AERION'S NEGLECTED WIFE. (valarr targaryen x reader)
just thinking about how gentle valarr would be with you every time his cousin publicly showed how little he cared for your marriage. he knows how deeply humiliating it must be to stand ignored before all those gossipy nobles. he sees the way your eyes fall in shame whenever you try to speak to your husband and he barely looks at you, barely touches you, barely acknowledges your presence.
and valarr sees it all. he suffers it in silence alongside you. too calm, too quiet, too honorable to intrude on marital matters that are not his own. yet you — a lady of immeasurable beauty, sharp of mind and tender of heart — deserve so much more than to be a forgotten shadow beside a man capable of such cruelty.
if only you were his lady wife, you would forget the aching loneliness that gnaws at you day after day.
and he would make it so. for the feelings he had long repressed for you only smoldered deeper with every passing day, every week, every moon. it was only a matter of time before the fire grew too fierce, before the honorable prince finally surrendered to his own heart.
so valarr began visiting you whenever aerion left to train or to seek someone new to torment. what began as soft words of comfort soon bloomed into tender compliments and whispered promises, until they became kisses scattered across your face like blessings.
his lips would brush your temple like a feather, then the tip of your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth… until finally he pressed the softest, most tentative kiss to your lips — so gentle you wondered if you had imagined it. he would search your eyes, silently begging for permission, knowing full well how wrong it was.
you are his cousin’s wife. he cannot have you.
yet he cannot stay away. your soft, yearning gaze — silently pleading for more affection, more of him — left him utterly lost.
his lips molded to yours in delicate little pecks, each one lingering longer than the last. his hand cupped your cheek as he tilted his head, daring to part his lips and brush his tongue gently against your lower lip — first a tender caress, then with sweet, patient insistence at the seam of your mouth.
what he could not say in words, he told you with his breath against yours — how much he admires you, how unfair it was that you had to marry aerion, how he desired you. how he wanted to steal you from his cousin's claws forever.
calling them by their government names ⸺ akotsk men!
꒰ baelor ꒱
it was morning, you were messing around at the stove making breakfast, and baelor sat at the table, buried in the news. in front of him was his usual black coffee, no sugar. on his shoulders was that same gray robe you gave him three years ago — old, but apparently his favorite.
“baelor, want me refill your coffee? black or with milk?” you asked without turning around.
the rustle of pages went quiet. he froze, then slowly looked up at you. “did i upset you or something?” there was genuine confusion in his voice.
you tilted your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. “no… why would you think that?”
“you called me by my name. twice this morning.”
“well, yeah,” you shrugged, “that’s what names are for, aren’t they?”
baelor didn’t take his eyes off you. “you never called me by my name before.”
you rolled your eyes without thinking.
“it’s not that big of a deal, baelor.” the words slipped out on their own, no second thought. you didn’t mean to make it worse, it just felt natural.
he raised a brow slightly, pushed his chair back, and stood up. in a couple of steps, he was already next to you, closing the distance.
“pardon me,” he said quietly, and that familiar spark lit up in his eyes. “guess i got too distracted if i made you forget i’m your husband. come here.”
꒰ maekar ꒱
you were getting ready to go visit his son. maekar was already fully dressed — dark tailored trousers, a fresh shirt, and that faint trail of a good perfume hanging in the air.
he was standing in front of the hallway mirror, trying to tie his tie, getting more and more irritated with every failed knot. you walked up to him gently and took the tie from his hands.
“maekar, stop moving, i’ll do it.”
while you fixed his collar, he kept watching your fingers first, then your face. after a moment he asked, quiet and a little too calm. “what did you just call me?”
“i said stop moving."
the tie was instantly forgotten. he stared at you like you’d done something absolutely outrageous.
“i’m your husband, the father of our future children, and you’re just calling me by my name? maekar?”
you blinked at him, confused, because yeah, that was his name. but he was already frowning and stepping away.
“of course. so now we’re just going to call each other that. maekar.”
he started pacing around the living room, gesturing sharply, mocking your tone under his breath. “maekar, help me. maekar, i’m tired. maekar, pick aegon up from school.”
then he stopped and looked right at you. “do you not see me as your husband anymore?”
when it was time to leave, he grabbed the keys without saying anything and waited by the door, very pointedly not looking at you. but the second you came closer, he still reached for your hand out of habit and opened the door for you, letting you go first.
because even when he was annoyed, he was still your husband.
꒰ daeron ꒱
you were sitting in a local bar, wrapped in noise and cigarette smoke. daeron was already a little drunk, fully invested in some argument about football match with an equally tipsy valarr.
when you needed salt, you just asked him to pass it. “thanks, daeron.”
he snapped his head toward you immediately. all his relaxed drunk energy just vanished, the smile dropped off his face. he froze. “huh?”
“i said thanks, daeron.”
“why are you calling me that?” his voice was genuinely confused, like you’d just spoken a foreign language.
“probably because that’s your name?”
he set his beer down with a dull thud and shook his head. “okay, sure. but that doesn’t mean you get to call me that.”
“your mom didn’t name you for nothing,” you shot back, “she probably wanted people to use it.”
“my name is babe," he said firmly, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.
“okay,” you said, barely holding back a smile, “but your name is still daeron too.”
he stared at you for a long, unblinking moment, then dramatically turned his head and scanned the packed bar.
“does anyone here go by daeron?” he called out loudly. “please hand my girl some salt, she really needs it!”
꒰ valarr ꒱
valarr already picked up his keys from the hallway table and was heading out, casually throwing over his shoulder his casual. “bye, baby.”
“bye, valarr,” you answered calmly.
he froze, then slowly turned back and just stood in the doorway, staring at you like his brain had stopped working. “valarr?” he repeated, like the word itself was offensive.
“yeah,” you shrugged, completely unbothered, “what’s wrong with that?”
he kept looking at you, shaking his head in pure confusion. “only that idiot aerion calls me that. you’ve never called me that.”
“i just thought we needed a little variety,” you said, barely hiding your smile.
he lifted a finger slowly, like he was setting a rule in stone. “bye, baby,” he said again, more firmly this time, and turned back toward the door.
“bye, valarr.”
he stopped dead. turned right back around and walked back in, locking eyes with you. “we have exactly two options. babe or my love. no valarrs.
you rolled your eyes on purpose and nodded. “fine, fine.”
“i’m leaving,” he muttered, taking a deep breath like he was trying very hard not to lose it. “bye, baby. i love you. see you later.”
“bye, valarr.”
he froze again, slowly set his keys back on the table. “nah, i’m not going anywhere.”
꒰ aerion ꒱
he was working in his home office while you were relaxing in the bedroom, stretched out on the bed.
“aerion!” you called out brightly.
fast footsteps echoed in the hallway, and a second later he basically burst into the room like he was expecting a battle. “who the fuck is aerion?” he snapped immediately from the doorway.
you tilted your head, confused, slightly frowning. "... you?"
“i have no idea who you’re talking about,” he cut in, stopping right in the middle of the bedroom.
“i need help, aeri—”
“there is no aerion in this house,” he said firmly, staring at you like it was the most obvious truth in the world.
you sat up a little and just pointed at him. “you’re literally standing right there.”
he slowly looked around the room on purpose, like he was checking corners, then shrugged. “i don’t see any aerion here.”
“that’s literally your name.”
“no. my name is babe, my love, my husband, or my dragon. i have no idea who this aerion is.”
you rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself at how serious he was pretending to be. but when he leaned down toward you, you still lifted your arms, pulling your stubborn little dragon closer anyway.
꒰ dunk ꒱
you were fixing a bike in the garage. well, more like duncan was fixing it, and you were just holding a flashlight, half-asleep already. he was crouched down, covered in oil, wearing that old tank top that said “i love my wife.” his hair was tied into a tiny messy ponytail, and there was a thick black smear across his forehead.
“duncan, are you done soon?” you asked, yawning softly. “i’m sleepy.”
he didn’t stop working on the pedal, but his shoulders suddenly dropped. like all the air had been let out of him at once.
“duncan…” he repeated under his breath. “duncan. so i’m duncan.”
he slowly sat down right on the garage floor and started wiping his hands with a rag, staring into nothing.
“what?” you asked, not getting what just changed.
“not my husband, not duncan, come here, i’m cold. just… duncan.”
“that is your name, dunk.”
he pushed himself up with effort, grabbed the bike, and slammed it lightly against the wall. “my name is everything but duncan.”
from inside the house, you heard Egg laughing, and duncan turned his head toward the sound immediately. “what are you laughing at? what’s funny? my name is babe.”
“it’s not that deep."
“it is. now i'm going to shower,” he said flatly, already walking toward the door. “if anyone asks, tell them duncan left. he had a heart stop and can no longer function.”
he disappeared, but a minute later came back, poking his head into the garage. “and duncan says don’t sit on the floor. you’ll get sick.”
masterlists! | just a quick one before 3rd pt of aerion series ::
pairings: platonic bsf! daeron targaryen & platonic bsf!fem!reader, and yearning! valarr targaryen x oblivious! fem! reader
synopsis: daeron wins the title best girlfailure in our hearts - no, i will not take any criticism on that take
a/n: a following crack to this crack but with bsf! daeron as an mc!
modern bsf! daeron who went back to university after rehab because the fucking therapist maekar pays for said 'it's important for still-budding men such as yourself to seek out their potential.'
modern bsf! daeron who was probably the oldest student in the lecture halls and seminars, sat in the back because he couldn't stand the idea of people sneaking looks at him, wondering why the familial failure still bothers to try
modern bsf! daeron who went back to his old habits of crashing frat parties and sending his liver to an early grave with whatever jungle-juice swell they decided to serve
modern bsf! daeron who blacked out, only to wake up with ice water dumped on his face as he belligerently stared at his 'savior.'
"hey, you prick!" the large blur was talking. it sounded female. "did you really think you could just fucking vomit on me, and then knock out?!"
daeron blinked. he tried to speak, but it just came out as "shhhhhhhhh."
the blur groaned before lifting him up, using her body as a resting spot for his attempt to stand. "do you at least got a phone on you?"
phone. phone... daeron thought for a bit.
"...chucked it..."
"god-fucking-dammit."
modern bsf! daeron who woke up the next day in his boxers, but wearing a soft, too-tight Hello Kitty t-shirt - oh, and a clearer image of the blur whose stare wasn't nearly as scary as maekar's, but fairly damn close
"um, miss, we didn't...um..." gods, this was fucking mortifying, "there was no-"
you pointed to the door. on the hook was a spare towel and Head-and-Shoulders 2-in-1 inside a caddy.
"you're taking a shower and paying for my dry-cleaning."
"yes, ma'am."
modern bsf! daeron who, do not ask him how, ended up with the nosiest, helicopter-y, nit-picky woman in all of Westeros as a best friend
modern bsf! daeron who couldn't be more grateful for you in his life and wouldn't trade you for anything in the world
modern bsf! daeron who still struggled with his demons - insomnia, sleep paralysis, depression, anxiety, grief, as life didn't suddenly become rainbows and gold after you barged yourself into his life - but now had you to help in making it manageable
modern bsf! daeron who dropped out of business and moved to art after you stayed when he told his father during a surprise visit that went shockingly well and tame
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...assuming no one commented on the bite marks on maekar's arm that day when he returned to the office
"say that again, you fucking boomer! say that again to my fucking face!"
"sweetie! sweetie - you made your point!"
"lemme at him, daeron! i can take him!"
modern bsf! daeron who realized in that moment, he got hit with the found family trope irl and when second-year came, asked you to be his flatmate
modern bsf! daeron who is now almost a year into his sobriety, pursuing a passion he forgot he loved, on not terrible terms with his father anymore, and isn't dreading the long vacation at summerhall for once because you'll be there bitching about everyone in the corner with him
modern bsf! daeron who got fucking hosed down in medium roast summer isles brew by his baby cousin when he innocently showed him your instagram page
modern bsf! daeron who forgot how much of a nosy brat modern! valarr was as kid and already planning on making up some long-winded tale on how your grandmother suddenly got too ill and you could no longer grace his family with your presence and you needed to go to Dorne immediately to nurse her to health
---------> you didn't have a grandmother in Dorne, but valarr didn't know that, did he?
modern bsf! daeron who was going to announce the tragic news to his family, when Egg is talking his ear off about showing you all his favorite spots in the woods, Aemon listing off his favorite parts of those new books you and daeron got him for his birthday, and the twins, Daella and Rhae, are squealing his ear off because you were so nice and you got the boys to listen and make them sit and play princess with them and - oh, seven fucking hells, he couldn't do it
modern bsf! daeron whose phone is contemplating suicide by the sheer volume of texts modern! valarr keeps sending him - all about you
valarr: she seems really quiet and polite, makes sense she'd be interested in art. do you know what specific time era she likes best? does she like romanticism or prefer post-war modernism?
daeron: valarr, it is five in the fking mornig
modern bsf! daeron who can admit, alright, if he had to lose you to any one of his family members, then he supposed he'd want it to be his younger cousin
modern yearning! valarr who was the golden prince of the targaryen dynasty, the shining heir, the eternal bright light son who could never disappoint
modern yearning! valarr who, at the very least, wouldn't ever treat you less than how you deserved and would absolutely give you the princess treatment you gushed over when reading one of your many, many romantasy books
modern yearning! valarr who could pretend all he wished, but modern bsf! daeron could see the streak of obsession in those mismatched eyes whenever he brought up your name, it was the very same one that cursed every targaryen one way or another
"hey, did you know my cousin's in your class?" daeron not-so-casually brought up during dinner one day. "maybe you've seen him?"
"hm?" you glanced up from your plate, cheeks full with food - oh, yeah... you quickly nodded and swallowed so that you didn't accidentally choke. "yeah, i think so - it was um...it's uh... valor, i think?"
gods, he tried to stop the giant shit-eating grin taking up his face - but to no avail, "yep, that's the one - so, how come you've never asked about him?"
now you were really confused, "why would i ask you about him?"
"dunno, just thought you might be curious, is all," daeron casually shrugged, relieved to know that your friendship wasn't never borne from the desire to get closer to his perfect cousin. "just wanted you to know it's okay if you do."
"yeah, not interested," you forked a piece of stir-fried broccoli into your mouth. "tries to talk to me sometimes - probably feels bad for me or something."
"what, why?"
"hell if i know - pretty sure he doesn't even know my name."
modern bsf! daeron who's now about...86% sure that his cousin's obsession with you has more to do with your lack of worshipping him, and not because he actually knew anything about you
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...no, seriously, did you have some alter ego he didn't know about? when have you ever been quiet throughout the entire time he's known you?
modern bsf! daeron who, in good conscience, couldn't let his cousin think that he'd hand over his best friend without further investigation - surely the golden prince knew that he needed to prove himself to the fair maiden
modern bsf! daeron who spied in the corner of his eye the invitiation to the same tennis championship match he and his family were invited to every year without fail, the very same that daeron hated attending because of all the attention that was forced on him
modern bsf! daeron who, if he had to suffer another year of all eyes on him, he'd at least bring someone who'd make it fun
you were coming out of the showers to wash off the sweat from your workout when you got a text from your roommate/best friend/sponsee since second-year, daeron. you checked the screen and were shocked to see the list of missed calls from the lazy dork. it was thursday - he only had the seminar, and you didn't need to pick him up until at least another hour. worry was quick to set into your bones.
was daeron hurt?
did he relapse?
did his dad know? what about his brothers?
you didn't bother drying your hair before you made a mad dash for the lockers to change. the fabric clung to your still wet skin, but all you could think about was the idea that your friend was scared or hurt or gods forbid - dead in some ditch. you burst out of the gym lockers when you called him back.
