c'est moi

requests are open !! currently writing for akotsk

[calledannabella]

evil labubu

[kaelaroden]

AKOTSK but make it women…

We’re all saw Valarr as a princess, so... Fem!Aerion

Next one will be Lyonel 💛

[nomaumona]

"Once more?" . . .

I'm about to start my new job on Monday. This is me stress drawing🥲

[bluecoolr]

Here comes big bro

[I like to think they went a little insane during the battle of the redgrass field]

[oronge]

no sleep, no dreams

[imbunnysan]

dance of dragons

[medeia-themaiden]

2 Things Lyonel “The Laughing Storm” Baratheon Wants:

• His wife holding onto the antlers of his crown while riding him

• His wife wearing his antler crown as she rides him

[wwwdannakji]

—Aerion "𝕭𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊" Targaryen

This is the first time I've done something like this... so I hope you like it!

[peanutsundae]

"A trail of blood forms a line of red string between their broken lips."

Book!Lyonel was around the same age as Dunk. I found that very interesting indeed. Inspired by snarwor "my black eye casts no shadow": https://archiveofourown.org/works/80328811

[toxxicwrites]

'the dragon ought never lose' update

part 4 should be out by sunday at the latest! probably sooner if i can get some free time away from fam going crazy here... anyways shits gonna get serious get ready for angsty teenagers and bad decisions w worse consequences....

[toxxicwrites]

Daeron Targaryen x Fem Reader (no use of y/n or any discernible traits described). She is his long suffering wife. They are very in to one another.

daeron targareyn x fem reader

warnings: lil bit of angst and a lot of bit of smut

wordcount: 2.4k

your husband was a fool yes, a drunken one at times too, but he was yours as you were his...

The hour was late when you heard him, stumbling through the halls, Daeron Targareyn, your lord husband, made his way to your chambers. A soft knocking rattled your door. Lying in your comfy sheets, you groaned at the thought of having to leave your comfort, though sleep had still not claimed you. Despite his frequent late-night trips, you found yourself unable to sleep until you knew where he was, either passed out in his own chambers, day clothes still on, or in your own, as had become more common through the past year of your marriage. Lingering in the sheets a moment longer, you finally won the debate with yourself and made your way to the door. Opening revealed Daeron, his blonde hair messy and tangled as usual. His eyes met yours, watery and violet, a fragility seeping through as it so often did on these late nights. 

“I-” he began, his voice cracking, “I apologize for the late hour, wife.” 

The faint hint of arbor wine seeped into his breath, and his eyes flickered down in shame. You merely stood there waiting for him to continue. 

“May I sleep in here tonight?” 

You looked him up and down, taking in his fragile state, you ought to refuse him, you thought. Stumbling into your chambers at an hour as late as this, but you were weak, and so, you nodded, opening the door wider so he could enter. He mumbled his thanks and stumbled through. You shut the door behind you, leaving the only lingering light the small candle you had lit. 

Wordlessly, you made your way to the sofa, sitting on the soft cushions. He followed, and spreading your legs sat right in between. You began the nightly ritual then, bringing your fingers up to his head, softly untangling his blonde locks. He sighed in relief, shoulders slumping down as if he had previously held the weight of the world, only now being relieved by your soft touch. 

“What troubles you tonight, husband?” 

Daeron sighed heavily, resting his head upon your lap. You could see the tears welling from here as his head turned upward. 

“Dreams again,” he whispered. Daeron the dreamer, plagued by the prophetic visions of his bloodline, you knew, the reason he drank so much, and now, in place of his drinking binges, he sought out your company. But tonight, he had gone to the tavern for some reason, seeking the company of the drink rather than you. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, your finger roughly caught a knot, and he winced. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

“No,” You replied too quickly. He paused and then turned toward you, pathetic violet eyes looking up. Gods, it was hard to stay mad at him when he looked so pretty. 

Daeron’s chin rested on your leg, warm and endearing. 

“You seem upset.” 

Your lip thinned, and finally you sighed, “Why did you go to the tavern, Daeron?” 

“I- I am sorry,” he relented, shame falling upon his pretty face, as he looked away, “I did not want to disturb you again.” 

Your hand reached toward his chin, cradling the stubble and forcing his gaze back into yours. 

“I worry for you, Daeron, when you do not return.” Your anxieties came spilling out. “I worry you will not return in the morrow and cannot sleep for the fear you may be dead in some ditch.” 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his gaze watery as a tear dripped down his cheek. 

