter and opening his arms.
You went to him immediately, fitting yourself against his chest like you belonged there. "Morning," you mumbled against his collarbone. "You should have woken me."
"You were sleeping so peacefully," he replied, his hands moving to rest on your lower back. "Besides, I enjoy watching you sleep."
"Creep," you teased, but tilted your head up for a kiss anyway.
He obliged, bending down to press his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle, unhurried, the kind that made you feel cherished. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm with affection.
"I have a proposition for you," he said, his hands sliding down to cup your ass through the thin material of his shirt.
"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow, leaning into his touch. "Is this a business proposition or a personal one?"
"Personal, of course." He nuzzled your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "My morning meeting got cancelled, which means I have about two hours before I need to be at the office."
You pulled back slightly to look at his face, a smile tugging at your lips. "And what do you propose we do with these two hours?"
"I was thinking," he began, his hands moving to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly so you were sitting on the counter, "that I could make you breakfast, and then we could go back to bed."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "That sounds suspiciously like you just want sex."
He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "I always want sex with you. But I also genuinely want to make you breakfast."
"You're so romantic," you teased, threading your fingers through his hair. "How did I get so lucky?"
"Must be your sparkling personality," he deadpanned, making you swat at his shoulder.
"Asshole."
"My favorite term of endearment," he grinned, leaning in to kiss you again. His mouth moved against yours with intent, his hands sliding up your thighs beneath the shirt you were wearing.
You gasped against his lips as his fingers found you. "Cheater," you accused breathlessly. "You planned this."
"Guilty," he admitted without remorse, his fingers stroking you expertly. "I have excellent ideas when it comes to you."
Your head fell back as he worked you with those skilled fingers, your hips moving unconsciously to meet his touch. One hand gripped his shoulder for support while the other tangled in his hair.
"Valarr," you whimpered when he pressed inside you, crooking his fingers to hit that spot that made your vision start to blur. "Gods, don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it," he murmured against your neck, his thumb finding your clit. "You're so responsive in the morning. I could play with you for hours."
The thought of that—hours of his hands on you, bringing you to the edge over and over—nearly undid you right there. As if sensing how close you were, he increased his pace, his mouth finding yours again to swallow your cries as you came against his hand.
When the pleasure finally subsided, you were left completely sated, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath.
"That," you managed after a moment, "was not breakfast."
He laughed softly, withdrawing his hand and bringing his fingers to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he licked them clean. The sight was so erotic it almost made you want him again immediately.
"Appetizer," he corrected, stepping back and reaching for the coffee maker. "The main course is coming right up."
You watched him move around your small kitchen with easy familiarity, marveling—not for the first time—at how different he was in private compared to the serious executive the world saw. Here, in your apartment, he was just Valarr—your Valarr—who made terrible jokes and burned toast sometimes and looked at you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen.
"What?" he asked, catching you staring as he cracked eggs into a bowl.
"Just thinking," you said, hopping down from the counter and moving to lean against him. "How lucky I am."
An arm came around your shoulders automatically, pulling you against his side as he continued cooking. "How sweet," he said, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Though I'm the lucky one, obviously."
You laughed, nuzzling against his chest. "Obviously."
It was like this for the next few days with Valarr, a blissful bubble of domesticity and passion. You fell asleep in each other's arms, woke up tangled together. Sometimes you made love, sometimes you just talked for hours about everything and nothing. It was perfect, the way things had been before everything got complicated.
In the afternoons, while Valarr was at work, you met with Aerion. Those encounters were different—more intense, more urgent, as if you were both trying to squeeze a lifetime of emotion into these stolen moments. He'd show up at your door with a cocky grin and leave hours later with his hair ruined and your teeth marks on his skin.
It should have felt wrong, this division of your time and heart, but somehow it didn't. With Valarr, you felt cherished and secure. With Aerion, you felt desired and exciting. They fulfilled different parts of you, and for now, that arrangement worked.
The bubble burst on the fifth day of Valarr's return. You were in his penthouse apartment, lounging on the couch while he made dinner. Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, and without thinking, you picked it up to check the message.
It was from Aerion: a simple Miss you, baby. Come over tonight?
You were still smiling at the message when Valarr returned from the kitchen, two glasses of wine in hand. He set them down and glanced at your phone, his expression changing subtly.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah," you said quickly, locking the phone and setting it aside. "Just Daella asking about weekend plans."
He nodded, but something in his eyes had shifted. "I see." He picked up his wine glass, taking a sip as he watched you still over the rim. "You've been texting a lot lately."
You felt uneasy, then. "Just keeping up with friends. You know how it is."
"Of course," he agreed, but there was something in his tone that made you more nervous. He moved to sit beside you, close but not touching. "I just noticed you smile more when certain messages come in."
Your heart rate picked up. "What are you implying?"
He turned to look at you directly, those mismatched eyes studying your face with an intensity that made you want to squirm. "I'm not implying anything," he said quietly. "Just making an observation."
"Valarr," you began, not sure what you were going to say.
"I trust you," he interrupted, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle, but you still noticed the slightest bit of suspicion in his expression. "I just... want to make sure you're happy. That I'm making you happy."
The insecurity in his voice surprised you. Valarr wasn't typically insecure about anything, least of all your relationship. "Of course I'm happy," you said, reaching for his hand. "You make me incredibly happy."
"Good. That's all that matters."
The moment passed, the conversation shifting to other topics, but the seed of doubt had been planted. That night, as you lay in bed with his arm draped over your waist, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. That the careful balance you'd maintained was starting to wobble.
The next morning, while he was getting ready for work, you made an excuse about meeting Daella for breakfast and left Valarr's apartment earlier than usual. Instead of heading to campus or your own home, you went straight to Aerion's place.
He answered the door in nothing but sweatpants, his hair disheveled from sleep, looking exactly like you needed him to look—uncomplicated and entirely focused on you.
"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" he asked, pulling you inside and immediately backing you against the door.
You reached up, pulling his head down for a kiss that was more desperate than you intended. His hands were on you immediately, lifting your shirt, unfastening your jeans.
"Missed you," you gasped against his mouth when he broke the kiss to pull your shirt over your head.
"Obviously," he grinned, his hands cupping your breasts through your bra. "But something's wrong. What is it?"
You hesitated, then decided there was no point hiding it from him. "Valarr suspects something."
The grin faded slightly from his face. "What kind of something?"
"I don't know. He's just... watching me more. Asking questions." You reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down his hips. "He saw me smile at a text from you yesterday."
"You smile at my texts? Very cute." Despite his teasing tone, there was concern in his eyes as he stepped out of his pants and pulled you toward the bedroom. "Did he say anything specific?"
You shook your head, following him into the darkened room. "Nothing direct. But he's not stupid, Aerion."
"He's also not omniscient," Aerion replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling you between his legs. "We've been careful."
"Have we?" You ran your fingers through his hair as he unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not hiding it well at all."
"That's just guilt talking." His hands moved to your hips, guiding you to straddle him. "You know I hate it terribly when you feel guilty."
You did know, which was why you rarely showed it around him. Aerion preferred to keep things simple, uncomplicated by messy emotions like remorse.
"Fine, maybe I’m just being paranoid." You leaned in to kiss him, your hands exploring his bare chest. "But we should be more careful anyway."
"We will be," he promised, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. "But not right now. Right now, I need you to stop talking and ride my cock."
You laughed against his mouth, but finished undressing yourself and positioned him at your entrance. As you sank down onto him, his head fell back with a groan.
"Fuck, that's it," he breathed. "Just like that, baby."
You moved slowly at first, savoring the fullness, the way he stretched you so perfectly. Aerion's hands roamed your body freely, touching you everywhere with none of Valarr's careful restraint. He pinched your nipples, gripped your hips, slid his fingers between you to where you were joined, making you choke on your own breath.
"Look at you," he murmured, watching where your body met his. "So fucking beautiful taking me like this. My perfect girl."
The praise sent a rush of heat through you. You increased your pace, riding him harder, chasing the pleasure that built with each movement. Aerion's hands moved to guide you, setting the rhythm he wanted.
"Come here," he demanded, pulling you down for a deep, claiming kiss that left you breathless. "Fucking love how you feel on top of me."
You moaned into his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders as you moved faster. The angle was perfect, hitting exactly where you needed it most. When his hand slipped between you again to rub your clit, you knew you wouldn't last much longer.
"Fuck, Aerion," you whimpered, your forehead dropping to his shoulder.
"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Let go, I know you want to come. Need to feel you squeezing my cock."