*ring* *ring* *ring* *click* "oh hey-"
"daeron! oh thank fuck! send me your location, i'm on my way -"
"you're coming with me to the Westerlings championships," dareon interrupted, sounding exhausted - the last few words were spat out like a kid needing to go to the dentist to get a cavity filled. "please..."
you stopped in your tracks, hair still dripping and slowly soaking the back of your cardigan. daeron sounded fine - tired, sure, but definitely not-injured, and most importantly, sober.
relief quickly replaced fear. sober daeron was good, safe, not dead, and... called you twenty times when he was okay and let you think he was dead in a ditch sending a quick 'hey, not dead and drunk' took too much fucking effort.
yea, anger was quick to slap relief the fuck out of you.
daeron cleared his throat, "um, hello-"
"...are you kidding me?" you spat out. "are. you. fucking. KIDDING. me?"
"ah, there she is."
"have you gone batshit mental, daeron?! you called me twenty times! TWENTY. FUCKING. TIMES! what the actual FUCK is wrong with you?"
"well, come now, darling - you already have my med list," daeron chuckled (a chuckle, the pretty-faced prick thought this was fucking funny). "you have a better idea of my ailments than me."
"i am going to beat you with a fucking pineapple, you damn prick. you-" you stopped and pinched the skin just above your nose bridge - breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out - and repeated that twice more. "this could've been a fucking text."
"and miss the chance to hear your siren voice? i could never."
straight to hell. straight to hell, you were gonna send this buffoon.
"...is the vein there?"
cheeky. fucking. bitch
"i'm moving out."
"fine, fine -but first, sit with me next week at the westerlings matches."
"daeron, i'm not interested in attending some fucking tennis match, watching two people hit a ball for hours under the sun for gods know how long-"
"-all the food is complimentary with our seats."
...fucking hells, the lout knew your weaknesses...
"can i wear my flip-flops to this?"
"not if you want everyone to call you a trollop."
you stared up at the ceiling, weighing your options - although, there really wasn't much of a choice in this, and the asshole knew that.
"...your dad's paying for my outfit."
"pick up mine while you're at it!"
modern yearning! valarr who is experiencing a new form of hell every time he looks from his seat and sees you with his cousin - the two of you, sitting together, secret smiles and soft laughter like two lovers exchanging secrets and sweet nothings
"okay, so who's that one in the pink?"
"the one looking like a pepto-bismo fever dream? or the one wearing a hat with the giant vagina?"
"giant vagina hat."
"right, so that's Talla Florent."
"ooo, what'd she do?"
"not so much as her as her husband - on the right, beer-bellied wrinkly fellow - city watch discovered an underground sex dungeon last month, they found him bound in leather and squealing like a pig."
"let me guess, her brother, cousin, or twice-removed-nephew was the one with the whip."
"all that - and she watched in the corner."
honestly, it was beyond maddening to have to watch the ardent display
modern yearning! valarr who, despite his early training in propriety and self-discipline, continues to lose more of his sanity and self-control the more he looks at you
by the mother, you looked gorgeous in white. did daeron buy you that dress? were the two of you meant to match? no, if that were the case, you'd show up wearing green - thank gods, not green. fuck, you'd look incredible in blue.
the crowd cheers as people outside their box begin to stand. kiera is clapping like mad before proceeding to shake Valarr's shoulder to get his attention, "yes! they got the point!"
"huh? what?" valarr's mismatched tore away to watch in confusion as the excitement. "who?"
"really, valarr?" kiera couldn't help but roll her eyes at her friend. honestly, this was getting ridiculous. "can you stop being jealous over your cousin for two seconds?"
"wha - i am not jealous!" a light pink dusted valarr's cheeks - something he'd later blame the heat for. "i am merely...concerned that daeron might be distracting our guest from the match."
"his guest, you mean."
"right, yeah - that's what i said."
modern yearning! valarr who, in the corner of his eye, spies you slipping out of your seat and quickly excuses himself to his father before doing the same
modern yearning! valarr who walks out the walkway, sees you make your way into the Rose Pavillion, and follows you - only to be bombarded with a flurry of elderly nanas and mothers who were desperate to introduce him to their daughters, nieces, and granddaughters.
modern yearning! valarr who barely makes his escape, only to find that he's lost you, but just before he begins pulling his hair out of his roots in frustration, he spies your familiar figure sitting all by your lonesome on a secluded bench, head down and staring intentaly at the pink 3DS XL in your hand
modern yearning! valarr who, took a deep breath, straightened his jacket and brushed off any dust off his pants, walked straight towards you with the steadfast determination of finally having a proper conversation with you
modern yearning! valarr who made a mental checklist of topics that were appropriate for the occasion
modern yearning! valarr who, if he played his cards right, could turn the feeble acquaintance between you two into something more substantial - maybe he'd finally get your number!
modern yearning! valarr who swore to himself that he'd get this right - no room for mistakes - and, with any luck, use this as the opportunity he needed to finally settle this overwhelming need to be around and know everything about you
modern yearning! valarr who stood before you, his shadow touching yours as you remained oblivious to the world - still engrossed in your game
modern yearning! valarr who couldn't help but notice the way your eyelashes curled and the shine of your lip gloss and the fullness of your bottom lip and -
- he cleared his throat to stop himself from thinking further, and accidentally broke your concentration in tandem
modern yearning! valarr who now has your full attention, just as he wanted, but with the caveat being that startling you from your game instead of just saying your name like a regular person with normal cognitive functioning was the exact opposite of how he wanted your attention and - oh shit, you were waiting for him to speak, weren't you?
"...hello."
"...hey."
"..."
"..."
"..."
you held up your 3DS, "wanna play?"
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fuck it all, modern yearning! valarr actually forgot the topic list
a/n: if you actually stayed to read this, wow - bc this got away from me and i genuinely no idea where tf i was going while writing this
dividers: @cursed-carmine - pls go her page! she has the cutest divider and border art!
pairings: aerion brightflame x female!reader x valarr targaryen
word count: 12.7k.
summary: you dreamed of a charming prince, someone who would care for you and would go through all lengths and extent to protect you, someone who will love you dearly and honorably. so when the union was decided for you and a targaryen prince, you beamed with pure bliss. you settled in king’s landing with love and marriage plaguing your head and the dreams of having a good marriage lingered, until you got to know who aerion targaryen truly was.
warning tags: nsfw. heavy dark themes. dub con. character introspections. some bonus writings of maekar and baelor. dornish!reader. she's a ray of sunshine initially?? choking. female!receiving. somnophilia. knife play kinda? manipulation. some degradation here and there, then some praises!! valarr is a sweetheart, aerion is clearly an asshole. reader is the plaything basically. porn with plot. some soft aerion if you look long enough but he's evillll hes bad hes the worst mom i want him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
requested: i fear the chokehold that aerion brightflame has on me will not be over anytime soon, but reqs are open!
naz says: i recently rewatched akotsk and boy was i even more whipped with the characters. i had some conversations with mads regarding characters and personal headcanons and just had a light bulb moment with this, loooool. everything i do now has aerion in it, im sorry!!! (not really) plsplspls let me know that you think!!!
Maekar had heard once from the maesters who revel in philosophy that change is the gods’ favorite game to play, it brings them delight, both to the old and the new, when things twist in a way that they do not even expect. It was the way of all things, as it happens all around him, whether it is slow-moving in the process or incredibly fast in pacing. Either way, there are more times when Maekar would not know how to fix certain changes, nor where to begin.
He had thought about sending his son off to the Free Cities, to give him a taste of what it would be like to live without any assistance from the crown; to have him live a life away from his royal upbringing, strip him away from the glory that sticks with their House and their family name.
Aerion.
He had loved him, as he does all his sons; but Aerion might be the only one who where he had felt the most difficulty. Maekar did not know how to express it further, his words do not go through him, his actions were mostly ignored, or worst, forgotten. He tried to validate him, tried to defend him by any means, and then he tried to discipline, some in front of the council, most times when it’s just the two of them.
Within each and every moment he disciplines Aerion, his mind would already try to think of other ways to reach for him, he could not give up on his own son, not now—not ever. He must think of other more methods where he could finally meet him where he is, and when his son would do well, that would be the only time he could ever fully breathe.
“While that is a good plan, brother, I’m afraid there could be some disadvantages at present.” Baelor said to him, flipping a page on one of the books he picked up from the dusty shelves. They have arrived in King’s Landing four days ago, and they had already heard concerning reports of Aerion’s activities outside the gates.
Maekar exhaled, and Baelor thinks his own brother has been aging more rapidly now, “Every plan has its flaws, what the fuck would you have me do, then?” he retorted, with a clear sign of frustration painted on his face.
Baelor closed his book and regarded Maekar with his full, undivided attention, “It would be troublesome to have him over to the Free Cities, unattended—he had already been causing you headaches now, with you and I watching over him, yet he remained as he is.” He threaded carefully, mindful of the words and how he would describe his blood, not wanting to call Aerion as what he is: mad, violent, ruthless, and cruel—as he knew it would reflect poorly on Maekar, the weight of those words already carried such a burden that it would only trigger his brother to spiral even lower.
Maekar thinks he could join Aerion, but he could never disregard his other sons too, Daeron and Aegon. Daeron was never within his control even more so when Daeron had gotten a taste of alcohol and what it could do with the dreams he speaks of, but the worst thing he had seen on his eldest was passing out at every random place, completely drunk out of his wits. He was destructive, but never violent, the only chaos he could put was towards himself—Maekar thinks he could worry about him at a later time.
“You know I did all that I can, all that is within my capacities, Baelor.” Maekar started, sinking lower into his own chair as he looks ahead, he knew he had run out of resolutions but he couldn’t sit still and let the gods flip whatever fucking coin they have, nor leave the changes to the nature—his son would either be a good man, or Maekar would inevitably lose him to madness.
He did not sleep a wink that very same night, his thoughts about Aerion kept plaguing him that it never leaves his own head. In this point of time, his best course of action is to send him off to Lys.
So when a letter arrived from Dorne, containing a proposal of union, Maekar would immediately seek for Baelor’s advise. He had caught his brother slouched on the table, writing a letter to send with the raven, performing his duties as the Hand of the King even at the late hour.
“This could be good, for him.” He tossed the paper towards Baelor, and the brown-haired man could only stop writing, setting his quill aside as he reads through the paper from Maekar.
Baelor pondered, weighing a good number of possibilities and hundreds of consequences, after a while, he could only raised his eyebrows, “I certainly hope you do not think of passing the responsibility of bending Aerion into a kinder person to an innocent girl, Maekar.” He rolls the piece of paper before placing it before him, back on the table.
“We have had our fair shares of mishaps in our youth, brother.” He responds, taking a seat in front of Baelor, placing himself across from the Hand, “And when I met Dyanna..” he shook his head, remembering the good and love-filled days he had when his wife still resides by his side.
Baelor sighed, not completely against the idea of Aerion’s betrothal, as his heart and soul was once captured by a woman too, a Dornish woman at that, “This could either go right, or incredibly wrong, Maekar.” He stands, walking over to his brother to place a hand on his shoulder, “I trust your decisions, whichever you see is best for Aerion.”
Maekar’s heart settles on his throat, the air he has been holding in his lung felt even heavier as he dissects the repercussions of a wedding. It could do him good, it could make Aerion’s behavior be directed upwards, make him more honorable—or he could drag the woman down with him.
Aerion woke up with the glare of the sun sitting on his closed eyes, followed by a loud banging of the windows as well as the abrupt pull on the blanket, tearing it off of him. There were noises, some loud gasps and then some hurried movements—most of which he cannot see, for he had mostly kept his eyes shut, sleep still lingers on his eyes when he had tried to prop them open.
It was Maekar who greeted him first thing in the morning, behind him were the whores he had taken home from the evening prior. He smiled at his father, unfazed with his permanent look of complete disappointment, he had forgotten what Maekar looked like on a good day at this point, “Good morrow, Father. Have you gotten confused? This is not the dining hall nor Uncle Baelor's chambers.” He murmured, before stuffing his face on the soft and pristine pillows laying next to his head.
Maekar cleared his throat, “We came here to make a good impression as visitors, Aerion. Do not put any more shame into our family.” He started his routine, and Aerion chose to close his eyes once again, already entertaining the idea of getting more sleep, undisturbed with how the sun sets too high, signifying it must have been close to noon. Still, he managed to push words out, “Rest assured I am anything but putting shame, Father. You can ask the pretty girls you scared off.” He smiled against the cushion as his voice came out muffled, not even daring to cover his nude body.
“Get dressed.” Maekar pulled on his shoulder, forcing Aerion to face his father, actively snatching him away and farther from getting more sleep. The younger boy grunts in response, yawning in front of Maekar’s face, making it sound as louder as he could, in hopes that his obvious hints could get through the older man.
“For?” he blinks, clearing his vision out from the immediate blur upon waking. He thinks his body felt heavier, or that the bed was egging him to lay down once again as he struggles to keep his body straight.
“We have a guest from Dorne. I need you in your best condition.” Maekar announced, taking his seat on the edge of Aerion’s mattress. A calm and prominently worried expression crossed his face.
Aerion could not fathom how it had anything to do with him, and why he had to know of it first thing in the morning. He knows his father cared about formalities, Baelor’s kind courtesies must have rubbed off on him, “You and Uncle would be plenty enough for a welcome, Father.” He rubbed his eyes this time, getting more and more awake by each second.
“You need to be there, son.” The last word rung on Aerion’s ear, it was his cue to take his father’s word seriously, for a couple of minutes at maximum, that is. He pulls the blanket towards him, now conscious enough to cover his body.
“A young woman from Dorne will be coming, and I need you to meet her.” Maekar spoke slowly, and in the surface, it felt like he had more to say, a finishing blow, a finality.
Aerion waits long enough before mustering a response, “And? Fetch some maids to tend to her then—”
“You will be wed to her.” Aerion’s mouth hangs loosely, before his eyebrows curled, creating a deep wrinkled line across his forehead.
He blinked for a few moments, unable to fully comprehend what was mentioned, “I beg your pardon?” he knew what the words meant, the weight it carried, and its implications, still, he thought he must have dozed off once more and this was nothing but a fragment of his dreams.
Maekar stood, brushing the hem of his clothes with his flat palms, “Baelor and I will be waiting in the common room. Do not disappoint me further, boy. I’ve already had my fucking fill from you.” Then he walked away, swinging the door shut behind him when he exits, the wood loudly banging.
Aerion sits completely still. The prospect of marriage was not entirely new to him, but he didn’t think it would come along this soon. He was not bothered, nor annoyed with the arrangement—more confused. He couldn’t exactly see himself to be a husband, though he assumes nothing would be entirely different, they only had to perform their duties in front of their families. At the end of the day, he could still fill his heart to its content with activities he finds endearing.
A Dornish woman, huh?
He raises an eyebrow in contemplation. He would be lying if he denies the developing anticipation and excitement that seeps from his bones, he had wondered what it would be like to face a woman from Dorne—as he had only been surrounded by the pale women near the King’s Landing, most of them from pleasure houses, all of them captivated by his silver-hair and Targaryen name, each would be all ready for a taste of him, eager to please, or to appease the dragon within.
Playing along will be the safest gamble, he thought. He could not care much for the politics and the marriage arrangements his father works on, could not care where the woman would come from, if Maekar and Baelor sees it positively, and is certain that it could help to strengthen the House across the realm, then it must be a good bargain.
When he recovers from the ultimate shock and the morning contemplation of getting betrothed, he felt thirsty, the wave of pain now washes over his head—a clear sign of his consumption from the evening that passed, he calls to the maid and ordered to be served water, before he wills himself to the sink, submerging his face to the cold water, rendering himself fully awake.
He had taken some time to scan his clothes, then he thinks it wouldn’t really matter—what he is, and who he is will not make much of a difference. This Dornish girl and her family must have arranged the union based on his lineage, on the power that comes with their name. She should be appearing in her best graces, not the other way around, because why the fuck would he care about this?
To wed an actual prince would be one of the happiest moments in a girl’s life. They are kind, chivalrous, handsome, honorable and crafted beyond perfection. Songs would say they would be saving a princess in every distress, and there would be love at first glance, eventually sharing a sweet kiss, a promised sealed within, the promise of living the rest of their days in complete bliss—locked away in their own castle with nothing but devotion and adoration to keep them bound, for life.
