hi hi i love your work !! may i request the akotsk fellas eloping with their beloved? like for some reason they can’t get married so they just say fuck it and wed in secret. thank you!!
Akotsk princes eloping with you
ouuuu forbidden love type shit! if i had huzz and then i was arranged to marry someone else, i WOULD elope tbh <3
hcs of aerion, daeron, valarr
Aerion - Aerion was told no. That was his first problem. He didn’t like that. His father outright refused when Aerion spoke of wedding you, his father’s excuse was something about politics, about alliances, about how a prince of the blood should not marry for love. Aerion sat through the lecture, his jaw tight, if looks could kill, everyone would be dead, as a result of the way Aerion was FUMING. Then he had walked out. Not without a fight, though.
He threatened his father's life, not once, but twice. He swore he would burn the castle down, that he would call every dragon and every sword and every wretched thing he could summon to make his father regret this. Maekar was used to this, so he didn’t care. Aerion then turned on the betrothed his father chose for him, a girl who had the audacity to smile at him when he publicly announced he was going to marry you. She knew. She knew how Aerion felt, but she didn’t care. So Aerion was obviously not kind to her. He might’ve sent her away while she cried. Oops?
But now, you sat across from him in a cozy little tavern, and he couldn't keep the grin off his face.
"We're leaving," he said, his voice buzzing with barely contained energy. You’ve never seen him so… happy?
"Aerion-"
"We're leaving tonight. I've arranged everything. Horses, a septon, a village two hours east." He reached across the table and took your hand. "You and me. Married. Finally."
You stared at him. "Your father is going to-"
"He'll live." Aerion squeezed your hand. "I don't care about my father. I care about you. About us." He was practically bouncing. "I've been waiting for this for months. I've been planning. I've been-" He stopped, laughing. "I've been so angry for so long, and now I'm just…"
"Excited?"
"Yes." He looked at you, his violet eyes bright. "I'm excited. I don't think I've ever been excited about anything before. But I am. About you. About this."
You laughed. He pulled you up and kissed you.
"Pack up," he said. "We leave at midnight."
The ride was cold and dark. He didn't speak much, but he was smiling. He kept your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.
The septon was old, and knew who Arron was, who wouldn’t? The septon didn’t care, though. Just said the ceremony while smiling and mumbling something about young loves. Afterwards, after Aerion kissed you oh so passionately, he pulls back.
"You're mine now," he said, pulling back. "And I'm yours."
"You just angered your father."
"Good." He grinned. "At least now I have you."
That night you did your business, and in the morning, he sent a raven to his father:
Married.
Deal with it.
Daeron - Daeron was never good at speaking up. He let his father plan his life, his marriage, his future. He nodded along, in fact he’s pretty sure he was drunk when he had that conversation.
But when he met you for the first time, he wanted something for himself. He wanted to make decisions about his own life.
He didn't plan a grand escape. He just packed a small bag, took your hand, and walked out the side gate one evening.
"Where are we going?" you asked.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I know we're getting married." He squeezed your hand. "I don't know where."
You found a rural area later on. There was a septon who agreed to marry you, no questions asked. Daeron's hands were shaking. His voice was soft.
"Are you sure?" you whispered.
"I've never been sure of anything," he said. "Except this."
You spoke the vows. He kissed you like it was the first time.
"We should probably tell your father," you said afterward.
"He'll find out eventually."
"You're going to be in trouble."
He smiled. "I don't care."
Three days later, Daeron received a letter. Easily recognizing Maekar’s handwriting.
Fine. You're a foolish boy. Bring her home.
He ran to you asap. "My father says it's fine."
You looked at him. "It's fine?"
"He says I'm a fool. But he wants us to come home."
"Let's go home," he said.
Valarr - Valarr was never impulsive. Everyone knew that, HE knew that. He planned. He prepared. He considered every angle and possibility.
Then he met you. And he realized that some things couldn't be planned.
His father had arranged a match for him. A girl from Tyrosh. A political alliance, a proper match. Valarr sat through the meeting, nodding, saying nothing. So his father Baelor assumed that he accepted.
He hadn't.
He found you in the library that night.
"We're leaving," he said.
You looked up from your book. As if you were actually reading. You were NOT. Definitely not crying either. "Excuse me?"
"We're leaving. Tonight. I've already arranged for a septon."
"You've arranged-"
"I want to marry you." His voice was calm, but his hands were shaking. "I've never wanted anything more."
He always followed the rules. He always did what was expected. He had never deviated from a plan in his life. But you, you changed everything. He couldn't marry some girl from Tyrosh. He couldn't pretend. He couldn't. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
You stared at him. Then you stood.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'm not going to argue with you about this."
He smiled. He took your hand and led you out.
The septon was waiting in a small chapel. The ceremony was quick, quiet, private and perfect. Valarr's hands were steady as he placed the cloak around your shoulders.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He then sealed your vows in a chaste, but longing kiss. A few days later, he wrote to his father.
Father,
I know you arranged a match for me, and I thank you for that because it pushed me to do what I wanted. Not you, not anybody. I know you expected me to follow your plans. I always have. But I can't. I love her. I love her in a way I didn't know I was capable of. I've spent my whole life doing what was expected of me. This is the first time I've done what I wanted.
I've married her. I know you'll be angry. But I'm not sorry.
Your son,
Valarr
He read the letter twice, folded it carefully, and sent it. He honestly did not care about receiving a letter back, he had you. That was all that mattered.
Hii i saw you taking requests and i was wondering if i could ask for one with AKOTSK men with a clueless maid!reader pls 👀?
Akotsk men crushing on you; a clueless maid
once again the anons are coming in clutch w some really good reqs. THANK YOUUU!! also i wasn’t sure who you wanted so i just defaulted to the four. i have a speech on wednesday im so nervous i hate public speakin
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
Aerion - You had been serving Aerion for three moons now, and you still hadn't figured him out.
He was cruel to everyone, snapping at servants, mocking courtiers, glowering at his own brothers. But with you, he was different. He called you to his chambers more often than necessary. He found excuses to touch you, adjusting your sleeve, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger on your wrist when you handed him his wine.
You thought nothing of it. He was a prince. Princes were strange, so were Targaryens in general.
Tonight, you were making his bed. Fluffing the pillows, smoothing the sheets, tucking the corners tight. He stood by the window, watching you.
"You missed a spot," he said.
You looked around. "Where, my prince?"
"Here." He walked to the bed and sat down, patting the space beside him. "Come. Fix it."
You knelt on the mattress, leaning over to smooth the fabric near his thigh. Your hair brushed his leg. He inhaled sharply.
"You're doing it again," he muttered.
"Doing what, your grace?"
"Being utterly oblivious."
You sat back on your heels, confused. "I'm sorry, my lord. I don't understand."
He grabbed your wrist. Holding you in place.
"I've been trying to seduce you for three months," he said. "Three. Months."
You blinked. "Seduce me?"
"Yes. Seduce you." His jaw tightened. "The touches. The lingering looks. The way I dismissed every other maid so you'd be the only one in my chambers. Did you not notice any of that?"
"I thought you just didn't like the others, my lord."
He stared at you. His violet eyes were dark, frustrated, burning.
"I don't like anyone," he said. "Except you."
Your heart stuttered. "Me?"
"Yes, you. You impossible, infuriating, beautiful girl."
He pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, your hands braced on his shoulders.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he said. "And if you don't want it, you have three seconds to leave."
You didn't leave.
He kissed you hard and desperate, like he'd been holding back for years. When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving.
"Do you understand now?" he asked.
You nodded, breathless.
"Good." He laid you back on the bed. "Because I'm not stopping this time."
Daeron - You had been assigned to help him to bed, a task no one else wanted because he tended to cry and cling. And an apparent handful after visiting the tavern.
But you didn't mind. He was gentle, even when his words slurred.
"Stay," he said, catching your hand as you tried to leave.
"I have other duties, my prince."
"No, you don't." He tugged you toward the bed. "I'm the prince. I say your only duty is to stay."
You sat on the edge of the mattress, letting him hold your hand. He pressed his face into your palm.
"You're so soft," he mumbled. "So warm. Why are you so nice to me?"
"Because it's my job, my lord."
"It's not your job. That’s optional.” He looked up at you, his violet eyes wet. "No one else is nice to me. Just you."
You didn't know what to say. You just sat there, stroking his hair.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to your wrist.
"I want to marry you," he said.
You laughed, thinking it was the wine. But it was never about the wine. "You're drunk, your grace."
"I'm not that drunk." He sat up, his face inches from yours. "I've wanted you since the first day you brought me breakfast."
"My prince-"
"Daeron." He cupped your face. "Please. Just... let me hold you. One night."
You should have said no. You were a maid. He was a prince. But his eyes were so sad, and his hands were so gentle.
So, you stayed.
Duncan - Duncan was not subtle. He’s the least subtle person when it comes to romance.
He brought you wildflowers every morning. He carried heavy baskets for you without being asked. He smiled at you across the courtyard like a lovesick puppy.
You thought he was just being friendly.
"Thank you, ser," you said, taking the flowers. "You're very kind."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not trying to be kind."
"Oh? What are you trying to be?"
He stared at you. His ears went red.
"Courting you," he said.
You tilted your head. "Courting me?"
"Yes. Courting. You know... flowers. Walks. Holding hands." He gestured vaguely. "All of it."
"But you're a knight."
"And you're a maid. I don't care."
You stared at him. He stared back.
"I thought you were just being nice," you said.
His shoulders slumped. "I've been trying to court you for two months."
"Two months?"
"I brought you flowers every day. I carried your baskets. I asked about your family." He ran a hand through his hair. "What did you think was happening?"
You thought about it. "I thought you were just... friendly."
He let out a pained sound, half laugh, half groan.
He stepped closer, taking your hands.
"I'm not good with words," he said. "So I'm going to say this plainly. I want to be with you. Not as your knight. As your... whatever you'll let me be."
You looked down at your hands in his.
"I don't know what to say," you admitted.
"Say you'll think about it."
"I'll think about it."
He smiled, wide, bright, hopeful.
"That's all I ask."
Valarr - Valarr had been patient. He actually doesn’t know how he went on for this long.
For months, he had watched you work, dusting his books, cleaning his hearth, pouring his wine. He had left little gifts on your cart: a ribbon, a piece of honeycomb, a note folded small.
You always thanked him politely and went back to work.
Tonight, he found you in his chambers, stoking the fire. He stood in the doorway, watching the flames flicker across your face.
"You're beautiful," he said.
You looked up. "Thank you, my lord."
"Do you know why I keep you as my personal maid?"
"Because I'm efficient?"
He crossed the room and knelt beside you. "No. Because I'm in love with you. I always have.”
Your hand froze on the poker.
"Your grace-“
"Valarr." He took the poker from your hand and set it aside. "I've been trying to tell you for weeks. The gifts. The notes. The way I look at you."
You frowned. "I thought you were just being polite."
He laughed. "Polite?"
"You're a prince. Princes are polite."
He took your face in his hands. His mismatched eyes were soft, exasperated, adoring.
"I am not being polite," he said. "I am being desperately, pathetically in love with you."
You stared at him. "But I'm a maid."
"I don't care."
"You should care. You’re a prince.”
"I don't." He pressed his forehead to yours. "The only thing I care about is you."
You sat there, frozen, as he stroked your cheeks with his thumbs.
"Say something," he whispered.
"I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll stay. Not as my maid. As mine."
You looked into his mismatched eyes, and he looked into yours, searching for your reaction.
"Yes," you said.
He kissed you. Soft. Sweet. Full of months of waiting.
"Finally," he breathed against your lips.
He pulled you into his lap and held you there, the fire crackling beside you.
Hiii I love your posts, they are so good. Your writing about the akotsk men reacting to their wife in labor made me think, how would they react if their wife were to suddenly and unexpectedly go into labor when they didn't know she was pregnant. Think of like a cryptic pregnancy and the moment and space where she goes into labor is also kinda unfortunate.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on that but if you aren't comfortable with that, that's ofc totally okay ♡
Akotsk men when you unexpectedly go into labor
this reminds me of a show i used to watch when i was little, and i think it was called “i didn’t know i was pregnant” it was really cool, but being in that situation is sooo scary. thank you for the request! if you wanna see different characters, shoot me another req!
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
Aerion - Aerion had been in a foul mood all day. Someone had looked at him wrong at breakfast. He threatened to have their tongue. Someone else breathed too loudly in the corridor. He threatened to have their lungs. You were used to it.
Then your back seized.
You were in the armory, of all places, watching him sharpen a sword. The pain was sudden, deep, and nothing like a cramp. You doubled over, knocking a helm off its stand.
Aerion looked up, annoyed. "What?"
"I don't-" Another wave hit. You gasped, your knees buckling.
He caught you before you hit the floor. "You're pale. What's wrong?"
"I don't know. It hurts."
"Where?"
You grabbed his hand and pressed it to your lower belly, normal, flat, unchanged, but something was happening deep inside. His eyes narrowed.
"That's not a stomachache."
"Maybe I’m bloated."
He stared at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you. His jaw tightened.
"Stay here."
"I can't move."
"I'll carry you." He scooped you up, ignoring your protests, and strode toward the door. A servant appeared. Aerion barked, "Get the maester. Now. If he's not here in five minutes, I'll have his fingers."
The servant ran.
You were halfway to your chambers when another contraction hit. You screamed, digging your nails into his shoulder. He stumbled but didn't drop you.
"What is happening to me?" you sobbed.
"I don't know." His voice was strained. "But you're not dying. I won't allow it."
He kicked open the door to your chambers and laid you on the bed. Your dress was soaked, not with blood, but with something clear. He stared at the wet patch, then at your face.
"Did you just-"
"I don't know!"
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "The maester needs to be here. Where is he? I'm going to kill him."
"Please don't kill the maester."
"He's late."
Another contraction. You screamed again. Aerion froze, then knelt beside the bed, grabbing your hand.
"Breathe," he said. "Like this." He demonstrated. But his breathing was too fast, panicked, not helpful at all.
"That's not helping."
"I'm trying!" He looked at the door. "If that maester isn't here in thirty seconds, I'm going to-"
The door opened. The maester stumbled in, out of breath, followed by two handmaidens carrying supplies.
Aerion pointed at you. "Fix her."
The maester took one look at you, at your soaked dress, your clenched jaw, your hands gripping the sheets and his eyes went wide.
"My prince, I believe your wife is in labor."
Aerion blinked. "That's impossible."
"It's not. She's having a baby."
"She's not pregnant. I would know, SHE would know."
"She is now."
Aerion turned to you. "Did you know about this?"
"I didn't!" you shouted, another contraction stealing your breath.
The maester gently examined you, then looked up. "The baby is coming. It will still be some hours, but-"
"Hours?" Aerion's voice cracked. "She's been in pain for hours already."
"That's normal, my prince."
"Normal?" He grabbed the maester by the collar. "Nothing about this is normal."
The maester pried his hands off. "I need you to step back, your grace. Let us work."
Aerion’s jaw tightens again, then he stepped back. For about ten seconds. Then he was at your side again, holding your hand, glaring at anyone who came near.
The hours passed. You screamed. You cried. You threatened to kill him. He took it all.
When the maester finally announced it was time to push, Aerion tried to move between your legs.
"Let me catch it."
"No, my prince."
"I said-"
"It's not done, my prince. Please. Stay with her."
He stayed. He held your hand as you pushed, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched so tight you thought his teeth might crack.
And then a cry. High and thin and furious. You never felt more relieved in your life. Aerion let out a breath he’d been holding in since you got here.
The maester lifted a tiny, squalling infant, blood slick and indignant.
"It's a boy," he said.
Aerion stared. He didn't move. Didn't speak.
You tugged his hand. "Aerion."
He blinked. Looked at you. Looked at the baby.
"That's ours," he said.
"Yes."
He reached out, took the baby from the maester's arms way too fast, too clumsy, but the maester didn't dare protest. He held his son against his chest, the cord still trailing to you.
"He's screaming," Aerion said.
"That's what babies do."
He looked at you, his violet eyes wet. "He's perfect."
The baby screamed louder.
"He has your lungs," you said.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I’m proud of you."
Daeron - Daeron had been sober for three months. It was hard, every day was hard, but he was doing it. For you. One of his new hobbies? Reading.
You collapsed in the middle of the library.
He was reading (trying to read, anyway.) when you gasped, dropped a stack of books, and sank to your knees. He was beside you instantly.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"I don't-" You clutched your lower belly. "It's like... something's moving."
He pushed your hair back from your face. "Moving how?"
"I don't know. Like-" Your eyes went wide. "Like something's trying to get out."
His face went pale. "That's not possible."
Another contraction. You cried out, doubling over. He caught you, lowering you to the floor.
"We need the maester," he said.
" Daeron-"
"Stay here. Don't move." He ran to the door, yelled for a servant, then ran back to you. His hands were shaking.
You grabbed his arm. "I'm scared."
"I know." He pulled you into his lap, cradling you against his chest. "I'm scared too."
The maester arrived within minutes and didn’t even take a minute to diagnose you.
"She's in labor."
Daeron stared. "She's not pregnant."
"The signs are unmistakable."
You looked down at your flat stomach. "How can I be in labor if there's no baby?"
The maester knelt beside you, pressing gently on your lower abdomen. His eyes widened.
"The baby is positioned very deep in the pelvis. It's possible you never developed a visible bump."
Daeron's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"So there's a baby. Inside her. Right now."
"Coming out, my prince. Soon."
Daeron looked at you. You looked at him.
"I didn't know," you whispered.