His words pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm hit hard, your body clenching and trembling around him as the pleasure crested. Aerion continued to move beneath you, his thrusts becoming more erratic in search of his own release.
"Where?" he gritted out, always asking even though he knew the answer.
"Aerion, please," you begged, too lost in pleasure to form a complete thought.
He understood anyway, pulling you down hard against him as he came with a muffled curse against your neck. You could feel him pulsing inside you, the sensation prolonging your own pleasure.
As he pulled out he laid you down on your back, spreading your thighs to watch his cum drip out of you. "Fuck, that's the prettiest fucking sight," he murmured, dipping his fingers into the mess to push it back inside. "Never gonna get tired of seeing this, baby. My cum inside you. So fucking perfect."
The primal satisfaction in his voice made you blush, even as you squirmed beneath his touch. He brought his fingers to your mouth, and you obediently sucked them clean, tasting the both of you.
"Such a good girl. My good girl—"
"Aerion? Your father asked me to drop off those documents for the merger, he said—" The voice cut off abruptly as Valarr appeared in the doorway, freezing at the scene before him. Aerion hadn't locked the front door.
For a moment, nobody moved. Time seemed to stop as the three of you realized what was happening.
Then Valarr's expression changed from shock to something else—something cold and controlled that frightened you more than anger ever could. His eyes moved from your naked body to Aerion's, to where his cousin still knelt between your spread thighs, his fingers still in your mouth.
"Get out," Valarr said quietly. Too quietly. The kind of quiet that preceded storms.
Aerion moved first, covering you with the sheet before standing and grabbing his discarded sweatpants. "You’re not kicking me out of my own fucking house, Val."
Valarr stepped into the room, his eyes never looking away from your face. The betrayal in his eyes made your chest hurt so badly you could barely breathe. "Get dressed," he said to you, his voice still eerily calm. "We're leaving."
The next hour passed in a blur of shame and regret. You dressed in silence, unable to meet Valarr's eyes. Aerion hovered, trying to talk to Valarr, but his cousin refused to engage beyond short, clipped responses.
In the car on the way back to your apartment, the silence was suffocating. You tried to speak several times, but no words came. What could you possibly say?
When Valarr finally pulled up outside your building, he turned off the engine but didn't look at you. "I'll send someone for my things tomorrow."
The finality in his voice broke something inside you. "Valarr, please—"
"I need some space," he interrupted, still staring straight ahead. "I'm not... I can't talk about this right now."
You nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. "Okay."
You got out of the car, and before you could close the door, he finally looked at you. The hurt in his face was almost more than you could bear. "I trusted you. Both of you."
Then he drove away, leaving you standing on the sidewalk feeling more alone than you had in months.
You stumbled upstairs to your apartment, barely noticing that Daella was home until she appeared in the living room, her expression shifting from casual curiosity to concern.
"What happened?" she asked, following you to your bedroom.
You collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to take off your shoes. "He knows," you said, staring at the ceiling. "Valarr knows everything."
Daella's gasp was sharp. "How?"
"Walked right in on us." You closed your eyes, feeling tears threatening to spill. "Gods, it was so humiliating."
She sat beside you, her hand on your shoulder. "What happened then?"
"Nothing. He barely said anything. Just brought me home." You turned to look at her. "Have you heard from Aerion?"
She shook her head. "He's probably trying to fix things with Valarr."
The thought made you feel worse. "I've ruined everything, haven't I?"
"Don't say that." Daella squeezed your shoulder. "It's complicated, but it's not ruined. My cousin cares about you, you know that. So does Aerion."
"I care about him too," you whispered. "And Valarr. I don't know what to do."
"For now, just breathe," she advised. "Everything else can wait."
You nodded, letting her guide you to change into something more comfortable and get into bed properly. As she left to make you tea, your phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A message from Aerion.
Val's not taking my calls. You okay?
Not really. He's devastated. I've never seen him like that.
The three dots appeared and disappeared several times before his response came through.
Give him time. He'll come around. I'll fix this.
You weren't sure what he meant by that, but you didn't have the energy to ask. Instead, you set the phone aside and curled up under the covers, trying not to think about the look on Valarr's face when he'd seen you with his cousin. Trying not to wonder if you'd just lost the two men who meant more to you than you'd realized until they were slipping away. The only way you got through the rest of the afternoon was telling yourself that it was a terrible nightmare, and that when you woke up everything would be fine.
You were still telling yourself that when you fell into an uneasy sleep against your pillow, damp with tears.
You'd been sitting in the same spot on the couch for hours since you woke from your nap, if you could even call it one. The sky outside had shifted from a bright, cheerful blue to the soft pinks and oranges of sunset, and now it was darkening into deep purple. You hadn't moved from the couch except to use the bathroom and let Daella fuss over you with tea and blankets.
Your phone had buzzed repeatedly throughout the day—messages from your mother wondering why you'd cancelled your weekend visit, and several from Aerion. You'd ignored them all.
The last message from Aerion had come a half hour ago.
I'm coming over. Don't fight me on this.
Part of you wanted to tell him not to bother. But another part of you—the part that had grown accustomed to having him near when you were upset—felt a small flicker of relief at the thought of not being alone tonight.
When the knock finally came, you considered pretending you weren't home. Daella had gone out with friends, leaving you with the perfect excuse to avoid everyone. But he had a key, so the knock was really just a courtesy.
"Come in," you called, not bothering to get up.
Aerion entered, his usual cocky confidence more subdued. He looked around the darkened living room, spotting you curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin.
"You look like shit."
"Thanks," you replied flatly. "Your compliments always brighten my day."
He crossed the room and sat beside you. "Have you eaten?"
"No."
"Of course not." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll order something. Pizza? Your usual?"
You shrugged. You weren't hungry, but you knew he'd insist. "Fine."
As he pulled out his phone to place the order, you studied his profile in the dim light. He looked tired, the lines around his mouth more pronounced than usual. The guilt you'd been trying to suppress all day rose up again.
"Have you talked to him?" you asked quietly.
Aerion's jaw tensed. "Not since this morning. He won't answer."
You nodded, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. "He looked so hurt, Aerion. I've never seen him like that."
"I know," he said, putting his phone away. "I was there, remember?"
The edge in his voice made you flinch slightly. "I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant," he interrupted, softer now. He moved closer, finally touching you—his hand covering yours where it gripped the blanket. "I'm sorry. This is... not how I wanted things to go."
"Neither did I," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly.
He turned fully toward you then, gathering you into his arms. You resisted for a moment, then collapsed against him, letting the tears you'd been holding back all day finally fall.
"I ruined everything," you cried into his shoulder. "He'll never forgive me. He'll never forgive either of us."
Aerion held you tightly, one hand stroking your hair. "Don't say that. It's not ruined. It's just... messy right now."
You pulled back slightly to look at him, your vision blurry with tears. "How can you be so calm about this? Your cousin just caught us having sex. He probably hates us both."
"He doesn't hate you," Aerion said firmly, cupping your face in his hands. "He's hurt and angry, but he doesn't hate you. He loves you. That's why it hurts so much."
"And you?" you asked, searching his eyes. "How do you feel about all this?"
"Conflicted," he admitted. "I feel guilty as fuck for hurting him. But I don't regret us. I can't." He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you, and I know you love me too. That has to count for something."
His confession made fresh tears spring to your eyes. "I do love you," you whispered. "But I love him too. How is that fair to either of you?"
He kissed your forehead, then your cheeks, tasting your tears. "Oh, baby. It's not about being fair. It's about what we want, what we need. And right now, I need you to stop crying because it's breaking my fucking heart."
You managed a watery laugh, leaning into his touch. "You're terrible at comfort."
"Absolutely the worst," he agreed, pulling you back against his chest. "But I make up for it in other areas."
The attempt at humor helped ease some of the tightness in your chest. You stayed like that for a while, listening to his heartbeat, letting his presence ground you.
There was a knock, announcing the pizza's arrival. Aerion paid and brought the boxes to the coffee table, opening them and offering you the first slice.
"Eat," he commanded gently. "You'll feel better."
You took a small bite, not because you were hungry but because he looked so hopeful. "I still feel like the worst person in the world. You said you’d fix it, Aerion. He… I don’t want to lose him.”
"You haven't lost him," he insisted, though he didn't sound as confident as he had in his text message. "He just needs time to process. We both do."
"What does that mean?" you asked, setting down the half-eaten slice.
"It means..." He ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit you'd come to recognize. "It means I need to figure out what the fuck I'm doing. What we're doing."
You felt a pang of anxiety. "So you’re leaving too? You both are just gonna walk away and leave me here feeling like shit?”