When you heard that Prince Maekar has answered to your Father’s letter sent by a raven, commending the union to be generous and exceptional, before confirming the decision to wed you to his second-born son, a man named Aerion—you almost leapt out of joy.
He would be the perfect prince! Prince Baelor was King Daeron’s hand and Prince Maekar was as honorable, and you could only picture yourself living in the quarters with your husband-to-be, and he will fetch you sweet cake, and the most ravishing cups of wine and marbled meat. His high status would tell you that he truly is one of a kind. You wanted to rush to your chambers and immediately gather all of your things, stuff them into boxes and take the earliest route to King’s Landing.
You learned that Aerion was well-versed in weaponry and swordsmanship, as he was said to join the lists for tourneys, winning against well-known knights, regardless of their previous matches and victories—Aerion would still win. You could already recall and envision the tales about handsome princes dressed as the knight in shining armor—he could fight for you, protect you with all his might and he wouldn’t be able to breathe well if you’re within any sight of danger.
You would giggle, imagining a faceless man with a silver hair tucking away the strands of your hair onto the back of your ear. He would sing you songs, he would show you his sheer power in fighting, he could tell you his adventures and recollections of tourneys, and you would listen to him talk until the sun sets and darkness breaks among the skies.
He would show you around the castle, carry you in his arms when the path is too wet, bring you flowers freshly gathered from the garden. He would adore you, and he would defend you and you could kiss him; you would see him in every waking hour and you will still see him before you close your eyes to dream before bed.
The wedding will be grand. Nothing short of drab and rushed, it will be the wedding of the history. A prince of his standing would never do something ordinary or nowhere near plain, you can see yourself wearing the most beautiful dress, beaded with gold and gemstones and all of it would glimmer when it stands against the light.
You would practice your smile, in front of the mirror, practicing giggles and laughs when he talks and shares a good memory. You wanted to be good for him, and you wanted to be beyond adequate, you wanted to be everything he could ever want.
Your mother would remind you to be calm and kind, above all things, and not to make haste of the arrangement, for there will be more than enough time before the wedding itself—you should get to know him, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what makes him happy, what makes him angry, what makes him sad.
There was already a long list of questions you wanted to ask him, all created in the purpose of getting to know him more, whilst revealing some pieces of yourself to him. You wanted him to see every goodness within you, so you curated a list of events you can recall from your younger days, in hopes he’d have something similar, and the conversation would extend from there.
When you arrived at King’s Landing, you were immediately met by a dark-haired man, with a few streaks of white hair that sits just above his ear, and you spared a glance at the man next to him, a spitting image of the man with the beard, only younger and smaller in stature, yet with the same streaks of white-colored hair, swaying among the darker locks of brown.
As if on cue, the knights to your left spoke loudly, “You stand in the presence of Prince Baelor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm and the Next in Line to the Iron Throne.” The man you had been eyeing offered a short nod. “His brother, Prince Maekar, Prince of Summerhall.” The older man with a stunning hair in all silver-white offered a grunt, his expression completely unreadable as he scans you from your head to your toe.
“Their sons: Prince Valarr Targaryen, and Prince Aerion Brightflame.” The knight continued, addressing the younger men now as they stood awkwardly, their gaze locked and pierced you.
The dark-haired one with kinder eyes threaded forward, “King’s Landing welcomes you,” he spoke, and you thought he held the gentlest voice and thoughtful words.
“Cousin.” Before you could greet Valarr back, another man had already approached, cutting the simple exchange short, “We have been waiting, princess.” Prince Aerion, you figured, with his striking gaze and generous smile. He had a deeper voice than Valarr, you noticed, and he had sounded more cheerful.
You smiled in response, offering the sweetest one that you had practiced in front of the mirror, “My prince,” you offered a curt bow, acknowledging the two of them who had welcomed your arrival in the warmest way.
His smile completely captivated you, he had an air of confidence in his strides yet he spoke kindly, and he never peeled his gaze away. You did great, it seems, the prince couldn’t move away from you, it was by then that you missed the worried glances between Baelor and Maekar.
Prince Baelor spoke, “Let’s leave the princess for now and allow her a personal time. Valarr, fetch the maids and the guards to tend to her things.” He sounded commanding, and you think he’s fitting to be the King’s hand, and one day he would rule all of the seven kingdoms.
“I shall take her to her room.” Aerion turned to face the older princes, who sits next to each other now, “The King’s Landing is a spectacle, I would not want her lost on her way.”
Maekar was quick to react, “Aerion, the guards can—”
“Let me, Father. She will be my wife soon, as you say. We must get more acquainted.” Aerion turned his back away from you as he answers to his father, and it was the only time you had to move your gaze away from his impressive eyes.
He had been wearing an attire fit for the royalty. The red coat further accentuates his paler complexion, and it blended well with the color of his hair. You had pictured him taller, yet the way he carried himself, with polite etiquette and mindful manners, you see him perfect, still.
Aerion turned to face you once more, “We must go, princess.” He uttered before leading the way, opening the door for you as he goes, revealing a hall that looked almost empty.
He had offered small talks, stories about King’s Landing, the preparations for the upcoming tourney, and how he would be joining. He mentioned having his own armor, and a personally crafted helm that fits him well, and how he holds it with pride and honor whenever he wears it in a joust.
You stared at the walls, some of the walls were sculpted deeper, most of which had holes and it allowed sunlight to crawl from outside, gently lighting the otherwise dim halls. There were metals on some of its foundation, meant to hold torches for nighttime and no other source of light would be accounted for. The castle was quiet, aside from the footsteps of both maids and guards, a penny would drop and everyone within the mile would be able to hear it.
The young prince stopped in front of the door, and he opened it, motioning for you to walk in first before him and you followed, walking over to the center of the chambers before you hear the door closing. The bed was large enough to warm at least two people, there were small tables, candle holders on the furniture next to the bed.
“The rest of your things shall be here before supper.” He spoke, and you feel him walking closer; you grew nervous and admittedly self-conscious. It was not entirely common for you to be inside a room, accompanied by a man—and this very same man will be your husband in the coming days.
You turned to face him, with the practiced smile and the sweetest voice you could ever make, “Thank you, Your Grace. I truly app—”
You were welcomed by a set of digits wrapped around your neck in a single breath, holding it tight. You struggled, eyes widening due to shock and the unexpected turn of events; he changed, everything about him simply did, or perhaps he had been playing pretend since then. The kind smile he had before you got into your room was long gone, switched by something sinister and dark, he kept an upward turn on his lips but it never really reaches his eyes. You choked, your own pair of hands surrounds him, wordlessly begging to him to let go.
“My betrothed,” he whispers, his hand remained firm and tight around your throat and he never loosened, not even when you were already fighting his hold with all of your might, “well, not quite there yet, I suppose.” You trashed before him, the air you inhale through your nose grows thinner in each passing moment, “soon enough, you and I will be wedded.”
You held onto his shoulder, digging your nails against his thick coat, wishing it could pierce through the material and sink into his skin in an instant, and he leans forward, taking a long sniff of your hair that dangled the closest on your face, “I won’t let my wife-to-be dishonoring me, not when you just set foot in here, hm?” he uttered, dangerously low while his words carried enough weight as each of them falls off from his mouth, “You had to look at Valarr first—do you want him, then? You want him more than me?” he places his cheek against yours, rubbing it gently, “Have you already decided to back away from our marriage, the moment you saw him?” he questioned, and you could only release harsh wheezes as he kept his hand locked on your neck, its grip unwavering and relentless.
When he sees the tears threatening to fall from the corner of your eyes, he finally lets go, his face now displays a plain worry and filled with so much care, like he had seen his most precious possession getting a small nip or scratch, “My beloved..” he was quick to envelope his arms around your weak form.
You ended up on the floor, collapsing, naturally, after breathing thin air and fighting off the strongest urge to fall limp and surrender to sleep; you were light-headed, and you held your head weakly. His arms were around your body but it was nowhere close the strong grip he had on your neck, and so you easily pushed him off, “What are you—”
He hushes you, calming you down as you still catch your breath, the tears already fell from your eyes as you looked at him with pure disdain, “It will be okay, my love. You will be good for me, I know you will be good for me.” Aerion places a palm on your head, caressing you as he comforts you still, but the single touch of his skin felt like it burns you.
You wanted to get away, you wanted to stray away to wherever it is that is the farthest from him. You can’t be with Aerion, this was no prince as he falsefully posed, he was a cruel.
“Leave me be!” you pushed him, garnering a small strength as you fight him off, he stumbled on the ground and lost balance on his footing, but Aerion only chuckled.
“I’m afraid I can’t, my love.” He whispered, “We will be wedded soon.” He takes his time in trying to approach you again, Aerion is at a great advantage as you still feel the color drained out of your body when he blocked your airway, “There will be no other way but to be together.” he continued, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before standing on his feet.
“I shall see you in evening’s supper, princess.” Aerion casually mentions, his carefree mask once again sticks itself on his face, his dark expression was switched with that sweet smile you thought you liked about him, before he makes his way out of the door.
You felt caged. Alone and helpless.
It all happened too quickly, with a single turn, the honorable prince and formidable knight you’ve spent days thinking about was nowhere in sight. You felt foolish, for not catching it as immediately as you could. You recalled what happened when the Targaryens welcomed you, in search for a sign, for anything, that might have been so obvious if only you weren’t fantasizing about him. But it was clear, he was practiced, a performer of sorts, he couldn’t let himself go when he is among his father, nor when he’s in front of the Hand.
You didn’t know where else to go, who to speak with, you’ve grown feeling so isolated, despite being surrounded by their initial warmth. Everyone must have been the same. Each one of them must have been hiding a second skin, a well-crafted mask. You’re all alone and away from home, and your skin burned, where Aerion’s hand was previously on, you knew it would create a mark; he gripped on your neck like he had every intention to kill, to stop you from breathing.
There were footsteps from outside, pacing in the halls, and you rushed to the door to simply lock it, “Princess.. I have your belongings.” It was a maid, and there was a relief, but only for a brief moment, you thought Aerion would still be outside, waiting, seizing a chance where he could get ahold of you once more and you were terrified of him.
“Leave it by the door, please. I shall tend to it later.” You uttered, placing your mouth as close as you could towards the door, hoping the maids can hear you clearly, “Please let Prince Maekar and Prince Baelor know that I could not join on the evening’s supper.. I am not feeling quite well.” You faked a cough, and tried to sound sickly, “I only wish to have more rest, please send my apologies.”
“Of course, princess.” There were sounds of boxes being placed on the floor, and quickly followed by more footsteps walking away before disappearing completely.
You heaved a huge sigh of relief, you wanted to lock yourself in the room for as long as you can hold out; but you must think of your duties, of the name and honor you carry, you must think of the arrangement you accepted. You must not bring shame to your house and your family by refusing to see what’s beyond your chambers, perhaps there could be more ways where you could still enjoy your time and to gain Prince Maekar’s favor, but only if Aerion is nowhere to be found.
“What the fuck did you do?” Maekar slammed his fist against the oak table, rage already setting in and seething across his face while Aerion remains seated, cutting through the roasted duck with his knife.
He was in an exceptionally good mood, considerably, during supper; has not been misbehaving in all sorts and no concerning news ever made it to Maekar and Baelor’s ears—still the Dornish princess not being in attendance sent an undeniable irk to the older princes.
Aerion chewed slowly, meeting Maekar’s gaze with a casual shrug, “I merely showed her to her chambers, Father.” He answered, before turning back to his meal, the utensil scraping loudly against his plate while he stops himself from displaying any form of amusement.
The priceless look on your face when his hand latched on your neck lays vivid in his head, it was the pure look of horror and he had been coming up with more ways he could devise a plan in order to reform you. It was nothing personal, really, you walked into King’s Landing with such exquisite smile and good graces. You had the kind manners that his father had always wanted to impose on him, you spoke in polite words and you carry a light with you that could easily illuminate each room you get yourself into.
He felt himself annoyed at that.
Royalty breeds excellence, as they say. The castle has had enough people filling up to that spot, of people who’s highly regarded because of their leveled morals, sympathy and overall character. Aerion wanted to break you, make you obedient but only to his rules and his ways, he needs you pliant enough that he could easily command you whenever he pleases. King’s Landing did not need any more people who have been reduced to be an ordinary person just to cater the demands of the people—seemingly forgetting that they are dragons, that they are born from the fire and blood. While it is true that Baelor and Valarr are considerably good—
Ah, Valarr.
He remembers the way your eyes landed on Baelor first, of course, he is the Hand of the King and the heir to the Iron Throne. He must always be regarded first, but then you moved to Valarr. His cousin, said to be the gentlest one, cut from the same cloth where Baelor was made. He had been raised with such tenderness and care that people inevitably thinks his softness were his charms.
But did you had to look at him like that?
Your eyes were twinkling lightly, but surely you must have known that you have been delivered to the House Targaryen with the promise of a union in a form of marriage—surely, you must know what your arranged husband would look like. Did you think it was him? Did you think you are betrothed to this perfect picture of a prince charming when you faced Valarr?
He wanted to make an impression, greet you with the warmest welcome he could ever show, but reads shock from your face and then it was gone too quickly before it could ever fully manifest, changed by something he couldn’t distinguish. Was it disappointment? Were you expecting something else, something different? Did you not want him?
“The princess must have felt unwell from her travels, brother. Leave her be. Aerion was kind enough to show her the way to her room.” Aerion was pulled away from his train of thought when Baelor’s voice rung in the dining hall, looking across the table with a cup of wine on his hand, his face seemed to plead for more understanding from Maekar.
“I shall see her tonight, be more certain of her current condition and see to it that she gets the rest that she requires.” Aerion broke the silence that followed after Baelor, he brings his own cup to his mouth to cleanse his palate by swallowing a large swig of wine.
With one final look on each person among the dining table, Aerion brings himself up and traversed across the hall. His steps are careful and deliberate, while his mind burns with a newfound excitement. Aerion was already seeking with a plethora of excuses to see you once more when he parted with you earlier in the mid-afternoon, and it was both a blessing and a curse to have Maekar’s distrust served on the table.
His father was right to assume he had done something, but he’d rather spare him with the details.
Aerion knocked softly against your door, twice, before he pushed his body against the wood in hopes to prop it open. It was locked, but thankfully, he had learned a thing or two when it comes to barging into chambers unannounced, he had done it first with his brother, Aegon, and it ended swiftly with his knife aimed in between his legs and Aegon in tears and quiet sobs.
He successfully breaks in, with a calculated twist and turn of his knife on the gap he found at the door, then he seeks for you in an instant. Underneath the dimmed embers brought by a small candle that’s slowly withering, he finds your figure laying on the bed, fast asleep.
Considering the tribulations that you might have endured in order to come to King’s Landing, he wanted to grant you a little bit of his kindness by allowing you some sleep. He did approach your bed, however, to make sure for himself that you really were asleep and not cheating your way out of him by pretending to be deep in slumber.
But when he looked at your form, resting in complete tranquility, glancing at your chest to study your gentle and stable breaths, he was convinced. He instinctively reached his hand to caress your head, hoping it will lull you deeper into sleep. Aerion realizes he finds you pretty. Even prettier now that your guards are completely disarmed, no pretensions that concerns looking presentable and graceful. He likes you like this—raw, natural, you almost looked serene.
He lowered his gaze on your body, your garments must have slid lower, showing him more than necessary as the fabrics lay in disarray for when you were tossing yourself on the bed. Soft and smooth skin, and you looked so vulnerable and so careless in front of him. He bent his fingers, allowing it to touch your warm skin while his eyes could only watch for any shifts in your expressions.
The knife that he was holding onto had made its way into his belt, silently sheathing it before he moves to cup his own cock from his trousers. He had not expected this, he knew he prefers to ogle at you as you remain clueless but he did not anticipate the way his cock would twitch. Aerion pulled the blankets lower, eager to see more of what you had to offer. You jerked, and you crossed your eyebrows before pulling the blankets closer to your body.
He retreated his hand, but with that sudden movement, it only made the outline of your breast much more noticeable now. With a quick unbuckling of his belt, he easily willed his cock to spring free from his garments, locking his length within his fist.
