Saoirse

26 | lover of yearners✨

[valarrmorghvlis]

💫Valar morghulis - Masterlist 💫

All men must die, but we are no men.

My writing is shamelessly self-indulgent, and serves to let my logorrhea out:) don't hesitate to give me a shout when you have suggestions or ideas!

I write about A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (Valarr, Duncan, Maekar, Baelor, OOC Aerion, if inspiration strikes also Daeron and Lyonel)

Also english is far from being my first language, so kindly ignore it when i butcher some words/expressions💖

Some of my works contain adult content, y'all kids better keep your hands off of these😡

Also can't believe I have to declare this, but I legitimately hate generative AIs with a hot, burning passion and everything I write has been done so by my own fried brain and sloppy hands💖

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms:

Valarr Targaryen

The Gold and the Steel (series masterlist here) - sfw (for now)

Summary: Valarr x Stark!reader, You are the infamous steel-clad daughter of Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. When he gets a summon to King's Landing to serve in the royal court, you accompany him to the South. There, you meet the Young Prince, who seems to see you and accept you as you are, despite your infamy.

Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend? - nsfw

Summary: perv!Valarr x reader, You are a 3rd year economics major at uni, and have been pining after your best friend for years, whom you met at the freshmen mixer. He doesn't seem to notice or respond to your many dropped hints, so you decide make one last big attempt before giving up completely. Little do you know, he has secrets of his own and the shy, proper boy disappears as soon as you get him into bed.

The marriage contract - sfw

Summary: Valarr x highborn!reader, based on this idea. Valarr has always been a shy, slightly socially inept child, until you held out your hand and invited him to join your friend group. The friendship blooms, and soon you are each other's dearest, closest childhood companions. So close, in fact, that you write a pact to marry each other when you both come of age. When your family has to leave King's Landing, you are devastated, but Valarr promises you will meet again when you are to wed each other. A decade later, you've forgotten about the contract, but he never has.

↳ Three times you tried to kiss Valarr, and the one time you did - sfw Summary: Valarr x betrothed!reader. Now officially betrothed, you and Valarr reconnect after a decade spent apart. The problem is, your families and the duties leave the two of you with hardly any alone time with each other, much to your dismay. You're just trying to finally kiss your pretty betrothed properly in peace, but the circumstances keep getting in your way. Can be also read as a standalone.

↳ Your ire, his distress (short drabble)- sfw Summary: Valarr x betrothed!reader. The wedding date approaches with terrifying speed, and Valarr takes it upon himself to compensate for his lack of experience by... studying. As a drawback, he spends an increasing amount of his free time holed up in his chambers instead of with you, which starts drawing your suspicions, and in tow, your pettiness.

Maekar Targaryen

Screw this and Fuck me (oneshot) - nsfw

Summary: Maekar! x 20s!reader, Maekar and you meet at a charity gala, where you are both bored out of your minds. When you set your eyes on him, you make it into your life's mission to get into his pants.

Aerion "Brightflame" Targaryen

The blood magicker and the tyrant (crack) - sfw

Summary: pathetic!Aerion x blood magicker!reader. Ever since you were a child, ancient voices and powers have been reaching out to you, to revive the glory of Old Valyria and fulfill an age-old prophecy. With an exceptional talent for blood magic but also an aversion to big responsibilities, you instead opt to use your talents for more everyday conveniences. It was all going smoothly, until your infamous cousin decides that you are a goddess of Valyria reborn, and you are destined for each other.

Duncan "Dunk" the Tall

I'm weak (boy I love it when I fall for that) - nsfw

Summary: modern!bodyguard!Dunk x heiress!reader. Dunk is pretty sure that his new bodyguard gig is going to drive him crazy. To be more specific, the pretty young heiress who he's supposed to be guarding keeps making less-than-subtle advances, and he has to keep himself from spontaneously combusting from sexual frustration. You, on the other hand, are simply trying to climb that hunk of a man like a tree.

This is only a side blog, main blog is @param0ur

I appreciate all of you who read my work and interact so so much, I'd love to follow y'all back on this blog but I can't🥲 and my main blog is hella empty and bland so sadly there isn't much to look at over there

[helaenasfavoritechicken]

[valarrmorghvlis]

i'm working on chapter 5 of tgats, wedding day episode of the marriage contract AU, AND a new valarr oneshot🫠 i'm having such a writer's block and the only thing that helps is working on multiple things at once so i stop overthinking so much, but ngl i feel so so bad about the slow updates lately

also thank you all🫶🏻 so much for all the love for my work, i appreciate it more than you could imagine💖

[valarrmorghvlis]

BLOOD MAGICKER READER WAS SOOOOO GOOD I NEED LIKE 2846291919 MORE OF IT

Because now im thinking abt her ending up liking Aerions presence (he’s really the only one who doesnt ask for anything from her, just wants to be with her and worship her) But at the same time, some part of her knows that if she wasnt blessed, he wouldnt even look her way 🥹

oof yes that's definitely a looming thought in her mind! Aerion is definitely smitten with her and worships the ground she walks on, but is it only because of her affinity for old blood magic? is it because he'll want a dragon from her?

it makes the dynamic more complicated than it seems because to people who don't know, it seems like he's purely devoted, and the court would be definitely confused as to why she's not inclined to accept his advances.

