Lola

“Before need, before love, came trust.”

[targaryenheretic]

"The wounds snow made, snow conceals."

hi!! i’m lola, im 22, and a med student so i have no posting schedule, but i do try to atleast post once a week!!

requests/asks are always welcome!!

account is 18+!! most of my work is smut. mdni. seriously.

MASTERLIST TAGLIST

[targaryenheretic]

PERFERVID

⁂⁂ aerion targaryen x twin!reader

warnings: spoilers for ep3 of akotsk!! targcest, aerion is obsessive but so is reader, they are crazy!! and evil!! duncan catches some strays but ill make it up with a duncan fic soon trust #lovethatman!! smut: (unprotected PiV (wrap it before you tap it!!) fingering!f receiving, blood play if you squint, breeding kink if you use a magnifying glass, aerion whimpers™ once) canon violence (aerion breaking tanselles finger, blood, a horse dying though not graphic, and reader gets slashed) changed tiny things around so the plot could happen. no descriptions of reader besides silver hair, photos are for aesthetic only.

synopsis: a tourney has you going to ashford, and after aerions jousting win—no matter how he got it—enjoys his victory. though with a play that ends with you ending up hurt and his mood dampened, aerion shows his fealty in more than one way.

thank you guys for 90 followers!! genuinely crazy love you all so much!! mwah mwah

the court often whispered that aerion was not devoted to anything other than power, but they were wrong. yes, perhaps he was cruel, monstrous even, and desperately sought power, but he did have a devotion for something other than power; you.

you came exactly two minutes after him, and when placed in the same cradle, his sobs stopped immediately, cries turning into almost soft coos when he had you near and this did not stop even as he became a toddler. you could not leave his line of sight or gods forbid you are in another room since the prince would bite and scream until you were placed next to him again.

as you both grew, he no longer restored to biting when he was not near you, but perhaps that was because he learnt to walk and in turn, he was often close by—even as the two of you developed different habits and behaviors, you didn’t do anything without his eyes on you—no courtesans of the castle could expect one twin to be without the other, and no matter how cruel aerion seemed to get, you did not leave his side and he did not leave yours.

your royal duties today brought you to a tourney in ashford. it was a few days ride from kings landing, but your father was hellbent on going. which seemed to backfire spectacularly on him as he lose two of your brothers in the process, daeron and aegon. though losing his children doesn’t even make make him turn the royal party around and try and find them. two of his children missing, and he would not forget about the stupid tourney—perhaps you are deflecting your hate for tournaments to your father—and find your brothers, but alas he thought they would simply show up somewhere; so onwards you went, eventually making it to the keep.

barely five minutes into the courtyard, and you haven’t even gotten a chance to dismount your horse before aerion manages to insult a hedge knight. you do not insult him with aerion, but do not apologize for your twins behavior either. instead finding the nearest stable boy to hand off your horse, and going to explore the castle (which in your humble opinion) was quite bland compared to the red keep.

the actual jousts finally begin the second day in the reach, but only highborns or knights of notable ranking are able to join the signup for today, and of course—because his pride wouldn’t let him not join—aerion did, very arrogantly. you were hoping to avoid as many parts of the tournament as possible, but you could not miss his jousting, he would be petulant if you did not come to witness his win he was so certain would happen. you regretted it as soon as you sat in the arena.

it was a total bloodbath, and only two rounds into the joust. aerion was haughty with his win against Ser Hardyng, not caring that he won by purposely aiming low instead of playing fair. he lifted his helm when he saw the commonfolk start to riot, and he smiled faintly to himself, proud. the horse that he stabbed with his lance was quickly put out of its misery, and the knight laid on the ground. ouch. he glanced over to where you were sat next to baelor in the royal stands, and unlike his uncles face of disapproval, you had the smallest of a perverse smile, which only made him happier in his brutality if you found enjoyment out of it.

with the jousting over for the day from the…spectacle he made, people gathered in the clearings and tents of the ashfords land, seeking entertainment. you forgoed your sworn sword, you did not need the attention it brings, and if your silver hair did not give your status away, a royal guard certainly would. you decided on a tent, and as you start pushing through the crowd—that separates for you once they realized it was a princess pushing them—and you catch the familiar crimson red of aerions clothes, quickly going to stand next to him, and he looks rather indignant that someone would dare take a spot so close until he realized it was just you.

“i did not take you for a puppet show enjoyer.” your face flat as to reveal no emotion, but he heard the teasing lit in your voice, giving you away, he tolerated it for the moment being.