His eyes widened. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm not going anywhere, baby. I just... I need to think. About Valarr, about us, about what this all means."
"So you regret it." It wasn't a question.
"No!" He reached for your hand, his grip tight. "Don't do that. Don't fucking put words in my mouth. I don't regret being with you. I regret how it happened, how we hurt him, but not us."
“You’ve never in your life cared about hurting anyone,” you pointed out. It was true, and you both knew it. Aerion had always been self-centered, doing what served him best without much consideration for others. That was what made this whole situation so bizarre.
The jab hit its mark. He looked away, his jaw clenching. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" you asked, pulling your hand from his. "You've never cared about anyone but yourself before. Now suddenly you're torn up about Valarr's feelings?"
His eyes flashed with anger. "Because he's my fucking cousin! He's family, and I love him even when he's being a self-righteous prick."
"And me?" you challenged. "Where do I fit in this family drama of yours?"
"You fit with me," he said, his voice low and intense. "That's never changed."
The doorbell rang again, interrupting whatever he might have said next. Aerion stood up, running a hand over his face. "Daella forgetting her keys again?"
He opened the door, but it wasn't your roommate standing there.
It was Valarr.
The three of you froze, time seeming to stop as you processed the impossible chance of being in this situation twice in one day. Valarr looked from Aerion to you. He didn't even look surprised. It was making you sick, the way he just stared at you, not like he hated you, but like he was trying to memorize your face. To save it in his mind before he walked away.
"Can we talk?" he asked quietly, his eyes on you.
You nodded, not trusting your voice. Aerion stepped aside, letting Valarr in. The tension in the room was suffocating, three people who knew each other so well suddenly reduced to awkward strangers.
Valarr closed the door behind him, his movements careful, deliberate. He looked at Aerion. "Alone, if you don't mind."
Aerion hesitated, then nodded. "I'll be at the bar downstairs if you need me." He turned to you, his expression softening. "Call if you need anything."
When he left, you were alone with Valarr for the first time since yesterday. The silence stretched uncomfortably.
"Valarr—"
"I'm not here to yell at you," he interrupted, his voice calm, which somehow made it worse. If he had been angry, you could have handled it. This was terrifying.
He moved to sit on the armchair across from you, maintaining careful distance. "I've spent the last few hours thinking," he began. "About us, about you and Aerion."
You twisted your hands in your lap, waiting for the blow to fall.
"I thought about how I should feel—betrayed, angry, hurt. And I am those things. But mostly, I'm just... sad."
Your eyes filled with fresh tears. "I'm so sorry."
"I know," he nodded. "I believe you are. But that's not why I came here."
He leaned forward, his mismatched eyes locking with yours. "I came to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me. Can you do that?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
"Do you love him?" The question was asked so simply, as if he were asking about the weather.
You hesitated, then nodded again. "I think so."
He closed his eyes briefly, as if the confirmation caused him physical pain. When he opened them again, his expression was carefully neutral. "And do you love me?"
"Of course I do," you said immediately, leaning forward as if proximity could somehow convey the depth of your feelings. "I never stopped loving you, Valarr. That's what makes this so horrible."
"I see."
The silence that followed was unbearable. You couldn't stand the distance between you anymore. "Please say something," you begged. "Yell at me, call me names, just... don't be quiet."
His mouth quirked in a ghost of a smile, so familiar it made your chest ache. "I can't do that. Even when I'm angry with you, I could never be cruel to you." You hated that even in the worst possible moment, he was still so perfect. You’d be happy for the rest of your life if you could make him laugh. One little laugh.
"I don't deserve you," you whispered, fresh tears falling.
"You don’t," he agreed, his tone softening. "I’ve been nothing but good to you, and you betrayed me. But I still love you, which makes me either a saint or a fool."
"Val..."
"Let me finish," he said gently. "I've made my decision. I'm not going to be the reason you're unhappy. If you want Aerion, if he makes you happy in ways I can't..." He paused, swallowing hard. "Then I'll step aside."
The sacrifice in his words broke you completely. "No, you can't do that," you cried. "I don't want you to step aside!"
"Then what do you want?" he asked, his voice strained for the first time. "Because you can't have us both. I won't share you, not like this. It's not right."
"I don't know!" The admission tore from you. "I love you both, and I'm so fucking confused. I never meant for this to happen. Valarr, please— you… just fucking yell at me or something. Anything but this."
He stood up then, crossing the room to kneel before you. He took your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.
"I'm not going to yell at you," he said softly. "I'm going to let you go, because I love you enough to want your happiness, even if it's not with me."
The tears were falling freely now. "Valarr, what the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t fucking let me go! Don't you dare let me go."
A hint of his usual self-assuredness returned as his thumb brushed your cheek. "Is that an order?"
"Yes," you sobbed, grabbing his wrists. "I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I was so stupid, and I'm sorry, but please don't let me go."
“I’ll drop off your things tomorrow when I send someone for mine,” he said softly, but you shook your head vehemently, refusing to accept it. The thought of him packing up his life with you, all the little memories scattered throughout his apartment, makes you sick. You can't lose him like this.
"No, Valarr, please," you begged, your voice breaking. You leaned in, trying to close the distance between you, but he held you in place. "Don't go. Don't leave me like this. I'm so sorry for hurting you; I swear I never meant to. I love you, only you, I swear—"
He cut you off with a quiet, heartbroken laugh. "Don't say that, not when it's not true." His hands slid from your face to your shoulders, holding you but not pulling you closer. "You're the most selfish person I've ever met, you know that? And somehow I still can't bring myself to hate you for it."
"Then don't let me go!" You were now pleading, gripping his arms tightly. "Stay with me. We can fix this; I know we can. I'll do anything, just... please."
He looked at you for a long time, his expression torn. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was so gentle, so full of love and goodbye, it tore at what was left of your dignity.
"Goodbye, my love," he whispered, standing up and stepping away.
You watched him walk to the door, each step feeling like a blow to the chest. When his hand touched the doorknob, something inside you snaps. The fear of living in a world where he isn't yours became more terrifying than anything else. You couldn't let him leave, not like this.
"Valarr," you called out, your voice shaky but determined. His back was to you, still, but he stopped. "I'll marry you."
It was embarrassing, truly, how far you were willing to go.
"What?"
You stood up on unsteady legs as he turned, facing him across the room. "I'll marry you. Tomorrow, today, whenever you want. I don't care about Aerion or anyone else. I just want you."
"That's not how this works," he said, but there was a crack in his composure now. A crack you wanted to dig your fingers into and pull apart until he was yours again. You knew he had wanted to marry you; it was only a matter of time. He had even mentioned it before his last trip, how he saw you in his future, the mother of his children. He loved you, even more than he loved his pride. And you, to your detriment, had spent more than enough time with his cousin to learn exactly what buttons to press.
"I don't care how it works!" you insisted, taking a step toward him. "You were going to propose anyway, weren't you? You told me you saw a future with me, children, a family. I want that too. I want it with you."
He stared while you approached; his expression was guarded, but the look in his eyes betrayed him. "And Aerion? What about him?"
"He was a mistake, Valarr! Gods, I was so fucking stupid. I don't want him, not like I want you. You're the one I want to spend my life with. Please believe me."
You were standing directly in front of him now, close enough to touch him. So you reached for him, tentatively placing your hand on his chest over his heart. "I love you," you whisper. "Only you. I swear on everything I have."
He looked down at you, and for a moment, you thought you'd lost. Then his hand came over yours, pressing it more firmly against his chest.
"You're manipulative," he said, a hint of admiration in the way he said it. "And you'll probably regret this tomorrow, when the guilt sets in."
"I won't," you promise, moving closer until you're pressed against him. "I've regretted every moment I've spent with him instead of you. Don't make me regret losing you too."
His resolve was clearly weakening. You could feel his heart racing beneath your hand, see the desire in his eyes warring with his pride. You're almost there. You know it better than you know anything in the world. Everything about him is an open book to you, if you look hard enough. The way his jaw had tightened meant he was thinking, not angry. The way his thumb continued absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand meant he hadn’t truly decided to let you go yet. The way he hadn’t stepped away—hadn’t removed your hand from his chest, hadn’t broken the space between you—meant there was still something left to fight for. You knew him. You had spent years learning him.
You knew which smile was genuine and which one he wore to reassure other people. You knew that when he grew quiet, he wasn’t withdrawing from a conversation; he was choosing his words carefully enough that they wouldn’t become another regret. You knew that every future he had ever spoken about somehow ended with you standing beside him. It was what you had been counting on as you looked up at him.