BUT that would also mean that if they ever got together, she'd always have some kind of leverage over him. I think that other than Maekar, no other person would hold that kind of power over him and be able to keep his behavior in check.

Also Aerion in my AU isn't a simply monstrous person like in canon, but is more OOC, as his cruel behaviors came from the fact that his once great house has lost its last ties to Old Valyria, so he was basically Tweaking Out.

So (spoiler alert) reader having that kind of leverage over him AND the possibility of bringing back dragons might actually fix our cute little evil labubu into being a nice stay-at-home husband 🥰

[valarrmorghvlis]

do i have like 6 wips? YES

am i starting another oneshot? ALSO YES

[writingdose]

[valarrmorghvlis]

I'm weak (oh boy I love it when I fall for that)

modern!bodyguard!Duncan x heiress!reader (no physical descriptions, no use of Y/N)

Repost after post-hoc editing😭 the last version was such a mess, so here I am after 12 hours of sleep with a cleaner version

Summary: Dunk is pretty sure that his new bodyguard gig is going to drive him crazy. To be more specific, the pretty young heiress who he's supposed to be guarding keeps making less-than-subtle advances, and he has to keep himself from spontaneously combusting from sexual frustration. You, on the other hand, are simply trying to climb that hunk of a man like a tree. Tags/Tropes: bodyguard x boss dynamics, munch!Dunk, size kink (ofc it's Dunk), oral sex (f receiving), fingering (vaginal and kinda sorta slightly anal), squirting and female ejaculation, multiple female orgasms, Dunk is stressed out, jealousy

Rating: NSFW, MDNI!! Minors get the f off my lawn😡

My Masterlist

WC: 3,9k words

-

This was not in Dunk's job description. By this, he meant the incessant flirty comments, unsubtle touches on his biceps, back, or chest, and the lust-filled gazes you sent his way whenever he was on duty. He'd simply taken the assignment that the agency had offered him as it had seemed simple enough back then; guard the young heiress of a multi-billion euro family-owned corporation, the shifts spaced at 12-hour intervals between four different guards. The money was good, and the working conditions were worlds better compared to his days in the army, so he had accepted without a second thought. 

But it seemed that Dunk had exchanged the sleepless nights in the swamps and desert for a life full of torment, accompanied with a half-erection every time you changed into quite revealing scraps of clothing whenever you'd seen that Dunk was in shift. Duncan was not blind, he'd seen you act perfectly virtuous and professionally around his colleagues, but the polite, modest heiress seemed to disappear when he'd step into duty, replaced by a young girl who'd stroke his biceps and bend over in an exaggerated manner after purposefully dropping her things to the floor. 

The heatwave in the summer was not helping; you'd lounge at the rooftop pool of your penthouse in a tiny, unpadded bikini, bidding him to tie the laces at the back while he struggled to keep his gaze away from the slivers of your breasts peaking out from under the bikini top, or how the minuscule scrap of fabric you called a bikini bottom did nothing to cover your asscheeks from his wandering eyes. Your air-conditioned flat was cool enough, but it did not stop you from lounging around in sheer linen shirts and shorts, with the curves of your body in display for him. As though you were aware of the half-erection in his suit pants, you'd grin up at him from wherever you were sprawled across, and give him an appreciative once-over. 

Duncan was sure he was losing his sanity to this job; he'd return home with a raging erection, and furiously attempt to quench the heat in his lower abdomen, only to remain half-satisfied and restless after forcing a release out of himself. His dating life had gone tits-up as well, not that it had been flourishing before, but now, his dates seemed painfully aware of his halfhearted interest in them, or that his mind was obviously occupied with someone else whenever they'd meet. 

Nevertheless, he'd strengthen his resolve - or at least, patch the metaphorical holes in it whenever he could - before starting his shifts. You were, after all, a corporate empire heiress, and he was just your bodyguard, bound to you by his contract, which explicitly forbade him from forming inappropriate relationships with his client. And not only his signed contract, but his honour kept him from acting on his poorly contained desires; he could never, ever betray the trust of a young woman who trusted him to protect and defend her with his life. 

Evidently, he could. His tough shell of an honour cracked open when you'd finally had enough, and dragged his gigantic frame down to your living room's spacious couch, and practically climbed onto his lap, showering him with kisses and begging him to take you. 

"Duncan, Dunk, please- just this once. I know how you've been looking at me, don't lie. Please please please, I need to feel you," you wrapped your arms around his neck, straddling his lap, and kissing up his neck. 