"I know." He took your hand, brought it to his lips. "Neither did I."
He stayed by your side for every contraction, holding you, wiping your forehead, telling you it would be okay. Was he tempted to drink? Yes. Did he? Not once.
The hours dragged. The maester and handmaidens came and went, checking you, adjusting pillows, bringing water. Daeron never left.
When it was finally time to push, he held you upright, his chest against your back, his arms around your ribs.
"You can do this," he said.
"I can't."
"You can. You're the strongest person I know."
You pushed. Screamed. Pushed again.
And then a cry. The maester held up a tiny, wriggling baby.
"A girl," he said.
Daeron stared. His mouth opened. Closed.
"A girl," he repeated.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. She grabbed his finger and held on.
"She's strong," he said.
"Like her father."
Daeron bursts into tears after this.
Duncan - You and Duncan had been on the road for three days. A simple journey to a neighboring holdfast, nothing urgent, just a chance to get away from the castle. The first day, you passed a small shepherd's hut where an old woman and her husband offered you bread and cheese. You thanked them and moved on.
By the second day, you started feeling strange. Tired. Achy in your lower back. You blamed the walking.
By the third day, you couldn't ignore it anymore.
You were on a narrow forest path when your body seized. The pain was like nothing you'd ever felt deep, rolling, pressing from the inside out. You dropped your pack and doubled over, gasping.
Duncan was at your side in an instant. "What is it?"
"I don't-" Another wave hit. You clutched his arm. "It hurts."
"Where?"
You pressed his hand to your lower belly. His brow furrowed.
"That can’t be normal."
"I know."
He looked around. Trees. Rocks. No houses. No people. The shepherd's hut was half a day's walk behind you.
"I'm carrying you back," he said.
"You can't. It's too far."
"I can."
He lifted you like you weighed nothing bridal style, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. You buried your face in his neck as he started walking.
The pain came in waves. You cried out. He held you tighter.
"How far?" you gasped.
"Half a day. Maybe less."
"That's too long."
"Then I'll walk faster."
He did. His pace was steady, relentless. Sweat dripped down his temples, but he didn't stop. Didn't slow. Just kept putting one foot in front of the other.
The sun was low when the hut came into view. Smoke curled from the chimney. Duncan kicked the door open.
The old woman looked up from her stew. Her eyes went wide.
"Help her," Duncan said. “Please.”
The woman took one look at your soaked dress, your clenched jaw, the way your body was straining. Her face softened.
"Put her on the bed. Husband, boil water."
The old man shuffled to the fire. The woman knelt beside you, her hands gentle.
"You're having a baby," she said.
You laughed hysterically, shaking your head. "I'm not pregnant."
"You are now." She pushed up your skirts and examined you. "The babe is deep. No bump. I've seen it before." She looked at Duncan. "You didn't know?"
"We didn't know."
She nodded. "Well, you're about to know."
The hours passed. The old woman talked you through each contraction, her voice low and steady. Duncan never left your side. He held your hand, fed you broth, told you stories about nothing.
When it was finally time, the old woman guided you through it. Duncan stayed at your head, his big hand cupping your cheek.
"You're almost there," he said.
One last push.
The old woman lifted a baby and laid it on your chest.
"A boy," she said.
"That's ours," he said.
"That's ours."
He touched the baby's tiny hand with one finger. The baby grabbed on.
He laughed and kissed your forehead.
The old woman cleaned the baby while Duncan held you. The old man brought tea. The fire crackled.
"I didn't know," you whispered.
"Neither did I." He pulled the blanket up around your shoulders. "But I know now."
Valarr - You had always loved snow. Valarr knew this. So when the first flakes fell, he surprised you with a trip to a small lodge in the northern hills with just the two of you.
The lodge was warm. A fire crackled in the hearth. The windows were thick with frost. You spent the first day drinking spiced wine and watching the storm build outside.
On the second day, something changed.
You were standing by the window, marveling at the snowdrifts, when a strange pressure bloomed low in your belly. You shifted, uncomfortable. Then it came again but worse. You put a hand on the windowsill.
Valarr looked up from the fire. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. Something feels... different."
He crossed to you, his brow furrowed. "Different how?"
Before you could answer, another wave hit. You gasped, your knees buckling. He caught you, lowering you to the rug by the hearth.
"You're pale," he said. His voice was steady, but his hands were shaking.
"I don't know what's happening."
He looked at the window, at the snow still falling, thick and relentless. The wind howled. The road would be buried.
"The maesters can't get here," he said. "Not until the storm stops."
"I know."
He knelt beside you, his mismatched eyes wide. He was trying to stay calm. You could see him trying.
He called for the lodge keeper. The man came, he was old, grey-bearded, his hands rough.
"My wife needs help," Valarr said. "Hot water. Towels. Any clean cloth you have."
The lodge keeper nodded and disappeared. Valarr turned back to you.
"I need to look," he said. "May I?"
You nodded.
He pushed up your skirts carefully, his movements gentle. He looked. His face went very still.
"What?" you asked.
He met your eyes. "You're... opening. Down there."
"What does that mean?"
He took your hand. "I think you're having a baby."
You stared at him. "That's not possible."
"I don't know how else to explain it."
Another wave of pain. You cried out. He caught your hand, holding it tight.
"I'm going to take care of you," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm not leaving."
The lodge keeper returned with a basin of hot water, a stack of towels, and a bundle of clean cloth. He set them down, looked at you, then at Valarr.
"I've never..." the old man started.
"I know," Valarr said. "Just stay nearby. In case we need more."
The lodge keeper nodded and retreated to the other room.
Valarr washed his hands in the hot water, just like he'd seen the maesters do. Then he sat behind you, letting you lean against his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you steady.
"Breathe," he said. "Just breathe."
The hours passed. The storm raged. Valarr talked to you about nothing, about everything, about the first time he saw you, about the snow, about anything to keep your mind off the pain.
When the pressure became unbearable, you tried to look down. He gently turned your face back.
"Don't," he said. "You'll panic. Trust me."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm panicking enough for both of us."
You almost laughed. Almost.
"I can see more now," he said after a while. "It's working. You're doing so well."
"I don't feel like I'm doing well."
"You are." He kissed your temple. "You're my wife. You're the strongest person I know. And you're doing it."
The pain built. Your body started pushing on its own. Valarr moved between your knees, his hands hovering.
"I see something," he said.
"What?"
He looked up at you, his face pale but steady.
"It's a head. You're almost there."
With one more push, Valarr caught the baby with shaking hands. A girl.
He laid her on your chest and sat back, his shoulders trembling.
"My love," he said. His voice cracked. "Good job."
You looked down at the tiny, wriggling creature. "We made that."
"We did." He pressed his forehead to yours. "I can’t believe I didn’t know."
"Neither did I."
The lodge keeper came in with more towels. Valarr cleaned the baby with careful hands, wrapped her in cloth, and placed her back in your arms.
"You're stuck with us now," you said.
He smiled.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
He lay down beside you, his arm over your waist, his hand on the baby's back.
ooooohhh!!! i have an idea! what would the akotsk men think if reader wore a lingerie as a regular top when they went out. i alr know imma be a hoe for this
Wearing a lingerie as a top infront of Akotsk men
thank you for the request pythius <3 it did take me awhile to post this so i do apologize! i hope you enjoy. and if there’s anything else, my box is open!
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
mdni 18+
Aerion - Aerion was in the middle of a council meeting when you walked past the open door innocently. You weren't trying to be seen, well maybe a little bit but you were just going to the library. The door just happened to be open, and the hallway was well lit, and your top was... not a top.
It was a scrap of black lace, sheer enough to leave nothing to the imagination. Your breasts were barely covered, the nipples visible through the fabric. A delicate chain draped across your collarbone.
Aerion's quill snapped.
The other lords looked up. He was already on his feet, his chair scraping against the stone floor.
"Meeting adjourned," he growled, and strode out before anyone could respond.
He caught you in the corridor, his hand closing around your wrist.
"What are you wearing?"
"A top."
"That's not a top."
"It's comfortable. And it’s hot outside.”
He stared at you. His violet eyes were dark, hungry, furious. His jaw was tight.
"You walked through the castle like this?"
"No one saw."
"I saw." He pulled you into an alcove, pressing you against the wall. His body was hard against yours, his breath hot on your neck.
"Every man in that room saw. Every servant. Every guard." His hand slid down, gripping your hip. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Made you angry?"
"Made me hard."
He pressed his hips against you, letting you feel him. His cock was thick, straining against his breeches.
"We're going back to our chambers," he said. "And you can wear it freely."
"And then?"
He kissed your neck, hard, biting.
"And then I'm going to ruin you."
He took your hand and pulled you down the corridor.
The door had barely closed before he had you against it. His mouth was on your neck, his hands shoving your skirt up around your waist.
"You have no idea," he growled, "what it took not to bend you over that council table."
"You would have?”
"In front of all those lords?" He bit down on your shoulder. "Yes. I would have."
He spun you around, pressing your cheek to the cool wood. His fingers hooked into the scrap of lace at your hips and tore it. The sound of ripping fabric made you gasp.
"Aerion!- I- I liked those."
"I'll buy you more."
He fumbled with his belt, and then his cock was pressing against your entrance.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want this. Please Aerion-"
He pushed inside you in one rough stroke. You cried out, your fingers scrabbling against the door. He didn't wait. Didn't go slow. Just fucked you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your backside.
"This is what you wanted," he said, his voice ragged. "Walking around in that little nothing. You wanted me to lose control."
Could he blame you? It was hot outside and… well... what was the harm in teasing? You hadn't expected him to snap quite like this. You were definitely hoping, though.
"You're so tight," he groaned. "So fucking wet."
His hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back. His thrusts deepened, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.
"I'm going to fill you up," he said. "And then I'm going to fuck you again. And again. Until you forget why you ever thought wearing clothes was a good idea."
You came first. screaming, clenching around him. He followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a guttural groan.
He didn't pull out. Just stayed there, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to your back.
"You're never wearing that in public again."
"Never?"
He pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip down your thigh.
"Never. Only for me."
He scooped you up and carried you to the bed. Good luck.
Daeron - Daeron had been sober for months. He was proud of that. But when he saw you walking toward him in the garden, wearing a pale pink lace top that barely covered your breasts, he felt the sudden, desperate need for a drink. He needed something to cool the fire in his blood.
You smiled at him, seemingly oblivious. "Good morning."
His jaw dropped and he choked on air.
"That's... what are you wearing?"
"A top. Do you like it?"
He couldn't look away. The lace was thin, almost transparent. He could see the circles of your nipples, the soft swell of your breasts. A matching scrap of lace peeked above your skirt.
"You can't wear that outside."
"Why not?"
"Because-" He swallowed. "Because I can't think when you look like that."
You stepped closer, your hand resting on his chest.
"Maybe I don't want you to think."
He groaned, low and desperate. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him.
He kissed you and when he pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark.
"We're going inside."
"Now?"
"Now." He took your hand, his fingers trembling. "Before I take you right here in the garden."
He led you toward the castle, his pace hurried. You laughed. He didn't. He was too busy imagining all the ways he was going to make you moan.
He kicked the door shut and pressed you against it, his mouth on your neck.
"I've been trying so hard," he said between kisses. "To be good. To be patient."
"You have been."
"It's not enough." His hands slid under the lace, cupping your breasts. "Not when you look like this."
He pushed the straps down, and the top fell away. He stared at your bare chest, his breath catching.
"You're so beautiful."
He lifted you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to the bed and laid you down, climbing over you.
"I need to be inside you," he said. "Please."
You reached down and guided him to your entrance. He pushed inside slowly, his forehead pressed to yours.
"Oh," he breathed. "Oh, fuck."
He moved gently at first, far too gently. You wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him deeper.
"Harder," you said.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't."
He let go. His thrusts became faster, deeper, his moans muffled against your neck. His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit.
"That's it," he said. "That's it, love. Cum for me."
You did. Your body clenched around him, and he followed, spilling inside you with a broken groan.
He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your hair.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He pulled out and rolled onto his back, dragging you against his chest.
"You're keeping that top," he said.
"Am I?"
"Yes. But you're only wearing it for me."
You smiled and kissed his chest.
"Deal."
Duncan - Duncan was mending a fence by the stables when you came to find him. He looked up, smiling, ready to ask about your day.
Then he saw your top.
It was blue, his favorite color and made of lace so fine it looked like spun sugar. Your breasts were barely contained, the fabric clinging to every curve.
"What's that?" he asked, straightening.
"A top."
"That's not a top." He set down the hammer, his ears turning red. "That's... that's underclothes."
"It's comfortable."
He stared at you. His mouth was dry. His big, calloused hands hung uselessly at his sides.
"You can't wear that out here."
"Why not?"
"Because-" He looked around. No one was nearby. Just the horses, the fence, and you.
"I can see your..."
"My what?"
He gestured vaguely at your chest. "Your... everything."
You smiled. "Is that a problem?"
He stepped closer, his large frame blocking the sun. His hand came up, fingers tracing the edge of the lace.
"You're trying to kill me," he said.
"Is it working?"
He pulled you against his chest, his heart pounding beneath your ear.
"We're going inside," he said. "And you're going to explain to me why you thought this was a good idea."
"And if I don't?"
He lifted you easily, carrying you toward the castle.
"Then I'll just have to guess."
He laid you on the bed and stood back, looking at you. The lace top had shifted, baring one breast. Your skirt was bunched around your thighs.
"You're so beautiful," he said.
"You're staring."
"I can't help it."
He pulled off his tunic, then his breeches. His cock was already hard, thick, pressing against his belly.
"Come here," you said.
He crawled onto the bed, covering your body with his. He was so big, warm, solid, overwhelming.
"I've never wanted anyone the way I want you," he said.
He pushed your skirt up the rest of the way and settled between your thighs. His cock pressed against your entrance.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want this."
He pushed inside you slowly. You both groaned. He was thick, stretching you, filling you.
"Gods," he breathed. "You feel so good."
He moved with deep, languid thrusts that made your toes curl. His hand found your clit, rubbing in time with his movements.
"That's it," he said. "That's it, sweetheart."
You came, clenching around him. He followed a moment later, burying himself as deep as he could and spilling inside you with a groan.
He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He rolled off, pulling you against his chest.
"You're never wearing that outside again."
"Never?"
"Only for me. In private. With nobody around, in fact, not even the horses get to see-"
You cut him off with a smooch. He was quite happy.
Valarr - Valarr was reading in his study when you walked in. He didn't look up at first because he was deep in a text about dragon migration patterns. But then you sat on the edge of his desk, and the movement caught his eye.
He looked up.
His book slipped from his fingers.
The top was crimson, the color of a dragon he was just reading about (nerd), made of lace so delicate it looked like it might tear if he breathed on it. Your breasts were full and soft beneath the fabric, the peaks visible through the pattern. A thin ribbon tied at your throat.
"Valarr?"
He didn't answer. He just stared, his mismatched eyes wide.
"Do you like it?"
He stood. Crossed the room. Took your face in his hands.
"Where did you get this?"
"I made it."
"You made it?"
"From an old dress. I wanted to surprise you."
His thumbs stroked your cheeks. His breathing was shallow.
"You're wearing this... out?"
"Just to your study."
"No one else saw?"
"No one else."
He exhaled. Then he kissed you. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark.
"You're not leaving this room."
"I wasn't planning to."
He lifted you onto the desk, pushing papers aside. His hands slid under the lace, cupping your breasts.
"I'm going to take my time," he said. "And when I'm done, you're going to make another one of these."
"Why?"
He kissed your neck. "So I can tear it off you again."
He pulled the ribbon loose, and the lace fell away. His mouth followed.
He kissed down your chest, taking one nipple into his mouth. You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair. His other hand pushed your skirt up, fingers sliding beneath the lace at your hips.
"You've been teasing me all day," he said against your skin. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
"I wasn't teasing."
"You were." He looked up at you, his mismatched eyes dark. "You knew exactly what you were doing."
Okay, did you sit on his lap multiple times before this to distract him from his book? Yes. Did you get bored and try on this top to help distract him further? Also yes.
He pushed your underwear aside and slid two fingers inside you. You were already wet.
"You're ready," he said.
"I've been ready."
He withdrew his fingers and unfastened his breeches. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking.
He lifted you off the desk and turned you around, bending you over the edge. His chest pressed to your back, his lips brushing your ear.
"I want to watch myself fuck you," he said. "In the mirror."
There was a large mirror on the far wall. You could see both of you, him, tall and broad, you, bent over the desk, your lace top bunched around your ribs.
He pushed inside you slowly, watching your face in the mirror.
"Look," he said. "Look at how beautiful you are."
You watched as he fucked you, his hips slapping against yours. His hand found your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.
"Cum for me," he said. "I want to see you fall apart."
Your body clenched around him, your mouth open in a silent scream. He followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a groan.
He stayed buried deep, panting.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He pulled out slowly and turned you around, pulling you against his chest.
"You're keeping that top," he said.
"Am I?"
"Yes. But you're only wearing it for me."
He kisses your forehead, covered you with a spare cloak, and took you by the hand.
Hiii could i ask how would akotsk men (valarr, daeron, aerion, baelor, maekar) deal with a frail!reader who falls ill nonstop pls ? need me some fluff headcanons 🥹
Akotsk men with a frail wife
hiii anon! i personally adore this lineup lol. this reminds me of all my friends with a vitamin d deficiency bc they are ALWAYS fainting and getting sick. thank you for the req:)
hcs of aerion, baelor, daeron, maekar, valarr
Aerion - Aerion never wanted a weak wife. He wanted someone who could keep up, who wouldn't collapse during a hunt or faint at a tourney. But the gods gave him you. Prone to fevers that lasted weeks and coughs that rattled your chest. He couldn't change it. He could only adapt.