“i don’t.” the tone of his words as simple as yours, violet eyes focused on the enactment, “but there is a dragon in this….play.” he spits out play out as if it disgusted him. “and i wish to see how they portray it.”

you hum in acknowledgment, clasping your hands in front of you, and look back at the play—as aerion so gracefully put it—intrigued despite yourself. the girl in makeshift armor, (the hero of the show, no doubt) is running around the dragon puppet, the crowd laughing and applauding, perhaps at something that she said before you came into the tent. the joy doesn’t last long, as in only in a few minutes, it goes deadly quiet while she ‘stabs’ it in the neck with her fake sword, red confetti gushing from the slit in the puppet, and suddenly the sea of people separated.

her eyes go wide in terror at the look on aerions face. you were not as upset as him. it was a stupid play, and a stupider commoner girl, her stabbing some dragon puppet was insolent and disrespectful, treasonous at best. yet you did not believe yourself a dragon like aerion, who would take such personal offense to such a thing. the crowd immediately went up in a uproar as aerion grabbed her. the guards that were there, both white cloaks and ashford knights tried to control the crowd, pushing them back as much as possible, but it doesn’t stop the outcry, it never did.

when aerion broke her finger moments later, bending it backwards and up as she cried out, people try to push through the guards more than they already have, though a man who moved passed you to fast for you to recognize him, managed to—horrified by the actions taken by the prince—breaking the seal of people rioting and knights guarding the tent, and that gave just enough leeway for a commoner to suddenly grabs you, him seeing an opportunity now that the guards eyes were not completely on you, and that gave him just enough time to cut you with a dagger before the guards tackle him, causing you to stumble back, hand instinctively pressed against your wound as blood seeped into your dress, your palm.

you could not focus on the burning of the gash for long as you heard fighting and a large thud, voices loud and urgent that followed. you pushed down the pain, walking to where you were originally before the crowds of people pushed you, ignoring a sword asking if you were alright. when you walk in, clutching your side, a royal guard whispers urgently to another to get a maester, considering both you and aerion were injured, and they knew if the prince saw you hurt, it would only cause more of a stir.

you see the hedge knight you met, the one aerion insulted not even three days before, being held back by the guards that rushed to aerions side when he lunged. the man’s fury written all over his face. ser duncan (or at least what you think his name is) must of been the one to get aerion bloodied, considering the look on his face. you scan the tent, and see aegon near by, his head shaved. that’s how he managed to sneak away from the royal party, he truly looked like a commoner to anyone who didn’t know the princes face very well. probably saved the lowly knight from being killed right there and then by revealing his status. aerion speaks in a low tone then, snapping you out of his thoughts. “why would you throw your life away for this whore?” he spares a glance over at you, and seems to become angrier, as if the hedge knight slashed you himself.

“she’s scarcely worth it.” words as simple as if he was explaining night and day. he does not scream or cry, his words were calm. which was almost scarier than a tantrum, “she is a traitor. the dragon ought never lose.” shaking his head as he made his way to where you were. your pretty dress ruined and stained with blood and dirt from being grabbed by that man. he was furious, more than you originally thought. he silently communicated with you, you shake your head lightly, the hedge knight has learns his lesson already with the punishment he will get later. no need for more, not with so many commonfolk watching, anyways, and your side was killing you, you wanted to leave as soon as possible. he does not look away from you, debating wether to listen or to no, but ends up snapping out:

“and someone get a fucking maester!”

your side ached with every stitch put in it, though the pain turned to a dull throb now. aerions face has been cleaned up, no longer bloodied, and though the maester cleared him from any serious damage, he stayed; just watching as the maester fixed your wound. you winced as the needle pierced your skin—a particularly painful prick it seemed—but thankfully it was the last one needed, and the maester bandaged it quickly, bowing and leaving right after finishing, not wanting to stay longer than what was needed. aerion still doesn’t speak, and watched you. as if you showed you were in more pain than you let on, the more that ser duncan would eventually have to pay.

you stand up, using the chair as support and grab the new and not torn dress a handmaiden left in the chambers earlier. you start to undo the laces of the one you were currently wearing so you could change, unable to get the last ones easily. before you could even ask, fingers replace yours. aerion pulls at the laces, the dress slipping off your shoulders when the final one is undone, the clothe pooling at your ankles, leaving you in just your underclothes. “thank you.” you murmur, not turning back around just yet.

he just hums, and grabs the new shift for you, sliding the thin straps off your shoulders, your breath hitches, as the cold hits your bare skin and at aerions touch, but before you can dwell on it, he finally speaks. “that hedge knight will pay for what he did.”

“he was not the one to cut me, aerion.” you whisper back.

“no.” he murmured back, anger still in his voice as his thumb traced down the line of your back, testing. “he did not. but if he had not stopped me from breaking that whores fingers, no commoner would have be able to grab you.”

you knew it was no use in arguing about the logistics, not with him anyways. you just simply grabbed the silk from him, making sure not to turn back and show him more than he’s already seen, but you were sure it made no difference. slipping over your body before smoothing it down and turning to face him. he almost looks disappointed at the lack of skin you showed.

“you wish for his head?” you ask, pulling your hair out of your dress.

“yes, and i will get it.” he says as if it had already been decided. “the man who cut you has too.” you expected that, the guards tackled the man and you were sure his head was already in a bag, ready to be put on a spike when you went back to kingslanding. you do not respond to his words, you had no answer as his hand went to your face, thumb roughly stroking your cheek. he leans in closer, whispering, “i will never let someone hurt you and end up unburnt.”

you take a breath in, and your words were barely a murmur, trusting. “i know.”

he looks almost like he was going to kiss you, or perhaps not. perhaps you had made up everything you thought you knew about him and he was just being—

his lips quickly claimed yours, biting and claiming, cutting off the racing thoughts you had. his other hand comes up and cups your face, making you unable to pull away even if you wanted to.

his hands did not know where to stay, because one of them almost instantly moved to push up your shift, almost moaning at the feel of your soft skin. “aerion, someone will find out…” you trail off as his hand goes higher, not trusting your words at the moment. his lips managed to swallow whatever noise of pleasure you made at his touch.

