And maybe a pregnant reader x valarr fanfic where he literally has her supported against his body while she gives birth to twins and it is a difficult birth with lots of angst but hopefully a happy ending
The room was too warm. Too bright. Too full of voices that kept saying the same words as if repetition could make the pain smaller.
Breathe. Again. Just like that.
You could not remember when it had started feeling like this, only that it did not stop. The sheets beneath you were damp with sweat, your hair stuck to your temples, and your body was trembling with the kind of exhaustion that turned time into something thick and cruel.
Valarr was behind you on the bed, braced like a shield, your back supported against his chest. His arms were under yours, locked tight enough to hold you up when you could not do it yourself. He had been there for hours. He had not moved. Not once, not really.
“Look at me” he whispered, voice breaking on the edges in a way you had never heard from him in all your marriage. “Please.... Just look at me.”
You turned your head and found him close, close, close. His face was pale, lashes wet, jaw clenched so hard you thought he might shatter a tooth. His forehead pressed to your temple as if he could anchor you to the world by touch alone.
“I have you,” he breathed. “I have you. You’re safe. You’re doing so well. You’re… gods, you’re so brave.”
A contraction grabbed you again, sharp enough to steal the air from your lungs. You made a sound you did not recognize as your own.
Valarr’s arms tightened instantly. He kissed the side of your head, over and over, messy with desperation.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m right here. Crush my hands if you need to. Hurt me. I don’t care. Just stay with me.”
The midwife’s voice cut through the haze. “Now, my princess. Now. Push. All of it.”
You tried. You did. Your body bore down and shook, and Valarr held you upright when everything inside you felt like it was coming apart.
“That’s it,” he choked, lips at your ear. “That’s it, my love. Give them to me. Give them to me and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never suffer alone again.”
“You’re crowning,” the midwife announced. “One more, girl. One more.”
Valarr’s breath hitched. His hands were trembling where they clasped yours. “I love you,” he said, like a confession ripped out of him. “I love you so much it frightens me.”
You pushed.
For a moment there was only heat and pressure and the terrible stretch of it and then a sudden shocking release.
A wet new sound filled the room.
A cry
Thin at first then angry then strong enough to make the candle flames seem to jump with it.
The midwife lifted your baby up, red faced and perfect and wailing like they had been insulted by being born. “A prince” she said brisk and proud.
Valarr made a broken noise. Something between a sob and a laugh. He reached as if to take the baby, then caught himself hands hovering helpless because he could not decide which of you to hold first.
He chose you.
He pressed his face to your hair. “You did it,” he whispered. “You did it. I’m so proud of you. I’m so...”
The maester’s voice, tight. “There’s another.”
The relief that had flooded you ripped away so fast it made you dizzy.
Yes. Another. You had known. You had known for months, felt two separate flutters beneath your ribs, listened while everyone spoke softly of risk and blood and difficult births as if gentleness could tame the truth.
But hearing it now, in this room, with your strength draining away, was terror made real.
The midwife’s hands moved again. The maester leaned in, eyes sharp. “The second is not coming as easily.”
Valarr went rigid behind you. You felt it, the instant his fear turned into something fierce enough to burn.
“What do you mean” he demanded, voice low, dangerous in a way that would have frozen knights.
The maester did not look up. “I mean she must push and she must do it soon.”
You tried to gather yourself. Your body felt empty and still full. Shaking and heavy. Every breath scraped.
Valarr slid one hand to your belly, gentle as prayer, then to your throat, thumb brushing your pulse like he was checking you were still here.
“Sweetheart,” he said, softer now, right into your skin. “Listen to me. Dont leave me. Dont you dare leave me.”
You turned your head, barely able to focus. “Valarr…”
His eyes were shining, furious with love. “I need you. The children need you. I can be brave for war, for court, for my father and the realm and all of it, but I cannot…” His voice cracked. “Not this. Not without you.”
Another contraction hit, uglier than before.
You cried out and his arms tightened around your ribs, holding you up, holding you together. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your jaw, like he was trying to press you back into the world.
“That’s it” he murmured. “That’s my love. That’s my heart. Breathe with me. Breathe. Good. Good.”
The midwife’s voice turned urgent. “Push, my princess. Push hard.”
You pushed. Your vision sparkled at the edges. The room tilted.
Valarr’s voice stayed steady even when his hands were not. “Look at me. Just look at me. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. I’m right here.”
You pushed again.
The midwife swore under her breath. The maester said something you did not catch. You felt panic rise, hot and choking.
Valarr pressed his mouth to your ear. “You can do this,” he said, fierce and pleading at once. “You can. I know you can. You’ve already done the impossible. Do it again, love. Do it again and I will never ask the gods for anything ever again.”
You dragged in a breath and pushed until your whole body shook with it.
For a heartbeat nothing happened.
Then the pressure shifted. Moved. Gave.
A second cry, weaker than the first, a thin little sound that made the room go suddenly still.
“No,” Valarr whispered, immediate and terrified, and you felt his chest heave against your back. “No no no.”
The midwife worked fast, rubbing, clearing, coaxing life with practiced hands. “Come on, little one. Come on.”
The baby made another sound. Stronger.
Then, like a door finally flung open, the second cry rose full and indignant, loud enough to shame the first for ever being doubted.
Relief hit you so hard you started sobbing, the kind of sobbing that hurt your throat.
Valarr’s arms locked around you like iron.
“A princess,” the midwife said again, breathless now with triumph. “Twins.”
Valarr made a sound that was pure worship. He turned your face gently with shaking fingers and kissed you, careful, reverent, as if you were something holy and bruised.
“You stayed,” he whispered against your lips. “You stayed. You stayed with me.”
The midwife placed the first baby against your chest. A warm, slippery weight. Tiny fists. A furious little face pressed into you like they already knew you.
The second followed, squirming, loud and alive.
You could barely hold them. Your arms felt like they belonged to someone else.
Valarr slid in closer, curling his body around yours so all three of you were supported by him. His hands covered yours over the babies, steadying, protecting, claiming in the gentlest way.
He kissed your hair again, and his voice was ruined with love. “Look what you made,” he whispered. “Look what you gave me.”
You laughed weakly through tears. “They’re… loud.”
Valarr huffed a breath that might have been a laugh if it didn’t break in the middle. “Targaryens,” he murmured, and kissed your brow. “Perfect.”
Outside the room, someone knocked softly, a cautious sound, as if the whole castle was afraid to disturb the miracle.
Valarr did not look away from you.
“Go away,” he said, quiet and absolute.
Then he lowered his head and pressed his cheek to yours, holding you and your children like he had been made for it.
“You rest now,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. All of you.”
.....
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