He adapted by becoming a tyrant.
"You're a Targaryen now," he said, shoving a fur-lined cloak into your arms. "Start acting like one. That means not dying of a chill because you forgot to dress properly."
You were just going to the garden. It was spring. There was no chill.
He made you wear the cloak anyway.
He watched you constantly, the color of your face, your breathing, the way you held yourself. When you swayed, he was there. When you coughed, he appeared with water. When you had a bad spell, he dismissed every servant and sat in the corner, pretending to read, while actually counting your breaths.
"You don't have to do this," you said once.
"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it because I can't stand the noise of you coughing. It's irritating."
Right. Okay. He handed you a cup of tea. It was already sweetened. He knew you liked it that way.
One evening, you wanted to go for a walk. He came with you, “not for company”, he said, but because he needed to stretch his legs. He brought a small flask of water, a woolen blanket, and a piece of dry bread in case you felt faint.
He walked beside you, close enough to catch you. And when you stumbled on a root, his arm was around your waist before you could fall.
"Clumsy," he muttered. It didn’t sound like he was actually annoyed, though?
You knew he cared. You could see it in the way he hovered, the way his eyes tracked you, the way he always found an excuse to be near when you were ill. He'd never admit it. He'd rather swallow his own tongue than say "I'm worried." But you didn't need the words. You had his actions.
When you caught a summer cold that turned into a lung fever, he cancelled his meetings. "They're pointless," he said. "Nothing but fools droning on about taxes. I'd rather be bored here."
He sat by your bed for three days. He read reports. He sharpened a dagger. He glared at anyone who came near. But every time you coughed, his jaw tightened. Every time your eyes closed, he checked that you were still breathing.
On the third night, you woke to find him slumped in the chair, his head dropped forward, snoring softly. You reached out and touched his hand.
He jolted awake. "What? Are you worse? Do you need the maester?"
"I'm fine. You're exhausted."
"I'm not exhausted. I was resting my eyes."
"You were snoring."
"Targaryens don't snore."
You smiled. He saw it and looked away, his ears reddening.
"You're not allowed to get sick again," he said.
"I'll try."
"Try harder."
He poured you a cup of water and held it to your lips. You drank. He set the cup aside and, after a moment's hesitation, brushed a strand of hair from your face.
"This is your fault, you know," he said quietly.
"My fault?"
"If you weren't so... you. I wouldn't care. It's very inconvenient."
He said it like an accusation. But his hand lingered on your cheek.
"I know," you said.
He grunted. "Good. Now go back to sleep. I'll be here."
"Because you have nowhere else to be?"
"Because the chair is comfortable."
He settled back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. But his hand stayed on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch.
You fell asleep with your fingers brushing his.
In the morning, he was gone. But there was a fresh cup of tea on the bedside table, a plate of warm bread, and a note in his sharp, messy handwriting.
Had to go, will be back in a few. Don't die. It would annoy me.
Baelor – Baelor was a man of action. He solved problems. He didn't wring his hands or hover. So when he realized you were chronically unwell, prone to weakness, to sudden fevers, to days where you couldn't rise from bed, he did the only thing he could. He built a life around you that accommodated your frailty, and he never once made you feel like a burden.
He moved your chambers to the warmest part of the keep. He had the maester prepare a satchel of remedies that went with you everywhere. He assigned a handmaiden to stay with you when he couldn't be there.
You noticed, of course. You noticed the way the fires were always lit, even in summer. The way fresh linens appeared whenever you had a bad night. The way he carried you to bed when you fainted at a feast, his face betraying nothing, his arms steady as stone.
"You don't have to do all this," you said one evening, after he'd personally carried you up three flights of stairs because you were too weak to walk.
"I know."
"The realm needs you. You have council meetings, tourneys, duties-"
"The realm will survive a few hours without me." He set you down on the bed and knelt to remove your shoes. "You’re also my duty."
You giggled and looked at him, the strong line of his jaw, his dark hair, the strong hands that had held a sword in battle now gently unlacing your boots.
"You're too good to me," you whispered.
He looked up. His eyes were soft.
"I'm not good. I'm practical. You're my wife. Taking care of you is my duty."
He paused.
"And my privilege."
When you had a particularly bad spell, a fever that raged for days, leaving you delirious and weak, he stayed by your side. He read to you. He fed you broth when you couldn't hold the spoon. He held your hand through the worst of it, his thumb tracing slow circles on your palm.
One your fever broke, you opened your eyes to find him slumped in a chair by the window, still in his tunic, his head dropped forward. He looked exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes.
You reached for him. He woke immediately.
"You're awake, how do you feel?," he asked. His voice was hoarse.
"I'm awake, I feel way better."
He crossed to the bed and pressed his palm to your forehead. "Fever's gone."
"You stayed?"
"I stayed."
He sat on the edge of the mattress, took your hand, and held it to his chest.
"You scared me," he admitted quietly. "I don't scare easily."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He kissed your knuckles. "I’ll always be here to take care of you."
He then pulled the blanket up to your chin and tried to make you sleep for another few hours.
Daeron – Daeron had spent most of his life being the one who needed care. He drank too much, stumbled too often, relied on others to pick him up. So when he married you, someone who needed him, it changed something deep inside him. You were always getting sick. A cough that lingered for weeks. A fever that spiked without warning. Days when you were too tired to lift your head, too weak to walk to the window. Daeron didn't panic, well, he tried not to. He also tried to make sure he wasn’t overbearing or micromanaging you. He just stayed.
He learned your rhythms. The way your skin went pale before a bad spell. The way your breathing shallowed when the pain was bad. The way you smiled through it, like you didn't want to be a bother.
"You're not a bother," he said one afternoon, when you'd apologized for the third time.
"I keep you from your duties."
"My duties can wait." He handed you a cup of tea.
He didn't make very grand gestures. He just showed up. Every day. Every night. When you were sick, he brought you whatever you craved, sweet cakes, warm bread, broth from the kitchen. When you were well enough, he took you for slow walks in the garden, his arm looped through yours, ready to catch you if you stumbled.
When you fainted at dinner, in front of everyone, he scooped you up, carried you to bed, and sat with you until you woke.
"You're going to exhaust yourself taking care of me," you said.
"Then we'll be exhausted together."
He smiled.
Another winter, you caught a chill that settled deep in your chest. You coughed for weeks, couldn't keep food down, lost weight you couldn't afford to lose. Daeron moved into your chambers. He slept in the chair by the fire, woke every few hours to check on you, to make sure you were still breathing.
"This isn't sustainable," you said, your voice a rasp.
"Then get better."
"I'm trying."
"I know." He pressed his forehead to yours. "I know."
On the worst night, you woke from a coughing fit to find him holding you upright, his hand on your back, his face pale.
"I thought-" He stopped. Swallowed. "I thought you stopped breathing."
"Daeron, I’m not going to die."
"O-of course not. I was just… worried."
He held you all night and in the morning, your fever had broken. Your chest was still tight, but you could breathe easier.
He brought you tea and sat beside you, his knee pressed to yours.
"I love you," he said. "Even when you're sick."
"Especially when I'm sick?"
"Especially."
Maekar – Maekar was not a soft man. He did not coo or coddle. He communicated in grunts and glares and the occasional sharp word. So when he married a woman who was constantly ill, who fainted, who coughed for weeks, who needed constant care he handled it the only way he knew how.
He got gruff.
"You look terrible," he said, not looking up from his papers.
"Thank you."
"Drink this." He pushed a cup toward you. It was some foul-tasting tonic the maester swore by. Ew.
"What is it?"
"Medicine. Drink it."
You drank. He grunted in approval.
Throughout your marriage, he learned to read you. The slight sway before a faint. The shallow breath before a coughing fit. The glassy eyes that meant a fever was coming. He didn't ask if you were okay, he just acted.
When you fainted in the courtyard, he carried you inside and didn't say a word. When you had a coughing fit at dinner, he put his hand on your back, steady and warm. When you were too tired to walk, he picked you up and deposited you on the nearest surface, a chair, a bench, the bed.
"You don't have to-" you started once.
"Shut up." He wasn't being mean. He just didn't know how to say “I'm worried.”
He started keeping a small bag by the door, water, dried meat, a warm cloak, smelling salts for when you went out. He never explained it. He just grabbed it and threw it over his shoulder.
"You pack like a mother hen," you said.
"You collapse like a sack of flour. We're even."
One day, you caught a fever that wouldn't break. You were sick for weeks, too weak to rise, too tired to eat, your skin pale and clammy. Maekar cancelled his meetings. He didn't say why. He just didn't go.
He sat by your bed for hours, pretending to read, his eyes flicking to you every few seconds. He fed you broth when you couldn't hold the spoon. He held your hair back when you got sick. He grumbled the whole time, but he never left.
"You don't have to stay," you said, your voice barely a whisper.
"I know."
"The castle needs you."
"The castle can burn."
You stared at him. He stared back.
"Don't look at me like that," he said. "I'm not being romantic. I'm being practical. You're my wife. I'm supposed to keep you alive."
He pressed his palm to your forehead. "Fever's still there. Fuck."
"I know."
He cursed under his breath and went to fetch a cold cloth.
When you were all better, you woke to find him slumped in the chair by the window, his head dropped forward, his sword across his knees. He was pretending to sleep, but his eyes opened the moment you stirred. He crossed to the bed, pressed his hand to your forehead, and grunted. "Fever's gone."
"You watched over me?"
"Obviously." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Someone had to." Yes. Maekar is so mother hen.
Valarr – Valarr was a planner. He liked to be ready for anything. So when he married you, he did what he did best. He prepared.
There was always a basket by the bed. Inside: a warm cloak, and a handwritten list of your symptoms, medicine, and more remedies in case someone else needed to help.
"Valarr, we're just going to the garden," you said.
"The garden is outside. You could faint. You could get cold. You could-"
"Valarr."
He sighed. "Humor me."
He brought the basket everywhere. To dinner. To the library. To the courtyard. The servants whispered, mainly because that basket was a woman’s basket, but he didn't care.
Aftwr a particularly bad fainting spell, he just moved into your chambers, brought his books, and stayed.
"You don't have to-"
He didn't look up from his reading. "I want to."
He read to you when you were too tired to hold a book. He held your hand when the pain was bad. He tracked your fevers on a piece of parchment, noting the times, the temperatures, the effectiveness of the tonics.
"You're very organized," you said.
"Someone has to be."
Alas you caught a cough that turned into a lung infection. You couldn't keep food down. You couldn't sleep. Every breath was a struggle. Valarr barely left your side.
He brought you tea. He fluffed your pillows. He read aloud from a history book, his voice low and steady, even when you couldn't follow the words.
"You're going to exhaust yourself," you said.
"I'm fine."
"You're pale."
"I'm always pale."
He wasn't. He was tired. You could see it in the shadows under his eyes, the way his hands shook when he poured your water.
"You should rest," you said.
"So should you."
He climbed onto the bed beside you, careful not to jostle you, and wrapped an arm around your waist.
"I'll rest here," he said. Yes. No problem with that.
You woke to find him asleep beside you, his face pressed to your hair, his arm still around you. The basket was on the floor, rummaged through but still packed.
You touched his cheek. He woke instantly.
"Your fever," he said, already reaching for your forehead.
He exhaled and closed his eyes.
"Good," he said.
When you finally recovered, he took the basket and repacked it. More water. An extra blanket. A new vial of everything.
ooooohhh!!! i have an idea! what would the akotsk men think if reader wore a lingerie as a regular top when they went out. i alr know imma be a hoe for this
Wearing a lingerie as a top infront of Akotsk men
thank you for the request pythius <3 it did take me awhile to post this so i do apologize! i hope you enjoy. and if there’s anything else, my box is open!
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
mdni 18+
Aerion - Aerion was in the middle of a council meeting when you walked past the open door innocently. You weren't trying to be seen, well maybe a little bit but you were just going to the library. The door just happened to be open, and the hallway was well lit, and your top was... not a top.
It was a scrap of black lace, sheer enough to leave nothing to the imagination. Your breasts were barely covered, the nipples visible through the fabric. A delicate chain draped across your collarbone.
Aerion's quill snapped.
The other lords looked up. He was already on his feet, his chair scraping against the stone floor.
"Meeting adjourned," he growled, and strode out before anyone could respond.
He caught you in the corridor, his hand closing around your wrist.
"What are you wearing?"
"A top."
"That's not a top."
"It's comfortable. And it’s hot outside.”
He stared at you. His violet eyes were dark, hungry, furious. His jaw was tight.
"You walked through the castle like this?"
"No one saw."
"I saw." He pulled you into an alcove, pressing you against the wall. His body was hard against yours, his breath hot on your neck.
"Every man in that room saw. Every servant. Every guard." His hand slid down, gripping your hip. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Made you angry?"
"Made me hard."
He pressed his hips against you, letting you feel him. His cock was thick, straining against his breeches.
"We're going back to our chambers," he said. "And you can wear it freely."
"And then?"
He kissed your neck, hard, biting.
"And then I'm going to ruin you."
He took your hand and pulled you down the corridor.
The door had barely closed before he had you against it. His mouth was on your neck, his hands shoving your skirt up around your waist.
"You have no idea," he growled, "what it took not to bend you over that council table."
"You would have?”
"In front of all those lords?" He bit down on your shoulder. "Yes. I would have."
He spun you around, pressing your cheek to the cool wood. His fingers hooked into the scrap of lace at your hips and tore it. The sound of ripping fabric made you gasp.
"Aerion!- I- I liked those."
"I'll buy you more."
He fumbled with his belt, and then his cock was pressing against your entrance.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want this. Please Aerion-"
He pushed inside you in one rough stroke. You cried out, your fingers scrabbling against the door. He didn't wait. Didn't go slow. Just fucked you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your backside.
"This is what you wanted," he said, his voice ragged. "Walking around in that little nothing. You wanted me to lose control."
Could he blame you? It was hot outside and… well... what was the harm in teasing? You hadn't expected him to snap quite like this. You were definitely hoping, though.
"You're so tight," he groaned. "So fucking wet."
His hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back. His thrusts deepened, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.
"I'm going to fill you up," he said. "And then I'm going to fuck you again. And again. Until you forget why you ever thought wearing clothes was a good idea."
You came first. screaming, clenching around him. He followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a guttural groan.
He didn't pull out. Just stayed there, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to your back.
"You're never wearing that in public again."
"Never?"
He pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip down your thigh.
"Never. Only for me."
He scooped you up and carried you to the bed. Good luck.
Daeron - Daeron had been sober for months. He was proud of that. But when he saw you walking toward him in the garden, wearing a pale pink lace top that barely covered your breasts, he felt the sudden, desperate need for a drink. He needed something to cool the fire in his blood.
You smiled at him, seemingly oblivious. "Good morning."
His jaw dropped and he choked on air.
"That's... what are you wearing?"
"A top. Do you like it?"
He couldn't look away. The lace was thin, almost transparent. He could see the circles of your nipples, the soft swell of your breasts. A matching scrap of lace peeked above your skirt.
"You can't wear that outside."
"Why not?"
"Because-" He swallowed. "Because I can't think when you look like that."
You stepped closer, your hand resting on his chest.
"Maybe I don't want you to think."
He groaned, low and desperate. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him.
He kissed you and when he pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark.
"We're going inside."
"Now?"
"Now." He took your hand, his fingers trembling. "Before I take you right here in the garden."
He led you toward the castle, his pace hurried. You laughed. He didn't. He was too busy imagining all the ways he was going to make you moan.
He kicked the door shut and pressed you against it, his mouth on your neck.
"I've been trying so hard," he said between kisses. "To be good. To be patient."
"You have been."
"It's not enough." His hands slid under the lace, cupping your breasts. "Not when you look like this."
He pushed the straps down, and the top fell away. He stared at your bare chest, his breath catching.
"You're so beautiful."
He lifted you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to the bed and laid you down, climbing over you.
"I need to be inside you," he said. "Please."
You reached down and guided him to your entrance. He pushed inside slowly, his forehead pressed to yours.
"Oh," he breathed. "Oh, fuck."
He moved gently at first, far too gently. You wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him deeper.
"Harder," you said.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't."
He let go. His thrusts became faster, deeper, his moans muffled against your neck. His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit.
"That's it," he said. "That's it, love. Cum for me."
You did. Your body clenched around him, and he followed, spilling inside you with a broken groan.
He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your hair.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He pulled out and rolled onto his back, dragging you against his chest.
"You're keeping that top," he said.
"Am I?"
"Yes. But you're only wearing it for me."
You smiled and kissed his chest.
"Deal."
Duncan - Duncan was mending a fence by the stables when you came to find him. He looked up, smiling, ready to ask about your day.
Then he saw your top.
It was blue, his favorite color and made of lace so fine it looked like spun sugar. Your breasts were barely contained, the fabric clinging to every curve.
"What's that?" he asked, straightening.
"A top."
"That's not a top." He set down the hammer, his ears turning red. "That's... that's underclothes."
"It's comfortable."
He stared at you. His mouth was dry. His big, calloused hands hung uselessly at his sides.
"You can't wear that out here."
"Why not?"
"Because-" He looked around. No one was nearby. Just the horses, the fence, and you.
"I can see your..."
"My what?"
He gestured vaguely at your chest. "Your... everything."
You smiled. "Is that a problem?"
He stepped closer, his large frame blocking the sun. His hand came up, fingers tracing the edge of the lace.
"You're trying to kill me," he said.