“we are dragons—you were made for me—and i take what is mine.” he whispered reverently. his tongue slipping into your mouth greedily, as if he was trying to take all of you he could, and guides you backwards towards the nearest wall, pressing you against it. the hand that was against your thigh quickly makes work of itself, and you whimper as his thumb rubbed against your clit.

he smiled. that same not-actually-happy smile, the possessive, cruel, one. your brows furrow in pleasure, “gods, you’re wet. did you want me that terribly?” he taunts, and presses a finger into your hole—so instead of you being able to respond to his jeer—you’d just gasp in pleasure at the intrusion, the worry of someone hearing thrown out the window as he started to curl his finger.

your eyes became heavy lidded as pleasure rose inside of you, and he roughly grabs your face, sticking another finger into you as he does it, which draws a whine to out of your lips. “look at me.” he whispers harshly, smugness rising in him as he feels you subconsciously grind against his palm, chasing a high that was so close you could taste it.

“look at me while you come.” he almost looked desperate to see you come undone, and it only takes a few more swipes of his thumb and curls of his fingers inside of you for the feeling to reach its peak, a loud moan leaving you at the pleasure that wracks your body, and instead of covering your mouth—in case a servant or lord passed by the chambers—he doesn’t. you were his, and who cares if someone hears him take what is his?

aerion continued his motions, letting you ride out your high until your panting and knees nearly buckle. he pulls his hand out from under your dress and quickly grabs and turns you, so you were facing the wall. you hear the sound of his breeches being untied, and even though you were still recovering from the orgasm he just gave you; you almost greedily awaited for another.

his hands push up your dress again, bunching it at your hips this time and using some of your slick to lube his dick. you squirm slightly as need wells through your body once more, and you can almost feel his arrogance rolling off of him from that, but before you could say anything—again—he pushes into you, achingly slow.

you moan, the stretch of his cock felt heavenly, and you had to fight not to cry out. he finally nestled fully inside you, and perhaps he was right. perhaps you were made for him with how good this felt. he felt. he started thrusting shallowly, bitting against your shoulder lightly as pleasure filled his body.

your nails scratch at the stonewall, looking for something, anything to grab onto. he groans ever so quietly as if he doesn’t wish for you to hear how much you effect him. you clench around his length and he groans, a bit louder this time, forgoing his previous attempt to keep his hungry for you a secret.

his fingers grip at your hips, digging in harder as his thrusts become rougher and deeper. “you were made for me.” he repeats, more desperate this time, so unlike him. “mine. you’re mine. always—hhhhave—been.” he hissed.

you whine, his thrusts touching that spongy part inside you, and you quickly became close again. he takes your jaw in his hand and pulls it back, craning his neck so he could sloppily kiss you, drawing blood as he bites your lip, and you bite back, your blood mixing. the copper taste heavy on your tongues, only makes him more determined in his fucking.

and if your bodies were in sync, you both reached your peaks at the same time soon after, his head falling to where your neck met your shoulder, marking you up, and if you weren’t so far into the bliss of your orgasm, you would’ve heard his whimper into your back as he came inside of you, filling you with his seed, and he wishes it takes, for a moment. so you would always be his.

you barely have time to adjust your clothes after you come down from your highs beforr a knock at the door makes you both jump (though aerion would never admit it) and quickly fix your appearances as best as possible, before aerion calls for whoever to come in. the servant bows his head, a blush on his face, and he had definitely heard what had happened between you and aerion based on his voice wavering slightly. “my prince, my princess.”

aerion waved his hand dismissively for him to get to the point. “your father has returned, and he is commanding for you both to come at once to decide the knights fate.”

the servant bows and leaves after he rushed out his words, practically scurrying away. when the door closed behind him, aerion turns to you and cups your face once more. “i will see him beheaded.” he whispers, and you can almost hear devotion in his voice, and presses a possessive kiss to your forehead, before walking out. you grab your robe and slip it on, tying it, before leaving to follow him.

a/n: aerion is like genuinely despicable!! he’s hot when he doesn’t open his mouth lowkey. anyways this was sitting in my drafts because i thought it was boring but i wanted to post something so here you go!!

[targaryenheretic]

CYNOSURE

⁂⁂ aerion targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: targcest, reader is first born and heir (pretend that could happen without contest) canon is shifted around just to make maekar the king so reader would be heir it’s important to the plot trusttttt, jealousy, fingering f!receiving slightly mean aerion in bed, unprotected PiV (wrap it before you tap it), virginity loss. slight breeding kink towards the end.

synopsis: a tourney in summerhall has you enjoying the festivities of the night, though when aerion sees you with a lordling that could possibly take his spot; he takes matters into his own hands.

photos do not represent the fic; for aesthetic purposes only as the only thing that is described is silver hair.

every nobleman wished to wed you, or bed you, for that matter. heir to the iron throne and the realms beauty, it seems you were every lords first choice, the thought of marrying into the royal bloodline would be a miracle for nobles, and when a targaryen was of age for marriage, they swarmed like vultures, pecking at every one they could get.