“So why,” you continued, hurt seeping through, “Why did you not come tonight?” 

A pause, and then Daeron spoke. 

“I dreamed of you. There was a sea of flames between us, and- and you were coming toward me, I tried warning you, but you could not hear, and the flames,” he shuddered, “they consumed you, and your screams, gods, they echoed, and there was nothing I could do. I am so afraid, wife, I am afraid I will fail you.” Daeron’s tears flowed freely now, staining your shift as his head buried into your legs. As his soft cries shook your legs, you found yourself void of words for a moment. 

“Daeron,” you said softly, “Look at me.” 

Red rimmed violet met your eyes. You held his face with your hands, and a shudder ran through him as you drew him nearer. 

“You will not fail me- you have not failed me.” 

“I am sorry,” he began again, “I am sorry I did not come here first.” 

You accepted his apology with a nod. 

“Let me call you a bath,” You placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, Daeron leaned further into the touch, as if your lips could heal him and all his mistakes. 

Despite the late hour a bath had been promptly prepared by servants, you nodded toward them as they set about the towels and soaps, and they took their leave. After stumbling his way out of his clothes, your help needed for the buttons of his doublet, he finally made his way into the warm water, hissing as he sank, soft body disappearing beneath the cloudy herbal water. 

“You are too kind to me,” he said, leaning back so his arms rested against the wooden tub. 

“Yes I am,” you agreed, grabbing oils and spreading them in your hands for his hair. He hissed in appreciation as your soft fingers began to work their magic, untangling the seemingly endless knots of his shoulder length hair. How he got it so tangled so quickly you would never know. He ought to braid it, you thought, but knowing him it would be undone in a moment, even managing to pull his hair back in the low ponytail he so preferred and having it stay in that style was a feat in itself. 

“You deserve better.” 

“Perhaps,” you agreed, his shoulders slightly slumped, “But I am glad it is you. Anyone else would bore me to death I think.” 

Despite not seeing his face you knew he was smiling, a slight curling of his lips that he wore not as often as he should.

“You are a strange women, to prefer a drunken fool like me.” 

“Would you rather I not?” 

Sheepishly he replied, “No.” 

“Hmm that’s what I thought.” 

You hummed softly as his hair finally gave way to your fingers, turning silky smooth. It was almost unfair, you thought, how pretty this prince was, pretty hair, eyes, and his lips, soft lips- that now moved toward your face quickly as he turned. A quick kiss pressed to your cheek, as the water sloshed getting onto your shift. 

“Daeron!” 

“What?” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he now turned fully facing you, just inches away from your face, which had begun to redden. 

“You are getting me wet you fool.” 

His soft lips pouted, “I only wished to show you my appreciation, wife.” 

You drew back from him huffing, as you stood straight grasping the wet hem of your shift and ringing it out. Greedily his eyes followed where the water had made the white shift sheer, sticking to your chest now, soft peaks shown through. His eyes met yours now, lust darkening. 

“My wife,” he spoke again, arms reaching out toward your waist and dragging you nearer, “Join me.” 

“Daeron-” you began, “the hour is late- I do not wish to get dirty again.”

“You are already wet,” he pointed out. You struggled for a response and his arms wrapped tighter drawing you nearer until you almost fell in the tub, bracing your arms against his shoulders. 

Breathily he whispered into your stomach, looking up, “Please, let me make tonight up to you.” 

“I can be good,” he pleaded. 

He was relentless and you were weak. Without a word you gave a small nod, his hands greedily grasped your shift, bunching the material up, as he almost immediately began to pepper small kisses along the exposed skin, from your kneecap to your upper thigh, sending tingles of warmth in your lower stomach as he travelled further in further. Daeron’s hands grasped the plush of your behind with desperation, like a starving man grasping unto his meal. 

“Daeron,” a breathy moan escaped you. He whimpered in return sending a vibration through his kisses that continued to draw nearer and nearer to your core. His hands continued moving grabbing at your shift, struggling from his angle to bring it further upward. His desperate attempts were endearing, but fruitless. Your hand reached into his scalp gripping his head, with a sharp tug you pulled him backward. 

“Wait.” 

Daeron, if he could, looked even more pathetic then wanting more, but he listened. 