"Is it working?"
He pulled you against his chest, his heart pounding beneath your ear.
"We're going inside," he said. "And you're going to explain to me why you thought this was a good idea."
"And if I don't?"
He lifted you easily, carrying you toward the castle.
"Then I'll just have to guess."
He laid you on the bed and stood back, looking at you. The lace top had shifted, baring one breast. Your skirt was bunched around your thighs.
"You're so beautiful," he said.
"You're staring."
"I can't help it."
He pulled off his tunic, then his breeches. His cock was already hard, thick, pressing against his belly.
"Come here," you said.
He crawled onto the bed, covering your body with his. He was so big, warm, solid, overwhelming.
"I've never wanted anyone the way I want you," he said.
He pushed your skirt up the rest of the way and settled between your thighs. His cock pressed against your entrance.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want this."
He pushed inside you slowly. You both groaned. He was thick, stretching you, filling you.
"Gods," he breathed. "You feel so good."
He moved with deep, languid thrusts that made your toes curl. His hand found your clit, rubbing in time with his movements.
"That's it," he said. "That's it, sweetheart."
You came, clenching around him. He followed a moment later, burying himself as deep as he could and spilling inside you with a groan.
He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He rolled off, pulling you against his chest.
"You're never wearing that outside again."
"Never?"
"Only for me. In private. With nobody around, in fact, not even the horses get to see-"
You cut him off with a smooch. He was quite happy.
Valarr - Valarr was reading in his study when you walked in. He didn't look up at first because he was deep in a text about dragon migration patterns. But then you sat on the edge of his desk, and the movement caught his eye.
He looked up.
His book slipped from his fingers.
The top was crimson, the color of a dragon he was just reading about (nerd), made of lace so delicate it looked like it might tear if he breathed on it. Your breasts were full and soft beneath the fabric, the peaks visible through the pattern. A thin ribbon tied at your throat.
"Valarr?"
He didn't answer. He just stared, his mismatched eyes wide.
"Do you like it?"
He stood. Crossed the room. Took your face in his hands.
"Where did you get this?"
"I made it."
"You made it?"
"From an old dress. I wanted to surprise you."
His thumbs stroked your cheeks. His breathing was shallow.
"You're wearing this... out?"
"Just to your study."
"No one else saw?"
"No one else."
He exhaled. Then he kissed you. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark.
"You're not leaving this room."
"I wasn't planning to."
He lifted you onto the desk, pushing papers aside. His hands slid under the lace, cupping your breasts.
"I'm going to take my time," he said. "And when I'm done, you're going to make another one of these."
"Why?"
He kissed your neck. "So I can tear it off you again."
He pulled the ribbon loose, and the lace fell away. His mouth followed.
He kissed down your chest, taking one nipple into his mouth. You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair. His other hand pushed your skirt up, fingers sliding beneath the lace at your hips.
"You've been teasing me all day," he said against your skin. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
"I wasn't teasing."
"You were." He looked up at you, his mismatched eyes dark. "You knew exactly what you were doing."
Okay, did you sit on his lap multiple times before this to distract him from his book? Yes. Did you get bored and try on this top to help distract him further? Also yes.
He pushed your underwear aside and slid two fingers inside you. You were already wet.
"You're ready," he said.
"I've been ready."
He withdrew his fingers and unfastened his breeches. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking.
He lifted you off the desk and turned you around, bending you over the edge. His chest pressed to your back, his lips brushing your ear.
"I want to watch myself fuck you," he said. "In the mirror."
There was a large mirror on the far wall. You could see both of you, him, tall and broad, you, bent over the desk, your lace top bunched around your ribs.
He pushed inside you slowly, watching your face in the mirror.
"Look," he said. "Look at how beautiful you are."
You watched as he fucked you, his hips slapping against yours. His hand found your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.
"Cum for me," he said. "I want to see you fall apart."
Your body clenched around him, your mouth open in a silent scream. He followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a groan.
He stayed buried deep, panting.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He pulled out slowly and turned you around, pulling you against his chest.
"You're keeping that top," he said.
"Am I?"
"Yes. But you're only wearing it for me."
He kisses your forehead, covered you with a spare cloak, and took you by the hand.
Hii i saw you taking requests and i was wondering if i could ask for one with AKOTSK men with a clueless maid!reader pls 👀?
Akotsk men crushing on you; a clueless maid
once again the anons are coming in clutch w some really good reqs. THANK YOUUU!! also i wasn’t sure who you wanted so i just defaulted to the four. i have a speech on wednesday im so nervous i hate public speakin
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
Aerion - You had been serving Aerion for three moons now, and you still hadn't figured him out.
He was cruel to everyone, snapping at servants, mocking courtiers, glowering at his own brothers. But with you, he was different. He called you to his chambers more often than necessary. He found excuses to touch you, adjusting your sleeve, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger on your wrist when you handed him his wine.
You thought nothing of it. He was a prince. Princes were strange, so were Targaryens in general.
Tonight, you were making his bed. Fluffing the pillows, smoothing the sheets, tucking the corners tight. He stood by the window, watching you.
"You missed a spot," he said.
You looked around. "Where, my prince?"
"Here." He walked to the bed and sat down, patting the space beside him. "Come. Fix it."
You knelt on the mattress, leaning over to smooth the fabric near his thigh. Your hair brushed his leg. He inhaled sharply.
"You're doing it again," he muttered.
"Doing what, your grace?"
"Being utterly oblivious."
You sat back on your heels, confused. "I'm sorry, my lord. I don't understand."
He grabbed your wrist. Holding you in place.
"I've been trying to seduce you for three months," he said. "Three. Months."
You blinked. "Seduce me?"
"Yes. Seduce you." His jaw tightened. "The touches. The lingering looks. The way I dismissed every other maid so you'd be the only one in my chambers. Did you not notice any of that?"
"I thought you just didn't like the others, my lord."
He stared at you. His violet eyes were dark, frustrated, burning.
"I don't like anyone," he said. "Except you."
Your heart stuttered. "Me?"
"Yes, you. You impossible, infuriating, beautiful girl."
He pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, your hands braced on his shoulders.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he said. "And if you don't want it, you have three seconds to leave."
You didn't leave.
He kissed you hard and desperate, like he'd been holding back for years. When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving.
"Do you understand now?" he asked.
You nodded, breathless.
"Good." He laid you back on the bed. "Because I'm not stopping this time."
Daeron - You had been assigned to help him to bed, a task no one else wanted because he tended to cry and cling. And an apparent handful after visiting the tavern.
But you didn't mind. He was gentle, even when his words slurred.
"Stay," he said, catching your hand as you tried to leave.
"I have other duties, my prince."
"No, you don't." He tugged you toward the bed. "I'm the prince. I say your only duty is to stay."
You sat on the edge of the mattress, letting him hold your hand. He pressed his face into your palm.
"You're so soft," he mumbled. "So warm. Why are you so nice to me?"
"Because it's my job, my lord."
"It's not your job. That’s optional.” He looked up at you, his violet eyes wet. "No one else is nice to me. Just you."
You didn't know what to say. You just sat there, stroking his hair.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to your wrist.
"I want to marry you," he said.
You laughed, thinking it was the wine. But it was never about the wine. "You're drunk, your grace."
"I'm not that drunk." He sat up, his face inches from yours. "I've wanted you since the first day you brought me breakfast."
"My prince-"
"Daeron." He cupped your face. "Please. Just... let me hold you. One night."
You should have said no. You were a maid. He was a prince. But his eyes were so sad, and his hands were so gentle.
So, you stayed.
Duncan - Duncan was not subtle. He’s the least subtle person when it comes to romance.
He brought you wildflowers every morning. He carried heavy baskets for you without being asked. He smiled at you across the courtyard like a lovesick puppy.
You thought he was just being friendly.
"Thank you, ser," you said, taking the flowers. "You're very kind."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not trying to be kind."
"Oh? What are you trying to be?"
He stared at you. His ears went red.
"Courting you," he said.
You tilted your head. "Courting me?"
"Yes. Courting. You know... flowers. Walks. Holding hands." He gestured vaguely. "All of it."
"But you're a knight."
"And you're a maid. I don't care."
You stared at him. He stared back.
"I thought you were just being nice," you said.
His shoulders slumped. "I've been trying to court you for two months."
"Two months?"
"I brought you flowers every day. I carried your baskets. I asked about your family." He ran a hand through his hair. "What did you think was happening?"
You thought about it. "I thought you were just... friendly."
He let out a pained sound, half laugh, half groan.
He stepped closer, taking your hands.
"I'm not good with words," he said. "So I'm going to say this plainly. I want to be with you. Not as your knight. As your... whatever you'll let me be."
You looked down at your hands in his.
"I don't know what to say," you admitted.
"Say you'll think about it."
"I'll think about it."
He smiled, wide, bright, hopeful.
"That's all I ask."
Valarr - Valarr had been patient. He actually doesn’t know how he went on for this long.
For months, he had watched you work, dusting his books, cleaning his hearth, pouring his wine. He had left little gifts on your cart: a ribbon, a piece of honeycomb, a note folded small.
You always thanked him politely and went back to work.
Tonight, he found you in his chambers, stoking the fire. He stood in the doorway, watching the flames flicker across your face.
"You're beautiful," he said.
You looked up. "Thank you, my lord."
"Do you know why I keep you as my personal maid?"
"Because I'm efficient?"
He crossed the room and knelt beside you. "No. Because I'm in love with you. I always have.”
Your hand froze on the poker.
"Your grace-“
"Valarr." He took the poker from your hand and set it aside. "I've been trying to tell you for weeks. The gifts. The notes. The way I look at you."
You frowned. "I thought you were just being polite."
He laughed. "Polite?"
"You're a prince. Princes are polite."
He took your face in his hands. His mismatched eyes were soft, exasperated, adoring.
"I am not being polite," he said. "I am being desperately, pathetically in love with you."
You stared at him. "But I'm a maid."
"I don't care."
"You should care. You’re a prince.”
"I don't." He pressed his forehead to yours. "The only thing I care about is you."
You sat there, frozen, as he stroked your cheeks with his thumbs.
"Say something," he whispered.
"I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll stay. Not as my maid. As mine."
You looked into his mismatched eyes, and he looked into yours, searching for your reaction.
"Yes," you said.
He kissed you. Soft. Sweet. Full of months of waiting.
"Finally," he breathed against your lips.
He pulled you into his lap and held you there, the fire crackling beside you.
Hiii I love your posts, they are so good. Your writing about the akotsk men reacting to their wife in labor made me think, how would they react if their wife were to suddenly and unexpectedly go into labor when they didn't know she was pregnant. Think of like a cryptic pregnancy and the moment and space where she goes into labor is also kinda unfortunate.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on that but if you aren't comfortable with that, that's ofc totally okay ♡
Akotsk men when you unexpectedly go into labor
this reminds me of a show i used to watch when i was little, and i think it was called “i didn’t know i was pregnant” it was really cool, but being in that situation is sooo scary. thank you for the request! if you wanna see different characters, shoot me another req!
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
Aerion - Aerion had been in a foul mood all day. Someone had looked at him wrong at breakfast. He threatened to have their tongue. Someone else breathed too loudly in the corridor. He threatened to have their lungs. You were used to it.
Then your back seized.
You were in the armory, of all places, watching him sharpen a sword. The pain was sudden, deep, and nothing like a cramp. You doubled over, knocking a helm off its stand.
Aerion looked up, annoyed. "What?"
"I don't-" Another wave hit. You gasped, your knees buckling.
He caught you before you hit the floor. "You're pale. What's wrong?"
"I don't know. It hurts."
"Where?"
You grabbed his hand and pressed it to your lower belly, normal, flat, unchanged, but something was happening deep inside. His eyes narrowed.
"That's not a stomachache."
"Maybe I’m bloated."
He stared at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you. His jaw tightened.
"Stay here."
"I can't move."
"I'll carry you." He scooped you up, ignoring your protests, and strode toward the door. A servant appeared. Aerion barked, "Get the maester. Now. If he's not here in five minutes, I'll have his fingers."
The servant ran.
You were halfway to your chambers when another contraction hit. You screamed, digging your nails into his shoulder. He stumbled but didn't drop you.
"What is happening to me?" you sobbed.
"I don't know." His voice was strained. "But you're not dying. I won't allow it."
He kicked open the door to your chambers and laid you on the bed. Your dress was soaked, not with blood, but with something clear. He stared at the wet patch, then at your face.
"Did you just-"
"I don't know!"
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "The maester needs to be here. Where is he? I'm going to kill him."
"Please don't kill the maester."
"He's late."
Another contraction. You screamed again. Aerion froze, then knelt beside the bed, grabbing your hand.
"Breathe," he said. "Like this." He demonstrated. But his breathing was too fast, panicked, not helpful at all.
"That's not helping."
"I'm trying!" He looked at the door. "If that maester isn't here in thirty seconds, I'm going to-"
The door opened. The maester stumbled in, out of breath, followed by two handmaidens carrying supplies.
Aerion pointed at you. "Fix her."
The maester took one look at you, at your soaked dress, your clenched jaw, your hands gripping the sheets and his eyes went wide.
"My prince, I believe your wife is in labor."
Aerion blinked. "That's impossible."
"It's not. She's having a baby."
"She's not pregnant. I would know, SHE would know."
"She is now."
Aerion turned to you. "Did you know about this?"
"I didn't!" you shouted, another contraction stealing your breath.
The maester gently examined you, then looked up. "The baby is coming. It will still be some hours, but-"
"Hours?" Aerion's voice cracked. "She's been in pain for hours already."
"That's normal, my prince."
"Normal?" He grabbed the maester by the collar. "Nothing about this is normal."
The maester pried his hands off. "I need you to step back, your grace. Let us work."
Aerion’s jaw tightens again, then he stepped back. For about ten seconds. Then he was at your side again, holding your hand, glaring at anyone who came near.
The hours passed. You screamed. You cried. You threatened to kill him. He took it all.
When the maester finally announced it was time to push, Aerion tried to move between your legs.
"Let me catch it."
"No, my prince."
"I said-"
"It's not done, my prince. Please. Stay with her."
He stayed. He held your hand as you pushed, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched so tight you thought his teeth might crack.
And then a cry. High and thin and furious. You never felt more relieved in your life. Aerion let out a breath he’d been holding in since you got here.
The maester lifted a tiny, squalling infant, blood slick and indignant.
"It's a boy," he said.
Aerion stared. He didn't move. Didn't speak.
You tugged his hand. "Aerion."
He blinked. Looked at you. Looked at the baby.
"That's ours," he said.
"Yes."
He reached out, took the baby from the maester's arms way too fast, too clumsy, but the maester didn't dare protest. He held his son against his chest, the cord still trailing to you.
"He's screaming," Aerion said.
"That's what babies do."
He looked at you, his violet eyes wet. "He's perfect."
The baby screamed louder.
"He has your lungs," you said.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I’m proud of you."
Daeron - Daeron had been sober for three months. It was hard, every day was hard, but he was doing it. For you. One of his new hobbies? Reading.
You collapsed in the middle of the library.
He was reading (trying to read, anyway.) when you gasped, dropped a stack of books, and sank to your knees. He was beside you instantly.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"I don't-" You clutched your lower belly. "It's like... something's moving."
He pushed your hair back from your face. "Moving how?"
"I don't know. Like-" Your eyes went wide. "Like something's trying to get out."
His face went pale. "That's not possible."
Another contraction. You cried out, doubling over. He caught you, lowering you to the floor.
"We need the maester," he said.
" Daeron-"
"Stay here. Don't move." He ran to the door, yelled for a servant, then ran back to you. His hands were shaking.
You grabbed his arm. "I'm scared."
"I know." He pulled you into his lap, cradling you against his chest. "I'm scared too."
The maester arrived within minutes and didn’t even take a minute to diagnose you.
"She's in labor."
Daeron stared. "She's not pregnant."
"The signs are unmistakable."
You looked down at your flat stomach. "How can I be in labor if there's no baby?"
The maester knelt beside you, pressing gently on your lower abdomen. His eyes widened.
"The baby is positioned very deep in the pelvis. It's possible you never developed a visible bump."
Daeron's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"So there's a baby. Inside her. Right now."
"Coming out, my prince. Soon."
Daeron looked at you. You looked at him.
"I didn't know," you whispered.
"I know." He took your hand, brought it to his lips. "Neither did I."
He stayed by your side for every contraction, holding you, wiping your forehead, telling you it would be okay. Was he tempted to drink? Yes. Did he? Not once.
The hours dragged. The maester and handmaidens came and went, checking you, adjusting pillows, bringing water. Daeron never left.
When it was finally time to push, he held you upright, his chest against your back, his arms around your ribs.
"You can do this," he said.
"I can't."
"You can. You're the strongest person I know."
You pushed. Screamed. Pushed again.
And then a cry. The maester held up a tiny, wriggling baby.
"A girl," he said.
Daeron stared. His mouth opened. Closed.
"A girl," he repeated.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. She grabbed his finger and held on.
"She's strong," he said.
"Like her father."
Daeron bursts into tears after this.
Duncan - You and Duncan had been on the road for three days. A simple journey to a neighboring holdfast, nothing urgent, just a chance to get away from the castle. The first day, you passed a small shepherd's hut where an old woman and her husband offered you bread and cheese. You thanked them and moved on.
By the second day, you started feeling strange. Tired. Achy in your lower back. You blamed the walking.
By the third day, you couldn't ignore it anymore.
You were on a narrow forest path when your body seized. The pain was like nothing you'd ever felt deep, rolling, pressing from the inside out. You dropped your pack and doubled over, gasping.