It felt rough against his hand, or that he was holding it too firm. He brings his hand closer to his mouth and spat. He felt mad, thinking that you could wake up any minute now and it would be completely unprompted, and you’ll see him towering over your body while he fucks his own fist.
Then he felt shameless, and quite pathetic. He felt incredibly stupid with trying to pleasure himself when he could just take you, to disturb the slumber you have gotten yourself into. You will be wedded soon, and it should not be a problem to start with coupling now, rather than later, should it? Besides, he knows you would keep your mouth shut, you would let him do it and you will be obedient enough to do as he says. You will be good for him.
Aerion tried to steady his labored breathing, his wet spit smothered on his cock while the leaking tip glistened against the small amount of light source, he grunted, as quiet as he could do, but it eventually got to a point when he had nothing else to think about but to cum. He needs it, he needs to chase whatever high he was trying to get himself into now that he has started it.
His rough hand made its way on your leg, gripping firmly, uncaring of what you would feel when you see him in front, positioned just like this—and it jolted you awake, Aerion pumps his cock even faster now when he sees you were awake.
There were no other pleasantries, no other snide remarks he could come up with, and he garnered no reaction at all when your face twisted in a fright, “Aerion,” you stammered and your gaze flew immediately at his nudity.
He felt his head falling backwards on a whim, the sound of your voice was more than sufficient to push him closer towards the edge and Aerion directed his length closer to your face, “This will be easier if you would help, princess.” Even speaking felt too harsh and required a handful amount of effort from him as he breathes out.
Aerion never gave you the time to process the matters currently unfolding in front of you, since he started to unsheathe his own dagger only to point right at your pulse that lays under the skin of your neck, “Hold it, princess. You must serve your husband, after all. Make me feel good, hm?” he finds it adorable that you immediately retracted away from his knife, and even more captivating when he sees just how fast tears could form in your eyes.
Your careful hands hesitantly reached for his cock, mirroring just the way he was holding it moments ago, gripping on it softly as you start your pace. Aerion smirks, pleased with the display of obedience from you once more, “Do it fast, princess. You will be nice and make me cum, you hear me?” his tone remained calm and controlled, and you would immediately comply, not because you wanted to, but because the sharper end of his dragger was drilling deeper into your skin, and with just one movement, he would easily cut a wound open.
Aerion throws his dagger somewhere on your bed and resorted to holding onto your shoulder, holding on for dear life as he grunts unabashedly, he couldn’t care about what he looks like right now, nor what he sounds like as he could only think about your hand wrapped around him, with your movement gradually increasing in pace. He could tell you were nothing like the whores who usually kept matters involving his cock occupied, your hands are clearly shaky and the look on your face tells him that you could either be disgusted, ashamed and utterly confused.
“Fuck, hm,” he was bucking his hips lightly, leaning more towards your hand as he closes his eyes, he could feel it in his tongue—he was so, so close, until he hears you sobbing, Aerion spared you a glance and he could see tears falling from your eyes.
He did not feel any remorse, rather, he felt it was the ultimate push he could ever need as his cock starts spilling outward. Strings of white fluid shoots out from the tip and landing graciously on your chest, some of it were caught on your chin and Aerion chuckled, gods, if he could only have you painted with his cum dripping from your chin, he would do anything to preserve this memory.
The after-effect was as immediate as he imagined it would be, you moved away from him, willed yourself to sit on the other end of the bed—the farthest away from him. He sees you helpless, and he almost felt bad, almost, but he still burns from the high he just chased and there was no other feeling he could think about other than bliss.
Aerion quickly fixed himself, tucking his length within his breeches and tidying himself by wiping the beads of sweat that had been forming on his scalp, dripping towards either temples. He cleared his throat, a straight smile formed on hips before he licks the side of his mouth. You looked so terrified of him, and he never wanted that, but you’ll get used to it—he knows you’ll grow fond of him soon.
You were so far from his reach, and it was almost adorable how much you wanted to make yourself look smaller, bending your knees against your chest as you shiver with every move he makes. Aerion clears his throat, thinking of some time you can spend in solitude by leaving, or to savor the time he had you all to himself.
“You shall be at peace now,” He begins, eyeing your form more meticulously now that he had come down from his climax, his body and temperament returning to its base levels. “as I would never hurt you, my princess. You and I shall be one soon, and I cannot have my wife,” he gestured at you with his hand, “behaving as this.”
Aerion drags his leg over the bed, crawling closer to you as the sheets wrinkle more under his added weight, “Have I made myself plain?” he finally finishes his words with a simple question, and a grip on one of your knees.
There was no room for protests, not that he would even consider whatever it is you have to say, he expects you to be as you are now, quiet, submissive and dutiful. He sees you giving a quick glance at his dagger placed on the bed, exactly where he threw it, and there was a flash of horror setting in your pair of eyes. He clicks his tongue before retrieving his weapon, “Worry not, I have no need for this any further,” Aerion mutters, kneeling on top of the mattress now as he pushes the dagger into his pocket, “not tonight, to say the least.”
He stared at your face, then willing his hand towards you, gathering a small amount of cum on his thumb before he shoves it inside your mouth, “You shall know what I have to do if you breathe a word of this to another person,” Aerion heard you gagged lightly as you take his thumb further into your mouth, “I’ll have your fucking tongue for that, hm?”
The warmth of the sun greeted as you step out of the castle for a change of scenery. Horses neighed right outside the castle gates while the squires brushed on their hair and filling up their rations of food; the sweet scent of sun-baked hay and straw hung in the air, along with the earthy notes of the wet soil.
It was different, but preferable, on this moment alone, compared to the thick and suffocating air that seemed to choke you the more you stay within your chambers. You couldn’t hide in so long, cannot keep yourself locked up inside the walls and resting for what felt like eternity buried within your sheets.
Aerion did not come to visit, after what he had done two nights ago, stroking his cock right in front of your face and feeding his load when he finished. You couldn’t sleep well enough after those nights, terrified to have yet another visit from the young prince, and even more fearful of what else he could do while he resides within your room.
You had taken a hot bath when he departed, requested help from the maids to bring you water and to keep it at a highest temperature as you see fit. You wanted to erase his touch, you wanted to scrub your skin as hard as you could, especially on the parts he had touch—you felt disgusted. There was a certain point that you wanted to burn the insides of your mouth with the hot water, to get rid of his taste, but it will forever linger in your mind, and you cannot do much else with that.
A strong pair of arms grabbed your lithe body, and you have come to the realization that you have been walking mindlessly across the lot. The merchants and the ladies standing right outside their vibrant pavilions stared at you, with wonder and curiosity. You turned your head to see who was holding you, and it was Valarr—worry and concern splitting on his face.
“I dare not to conclude your capacities,” he uttered, and you felt painfully conscious of the close proximity, so you moved away and cleared your throat, “but you were about to block the horse’s path and it can seriously grant you immense pain and injuries. Are you feeling well?”
You were caught off guard, unaware that you have been diving deeply into your sentiments that you completely forgot to put any regards with your surroundings, “I am well. Thank you.” You stammered, giving him a polite smile as you answered, still mindful of putting a certain distance between the two of you.
“You were hauled up in your chambers a while, princess. Have you not taken a liking on King’s Landing?” Valarr sparks a conversation, the handiwork of his armor shines under the sun, its ridges were much more pronounced now that you see it at a closer glance, the three-headed dragon bled with a faint red carved into the metal.
A wave of panicked crossed your emotions, you worry he would mention such a thing to Prince Baelor. “King’s Landing has been lovely, my prince.” you smiled bright, because it was, though it was very different from the beauty of Dorne, it certainly has its charm, “I meant no offense with my absences, and I was merely pondering certain matters in private.”
“Ah..” he nods, squinting as he looks around, and you had a proper look of the white streaks of hair within the mid-section of his head, you had the very urge to hold it, to touch it with your fingertips, “Is it my cousin, Aerion? I had known that Uncle Maekar accepted the generous proposal of union.”
There was a pause as you come up with answer, torn between admitting your discomfort, or to start a lie that it has been the best thing—one thing is certain, you will never mentioned what Aerion did, “A bit.. simply because I could not read him.” It was a vague response, you thought, but hoping it would suffice.
He nods, locking his gaze on you, “Hm, Aerion can indeed be.. difficult.” He starts, a small smile crafted on his lips as he answered, “I suppose no one can fully comprehend the kind of thoughts that gets into his head. Both our fathers tried, then his brothers too—we all failed.” Valarr releases a dry laugh at that.
“I thought he would be kinder.” Your mouth was faster than your head, “What I meant was—”
“Fear not, I understand, and what you share now shall remain between us alone.” He motioned the path with his hand, offering a brisk walk as he encouraged you to talk some more.
Naturally, there is a hesitation. A growing distrust has flowered from within since the horror you’ve seen from Aerion, yet a small voice in your head also thinks it would not be fair to paint them all in the same hue; Maekar treats you in a civilized manner, though he is very curt when providing answers, he does not do anything else that would push you further, as well as Baelor, both of the older princes were nothing but kind.
Valarr exhales a gentle air, he speaks with utter politeness, and his eyes remained genuine ever since, not like Aerion’s unreadable pair, “I dreamed to be bonded by love through marriage, I yearned for a caring husband who would be both gentle and charming towards me. Aerion is, however,”
“Does not have much to offer?” he speaks, the pacing of your steps remained as leisurely as it could be, several patrons bowed to acknowledge Valarr when they come across him in his path, and he would always offer a short nod in return.
You were silent, refusing to look at anything else but your pair of feet threading on moist soil, you worry of the dirt that could get on your skin, and you also think of how vulnerable you felt upon speaking with the prince. It wasn’t that Aerion does not have much to offer, he acknowledges you and your mere existence, it was that his offers were completely different from what you asked for.
“I shall hope he could be more at ease, though my words would not carry much weight.” Valarr answered, stopping in front of a certain tent, “Here. Go inside, get your mind off of things for a little while.” He offered, and you were welcomed by a crowd of people enjoying themselves among the noise, several hands were carrying cups of wine.
You almost laughed at Valarr’s attempt at comfort, finding it both amusing and endearing. Although you don’t necessarily choose to drown in wine, you suppose it was a time to try it out.
Little did you know, Aerion watched as you and Valarr walked alongside each other. He was straddling his horse; his Draconic helm might have hidden the brewing rage but his eyes remains fixed on your smile as he looked through his visor.
“Get a good night sleep, princess.” Aerion had heard from outside before the door opened, the voice was undeniably Valarr’s, the smooth and gentle cadence of his voice were the most distinguishable—far from the commanding tones from both of their fathers.
He gets to his feet and paced towards the door to meet his cousin and of course, you, the only person he looks forward seeing. “Why must the night end so abruptly at that?” Aerion had opened the door, and your flustered face came into view, eyes slightly widened when Aerion swung the door open. Valarr’s cheeks were somewhat reddish too, but he appears to be much more composed than you are.
“Cousin.” The brown-haired prince uttered, somewhere between a greeting and an announcement. Aerion mouth stretch into a straight smile before nodding, taking a step backwards to allow them some room before they step in, “Why are you in her room?”
Aerion didn’t like the hint of accusation dripping from Valarr’s words, he had not been doing anything wrong as of late, not yet, that is—but him being inside your room should not be within any of his concern, you are to be Aerion’s wife, after all. “Inside my wife’s chambers, you ask?”
“There has not been any wedding yet, nor a plan for when it shall take place.” Valarr pushes himself forward, shielding you away from Aerion as he keeps you supported behind him, “Leave at once, Aerion. She should be in bed.” The swirling on Valarr’s head brought upon by multiple rounds of wine disappeared quickly, much to his delight, he could not just sit simply and let Aerion have his way.
“I am aware,” Aerion then reached for Valarr’s arm and dragged him towards the center of the room, “but the marriage shall happen anytime soon—I know it.” He proceeded to grab you by the arm, dragging you to the bed before roughly pushing you towards the mattress.
Aerion did consider that Valarr would eventually tell both Maekar and Baelor of how he treats the Dornish princess who was entrusted with House Targaryen to take on the role of a wife, but he had found a way to keep Valarr’s mouth shut, and to keep him from running his mouth. He thought his plan would work, that Valarr would eventually agree—he would like this, who would not?
It was not that he had been developing certain fantasies over the years, he had not enough room and time in the past years. Aerion mostly think of dragons even before, and even more so recently as he grows stronger—he was convinced he was a dragon. But when you arrived, that was when the thoughts have taken a complete and absolute turn. Whether it was for the good or for the worst—he was not sure yet.
Aerion then locked the door, itching to finally have the room for their privacy and without any knights or maids pacing outside on the halls.
“Of course, I only care about the princess’ safety—that is why you and I are here, Valarr.” Aerion continued, standing next to his cousin as they both stare at you. The silver-haired Targaryen proceeded to loosen his clothing, unclasping the first few locks of his attire as he heaves an exhale.
There was warmth settling into Valarr’s bones, deliberate and too great for him to ignore. He had not missed the implication on Aerion’s words, he knew it meant something else, something entirely different and something he figured he feels excited for. He swallowed, hoping the lump on his throat could disappear and take his urges away.
He should not be here, Valarr would think; he should not be engaging with this absurdity, and he should not be partaking in an activity with Aerion—among all people. But there was something helpless from your eyes, and you badly wanted to be saved, and it was more than enough reason for Valarr to stay. He could not leave you with Aerion alone, he will be here and he will make it certain that you will be well and taken care of.
To say you are feeling terrified is underplaying it, there were already a certain level of fear and hopelessness when the doors of your chambers opened and revealed Aerion waiting for you from inside. Valarr was quick to put you first, to protect you from his cousin and your husband-to-be, even though you did not ask for it, he already granted you the protection you certainly need.
Every movement was unfolding right before you, but it was all too sudden, all too fast, and you were taking it all in with hazy lenses. You could only blame the vibrant pavilion for that, and the laughing of the people, and the good evening they turned your night into, and of course, the cups of wines they graciously served, the cup you had all throughout the festivities never ran out empty, not even once.
They were speaking, as you heard; every word they exchanged and mention to one another was not meant for your ears it seemed, for all you heard were sounds, nothing coherent, until you decide they were speaking in High Valyrian. When your body made contact with the soft linens of your bed, exhaust inevitably enveloped you from within, and you do whatever it takes to keep your pair of eyes open.
Both Aerion and Valarr are standing together now, side by side, and you can make a few movements from Aerion while Valarr remained eerily still. You made sure to look at him, wanting to make sure your certain message would make its way to him. Please, please, please, leave me be, make him go away.
“Do you even know how to do it, cousin?” Aerion’s voice echoed through the room, a faint smile glimmered on his mouth though you couldn’t see his face with the clearest view, couldn’t see the amusement that lingered across his face as he taps Valarr’s shoulder, “You ought to take these off now. You don’t want them hindering your every move.” He followed with a suggestion, walking towards the bed and allowing himself to be comfortable on the edge.
Valarr releases a shaky breath, every fiber in his body begged him to stop, to turn the other way, to will his feet to start running out the door, yet his mind seemed to stop, envisioning the look he witnessed on your face—he felt that you wanted him to be here, that you wanted his help, that you wanted him to make this easy. He followed, releasing his armors and placing It carefully on the floor until he was stripped into more comfortable fabrics.
“Go on, now. We could not let the princess wait.” Aerion watched you carefully, as you push yourself against the wooden headboard as if the material could swallow you whole and make you disappear, but no, you had no other place go get to, no other place you could be. You will only be here, with the two of them.
You closed your eyes, attempted to shake the dizziness away so you could hear what words were being passed over to one another, “Aerion,” you crawled towards your betrothed, “What the fuck is going on?” you uttered, and Aerion’s shock was almost physical upon hearing a curse word flowing out of your mouth.
“Shh,” he held your chin, “Valarr and I will take care of you, my love,” and he could not help himself but to lean in and close the distance between your faces, crashing his lips against you but only for a brief moment. He couldn’t let himself go just yet.
