pairing: valarr targaryen x wife!reader
summary: After his father’s death, Valarr keeps his distance grieving, withdrawn and afraid of frightening you with the intensity of his emotions. He marries you but refuses to touch you, holding himself back out of guilt and restraint. But grief turns into longing and longing into obsession. He thinks of you day and night, until one evening, he finally stops holding back.
content: 18+ (mdni), smut, touched starved!valarr, virgin!reader, a little bit of possessive valarr, longing, arranged marriage,he’s head over heels in love, yearner valarr
The heavy door clicked shut with a soft finality, swallowing the last echoes of the castle's distant life. You stood in the center of the vast chamber, velvet cloak settling around you, thick and warm. Candlelight flickered, painting the rich tapestries in shifting gold and shadow, making the embroidered dragons on the wall seem to breathe. The air, heavy with the scent of burning cedar and something else, something uniquely like him clung to your skin. You felt the weight of the moment, the years of whispered expectations, the sudden, sharp grief of his father’s passing that had hastened this night, all converging here, now.
Valarr stood by the murmuring fire, his back to you. The flames cast a ruddy glow on his dark brown hair, catching the single streak of silver, almost white, that ran through it, a striking contrast you always found yourself drawn to. His shoulders, broad beneath the dark velvet of his tunic, seemed to hold the weight of the world, a burden you knew too well. He turned slowly, and your gaze met his. One eye, the color of a summer sky, held a storm of emotions you couldn't quite decipher, the other, a deep brown, seemed to pierce through the layers of your carefully constructed composure. It was a look that promised both tenderness and a primal, consuming hunger.
He took a step, then another, closing the distance between you, the soft thud of his boots on the thick rug the only sound. You watched him, a tremor starting deep within you, a delicious ache that had been building for months, years even. He reached you, his hand lifting, hovering for a moment, then settling on your cheek. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to the coolness of the chamber.
“I have wanted you.. for so long” his voice, a low rumble, barely broke the quiet. He didn’t say your name, but the way he spoke, it was a benediction, a plea. His mismatched eyes, usually so guarded, now held vulnerability that mirrored your own. You saw the shadows of grief still lingering, but beneath them, a desperate yearning, a need that had stripped away the last vestiges of his princely facade.
You leaned into his touch, your own hand rising to cover his, pressing it more firmly against your skin. You felt the subtle tremor in his fingers, the tautness of his muscles. The years of quiet glances, of polite conversations, of the unspoken understanding that had grown between you, now culminated in this. You had watched him, admired him, yearned for him from afar, just as he had, you now knew, yearned for you. His father’s death, while a tragedy, had undeniably accelerated this. It had stripped away the formalities, leaving only pure need.
“Valarr,” you whispered, your voice a fragile thread in the vast room. You saw his throat bob, a sudden tension seizing him. He lowered his head, his hair brushing your temple as his lips found your forehead, a soft, reverent press. The scent of him, clean linen, faint sweat, and something uniquely Targaryen.
He pulled back slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips. A silent question hung in the air, thick and palpable. Your breath hitched. You saw the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his ingrained courtesy and the fierce desire that threatened to break through. He had always been so controlled, so measured, but tonight, the dam was cracking.
“I… I want to be gentle,” he murmured, his voice rough, a confession torn from him. His thumb stroked your lower lip, a soft, teasing caress that made your entire body hum.
You closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation, then opened them, meeting his intense gaze. The way his mismatched eyes, devoured you. He was beautiful, heart-achingly so, and you wanted him to shed every last restraint.
“I don’t want you to be gentle, not entirely,” you breathed, the words a daring whisper. You felt a flush creep up your neck, but you held his gaze, willing him to understand. “I want… I need you.”
His breath hitched audibly. The words seemed to shatter the last fragments of his reserve. His eyes darkened, the blue deepening to a stormy indigo, the brown almost black. His hand slid from your cheek, down your neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at your nape, pulling you closer. Your breasts brushed against his chest, the soft fabric of your gown a thin barrier.
His mouth descended, not with the hesitant gentleness he’d promised, but with a fierce, hungry demand. His lips, warm and soft, crushed against yours, parting them with a soft groan that vibrated through your entire being. His tongue, hot and insistent, swept into your mouth, exploring every curve, every taste. You met him with equal fervor, your own tongue tangling with his. You tasted wine and something wild, something untamed. His hand at your nape tightened, tilting your head, deepening the kiss until your teeth scraped, a sweet, sharp friction. You felt his other hand slide around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body, leaving no space between you. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the rigid outline of his desire pressing against your belly through the layers of your clothes. A soft moan escaped your throat, swallowed by his kiss.