You leaned in again, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, feeling him tense and then slowly relax. "Please," you murmured against his skin. "I'll make it up to you, I swear. Every day for the rest of our lives."
His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly. He made a slight move to push you away, but you felt the hesitation in it, so you pushed closer instead. Your hands slid up his chest and around his neck.
"I'm yours," you whispered against his ear. Hook. "Valarr, you're the only one I want to belong to. I'll be so good to you." Line. "Your good girl, all for you. Please."
Sinker.
You can feel the exact moment in which he breaks. It's in the way his grip on your waist changes, pulling you flush against him. It's in the groan that escapes his lips when you kiss your way back to his mouth.
pairing: modern!aerion targaryen x fem!reader | modern!valarr targaryen x fem!reader (for five seconds)
summary: … two weeks is a long time. long enough to make mistakes. long enough to make them twice. ⟢
wc: 3k | part two | part three
content warning: 18+ mdni | smut | established relationship | infidelity | oral (f!receiving) | fingering | unprotected p in v | aerion is down horrendously, reader is sick and twisted, sorry valarr </3
masterlist ────୨ৎ──── taglist
The first time you and Aerion ever hooked up happened after Valarr had gone overseas on a business trip. The night before he left, he insisted that Aerion check on you while he was away, knowing how lonely you would be.
It started innocently enough. Aerion came over to keep you company, bringing takeout and your favorite wine. You talked and laughed, catching up like you always did. But there was something different in the air—an undercurrent of attraction you'd both been ignoring for months.
So when he leaned in to kiss you, you didn't pull away. And when his hands began to wander, you found yourself responding with an eagerness that surprised you both.
"It's just physical," you'd whispered against his mouth as he pushed you back onto your bed. "It doesn't mean anything."
"Right," he agreed, though his eyes were intense as he looked at you. "Just helping each other out while Valarr's away."
The sex was good, different from what you shared with Valarr, but satisfying in its own way. Aerion was more experimental, less gentle, with a wicked streak that appealed to your more adventurous side. You told yourselves it was a one-time thing, a moment of weakness.
Until he came over again three days later.
And then two days after that.
By the time Valarr returned, you and Aerion had established a routine, meeting whenever you could find an excuse. The guilt was there, lurking beneath the surface, but so was the thrill—the excitement of doing something forbidden, the pleasure of having two men who desired you so completely.
Valarr never suspected. He trusted you both implicitly, which somehow made it both easier and harder to continue. You knew you should stop, should tell him the truth, but every time you tried, the words caught in your throat. You didn't want to hurt him, and you certainly didn't want to lose what you had with either of them.
It was selfish. You were selfish. And yet, as Aerion's mouth traveled down your body that night, his hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans so your roommate wouldn't hear, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Not yet, anyway.
Tomorrow, you told yourself, as you always did. Tomorrow you would figure it out. Tomorrow you would make a choice. But tomorrow never seemed to come, and the web of secrets and desire continued to grow more tangled with each passing day.
You knew Valarr had another trip planned for next month. You wondered if you would be strong enough to end things with Aerion before then. You wondered if you even wanted to. The line between right and wrong had blurred so much you weren't sure you could find your way back to it anymore.
"And you've packed everything? Phone charger, passport, the right clothes?" you asked, hovering near the bedroom doorway as Valarr zipped up his suitcase.
He straightened, giving you an amused look. "Yes, I've packed everything. I've done this before, you know."
"I know," you said, moving into the room and wrapping your arms around his waist. "But this time you'll be gone for two weeks. That's a long time."
His hands settled on your lower back, pulling you closer. "I'll miss you too. But you'll be fine. You always are."
"That's not the point. The point is that I'll be lonely without you."
"Ah, the tragedy." He leaned down to kiss your pout away. "Good thing you have Daella to keep you company. And I'm sure Aerion will check in on you."
Your heart skipped at the mention of his cousin, but you kept your expression neutral. "I suppose," you said noncommittally. "It's not the same though."
"No," he agreed, his voice dropping lower. "It's definitely not the same."
His mouth found yours again, more insistent this time. You melted against him, letting him deepen the kiss until your thoughts scattered pleasantly. When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little faster.
"If I didn't have to catch this flight..." he murmured against your lips.
"But you do," you sighed, reluctantly stepping back. "And I should let you finish getting ready."
He nodded, though his eyes followed you as you moved toward the door. "I'll call you when I land."
"Okay." You paused at the doorway, turning back to look at him. "Have a safe flight, Valarr. And try not to work too hard."
"No promises," he called after you with a smile.
That afternoon, after Valarr had left for the airport, you found yourself pacing the apartment more nervously than you knew what to do with. It wasn't that you were anxious about seeing Aerion—far from it. It was the delicious anticipation of having the place to yourselves for two whole weeks, with no need to hide or rush.
Aerion arrived just after four, letting himself in with the spare key you'd given him months ago. You were in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher when you heard the front door close.
"Looks like a fucking Norman Rockwell painting in here," he called out, his voice carrying through the apartment. "Domestic bliss suits you."
"In the kitchen," you replied, your stomach fluttering at the sound of his voice. "And shut up, I'm not domestic."
He appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "Could've fooled me. What's next? Aprons and homemade cookies?"
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide your smile. "Careful, I could always poison you."
"Mmm. I love it when you threaten me." He pushed away from the doorframe, crossing the small space to stand behind you. His hands settled on your waist, lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. "Valarr all packed up and gone?"
"He just left, and I already miss him terribly." The lie slipped out easily. "I don't know how I'll survive two weeks without him."
Aerion's hands slid around to your stomach, pulling you back against him. "Poor thing. Whatever will you do to distract yourself?"
You turned in his arms, reaching up to thread your fingers through his hair. "I can think of a few things," you murmured, bringing his mouth down to yours.
The kiss was different from Valarr's—less controlled, more demanding. Aerion had always been more aggressive in his affections, more willing to take what he wanted without hesitation. It was part of what drew you to him, this contrast to Valarr's patient, deliberate approach. Two sides of the same coin, as they say.
Aerion was always the first to let his hands roam, to push boundaries, to suggest things that made your cheeks flush. Today was no exception. His mouth left yours to trail down your neck as his hands slid under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your bare skin. There was an edge to him, always, as if he was afraid you might change your mind if he didn't stake his claim quickly enough. He wasn't necessarily patient with you, but you knew he was holding back more than he let on. You felt like he never fully let go with you, always held back some level of control. But you liked it, especially knowing what it took to make him lose it.
"Is my sister home?" he asked between kisses, his hands now cupping your breasts through your bra.
"Out with—oh, fuck—some guy from her internship," you managed, your head falling back as he found a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. "Won't be back until late."
"Perfect." He reached around to unclasp your bra, immediately moving to fill his hands with your freed breasts. "Been thinking about this since Valarr told me he was leaving."
The confession sent a rush of heat through you. "You know you're not supposed to want your cousin's girlfriend," you teased, even as your own hands moved to his belt buckle.
"And you're suddenly a paragon of virtue?" He nipped at your collarbone, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. "Don't pretend you haven't been counting down to this trip as much as I have."
You couldn't deny it, so you didn't try. You just pressed closer, hooking one leg around his as you tugged him up by his hair back to your mouth. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, the kind of desperate, hungry kiss that would never happen with Valarr. It was a difference you craved, that kept you coming back to this situation you knew was wrong.
When your hand finally slipped inside his pants, wrapping around his already hard cock, Aerion growled against your mouth. "Fuck, I've missed your hands," he muttered, thrusting into your grip. "So fucking soft."
"Bedroom?" you suggested when you finally broke apart, breathless.
"Thought you'd never ask."
He followed you down the short hallway to your room, peeling off his shirt along the way. By the time you reached your bed, you were both half-naked, hands still roaming over newly exposed skin. Aerion pushed you onto the mattress, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at you.
"Two weeks," he said, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs. "Think you'll get tired of me by then?"
"Unlikely," you replied, lifting your hips to help him remove your panties. "But you might get tired of me."
He paused, his hands on your thighs as he spread them open to get a good look at you. "Not a chance. Could fuck you every day for the rest of my life and never get bored. Turn around for me, yeah?"
You obeyed, moving onto your knees. The position left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in the best way. Aerion's hands traced your curves appreciatively before gripping your hips.
"Most fucking perfect thing I've ever seen," he murmured, and then you felt his tongue where you needed it most.
You cried out, your arms nearly giving way as pleasure shot through you. Aerion always took his time with this part, seemingly determined to reduce you to a whimpering mess before he even had the decency to fuck you properly. His mouth worked you expertly until you were pushing back against his face. His tongue dragging through you, his teeth grazing your inner thigh in between each languid stroke, then his fingers would gently ease inside, pumping and curling until you were quivering against him.