You flustered upon feeling Aerion’s soft lips on yours, blushing at the fact that it was the first time he ever got gentle, you wanted more, wanted to feel him against you, with all of his warmth. But Valarr came into view, standing at the edge of your bed and Aerion pushed you down against the mattress.
“My love,” Aerion spoke in a low tone, his lips were dangerously close to your ear and you couldn’t stop yourself to lean in closer to him, but he stops you almost immediately, and you jolted when he pulls your hair to keep your head from moving, placing you where he wants you to be, “Let Valarr move for you, hm? Let him touch you.” he asked, his serene voice in complete contrast with the harsh tug from your scalp.
When he asked, that was only when you could see Valarr slowly sinking into his knees right in front of your parted legs—you didn’t even know how you came to be positioned like this, laid on the bed and undeniably ready to take what is about to come towards your way.
Though hesitating initially, Valarr had seen the way you respond to Aerion’s touches. The way you exclaimed and whimpered when his hand sits on the back of your head to pull on your hair; he was bewildered and determined at the same time, how could you be so sensual and so, so alluring even with Aerion’s gruff advances? He couldn’t fully accept it, or that he refuses to contemplate further. You should be treated with softness, and so he strokes on your leg languidly.
Valarr’s calloused palm brushes against your thigh, it was electric, you felt your breath getting more ragged as their touches slowly grounds you—Aerion’s hand pulling on your hair and Valarr’s careful hands. You wanted to rub your thighs together, to relieve yourself a little by creating friction, but Valarr’s hold remained firm.
Aerion chuckled, it was almost laughable at how quickly your mood switched; you were scared not too long ago, frightened and clueless as two men preys on you, and seeing you now, with your legs spread apart and your chest moving at a faster speed to follow your breathing. He cups one of your breasts, kneading it lightly while Valar lifts the hem of your dress.
You were sure you have felt warm and sticky in between your legs, and then you felt embarrassed, having a prince leaning closer into your cunt was not something you could ever imagine, nor account for. Almost out of instinct, you pulled your legs together, abruptly stopping Valarr from getting closer.
“Let me, princess.” He spoke in a low tone, voice coming out breathy as air hits your skin right where you’re nearest from him. There was something in his eyes, the look of genuine sincerity and something else entirely, you thought it might be lust—you thought that whatever it is you are feeling from within must not be so different from what he feels.
Perhaps you and him are in the same page, you worry that he might only be doing this out of fear, from his cousin and the dagger sheathed into a small pocket on his belt—but his eyes says otherwise, he wanted to do this, it seemed, wanted to taste you raw and have your dripping filth to wash over his tongue.
Aerion shifts from beside your head, casting most of his weight to prop himself on his knees on top of the bed, “My dear cousin, always so, so kind and honorable.” Aerion snaps as he starts to pull the strings from his clothes and pull his breeches downward, his cock immediately sprang free from its constraints, rigid, pink, and clearly leaking.
Valarr could only ignore him, he knew his cousin would always run his mouth and speak of whatever matter it is that comes into his mind, he is a proud man, after all; but partly because he knew he had more pressing matters to tend to, how could he even bite back at the loose words rolling off from Aerion’s mouth when your cunt sits a breath away from his mouth patiently waiting?
“Respect, courtesy, you have always carried those with you.” Aerion starts once again, spitting on his hand before he wraps it on his cock, stroking gently. Valarr shook his head and proceeded with his ministrations, planting his palms on your thighs as he parts you wider.
You gasped when his tongue slides on your cunt, struggling to keep your eyes open as your head swirls—from the wine and of course, from these Targaryens. Once Valarr had his first taste, he was immediately insatiable next; pressing his face much deeper into your cunt while his tongue buries itself further into your folds.
“You see, this one,” Aerion pulls his hand away from his cock and into your lips, moving past your swollen pair until his fingertips could most reach the back of your throat. You choked out, the immediate urge to cough follows closely; “this little princess is far from deserving any of that.” he continued, his eyes were fixed on you and you only, darkened by his own arousal and needs, his gaze was laced with intent and focused on your pair, yet his words remained addressed to Valarr, “She is not so different from a common whore now, is she?”
There was a hint of scrutiny now as he allows himself to look at your entirety, with some of your locks tangled and overall messy, the small beads of perspiration forming from your hairline, some of it trickling on your skin and downward, and how the corner of your lips curved in satisfaction then opening for a good width while your face twist in response to Valarr.
“Do not say such things to her.” Valarr quipped, wiping his chin with the back of his hand when he comes up for a breath of air, “She’s delicate and she is to be your wife—she is unlike any wench, nor unlike any other woman.” He spoke rather quickly, ignoring Aerion’s smirk amidst his explanations.
“Hmm,” Aerion dismissed in return, turning his attention back towards you, the saliva that coats his fingers now lathers the length of his cock, giving it a few pumps. He felt warmer now, burning up both with desire and an inexplicable emotion he could not quite name yet, or he simply refuses to acknowledge it plainly, “I was not aware you see my lover as such.”
Your heart twitched at that, you have been called princess, even referred to as his wife though it won’t be happening any time soon—but to be called his lover, though the words don’t hold much meaning once you take how he treats you into consideration, still, it caused your breath to hitch.
“My point is, you do not know her at all, as it seems.” Aerion continued, displaying the kindest smile he had often used during his younger days, “She does not want that—that softness you speak of. I imagine she has become bored of it by now, to be treated with certain care, hmm, allow me to show you then, cousin.” His hand then flew too quickly and a loud slap was placed across your cheek. You whimpered, caught off guard while the sharp pain dulls slowly on your face.
You wanted to deny it, wanted to talk his ears off of just how wrong he was, but you found yourself wanting more, and Aerion must have recognized the plead that has manifested from within your eyes because he did it again, the loud snap of his palm once again getting in contact with your face was audible enough in the room. Valarr wanted to intervene, to stop his cousin from treating you rashly, but he sees your mouth moved, your lower lip caught in between your teeth and he wished he was wrong, he wished his mind was playing tricks. The girl who was mindlessly walking outside the gates with a longing gaze set towards something he’s not aware of was way too far from the girl he is seeing now.
He wished he imagined it, but you wriggled your hips and he feel your hand reaching to his head to push him back into your cunt; you wanted him to continue, you were simply laying on top of the sheets but Aerion’s words seemed to unlock something inside of you.
Aerion laughed at that, “You fucking whore,” he whispers, teasing your mouth with the tip of his cock and you were so ready to wrap your lips around it, even if you are not fully knowledgeable on how to do it exactly, “you wanted this, don’t you? Your pretty mouth so full of my cock, hmm? Did you imagine this, or prayed to gods your husband will fill you up nicely?”
You moved your head towards his cock and sucked on the tip, Aerion hissed at the contact, the sudden warmth that greets him when he enters your mouth was familiar; he didn’t think it’d be this easy to crack you, to make you surrender to your selfish desires, to forget about modesty and prudence.
The translucent fluid tasted salty in your mouth, but it was something you could handle, you held on his hips and pushed him more against you. The short sounds and profanities that comes from Aerion only urged you to continue, you wanted to be good enough for him, to make him feel as blissful as you are; yet in another note, you want him nearer his own edge, you wanted to see his face contorting due to the pressure and climax, you wanted to see him drained out of his wits and speechless, for once.
A sudden shift from Valarr knocked you out of your reverie, you felt his fingers on your cunt, spreading your folds apart just so he could reach into you on a newer and deeper sense, you collapsed on the bed, restless and painfully aware of the growing feeling of the knot slowly forming in your abdomen. Valarr was quiet, except for the times he would inhale a breath to supply his lungs before lapping once again.
You gripped the sheets as tight as you can, while your other hand wandered on top of Valarr’s head, clawing on his brown hair while you steady your own breath, there was a moment when you felt you almost crush his head when your legs threatened to close, but Aerion, thank gods, was quick to pull you back into the present.
“Did I give you permission to stop?”
His cock twitched on your hand and you were reminded of how badly you wanted to see Aerion falling apart, “Gods.. wait, please,” you wanted to pause, to not do anything else as you let Valarr’s tongue work inside of you; you squeezed your eyes shut and you attempted to slide your hand leisurely on Aerion’s cock but you feared you were wringing him too roughly.
You were anchored by the tight grip of Valarr’s hands on your thighs, the bed of his nails were pale white as he switch from using his tongue to sucking the small bud that’s most sensitive on your cunt, and you wanted to explode, you wanted to let go of the control and you wanted the knots to snap and to be finally freed from the heaviness that sits on your stomach.
A loud moan threatened to push past your lips but it was immediately tended by Aerion, he crouches forward and his body almost fell over to yours, but he supported his weight by placing his palm against the mattress, balancing himself. He then reaches for his cock and shoved it down on your mouth.
It was a moment of desperation, the second your wet mouth completely engulfed his cock was one of the rare times in which he ever forgot to breathe. Your tongue was unfamiliar, he figured, vividly feeling it swirling around its girth and your teeth scratched lightly on his skin, he ought to teach you on how to be better, he thought, but now is not the time for lessons, now is the time where he should make use of your heated mouth.
Aerion jerks his hips when he feels well enough to fit right inside your mouth, there was minimal resistance and the discomfort brought upon the by your teeth only felt odd but never painful. He started thrusting, finding his pace without losing his balance as it only hangs and depends on his hand and posture. He could hear you gagging, then he feels you tapping on his side, clearly running out of air as he buries his cock.
Valarr looks up from your cunt, landing at the exact moment Aerion pulls away for a fraction to allow some air to sneak inside your lungs, it was never enough, he only stopped for a blink before slamming himself against you. He was worried you would pass out, you were not in the best of condition before this whole ordeal even started; but he saw the hunger in your manner of taking Aerion’s cock. He saw the way you bobbed your head to it, determined enough to take him whole.
His mouth already craves the way you taste, but he wanted to try some things on his own; to make you feel good, despite being exploited for selfish and monstrous desires, he wanted you to feel some enjoyment of sorts, though he thinks you already see this as something pleasant. Valarr inserts a finger slowly and you whimpered, your body shoots up to check on Valarr, and finally, you paid him some attention.
He was quick to latch his tongue against the nub he had found earlier, his single digit could only make it halfway, in fear of causing you more pain, but it would do, for now. You wrapped around it perfectly, your narrow walls were not stretched enough and he thinks it would be the right time to prepare you, for what’s about to come later.
Aerion gets up on his knees once more, only thinking of his own release this time as he pulls your hair to create a better angle where he could ram his cock more flawlessly. He thinks you’re pretty this way, taking whatever it is that he’s giving and blatantly dismissing what you might need. You shall not need any other matter, he is here, he thinks, there’s no other thing that could ever satisfy you aside from him.
He sinks your head lower towards his cock, until your lips touches base of his length and he holds you there, the fabric of his breeches were wet with sweat, saliva, and some of your tears that had fallen since earlier that he never cared about. He worries, for a split second, that this would be too much, that you are in some kind of immense pain but you take his cock so well, you whimper and you choke on your own spit, you push him off but you immediately get back to it like a fond memory. You wanted this, you wanted him, and you wanted the feeling he flickered from you.
Somewhere between feeling a short pain from your cunt and the hurt you have inside your head from all the wobbling and maneuvering, your hips suddenly jolted upwards—a shot of something you could only describe as exhilarating flowed to all ends of your body. Time seemed to stop, including everything else around you. Your legs shivered as your whole body collapsed, and Valarr was still attached to your cunt, rendering you even more sensitive as he sucks all of your release, his mouth was the only thing you could recognize as the sound echoed around.
Valarr felt a pulsating sensation from within, though he could only feel it faint against his finger, he knew he had brought you to the climax, and he commends himself for holding on despite the aching pain he needs to take care of. He knew he must have soiled his garments, he knew there would be no point in denying that he wishes he could bury his own cock on your cunt instead of just his fingers.
Aerion quickly followed right after, shooting streaks of his release towards the velvety walls your mouth had offered. You were still recovering when he moans loudly, slowing his pace as he spurts out his own cum, some of it drips on your chin and he felt joyous on the simple sight of you, so full of him.
The two men halted for a moment, gathering a more stable pattern of breathing before Aerion moves again, drifting away from the bed as the weight on the mattress decrease; you had your eyes closed, understandably tired from all of the sensations you had felt—of Aerion toying with your mouth with his cock, and Valarr’s skillful tongue driving you towards your end.
You swing your eyelids open when you feel a sudden pull on both legs, bringing you closer to the edge of the bed and in front of you was Aerion, his cock positioned to your cunt.
“You should have your cock inside her mouth; she’s not practiced enough but she’ll do.” He speaks towards Valarr, who now sits beside you by the bed, unaware of where he should be, nor what he should do.
“I think the princess should rest now, Aerion.” Valarr protests, even with his hard cock inside his garments screamed at him to be freed, he could clearly see how sleep is slowly coming at you.
Aerion spreads your legs open once more, pleased with how wet you are from Valarr’s doing, “She sleeps when I say so. Now go, or ask her to do it—whatever the fuck gets you off.”
You snaked a hand against Valarr’s arm, caressing it gently, too ashamed to say something except to plead with your eyes. He turns his body towards you, “Are you well enough for another?” he asks, letting your hand drop to his groin to feel his arousal. If you are not sure enough to do this again, he swore he would fight Aerion and drag him towards the door to give you peace.
“Please,” you muttered, feeling an ounce of impatience and frustration mixed together as he kept waiting, “Use me.” You managed to insert a hand under the wool, eager to feel his bare cock on your hand.
Warnings: incest, infidelity (we feel for Kiera), angst
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Sometimes you thought that you and Valarr were born in the wrong era.
If you and your brother had been born earlier, if you had been the children of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne Targaryen, then you wouldn't have to feel ashamed and guilty about the love between you.
But you aren't.
Your parents had tried to prevent this when you and Valarr were little and discovered you kissed each other whenever you played pretend: he was a knight rescuing you from the monster, or you played King Jaehaerys and Queen Alyssane. You'd never forget how ashamed you felt when your father spoke to you in his chambers. He wasn't harsh, nor did he seem angry; instead, he explained that you shouldn't do those kinds of things, that brothers and sisters didn't love each other that way. You cried and apologized. You felt so guilty that you didn't protest when they stopped allowing you and Valarr to be alone together. There was always a guard, a septa, someone between you.
Innocently, your parents believed they had nothing more to worry about when the years passed, and there was no further physical contact between you and Valarr that seemed out of the ordinary. But kisses weren't necessary for the feelings between you to continue growing. You couldn't stop your heart from racing whenever you and Valarr danced together, nor could you stop your heart from feeling warm when your brother helped you plant in your garden. And Valarr couldn't help but want to make you smile all the time, nor could he stop thinking about you at night before falling asleep.
But the night that changed everything was the night before Valarr's wedding. Your brother came drunk to your chambers and confessed his love. He told you that although he couldn't marry you, he didn't want to give Kiera something that should belong to you. You should have thrown him out, told him he wasn't thinking straight, pushed him away when he kissed you. But you didn't. You kissed him back.
That night, you and your brother forgot about guilt and duty. Everything faded away as you kissed and explored each other's bodies; all that mattered was giving each other pleasure and showing each other how much you loved one another. Valarr kept whispering "I love you" as he entered you, his fingers intertwined with yours.
The next day, you had to watch him get married. You smiled and had to fight back tears when Valarr looked you straight in the eyes as he recited his vows. Your father must have suspected something, or some servant must have seen your brother leaving your chambers that morning, because just the next day, your father announced that you were getting married.
Like a good daughter, you didn't complain, not even when they wouldn't allow you a long betrothal. In less than a month, you were a married woman. But that didn't stop you and Valarr from sinning again. It was supposed to be a one-time thing for that night, but once you and your brother tasted the forbidden fruit, you couldn't stop.
The bliss you felt every time Valarr kissed you, every time you were in his arms, every time he was inside you, was immense. Just as immense as the guilt you felt once Valarr left you alone with your thoughts.