You pressed closer, your fingers fumbling for the laces of his tunic, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He broke the kiss, a ragged breath tearing from his chest, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes, still dark with passion, burned into yours.
“You have no idea,” he rasped, his voice thick with raw emotion, “how long I have dreamed of this.”
His hands moved then, with a new urgency, still careful, but driven by an undeniable need. He untied the laces of your gown, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, sending fresh shivers through you. The fabric parted, revealing the delicate lace of your chemise beneath. He pushed the material from your shoulders, letting it fall in a silken pool to the floor. The cool air brushed your bared skin, prickling it with goosebumps, but the heat of his gaze, the warmth of his hands, quickly chased them away.
He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours, and slowly, began to pull off your slippers. His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as he removed each shoe, his fingers brushing your instep. You felt a wave of dizzying pleasure, the simple act imbued with such intimacy. He then rose, standing before you, his gaze sweeping over your form, now clad only in your chemise, its thin fabric clinging to the curves of your breasts, the dip of your waist.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, the word a soft exhalation. “So beautiful”
He reached for the laces of his own tunic, his movements a little less steady now, his fingers fumbling slightly. You stepped forward, your own hands reaching out, pushing his aside.
“Let me,” you whispered, your voice husky. You wanted to undress him, to strip away the last of his princely armor. Your fingers, a little shaky, worked at the intricate laces, pulling them free one by one. The heavy fabric parted, revealing the smooth, warm skin of his chest. You inhaled sharply, the scent of him filling your nostrils.
You pushed the tunic from his shoulders, letting it drop. Then, with a boldness that surprised even yourself, you reached for the buckle of his belt, your fingers brushing against the hard curve of his hips. He stood still, allowing you to undress him, his eyes never leaving your face, a silent promise burning in their depths. You unfastened his belt, then the closures of his breeches. You watched as his princely demeanor dissolved entirely, replaced by a surging desire that hardened beneath the fabric. You pushed his breeches down, past his hips, over his muscled thighs, until they pooled around his ankles. He stepped out of them, then kicked off his boots, standing before you in nothing but his linen braies, his arousal clearly evident, straining against the thin fabric.
You reached for the tie of his braies, your fingers brushing the thick, hot length of him through the cloth. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and then, with a sudden, swift movement, he pushed them down, stripping them away.
He stood before you, magnificent and unashamed, his body lean and powerful, sculpted by years of training. You felt your own core clench, a deep, liquid heat spreading through you. You reached out, your fingers tracing the firm line of his abdomen, then lower, brushing the coarse hair around his cock. He shuddered, a deep tremor running through him.
“Please,” he choked out, his voice raw with need. He pulled you close again, his arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you slightly so your hips met his. The hard heat of his cock pressed against your wet, aching pussy, a tantalizing friction that made you gasp.
He carried you then, across the room, to the vast, carved bed. The furs, sable and fox, looked impossibly soft, inviting. He laid you down gently, his eyes still locked on yours, a silent communication passing between you. You sank into the yielding softness of the furs, the cool, smooth sheets beneath. He followed, his weight settling beside you, the bed dipping under him. He leaned over you, propping himself on his elbows, his brown hair falling around his face.
His lips found yours again, a slow, lingering kiss that promised all the pleasure to come. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting you, savoring you. You opened your mouth wider, inviting him deeper, sucking on his tongue, drawing it further in, an intimate dance that left you breathless. His hand, warm and calloused, moved down your body, over your breast, circling your nipple, teasing it until it stood rigid and aching. He moved lower, tracing the curve of your hip, then slipping between your thighs.
Your legs parted instinctively, welcoming his touch. His fingers, long and strong, found your wetness, exploring the soft, swollen folds of your pussy. You were slick, ready, aching for him. He stroked your clit, a gentle, teasing circle that sent a jolt of pure pleasure through you. You arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. “So needy just for me?.”
He lowered his head, his silver hair brushing your inner thigh. His breath, hot and moist, fanned across your aching clit, and then his lips, soft and demanding, closed over it. He sucked, a gentle, rhythmic tug that sent explosions of pleasure through your core. His tongue flicked, tracing the sensitive nub, then swirling around it, driving you wild. You gasped, your fingers tangling in his silver hair, pulling him closer, pressing him harder against you.