“Good,” you smiled. Reaching toward the bottom of your hem, with Daeron not taking his eyes off you, you pulled the shift upward, exposing your bare body. The chill of your nakedness sent a shiver through you, yet you stood tall and proud, basking in the way his eyes danced over you, worshipping as if you were a goddess of old valyria. Stepping into the tub, the warm water sloshed around, reaching up toward your knee. 

“Please.” 

He was so pretty when he begged. You could wait longer just to see him beg more, but the heat in your stomach demanded attention, and he had been good, as of yet. The curls covering your womanhood were now face level with Daeron, practically inhaling the scent of you- sweet like the richest wine- no even better, he thought, his mouth watering just for a taste. 

“Please,” he whimpered, sending coils of warmth unto you. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” you hand wrapped into his hair once more, guiding his head closer to the aching between your legs. With your permission finally granted he descended like a man starved. You stumbled backward, his arms catching you and bringing you closer, so there was no escape from his assault. His tongue worked, twirling around your pearl lapping up the wetness, obscene sounds of your moans and water sloshing filling your chambers. The coil in your stomach continued to build, as Daeron brought your climax closer, the familiar build up making your fingers grip tighter onto his scalp, your rough tough making him moan against your womenhood sendinng the most delightful vibrations. The buildup reached release, making your knees weak, as the tidal wave crashed over, pulsing as you came down and daeron continued to lick and lap your overstimilated bud. 

Tears welled in your eyes from the pleasure, and you whimpered. You could feel the cocky bastards smirk against you, and he finally broke free, a string of your own juices trailing from his pink lips. You almost moaned at the sight of him there, on his knees, cheeks flushed, eyes darkened with his pupils and lips glistening with your own spend. You slumped down into the water, his arms still wrapped around you drawing you close, until your sweaty foreheads touched. As you caught your breath from the climax you chest heaved up and down, drawing Daeron’s attention to your neglected chest, where a droplet of sweat glistened. Maintaining eye contact as you came down, he lapped it up trailing upward, sliding across your neck until finding purchase on your lips with a hungry kiss both of you moaned into. 

“My wife,” he whispered against your lips, spoken with utter reverence that weakened your legs once more. 

“My husband,” you smiled, leaning in closer, now resting on his lap. You could feel his manhood underneath the water, graze your thigh, hot and needy. As your breath slowed, you brought your leg across, a slight pressure onto his want, that brough out the prettiest moan from his lips.

Your hand drifted toward his stubble, bringing his face close to your lips, as you peppered kisses across his neck, your knee adding pressure onto his aching want, and drawing more moans from the pretty prince. 

“You-” a groan overtook him as your other hand trailed downward grasping his throbbing cock, “You are a cruel women.” 

You grinned against his neck, “I only wish for my husbands satisfaction.” You squeezed tight and he shuddered. “Will he let me satisfy?” 

His eyes met yours with desperation and he nodded, wet strands moving across his face. Grasping onto his manhood once more you lined it up with your aching core, still sensitive from before and needy. You brought him inside you in one fell swoop, the slickness of your finish and the water aiding. You shuddered at the fullness, aching inside you, as Daeron shook underneath you, whimpering as his eyes closed. After a moment to adjust you began to move. Rocking back and forth, using him to fulfill you need as much as his. You moved slowly, torturously so, where daerons hips jutted out to meet yours. Your teeth grazed the soft of his collarbone, making him shiver. 

“Patience,” you whispered, “Can you do that for me?” 

Teary violet eyes met yours, “Yes- yes I will be good.” 

“Good.” 

Your pace began to pick up, as you brought your hips up and down, sloshing the water around till it overflowed the edges of the tub. Both of you, too lost in your own pleasure to care. You continued chasing after your own release on Daeron’s lap as his blushing face fell into the crook of your neck, his pretty sounds vibrating against you. You could feel Daeron’s own climax reaching, as well as yours, as both your hips began to stutter and both your combined sounds became more broken and desperate. 

“I- I’m close,” he whimpered, tears welling in his eyes. 

You bit your lip, “Wait, Daeron. Wait for me.” 

He tried his clinging onto you, as you sought your own rapidly approaching climax. One last stuttering thrust and you reached it, crying out into the night, daeron’s own twitching release following close after as your inner walls pulsed, gripping him so tightly he could only cry out in pleasure. Revelling in the aftershocks both of you sat there for a moment, in the now cooling water, as his manhood began to soften inside, revelling in the comfort and close embrace of each other. 