There are days when you can't look Kiera in the eye. The guilt you feel is so overwhelming it makes you nauseous, and you can barely eat. You can't even look at Valarr; you feel dirty and sick. Those were the days you spent most of your time in the sept, praying until your knees ached. Hoping the gods would forgive you, have mercy on you, and free you from your feelings.
No matter how much you prayed, how much you begged the gods, you couldn't stay away from your brother for long. You couldn't refuse his kisses, you couldn't resist his touch. You loved Valarr more than anything in the world. But if you could, you would change it. You longed to love him like a normal sister. You longed to live without feeling guilty and disgusted all the time; you longed not to have disappointed your father.
You would never forget your father's face when he saw that your son had the same eyes as Valarr and himself. Your father's eyes, which used to look at you with so much love, were at that moment filled with cold fury and disappointment. You hate that you became a burden to him. How he had to rush to create a narrative where his heterochromia must have skipped a generation with you, to try to silence any rumors of bastardy about his grandson.
Sometimes you wonder if Kiera knows the truth. If she hates you, not just for being your brother's lover, but for giving him a child while her own children are stillborn. At none of the funerals were you able to look at her without feeling nauseous. In the days that followed, you couldn't bear to be in the same room, especially when you saw how she gazed longingly as Valarr played with your son.
People thought Valarr was just a loving uncle, trying to fill the void of his losses with your son. No one suspected the real reason they spent so much time together, why Valarr played and sang to him, why he bought him so many toys, why he walked down the halls with him in his arms. Just as no one suspected the real reason your brother looked so upset, his jaw and his fists clenched, when he heard your son call your husband "Papa" for the first time. People thought Valarr was just envious, wishing he had children of his own, when in reality, he was furious that his son was calling another man "Papa." You felt guilty because behind the annoyance, you saw the pain in his eyes.
That's why you didn't think twice; you interrupted dinner, announcing you were pregnant again. You felt your heart warm when you saw Valarr smile again, and for a brief moment, you felt good as he hugged you. Until you saw your father's serious expression, and your heart skipped a beat.
Will you ever stop feeling guilty all the time?
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summary: your assigned project partner is sassy and infuriating. you wonder what it takes to shut that sharp mouth of his
c/w: mouthy valarr, valarr can't chill fr, at least until you discover his secret, needy valarr, smut, cum untouched, oral (f receiving)
a/n: i change my opinion writing one shot is more fun lol, haven't seen anybody makes this concept so enjoyy, also i don't know much about business major so pardon my mistakes
You go to a business major in college, for that's your passion and what you're good at. And you're doing well, your gpa is safe, your assignment is always done perfectly and under your control. At least that's what you think before you're partnered up with Valarr Targaryen.
You don't even vibe with the boy. Just looking at him already makes you annoyed. He certainly has that unfriendly and apathetic look on his face, you don't know if it's that based on arrogance or his ignorance nature. Whatever it is, you know since a long time that you hope fortune is on your side and you'd never have business with him.
Well, looks like your luck runs out of these semesters. Guess who's now partnered up with him.
You try to compose yourself and be rational. You just have to meet up, discuss the assignment, get it done, and that's it. Even though there's a little worry that you appear as a hater. You can't help it, you just don't like the boy. And the fact that he's not even friends and widely liked by half of the class? Yeah, something's off about him. Though he's still considered widely famous, for his family leading a big company that lasts years since his ancestors are still a spirit, you're sure of it. He's the heir to the family dynasty.
After the professor ends the class, you immediately approach him. You've already confirmed to your girl friends before that you can't participate in their hangout because you have to 'approach' Valarr Targaryen. They gave you sympathetic looks and said good luck. Now here you are, standing beside him.
"Hey."
He doesn't say it back, but he acknowledges your presence. You tuck your hair behind your ear. "So, when can we meet up for this assignment? I want to get it done quickly."
"So do I."
Rude. You try to not frown at his response. "I believe I was asking you when."
"I'm busy right now. I'll check my schedules and inform you later." You nod, telling yourself that he's at least being sensible right now. Just when you're about to turn your heels, his voice stops you.
"Can you give me your number? I didn't save your contact." He says without looking at you.
"Really? Aren't we like, in the same class for two years, and you texted me once that time to inform that you can't attend the class?"
He nods, unaware or worse, doesn't care about the different tone in your voice that's clearly pressuring some points. He gives you his phone.
"Yes. And again, I didn't save your contact. Now make this quick, I have things to do." His expression says that he starts to get irritated by you, like you're getting in his way.
Your jaw clenches, but you quickly take his phone and saves your contact. "Here. I expect you to check your busy schedules and inform me before 6 pm. Otherwise I'll decide the meetup time."
"Oh you don't have to do that. I'm the one deciding." You press your lips, trying to let it go and let him have the fun, for now. He doesn't seem to like it when he opens his mouth again. "Can't tire you out."
"What did you say?"
"I said that I'll decide the time and text you."
"No, no. After that." Your posture flares up, ready for confrontation.
He already packs his things and is ready to leave. "Oh. I said I can't tire you out. You know, assignments sometimes make us really drained."
Before you reply with another remark, he already walks out the door, uncaring of what you have to say. You can't believe what just happened. Did he just mock you? Undermine you? And leave you when you're still not done with the conversation?
Who does he think he is? He just does what he wants apparently. And he's very wrong to think you're just gonna accept that and let it go. No.
You grab your things and leave, all the while making plans of how to win the last word between the two of you. You'll get the assignment done under your control and standard, and he won't ruin it. He'll have very little say in this.
At 5 pm, he texted you, said to meet up at his apartment immediately if you can make it. You don't want to appear eager and obedient but you really have nothing to do at that time and this assignment is your top priority right now.
Now you're in his living room, in an apartment too clean and expensive even to sit on the rug, and you wonder how he lives alone in this place.
You've heard rumors, some of them possibly made-up stories by your friends. He's the descendant, the inheritor. The weight of his life has already been planned since childhood, maybe even he wasn't even born. Your peers confess he's seen in the rightful building, in too serious of a title office, handling the burden of responsibilities.
You almost feel bad for him. He's still young, the same age as you, don't people deserve to have fun and figure out their own life? You don't know whether this path is purely what he chooses or there's just no other choice for him. But then you remind yourself that he's wealthy, he's privileged, and he's entitled. Oh now how you don't feel bad for him.
You grow to respect him, at least. He earns his perfect grade and his perfect gpa. You may be a little annoyed with his attitude, but you can't ignore that he's hardworking and determined, though that stubbornness seems to be the most prominent trait of him.
That trait is shining brightly now.
“You do customer satisfaction and staffing. I’ll handle financial inefficiencies and recommendations.”
You look at him. He hasn't muttered a few words since you're here, and now he just takes control and decides? Without so much as asking you or discussing the job description?
"I'll just do financial analysis. I'm good at it."
"You're not."
"Excuse me?" That seems to pause him.
"You're good at the human-resource side of the case. You're not good at financial analysis." He shrugs his shoulders without a care in the world, like he didn't just assume what you're capable of and not of doing.
"Your accusation should come with evidence of my shitty grade, then. Do you have that?" You look straight at him.
"It's a fact. And it'll work efficiently this way."
"You mean your way? You don't consult me and it's a partner project. I haven't even said anything about the topic and the methods yet."
He sighs, exasperated by your comments. "We both wanted to get this done quickly, I'm showing you the way."
"You're telling me how to do things. It's different." You're about to prolong your arguments but the time is ticking and you intend to not spend much longer in his unbearable presence.
Eventually you both make compromises, though not without him making sassy comments and your even fierce encounters, and his bratty attitude that's gotten really good under your skin. You sit side by side on the couch, busy with your own work, tension hanging heavy in the air.
Days pass as you struggle to catch up other assignments from other courses. That, you work on your assignments with Valarr bit by bit. Sometimes it's in his apartment, other times it's in the library and cafe. Although it mostly doesn't run smoothly. You keep bickering, disagreeing even at the insignificant things, where it's gotten to the point that you just argue for the sake of arguing.
He just frustrates you, with his arrogance and dismissals, the fact that he thinks he knows better than you, so he just assumes and takes control, deciding everything.
That's when it clicks in your head. He's a control freak. Not just in his life, but also people involved within it. He wants anything to be under his control, he needs it. He needs to be the one making decisions, to watch the progress, to control the result. But understanding the psychology behind it doesn't help. He still irritates the fuck out of you, even more when he wears that entitled, ignorant face. You just want to punch the shit out of him.
It doesn't help that he looks good either. He's unbearable, yes. But you know he's good looking. His sharp features, mismatched eyes, pointed nose, thin lips, beautiful cheekbones.
No, his cheekbones can't be that beautiful.
Sometimes it just distracts your focus in enhancing your point when you two argue, that you have to remind yourself you have to win and not lose yourself in the beauty of his mismatched colors eyes. Like, how can someone look this gorgeous yet makes your blood boil? You swear he looks like a shy, bashful boy under a certain light. By any means, when he shuts his mouth. That way he can be tolerable to you. Such a gorgeous face comes with a sharp tongue. Ought you make it to a better use.
You're too busy with your mind that you don't know what happens behind his. He tries to be rational, efficient, and just... Sensible, in general. It's literally your fault, giving him a hard time with those beautiful furrows of your brows when you're angry at him, or the stern look at your face when he's giving you attitude. He hates it, so much that he wants to keep seeing your beautiful face annoyed and mad at him.
You don't know he gets a boner when you argue. What exactly happens is he provokes you about something illogical, knowing you'd fume and scold him, and while he defends himself with his weak argument, he places his laptop closer to his lap to cover his bulge. It's embarrassing, really. He can't imagine your reaction if you'd ever find out, but he can't help it.
Which is why he does it again right now.
"No, we've talked about that before. Why change it now?" You scowl.
"Because it makes more sense this way." He lies.
"Valarr, you can't just change things all you want. We've agreed about that, you even arranged it in the first place."
"And I'm rearranging it now." Valarr doesn't know what he plans to rearranging now. He doesn't even know what he's talking about. Is it about the slides, or the paragraphs. He doesn't pay attention. What he pays attention to is the way you scowls getting deeper as his bait gets to you, along with your plump lips and strict gaze. His focus is divided.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Amidst your aggravation, you notice the flush in Valarr's cheeks. It begins subtly at first, but the more you get annoyed and lecture him further, the flush spreads wider across his jaw and neck.
"Valarr, I'm asking you a question." You sit up from the couch, walking towards him that still sits on the other side.
He seems to be... Flustered? His eyes immediately stare at the laptop on his lap as his grips tighten around it. He looks rather fearful too, like he's hiding something and afraid he'd get caught.
"Valarr, what is it?" You sigh, you don't want to assume and say it, but he looks restless. Not in a sick kind of way. It's not helping your premises too when you think about the way you interact with him lately. The thick tension in the air, the fierce argument, the heated eye contact, the shrinking of his gaze. You don't want to be frank but it's all so obvious and it's the only thing that tracks his behavior right now.
Exasperated by his silence and the way he ignores you just to type shit on his laptop, you snap his laptop shuts and pull it off from his lap. Then he looks panicked and horrified and before he can grab anything to cover himself, you already see it.
"Oh."
Valarr freezes under your gaze, but his face is blushed vigorously. His posture shrinks and he squirms under your gaze. You don't say a word after your initial recognition of his very obvious bulge, and it makes his cock twitch in his pants.
"So that's all what this is about, huh? Your sassy comments, your bratty attitude. You want me to scold you." Your words are more like a statement than a question, and it makes him almost whimpers.
"Does that turn you on? Answer me, Valarr." You grab his by his jaw, making him look at you.
"Yes." He answers, his voice raw and desperate.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, it turns me on." His face burns with embarrassment. He knew back then sooner or later you'd eventually find out that he's just a loser boy who's pathetic and a pervert. But he never stops the act. Maybe he wants you to find out. Maybe he wants you to know how miserable he is for you. Maybe he wants you to lecture him with your stern voice as you use him whatever you like. He'd never admit it if you didn't ask him but it's been his fantasy for weeks.
You, who's still standing, take steps closer to him between his legs, who's still sitting on the couch. He gasps and impulsively puts both his hands on your hips.
You immediately take both his hands, stopping him. "None of that."
"Please, I need—I need to..." He looks up to you from his seat, his eyes weak and glossy.
You shush him gently. "You need to what, sweet boy? You need to feel me, is that what you need?"
He nods eagerly, his fingers itching to feel you, even just a little. You look at his bulge again, which if your memory doesn't trick you, it grows bigger and more obvious for eyes to see. You bet it feels painful trapped in his pants.
Your hand that's still on his jaw rubs it slowly, making him lean into your touch. "Do you want to explain that, sweet boy? Then maybe I'd consider you feel my hips in your hands."
Valarr looks baffled. He looks tortured and hopeful at the same time. Tortured because well, you assume the bulge already builds for a while, and he feels hopeful that you offer him to touch you. It looks like he's dying and you're his salvation. He's eager and embarrassed but still manages to stammer a few words.
"I—I get hard when you're mad at me and... And scold me. I didn't even know about it at first, you have to believe me, but you—you reduce me to something like that, and I can't, I can't even think straight, I just want you to lecture me and—and soothe me, please—"
You coo at him gently when he gets overwhelmed with his explanation.
"You're so brave, confessing it all to me. Such a brave boy." He nuzzles into your palm as you shower him with soft praises.
"I'm a brave boy?"
"You are, Valarr. You are a brave boy. You must be afraid of admitting all that, but you did it, right?" You scratch his chin and under his jaw softly, and he closes his eyes as he nods.
"Now you can feel my hips. You've earned it." He looks eager, excited, hesitant, all at once. You encourage him and he slowly puts his palms on your hips. He savors it like he touches something sacred and beautiful. But he can't help his hips from jerking itself, his painful groin hasn't taken care of. He groans softly.
"Does it feel painful, sweet boy?"
Valarr nods, his lips down turned.
"Oh, poor boy. You've been so good. Do you want me to make it feel better for you? Tell me what you need."
For a second you think he's about to say that he wants your mouth, to suck him off, or your hands stroking his length. But no, your sweet boy isn't like that. He wants no pleasure but you.
"I want—I want to taste you." He stumbles over his words, his fingers shake slightly against your hips.
"You want to taste me? Taste what, exactly?"
He looks so pathetic like this. Eyes glossy, lips parted, breathing heaved. "I want to taste your pussy."
"Yeah? Is that so? You don't want me to suck you off?" He shakes his head immediately. He knows what he wants. He's been dying to put his mouth in your cunt, to make out with your pussy. He could do it for hours and lose his breath and die happy there.
"One condition." He seems so eager that one condition doesn't even dazzle him.
"If you want to put your head between my legs, I won't do the same to you. Not with my fingers, not with my mouth. You still want that?"
Valarr's not ignorant about the consequences. In fact, he doesn't mind it because his solely focus and the object of his desire is merely the sanctuary between your thighs. He nods.
"Good. My sweet boy knows what he wants, huh. So smart." You unclip the buttons of your jeans and the zipper, then tug it off along with your panties. You let him admire you, his eyes fixed on your mound, salivating at the sight in front of him.
You sit on the couch and guide him to sit on the rug. "Sit." He immediately sits, his eyes level with your knees.
"You must be so thirsty, aren't you, sweet boy. Been wanting this for a long time now." He nods at your words, everything you say is true. You guide him to face your pussy.
"Come here, Valarr, take what you need." He shudders at the thought. At first, he sniffs the scent of your pussy. His head is dizzy and he feels like he's on cloud nine. Then he places soft, small kisses on your inner thighs and you sigh. His kisses become closer to your slick core and he groans. Both his hands hold your thighs and he looks up at you as if he asks for permission. You nod and he places your legs on his shoulders.
His mouth waters at the close view of your pussy and he immediately latches his mouth on it. You moan in surprise. Meanwhile Valarr is busy making out with your pussy, his mouth clumsy, his tongue sliding in and out ungainly. Even with his clumsiness, he's so eager to slurp the juices that keep coming out of your hole.