He worked you with his mouth, sucking, licking, teasing, until your hips began to buck, an uncontrollable urge building inside you. His tongue was a masterful instrument, dancing over your clit, dipping into your folds, tasting you. The sound of his wet mouth on your pussy was an intoxicating sound that filled your ears. You could feel the pressure building, a sweet, agonizing tension.
“Valarr,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible. “Please… I can’t…”
He lifted his head, his eyes, dark with lust, meeting yours. “You can and you will.” A feral grin, a flash of the dragon, touched his lips. He rose above you, his cock, thick and heavy, pressing against your slick entrance.
He positioned himself, his hips pressing down. The tip of nudged your opening, hot and insistent. You gasped, a sharp intake of breath. He pushed, slowly, carefully, entering you inch by agonizing inch. You felt the stretching, the fullness, the delicious invasion. A sigh escaped your lips as his head breached your hymen, a faint, fleeting discomfort quickly replaced by a deeper, more profound pleasure.
He paused, letting you adjust to his thickness, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pain. You met his gaze, shaking your head slightly. “More,” you urged, your voice hoarse with need.
He groaned, a deep, primal sound, and then he pushed again, slowly, deliberately, driving himself deeper into you. “So needy.” You felt him fill you completely, stretching your depths, his balls slapping softly against your ass. The sensation was overwhelming, exquisite. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting every inch of him.
He began to move, slowly, pulling out almost completely, then plunging back in, each thrust a delicious invasion. The sounds of your bodies meeting filled the chamber. You could feel the friction, the heat, the sheer pleasure of it.
He leaned down, kissing your neck, then your shoulder, his teeth gently nipping at your skin, sending shivers through you. “You’re mine. Say it.”
His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly, then pulling you down onto him, deeper, harder. You felt the exquisite pressure against your cervix, a profound sense of fullness that made you cry out.
“Y—yours,” you gasped, your voice thick with pleasure. “mmh— only yours!”
He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more powerful. His princely demeanor was gone, replaced by uninhibited desire of a man who had yearned for this for too long. He was no longer trying to be gentle; he was taking you, claiming you, just as you had begged him to.
You matched his rhythm, bucking your hips against his, meeting each of his thrusts with your own. Your nails dug into his back, leaving faint red marks on his skin. Your head tossed from side to side, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The pleasure was building, a relentless tide, pulling you deeper and deeper into its current.
His cock was a burning brand inside you, filling you to capacity, each withdrawal and re-entry an unbearable tease. You could feel the pre-cum, coating his shaft, making the slide even faster, even more intense. He groaned, his breath hot against your ear.
“You’re so tight,” he rasped, his voice strained with effort and pleasure. “So good for me.”
He drove into you, a deep, powerful thrust that made your entire body convulse. Your climax was building, a tightening knot in your core, spreading outwards, consuming you. You could feel yourself on the brink, trembling, aching, desperate for release.
“I’m close,” you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper. “Valarr, please!”
He responded with a renewed surge of power, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, more insistent. He leaned down, his mouth finding yours, kissing you fiercely, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he plunged into you again and again. You felt the exquisite friction, the delicious pressure, the world narrowing to the sensation of him inside you.
And then it broke. A wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure crashed over you, seizing your body, making you arch your back, your legs clamping around his waist. Your muscles clenched around him, pulling him deeper. A whine tore from your throat, muffled by his kiss. You felt yourself contracting around him, convulsing in spasms of pure bliss.
He felt your climax, and it pushed him over the edge. His own body tensed, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He cried out your name, a guttural roar, as he plunged into you one last, deep, shuddering thrust. His body stiffened, then he began to pump, his hips bucking furiously, emptying himself deep inside you. You felt the warm gush of his seed, thick and potent, filling your womb, a primal connection forged in the heat of passion.
He collapsed onto you, his body heavy and spent, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His face was buried in your neck, his dark hair damp with sweat. You lay there, beneath him, your bodies still joined, the echoes of your shared climax still vibrating through you. You still throbbed, deliciously full. You could feel his him, slowly softening inside you, but still rooted deep within your core.
He shifted slightly, lifting his head, his mismatched eyes, now hazy with spent passion, met yours. A soft, tender smile touched his lips. He reached up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your temple, a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.
“You did so good,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse, but now laced with a profound tenderness. “My pretty girl.”
You smiled back, a soft, contented sigh escaping your lips. You felt utterly consumed, utterly cherished. The chamber, once filled with tension, now held a profound peace, a quiet warmth that promised a future intertwined. The fire crackled softly, casting its amber glow over your joined bodies, a silent witness to the beginning of your shared life.