“I love you,” Daeron said, almost a sob. 

You brought your lips to his, revelling in his softness, and finally pulling away you spoke softly. 

“As do I,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead, through the blonde locks, “dear husband.” 

a/n: tysmm for the ask and hope that this kinda fulfills the idea that you had. did not intend to make it this long but words were flowing so yea. hope yall like this and requests are open for akotsk.

[toxxicwrites]

feeling like such a fat chud on vacay and haven’t been able to workout .. blehsidhhdhdhrheheh.. ed tik tok is out to get me as well gotta expel the demons can’t be skinny cause i want a phat ass .

[cornmandog]

SIZE

DIFFERENCE

OmGawd

[toxxicwrites]

requests are open for akotsk! any character x reader

if yall got any ideas for lil dabbles or stories for akotsk send them in! if i dont get to yours or just don’t do it sorry butttttt this is my hobby so yea gonna do what i wanna do.

[toxxicwrites]

'The Dragon Ought Never Lose' Aerion Targaryen x Reader Part III

Aerion Targaryen x Fem Reader (no use of y/n or any discernible traits described)

warnings: none as of yet

Part I, Part II

Aerion brought you to his father within the hour. The stern prince Maekar, with his permanent scowl, looked both of you up and down. Eyes lingering on the dusted sand on both your clothes and messy hair. Your face flushed, the remainder of what both of you had done lay bare. But Aerion held no such embarrassment; his hand squeezed yours tighter, and his lips curled upward with pride. Maekar sighed, looking toward you. He nodded. 

“I will speak to your father. If all goes well, arrangements will be made.” 

Aerion’s eyes flickered toward yours, delighted, and your heart fluttered rapidly. 

“Both of you,” he gestured, waving his hands, “Clean yourselves up.” 

He left, and you would have felt more shame had the excitement of your fantasy, now becoming reality, not been bubbling inside. Aerion let out a delighted laugh, turning to face you. 

“I told you,” he said breathless as his hands reached up to cradle your face, “We are to be man and wife.” 

Your hands reached toward his, entwining his fingers with yours. Your brow furrowed. 

“But- what if my father says no?” The doubt crept through your voice and soul, like a dark tendril that made your heart beat rapidly for another reason. 

“He will not,” Aerion reassured, “He never says no to you. And besides, if he did, I would not allow it.” 

Your grin returned, as well as the giddiness. Aerion was right, of course, Father could never say no to you. 

“No one,” he elaborated, pulling your face close to his to the point your foreheads touched, “No one refuses the dragon.” Gazing into his violet eyes, the flame burned true, and you knew then, both of you together, could erupt the world into a fiery of your own, like dragons of old. Your lips met his, he leaned in going for more, but you pulled away, leaving the kiss chaste, like a maiden ought to be. 

“I will see you later, Aerion,” You giggled, “I must clean up, lest I give my father a heart attack before he can approve.” 

You left, leaving the targareyen prince dumbfounded, gingerly placing his finger to his lips as if to recall your plush lips once more. 

“Do not be long,” he called out, “Dragons do not wait.” 

You merely laughed, it echoing in the halls, as your skirts disappeared behind a corner. 

The news of your bethrothal was joyous to almost everyone. Maekar seemed relieved to have found someone who could perhaps deign to control his unruly second son, and your father felt much the same. Though his heart also leaped with joy at the prospect of your noble house marrying into royalty, a fourth son's second son, but a prince nonetheless, further than anyone in your house history had married before—a joyous momentous occasion to all but your future siblings-in-law. Passing Daeron in the halls late one evening, before his drinking binge had reached its peak later into the wee hours of the morning, he had stumbled toward you, still standing a feat in itself. His breath smelled of wine, and a heavy hand placed on your shoulder. 

“I dreamed of you,” he spoke, almost a whisper, as if he was afraid that by speaking the dream it would come true.

“You and Aerion, standing amidst a castle of flames, everyone- everyone burned, even Aerion, except for you.” His hazy purple eyes gleamed into yours, unsettling prophecy hidden behind them. 