Dunk was frozen in place, vice and virtue furiously battling each other in his brain. He knew he should've resisted harder when you dragged him by his hand from his post, or when you'd pushed him down onto your couch. He should've stood up and left before you could climb up to his lap, and should've untangled your arms from around his neck, your fingers now twisting in his strawberry blond hair at the nape. But his resolve failed him, and there he sat, his cock hardening under his suit pants, the blood rapidly leaving his brain to pool in his crotch. 

"I've wanted to do this for so long, oh god please, I need you to take me, Dunk-" you mouthed at the angle of his jaw. 

Suddenly, Dunk got ahold of your hips, and pulled you off of his lap, placing you gingerly onto the couch before scrambling to his feet. 

"I- We can't, miss. It's, it's against the contract-" he stammered. At that, your eyes got wide, and the corners of your mouth fell into a frown. 

"But don't you want me, Dunk? I thought... I thought you felt the same," you pouted. 

Dunk sighed, and rubbed his face with his palms. 

"Don't you think I'm pretty? I thought you'd want me" you looked so perfectly devastated, a strap from your tank top sliding off your shoulder, flashing him with a sliver of your cleavage. Dunk strained to drive his gaze away from it, and looked to the floor. 

Dunk did not answer, but instead picked up his heavy feet to turn away and return to his post at the door. He ordered himself to ignore the blood pulsing in his neglected member, and look away from your oh-so-enticing form. 

"Fine!" you shouted out. "I'll just have to ask Roland to do it, if you don't want me."

His ears rang in a rush of anger at the mention of his colleague. Roland Crakehall? Seriously? That old, posh fucker? A switch flipped in his head, shattering his resolve. He spun around on his heel, and marched back to where you were sitting on the couch, not missing the grin splitting your face at his reaction. He gritted his teeth as he swooped you up into a bridal hold, carrying you effortlessly to your bedroom while your giggles rang in his ears. 

"You'll do no such thing." He grumbled.

“Why, jealous, Duncan?" You smirked, as he marched with a stern look on his face, his lips drawn into a tight line. 

He threw you down onto your mattress in a less-than-gentle manner, and you landed on your arse with a small uff. 

"Fucking Roland, doll?" He huffed, crossing his arms. You only let out another giggle at the switch from miss to doll, and spread your legs out in invitation. He scoffed, but you didn't miss his eyes trailing down to the inseam of your skimpy shorts. 

"So you do want me?" You teased, fiddling with the waistband of your shorts. 

"Just this once, lass. We can't- we can't have this be a regular thing. We're bound to have trouble if this goes on," he finally relented, leaning over your figure on the bed, supporting himself on his hands. 

"Whatever you say," you grinned, and pulled him down for an open-mouthed kiss. He melted into the kiss with a groan, his body slotting itself onto yours, caged between your legs. Your tongues slid against one another, and Dunk eagerly sucked yours into his mouth, letting out a groan at the feeling whilst you ground your hips against his growing bulge.

One of his hands sneaked up your top, and he keeled when his palm only met bare skin under it instead of a bra. Your breast fit perfectly into his grasp, and his thumb swiped across your nipple, eliciting a moan out of you. You bit on his lower lip, prompting a groan of his own. He leaned back, breaking off the kiss. His lips were glistening and flushed, and his ocean blue irises were reduced to a thin ring around his blown out pupils. Without breaking eye contact, you ground your hips up again, applying just the right kind of pressure to his groin. 

"Stop that," he panted. 

"Or what?" you breathed out, grinding onto his ever-growing bulge again. Christ, he was big. 

Duncan hissed, his hand leaving your breast to grip onto the bedsheets. "'M tryin' to be a gentleman," he groaned. "'M not gonna be able to if ye keep that up."

"So don't," you mused, sneaking a hand down to cup his bulge, tracing the line of his cock through his suit pants with your palm. His eyes rolled back, and his jaw hung open at the oh-so-awaited stimulation. Duncan felt the last thread of his patience snap. He leaned back, kneeling between your legs, and ripped your flimsy shorts down, groaning when he saw that you had forgone underwear completely that day. He flung the shorts across the room, not bothering to see where it landed. He shoved your tank top down roughly, letting the straps slide down your arms and revealing your tits completely, nipples already hardening below his gaze. 

Dunk allowed himself a moment to take in the obscene view now presented before him; your face was slightly flushed, your tits spilling out from your top, now bunched around your middle, and your cunt was already glistening between your spread legs, clenching around nothing and leaking from arousal already. His cock gave a twitch in his trousers at the sight. 

"Well you have me here now, go on, do something- ahh Christ, Dunk!" Your teasing tone quickly fared into a mewl when Duncan slid down the bed, and buried his face down between your legs. 