He pulled back too quickly, making you groan in protest. "Relax," he chuckled, giving your ass a light smack before spreading your thighs a little wider with his hands, gripping the softness of your hips once more. "Greedy girl. Stay just like that."
You heard the sound of him undressing completely, then the rustle of him opening the nightstand drawer. The familiar tear of foil packaging followed, and then he was behind you again, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
"Take it off," you said suddenly, looking over your shoulder at him.
He paused, one eyebrow raised. "What?"
"The condom. Take it off." You pushed yourself up onto your hands, turning to face him fully. "I want to feel you."
Aerion's expression was unreadable for a moment. "Valarr..."
"Valarr isn't here," you pointed out, turning around to push him back onto the pillows. "Don't you want to fuck me, actually fuck me, Aerion? Feel how wet I am for you?" You ran a finger down his chest, watching his eyes darken. "Don't you want to come inside me?"
His control snapped visibly. "Fuck yes I do," he groaned, reaching for you and pulling you back down. "But this—"
"Is between us," you finished for him, straddling his thighs. "Just us."
His eyes searched yours, then he nodded, reaching down to tear off the condom and toss it aside. "Just us," he agreed, his hands gripping your hips as you positioned yourself above him. The first press of him, bare and hot against you, made you both gasp. You sank down slowly, savoring the sensation you'd denied yourself all this time.
"Fuck," Aerion breathed. "That's... so much better."
You couldn't agree more. The sensation of him inside you with no barrier was intense, almost overwhelming after months of always using protection. When you finally took him to the hilt, you paused, adjusting to the fullness.
"Move," he urged, his voice strained. "Please, baby, move."
You did, rising up before sinking back down, setting a leisurely pace that had you both moaning. His hands were everywhere—your breasts, your hips, your face—like he couldn't decide where to touch you first. Aerion worshiped every curve as you rode him. The sounds he made, grunts and whispered curses, told you how much he was enjoying this.
"This is just for us," he said suddenly, his eyes locking with yours. "Not for anyone else."
"Not even Valarr," you agreed, leaning down to kiss him. The new angle changed the sensation entirely, allowing him to thrust up into you, making you both moan into each other's mouths.
The bed was creaking beneath you, the sounds leaving Aerion's mouth were sounds he'd rather die than admit he was making. The way you were riding him, the way your breasts bounced with every move you made, the way your eyes were looking at him so innocently when you were doing the filthiest things he had ever seen. You were sweating, hair sticking to your forehead, skin flushed, and you looked fucking perfect.
Something about the forbidden nature of what you were doing only heightened the experience. When Aerion sat up, wrapping his arms around you to change the angle, you felt your orgasm building rapidly. There was something building between you, something hot and desperate and different from your usual encounters.
You, usually so composed, were gone—head thrown back, body moving in perfect rhythm with his, completely lost in the sensation. His cock was hitting the most delicious spot inside you, the friction just right, the angle even better. You were making sounds he'd never heard before, your usual teasing replaced by pure need. When you looked down at him, you saw it all in his eyes, the heat and the longing, the same desperation you felt reflected back at you.
He was panting, muscles straining, holding you like you might disappear if he let go. Whimpering. The sound of him nearly undone was enough to push you to the very edge. You'd never seen him like this—raw, unguarded, completely lost in the moment. It made you want to give him everything.
"Look at me," he demanded, his voice rough with desire. When your eyes locked with his, something shifted. "You're... fuck. You're mine— tell me... Baby, tell me you're mine."
And it was true not just in this moment, but in a way that went deeper than you'd realized. So you'd give him this, you'd give him everything, because you wanted to as much as he needed you to. You felt it in your bones, in the way your body responded to his, in how your heart pounded in time with his ragged breaths. The connection was electric, undeniable, and you were both too far gone to pretend otherwise.
You leaned in, forehead to forehead, your hips never stopping their perfect, punishing rhythm. You whispered the words he needed to hear, the words that felt like they had always been true: "I'm yours, Aerion. Always."
That was it. The moment stretched, snapped, and broke. He came with a strangled whimper, his release triggering your own. The sensation of him pulsing inside you, hot and endless, pushed you over the edge into a blinding orgasm that left you trembling in his arms.
He whispered your name, over and over, like it was the only word he knew. You gripped his hair, held him close, feeling his heart racing against yours. His hands shook where they held you, fingers digging into your skin like he couldn't bear to let you go. You felt every spasm, every shudder, and you held him through it all, whispering how perfect he was, how good he felt, how much you loved him just like this.
When the intensity finally ebbed, you collapsed against each other, breathing hard, bodies still joined. Neither of you moved to separate, content to stay connected as you came back down.
"Baby," he whispered after a long silence, his voice rough and raw. "Did you mean it? What you said?"
You pulled back just enough to look at his face, still flushed with exertion. His expression was vulnerable in a way you'd rarely seen. "Yes," you said softly, brushing his hair from his forehead. "I meant it."
He closed his eyes as if absorbing the words, his arms tightening around you. When he opened them again, you could see him working through something internally. The tick in his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. He was fighting with himself, trying to keep up his usual carefree facade, but it was crumbling.
"Say it again," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
So you kissed his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, and with each press of your lips, you told him, "Yours." Because you were. In this moment, in this way that defied all expectations, you belonged to him just as much as he belonged to you. He didn't need to say it back; you could see it in his eyes, in the way he held you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever been given.
Aerion buried his face in your neck, holding you so tightly it almost hurt, his breath warm and uneven against you. "Stay like this," he murmured, he was almost pleading. "Just... for a minute."
You held him tighter, running your fingers through his hair as you felt his heart gradually slow. When he spoke again, his voice was steady but still raw at the edges. "Mine," he breathed, like he was trying the word on for size, like he couldn't quite believe it was true. "Fucking mine. My baby."
You smiled against his shoulder, knowing he'd never admit to the emotion behind those words tomorrow, but knowing also that he meant them with every fiber of his being right now. "Always," you promised, kissing his temple. "Always yours."
Hey, sorry if this is a bit weird... a 22 y/o virgin here, all the freakiness is just digital and in my head and I just read your last Valarr fic and I absolutely love it but I'm also a bit confused, do we women actually feel pleasure and come from penetration alone or it's only when the clitoris is stimulated, you don't have to answer this but I thought I might just ask because I really liked the fic and Google is really confusing when it comes to these things...
heyy, not weird at all! honestly, this is one of those things that’s way more complicated than fanfic (or google) sometimes makes it seem.
short answer is that it depends on the person. some women can orgasm from penetration alone, and some can’t, but both experiences are completely normal. most women either need or strongly benefit from clitoral stimulation in order to reach orgasm.
and if it helps, in the fic itself, valarr wasn’t actually relying on just penetration for most of it. there was a lot of kissing, touching, teasing, anticipation, and build-up before and during sex. all of those things contribute to pleasure too, which is why i personally tend to write intimacy as more than just “insert p into v and suddenly everyone is seeing stars”
the thing that makes google so confusing is that it's often in absolutes. you’ll see one article saying women can’t orgasm from penetration alone at all, and another saying that many women can. the reality is that every single body is different!! some people find penetration alone incredibly pleasurable, some find it pleasant but not enough for orgasm. you'll also find that some women don't even enjoy clitoral stimulation because it can be overstimulating! and some don’t get much from it at all without other stimulation. personally, i think foreplay is more important than the act itself.
so if you were reading the fic and wondering whether your future experiences are supposed to look exactly like that, don’t stress yourself out. fanfic is fantasy first and an anatomy lesson second. real people vary a lot more (:
and thank you for reading!! i’m glad you enjoyed it enough to send an ask <3
i hope u know how much you changed my life w that recent modern valarr fic of urs 🙏🙏🙏 he js fits so muchh with a lannister!reader and the fans want to see more 🤤
thank you sm anon! you're so cute
trust, i will!! deliver <3
funny thing is, i have a lannister!OC that i write primarily for myself and a friend, and a lot of her personality spills over when i'm writing x reader. i'm quite fond of her & that's literally my shayla.
PLUS i felt it made sm sense with this valarr fic because she's supposed to be spoiled, so of course she belongs to the house that has almost everything in excess!!
pairing: modern!valarr targaryen x fem!lannister!reader
summary: … valarr has the patience of a saint. you make sure he gets plenty of opportunities to prove it. ⟢
wc: 5.7k
content warning: 18+ mdni | smut | established relationship | soft dom!valarr?? | unprotected p in v | bratty/spoiled reader | fingering | teasing | orgasm denial | multiple orgasms | dirty talk | fingers in mouth | hair pulling | praise | creampie | light spanking
masterlist ────୨ৎ──── taglist
"Okay, Daddy."