Duncan was at your side in an instant. "What is it?"
"I don't-" Another wave hit. You clutched his arm. "It hurts."
"Where?"
You pressed his hand to your lower belly. His brow furrowed.
"That can’t be normal."
"I know."
He looked around. Trees. Rocks. No houses. No people. The shepherd's hut was half a day's walk behind you.
"I'm carrying you back," he said.
"You can't. It's too far."
"I can."
He lifted you like you weighed nothing bridal style, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. You buried your face in his neck as he started walking.
The pain came in waves. You cried out. He held you tighter.
"How far?" you gasped.
"Half a day. Maybe less."
"That's too long."
"Then I'll walk faster."
He did. His pace was steady, relentless. Sweat dripped down his temples, but he didn't stop. Didn't slow. Just kept putting one foot in front of the other.
The sun was low when the hut came into view. Smoke curled from the chimney. Duncan kicked the door open.
The old woman looked up from her stew. Her eyes went wide.
"Help her," Duncan said. “Please.”
The woman took one look at your soaked dress, your clenched jaw, the way your body was straining. Her face softened.
"Put her on the bed. Husband, boil water."
The old man shuffled to the fire. The woman knelt beside you, her hands gentle.
"You're having a baby," she said.
You laughed hysterically, shaking your head. "I'm not pregnant."
"You are now." She pushed up your skirts and examined you. "The babe is deep. No bump. I've seen it before." She looked at Duncan. "You didn't know?"
"We didn't know."
She nodded. "Well, you're about to know."
The hours passed. The old woman talked you through each contraction, her voice low and steady. Duncan never left your side. He held your hand, fed you broth, told you stories about nothing.
When it was finally time, the old woman guided you through it. Duncan stayed at your head, his big hand cupping your cheek.
"You're almost there," he said.
One last push.
The old woman lifted a baby and laid it on your chest.
"A boy," she said.
"That's ours," he said.
"That's ours."
He touched the baby's tiny hand with one finger. The baby grabbed on.
He laughed and kissed your forehead.
The old woman cleaned the baby while Duncan held you. The old man brought tea. The fire crackled.
"I didn't know," you whispered.
"Neither did I." He pulled the blanket up around your shoulders. "But I know now."
Valarr - You had always loved snow. Valarr knew this. So when the first flakes fell, he surprised you with a trip to a small lodge in the northern hills with just the two of you.
The lodge was warm. A fire crackled in the hearth. The windows were thick with frost. You spent the first day drinking spiced wine and watching the storm build outside.
On the second day, something changed.
You were standing by the window, marveling at the snowdrifts, when a strange pressure bloomed low in your belly. You shifted, uncomfortable. Then it came again but worse. You put a hand on the windowsill.
Valarr looked up from the fire. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. Something feels... different."
He crossed to you, his brow furrowed. "Different how?"
Before you could answer, another wave hit. You gasped, your knees buckling. He caught you, lowering you to the rug by the hearth.
"You're pale," he said. His voice was steady, but his hands were shaking.
"I don't know what's happening."
He looked at the window, at the snow still falling, thick and relentless. The wind howled. The road would be buried.
"The maesters can't get here," he said. "Not until the storm stops."
"I know."
He knelt beside you, his mismatched eyes wide. He was trying to stay calm. You could see him trying.
He called for the lodge keeper. The man came, he was old, grey-bearded, his hands rough.
"My wife needs help," Valarr said. "Hot water. Towels. Any clean cloth you have."
The lodge keeper nodded and disappeared. Valarr turned back to you.
"I need to look," he said. "May I?"
You nodded.
He pushed up your skirts carefully, his movements gentle. He looked. His face went very still.
"What?" you asked.
He met your eyes. "You're... opening. Down there."
"What does that mean?"
He took your hand. "I think you're having a baby."
You stared at him. "That's not possible."
"I don't know how else to explain it."
Another wave of pain. You cried out. He caught your hand, holding it tight.
"I'm going to take care of you," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm not leaving."
The lodge keeper returned with a basin of hot water, a stack of towels, and a bundle of clean cloth. He set them down, looked at you, then at Valarr.
"I've never..." the old man started.
"I know," Valarr said. "Just stay nearby. In case we need more."
The lodge keeper nodded and retreated to the other room.
Valarr washed his hands in the hot water, just like he'd seen the maesters do. Then he sat behind you, letting you lean against his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you steady.
"Breathe," he said. "Just breathe."
The hours passed. The storm raged. Valarr talked to you about nothing, about everything, about the first time he saw you, about the snow, about anything to keep your mind off the pain.
When the pressure became unbearable, you tried to look down. He gently turned your face back.
"Don't," he said. "You'll panic. Trust me."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm panicking enough for both of us."
You almost laughed. Almost.
"I can see more now," he said after a while. "It's working. You're doing so well."
"I don't feel like I'm doing well."
"You are." He kissed your temple. "You're my wife. You're the strongest person I know. And you're doing it."
The pain built. Your body started pushing on its own. Valarr moved between your knees, his hands hovering.
"I see something," he said.
"What?"
He looked up at you, his face pale but steady.
"It's a head. You're almost there."
With one more push, Valarr caught the baby with shaking hands. A girl.
He laid her on your chest and sat back, his shoulders trembling.
"My love," he said. His voice cracked. "Good job."
You looked down at the tiny, wriggling creature. "We made that."
"We did." He pressed his forehead to yours. "I can’t believe I didn’t know."
"Neither did I."
The lodge keeper came in with more towels. Valarr cleaned the baby with careful hands, wrapped her in cloth, and placed her back in your arms.
"You're stuck with us now," you said.
He smiled.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
He lay down beside you, his arm over your waist, his hand on the baby's back.
Hii i saw you taking requests and i was wondering if i could ask for one with AKOTSK men with a clueless maid!reader pls 👀?
Akotsk men crushing on you; a clueless maid
once again the anons are coming in clutch w some really good reqs. THANK YOUUU!! also i wasn’t sure who you wanted so i just defaulted to the four. i have a speech on wednesday im so nervous i hate public speakin
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
Aerion - You had been serving Aerion for three moons now, and you still hadn't figured him out.
He was cruel to everyone, snapping at servants, mocking courtiers, glowering at his own brothers. But with you, he was different. He called you to his chambers more often than necessary. He found excuses to touch you, adjusting your sleeve, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger on your wrist when you handed him his wine.
You thought nothing of it. He was a prince. Princes were strange, so were Targaryens in general.
Tonight, you were making his bed. Fluffing the pillows, smoothing the sheets, tucking the corners tight. He stood by the window, watching you.
"You missed a spot," he said.
You looked around. "Where, my prince?"
"Here." He walked to the bed and sat down, patting the space beside him. "Come. Fix it."
You knelt on the mattress, leaning over to smooth the fabric near his thigh. Your hair brushed his leg. He inhaled sharply.
"You're doing it again," he muttered.
"Doing what, your grace?"
"Being utterly oblivious."
You sat back on your heels, confused. "I'm sorry, my lord. I don't understand."
He grabbed your wrist. Holding you in place.
"I've been trying to seduce you for three months," he said. "Three. Months."
You blinked. "Seduce me?"
"Yes. Seduce you." His jaw tightened. "The touches. The lingering looks. The way I dismissed every other maid so you'd be the only one in my chambers. Did you not notice any of that?"
"I thought you just didn't like the others, my lord."
He stared at you. His violet eyes were dark, frustrated, burning.
"I don't like anyone," he said. "Except you."
Your heart stuttered. "Me?"
"Yes, you. You impossible, infuriating, beautiful girl."
He pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, your hands braced on his shoulders.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he said. "And if you don't want it, you have three seconds to leave."
You didn't leave.
He kissed you hard and desperate, like he'd been holding back for years. When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving.
"Do you understand now?" he asked.
You nodded, breathless.
"Good." He laid you back on the bed. "Because I'm not stopping this time."
Daeron - You had been assigned to help him to bed, a task no one else wanted because he tended to cry and cling. And an apparent handful after visiting the tavern.
But you didn't mind. He was gentle, even when his words slurred.
"Stay," he said, catching your hand as you tried to leave.
"I have other duties, my prince."
"No, you don't." He tugged you toward the bed. "I'm the prince. I say your only duty is to stay."
You sat on the edge of the mattress, letting him hold your hand. He pressed his face into your palm.
"You're so soft," he mumbled. "So warm. Why are you so nice to me?"
"Because it's my job, my lord."
"It's not your job. That’s optional.” He looked up at you, his violet eyes wet. "No one else is nice to me. Just you."
You didn't know what to say. You just sat there, stroking his hair.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to your wrist.
"I want to marry you," he said.
You laughed, thinking it was the wine. But it was never about the wine. "You're drunk, your grace."
"I'm not that drunk." He sat up, his face inches from yours. "I've wanted you since the first day you brought me breakfast."
"My prince-"
"Daeron." He cupped your face. "Please. Just... let me hold you. One night."
You should have said no. You were a maid. He was a prince. But his eyes were so sad, and his hands were so gentle.
So, you stayed.
Duncan - Duncan was not subtle. He’s the least subtle person when it comes to romance.
He brought you wildflowers every morning. He carried heavy baskets for you without being asked. He smiled at you across the courtyard like a lovesick puppy.
You thought he was just being friendly.
"Thank you, ser," you said, taking the flowers. "You're very kind."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not trying to be kind."
"Oh? What are you trying to be?"
He stared at you. His ears went red.
"Courting you," he said.
You tilted your head. "Courting me?"
"Yes. Courting. You know... flowers. Walks. Holding hands." He gestured vaguely. "All of it."
"But you're a knight."
"And you're a maid. I don't care."
You stared at him. He stared back.
"I thought you were just being nice," you said.
His shoulders slumped. "I've been trying to court you for two months."
"Two months?"
"I brought you flowers every day. I carried your baskets. I asked about your family." He ran a hand through his hair. "What did you think was happening?"
You thought about it. "I thought you were just... friendly."
He let out a pained sound, half laugh, half groan.
He stepped closer, taking your hands.
"I'm not good with words," he said. "So I'm going to say this plainly. I want to be with you. Not as your knight. As your... whatever you'll let me be."
You looked down at your hands in his.
"I don't know what to say," you admitted.
"Say you'll think about it."
"I'll think about it."
He smiled, wide, bright, hopeful.
"That's all I ask."
Valarr - Valarr had been patient. He actually doesn’t know how he went on for this long.
For months, he had watched you work, dusting his books, cleaning his hearth, pouring his wine. He had left little gifts on your cart: a ribbon, a piece of honeycomb, a note folded small.
You always thanked him politely and went back to work.
Tonight, he found you in his chambers, stoking the fire. He stood in the doorway, watching the flames flicker across your face.
"You're beautiful," he said.
You looked up. "Thank you, my lord."
"Do you know why I keep you as my personal maid?"
"Because I'm efficient?"
He crossed the room and knelt beside you. "No. Because I'm in love with you. I always have.”
Your hand froze on the poker.
"Your grace-“
"Valarr." He took the poker from your hand and set it aside. "I've been trying to tell you for weeks. The gifts. The notes. The way I look at you."
You frowned. "I thought you were just being polite."
He laughed. "Polite?"
"You're a prince. Princes are polite."
He took your face in his hands. His mismatched eyes were soft, exasperated, adoring.
"I am not being polite," he said. "I am being desperately, pathetically in love with you."
You stared at him. "But I'm a maid."
"I don't care."
"You should care. You’re a prince.”
"I don't." He pressed his forehead to yours. "The only thing I care about is you."
You sat there, frozen, as he stroked your cheeks with his thumbs.
"Say something," he whispered.
"I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll stay. Not as my maid. As mine."
You looked into his mismatched eyes, and he looked into yours, searching for your reaction.
"Yes," you said.
He kissed you. Soft. Sweet. Full of months of waiting.
"Finally," he breathed against your lips.
He pulled you into his lap and held you there, the fire crackling beside you.
Hii i love your Akostsk men drabbles so much, could you possibly do one where they find out that reader self harms? I completely understand if you are not comfortable writing it, thank you so much♡
this is definitely something different than my usual, thanks for the req anon! let me know what you think. also, little reminder everyone, if you’re going through something, the best thing to do is to talk about it. my things are always open as well. love u guys
warnings/content: self harm, mentions of self harm, angst, emotional distress, descriptions of injuries, but nothing in explicit detail. do not read if these make you uncomfortable.
hcs of aerion, baelor, daeron, duncan, lyonel, maekar, valarr
Aerion - Aerion has been watching you for quite some time. The long sleeves in summer. The way you flinched when he touched your arms. The way you disappeared to your chambers at odd hours. He wasn't stupid. He just didn't know what to do.
Then the maids came to him. Worried. They had seen blood on your sheets, on your towels. They were afraid for you.
He waited until you were at dinner, then searched your room.
It didn't take long. The blade was under your pillow. The bloodstained cloths were at the bottom of your wardrobe.
He was sitting on your bed when you came back.
You stopped in the doorway. Your heart dropped.
"Aerion-"
"Come here."
You couldn’t move, your legs trembling.
He stood up. Crossed the room. Took your hands.
"I'm not angry," he said. "I'm not going to yell."
"Then what are you going to do?"
He pushed up your sleeves. Looked at your arms. His jaw tightened, but he didn't look away.
"I'm going to stay with you," he said. "Every night. Every day. Until you don't need to do this anymore."
You started to cry. He pulled you against his chest.
"You're not allowed to be alone anymore," he said. "That's the rule."
Baelor - You were avoiding him. Not obviously. Not rudely. But you were slipping away. You were always on your way to do something, fetching a book, checking on the horses, taking a walk in the gardens. Every time he reached for you, you had somewhere else to be.
Tonight, you excused yourself from dinner early. A headache, you said. You needed air. He nodded, told you to rest, and waited exactly three minutes before following.
He found you in a small alcove off the main corridor, your back to the wall, your sleeve pushed up. You were staring at your arm like it was no longer apart of you.
He didn't announce himself. Just stepped into the light.
You looked up. Your face went pale.
"Baelor-" You panicked, choking up.
"I'm not angry." His voice was soft. Gentle. "I'm not going to yell."
You pulled your sleeve down. Your hands were shaking.
"How long have you known?"
He crossed the room slowly, giving you time to retreat. You didn't.
"I've suspected for a while," he said. "You've been... distant. Pained. I didn't want to believe it."
You looked at the floor. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." He stopped in front of you, close enough to touch but not reaching. "Can I see?"
You hesitated. Then you pushed up your sleeve.
He looked at them for a long time.
"How long have you been doing this?" he asked.
"A while."
"Why?"
You couldn't answer. Your throat was too tight.
He reached out, slowly, and took your hand. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, avoiding the cuts, gentle as a breath.
"You don't have to tell me tonight," he said. "But I need you to know something."
You looked up at him.
"You are not alone. You have never been alone. And I will not let you carry this by yourself any longer."
Tears spilled down your cheeks. He pulled you into his arms, solid and safe. Most importantly, comforting.
"We'll find someone to help," he said. "A maester. A septa. Whoever you trust. But I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise me you'll come to me. When it's hard. When you want to hurt yourself. Come to me first."
You nodded against his chest. "I promise."
He kissed the top of your head and held you until you stopped shaking.
Daeron - Daeron was drunk again, no surprise there. It wasn’t too bad tonight, though. You had gone to the tavern to fetch him, like you always did, and you were half carrying him back to his chambers. Love you," he mumbled. "Love you so much."
"I know." You shifted his weight, trying to get the door open.
"S'true. You're the best thing that ever-" He grabbed your arm for balance. His thumb caught your sleeve. Pushed it up.
He froze.
You looked down. The scars. The fresh cuts. All of it exposed in the light for him to see.
"Daeron-"
He wasn't drunk anymore. If that was even possible, it was as if he sobered up. You’d never seen him like this. His eyes were clear, focused, staring at your arm.
"What are those?"
You pulled your sleeve down. "Nothing, it was just-”
"Don't." His voice was sharp. "Don't lie to me."
You didn't answer. He pushed open the door, guided you inside, and sat you down on the bed.
"How long?"
"A while."
He knelt in front of you. Took your hands.
"I'm not going to drink anymore," he said.
"You couldn’t-"
"I can." His voice was steady. "Because you need me sober. And I need you alive. I need you as you.”
He pressed his forehead to yours.
"We're going to get through this. Together."
Duncan - Duncan hadn't noticed at first. You still laughed. Still smiled. Still made him feel like the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. But something was off. You didn't reach for his hand anymore. You didn't lean into him when he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. When he suggested swimming in the lake, your favorite thing to do together, you made an excuse. Too tired. Too cold. Maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came.
He told himself you were just tired. Stressed. That it would pass. But weeks turned into months, and you still flinched when he touched you. Still pulled away when he tried to hold you.
Tonight, he decided to do something about it. He filled the bath with hot water, added the oils you liked, and came to find you.
"Close your eyes," he said, trying to sound playful.
You did. He took your hand and led you toward the bathing chamber.
"I've got a surprise," he said. "You're going to love it."
You laughed, a genuine one, and Duncan noticed it sounded different than your other laughs. For a moment, everything felt normal.
"Can I look now?"
"Not yet."
He led you to the edge of the tub, the steam rising around you. The room smelled like lavender and honey.
"Okay," he said. "Now."
You opened your eyes. Saw the bath. Saw the candles flickering. Saw the petals scattered on the water.
"Dunk..."
"I wanted to make you smile." He reached for your wrist, gently tugging you toward the tub. "Come on. Get in."