First, his tongue licked a broad strip upwards, from tailbone all the way to your mound. He suppressed a smirk when he felt you shiver at the sensation, his tongue down flat against every sensitive part. He took his time nipping and kissing at your lips and folds. Then, his lips sealed around your clit, and he gave a firm suck, his tongue flitting up and down your bud right after to soothe it. 

"Ahh Duncan!" You shrieked, grabbing a fistful of his hair while your head fell back upon the pillows. His hands wrapped themselves around your hips, lifting you against his mouth to ensure better access. 

As he sucked and lapped mercilessly at the sensitive bud, his grip on you did not falter, even when you bucked and twitched against his hold, babbling out an incoherent string of words which vaguely sounded like oh god, Dunk, and yes yes yes. The obscene slurping noises and groans from Duncan echoed in the room, accompanied by your sounds of ecstasy. 

One of his hands sneaked to your clit, replacing his tongue, as it traveled lower towards your dripping hole. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your hole, seeking entrance as his thumb drew tight circles around your clit. When the tip of his tongue finally slipped past your rim, a full-body shudder ran through you as you cried out his name, fingers tugging at his hair. Once granted entry, he started tongue-fucking you in earnest, the thick muscle bullying its way through the soft flesh and relishing in the taste of your arousal. The world narrowed down to the feeling of his slick tongue lapping up your slick directly from its source, and his thumb working your clit relentlessly as the familiar knot in your belly started to tighten. Your legs started to tremble, but the wide expanse of his shoulders and his firm grip on your hip did not allow them to close. 

You chanted out his name as the edges of your vision whitened, and before you could speak out a warning, you came around his tongue, a wave of slick gushing out to wet his face, which he eagerly lapped up with a groan. His tongue and thumb didn't slow down their assault even as you went limp in his grip, and you could only let out pathetic strings of uh, uh, uhs as the waves of your orgasm burned through you. Finally, when your legs began to twitch, he let up, and sat back on his heels to admire the state he'd left you in. Your eyes were glazed over, and your legs spread out, putting your swollen, soaked cunt on display for his wandering eyes. 

"Christ, Dunk. Didn't know you had it in you," you sighed, wiping the glistening sheen of sweat off your forehead. 

He scoffed at your teasing tone. "Weren't so brazen when you were coming on my tongue, lass.” His lips and chin shone from a mixture of your release and his spit, painting an obscene sight.

"Maybe you ought to fuck it out of me some more, then," you huffed, thoroughly enjoying riling the man up. His eyes flashed, the provocation clearly doing its job. 

"Aye, you won't be talking so impudently when I'm done with ye," he said as he unbuttoned his shirt, his words sending a shiver down your spine in anticipation.

After flinging his shirt to some corner of the room, he made short work of his trousers, only leaving him in his boxers, which did nothing to hide the absurdly huge outline of his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight as you wondered how you were going to fit all of that inside your cunt. For a short moment, you asked yourself whether you had bitten off more than you could handle. Your look didn't go unnoticed by him, as he lowered himself down to place a trail of kisses down your jaw and neck. 

"I'll make it fit, lass. Don't go worrying your little head about it," you shivered as he mouthed at a sensitive spot beneath your jaw. 

"On your hands and knees," he ordered briskly, and you obeyed eagerly, arching your back and spreading your knees apart to present your holes at him. 

He groaned at the sight, and his broad hands came down to the globes of your ass to gently massage them, spreading them apart to properly appreciate the view. Without any warning, he spat a fat glob of spit on your hole, eliciting a jolt out of you. Before you could protest, a thick finger smeared the wetness along the length of your slit before pushing inside oh-so-slowly. 

You let out a lewd moan at the large intrusion, his finger feeling almost as thick as two of yours. He gently fucked his finger in and out of you, his free hand leisurely palming his cock over the fabric of his boxers as he cooed soothing words for you. 

"Shh, love. You're doing so good. Got to stretch her out properly, otherwise I'll hurt ye." He murmured as he added a second finger to your cunt. You clenched initially at the stretch, but relaxed as your inner muscles adapted to the second finger as he scissored his digits, working to loosen your cunt. When his fingers grazed that sweet, spongey spot, your arms buckled and you sunk to your elbows, crying out as sparks flew behind your eyelids. 

"You like that, yeah? Aye, you do," he said, eyes transfixed at the slick coating his hand now, his fingers picking up a brutal pace, slamming into the sweet spot at every deep thrust, burying themselves into you until his knuckles were flush with your pussy lips. You could only moan in response, the pleasure shooting like lightning all the way down to your legs and curling your toes. 

When he finally added a third finger, deeming you wet enough, you almost screamed into the bedsheets as your climax hit you abruptly with no warning; your inner muscles clenched uncontrollably around his fingers, gushing all over his hand and wrist. 