your septa’s and maester taught you the rules of being a queen before the crown even came close to sitting on your brow, including the avoidance of said vultures. you listened intently, soaking in every lesson you could get, but when you got to three and ten as the lessons dragged on, you began to ignore the repetitive words that left their mouths.

your father would scold. tell you it was not proper, that you needed the lessons if you wished to be a good queen, you tried, truly, you did. but after turning ten and five, you ditched the lessons entirely. you weren’t entirely to blame for your lack of care and rebellion, as aerions increasing influence on you only seemed to spur you on throughout the years.

yes, perhaps he was only getting close to you because he knew you would inherit the throne after your father, but then maybe he got close to you because as the years went by, you were the only one who did not see him as a total monster. you smiled at him and rolled your eyes when he said something insolent; pushed him and wasn’t afraid at what would happen if he decided he had enough, it wasn’t surprising to the court the prince sought you out the most.

and at eight and ten years of age, a lord you do not care to know the name of, holds a tourney at summerhall. awfully boring, but as future queen one day you must go, and you think the reason that you are so ardently forced to go is because your father wants to find a suitable match—which wouldn’t be hard—if you did not refuse all of them; to his utter dismay. you did not wish to marry some daft lord who only wished for the title you carried.

the crowds bustled with noises and loud laughter as the trees thinned out and the keep slowly started to come in view, pavilions being put up by the servants for the lords and ladies to rest their heads come nightfall, knights training for the tournament, yelps and the sounds of metal clashing together fills one of the many clearings besides the stronghold. your hands tighten on the reigns of your horse unconsciously out of a strange unease. you never did keen for tourneys. the bloodshed very unnecessary in your eyes.

the populace of people that seemed to congregate on the bridge, watching from afar, move out of the way for the royal family riding in, gaping and furiously whispering, you glance over at aerion as he seems to preen in the attention and you resist the urge to smack him, like you so carefreely you did as a child. the three headed dragon banners fly high and proud, bannermen on their horses besides you, the wind flapping the fabric the sound grating on your nerves.

not much happens during the start of your stay at summerhall, considering you got in late afternoon, you truly had no time to converse or enjoy any festivities put up for the day as you had matters to attend too, and a meeting the whole family had to attend. it was dreadful.

darkness comes as quick as winter, and so does the commotion of drunken lords and rowdy knights, as they gather in tents where highborns hosted feasts and parties. you enjoy the muffled noises from in your room in the keep, it helped distracted you from the sound of your own thoughts, but you eventually get up and decide and leave the comfort of your bed to go enjoy it yourself.

as you went towards the commotion, you are met with careful looks and murmurs, though it doesn’t last long, people moving on quickly here, it seems. you get chatty with the ladies and whores of the night, the ones not afraid to laugh untimely in case you would wish for your head. after being spoken to like you would snap at any given moment, it was refreshing.

one of the ladies—who was mixed in with the with the others you were speaking too—her name lady androwa, pulls you into the baratheons tent, the supper raging on as people spoke obnoxiously, their voices raising with petty disagreements. Lyonel baratheon sits at the head of the tables, talking animatedly to his bannermen, an he probably would not of noticed you if it was not for the silver hair you never seem able to hide.

“princess!” his voice booms, practically echoing through the tent and you wince internally, suddenly regretting allowing lady androwa to pull you in.

the silence is almost deafening as everyone turns to you. “my lord.” you say, politely. bowing your head for a moment.

“and what do i owe the honor too?”

“nothing, my lord. i simply wish to enjoy the feast.” you say, forcing a courteous smile on your face.

Lyonel’s grin grows, as if he found that amusing. “ah! well then, may you enjoy the festivities, come to me if you need anything, my princess.” he claps twice; signaling to the bards to play their music again, while everyone goes back to what they were doing previously, only a few still send glances your way.

you find the lady that scurried off as soon as Lyonel noticed you—the one who originally pulled you into the godsforsaken tent—at a table on the far left side of the pavilion. you learn she is a ashford, her father a bannerman for the tyrell’s. she was very…talkative, and by the end of the night you think you’ve learned her whole life story, running out of nods and feigned shock or amusement. once she finished her never ending tales of her life; thinking perhaps you can finally escape, she introduced you to her brother.

he was handsome, sure, but you came to this party for reprieve from the stress of being a royal, not to leave the tent engaged. once she introduced you, you learnt that she seems to run away a lot—considering when you looked back to see where she was, you couldn’t find her—leaving the two of you alone in a corner, and he eventually speaks after a few moments of awkward silence. “my princess, it is wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

you nod, politely, glancing over at him. “the pleasure is all mine, my lord.”

he seemed interested in your hand, as all lords are, but he did not immediately start with that. he told you about his family, which most you already learned earlier in the night from his sister, but you feigned that same ignorance, and as the conversation shifted, he moved to speak about himself, even managed to make you actually smile a few times at his jokes.

you would let him down kindly when you decided it was time to return to summerhall for the night, but it felt good not to speak about politics for once in your life. you had a smile on your face, which seemed to only grow as he spoke about something his younger brothers had done that night, a laugh managed to slip past your lips, and before you could reply, a hand goes to the small of your back.