His large fingers enclosed your wrist, pressing against your fresh cuts through your sleeve.
You gasped. Jerked your arm back. A sharp cry escaped your throat before you could stop it.
Duncan froze. His hand hung in the air where your wrist had been.
"What-" He looked at his fingers. There was blood. Not much. Just a smear. But it was there.
Your sleeve had ridden up when you pulled away. He saw everything. The old scars. The fresh wounds. The ones that were still healing and the ones that weren't.
His face went pale.
"Let me see," he said.
You shook your head, backing away.
"Please."
You didn't move. He stepped closer, slow, careful, like you were a wounded animal.
"I'm not going to grab you," he said. "I'm not going to pull. Just... let me see."
You held out your arm. He took it gently, his thumb avoiding the cuts, his other hand pushing your sleeve up to your elbow.
He looked at your arm for a long time. His jaw was tight. His eyes were wet.
"Why?" he asked.
You couldn't answer. You just stood there, shaking, waiting for him to leave.
He didn't leave.
He pulled you into his arms, carefully, so carefully, and held you against his chest.
"We're going to figure this out," he said. "You and me. I don't care how long it takes."
You buried your face in his tunic and cried.
He held you until you stopped. Then he helped you into the bath, washed you himself, and carried you to bed.
You fell asleep in his arms, while he didn't sleep at all. Just watched you, his hand resting on your back, making sure you were still breathing.
Lyonel - Lyonel was trying all night to get you to dance. Not in a pushy way, he was just naturally playful, the way he used to be when you first met. He grabbed your hand, spun you around, laughed when you stumbled.
"Come on," he said, grinning. "One dance. For old times' sake."
You didn't smile back.
He tried again. Pulled you closer. Dipped you low. The old tricks that used to make you giggle.
You pulled away.
"Lyonel, stop."
He blinked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just don't want to dance."
"You love dancing."
"Not tonight."
He reached for your wrist again. "Just one!-"
You yanked your arm back. Hard. Your sleeve rode up. He saw the cuts.
His smile died.
"What are those?"
You pulled your sleeve down. "Nothing."
"That's not nothing." He stepped closer, his blue eyes dark. "Let me see."
"No."
He didn't push. Didn't grab. Just stood there, staring at your arm, his chest heaving.
"How long?"
You didn't answer. You turned and walked away.
He followed.
You stormed down the corridor, your boots loud on the stone floor. He didn't call your name. Didn't try to stop you. Just followed, his footsteps steady behind you.
You pushed open the door to your chambers. He came in after you.
"Talk to me," he said.
"I don't want to talk."
"I don't care what you want." His voice was rough. Not angry. Desperate. "I need to know you're okay."
"I'm not okay."
"Then let me help you."
You turned to face him. Your eyes were wet. Your jaw was tight.
"You can't help me."
"Watch me."
He crossed the room and pulled you into his arms. You fought him at first, shoving at his chest, trying to pull away, but he didn't let go, even when you hit his chest.
"I'm not leaving," he said. "I don't care if you scream at me. I don't care if you hate me. I'm not leaving."
You stopped fighting. Collapsed against his chest.
He held you there, one hand on your back, the other cradling the back of your head.
"We're going to get through this," he said. "Together."
Maekar - Maekar had been in your chambers for an hour. Your room was quiet. Peaceful. His own chambers were too big, too cold, too full of servants asking questions. Here, he could think.
He was looking for a quill. Yours were better than his, sharper, the ink didn't smudge. He pulled open your desk drawer, rummaging through papers and dried flowers and..
His hand closed around something small. Wrapped in cloth.
He unwrapped it.
A blade. Small, sharp, stained.
He stared at it. His chest went tight.
"Fuck," he muttered. Then louder: "Fucking- fuck."
He pulled open another drawer. More cloth. More blades. He cursed under his breath, slamming the drawer shut.
You heard him from the corridor. His voice was raised, you thought he was yelling at somebody, so you pushed open the door.
"What's wrong?"
He was standing at your desk, his back to you, his hands braced on the wood.
"Maekar?"
He turned. His face was pale. His jaw was tight. In his hand, he held a blade wrapped in bloodstained cloth.
"What are these?" he asked.
Your stomach dropped. "I can explain-"
"Can you?" His voice was rough, but not angry. Not at you. "Can you tell me why I just found a dozen of these in your drawers?"
You couldn't look at him. You stared at the floor.
"I didn't know," he said. "I didn't know."
"I didn't want you to."
He crossed the room. Took your face in his hands. His palms were warm, rough, shaking.
"I'm not angry at you," he said. "I'm angry at myself. For not seeing it."
"It's not your fault."
"It's not yours either."
He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you. You stood there, frozen, waiting for him to let go.
He didn't.
"I'm here," he said quietly. "I'm not leaving. We'll get through this. Together."
You started to cry. He held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head.
He didn't speak. Didn't curse. Just held you, steady and solid, until your tears slowed and your breathing evened out.
When you finally pulled back, he wiped your cheeks with his thumbs.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you something to drink."
He kept your hand in his as he led you out of the room.
Valarr - You knew something was wrong the moment you walked into your chambers. Valarr was sitting on the edge of the bed. Not reading. Not writing. Just sitting, his hands folded in his lap, his mismatched eyes fixed on the door. Waiting for you. You stopped in the doorway.
"We need to talk," he said.
Your stomach dropped, and all of a sudden you could barely breathe. "About what?"
He didn't answer. Just patted the bed beside him.
You sat. Your heart was pounding. You couldn't remember the last time he had looked at you like this, calm, but not relaxed. Steady, but not at ease.
"I've noticed," he said, "that you've been... pulling away."
"I haven't-"
"Please." His voice was soft. "Let me finish."
You closed your mouth.
"You don't let me hold you anymore. You flinch when I touch your wrists. You've been wearing long sleeves in weather that doesn't call for them." He turned to face you, his knee brushing yours. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just... worried."
You stared at your hands. "I'm fine."
"You're not." He reached out, slowly, and took your hand. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist. "I've been watching you waste away, and I didn't know how to ask. So I'm asking now. Please. Tell me what's going on."
Your throat was tight. Your eyes burned.
"I can't," you whispered.
"You can." He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your palm. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm not going to run."
You sat there for a long time. He didn't rush you. Didn't push. Just held your hand and waited.
Finally, you pushed up your sleeve.
The scars caught the candlelight. Pale and silver, some of them. Pink and raised, others. Fresh cuts, still healing.
Valarr didn't gasp. Didn't flinch. He just looked at your arm, his thumb still stroking your wrist.
"How long?" he asked.
"A while."
He nodded. "Does it help?"
You blinked. "What?"
"The pain. Does it help?"
You weren't expecting that. No one had ever asked.
"Sometimes," you admitted. "For a little while."
He lifted your arm and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, right over the scars.
"I wish you had told me," he said. "Not because I'm angry. Because I could have been here. Holding you. Helping you find another way."
"I didn't want you to see me like this."
He looked at you, his mismatched eyes soft.
"I want to see all of you," he said. "Even the parts you're ashamed of."
You started to cry. He pulled you into his arms and held you.
"We'll figure this out," he said. "Together. You and me."
You nodded against his chest. He kissed the top of your head.
What do you think of doing stories of spooning pregnant sex with the Targaryen royals x reader ( akotsk) . I don’t know how you will feel about that but I loved your last series where the reader was naked . If not just something with them and a pregnant reader in any situation.
Pregnant Sex with Akotsk Targ Men
honestly i love anything regarding pregnancy, i think it’s so cute and also smexy. THANK YOU FOR WAITING!! patience is so much appreciated. my summer classes just started and im having a rough time, but being able to write makes me feel way better. enough yap, i hope you enjoy
hcs of aerion, baelor, daeron, maekar, valarr
mdni 18+
Aerion - You were four months gone. Your belly had finally popped, small but it was definitely there, a firm little swell beneath your nightgown. And you were absolutely going feral.
It felt like weeks since Aerion had touched you, but in reality it was only a few days. Not because he was cruel, not this time. You just assumed he'd gotten what he wanted. An heir. A dragon in the womb. Why would he keep fucking you now that the deed was done?
So you suffered in silence. Tossing and turning. Pressing your thighs together. Biting your lip while he slept beside you, oblivious.
Tonight, you couldn't take it anymore.
You were on your side, facing away from him, your back pressed to his chest. He was asleep, or so you thought. His arm was draped over your waist, his palm resting on the curve of your belly.
You rolled your hips back. Just a little. Just enough to feel him. A little wouldn’t hurt, right?
He was hard.
You froze. Your face burned.
"Thought you were asleep," you whispered.
"I was." His voice was rough, groggy. "Until you started grinding on me like a cat in heat."
Your whole body went hot. "I wasn't-"
"You were." His hand slid down from your belly to your hip, gripping it. "You've been doing this for weeks. Tossing and turning. Making those little sounds." His lips brushed your ear. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
You swallowed. "I thought you didn't want-"
"I always want." He pushed your nightgown up to your waist and pushed your smallclothes down. His cock, already hard, slid between your thighs from behind. "I've been waiting for you to ask. Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
"I didn't know how."
He bit your shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to make you gasp.
"You're carrying my child," he said. "You don't have to ask. You just have to spread your legs."
He pushed inside you. Slow. Careful. Different from before, no more brutal, frantic fucking. He moved like he was afraid of hurting you, of hurting the baby.
"Faster," you begged.
"No."
"Please-"
"You're pregnant. I'm not going to fuck you like a whore."
You whined. He laughed. But this was no laughing matter.
"Desperate little thing," he murmured. "All those hormones making you needy."
He sped up. Just a little. His hand slid around your waist, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow circles.
"You're so wet," he said. "So fucking wet. Is this all for me?"
"All for you."
He fucked you like that, slow and deep, his chest pressed to your back, his hand on your belly. When you came, you bit your lip to keep from screaming. He came a moment later, spilling inside you, his groan muffled against your neck.
"Next time," he said, still catching his breath, "speak up."
Baelor - The feast was your idea. Baelor had been putting it off for weeks, afraid of overwhelming you, afraid of the noise, the crowds, the endless parade of lords and ladies wanting to congratulate him on the heir you were carrying. It made him so nervous with you being surrounded by so many pregnant, and with his child, too. But you were feeling good now. The morning sickness had faded for now. Your belly was round and firm, and you had that glow people talked about. So you told him it was fine. You wanted to celebrate.
Now you were standing in the great hall, your hand resting on your stomach, surrounded by well wishers, along with many, many guards. Baelor watched you from across the room. He had been watching you all night.
You laughed at something a lady said. You accepted a cup of water from a servant. You turned, your gaze finding his across the crowd, and you smiled.
His chest ached. Anything you did had him struck.
You were beautiful. You always were but it’s different like this, you’re radiant, glowing, carrying his child. Every time you touched your belly, his cock twitched. Every time you laughed, he wanted to drag you out of the hall.
He crossed the room. Took your hand. Pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
"Is everything alright, my love?" you asked.
"Fine." His voice was rough. "I need you."
Your eyes widened. "Now?"
"Now."
You didn't argue. You let him lead you out of the hall, down the corridor, to your chambers. The door had barely closed before he was on you.
"Baelor-"
"I've been watching you all night." He pushed your gown off your shoulders, baring your breasts. "Touching your belly. Smiling at everyone." His mouth found your neck. "Do you know what that does to me?"
"Tell me."
"Makes me want to fuck you."
You gasped as he lifted you onto the bed, laying you on your side, your belly propped on a pillow. He shed his tunic, his breeches, and climbed in behind you, his chest pressing to your back.
"You're so beautiful," he said, pushing your gown up to your waist. "Carrying my child. Glowing."
His cock pressed against your entrance. You pushed back, trying to take him inside, but he held your hip still.
"A-ah-"
"Shh." His hand slid around your waist, fingers finding your clit. "Let me take care of you."
He pushed inside you slowly. Inch by inch. You both groaned.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're so good. So warm."
He moved slow. Deep. His hand never left your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His other hand splayed across your belly, feeling the curve of it beneath his palm.
"I'm so proud of you," he murmured against your ear. "So proud."
You turned your head, just enough to kiss him. He kissed you back reverently.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He sped up. His hips slapped against yours, the bed creaking beneath you. You came undone around him, crying out, and he followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a groan.
"We should have feasts more often, if it gets to end like this" you said.
He kissed your shoulder and held you tighter. "Any night will end like this, just ask me."
Daeron - Daeron hadn't touched a drop of wine since the day you told him you were pregnant. EVERYONE cannot believe it, genuinely. Not because anyone asked him to. Not because he made some grand declaration. He just stopped. One day, after you first shared the news, he was excited, reaching for his cup, and he looked at you, at the way you smiled at him like he wasn't a complete disaster and he put the cup down.
He never picked it back up.
But he needed something. An outlet. Without the wine, he was restless. Fidgety. He followed you around the castle like a lost puppy, showing up in your solar, your chambers, the gardens. He held your hand at meals. He pressed his face into your hair when you were reading. He was everywhere.
You didn't mind. You'd rather have him drunk off you anyway.
Tonight, you were in bed. Your belly was round at five months, and you were lying on your side, facing away from him, because it was the only way to get comfortable. Daeron was behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his arm draped over your waist. His hand rested on your belly, palm flat, fingers spread.
He was painfully hard.
You could feel him, his cock pressing against your backside, thick and insistent. He wasn't trying to hide it. He wasn't grinding on you either. Just... existing. Letting you feel what you did to him.
"Daeron," you said.
"Mm?"
"You're hard."
"I know."
"Are you going to do something about it?"
He was quiet for a moment. His thumb traced circles on your belly.
"I wasn't sure if you'd want me to."
You turned your head, just enough to see his face. His violet eyes were dark, earnest, a little desperate.
"I always want you to. And the maesters said I should be fine.”
He exhaled shakily and relieved, pushing your nightgown up to your waist.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he admitted, his hand sliding down your hip. "Watching you. The way you move now. The way you touch your belly."
You reached back, gripping his thigh, pulling him closer. "Then stop thinking and do it."
He pushed inside you slowly. Careful. His forehead dropped to the back of your neck, and he groaned.
"You feel so good," he breathed. "So fucking good."
He moved slow at first. Deep. His hand found your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts, and you arched your back, pressing into him.
"Faster," you demanded.
"You're pregnant-"
"I'm not made of glass, Daeron. Fuck me. Please.”
He laughed breathlessly and sped up. His hips slapped against yours, the bed creaking beneath you. His hand never left your clit.
You came first, clenching around him, your face buried in the pillow. He followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a groan, his body shaking against yours.
He kissed your shoulder. "I'm going to be a good father."
"You already are."
"I'm going to be sober. For them. For you."
Your heart fluttered and you reached back and threaded your fingers through his hair. "I know."
Maekar - You were close. So close. The maesters said any day now, and Maekar was losing his mind.
He had always been stern, prickly, quick to snap. But this was different. This was constant. He yelled at the servants for not scrubbing the floors hard enough. He yelled at the maesters for not washing their hands thoroughly enough. He hovered in your chambers, pacing, his hand never leaving his sword hilt.
"For fuck's sake," he snarled at a passing servant who looked at you wrong. "Get the fuck out of her sight."
The servant fled.
You bit back a smile.
"Stop laughing," he said.
"I'm not laughing."
"You're thinking about laughing."
You reached out and took his hand. He was tense, his fingers rigid, his knuckles white.
"You need to relax," you said.
"I'll relax when the baby is here and you're not in danger."
"That's weeks away."
"Fucking-" He stopped. Pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know."
You tugged on his hand, pulling him toward the bed. He followed, because he always followed, even when he was being difficult.
"Lie down," you said.
"I'm not tired."
"I didn't ask if you were tired. Lie down."
He glared at you. You glared back. He did as you asked.
You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, your round belly pressing against his stomach. His hands came up automatically, settling on your waist.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Calming you down."
"This isn't calming."
Total lie, and his cock was already hard. You could feel it pressing against your thigh through his breeches. His breath hitched when you rolled your hips.
"Maekar."
"What."
"Kiss me."
He did. His hand fisted in your hair, pulling you down, and he kissed you hard. Desperate. Like he was trying to pour all his fear and frustration and want into the shape of his mouth against yours.
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark.
"We need to change positions," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you're going to hurt yourself."
"I'm not-"
"I'm not taking that risk."
He sat up slowly, his hands on your waist, guiding you. He kissed you again carefully, so carefully, turned you both until you were lying on your side, facing away from him. Your belly rested on a pillow. His chest pressed to your back.
"Better," he murmured.
"You're ridiculous."
"You're pregnant."
He pushed your nightgown up to your waist. His cock, still hard, pressed against your entrance.
"Tell me if it hurts," he said.
"It won't."
"Tell me anyway."
He pushed inside you slowly. Inch by inch. You both groaned.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You feel so good."
He moved slow. Deep. His hand slid around your waist, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His other hand splayed across your belly, feeling the curve of it beneath his palm.
"I love you," he said. "I'm going to be a wreck until this baby comes out."
"I know."
"I'm going to yell at everyone."
"I know."
"I'm going to yell at the baby."
"You're not going to yell at the baby."
He laughed, finally. His hips stuttered, and he buried his face in your neck.
"Just stay here," he said. "Don't move. Don't leave."
"I'm not going anywhere."
He fucked you like that, slow and deep, his body curled around yours until you came undone around him, clenching, crying out. He followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a groan, his face buried in your hair.
"The maesters need to be cleaner," he mumbled. Still lodged inside you.
"I know."
"I'm going to write a decree. Mandatory hand-washing. Before and after every birth."