The elevator doors slid open as you spoke, revealing the familiar interior of Valarr’s penthouse. You stepped into the apartment with your phone pressed against your ear and a tote bag slipping slowly down your shoulder as Mr. Lannister continued speaking from the other end of the line. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, bathing the apartment in warm tones and illuminating the dark wood floors beneath your feet.
"Yes, Daddy."
Across the apartment, Valarr glanced up from where he sat behind his desk and immediately smiled the moment he saw you.
Something in your chest softened right then; it always did.
He looked comfortable in the way only Valarr ever seemed capable of looking comfortable. One sleeve rolled to his forearm, a glass of water resting beside his laptop. The silver running through the side of his dark hair catching the afternoon light as he leaned back slightly in his chair. For a second, a mismatched set of eyes met yours from across the room before his attention returned to whatever occupied the screen in front of him.
"I know."
You kicked off your shoes near the entrance and wandered further into the apartment.
"I said I would ... Daddy, I called him three days ago."
The response that came through the phone clearly failed to satisfy you because you were still having this conversation. So your expression immediately soured.
You dropped onto the sofa with a sigh dramatic enough to qualify as performance art, stretching across the cushions while your father continued explaining that your brothers enjoyed hearing from you and that maintaining family relationships required effort. As though this were somehow groundbreaking information.
Of course your brothers liked hearing from you. That wasn’t the point. The point was that school was exhausting, life was exhausting, and remembering to answer everyone’s messages before they became concerned was a responsibility nobody had adequately warned you about.
By the time the call finally ended several minutes later, you felt as though you had personally completed a diplomatic assignment on behalf of House Lannister.
"I love you too, Daddy. Bye."
Silence settled across the apartment. Finally. You let your phone fall onto the cushion beside you and stared at the ceiling for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of not being expected to participate in conversation.
Across the room, the steady rhythm of keys clicking pulls your attention away from the ceiling.
Valarr remained exactly where he had been when you arrived.
He had one hand resting against the keyboard while the other turned his glass in circles against the desk. His attention was fixed on the laptop screen before him, calm and focused in a way that suggested whatever occupied him was important enough to temporarily outweigh the rest of the world. The rest of the world being you.
You watched him. Valarr continued typing. You watched him for several more seconds. Valarr continued typing.
Interesting.
You had arrived at his apartment, survived an unnecessarily lengthy conversation with your father, had been present in his home for several minutes now, and your boyfriend appeared entirely committed to spending that time with his work. The situation, in your opinion, was becoming increasingly suspicious. How long had it been since he greeted you? Had he even greeted you? He smiled at you, but you couldn’t remember him saying a single word since you walked through the door. You would have remembered.
You pushed yourself upright into a sitting position, dropping your feet to the floor. "Val?"
His attention shifted almost immediately. A soft smile pulling at his lips as his gaze landed on you. "Hello, my love."
"Hello."
You tilted your head slightly. He watched you back with that familiar patience that often made you want to push just to see what would happen.
"Did you have a good day?"
"Yes." You watched him, waiting. Nothing happened. "Aren't you going to come kiss me?"
That smile of his widened slightly. "I will. Soon."
You blinked. Soon?
You were perfectly capable of walking across the room yourself, but that wasn't— no. The point was that you were accustomed to being greeted with kisses. Proper kisses. Not the sort of kisses delivered later once he finished whatever had captivated his attention. In fact, you couldn't remember the last time Valarr had ever responded to you this way.
He usually dropped everything the moment you arrived. Kisses first, conversation second. Sometimes kisses for so long that speaking stopped being a concern entirely. Yet here you sat, fully clothed and entirely unkissed. Unloved.
You crossed your arms. "I'm here right now."
"I see that, my love."
"And you aren't coming to kiss me?"
His mismatched eyes danced with amusement as he studied you from across the room. He knew exactly what you were doing. The problem was that he didn't seem at all concerned by it. "I'm not."
"Why not?"
"Because I am working."
You stared at him in disbelief. "You're working."
"Yes."
"Right now?"
"Yes."
"So you're not going to kiss me."
His smile softened at the edges. "I'll kiss you in a moment."
"Valarr."
"No."
Absolutely ridiculous.
You stood up from the couch and crossed the room, stopping directly beside his desk with your arms still folded across your chest. He continued watching you with that infuriatingly patient expression as you leaned over to peer at his laptop screen. A series of emails were organized neatly in his inbox. Nothing remotely urgent.
"You're answering emails."
"Yes."
"Emails are not work."
"They are."
"Emails are not important enough to prevent you from kissing me."
That earned you a quiet laugh as he leaned back in his chair. "You think so?"
"I know so."
You moved around the desk and settled onto the edge, just beside where he sat. Close enough that your knees brushed his thigh. Close enough that ignoring you should have been entirely impossible.
"Val."
"My love."
"Kiss me."
His fingers drifted to your knee. "In a minute."
"Why are you being annoying right now?"
"Because I am finishing something."
You narrowed your eyes at him. "You're not finishing anything. You're answering emails."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "They require my attention."
"They do not."
"They do."
This was absurd. You were absurd for entertaining this absurdity.
You reached out and gently pressed his laptop screen down until it closed with a soft click, removing the final barrier between you and his full attention. Valarr watched your movements with amusement, his fingers still resting against your knee in a way that was making you antsy.
"There," you said. "Now you're done."
A low chuckle escaped him as he turned his chair slightly toward you. "Are you making demands, princess?"
"Don't call me that."
"Why not?"
"Because you're being difficult."
He tilted his head, and the way he was looking at you now made it impossible to tell whether he found this entire situation charming or simply entertaining. "You think I'm being difficult?"
"I think you're avoiding me."
"I'm not avoiding you. I am finishing work."
"No, you were answering emails. Emails that could've waited five seconds, by the way."
"And now you have closed my laptop."
"Yes."
"So I suppose I must kiss you."
You gave him an unimpressed look. "You suppose?"
He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to yours until you could see the faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. "Would you prefer I didn't?"
You shifted slightly on the edge of the desk, bringing yourself even closer. "I would prefer you had done it the moment I arrived."
"Ah." His hand slid higher up your thigh, fingers pressing gently against your skin in a way that sent warmth spreading through your body and had you pressing your legs together. "You have expectations."
"I do."
"Some pretty high ones, I see."
"You set them."
"I did, didn't I?"
His other hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against your cheek as his thumb brushed softly across your skin. You leaned into it instinctively, your eyes fluttering slightly at the gentle contact. He watched you with that soft, knowing smile that made your stomach twist in the most pleasant way.
"Val," you whispered.
He shifted closer still, his legs now bracketing yours as he leaned in until his lips hovered just a breath away from yours. "Yes, my love?"
"Stop teasing."
"I am not teasing."
"You absolutely are."
His lips brushed against yours in the faintest whisper of a kiss, so light it barely counted as contact at all. "Am I?"
You made a small, frustrated sound and closed the remaining distance yourself, pressing your mouth firmly against his. He responded immediately, his hand sliding into your hair as he pulled you from the edge of the desk and into his lap. He had your entire body relaxing into him within seconds the moment his tongue slipped into your mouth.
His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as you moved to straddle his lap properly. You slid your hands up his chest and curled your fingers into his shirt as you lost yourself in the sensation of finally being exactly where you wanted to be. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your throat, each kiss drawing a sigh from you.
"You are ridiculous," you murmured, tilting your head back to give him better access.
His laugh vibrated against your skin. "Am I?"
"You made me wait for this, Valarr." You pressed your hips down against his, drawing a soft groan from him as his grip on you tightened. "For no reason."
"Is that what you think, pretty girl?" His lips found that spot where your jaw met your neck. "That there was no reason?"
Your hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly as you tried to focus on forming coherent thoughts. "There wasn't."
"You walked in here," he whispered against your skin, "looking like that, knowing I was working."
You blinked. "Like what?"
His hands smoothed down your back and then around to trace the hem of your skirt before sliding beneath it to rest against your thighs. "Like this. Like you belong in my lap. Like you knew exactly what you were doing."
A flush rose to your cheeks at his words. "I wasn't—"
"You were," he interrupted softly, his mouth brushing against your ear. "And you know it."
You opened your mouth to argue, to insist that you had simply been tired and wanted comfort after a long day, but his hands were moving again, sliding higher beneath your skirt until his fingers traced the lace trim of your panties. Whatever protest you might have offered died instantly as a soft gasp escaped you instead.