“A strange way of congratulating a bethrothal,” you replied, taking a step back from his drunken figure. He did not reply, merely giving you one last pitiful look before disappearing into the night, most likely off to a tavern to forget about this interaction and any dreams. Daeron was a drunken fool, Aerion had told you plenty of times. A disgrace to the targareyen name, who spoke in drunken riddles only a fool would listen to. Perhaps you were a fool then, but you had read the histories and the magic of Targareyn dreamers, and their prophetic dreams. Aerion came to you still sometimes in the night because of them, crying out as if he burned from the inside while you stauntly reassured him he was here, alive and well, and not burning, for he was a dragon and dragons did not burn. The strange words Daeron spoke unsettled you, but soon you forgot them, caught up in the never-ending days of excitement and adventure at the red keep. His warning faded away like the sun onto the horizon, to be forgotten until it stood high in the sky blazing away. 

Daeron was not the only in-law with a few choice words on your reunion. Aegon, the young boy, had sought you out in the gardens one day. Usually, he avoided you like the plague, as Aerion was attached to your hip most of the time. Today, however, on a rare occasion, especially since the announcement of your betrothal, you were alone, sitting under the weirwood tree, a book in hand, when the young prince approached. He sat down beside you, and only then did you look up, meeting his big, curious eyes. 

“You are to marry my brother Aerion.” 

A strange statement to make, you thought. 

“Yes, my prince.” 

A pause between the two of you. 

“He is cruel, you know. He killed my cat.” 

You had heard stories of that, how Aerion had thrown the kitten in the well when it had made its way into his room, sharp claws tearing at his clothing. 

“I know.” 

Stories of Aerion's cruelty, before you had arrived and ‘tamed’ the prince as the servants would whisper when they thought you not around, had reached your ears a while ago. It should have disturbed you, the baseless cruelty Aerion held within his blood. But he was a dragon, of dragon's blood you had thought, and dragons were not held to the laws of men. 

“But,” Aegon began, his voice softening, “He is not cruel when with you.” 

Your hand reached out toward the young princes, and his eyes widened. 

“Aerion will not be cruel to you,” you spoke, a sincerity dripping through your words, “I will not allow him to be cruel to my future little brother.” A warm smile graced your features, and the young prince reddened.

“Thank you,” he spoke, “my lady.” 

“Sister,” you corrected softly. He smiled, “sister.” 

“Now, would you like to read with me, little brother?” You grinned, gesturing toward the open book, illustrations dotting the pages. 

“Read of what?” he perked up, leaning closer. 

“The tale of Florian the fool and Jonquial- a favorite of mine own.” 

Fervently, he nodded. You patted the space beside you, and he scootched closer. Under the weirwood tree, you and the young prince Aegon read the tale, with its hopes of foolish knights and pretty maidens like Jonquil. While Aegon’s fantasies were of foolish knights and blushing maidens, yours were of dragons like the one you had now claimed, a fantasy become reality. Who was the fool in this story? Only time would tell. 

Sugary lemon cakes and sweet teas filled your stomach, treats you usually enjoyed, but today the pretense was nauseating. Like the sugary sweet words the nobles said, cooing at the young lady, betrothed to the young prince. 

“What is Prince Aerion like?” One lady asked, her fake smile crinkling with powdered makeup.

 “Is it true he’s as pretty as a woman?” Another asked. More flowery words and questions that curdled your stomach, yet you had to sit here gossiping with the other ladies as it was expected of you to do, feigning smiles in return to their pointed questions and deceitful pretenses. And so you laughed in response to their humorless quips, and blushed like a shy maiden when questions of wedding nights grew too personal, as was expected of you. Your only solace in this powdered, sugary prison was imagining the ladies burning, a great big dragon descending from the endless blue sky, opening its jaws, consuming all in flames, and ending their ceaseless prattle once and for all. The end to your suffering came in another dragon's form, however. 

A servant boy entered the tearoom, his head bowed low, “My lady, Prince Aerion requests your presence at the training yard.” 

The ladies' giggles and coos filled the room, and you fought the urge to snarl at them and instead politely smiled. 

“Yes, of course,” he politely nodded, turning to face the ladies. “ You smiled.” “My apologies, ladies; I must go see to my betrothed.” 

They nodded in return, continuing to coo at you, and asking for all the details when you would return. You gave false promises in return, and finally, lifting your expensive skirts given to you at the request of Aerion, his to-be wife, a soon-to-be princess of Old Valyria, would only be fitted in the most luxurious fashions he had stated, much to the lament of his father, but he relented. You could not help but enjoy the feel of the soft silks as well, and enjoy the way other nobles' eyes would follow you enviously, gravitating to the pull of your newfound status and natural allure. Finally, you left the tearoom, feeling for the first time in hours you could fully breathe as the servant escorted you to the training yards. 