"That's a good idea."
He kissed your shoulder. "I'm terrified."
"Imagine how I feel."
"But I'm also happy."
You turned your head, just enough to see his face. His purple eyes were soft, vulnerable, nothing like the stern prince everyone else saw. It WILL be okay.
Valarr - You were seven months pregnant, and you were miserable.
Your back ached. Your feet were swollen. You couldn't sleep, couldn't get comfortable, couldn't even roll over without feeling like a beached whale. The baby kicked your ribs constantly, and you were pretty sure your hips were going to split in half.
Valarr did everything he could. He massaged your lower back every night, his thumbs working the knots out of your muscles. He brought you water, tea, whatever you craved. He helped you in and out of the bath, washing your hair, scrubbing your back, even though the maids could have done it. He wanted to do it. He insisted.
He also made you eat better. More greens, more protein, less of the sugary nonsense you kept trying to sneak past him. "For the baby," he said. "And for you." You rolled your eyes but ate the vegetables.
Tonight, you were lying on your side, facing away from him, your belly propped on a pillow. You felt huge. Grotesque. Your hips were wider, your thighs thicker, and there were stretch marks creeping across your belly that made you want to cry.
Valarr's hand landed on your hip.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm tired."
"Something else."
You didn't answer. His hand slid from your hip to your belly, palm flat, fingers spread.
"You've been avoiding my touch," he said.
"I have not."
"You have. Every time I try to hold you, you shift away." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Talk to me."
You swallowed. Your throat was tight.
"I feel disgusting," you whispered.
His hand stilled. "What?"
"Look at me. I'm huge. I have stretch marks. I can't even see my feet. How could you possibly-" You stopped. Your voice broke.
Valarr sat up. Gently, carefully, he turned you onto your back. He knelt beside you, his mismatched eyes soft, his jaw set.
"Can I show you something?" he asked.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
He pushed your nightgown up to your ribs. Your belly was round and taut, marked with faint silver lines. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the curve of it.
"I love this," he said.
"You have to say that."
"I don't have to say anything." He kissed your belly again. Then your hip. Then the soft swell of your thigh. "I love the way your body has changed. I love knowing that you're carrying our child."
He kissed a stretch mark. Then another. His lips traced the silver lines, soft and reverent.
"You're not disgusting," he said. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
You were crying now. Quiet tears sliding down your cheeks. He kissed them away.
"Can I touch you?" he asked.
"Yes."
He laid you back on your side, settled behind you, and pushed your nightgown up to your waist. Pulling your smallclothes down, and his hand slid between your thighs. You were already wet, embarrassingly so but you craved this, and he groaned against your neck.
"You're so responsive," he murmured. "So ready."
"I've been needing you," you admitted. "I just didn't know how to ask."
"You don't have to ask. You just have to let me in."
He pushed inside you slowly. Carefully. You both groaned.
"Oh," you breathed. "Oh, that's-"
"Good?"
"So good."
He moved slow. Deep. His hand found your clit, rubbing in slow circles, and you arched your back, pressing into him.
"You're so beautiful like this," he said. "Carrying my child. Letting me love you."
You came undone around him, crying out, your body clenching. He followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a groan, his face buried in your hair.
He didn't pull out. Just stayed there, holding you, his hand on your belly.
"I love you, you’re doing so well.” he said.
"I love you too."
He kissed your shoulder. "You're not allowed to feel disgusting anymore."
ooh thank you so much for writing my request (sleeping naked beside them) 🙏🥹 it was absolutely delectable 🫦🔥 gonna get back to it again and again 😚✨️
i have another if you want to do it
what if you try on lingerie for them for the first time??
idk if lingerie exists in that universe but whatvr 🤷🏻♀️
hehe that's it byeee 👋💋
Akotsk men when you wear a lingerie for the first time
thank u for that req anon!! i loved writing it. i hope you enjoy this one too. i searched it up and the equivalent of a lingerie would be like a shift? basically a spaghetti strap loose dress kinda. so i just wrote based on that. thank you also for your patience, ive been a little slower these past few days
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
mdni 18+
Aerion - You found Aerion in his chambers, sharpening a dagger at his desk. The scrape of stone on metal filled the silence. He didn't look up when you walked in. So you waited. The shift was black, so thin it might as well have been smoke. Your nipples pressed dark against the fabric. The curve of your hips. The soft mound between your legs. All of it visible, all of it on display for him.
After a few minutes he was surprised by your silence, so he looked up. His hand stilled on the blade.
"What the fuck is that?"
"A shift."
"That's not a shift." He set the dagger down and leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes dragging over your body like he was undressing you even though you were barely dressed to begin with. "Come here."
You walked toward him. His gaze never left your cunt. When you were close enough, he hooked his finger in the neckline and yanked you down onto his lap.
"You think you can just walk in here looking like a whore from Lys and I'm not going to fuck you?"
Your breath caught. "That was the idea."
He shoved the silk up to your waist and pushed two fingers inside you without warning. No teasing. No gentleness. Just the thick stretch of him knuckle-deep, and you were already so wet he slid in easily.
"Look at that." He pulled his fingers out and held them up, slick and glistening. "Soaking through this little nothing. You were dripping before you even walked in, weren't you?"
Your face burned but you bit your lip and nodded.
"Dirty girl."
He pushed you off his lap and bent you over the desk. The wood was cold against your belly. Before you could brace yourself, his cock was shoving inside you, splitting you open in one brutal thrust.
You screamed. Your palms slapped against the desk.
He didn't give you time to adjust. Just started fucking you hard and fast, his hips slamming against your ass, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
"This what you wanted?" His voice was a growl against your ear. "Wanted me to ruin this pretty little thing? Wanted me to stretch your cunt open?"
"Yes-fuck, yes-”
He fucked you harder. His balls slapped against your clit with every thrust. You were dripping down your thighs, making a mess of the silk bunched around your waist, and you didn't care.
"Cum on my cock," he ordered. "Now."
You did. Screaming into the wood. Clawing at the desk. He followed a second later, burying himself as deep as he could and spilling inside you with a groan that vibrated through his whole body.
He panted hard, his forehead pressed to your back.
"You're sleeping in that tonight," he said, still catching his breath. "And tomorrow. And every night after."
When he finally pulled out, he watched his cum drip down your thigh. Then he pushed two fingers back inside you, scooping it up, and pressed them to your lips.
"Clean yourself up."
You sucked his fingers clean. He almost smiled. But no, you felt him harden and press against your thigh. Round one of three?
Daeron - Daeron was already half asleep when you crawled into bed beside him. A few cups of wine, just to loosen up himself. His arm came around your waist automatically, pulling you back against his chest.
Then his hand touched the silk.
His eyes opened.
The shift was pale gold, nearly transparent, and the candle on the bedside table was burning low, casting golden light across your body. He could see everything. Your nipples. The soft curve of your belly. The wet spot already forming between your legs.
"Oh," he breathed.
"Like it? It’s all for you.”
He didn't answer. No, he’ll show you how much he likes it. He pushed the silk up to your ribs, rolled you onto your back, and buried his face between your thighs.
"Oh, fuck-" Your back arched off the bed as his mouth found your cunt. He was sloppy, desperate, his tongue sliding through your folds like he was trying to drink you. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you open for him, and he moaned against your skin like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted.
"You taste so fucking good," he mumbled. "So good."
He licked and sucked until you were shaking, your hands fisted in his hair, your moans high and broken. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them, and you came undone on his mouth, crying out his name.
He didn't stop. Kept licking, kept sucking, until you were sobbing from oversensitivity and pushing at his head.
"Please," you begged. "Please, Daeron, I need your cock."
He pulled back, his face wet with you, his eyes wild. "Get on top."
You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his cock, flushed dark and sank down onto him. He groaned, his head falling back against the pillow, his hands gripping your waist.
"Ride me," he said. "Fuck yourself on my cock."
You did. You bounced on him, your tits bouncing with the movement, the silk shift slipping off one shoulder. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, his mouth open, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"So fucking beautiful," he said. "I don't deserve you."
"Shut up and fuck me."
He laughed breathlessly, and thrust up into you, meeting your movements. His thumb found your clit, rubbing harsh circles, and you came again, clenching around him so tight he whimpered.
He followed a moment later, spilling inside you with a groan, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
You collapsed on his chest, the silk bunched between you. He stroked your back, still breathing hard.
"That was..."
"I know."
“Can we do it again?”
How could you ever refuse.
Duncan - Duncan was already naked when you came out of the dressing screen. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees, his cock half-hard and resting against his thigh. He had been waiting for you; impatient, excited, ready. He thought you were just changing into something comfortable. He didn't know you were doing that.
Then he saw you.
The shift was white, so thin it was practically see through. Your nipples were dark against the fabric. The curve of your hips. The soft mound between your legs. All of it visible.
His mouth fell open. His cock twitched, then thickened, rising to full hardness in seconds.
"Gods," he breathed. "You're not wearing anything under that."
"No," you said.
He stared. His chest was heaving. His hands were gripping the edge of the bed like he might fall off.
"Come here," he said.
You crossed the room. He reached for you, but you didn't let him grab you. Instead, you put your hands on his chest and pushed him gently onto his back. He went willingly, his massive body sinking into the mattress, his cock standing up thick and heavy against his stomach.
You climbed over him, straddling his hips, and he reached for you again but you caught his wrists and pinned them above his head.
"No touching," you said. "Not yet."
He groaned, his hips bucking up. "You're going to kill me."
You ignored him. You shifted your hips, positioning his cock between your folds, and began to slide back and forth. Grinding. Letting the head of his cock catch on your clit with every movement.
"Oh, fuck-" His voice cracked. "Please. Please, I need-"
"You need what?"
"I need to be inside you. Please." He whimpered
You kept grinding. His cock was huge, thick and long, the head flushed dark. You could feel every ridge, every vein, sliding against your slick folds. He was already leaking precum, smearing it across your cunt.
"You're so big," you said.
"I know. Please. I can't go on-"
You lowered yourself just enough to let the head of his cock push inside you. Just the tip. He groaned, his whole body tensing, his hands twisting against your grip.
"More," he begged. "Please, more."
You sank down another inch. He was stretching you, filling you, and you had to stop to catch your breath.
"So tight," he gasped. "You're so fucking tight."
You began to move, slow, rolling your hips, taking him deeper with every thrust. His cock was so big you could see the bulge in your lower belly. He noticed too. He pushed the shift up, bunching it around your ribs, staring at the place where your bodies joined.
"Look at that," he said, his voice wrecked. "Look at my cock inside you. You can see it."
You could. His cock was stretching you so wide that the outline was visible beneath your skin. It was obscene. It was perfect.
You rode him faster, bouncing on his huge cock, your tits bouncing with the movement. He was moaning now, loud and broken, his hips bucking up to meet yours.
"I'm close," he said. "I'm so close."
"Cum inside me," you said.
You came first, screaming, your body clenching around his cock, your nails raking down his chest. He followed a second later, his hips bucking up as he spilled inside you, filling you with his seed.
But you were tired. Your thighs were burning. Your movements slowed.
He noticed. He sat up, wrapped his arms around you, and flipped you onto your back without pulling out. His weight settled over you, his cock still buried deep, and he began to thrust, hard, fast, fucking you into the mattress.
"Not done yet," he said.
He pushed your knees up toward your chest, opening you wider, and fucked you deeper. His cock was so big you could feel him in your throat. The shift was bunched around your neck, exposing everything, your breasts, your belly, the place where his cock was splitting you open.
"You're going to take all of it," he said. "Every inch. Every drop."
You came again. He kept fucking you. You lost count of how many times you came. When he finally finished, he collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his cock still half-hard and slick with both of you.
You lay there, breathless, the shift twisted around your waist, his cum dripping down your thighs. He just looked at you with dark, hungry eyes and said, "Again."
And you did.
Valarr - He was in his study, hunched over a stack of correspondence, a quill in his hand and a furrow in his brow. The candle had burned low. He hadn't noticed you come in, he was focused. Keyword, was.
You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The shift was deep crimson, so thin it was almost indecent. The silk clung to your hips, your breasts, the soft swell of your belly. You could feel the cool air on your skin. You could feel yourself getting wet just from looking at him.
You crossed the room quietly. He didn't look up until you were standing beside his chair.
"Love, I'm busy-" He glanced up. Stopped. The quill slipped from his fingers.
His mismatched eyes dragged down your body. Slowly. Hungrily. The thin silk. Your nipples, dark and peaked against the fabric. The curve of your waist.
"Gods," he breathed.
You didn't say anything. You just lowered yourself onto his lap, straddling his thighs, and ground down against him. He was already hard. You could feel him straining against his breeches.
His hands came up to grip your hips. His fingers pressed into the silk, bunching the fabric.
"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured.
"I'm just saying hello."
"This is hello?"
You rolled your hips again, and he groaned, his head falling back against the chair. His grip tightened.
"You're beautiful," he said. "You're always beautiful. But this-" His thumb traced the neckline, brushing the bare swell of your breast. "This is something else."
You leaned down and kissed him. He kissed you back, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours. His hands roamed your bodyc your back, your waist, your thighs, gripping the silk, pushing it higher.
"I need you," he said against your mouth. "Now."
He stood, lifting you easily, and carried you to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed and climbed over you, his body covering yours.
"You're wearing too much," he said, tugging at his tunic.
"Then take it off."
He did. His clothes hit the floor, tunic, breeches, smallclothes. Then he was naked, his cock hard and leaking, pressing against your thigh.
He pushed the shift up to your waist and settled between your legs.
"Look at me, my love" he said.
You did.
He pushed inside you slowly, inch by inch, his mismatched eyes fixed on your face. You gasped, your back arching, and he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours.
"You feel so good," he breathed. "So wet. So tight. All for me?"
"All for you."
He began to move, slow at first, deep thrusts that made your toes curl. His hand slid down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing circles in time with his movements.
"You're so beautiful like this," he said. "Spread out beneath me. Wearing this little nothing. I can see everything. Your tits. Your belly. The way you clench around my cock."
You moaned, your nails raking down his back.
"I'm close," you gasped.
"Cum for me," he said. "I want to feel you."
Your abdomen fluttered and your body clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, his hips stuttering.
"That's it," he said. "That's it, sweetheart."
He fucked you through your orgasm, his thrusts growing harder, faster. He was chasing his own now, his breath ragged, his face buried in your neck.
"I'm going to fill you up," he said. "Going to pump my cum so deep inside you. You want that? Hm?”
"Please-"
He came with a groan, his hips slamming against yours, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you. He stayed there, buried deep, his forehead pressed to yours.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He kissed you and rolled onto his back, pulling you against his chest. The shift was bunched around your waist, damp with sweat and slick with the mess between your legs.
"You're keeping that," he said, his hand stroking your hip through the silk.
"The shift?"
"Of course. And anything else you buy. I want to see you in all of it."
Akotsk men when you sleep naked beside them. Part two
part one
due to popular demand!! heheee sorry guys i know i dont write much about these other four. asks always open!! sorry for the later posting, im quite tired and things are getting busy. wrapping up my other drafts too.
hcs of baelor, lyonel, maekar, raymun
mdni 18+
Baelor - He had been working far too much for your liking. Late nights at the council table, stacks of parchment threatening to topple over, dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there a month ago. You watched him leave before dawn and return after dusk, and you missed him. So you decided to give him something to come home to.
The torches had burned down a while ago, making your shared chambers look all the more intimate. You lay on your stomach, your cheek pressed into the pillow, the sheet kicked to the floor. Your back was bare. The curve of your spine, the swell of your hips, the soft dip of your waist all of it out in the open. For his taking.
You heard his footsteps slow as he entered. The door closed. A pause.
"Love," he said. His voice was low, rough and tired from hours of talking, but there was something underneath it. Something waking up. (Other things were waking up, too.)
You hummed innocently, not moving. "Husband."
The bed dipped behind you. His hand landed on your waist, warm and calloused, his fingers spanning across your hip. He didn't speak for a long moment. Just touched you. His thumb traced the dip of your spine, then lower, over the swell of your backside.
"You're not wearing anything," he observed.
"I’m not. Thought you might need a treat… Thought you might like it.”
He exhaled slowly. “I love it.”
You heard the rustle of fabric as he shed his tunic, his belt, his breeches. You definitely didn’t not smirk internally. Then his skin was against yours warm, solid, the weight of him settling over your body. His chest pressed to your back deliciously. His hips cradled between your thighs.
His hands found your wrists. He pinned them above your head, his fingers interlacing with yours, pressing into the pillow.
"You're too good to me," he murmured against your ear.
He pushed inside you in one slow, deliberate thrust. You gasped, your body arching, and he groaned low and rough, his forehead dropping to the back of your neck.
"So wet," he gulped, panting slightly. "Were you waiting long? I’m sorry.”
"T-too long."
He pulled out and thrust back in. The obscene wet plap of skin against skin filled the room, the sound of him driving into you again and again. His pelvis slapped against your ass with each stroke, and he held your wrists pinned above your head, keeping you in place beneath him.
"Good girl," he growled, his hips never stopping. "Good girl, taking me so well. You like this, don't you? Like being filled up."
You nodded, your mouth open, your moans muffled by the pillow.
"Let me hear you," he said. He released one of your wrists to pull the pillow away, tossing it aside. "I want to hear every sound you make."
He fucked you harder. His hips snapped against yours, driving you deeper into the mattress. His hand found your hair, fisting it gently, turning your face to the side so he could watch your expression.
"That's it," he said. "That's my good girl. Taking all of me so well. My girl."