"Val," you whispered.
"Hmm?" His lips were on your neck again, kissing, nipping, and soothing each spot with his tongue as his fingers continued their lazy exploration.
"You're not being fair."
"Who said anything about being fair?" He shifted beneath you, and you could feel exactly how much he was enjoying this particular game. "You wanted my attention. You have it."
You moved against him, seeking friction, your body arching into his touch as his fingers pressed more firmly against you. "I wanted you to kiss me."
"I am kissing you." His teeth grazed your collarbone, drawing a shiver from you. "I'm doing much more than kissing you, actually."
You tightened your grip on his shoulders, your head falling back as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him. "That's... not the point."
"The point," he murmured against your skin, "is that you walked in here knowing exactly what you wanted, and now you're getting it."
His fingers slid through your folds, circling your clit with perfect pressure, making your hips jerk involuntarily. You moaned softly, pressing yourself harder against his hand as he continued his ministrations with a maddening precision.
"You're so responsive," he whispered, his voice rougher than before. "So beautiful when you're desperate for me."
You opened your eyes to find him watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His mismatched eyes were dark with desire, his lips slightly parted as he looked over your face. There was something in his expression—a reverence, maybe—that made your heart pound even faster.
"Valarr," you breathed, "please."
He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his fingers stilling their movement. "Please what, my love?"
You rocked your hips against his hand, trying to recreate the friction he had denied you. "Don't stop."
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that was both infuriating and incredibly attractive. "You want more?"
"Yes," you admitted, because at this point you were too far gone to play coy.
He shifted suddenly, lifting you as he stood before turning to place you on the edge of the desk. You gasped at the sudden movement, your hands reaching for him as he stepped between your legs. Then he was pushing your skirt up around your waist, baring you completely to him.
"Look at you," he murmured, his eyes raking over your exposed skin. "Perfect."
You reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling slightly in your haste to undo it. He let you, his hands braced on the desk on either side of you as he watched your movements, fascinated. When you finally freed him from his trousers and closed your fist around his length, he hissed softly through his teeth.
"That's it. Just like that."
You stroked him slowly, watching his face as his eyes fluttered closed momentarily. The power you held in that moment was intoxicating, but it was short-lived as he suddenly captured your wrist, stilling your movements.
"Enough," he said, his voice firm but gentle.
Before you could protest, he had your panties pushed to the side and positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the head of his cock, sliding it through your wetness without giving you anything else. Just a slow back and forth, down and back up. You whimpered, trying to push forward, to take him inside, but his hands held your hips firmly in place.
"Valarr," you begged, your voice breathy.
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against yours as his lips brushed your ear. "Say please."
You shuddered at the command, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please." You hated him. Almost. The word came out as more of a breath than anything else. You hated how much you loved this.
"Again," he demanded, still teasing you with shallow thrusts that never quite pushed inside. "Say it properly."
"Please, Valarr," you said louder, desperation now coloring your voice. "Please, I need you."
That seemed to be exactly what he wanted to hear. With a groan, he thrust forward, filling you slowly, inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. Your head fell back as you adjusted to the stretch, a moan escaping your lips as he seated himself fully inside you.
"Perfect," he murmured, his hands sliding up to cradle your face as he began to move. "You feel perfect, my love."
The pace he set was controlled, each thrust designed to draw out your pleasure as long as possible. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching his rhythm as the pleasure built between you. His mouth found yours again, kissing you deeply, swallowing your moans as he increased his pace.
You could feel the tension building inside you, a coil tightening with each movement, each touch. It felt good—so good it was almost overwhelming. You broke the kiss to gasp for air, your forehead resting against his as you clung to him like your life depended on it.
"I'm close," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I'm—"
"Not yet," he said, though his own breathing had grown ragged.
He took a fistful of your hair, gently pulling your head back to expose your throat. His lips immediately latched onto the sensitive skin there, sucking and biting in a way that would surely leave marks. The sharp sensation of his teeth digging into you combined with the steady rhythm of his hips pushed you closer to the edge.
"Valarr," you moaned, your nails digging into his back as the pressure became almost unbearable.
"I told you," he said against your skin, his voice strained with his own approaching release, "not yet."
He shifted his angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your vision blur. You cried out, your body tensing as you fought to hold back the orgasm threatening to crash over you.
Seconds later, he's spilling into you. You feel the rush of warmth as his movements become erratic, his grip on you tightening as he finds his release. The sensation of him pulsing inside you has you trembling, right on the edge—so close but not quite there.
Before you can form a coherent thought, he's pulling out of you, leaving you empty and aching. Your eyes fly open in protest, ready to beg him to finish what he started. But Valarr is already tucking himself back into his pants, his breathing still heavy as he looks down at you with dark, satisfied eyes.
You're left sprawled across the desk, your skirt still bunched around your waist, your body thrumming with a need that went unsatisfied.
"What—" you begin, but he's already moving, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead that feels almost condescending given your current state.
"I have a meeting," he says simply, as if that explains everything.
You stare at him in disbelief, your body still trembling with unspent arousal. "You can't be serious."
He straightens up, looking entirely too composed for someone who just had you unraveling beneath him. "I am quite serious, my love."
You sit up slowly, feeling a delicious ache between your legs as you do. "You're leaving me like this?"
He reaches out, toying with the hair near your temple with a smile. "I think you'll survive until tonight."
"Tonight?" you echo, incredulous. "Valarr, that's hours from now!"
He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a promise of later. Always fucking later. "Consider it motivation to behave yourself."
You huff, crossing your arms over your chest in a gesture that would feel much more imposing if you weren't still half-naked and thoroughly fucked on his desk. "This is cruel. You're cruel and evil."
The sound of his laughter follows him as he walks toward the door to grab his jacket. "You interrupted my work, remember? This seems like a fair consequence."
"It's not fair at all," you call after him, sliding off the desk to stand only to be met by your own shaky legs. "You enjoyed every second of it!"
He pauses at the door, turning back to look at you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. "I did. Very much. Be good while I'm gone, and don't be late to dinner this time."
You watch him leave, still processing what just happened. You're left alone in his home, disheveled and unsatisfied, with the taste of him still on your lips and the evidence of what you've done dripping down your thighs. It's infuriating. It's also, unfortunately, incredibly hot. The worst part is that part of you—the part that enjoys his games, his control, the way he manages to turn your own tactics against you—is already anticipating tonight when he'll finally finish what he started.
With a frustrated sigh, you smooth down your skirt and head to the bathroom to clean up, muttering under your breath about how impossible Valarr Targaryen is.
By the time you emerge, you've composed yourself enough to send him a text message.
You: I'm touching myself.
You aren't, but the satisfaction of knowing you're disrupting his important meeting is almost enough to make up for the ache still lingering between your legs.
His reply comes almost instantly, making you wonder just how important this meeting really is.
Valarr: You should be getting ready for dinner. Don't be late.
You stare at the message, equal parts annoyed and impressed by his unwavering self-control. Then, with a mischievous smile, you type out your response.
You: Would you like to know what I'm thinking about while I touch myself?
You hit send and wait, feeling a thrill run through you at the thought of him reading your message in whatever boring meeting he's stuck in.
Three minutes pass. Then five. You're annoyed, about to send another message when your phone buzzes with a new text.
Valarr: No.
You frown at the single word response. That's it? No curiosity? No demand to know what you're thinking about? You're both disappointed and, irritatingly, more turned on by his restraint.
You: Fine. I'll keep it to myself.
Valarr: Good girl.
The simple praise sends a shiver through you, and you suddenly find yourself in a much more complicated situation than you anticipated. You wanted to tease him, to get a reaction, but instead, you're the one affected, your traitorous body still wishing for him.
You take a deep breath, typing one last message before going to get ready.
I hate you.
Dinner was proving remarkably difficult to enjoy. Though not because anything was wrong with the restaurant. If anything, the opposite was true. The food was excellent. The service was wonderful. The wine was even better. Every few minutes, somebody appeared beside the table to refill a glass, replace a plate, or inquire whether there was anything else they could bring. Ordinarily, you loved places like this. Being spoiled was one of your favorite hobbies.
Unfortunately, none of it made the slightest difference when you couldn't focus on anything but the man sitting directly across from you.
Valarr had chosen the restaurant. He always chose the restaurant. He knew what you liked better than you did most of the time, which was both endearing and irritating. Tonight, he had selected a quiet Dornish place tucked into a corner of the city where the staff greeted him by name. The atmosphere was intimate, the lighting warm, the food fragrant and beautifully presented. It was romantic. It was perfect. You were miserable.