You tug at his hair and he whimpers loudly. His movement becomes aggressive-clumsy that you have to coos at him gently and runs your fingers through his soft hair, that makes him slow down but still keeps devouring you.
His insistence pushes you to the edge. "Valarr... Oh—sweet boy, I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum—"
Before you complete your sentence, you come hard on his face, covering it with your juices, until it drips from his nose, his mouth, his chin. His lips are out to slurp your juices and swallow it.
After recovering from your orgasm, you look down on him. "Valarr, are you okay, you—"
You accidentally look at his pants, and you see the wet patch and stains in the exact spot of his previous bulge. You look at him and his eyes are red with embarrassment and helplessness. He looks like he's about to cry.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cum like that—I promise I didn't plan to do that, but it's just—it's just too much and I lose it, I'm—"
You immediately shush him gently. His eyes are glossy and a tear running down his cheeks. "I know, I know, sweet boy. It's alright."
When he calms down, you look into his face. "Do you want to be comforted? You said you wanted me to soothe you, do you want it now?"
He nods, still has pathetic looks on his face. Eyes rimmed red and blushes spread all over his face. He's so pretty.
"It's okay, sweet boy, I will comfort you. I will make you feel calm and safe." You say as you unbutton your blouse and unclip your bra.
You find a comfortable position, laying on the sofa as you gesture to him to come closer. "Come here, Valarr."
He looks like he can't believe the sight in front of him. You, laying on your side on the couch, looking so beautiful and divine, your tits spill out and inviting him to sleep on it.
"Can I—can I sleep on it?" He says stuttering, his gaze worships you yet full of lust all at once.
"Of course. You've earned it, haven't you. You deserve some comfort."
"Yes, yes, I've earned it, I deserve it." He says to himself. He climbs on the couch carefully and sinks slowly in front of you, your soft tits levels with his eyes.
"It's okay, come closer. You can bury your face in them." He does what he's told, and fuck, he never knows heaven but he knows what he's currently feeling is closest to heaven. Your tits are soft and pliant in his face, and he can sniffle the sweet scent of your breasts, your nipples welcome him like he's home. And he is. He is finally home.
He can feel his breathing grows steady and his eyes feel heavy with sleep, his face completely buried between your tits. You stroke his soft hair and place a kiss on his head.
synopsis. when your father sent you with one simple task — seduce the crown prince, the future king — you didn't think it would be this easy.
pairing. needy!valarr x dancer!reader
contains. ❀ straight pwp honestly, man's addicted to tits & pussy, valarr is a pathetic virgin, sub!valarr, face riding, breeding, p in v, babytrapping
a/n. pic is for the aesthetic purposes only, ughh i need him
your task was simple and clear: seduce the crown prince.
and if the gods (or your cunning) were kind, make sure that by this night, life stirred inside you — a small spark with dragon blood.
at least, that was what your father said. become his weakness — and you would become our strength.
and you almost swore it worked, when you caught his gaze on you again — enchanted, almost childlike.
he sat there, gripping the armrests of his chair. his pale face was still, his lips slightly parted.
he looked so innocent and defenseless, trying with all his might not to look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.
you let out a soft little giggle when he awkwardly looked away again, then glanced at him once more through your lashes, all innocence — and noticed how he immediately swallowed and hid his face in his wine cup.
you did not care about the other princes who looked at you like prey, something they meant to take.
you only needed him — valarr targaryen.
and he was already caught, when later he stood right outside the chambers prepared for you during the king’s celebration.
“my prince?” you said, your voice soft. you raised a brow, looking at him with almost innocent surprise. “you must have mistaken the door. the royal chambers are in the east wing.”
he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as a flush spread from his collar up to his ears. “i… no,” he said, forcing the words out. “i mean, yes, i know where my chambers are. but i… i am looking for you. i… i could not leave without saying — ”
it made you take a step back, slightly hiding behind the door, and look at him with quiet offense. “if you come here because you think i am… one of those women whose time can be bought with gold… if you come here for easy pleasure…”
his reaction was instant. valarr waved his hands, his voice nearly breaking with panic as he shook his head.
“no, yes, i know! i swear by the seven, i know!” he said, stepping forward, almost stumbling in his nerves. “forgive me, i am not… i would never dare!"
"i… i have just never seen anything like you.”
looking at him — sweet and so easily led — you giggled again, this time soft, encouraging.
he dropped his shoulders and gave a shy smile in return.
“well now,” you stepped deeper into the room, leaving the door open. “we cannot leave a prince standing at the threshold, can we?”
valarr stepped forward, and the door behind him closed with a soft click. he looked around your chambers, then his hand awkwardly reached to the back of his neck.
you giggled again, unable to hold back the soft tease, and valarr, catching your gaze, answered with a shy, almost guilty smile. a deep blush, bright and honest, spread across his cheeks, giving him away completely.
he felt damn ashamed. he knew his cousins and brothers already bragged about their wins in the city brothels and talked of their romps, while he stood here like a foolish boy.
but you did not mind, because he was bloody charming.
you walked up to him, touched his warm fingers, and gently pulled him along toward the bed, making him sit down at the edge, stiff as a drawn string, afraid to even breathe.
you stood close, right between his parted knees. your sweet scent, mixed with the faint smell of sweat after dancing, wrapped around him, and strands of your hair brushed his cheeks, soft as the finest silk.
your chest, in the thin beaded bodice of a dancer, was right at his eye level. valarr swallowed hard, his hands resting on his knees growing damp, his gaze completely lost.
“how... how do you like the feast?” he said, forcing the words out, trying to focus on anything at all, gripping the fabric of his trousers until his knuckles went pale.
you only smiled at the corner of your lips and, without taking your eyes off him, reached for the ties of your outfit.
“what are you doing?” the prince said at once, his voice breaking into a hoarse whisper. “i am not here for that… i… i do not think this is a good idea. we should not…”
you did not let him finish. slowly, almost lazily, you brought your index finger to his trembling lips, gently pressing it right at the center. “shh…”
valarr fell silent at once. his lips, still warm with nerves, brushed against your fingertip, and you felt how his breath turned uneven beneath your touch.
his gaze darted around the room in panic — to the tapestries, to the flickering candle, to his own boots — anywhere but at what was happening right in front of him.
you laughed and, with one sharp movement, untied the laces. the bodice fell to the floor, and your chest was fully revealed to his gaze, shifting slightly right at his lips.
valarr let out a muffled groan and immediately squeezed his eyes shut, lowering his head. he had never seen a woman this close, never felt this raw, primal pull. his breathing turned uneven and heavy as he felt your warmth.
you gently took his chin and tilted it up, making him lift his face toward you, though his eyes were still tightly shut. his hands were clenched into fists, and through the thick fabric of his fine trousers you clearly saw how his hardness became obvious.
“do not fear your desires, my prince,” you whispered, your breath barely brushing his lips.
your hands rested softly on his face, and you carefully traced your fingertips over his eyelids, making him finally open his eyes and meet your gaze.
your fingers slid higher, slipping into his hair, curling a stubborn silver strand around your finger before moving to the back of his head.
you pressed firmly, pulling his head straight into the hollow of your bare chest. valarr froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the closeness of your skin, then he inhaled sharply, deeply taking in your scent, and a broken, needy sound slipped from his chest.
a soft, strained moan escaped him. his hands finally left his knees and flew to your back, gripping at your shoulder blades — he breathed so heavily, his chest rising and falling.
you tugged lightly at his hair, pulling him back just a little, then guided his head toward your right breast.
you saw how he swallowed hard before his mouth closed over your nipple, eager and impatient. he bit down too hard, making you cry out despite yourself.
“gentler, my prince!” you say, scolding him lightly as you caught his head and lifted his face.
valarr stilled, looking at you with dark eyes clouded with desire, where real remorse flickered. “… i am sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.
he leaned into you again, but this time he started with a gentle, teasing lick. you let out a low moan, and that sound finally made him lose his mind.
valarr started to suck your breast so greedily, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. he bit your skin a little and then licked it at once, trying to pull you as close as he could.
his hands tightened on your back, literally pulling your soft body into him, while you whined from the pleasure and ran your fingers through his hair, holding him against you.
"yes, like that... just like that, my prince."
the room filled with wet, slurping sounds and the sight of the shameless prince before you. when you tugged his hair, he gave a tiny, pitiful whimper and dove back in, not wanting to let go of your skin. you clicked your tongue and moved him to the other breast, watching him suck it just as hard as the first one.
knowing he would not stop on his own, you pulled him away with a wet pop, leaving a thin string of spit between your nipple and his open lips for a moment.
valarr looked truly sinful: flushed red, his mouth shiny and wet, his breath heavy and ragged. you took his face in your palms, leaned down, and gently sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, getting spit on his chin while he whimpered under you.
when you made the kiss deeper, it was clear he never did this before — he was touchingly clumsy, just desperately trying to keep up with your tongue.
you broke the kiss and pushed him onto the bed. valarr fell back onto the silk but propped himself up on his elbows at once, not wanting to lose sight of you for even a second.
under his hot stare, you started to get out of your clothes: your skirt slid to your feet, your hair pins hit the floor with a ring, and your smallclothes followed. he watched you, barely catching his breath.
"i... i do not know how to please you, i never —"
you walked right up and sat on top of him so you felt his heavy, hard cock beneath you.
"you are perfect, my prince. you have nothing to worry about."
the moment you gave a teasing rock of your hips, he fell back onto the pillows with a loud moan. he tried to say something, muttering about how he was not good enough, but every move you made turned his words into messy, sweet whimpers.
seeing how his head was spinning with thoughts, you gave a sly smile. "i have a fine way to make you forget those thoughts."
you moved up until your thighs were right over his face, pinning his head between your knees.
his eyes went wide when he saw what you meant, taking a deep, shaky breath before you slowly lowered yourself right onto his face.
you felt his hot breath on your soft skin, and a second later, you cut off his view completely, covering his face with yourself.
valarr made a muffled, deep sound right into your thighs —half a moan, half a try at speaking — but you only pressed down harder, feeling his nose and lips against you. his hands, which were searching for a grip, found your thighs and held on like death, pulling you even closer.
he did not try to get free: instead, he greedily pressed his face into you, catching every breath and every scent.
you rocked slightly on him, feeling his tongue start to explore you, shy at first and then bolder. valarr was gasping for air under you, his thighs shaking.
you felt his lips moving feverishly, trying to give you pleasure.
you noticed his hips starting to jerk on their own, his pelvis bumping up to match your rhythm. he was clumsy, but he worked his lips with such desperate grit to keep up, and something about how much he wanted to please you made your insides tighten.
gripping his hair tight in your fists, you started to move slow, setting the pace.
valarr made choked sounds, suffocating under your body, while his fingers dug painfully into your thighs, trying to hold you and pull you even tighter.
he tried to catch the rhythm, pushing his face up to meet you, while you teasingly pressed down harder, taking away his air and leaving him with nothing but your taste and scent.
"yes, mmhmm!... just like that, right there..." you breathe out, moving faster and feeling how his nose rubbed your clit with every move, making you moan louder and louder.
to be honest, at that moment you didn't care at all if he had enough air, and it seemed he didn't care either: he did not make a single move to pull away, but only whimpered like a loyal little puppy and pressed his face harder into your pussy.
of course, it was not enough to make you come, and you did not plan to do it now, saving the sweetest part for later, so you slowly pulled away and got off him.
valarr, not understanding what happened, tried to pull you back, gasping for air. "did... did i do something wrong?"
his face was completely wet — you rode him so long and hard that the moisture reached even his forehead. his words made you gently shake your head to calm him. "no, you were wonderful, my prince, but i just cannot wait anymore."
you slowly slid down, making his damn rich doublet messy with your arousal, until you reached his hips, where you suddenly felt heat and a strong stickiness.
oh gods.
he came.
just from you riding his face.
the shock was so big that you lost your speech for a few seconds, just looking at the wet spot. when you finally looked up at valarr, you saw that he wanted to sink through the ground.
he desperately tried to cover his face with his hands, burning with shame because he finished without even being inside you.
but you did not let him hide. you caught his hands, making him sit up and be on the same level with you, and covered his lips with a deep kiss.
you literally swallowed him, feeling your own taste on his lips, and at this time your fingers started to skillfully deal with his clothes. you unfastened the buckles of his doublet and pulled the ties of his thin linen shirt, noticing how much his hands shook.
pulling away from his lips, you went lower, to his belt. you took off his pants and his smallclothes, and in that same second, his cock hit his stomach with a thud.
valarr's cheeks flushed deep red, spreading down to his neck and chest, and his breath hitched. seed still leaked from him. by all laws of nature, he should have gone soft, but he stayed there — hard, hot, and scary big.
you looked at him and thought that he clearly did not use his full potential — for how could such an innocent and shy man have such an impressive cock?
it seemed you had to thank your father.
you kept looking at his cock in a trance, while the room stayed silent, broken only by the prince's ragged breathing.
at last, valarr awkwardly cleared his throat. "is... is everything good?" he barely squeezed out.
in answer, you only giggled softly, looking up at him through your lashes. "good? you are huge, my prince, and i am not even sure you will fit inside me."
hearing this, valarr instantly covered his face with his palms, and the tips of his ears turned bright red with shame. "you cannot... just say things like that," he groaned through his fingers, completely defeated.
you gave a flirty smile, leaning closer so your hair tickled his knee again.
"i will be lucky if you do not tear me apart from the inside."
that comment made the prince let out a pitiful cry, and when you saw his cock twitch again with heat, you firmly wrapped your hand around it.
valarr moaned so loud you thought the sound echoed through the whole wing of the castle. your palm instantly got wet with his slick and the rest of his seed while you slowly moved your hand up and down, making his hips push toward you on their own.
"please... i want... i need — "
"what exactly do you need, prince?" you asked back, amused by his struggle. "you know i would not dare disobey my future king."
his fingers gripped the sheets until his knuckles were white, and he tried to put his needs into words, fighting through his deep shame. "i am about to... i need... you... i want to be inside you!"
you laughed once and sharply pulled your hand away, making him whimper piteously. "no... please..."
getting up, you swung a leg over him and hovered above, holding your weight in the air and watching him desperately try to lift his hips to close that painful gap.
"is this what you dreamed of since you saw me in the hall, my prince?" you asked, looking down at him.
valarr nodded fast, his eyes full of unshed tears. "i... i wanted to do so much."
"oh? tell me all of it."
he shook his head, still too shy to say his fantasies out loud, and he could not take his eyes off your wet pussy that stayed a couple of inches away. "please... mmh..."
you took his cock, guiding the head right to your opening. "be a good prince for me, and tell me everything you wanted to do to me."
valarr almost cried from the heavy tension and, closing his eyes tight, started to whisper in a rush. "i imagined..."
and right then, you dropped down fast, taking all of his length in one go. you both moaned so loud and deep that the sound seemed to pierce right through the castle walls.
valarr arched his back, his eyes rolling back from the heavy pleasure, and you felt your whole body shake as you took him inside.
damn, you were not joking when you said he would tear you apart.
you froze for a few moments, trying to get used to his size and find your breath, while your body slowly adjusted to that new, filling weight.
"gods, you are perfect." there was so much real wonder in his voice that you pulled him in for a long, wet kiss, and spit ran down your chins, mixing together.
you grabbed his hands, which gripped the sheets so hard they almost tore, and moved them to your ass, making his fingers dig deep into your skin.
you started to move — slow and careful at first, remembering he just finished, but soon you moved faster, setting a ragged and wild pace.
valarr gasped and whimpered, begging you not to stop while you swiveled your hips, making his pelvis jump up and hit you with a dirty sound.
wet, splashing noises filled the quiet room — your pussy became so wet that you should have felt shame that you felt like that because of a man who did not even know where the clit was, but you couldn't have cared less.
he had a truly divine cock, so who could blame you?
"hnn-ngh!... want... to suck... please... please..."
you laughed softly and, leaning in until you were almost touching, gave him one breast. valarr wrapped his lips around the nipple at once with a greedy sound, making you arch your back and moan loud.