you flinch and whip your head around to see who it was, almost calling for the guards, thinking it was a drunken man who thought he could touch whoever he’d like, but no. you caught the familiar flash of silver hair; aerion. you did not even know he was in this tent, he did not enjoy parties. especially not chaotic ones like these.

his fingers curl against your dress almost possessively as the lord quickly bowed his head. “my prince!”

he makes a little hmph sound, almost undignified, though the lord did not do anything for him to be indignant over. “it seems you are having a lovely time.” his voice tight, like a twig about to snap. “but i must intrude. may i borrow my sister for a moment, lord ashford?”

the lord had no choice, who would refuse a prince? especially when that prince was the “monstrous” aerion, and he looked just about ready to behead someone. “of course, my prince.” he nodded, practically sprinting away.

you turned to aerion, his hand dropping to his side, now that the lord was gone, though it seemed to want to stay. “is that your idea of fun?”

your brows furrow at his tone, “is there something wrong with me enjoying the party that lord Lyonel is so graciously hosting?” words still polite, incase someone was watching, or listening, for that matter.

he scowls at your words. “that lord looked about ready to jump in your bed.”

your eyes widen at his language and scoff, lowering your voice. “i am supposed to be here to look for a lord to marry, even though that is not my priority, i must still look, and what if he wiser to jump in my bed? you have no ownership over me.” you rebutted.

his eyes narrowed at your insolence towards him, and he pulled you out of that tent before you could even ask why.

“aerion—! let go!” you struggled against him, and he eventually does—no guards batting an eye, since this behavior from the both of you was common—only when you both back in summerhall, far from the festivities and the only proof of life is the faint murmurs from the clusters of people outside the gates.

“you will not marry anyone—“ he hissed, pulling you into his chambers.

you scoff. “tell that to father, he seems to want to make me a match by the morrow, i might as well look, so i do not get stuck with a old, fat lord.”

“no.” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut. he steps forward once, getting into your space as he was in the baratheons tent. he grabs your face, not roughly, but enough so you could not move from his grasp. he leans in close enough you could feel his breath against your skin. “you will not marry,” his voice lowering into a mere possessive whisper. “you will not marry unless it is me.”

you blink at him. not knowing how to respond at the information just told to you. him? he wanted to marry you? “aerion…“ you start, not knowing what else to say. what could you say?

“shh.” he hushed you, his free hand trailing down your body, leaving the feeling of fire against the places he touched. “you are mine. you will be mine until you breathe your last breath.” your breath hitches ever so slightly, just to give you away as his hand reaches up your skirts, pushing away the silks and cotton of the underclothes you wore. the hand that was holding your face dropped to your waist to steady you, as you watch him through heavy lidded eyes, shadows casted onto his face from the lanterns lighting the room.

as his hand slip to the warmth between your legs, a slender finger moving to curl inside you, a gasp tears from your throat at the feeling that pools inside you. “we should not—“ you try once more though your protest was weaker, and he knows it.

“i do not care about propriety, and considering how wet you are, it seems you do not either.” he hums mockingly but you couldn’t expect anything less from him; not even in this intimate moment. as he pressed another finger inside, curling in a way which made you see stars, a noise that was rather pathetic left you, hand going to steady yourself against him. he had a smug look on his face as you subconsciously ground against his hand desperately seeking friction.

he continued, the pads of his fingertips press against that little spot inside you until he felt you clench around his fingers. your whines and moans becoming more breathy and needy as the rope inside you threatens to snap, he slips his fingers out, leaving you on the edge.

a quiet groan of annoyance left you, chest rising and falling rapidly. he smiled cruelly. “do not pout.” he says, thumb tracing your cheek as if your reaction was funny. he presses a kiss to your lips. “you will cum,” he hums. sliding his tongue into your mouth to muffle your complaints. “but only on my cock.”

“turn around.”

when you eventually get your bearings back from his words, you do. his fingers deftly start to undo the laces holding your dress together, one by one, achingly slow, until the fabric slips off your shoulders and pools at your ankles. left in just your shift, you turn back around, and he nips marks onto your neck as he pulls down the last barrier separating you from him.

he shifts you and gently pushes you down till you are on the bed, furs tickle your back and you are suddenly self conscious at his stare, shifting slightly. after all, you were bare and he was not. his pupils blow at the sight of you. “they were right..calling you the beauty of the realm.” he hums, tracing a warm hand against your soft skin. agonizingly, like he was worshiping you as a septa would the seven.

he had enough as it only takes a few moments for all his clothes to be almost torn off impatiently, savoring the needy look you had. he pushes apart your legs and gets between them, he leans down, soothing the previous bites he left with the soft touch of his tongue, kissing his way back to your lips, and when your mouth slots against his, it’s rushed and harsh.

you managed to separate from him with a soft noise. he slides his length through your slick a few times as moans slip through your words, “aerion, i have never..” you trail off, hoping he understood what you meant.

he smiles. “good. i will be gentle.” he soothed, voice soft as velvet, but it quickly turns to a groan as he presses inside you achingly slow. he did promise to be gentle, even if it was just this time. you hiss, pain spilling into every vein as he tries very hard not to fully sheath himself in you in a single thrust. you throb around him, part pain and part arousal. your fingers curl against the furs he had laid you against, and a few agonize minutes later, he’s fully nestled into you.