The sun was high in the sky, beaming down onto the dusty yard as wooden swords clattered against each other, grunts of knights and squires filling the grounds as practice ensued. In an instant, you found him. A whirl of silver blonde hair moving with all the swiftness of a wyvern darting and dashing as his training partner, a year or two older than him, struggled to find purchase with the training sword. Aerion moved like a dancer, and watching from the fences, you could not help but be drawn to the allure of his graceful movements. From here, the sun shone on his sweat-covered face, a droplet dripping down toward his neck below his collar as he continued to dodge and parry. One last quick move and his sword stabbed into his partner's gut, sending him tumbling down into the dirt. 

Excitement bubbled within you at his triumph. After all,l you were both to be husband and wife, the same, and his victory was yours as yours was his. His violet eyes met yours in an instant, as if sensing your presence, and the hairs on the back of your neck tingled, an electricity flowing through you. He grinned, a toothy, sharp smile, pride overflowing his features, and made his way toward you, discarding the wooden sword on the ground for a passing squire to pick up. 

“You came,” Aerion spoke, his eyes roaming up and down, appreciative glances at your new gown. A dark red, crimson, with golden threads of flame that matched his own doublets, one he had personally picked out. 

“Nothing better to do.” You shrugged nonchalantly, “Besides, one more second in that tea room and I would have stabbed a butter knife through Lady Florent’s eye.” 

“You truly have a way with words, dear wife.” The phrase rolled off his tongue, as if testing it out, and your heart beat faster, a warm blush spreading across your cheeks. 

“As do you with the sword, dear husband.” It was his turn to blush now, pride blooming on his face. He truly adored all the attention you gave him; any praise went straight to his already pompous ego. It pleased you greatly to have this much power- no control, over the dragon. However, he would never admit it. But you noticed when he constantly sought you out for approval- in his training sessions, like this, he had made it a habit to call upon you, now you were both to be betrothed, your septa couldn’t refuse. After all, as she had berated time and time before, it was a wife's job to obey her husband in soul and spirit and to attend to his every need. You disagreed but bit your tongue as Aerion’s callings on you provided respite from the relentless duties of a to-be princess, whether that be embroidery that pricked your fingers or annoying ladies that left your head pounding. 

Aerion brought his hand over the fence to reach your cheek, brushing away a strand of hair tenderly, far softer than his usual touches, which burned fervently and claimed. 

“Will you stay?” 

“Only if you win,” you replied, “the dragon ought never lose.” 

His eyes darkened at your coy words, “Never.”

You grabbed his hand, still cradling your face, and brought it close to your lips. Lightly grazing over his bruised knuckles, you kissed. 

“For luck,” You said.

“I have no need for luck.”

“Then for burning flames.”

Aerion's violet eyes darkened, and he nodded, leaving for the training grounds once again to fight even more ferociously, to spill even more blood, as you watched, satisfaction burning deep within. The dragon ought never to lose, and lose he did not. 

a/n: okayyyyyyy it is 3 am once again and i have just finished. thank you all for the love on this series so far trust things will start getting tense soon for now just trying to build more of aerion and readers relationship, as well as who reader is as a person as well spoiler alert she's not the best but aerion isn't either so they're kinda perfect for each other in that way. also lemme know if yall wanna be tagged and i will do so.

taglist: @l3thal-l0lita @crowley--aziraphale @pixel-pixie-xo @snowwythegloww @thesunxxtodd

[toxxicwrites]

aerion x crybaby reader drabble

warnings: noncon

aerion seemed to make it his goal to make you cry- not that it took much. when you were tots his chubby hands would reach for you pinching your skin and pulling your hair until tears welled up and snot dribbled down your nose.

his strange fascination with your pitiful tears only continued as you both grew older. he would whisper cruel words as he tugged your hair and when you complained he would feign innocence, simply stating you were both playing. everyone knew you were a crybaby and so you were dismissed. after all aerion was a charming child, with a pretty smile and silver blonde hair he was every image of a proper targaryen prince. and you red faced with snot dribbling down were simply a dramatic child, whose cries had echoed far too long to be of any true substance.