"Fucking hell, look at you," he almost whispered, his fingers still pumping in and out of you with an obscene squelching and splashing sound as your release continued to dribble out of you. Your legs were shaking in earnest now, and your lips could only babble out his name as you rode out your orgasm. Your g-spot already felt so abused, and his digits kept rubbing cruelly over them, determined to squeeze every last bit of pleasure out of your climax. 

You vaguely felt his fingers exit your hole as Duncan relieved himself of his boxers to finally take his cock out. Behind you, Dunk raised his soaked fingers to your mouth, languidly sucking your release off of his fingers and groaning at the taste. 

Then, fucking finally, he slotted the fat head of his cock at your entrance, his hands back on the globe of your ass to spread you as much as your muscles allowed. You let out a gasp when you felt his width, as it was fucking gigantic. Just getting its head in proved to be a struggle, and you were sure you'd never taken anything as thick as his cockhead in your cunt before. He cooed soothing words, and one of his hands left your ass to grasp his own shaft to provide additional pressure.

When the tip popped in, you both let out an unashamedly loud groan. 

"Fuck, Dunk, it's so big, oh god, it's so fucking big, I don't know if I can-" you babbled. 

"Shh, darlin’, I won't see you hurt. We'll take it slow." He rubbed slow circles onto your asscheek, straining against the urge to slam himself into you in a single stroke. 

And slow it went. Dunk was mesmerized at your pussy lips splitting themselves open on his cock, as your cunt swallowed inches after inches of his cock. The slick from your previous releases eased the glide, and his cock gave a twitch as he recalled how you gushed so prettily on his fingers. Below him, you were basically going through a cock-induced craze; clawing at the sheets so tightly you were almost worried they'd tear, and desperately trying to stop clenching on his absurdly big shaft. 

"Oh God, Duncan wait, I need- I can't-" you gasped out, overwhelmed by the sheer size of his cock and the way it was stretching your cunt more than you'd thought possible. 

Duncan stopped his advance. "Too much?" He asked. 

"A bit, yeah," you huffed. "I do want all of you, Dunk, I jus' need a break." 

Dunk hummed at that, and started to let his hands wander as he waited for you to adjust to the stretch. At first, he spread out your asscheeks to marvel at your inner lips stretched out so prettily around his shaft, gripping his cock so tightly he thought he might lose his mind. His thumb slid to the junction where your bodies met, and gently stroked your stretched lips, eliciting soft moans from you. But then his gaze wandered to your puckered hole above it, and he felt another twitch going through his cock at the sight. His thumb left your cunt, and started drawing slow, feather-light circles around it.

“What- what are you doing?” You panted, a nasal, drawn-out moan leaving your lips.

“Gotta get you nice and wet, lass. Can I?” He murmured, mesmerized by the view of your two holes, glistening in your slick. You hummed, and nodded slightly.

His thumb carried on drawing gentle circles around your asshole, getting closer and closer to the rim. When he pressed in just the slightest bit, you keeled, and your toes curled in anticipation. A fresh wave of slick from your pussy soaked his cock, and he took it as his cue to keep on feeding his cock into your cunt. 

Finally, fucking finally, he found himself buried in you up to the hilt. He let out an unabashed groan at the feeling of your gummy walls fluttering around his entire length, relishing in the feeling. You were already cockdrunk, babbling semi-coherently and drooling on your sheets. 

“Oh god, feels so good, Dunk. I knew it, I knew it would be fucking biblical.” You moaned. His cock was filling you up completely, stretching your walls and pressing against all of the sweet spots which sent sparks flying behind your eyelids. The surreal weight of his cock in your cunt was almost intoxicating, and you started rocking your hips back and forth, seeking that delicious friction which you craved.

Dunk groaned, and gripped the little bit of fat around your hips with both hands, and started carefully thrusting in and out of you. You almost screamed at the feeling; it was so, so much better than you could’ve ever imagined. It felt as though all your internal organs were shifting back and forth with his thrusts with how deep he was nestled in you. 

“Faster, Duncan, please. Love your cock s’much, aah yes, just like that,” you let out a nasal moan as he set a brutal pace at your request, repeatedly slamming against the spongey spot inside of your hole and the plug of your cervix. His heavy balls were slapping against your clit at every thrust with an obscene, wet clapping sound, providing a delicious stimulation to your sensitive bud. You were going to come embarassingly fast from this, which you realized when the knot in your belly started to tighten anew.

“So tight, grá. You’re takin’ me so well, so pretty on my cock like this,” he grunted, landing a light slap on your ass. You yelped, and clenched down on his shaft.

Then, without a warning, you let out a shriek, and your cunt gushed around his cock, while your gummy walls fluttered helplessly. Your release soaked the thick thatch of hair at the base of his shaft, trickling down his balls and your inner thighs. The orgasm ripped through you as you came harder than you ever had before, shaking uncontrollably while his cock continued to pound into you. The wet, splashing sounds of his pelvis meeting your cunt echoed through the room. Your legs threatened to give out, but his firm hold on your hips held you up.