"haah, my prince, yes... right there, hnghh!." your fingers tangled in his dark hair, holding his head to you so tight it was like you wanted him to drown in your tits.
when you started to literally bounce on him, going as fast as you could, valarr let go of your breast with a wet pop, and his face twisted with pleasure that was almost painful.
"it is too much!... i am still too sensi.. mmnhm! i cannot..." he sobbed.
you kissed his sweaty lips quick and whispered right against his mouth. "you can, my prince. do you not want to leave your babies in me? do you not want to feel your seed fill me to the brim, and see my belly grow with your little dragons?"
a half-sob, half-cry broke from his chest, and he nodded hard, weeping from the rush of feelings.
"i want... i want it so much... hngh!...gods, i never wanted anything more."
"then come for me. let everyone in this castle know that it was you who filled me, my future king."
tears rolled down his cheeks as he made a sharp, desperate thrust upward, going so deep that his cock hit your cervix.
you screamed loud from that sweet pain, your muscles squeezed tight around him, and you felt the first wave of orgasm wash over you.
in that same second, valarr shook, and you felt the hot, thick stream of his seed fill you up inside. that heat felt so right and good that you only purred with joy, making your last, slow moves with your hips.
valarr was almost fully crying, his body still shaking from the shock, and you heard him whisper. "i really cannot do more... hngnhh!... i want to so much, but i cannot."
you softly calmed him down, rubbing his wet shoulders and telling him otherwise. "it is alright, you did perfect, my prince. no one could be better than you."
hearing your praise, he calmed down a lot, his breath went steady, and he practically pouted as he lifted his chin. "want a kiss."
you smiled gently at this sudden change and leaned down to him, covering his lips with yours while your sweaty bodies stayed pressed close together. you pulled away and kindly ran your fingers through his silver hair.
"you did so well."
later, when he fell asleep beside you in your bed, with his head tucked against your neck and his arm around you like you belonged to him, you listened to his steady breathing.
Yandere!Valarr Targaryen x wife!reader—in which, he's jealous of their newborn son until he realizes that two eyes are better in one for protecting you.
Sequel to: To Love You as You Should be Loved. Another Yandere Valarr story is up—You Are Not Allowed to Leave Me
Requested by @fandomtrela. Hope this lived up to what you wanted!
TW: Possessive and obsessive behaviour. Sex. Creepy behaviour, it's dark but it's sweet at the same time (I hope).
You were the light of Valarr’s life, everything he’d ever wanted or needed or would ever want or need and you were his. You were his in a way that no one ever had been before, you were his wife, the one he could run to when the weight of the world was too heavy. You were the cave in which he could shelter. He could hide inside of you, disappear from the world for a bit, losing connection to reality in the feel of your touch.
In the memories of you with him, laughing, head tossed back and in total abandon because you feel safe with him. In the memories of you, he can lose reality, in the memory of the way you feel around him, the way your soft perfumed skin tastes and the way you writhe around him.
In the memories of you with him he can lose touch with reality and lose touch with reality he does often, his mind on you always. Always and forever because you are his. You are his, his, his, his. He will never get tired of that, of knowing that you belong to him, really and truly belong to him, your body only ever touched by his, smile dedicated to him and him alone.
Because you are his forever.
His eternity.
“My flower!” he calls now, sitting up straight in his chair, muscles tightening as you walk towards him, lips curving up into a smile as you approach, cheeks covered in just the hint of a blush. “What are you doing here, my heart?” he asks you, his hands reaching for your hips, pulling you onto his lap, his chin finding its rightful place in the crook of your neck, the scent of roses, of you intoxicating to him. He presses his lips to the side of your neck, pulling the skin just slightly with his teeth, licking the skin and sucking, knowing that a mark will be left behind. A mark that marks you hiseven more than his ring on your finger and the crown on your head.
“Behave, my husband,” you whisper and he removes his lips from your skin, from the intoxicating taste to look at you with pupil blown eyes.
“Why should I?” he asks you, leaning forwards, dragging his tongue along the side of your neck, swirling it at your jaw, delighting in the shiver of your body, his body reacting instinctively. “You’re mine after all, my flower. Why shouldn’t I show all these people exactly how much you belong to me?”
“Because it’s indecent,” you answer and he smiles at you, a lazy lustful smile, his hands holding your hips tightly, preventing you from getting off of him.
“I don’t care,” he says and you roll your eyes at him, slapping him softly on the shoulder, shaking your head, your lips still curving up in that smile, the one that is only his.
“Wouldn’t you rather know why I’ve sought you out, Valarr?” you ask him and he sighs, the feeling of tightness and hardness and desire warring with his need to be a good husband, a listener and a tender place, a place for you to hide, to delight in as he does in you.
“You didn’t seek me out just to tell me how you love me and hate to parted from me?” he asks, his tone lilting hopefully, his eyebrows rising and you sigh, shaking your head, affection tinting the movement.
“No,” you answer and he groans, his head sinking into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his lips pressing a kiss to your back before. “I have news.”
“News regarding what, my wife?” he asks, still delighting in those two words, that form of possession over you.
“I’m with child,” you whisper, your voice rising excitedly, eyes wide with wonder and Valarr feels the words like a physical blow, the words punching to his heart, causing it to speed up, to become rapid. The image of you swelling with his child, this marking of you as his was more powerful than love bite or public kiss. This would be the outward manifestation of his love for you, a way to protect you from the men who wished to find weakness where weakness did not exist.
He wanted to see it now, the swelling, the marking, the showing that you were his in a way that could never be disputed. No, because you were with his child and that made you his more than any wedding night bedding or Septa vows. Everyone would look at you and know that you were Prince Valarr’s.
And that was he loved the most—not the child.
“Are you pleased, my husband?” you ask him, drawing him back to this moment, to now, away from the image of you swelling and marked as his forevermore.
“More than you will ever know, my wife,” he whispers, leaning forwards and capturing your lips with his, his tongue claiming ownership of your mouth, his one hand coming from your hip to cup your face, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “More than you will ever know.”
***
“Valarr!” He hears you cry for him, the sound high-pitched and panicked. Pained. He hears you and he’s up in a heartbeat, pulled from the land of dream in which he dreamt of you and your love and growing old with you, the eternity he has been granted by the gods.
But when he jolts awake, he fears the gods mean to take you from him, taunting him with the beautiful dream. “My flower! My flower, what is it?!” He blinks the sleep from his eyes, his body becoming aware of a peculiar wetness clinging to his legs, the sheets and he looks at you, at the nine moons swelling of your stomach and the contortion of your face, the way your hands (your delicate, beautiful hands adorned with his ring and all the others he has gotten for you to mark you, protect you) fist the sheets and the way you buck forwards.
“The—ah!—babe… is comi—AH!” you cry, bucking forwards, contractions racking your body and Valarr springs from the bed, tossing the covers from his body, hands scrabbling for his doublet, his chest bare and skin prickling in the cold. He pulls a blue doublet on, uncaring if his breeches are not befitting someone of his rank, the only thing on his mind getting the midwife so she can deliver the child in a way so that you survive.
He cares not about the child, only you. If you die, he will burn the world down and let himself burn with it, the child that takes your life the first to die. By his hand, preferably, rather than the kiss of flames.
“My wife! My wife is in labour!” he cries, the midwife springing up from her perch, gathering the supplies she needs from around her and running past Valarr, past him to you. To you, his life and light and wife.
His everything.
He will not survive if you die. Kingdom be damned, he will find a way to join you because you are his. You are his not the realm’s. You were no political alliance, you were chosen out of love, obsession. Possession. You are his and he will not be separated from you for anything or anyone.
No, you will survive because he needs you too. He needs you.
“I love you; I love you; I love you,” he whispers over and over, your hand squeezing his, his free hand brushing hair off your forehead, wiping the sweat away as you scream and curse him, cry and beg and plead with the gods to just get the child out. And Valarr can feel his heart break over and over, sympathy pain flaring within him, tears slipping down his cheeks at the sight and sound of you in pain. He did this to you, his relentless need to have you, to fill you, to mark you has put you in pain.
In this position, this near-death battle.
It’s the first time he’s ever felt shamed for his obsession of you. His possession.
He holds you as you let out a final cry, the midwife exclaiming of a beautiful boy, a precious son for the heir of the heir and he exhales in relief, tension evaporating from his body as he looks at you, at the healthy gleam of your skin. Your vitality.
His protection did not destroy. It made you stronger.
And that is why he takes the babe from the midwife’s outstretched hands, the small child inside the blanket you carefully wove opening eyes so perfect, so beautiful because they are your eyes not his, but the babe’s hair is just like his. He’s so impossibly small yet Valarr can sense a hidden strength within him, one like the blood of the dragon in his veins and the sun of House Ashford in his skin. A strength made of you and him—of your love.
“Give me our son, Valarr,” you whisper, your voice raw from screaming, arms reaching, hands outstretched for the child which he carefully places in your arms, watching as your face blossoms into that of a mother, tender and sure. “Shh, my boy. Mama has you, she will not let you go, darling.”
And then you smile at him. You smile his smile, the one that only he has seen, that only he should ever see and his lip curls in a sneer as he sends the midwife away, cleaning you up slowly and carefully, a vile taste forming in his mouth, lining it as he watches you nurse his son, cooing at him in a sweet high voice, your face covered in the smile that should only be his.
He swore to kill whoever you directed that smile at, but he doesn’t think he can do it to his son. Not out of love for him, but for you.
He’ll just have to ensure that you love him far more than his son.
***
Valarr is angry.
Not at you, never at you for you are his light and his life and you don’t mean to hurt him, you just don’t quite know what you do to him. What you caring for your son has done to him. You see only innocence in the babe, but he sees the truth. He sees the child that will take you from him, that wants you for his own, that seeks to destroy the father that created him.
Little bastard, he thinks, watching you rock your son, humming a sweet lullaby to him, face crinkled in a newsmile, one that you don’t give him, only the babe with your eyes and Valarr’s hair.
And anything that child has should be his.
He just needs to show you that he’s worth more than that child will ever be. After all, he can give you a dozen more if you want, preferably daughters, and you’d never even notice the loss of the boy. He can send him away once he’s weaned, send him to another noble house, have him fostered in Dorne, far from you and still have him raised as an heir.
And you can raise a dozen bright-eyed daughters that all resemble you—perfect daughters that will not take you away from him like son, will not demand your presence or special attention like this bastard of a son currently resting in your arms. Currently nursing on your breast—something which belongs to him.
“My flower,” he calls out to you, watching you turn to him, expression growing into one of fondness and love, but no undercurrent of heat or passion or fire. Nothing which you should be looking at him with. “Put the boy down and come here.”
It is the first time he has ever commanded anything of you—most of the time, he doesn’t need to. You willingly go to him, asking him for what he wants to give you but now that stupid son of his has taken you from him. Valarr delights in watched you put the babe down in his crib and walk to him, eyes bright but tired, breasts heavy and swollen with milk for the boy—no. Not for the boy.
Anything of you is Valarr’s. He can just as soon send the boy to a wet nurse, send him away away away. But for now, he’ll settle for taking you.
“My love,” you breathe, stepping towards him, falling into the warm circle of his arms, his embrace of love and faith and protection. That’s all this is, he’s protecting you from the child which wishes to tear you apart. And he will not let him.
It’s why he holds you by your waist, claiming your mouth with his, teeth nipping your bottom lip, aggressive in a way he rarely starts out with. He forces his tongue in your mouth, stroking and sucking on your tongue, hands tearing your gown away, tearing the slip and forcing you back onto the bed, your body falling down, the sight of you bare before enough to have him groaning, losing control and falling to his knees before you, pressing kisses to your inner thighs, love bites left behind just in case you try to forget whom you belong to.
He moves to your heat, the warmth in-between your legs, his mouth worshipping and savouring slow and gentle but yet aggressive and possessive at the same time. You buck and writhe against him as he licks your entrance, tongue slowly torturing you, your cries the shape of his name, spurring him on and he worships with renewed fervour, rewarded with the flavour of your release, the sign that you respond to him alone.
That you always will. That your taste is only his.
It’s that moment that the child cries out and you let out a groan, pushing up on your hands, looking down at Valarr with pity and despair, pupil blown and half-lidded eyes.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, tone dark and commanding. He comes to stand, adjusting his breeches which are far too tight now, his body needing yours, needing to be inside yours, but he refuses to lose your attentions to a boy who cannot yet even speak and so he pushes you back against the bed, pressing a kiss to your lips, one tainted with your flavour, the taste which he dreams of at night and then he walks away through the arch to the crib.
He looks down at the screaming infant and knows with certainty that if he truly wished to, he could end him right here and no one would know. Infants do just die sometimes.
And he would do it if he didn’t need an heir.
“She is mine, little bastard,” he hisses at the babe, the child quieting down at his voice. He thinks it must be scared, must hear the threat in his words (he doesn’t understand that it recognizes him as his father. Yet). “And I am going to go remind her that she’s mine and you’re going to shut the fuck up.” And then he walks away, back to you, where you still lay on the bed, eyes closed, drifting off to sleep and that just won’t do.
He climbs onto his knees on the bed, lining himself up with your entrance and he slides inside, groaning at the feeling of you all around him walls clenching and readjusting to the feeling of him and he’s delighted when he sees your eyes open, pupil blown, your lips shaping his name.
He moves in and out of you with an aggression he hasn’t before, slamming into you every time. And every time he sheathes inside you, he leans forward, hovering just above you, promising a kiss each time, but instead whispering, mine.
And that’s how it goes each of the many times he shows you that you belong to him. You are his.
Only his.
***
Valarr can feel his hands tighten into fists as he watches you accept flowers from the boy, him toddling forwards and presenting you with flowers, rewarded with your laugh. It should be him who gets you to laugh, but he cannot deny that he loves seeing you as a mother, happy and nurturing.
He’ll give you a daughter next. A daughter won’t be trouble. And trouble is exactly what he senses, his cousin Aerion approaching you, lip curled in a sneer, something crude no doubt about to leave his lips so Valarr steps forwards, preparing to protect you from his cousin, but he finds he does not need to, his son positioning himself between you and Aerion, hands on his hips, yelling “stay. Away. From. My mama!”
He can see Aerion laugh, his lip curling and for once since his son was born, Valarr feels affection for the boy and steps in, sending Aerion off to lick his wounds, to beat his wife. Whatever the bastard does.
And Valarr now understands how useful his young son can be. To protect you, of course. And so he turns and joins you on the grass, playing with the boy, play-fighting and lifting him so that he can “fly”.
And for the first time in months, Valarr is rewarded with your happiness. Your smile. All for him as it should be.
And he can breathe normally again.
***
“Now, son,” Valarr says, peering into Daemon’s eyes. “I have a task for you.”
“What?” he asks, voice still high and childish but eyes wide with adoration as he looks at his father, prepared to whatever he asks, whatever it will take to earn his love.
“I need you to protect your mother. Report to me every night with what she’s done each day. Watch over her and tell me all about it, alright?”
“Okay.”
***
And that’s exactly what Daemon does, reports every miniscule thing back to Valarr, every interaction. It’s why many a knight have found themselves threatened and cornered by his sword. It’s why many a lord have had the threat of the Crown upon their lands. All because they looked at you or spoke to you or spoke of you.
Two eyes are always better than one. And it was what fueled Valarr to give you many many children—seven to be exact. Four sons and three daughters.
And every son was set the same task—Protect your mother and report back to Valarr.
And every son did.
You never questioned why the castle was so polite, so pleasant suddenly, eyes downturned rather than envious or creeping.
And that’s exactly how Valarr wanted for his heart was yours and his life too. And he protects that which is his.
And you are, for eternity, his.
And he always makes sure you know it. Every night.
***
“My heart is yours,” he whispers one night, the two of you older, calmer, children grown and kingdom ruled fair and wise. “My life is too.”
“My heart and life are yours as well, Valarr,” you reply, voice thickening with sleep. “Did you ever doubt it?”
“Once,” he answers, pressing a soft, love-filled kiss to your lips. “A long time ago. When Daemon was young.”
“I’m sorry, my heart,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that you ever questioned it.”