the burning sensation of him taking your maidenhead slowly fading into deep insatiable need. he could tell just with the way you squirmed underneath him, a needy noise leaving you as he did a shallow thrust, testing before pulling out until only the tip of his dick was inside, and shoving back in. “hah—aerion—“ you pant as you try to muffle the obscene noises you are making, the chambers you were in wasn’t exactly sound proof.

he grasped your face, so you could not push your head into the softness of the pillows, “do not muffle your moans, let the whole castle hear how good you feel because of me, let the rumors spread. let them know your mine.”

and in a pleasured riddled haze, you listened, the noises that slipped out now were loud and unfiltered, matching the sounds of skin slapping and the creak of the bed. “fuck,“ you choked on your words at a particularly hard thrust from him. words getting stuck in your mouth as the high you so desperately needed started to climb up.

“just needed me to fill you up, huh?” he pants, fingers pressed hard enough to bruise into the fat of your hips. sounds of sheer pleasure left you, and he continues his almost cocky speech, “you were made for me. nobody else will ever have you…” he bites down against your bottom lip, just sharp enough to not pierce the skin, thrusting deeper harder into you. you cried out. “i know, just feels—so good.” he mocks, though his voice is breathy and strained with his incoming orgasm that threatened to spill before yours. “take it. come on. come on my cock, let the lords hear you scream my name instead of theirs.”

his words push you over the edge, white hot heat flows through you, and it feels overwhelming and underwhelming all at the same time, like an explosion in slow motion, body aching with the pleasure you receive.

aerion followed quickly after with a groan, head falling into the crook of your neck as his seed filled you and he road out his high with shallow thrusts, whines leaving you as every nerve felt as it was on fire.

you lay there, shakily breathing as you try to regain bodily control from your orgasm, aerion still on top of you, though he wasn’t thrusting any longer. his breath still shuttered with the aftershocks and eventually, he managed to rolled off you, the chambers smelt like sex and expensive oils, but with him laying next to you on the blankets, you did not find yourself to care. his fingers danced at your abdomen, like he was trying to will a babe to form in there. he wanted to see you swell with his child, everyone in court would know without a doubt that you were his.

a/n: this was not beta read so i apologize for any errors because i wanted to get this out for asoiaf sunday 🌚🌚

[targaryenheretic]

walk with me here….Targaryen!reader who is rhaenyra’s only daughter and you are married to cregan as part of the agreement with the northern support of rhaenyra’s cause…stay with me stay with me

and it’s more of a political marriage than anything, but the gentleman that cregan is, nothing is forced upon you and even the bedding ceremony is immediately forgoed. and you are confused and you ask why and he tells you he will not force anything upon a unwilling participant. even though he needed heirs he did not need them so terribly that he would force you.

though the cold was biting and the northerners were hard to warm up to southerners, everyday it got easier. because cregan trusted you and respected you (which was uncommon for ladies in the kingdom) others started too also, albeit slowly. commonfolk started to instead treat you as their lady, instead of treating you with cold indifference you were used to.

and if anyone spoke about the lack of heirs, or anything negative pertaining to you he’d shut it down by a “do not speak about my wife.” in that stern, no nonsense tone and they would back off REAL quick. he doesn’t play about you 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

of course, being married with the proximity you and him always had made you become friends eventually, you trusted him and he trusted you. especially after him always so fiercely defending you and giving you a chance to speak your mind.

so, one morning, you decide it’s time for him to meet your dragon. he was not afraid of much in this realm, but dragons? he didn’t not like dragons. he found them beautiful, sure, but being in the vicinity of one was…not his favorite thing. but he did it. for you. and though your dragon was a bit suspicious, she allows him to pat her, and then he is done and quickly backs away. you tease that she could sense fear, which made it worse.

and as you are walking back towards the keep, talking about nothing in particular, and you stop him once you are at the godswood, he thinks perhaps he said something or did not like how he reacted to your dragon;

but instead, you kiss him. he stands there, shocked. before holding your face in his gloved hands, holding you to him, one of his hand moving down your body gently…

alright this is getting to long😃😃

[targaryenheretic]

DUTIES AND MARRIAGE PROPOSALS

Northern!reader x cregan stark

warnings: no use of y/n, nothing, just cute fluff of a anxious and desperate in love Cregan and a miscommunication trope!! (Small, small pride and prejudice line. I can’t help it.) not beta read. Capitalization errors (too lazy to fix it tonight) 😞

Word count: 867

A/N: I’m back!!! Life kicked me in the ass ngl, little one shot while I work on something else.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The crunch of the snow beneath your feet, the crisp winter air, and your nervousness, all seems to feed into your worries as you walked towards the Godswood.

You had been summoned by the warden of the north, but could not settle on a conclusion as to why. Cregan has been a good friend since you were children—your father being one of his father’s bannermen had you around the starks more often than not—so you felt silly, for the feeling in your chest. perhaps he simply wished to speak with you for no reason at all but to be near you.

but you knew the reason, deep down inside, no matter how much you tried to push it down, ball it up and keep it locked away from your heart. Cregan Stark did not call people to the most sacred place in Winterfell to simply talk.