Dunk moaned as your walls milked him ever so tightly, and felt his own climax approach. When his balls drew up, he pulled out of your hole and fisted his cock to come all over your ass, his cum dripping down the small of your back and over both of your holes. Coming down from his own orgasm, he took a moment for a breather and admired his release coating your swollen pussy lips, his cock giving a weak twitch at the sight. You slid down to lay on your stomach, hypersensitive and wrung out from the assault he had laid upon your body. 

The dip in the mattress behind you vanished as he rose, padding over to the bathroom. He brought out a damp towel to wipe you clean of his release, then gingergly put your tank top back into place from where it was scrunched around your middle. He sat himself down next to you on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

“Guess it’s good that I didn’t ask Roland to do it instead,” you grinned as you plopped over to lay on your back, the insincerity clear in your tone.

Duncan scoffed, and tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, the motion surprisingly gentle considering the sex you’d just had. 

“That posh prick could not treat you half as well, doll.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t ‘ve asked him anyways, Dunk. Just wanted to rile you up good,” you touched his bicep, and looked him up and down, just for good measure. A little air of satisfaction bloomed in your chest at his jealousy.

He scoffed again, but slid down to lay on his back next to you, holding out an arm as an invitation for you to lay your head on his chest. You eagerly accepted, cuddling up to his side and resting your cheek on his pec. As he mumbled something about insolence and lucky you’re so pretty, you closed your eyes and hummed. This was definitely not going to be a one-off thing. 

[valarrmorghvlis]

that dunk smut is so fucking delicious 😭😭😭😭😭😭 and the fact that hes her bodyguard too whewww 10s across the board !!!!! #weloveyouhorsedickduncan

thank you🥰😭 i took it down for post-hoc editing, but #horsedickduncan will be back!!

[param0ur]

Mama Please please more DuncanxReader!!! I feel like a baby bird begging for more

yes just gimme a sec tho😭 i posted the duncan smut with 2 hours of sleep and when i read it i realized how messily it was written so imma repost it after editing

there's defo gonna be more tho, i just submitted my thesis so i'll have more time for paper writing and fanfics yay

[valarrmorghvlis]

i panicked for a sec bc someone with 2007 on their tumblr profile interacted with my valarr smut but then i realized THEY'RE ADULTS NOW TOO

bruv how old am i😭😭😭 i hate it here

[valarrmorghvlis]

The blood magicker and the tyrant

Aerion Targaryen x blood magicker!reader (reader is Baelor's daughter, but no physical descriptions, no names, no use of Y/N)

Summary: Ever since you were a child, ancient voices and powers have been reaching out to you, to revive the glory of Old Valyria and fulfill an age-old prophecy. With an exceptional talent for blood magic but also an aversion to big responsibilities, you instead opt to use your talents for more everyday conveniences. It was all going smoothly, until your infamous cousin decides that you are a goddess of Valyria reborn, and you are destined for each other. (drabble as a start to this AU, lmk if y'all would like to see more!)

Tags/tropes: crack, sort of animal cruelty? loopholes to blood magic, pathetic!Aerion, reader is one of the chosen ones but doesn't want to do all the work, Aerion composes a terrible poem

Rating: teen and up?

My Masterlist

WC: 4,4k words

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You couldn't exactly pinpoint when you first realized you had a penchant for blood magic. It had started as a simple fascination as a child, with your eyes sparkling in excitement whenever you'd sneaked into the library at Dragonstone to read the old scrolls that had been brought over by your ancestors before the Doom of Valyria. The maesters and your family had dismissed your fascination for a simple child's hyperfixation on her ancestry, which let your growing interest evolve into something else, something dark and potentially dangerous. 

Then, there was that fortune teller who passed by the village under Dragonmont one autumn. Your family had travelled down to the village to meet the smallfolk, and show their presence during the harvest feast. Your father, Baelor Breakspear, had always insisted on showing every bit of generosity to the townfolk, as power meant nothing without the support of your subjects. 

The hooded woman had approached you at the market, much to the dismay of the Kingsguard. They threatened to chase her away with their blades, but you'd pleaded with them not to harm her. 

"I believe I owe you for your protection, little princess," the crone said, her eyes obscured by the hood of her cloak. "Debts are meant to be honored. Let me tell you what awaits you, little dragon."

You observed her, as the air around the old fortune teller seemed odd, somehow. She felt ancient, but in a distinctly inhuman way. Something about her felt familiar, but in a foreign way you could not quite understand. 

"The shadows will heed your commands, princess. The blood of Old Valyria runs thick in your veins. Blood and fire will follow wherever you go, and those who behold your power in cower before you." For a moment, it seemed as thought you'd seen her eyes glint under the hood, but when you tried to meet her gaze, she abruptly whipped around, and disappeared into the crowd. 