Your gaze kept drifting across the table to him. Valarr sat with his usual effortless elegance, one arm resting along the back of his chair, his wine glass held loosely in his other hand. His shirt was crisp, his hair slightly tousled in that way that made you want to twist and tug at it until your knuckles went white. He was paying attention to something the waiter was saying and nodding occasionally.
You had been paying attention to the same thing earlier. At least, you had tried. But, you had spent most of dinner replaying what happened earlier—his hands, his mouth, the way he had filled you and then left you. The memory was driving you mad. Especially since he seemed entirely unaffected.
"Another glass?" The waiter gestured toward your wine with a polite smile.
"No, thank you," Valarr answered for you.
You blinked at him. "Yes. Actually, another glass would be lovely."
Valarr's gaze shifted to you, slightly raising an eyebrow. "You've had enough."
The nerve. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. "I think I can decide that for myself. Another glass, thank you."
The waiter hesitated, glancing between you and Valarr before ultimately making the wise decision to refill your glass. Valarr watched the entire interaction with his jaw clenched. You sipped your wine and smiled sweetly across the table at him.
"Is there something wrong?"
His eyes narrowed. "You're being difficult."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"I'm just enjoying my evening."
He exhaled slowly, visibly working through something in his head. His fingers tapped once against the table before he folded his hands together in front of him. "You are testing my patience."
You tilted your head, studying him. "Why? Because I want another glass of wine?"
"I see we're still upset about earlier."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Valarr. I'm simply trying to have a nice dinner."
He looked at you for several seconds in silence, something shifting behind his eyes that made your stomach flip. "Finish your wine."
You froze. "What?"
"Drink."
There was something in his tone that had you immediately reaching for your glass without further argument. You sipped slowly, watching him over the rim as he continued watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. It wasn't angry, but it wasn't entirely a patient one either. It was something else—something that sent heat pooling low in your belly despite the frustration still simmering just beneath the surface. You knew it all too well.
The waiter returned to clear the dessert plates. Valarr asked for the bill, his eyes never leaving your face. You shifted in your seat, suddenly far too aware of how your body still felt the echoes of the afternoon—how empty you still felt.
"You're staring," you said softly, setting your glass back on the table.
"Yes, I am."
"Why?"
"Because I'm deciding what to do with you."
The simple statement sent a shiver down your spine. You watched him sign the check, his movements precise and controlled, just like everything else about him. When he stood and offered his hand, you took it without hesitation. His grip on your fingers was firm as he led you out of the restaurant, his long strides forcing you to move much quicker to keep up with him.
The car was waiting at the curb. He opened the door for you, his hand resting briefly on the small of your back as you slid inside. You watched him walk around to the driver's side, noting the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. He was very attractive when he was like this. You had always thought so.
Neither of you spoke as he pulled into traffic. The drive back to his place was silent except for the soft music playing through the speakers. You sat with your hands folded in your lap, occasionally stealing glances at him as he focused on the road. The way his fingers gripped the steering wheel, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his eyes occasionally flicked in your direction before returning to the road ahead.
When you finally arrived at his building, he parked in his designated spot and turned off the engine. The silence that followed felt heavy, charged with all the words you hadn't said. You reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped you.
"Stay there."
You froze, your hand hovering in midair. Something in his tone had your heart racing. You watched as he got out of the car, walking around to open your door with that same controlled grace. His hand extended toward you, and you took it, letting him help you from the car.
The elevator ride up was even more torturous than the car ride had been. He stood beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, but he didn't touch you. Didn't look at you. Just stared straight ahead at the numbers climbing higher as if they held the answers to how best to deal with you.
When the doors finally slid open, he placed a hand at the small of your back, guiding you out into the hallway. His key turned in the lock with a click that sounded far too loud in the silence between the two of you. He stepped aside when the door swung open, allowing you to enter first.
You walked into the familiar space, tossing your bag onto the couch as you turned to look at him. You heard the sound of the lock engaging from the foyer where he stood.
"Valarr—" you started, but he held up a hand, silencing you.
He moved toward you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he closed the distance between you. When he reached you, his fingers ghosted over your cheek before tangling in your hair, tilting your head back. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin.
"Turn around," he said softly.
You blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by the contrast between the gentleness of his tone and the command in his words combined with the fist currently holding you. When you hesitated, his fingers tightened slightly in your hair.
"Now."
You turned, presenting your back to him. His hands moved to your shoulders, sliding the straps of your dress down your arms. The fabric was left to pool around your waist, exposing your back to him. You felt his lips brush against your shoulder, followed by the scrape of his teeth. A soft yelp left you as his hands slid around to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened beneath his touch.
"Valarr," you breathed, pressing back against him.
His hands moved lower, pushing your dress the rest of the way down until it fell to the floor. You stepped out of it, kicking it aside as his fingers hooked into your panties, sliding them down your legs. You felt him step back, and you almost turned to face him, but his voice stopped you.
"Don't move."
You stayed still, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled, followed by the rustle of clothes being discarded. The anticipation was driving you crazy; every nerve in your body was attuned to the sounds behind you.
When his hands returned to your body, they were warm against your waist, guiding you forward until you were bent over the back of the couch. The position left you exposed, vulnerable, and incredibly turned on. He dragged his belt up your spine, letting the leather tease your skin before it disappeared again. You felt like you could die right there without even complaining.
"Do you remember what I told you earlier?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
You swallowed, trying to focus. "About behaving?"
"Mmm." One hand smoothed down your back, over the curve of your ass. "And are you behaving now?"
"I..." You trailed off as his fingers slipped between your legs. "I'm trying."
He laughed softly, the sound sending vibrations through you as he pressed two fingers inside you. You moaned, pushing back against his hand, desperate for more. "You're not trying very hard."
"I am," you gasped as he curled his fingers inside you. "I swear."
His free hand came down on your ass, the sharp sting making you cry out. "Lying doesn't help your case."
"I'm not lying," you protested, though the words sounded weak even to your own ears.
He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty again. You whimpered at the loss, but before you could complain, you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He teased you, sliding through your wetness without entering. Again.
"Valarr, please," you begged, your fingers gripping the couch with so much force that you could've sworn you'd give yourself a cramp.
"What do you want, my love?"
"You. I want you inside me."
He pushed in just the tip. "Like this?"
"No," you moaned. "All of you. Please."
"Are you going to be good?"
"Yes," you promised. "Yes, I'll be so good."
He rewarded you by sliding in fully, filling you completely in one smooth thrust. You cried out at the sensation, your body arching back to meet his as he set a punishing rhythm. His hands held your hips, guiding your movements as he drove into you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside that had you seeing stars.
"Thank you," you babbled, completely lost to the pleasure. "Thank you, thank you, Valarr—"
One hand came up from your hip to wrap around your chin and jaw, his index and middle fingers coaxing your mouth open as they pushed in. You immediately sucked on them, your tongue swirling around the digits as he continued fucking you relentlessly.
"That's it," he groaned, his other hand slipping around to find your clit. "Take it all."
The dual stimulation was too much. Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly, your body clenching around him as you moaned around his fingers. He didn't stop, drawing out your pleasure until you were trembling, your knees weak.
When he finally pulled out, he turned you around, lifting you effortlessly to sit on the back of the couch. His mouth captured yours in a deep, wet, filthy kiss as he lined himself up with you again. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he pushed back inside you.
This time was slower, deeper, more deliberate. He kissed you as he moved, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he had all the time in the world. You melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you met each of his thrusts.
"I love you," you whispered against his lips.
"I know," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I love you too."
The intimacy of the moment, combined with the physical pleasure, had tears pricking at your eyes. You buried your face against his neck, holding him tighter as he continued to grind his hips into yours.
"Valarr, please… I can't—"
"You can," he assured you, his voice gentle but firm. "One more. Give me one more, my love."
His fingers found your clit again, circling it with just the right pressure. You shook your head against his shoulder, overwhelmed by the sensations, but he didn't stop. His pace increased slightly, his breathing growing more ragged as he approached his own release.
"Are you with me?" he asked, his voice strained. “Stay with me.”
"I'm here," you promised, your body tensing as another orgasm began to build. "I'm here, I'm yours."
You were dizzy with it. The pleasure, the emotion, the feeling of being completely owned and cherished in the same moment. The second orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body sweating and trembling around him as he finally found his release, whispering your name against your skin as he emptied himself inside you.
For several minutes after, you remained tangled together, your breathing slowly returning to normal as you held each other. His hands stroked your back soothingly, and you pressed lazy kisses to his neck and jaw, too content to move.