“My lord.” You finally spoke once you are close enough for him to hear you. There he sat on a log beside the hart tree and frozen over lake, polishing Ice absentmindedly, the Valyrian steel glinting in the cloudy covered sun. He does not look up.

“you need not to call me my lord.” he spoke, voice raspy from disuse. “especially not when we are alone.”

you felt your cheeks heat, even in the biting freeze of winter “habit.”

he did not say anything on your deflective mutter. you knew he didn’t believe you, the deafening silence stretched on, so you continued. finding confidence and pushing into your voice. “May I speak freely?”

That seemed to get his attention. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours. “as you wish,” His voice gruff, not exactly dismissive, but almost short.

“If you simply wished to talk, I don’t believe you would have called me to the godswood.” Your words are a little bit shaky, but it could be easily blamed on the wind softly whipping around you.

He does not speak for a moment, seemingly contemplating whether or not to tell you the truth or lie, and his honor wins out, as it always does. “You are..correct. I do wish to speak with you. about a sensitive matter.”

Your brow raises, silently beckoning him to go on. Sensitive matter? What could that possibly be? He sighs, motioning for you to sit beside him, you sit, tucking your skirts beneath you, the cold biting harder. He sets his sword to the side of the wooden log, and turns to face you.

“You have stood by me—since we were children,” he starts, before quickly adding as if he did not want you to speak before he had finished his sentence. His words disorganized. Nervous. “When my father died, when I was thrusted into my duty far too young, through everything, and i trust you more than any other.”

your brows furrow, wondering where he was going with this, but do not interrupt.

“And you know that i must marry. Someone respectable—adequate, for the North.” He says, looking at you expectantly, expecting you to fill the gaps, figure out the meaning.

But it flew completely over your head, you swallow down any emotions threatening to bubble up, he was your most treasured friend, and you were not willing to lose that for the sake of being petty at his lack of requited feelings. “Oh.” You say, voice deceptively soft, quiet. he was asking for you to help find a wife suitable for the north?

it was stupid. he needed nothing of your opinion to marry a lady, he had a council to help with that. your voice—layered hurt disguised by indifference—is finally found, “can you not ask your councilors for advice on who to marry?” you did not mean for the words to sound so flat, like a scorned lover being broken off with.

now it was his turn to be confused. he could not understand where this was all coming from, especially with his ask. did you not wish to marry him? “that is not what i meant.” he says, and the words are on the tip of his tongue, but he truly wasn’t good at this. terrible actually. his words were stiff and hard, like he was commanding an army instead of confessing, he winced internally at the sound of his hard voice. “i am asking for your hand.” his voice gets lower, the rigidness of his words slightly softening, trying, for you. “i wish to marry you.”

Your eyes widened. Blinking at him for a moment. once. twice. a warm, fuzzy feeling fills your senses, washing out the heartbreak that cracked into the heart, patching it with the soft balm of his words. “You wish to marry me?” you managed to get out though the racing thoughts.

“Yes.” He murmured breathlessly, words full of desperation, as he was afraid you would refuse. Almost unbecoming for a man of his stature. “I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.” He takes your hands, callous, from battles and training, but warm, so warm. “if you so wish it.”

the words bubble up, without any hesitation. “yes.” You say, lips trembling in a a hopeful smile.

a/n: Let me know if you want a second part to this…perhaps on your wedding night…😈

[targaryenheretic]

᯾ WINTERS COME AND GO, BUT YOU’LL ALWAYS END UP IN EACHOTHERS ARMS. ᯾

Jealous!cregan x fem!reader

Warnings: mostly smut and no plot!! But a build up fight to it 😼. Slight breeding kink (can’t help it ALL stark men have it). Jealous Cregan, mean Cregan if you squint (really squint). Oral f!reciving, loving Cregan. Big cregan (yes that’s a warning).

Word count: 1.3k

“Your hand traces shapes into his chest. “I love you.” He says. “You know that?” You nod. “I love you too, Cregan.” And you always would. Because every night, you both only felt each other, and that was forever enough. “

𐦐

A/n: first (mini)fic out!! I’m working on a much longer one but I wanted to give you guys a taste of my writing before posting a big one!! Enjoy <3

You're not sure what had gotten into your husband. He's never acted this way. “Gods, Cregan! Are you hearing yourself right now?” you scoff, running a hand through your hair as you try and calm yourself down, turning to face away from Cregan who was sitting at his desk, he didn’t even look at you, his eyes skimming over a scroll.

You loved Cregan, you really did. He was sweet, caring, and he loved you with all his heart. Yet, he never usually acted like this. Never acted jealous. He was always secure in your relationship with him.

“Yes! I am listening to myself!” Cregan snaps at you, his hands dropping the scroll, the parchment noise against the wood was loud with the silence after his last words. “you've got to see how that man was looking at you! Like a piece of meat.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was being nice! Not everyone wants to fuck me like you so much like to think.”

He looks at you incredulously, before practically leaping from his mahogany desk towards you. his hands go roughly to your cheeks, certainly not enough to hurt you. He would never, but enough that you could feel the rough calluses on his palms and fingers rubbing against your skin.