You frowned, perplexed at her words. Later, when you'd told your older brother Valarr what had occurred, he brushed it off as a simple mummer's farce. But the unsettling feeling in your chest did not fade. Could she have possibly known of your interests in the old blood rituals? The answer was no. 

When your thirteenth nameday came to pass, the dreams started. They say that Dragonstone was carved out of dragonfire and ancient blood magic, and that the traces remain in the foundations of the castle. Maybe, the dreams were just a result of that magic touching something embedded deep inside of you, awakening something the world had not seen since the dragons disappeared. 

The dreams were always dark, ominous, burning, but most importantly, always bloody. Warm, sticky, thick blood was everywhere, and voices would whisper in Old Valyrian from the pools of blood. Red was also the color of the sky, an unnatural, sinister shade of scarlet. The ponds full of blood would then expand into lakes, lakes turned into seas, seas which swallowed you whole, with warm, slimy hands dragging you into the depths. For unknown reasons, the dreams did not terrify you. The warm embrace of blood had felt like home; and the voices had a familiar tone to them; as if they were people you had known in a past lifetime. 

Your obsession properly took root when you turned fifteen. You'd spend all of your free time outside of lessons in the old, magic-forged library of Dragonstone, reading through every scrolls that had survived the Doom. One common denominator in old Valyrian sorcery seemed to be omnipresent in these records: blood carried power, and only life could pay for a life. The rules of the bargain seemed crude and simple at first. The old dragonlords of Valyria routinely slayed their slaves in blood sacrifice rituals, spilled blood was used to forge a bond between a dragon and rider in the earliest days of the Freehold, and with the power bought with fire and blood, the Old Valyrians would conquer new worlds to secure new fodder for their bloodthirsty gods. 

Simply said, they were cruel, barbaric rituals. But then, your brain pieced something together. Nowhere in these texts was it specified that the blood had to be human. You spent hours upon hours meticulously inspecting every glyph, every line. every scroll, but you found nothing that which contradicted your finding. 

After sitting on your discovery and letting it simmer for three days and three nights, you set out to test your theory, as any proper scholar should. You made your way down to the kitchens, and asked for the butcher. The butcher's workshop was situated by the stables, and there he would receive the animals to be freshly slaughtered, then butcher them in the comfort of his own workspace. The tall, burly man had given you a strange look, but nodded nevertheless. No doubt that he just assumed that every highborn child was simply.. odd. 

You stood next to him as he slaughtered chickens for that day's supper, and demanded that he let all the blood from the devastated chickens' necks collect into a stone bowl marked with ancient glyphs you'd found in a deep, dusty cellar of the castle. When the bowl was two thirds of the way full, you handed him a copper for the trouble, and headed to your chambers to perform your experiment, careful not to spill any blood in the stairways. 

Once arrived at your chamber, you placed the bowl in the center of the room, then locked the door, as to not be interrupted. While you lit the lard candles and prepared the materials for the makeshift ritual, you tried to decide on a bargain, something small and harmless enough which would not end up being disastrous in case the gods decided to grant your wish in a twisted way. 

The ritual involved drawing a circle out of chalk and salt around the blood offering, as to ward off any malignant forces which could interfere. Then, the glyphs for solar, lunar, terrestrial, and celestial were written in chalk around the circle. As a final touch, you kneeled in the circle, lit a strip of animal hide on fire, and started chanting the old prayers. The prayer was a plea to the gods to heed your request, and for them to accept the humble offering of lifesblood. As you chanted, it seemed as the smoke from the candles curled around you, turning into quiet whispers, as though they were answering your prayers.

In High Valyrian, you cited your wishes at the end of the chant, as it was custom. You wished for your little brother, Matarys’ mare, who had broken a hind leg yesternight, to be healed of her injuries. Then, you tossed the burning hide into the blood, which, by all laws of nature, should’ve gotten extinguished as soon as it was submurged in the thick, red liquid. Instead, it burst into a white-hot column of flames, as the whispers growing louder and frantic in your ears. Suddenly, all the flames went out, only leaving thin wisps of smoke curling upwards from the candles and the stone bowl. The voices went quiet.

You looked around. Nothing else had changed. Unsure whether that had had any effect whatsoever, you stood from the floor, and exited the circle. You cleaned up the mess yourself, as to avoid having words circulate among the servants about your peculiar antics. Afterwards, you went about your day as though nothing was amiss; appearing dutifully at lessons and to family supper.

-

When you opened your eyes the next morrow, it seemed as though nothing had changed at all. The sun rose from the east, the waves crashed against the shores of Dragonstone just as they always had, and the air did not carry any sense of vicissitude.

The change only made itself known as you made your way down to the dining hall to break your fast with your family. Matarys’ excited shrieks were audible from the corridors already, and the servants who passed by carried a look of perplexity.