despite his cruel words of your lowlier status he continued to seek you out. you grew used to his strange attentions and it was not uncommon to see the two of you together, aerion pale hands gripping yours as he dragged you through the halls of the keep like his own personal toy.

manhood and womanhood fell onto both of you and his cruel words and touches grew more intentional, more obsessive, and more scandalous. when he grew frustrated, either from the loss of a training fight or simply a bad mood from the fire that seemed to burn so feverently within him. dragons blood he said, and you believed it. when he dragged you into a shadowed corner of the hall, his fiery hands felt like fire burning into your soul. he would pinch and poke and prod as he did when you were tots , now more deliberate and filled with the sin your septa spoke of.. his fingers gripped your lips, squishing them together. aerion would sneer at your face then calling you a hideous creature. his fingers made their way into your mouth deeper and deeper until you gagged, tears flowing uncontrollably now as he liked.

‘you’re pathetic’ he spat, ‘crying over nothing’

it wasn’t nothing and he knew it, but his thumb pressed hard on your tongue, ceasing any protest. aerion then took his fingers , covered in your spit , and brought them to his own pouty lips his tongue darting out like a snakes to taste. burning flames rose within you and crimson blush stained your cheeks, not only from the forced tears, but also from sin that roared within like a dragon.

when you both were betrothed , after his incessant demands to his father prince maekar had finally relented. perhaps a wife would calm the dragon prince down, someone to tame him.

your father had no protest of his own, delighted his meek daughter was set to be useful for once, marrying a prince and bringing upon all the glory and wealth that ensued for your noble house.

your betrothal did not tame aerion, in fact, it only made him more wild. aerion would make you watch him in the training yard and when a squire glanced at you a second too long he would brutalize the young boy then and there. afterward all sweating and bloodied, though none of his own, he would look up toward you a sick smile darkening his pretty face. your eyes watered with tears once again, pity for the young boy, but also a part of you burned, a sick sinful satisfaction that you tried your best to ignore.

on your wedding night aerion brought you to tears as well. the second you reached your marital chambers your gown was ripped off. aerions eyes gazed upon your shivering naked form for but a moment before unleashing like a ravenous beast. like all things he did he was impatient and demanding, thrusting into you despite your dry walls and pleading protests. your maidens blood soaked his manhood letting him reach deeper and harder, pulling out the most delicious cries he thought from your quivering form.

‘ple- please aerion, be gentle’

but a dragon was not gentle and a sharp bite to your neck, drawing a hint of blood that he lapped up as if starving silenced any further pleas you could gasp out.

he grunted and moaned against you hands groping and pinching your breasts and bottom as if he could simply not get enough. he was always a greedy child. when he groaned into your ear, lecherous words of possession that would make even the most seasoned lyseni whore blush that same fire warmed your insides. and your slick mixed with blood more liquid added to your messy coupling- not only of your tears and drool that dripped onto the pillow as he pounded away, but your aroused slickness that squelched, making the most obscene sounds.

you could not contain the moans that spilled from you and he laughed.

‘cry out - cry out my wife let them all hear how a dragon claims his wife’ he all but growled, and bringing his hand down to the apex of your thigh, the pearl jutting out he furiously brought you to your own climax. walls clenching and your breath stuttering it was like a tidal wave. he spent inside a moment after with shuddering last thrust, and warmth burned inside you. he stayed inside you then, leaning over your back and with a rough grip he twisted your neck to gave him.

aerions purple eyes were all but black now, blown out in lust and dark obsession. he brought your lips to his for the first time that night, other than the chaste kiss of the ceremony, and claimed your breath as well. he removed himself from you and flipping you around brought his head to your thumping chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. you were too exhausted to do anything other than lay there , your body sore with bites and suckles, and tears ceasing their endless flow.

he brought a free hand to your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

‘my wife’ he said, a fragileness seeping through, reminding you of the boy, a glad child once. his hand rested upon your womb, where his seed now lay.

‘if it is a boy .. his name shall be maegor’

the never ending dam that were your tears, began to flow once again.

a/n: it is 4:15 am rn and i wrote this on my phone because the thought crossed my mind as i was about to sleep. so if this is shite which it probably is just understand that’s half the reason why- the other half being my own incompetence. anyways this is the first ever real smut i’ve ever written ig and it probably very obvious - oh well… i should probably go to bed now…

[urkuri]

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