“Believe me, when I say this, sweet girl, everyone wants to fuck you.”

Your breath involuntarily hitched. A heat pooling in your stomach, for a second, the anger faded, and all you could feel was Cregan, your only thoughts were Cregan. Heat rises to your cheeks; as you try and continue the argument. He still wasn’t right.

“Cregan, I—“ you try to start, but he obviously doesn’t wish to argue, his lips cut you off with a searing kiss, his hands still roughly rubbing your cheeks, as you try to navigate out of your anger.

But this was your husband. Who you loved very much, it’s not like you didn’t want this, so, Your hands tangled into his chestnut hair, begging him closer even though he wasn’t physically able too.

His tongue invades your mouth, soft, muffled mewls and gasps leaving your mouth as he walks you back towards his bed, gently pushing you on top of it, without breaking the kiss. His hand starts to go up your dress, his fingertips leave a fiery feeling wherever he touches, and you feel your arousal get thicker.

His hands remove his tunic, throwing it somewhere in the room, your hands trace down his muscles and abs, but he gets distracted taking off his clothes looking at you,

“Cregan.” You pant out, as his lips split from yours and start moving down your neck, sucking and biting, claiming you as his.

“you married me.” He mumbles though the biting and sucking of your neck, and you let him. Your body was now his. His hands in your dress, pull your undergarments down, his finger teasing the slit of your heat. A soft mewl leaves your mouth. “Not them.”

“Yes—fuck, Cregan—married you.” his hands rip your underwear, you went to scold him, but he’d get you more, but your complaints died out as his thumb rubs small circles against your clit eliciting soft whimpers to involuntarily leave your mouth. “Seven gods—“

You heard him chuckle, so deep and hearty, that it makes you feel like you're floating on a cloud.

He manhandled you to where now you were sitting up for a second so he can quickly undo the strings and pull the dress off, his fingers rake through the bodice strings, shivers running up your spine as his fingers touch your bare skin to gently push it off

“Gorgeous, all mine.” You hear him murmuring under his breath, you were about to reply, a blush on your cheeks from his compliment, when his head dives between your thighs. A teasing stripe licked up your slit.

“What are you—oh!” A soft moan leaves your mouth. This feels heavenly. Your eyes flutter shut, living in the feeling, in the moment. Your hands thread though his chestnut locks, curling and pulling when he sucks on your clit especially well.

“Cregan.” You moan loudly, hips bucking into his face, lewd slurps filling the room. He sticks two digits in, curling in sync with his sucks on your clit. You tasted heavenly to him. He’d never want to part from your sweet cunt. “I know, I know, sweet girl. I got you.” The mumbled words, the vibrations, against your clit cause the knot in your stomach to snap.

“Oh shit—I’m—“ your voice turns into a low sob as you felt like you were exploding, clenching around the two fingers like you needed it to live. Your body works on a different scale than your brain, loud profanities mixed with cregan's name spill out of your mouth like a prayer.

He helps you ride out your orgasm, mumbling sweet nothings into your skin, kissing gently, as he moves up, his face covered in your slick, a lock of his hair fell into his face. “Made for me.” He mumbled into your lips.

You taste yourself on him. You let out a soft breath, still coming down from your high. He splits apart to quickly remove his dark breeches, undoing the thread. His cock springs out against his stomach, the trail of coarse hair, was down right murderous.

“Cregan.” You pant, he strokes his cock a few times, rubbing it against your clit, and a soft grunt came out of him, his arousal clearly taking over him. He pushes himself in.

You took his girth like you were fucking made for it. squeezing around him with every inch you took. your hands clasps around his neck, a gasp leaving your mouth as you feel the initial stretch. his eyes pear into your soul.

He gives you a bit of time to adjust, before you squirm a bit, practically begging him to move. “Please.” Your voice is hoarse from moaning.

“Always. My love. Always.” He gasps out as he does a particular deep thrust in you. His eyes trained on yours.

He continued these intense thrusts, but started to get a bit more jagged as his orgasm built, the sounds of the skin slapping was louder than thunder at this point. He wouldn’t let you look away, his eyes on you. “Can’t look away, eyes on me.” His hand grabs your face, making sure you look at him as you start to go over the edge,

“Cregan—fuck.” You can barely get out; practically crying. eyes half lidded with heavy lust and overstimulation. Cregan wipes the forming tear. “Let go, sweet girl.” He murmured as his head went into your neck, gently nipping.

Again, the high washes over you like a train crash. Like waves over rocks, glass shattering from a rock. it was so much but so little at once. You could feel yourself being undone and remade again,

Cregan follows you into his high quickly, groans leaving his mouth and he stuffs his cum into you. He can’t wait to see you swollen with his babe. Perhaps two if he’s lucky. It would get all of those men who love to stare know you were his. All his.

You both came out of the throes of pleasure relatively at the same time. Panting heavily, he gently pulls out, watching your juices mix together, he gently pushes it back in with a finger. “Shhh, sweet girl. Gotta make sure it takes.” He murmured, kissing your ankle before gently letting you fall into your natural spot on his chest.

Your hand traces shapes into his chest.. “I love you.” He says. “You know that?” You nod. “I love you too, Cregan.” And you always would. Because every night, you both only felt each other, and that was forever enough.