You couldn’t take it any longer with his praise, you came around him, your body clenching, and he groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. His cock pulsed inside you, filling you with warmth, and he buried his face in your neck, breathing hard. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmured.
You laughed, breathless. "What a way to go."
He kissed your shoulder and didn't move for the rest of the night. Mission: Treat Baelor, accomplished.
Lyonel - The feast had been enormous. Music, dancing, drinking, lords and ladies packed into the great hall until the walls sweated. Lyonel had thrown it, of course, he loved any excuse for a celebration. And like the party animal he is, feasts are never EVER small. He had been in his element all night, laughing loud, drinking deep, spinning serving girls until their skirts flew up.
But you hadn't wanted a party with hundreds of people, as much fun as it was, you wanted a party with just the two of you.
So you waited with quite the anticipation, heart racing when you heard his heavy footsteps in the corridor, the rumble of his voice humming some tavern song he'd picked up from the musicians. The door swung open, and he stumbled inside, still humming, still grinning, his tunic half unlaced.
"Honey!" he boomed, then stopped.
He blinked.
You were naked. Lying on the bed, propped up on your elbows, one knee bent. The candlelight painted your skin with a divine glow. The perfect picture of temptation. Just from this, Lyonel is thunder struck. His jaw practically dropped to the ground. His humming stopped. His grin froze.
"What's this?" he asked, his voice dropping low.
"Thought we could have our own party."
He locked the door. You heard the bolt slide home.
He crossed the room in three strides, not speaking, not looking away from your body. His tunic hit the floor. His belt clattered after it. His breeches followed, and then he was naked, his cock already hard, thick and heavy against his thigh.
He climbed onto the bed and settled between your legs, his massive shoulders blocking out the candlelight.
"You're so fucking pretty," he said, kissing your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. "All laid out for me. All mine.
He grabbed your knees and pushed them up toward your chest, opening you wide. His cock pressed against your entrance, wet and ready.
"This what you wanted?" he asked, grinning. "A party with just us?"
"Please," you begged.
He pushed inside you in one brutal thrust, and you screamed. He didn't stop. Didn't slow down. He fucked you hard and fast, his hips slamming against yours, his cock driving into you so deep you felt him in your throat.
"Take it," he growled. "Take all of it. You wanted this. You fucking wanted this."
You did. You wanted it more than anything.
His hands gripped your thighs, his fingers bruising, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit until you came undone around him.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so tight. Gonna make me cum."
"Cum inside me," you begged. "Please. Please."
He did. He roared, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing as he filled you. He stayed there for a moment, buried deep, his forehead pressed to yours.
"Best party I've ever been to," he said, grinning.
You laughed, breathless. "Better than the feast?"
"Feast didn't have you naked in my bed."
He pulled out and collapsed beside you, dragging you against his chest. His heart was still pounding, his skin slick with sweat.
"Love you," he mumbled into your hair.
"Love you too."
Maekar - Maekar was already in bed when you came out of the bath. He was on his back, one arm behind his head, his eyes closed, his chest bare. The sheets were drawn up to his waist, and his breathing was slow, he was sleeping, peacefully.
But you have other plans.
You let your towel drop to the floor. The air was cool against your bare skin, and you shivered as you crossed the room. The bed dipped as you climbed onto it, and Maekar's eyes opened.
He went very still.
You straddled his hips, settling your weight on top of him. His hands came up automatically, gripping your thighs, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh. While you grinded downwards on his painfully hard dick.
"You're naked," he said. His voice was flat, but his hands were already sliding higher.
"Like what you see?”
He stared at you so intensely it almost made you nervous. His gaze traveled down your body. Your breasts. Your stomach. Your thighs.
"You woke me up for this?"
You nod, feeling a little embarrassed. Did he not like it? Too much, maybe?
That’s what you thought until his mouth was crashing against your lips, as needy as you, if not more. He kissed you like he was claiming you, his tongue sliding against yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip. His hands roamed your body, your back, your breasts, your hips, gripping, squeezing, leaving marks you would find tomorrow. And you have no problem with that.
"Ride me," he said against your mouth.
You didn't need to be told twice.
You reached between your bodies, wrapped your hand around his cock, thick, hard, leaking precum, and guided him to your entrance. You sank down slowly, and he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, you're so-”
You cut him off with a grind, braced your hands on his chest and began to move. Up and down. Rolling your hips. Finding a rhythm that made his fingers dig into your waist. The bite of his fingernails into your hips only heightening how good he feels.
He watched you. His dark eyes never left your face, your breasts, the place where your bodies joined. Every time you lifted up, he could see his cock slick with your arousal, and every time you sank down, he groaned like it was the first time.
"You're so beautiful," he said. "Riding me like this. Taking what you want."
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on either side of his head, and kissed him. He kissed you back, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands gripping your backside, guiding your movements.
"Harder," he said. "Fuck me harder."
You did. You bounced on his cock, your thighs burning, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The room filled with the sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans, his groans.
"I'm close," he said. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop."
You didn't. You rode him faster, harder, chasing your own release, and when you came, you cried out his name, your body clenching around him.
He followed a moment later, his hips bucking up into you, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his seed. He held you there, buried deep, his arms wrapped around your waist.
"You're going to be the death of me," he muttered.
You smiled and kissed his forehead.
"Get some sleep," you whispered, cuddling into his chest.
He snorted. "Yeah because we’re doing this again in the morning.”
Raymun - Raymun was a romantic. He brought you flowers, wrote you poetry, kissed your knuckles like you were something precious. He was gentle and soft spoken and made you feel like the most important person in the world, because to him, you are. Which was why you were so nervous.
You never did anything like this before. Well, you had sex. Plenty of times. He had seen you naked, touched you, tasted you. But never like this. He was always the one to initiate it. You weren't bold or brazen. You blushed when he complimented you, looked away when he held your gaze too long. The thought of being naked in his bed, without his knowledge made your stomach twist into knots.
But he was coming home late tonight. He had mentioned it at breakfast, almost apologetically. "The others want to have a few drinks," he had said. "I won't be too late. I promise."
You had nodded, told him to have fun, kissed his cheek.
And then you had spent the whole day planning.
You bathed. You lotioned. You brushed your hair until it shone. And then you lay down on the bed, completely naked, and pulled the heavy blankets up to your chin. The wool was scratchy against your bare skin, but it hid everything. Gave you courage.
Your heart was pounding. Your palms were sweaty. What if he laughed? What if he thought you were being ridiculous? What if he was too tired for you? What if-
The door opened suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts.
Raymun stepped inside, shrugging off his cloak, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. You’ll warm him right up, you think.
"You're still awake?" he asked, surprised. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."
You shook your head, clutching the blanket tighter.
He crossed the room, tugging off his boots, then his belt. "You're being quiet," he observed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Is everything alright?"
You nodded. Swallowed. Took a breath.
He studied your face for a moment, still concerned, not wanting to push it, he shrugged off his tunic, crawled under the blankets beside you, and reached for you automatically, his arm sliding around your waist, his chest pressing against your back.
His hand touched bare skin.
Your hip. The curve of your waist. The soft swell of your backside.
He froze.
His fingers splayed across your hip, like he was checking to make sure he was feeling what he thought he was feeling. Then he lifted the blanket just enough to look.
You heard his breath catch.
"Raymun?" you whispered, your face burning.
He couldn’t answer. He just pulled the blanket down further, exposing you to the waist. His gaze traveled over your body with adoration.
"When did you-" He swallowed. "You've been lying here like this? All night? For me?”
You nodded. “All for you.”
He stared at you for a long moment. Then he kissed you.
"I love you," he said against your mouth. "I love you so much."
He kissed his way down your body. Your neck. Your collarbone. The swell of your breasts. He took his time, worshipping you, his lips pressing against your skin like he was trying to learn the shape of you by heart.
When he reached the apex of your thighs, he looked up at you.
"Can I?" he asked.
You nodded. “Please.”
He put his mouth on you.
You gasped, your back arching, your fingers fisting in his hair. He was gentle at first, soft, exploratory, but when you moaned, he grew bolder. His tongue slid between your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. He licked and sucked and nibbled, and you came undone beneath him, crying out his name.
He didn't stop. He kept going, licking and sucking, until you came again, your body shaking, your hands tugging at his hair.
"Please," you begged. "Please, Raymun, I need you inside me."
He kissed his way back up your body and settled between your thighs. His cock, hard and leaking, pressed against your entrance.
"Look at me," he said.
When your eyes met, he pushed inside you slowly, inch by inch, his forehead pressed to yours.
"You feel so good," he breathed. "So good. I'm not going to last."
You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.
"Cum inside me," you said.
That he did. He thrust into you, fast and deep, his hips slamming against yours. His breath was ragged, his moans muffled against your neck. When he came, he shuddered, his cock pulsing, filling you with warmth.
He kept himself buried inside you, panting.
"Can I stay inside you?" he asked, his voice soft, almost shy.
You nodded, giggling.
He kissed your forehead and held you closer.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too."
You fell asleep like that. Connected. His seed still deep inside you, his heart beating against your back.
tysm for the request anon i love this VERY very much and it got my JUICES flowing (writing juices) requests are so helpful when i don’t know what to write next :<
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
mdni 18+
Aerion - The candles had burned out hours ago. (that was a lie, you blew them out on purpose). The room was pitch black, every sound felt louder, the shift of sheets, the creak of the floorboards, your breath. You hear Aerion come in, changing his clothes before slipping into bed beside you, late as always. His body cool from the corridor as opposed to your warmth. He didn't speak. Didn't warn you. Just lifted the blankets and slid in, his chest pressing against your back.
And froze.
Because you were naked.
His hand, which had been reaching for your waist, stopped mid-air. You felt him go still behind you, his brain had definitely short-circuited.
"Aerion," you murmured, feigning innocence and sleepiness. You weren’t actually tired. No. You stayed awake for this.
His hand dropped to your hip. His fingers spread wide, spanning the curve of you, skin to skin.
"You're not wearing anything," he said. His voice was low. Rough. Different than usual.
"Mhm."
His grip tightened. His breath was hot on your neck, uneven.
"Why?"
You didn't answer. You just pressed back against him, and he groaned deep in his chest.
His arm locked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His cock was already hard, pressing into the swell of your backside, and he rutted against you once, twice, like he couldn't help himself.
"This what you wanted?" he muttered against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin. "Wanted me to find you like this?"
You turned your head, bit your lip, and giggled. Looking at the gleam of desire in his eyes despite the dark.
"Yes."
He flipped you onto your stomach.
His weight settled over you, his chest to your back, his hips cradled between your thighs. His hand fisted in your hair, turning your face to the side, and he pushed inside you in one slow, deliberate thrust.
You gasped. He groaned.
"Fuck," he breathed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck."
He didn't move for a moment and just stayed in your warmth, buried to the hilt, his body trembling against yours. Then he pulled out and slammed back in, hard enough to shove you up the bed. He had you gasping for air, your hands fishing into the silk sheets in front of you.
He fucked you like that. Rough. Fast. His hand never left your hair, his teeth never left your shoulder, his hips never stopped moving. He praised you the whole time, his breathing was ragged, his groans muffled against your skin, and when he came, he bit down hard enough to leave marks.
He didn't pull out. Just stayed there, heavy and spent, his face buried in your neck.
"You're going to sleep like this from now on," he said eventually, his voice hoarse.
You laughed, breathless. "Am I?"
"Yes."
He kissed your shoulder softly and didn't move for the rest of the night. Mission accomplished. Good job, you.
Daeron - Daeron came to bed late, as usual. You heard him fumbling in the dark, kicking off his boots, tugging at his belt, muttering curses when his sleeve got caught. Then the bed dipped, and he crawled toward you, reaching out to pull you close.
His hand landed on your bare hip.
He froze. His eyes wide. God you wish there was a candle lit so you could see his expression.
"Are you-" His voice cracked. He tried again. "Are you naked?"
You turned over to face him, the sheets pooling around your waist. Even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, you could see his eyes go wide.
"Yes," you said.
He stared at you. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I-"He swallowed. "I don't-" He ran a hand through his hair, messing it further. "You can't just-"
You reached out and took his hand, placing it on your breast.
He made a sound. Something between a groan and a whimper.
"Daeron," you said softly. "Touch me."
He did.
His hands were shaking. They were always shaking, lately, but tonight it wasn't from drink. He touched you, oh so reverently, his palms skimming down your sides, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until you gasped.
"I love you," he said, his voice rough. "I love you. I love you."
He kissed you deep and desperately, like he was trying to pour every word he couldn't say into the shape of his mouth against yours.
He laid you back against the pillows, his body covering yours, his weight a delicious pressure against your body. He pushed inside you slowly, inch by inch, his forehead pressed to yours.
"You feel so good," he whispered. "So good. I don't- fuck I can't-“
You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.
He moaned brokenly, trying to muffle the sound against your neck. His thrusts were slow, almost lazy. He held you the whole time, his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair.
When he came, he shuddered, his breath hot against your collarbone.
"Stay," he murmured, already half-asleep. "Stay with me."
You stroked his hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
He smiled and held you tighter.
Duncan - Duncan came to bed after you. He always did, you liked to read before sleep, and he liked to stand in the doorway and watch you, his shoulder against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest.
But tonight, you'd had enough of waiting.
You set down your book, stripped off your nightgown, and slid under the covers. When Duncan finally came in, he stopped in the doorway.
"You're in bed already?" he asked, tugging his shirt over his head.
"Mhm. Come join me?” On the inside you were just bouncing with excitement.
He climbed in beside you, still wearing his smallclothes, and reached for you automatically, its instinct for him, his arm sliding around your waist, his chest pressing against your back.
His hand touched bare skin.
He jerked back like he'd been burned.
"What-" He sat up, staring down at you. The moonlight caught the confusion on his face. "You're not wearing anything."
"Is that a problem?” you asked slyly.
He stared at you for a long moment. His ears were turning red. His chest was heaving. He shook his head quickly
"Was this... did you plan this?"
"No."
"Oh." He swallowed. "Okay."
He lay back down, very carefully, and reached for you again. His hand landed on your hip, then slid up to your waist, then down to your thigh. He was touching you, worshipping you.
"You're so soft," he murmured. "You’re so beautiful. Always."
You turned over to face him, and his breath caught.
"Can I-" He gestured vaguely between you. "May I-"
"Please do."
He kissed you. Soft at first, then deeper, his big hands cradling your face ever so gently. He rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him, and you felt him, thick, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh.
"I want to see you," he said, his voice rough. "I want to watch you."
You sank down onto him slowly, and his eyes fluttered closed. His hands found your hips, guiding you, his thumbs stroking circles on your skin.
"That's it," he breathed. "That's it, sweetheart. Just like that."
You rode him slow, and he watched you, watched your face, your breasts, the way your body moved above his. He looked like he couldn't believe you were real. Because he couldn’t. His eyes are full of adoration.
When you came, he followed, his hips bucking up into you, his groan muffled against your palm.
Afterward, he pulled you against his chest and wrapped his arms around you so tightly you could barely breathe.
"You're never wearing clothes to bed again," he mumbled into your hair.
You laughed. "That seems impractical."
"Don't care. You’re too beautiful to cover yourself up.”
He kissed the top of your head and held you until you fell asleep.
Valarr - The book was fascinating. You didn’t think so but Valarr did. He had gotten it from the maester's collection, some ancient text on dragon biology, full of illustrations and annotations in a language he was still trying to decipher. He had been reading it for hours, curled up on his side of the bed, the candle burning low beside him.
But you were equally invested in something else. You were feeling needy.
You had tried everything. Stretching. Yawning. Running your fingers through his hair. He murmured "just a minute" without looking up. You sighed. Shifted closer. Pressed your bare thigh against his.
He didn't notice.
So you sat up. Slipped off your shift. Lay back down, completely naked, your skin warm against the cool sheets.
He still didn't notice.
You huffed. Rolled over. Pressed yourself against his back, your breasts pushed against his shoulder blades, your arm sliding around his waist.
"Mmm," he said. "Almost done."
You waited. Counted to thirty. Then you reached over him, plucked the book from his hands, and set it on the bedside table.
"Love-" he started, turning to look at you. "I was in the middle of-"
He stopped.
His mismatched eyes went wide. His gaze dropped to your bare chest, then lower, then back to your face.
"Oh," he said.
You raised an eyebrow.
"I-" He swallowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"
"You were busy."
"I was." His hand came up, fingers brushing your collarbone. "I'm sorry."
He kissed you. Soft at first, then deeper, his hand sliding down your side, over your hip, gripping your thigh.
"Let me make it up to you," he murmured against your lips.
He tried to slide down, to put his mouth between your legs, but you pulled him back.
"I want you," you said. "Inside."
He blinked. Then he smiled, it made your heart stutter.
"Whatever you want sweetheart.”
He guided you onto your back, settled between your legs, and pushed inside you with a low groan. Your legs hooked over his shoulders, your ankles crossing behind his neck, and he leaned forward, changing the angle, making you gasp.
"Like this?" he asked.
"Yes. Yes."
He moved slowly at first, building rhythm, his mismatched eyes fixed on your face. His hand found yours, fingers interlacing, pressing into the pillow.
"I love you," he said.
You came. He followed, buried deep, his forehead pressed to yours.
Afterward, he didn't reach for the book. He just held you, his nose buried in your hair, his breathing slow and even.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For reminding me… I’m still sorry."
You smiled into his chest. "I know."
He’ll be thinking about how to make it up to you for awhile. Checkmate.
the way the entire akotsk fandom collectively decided that valarr was a gentle, lovesick romantic based on two whole minutes of screentime is so cute. #hive mind
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