“Baby brother, what may be the matter? The entire castle can hear you, you know.” You smiled fondly at him, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Valarr.

“Sweetpea’s leg is healed! The stablemaster said it is as if nothing ever happened, so she doesn’t have to be put down anymore!” Matarys bounced in his seat. Your sweet, little brother had been devastated when his beloved mare had injured herself, which usually meant a death sentence for horses. Surely, they’d initially planned on putting her down today. 

“It could be another mare, son. Perhaps the stablehands have found you a very similar looking replacement,” Baelor’s look remained skeptical, not wanting to bestow false hope upon his son.

“No! I know it’s her, I’d know her anywhere. She answered to her name, and she even has that little brown spot on the side of her neck, father,” the little auburn-haired prince defiantly crossed his arms. 

Interesting, you thought, as you attempted to act as if nothing was amiss. It was good that you were a princess of the blood, and not a mummer, because your acting was terrible. Not that anyone took notice. What would a mare’s suddenly healed leg have to do with a young, innocent princess?

After your initial success, you grew bolder. The next little experiment would be on a bigger scale, you decided. Just to see whether the ritual would also work on multiple.. subjects. The dreams also grew more vibrant, but that was not as interesting as whatever you had managed with the horse. That was a problem to be dealt with another time.

The concept of a blood sacrifice ritual was simple, if your understanding was correct. First, you needed to set boundaries where you’d be calling to the Old Valyrian gods. The chant would attract on numerous deities, and that included malicious ones who would twist your wishes into something terrible. You needed the simpler, more direct deities, where the deal could be struck off cleanly, no strings attached. 

Secondly, you needed life’s blood to bargain with the bloodthirsty gods. From your chicken’s blood experiment, it did not seem to matter whether it was human or animal blood (you made a mental note to see if fish, amphibian, or reptile blood would work as well). The gods only cared that a life was taken. 

Then at last came the wish. For now, you decided to stick to those without world-changing consequences. You were fifteen, for gods’ sake. No responsibilities would be taken for now.

For the next attempt, you scored some pig’s blood from the butcher. When you arrived at your chambers with the bowl, the blood was still so fresh that it was steaming a little in the cool morning air. You drew the circle with salt and chalk, making sure the runes were written in their proper place. The lard candles were lit - and the animal hide laid on the floor, ready to be set on fire. So, the next step was the chant.

This time, the whispers were louder. The candles’ smokes took on more distinctive forms, and they’d speak of old glory and fire and blood in your ears. At the end of the old prayer, you declared your wishes to the gods. All the chickens on the island would lay three times the amount of eggs they usually laid. The whispers grew more frantic, and you caught High Valyrian expressions for greater purpose and ice and fire. You heeded them no mind, and lit the hide on fire before throwing it into the stone bowl, half filled with blood. As it burst into white hot flames, the curling smokes and the voices reached their peak, before disappearing with the flame.

That was odd, you thought. The strange, smoke-beings seemed to wish to speak to you. Well, they’ll just have to get more coherent then. I could not understand most of what they said, you mused, then shrugged.

The second attempt proved to be just as successful as the first, as you’d overheard five days later while your father was discussing the island’s food reserves with the castellan. The egg production had tripled, which left a significant overflow of the egg supply. The news was delivered from perplexed farmers, who had observed their chickens lay an impossible amount of eggs over the last days. 

“These are good news, are they not?” Baelor mused, not quite understanding why the matter had been brought to council.

“In essence, yes, your grace. However, it certainly defies the laws of nature, as Maester Harlow has found no record of such…” the castellan hesitated, searching for words. “Copious egg yield, going back centuries’ worth of documentation.”

“Perhaps it is but a transient effect, ser.” Baelor dismissed the concerns. “We will monitor the situation, I am sure it will return to its usual rates soon enough.”

It hadn’t. After weeks, the island’s chickens were still producing a more than abundant amount of eggs, and the overflow lead to all of the castle’s and smallfolks’ meals involving incredulous portions of eggs. The suspicion grew around the island, but without any credible cause or evidence, there was nobody to be persecuted, either. You held your tongue through it all, but inside, your mind was brimming with hypotheses and endless possibilities. 

You dove even deeper into your rather unorthodox studies, sitting on the floor of the library with scrolls and bound parchments until sunrise, devouring every bit of information the ancient texts offered.

At the same time, the dreams were starting to get vibrant and lively enough that you finally chose to take action against it. When you drifted to sleep one night, you were faced with the pools of blood and a red sky again, but this time, you came prepared. As always, the collections of blood on the ground started to expand, as ancient voices whispered unintelligibly in your ears. Raising an eyebrow at the familiar scene, you wondered why these entities had so little imagination.

“Please, whoever you are. I cannot understand you if you all speak all at once. If you wish to relay a message to me, I bid you do it one-by-one.” You declared, frowning slightly at the chaotic noise surrounding you.

At once, the whispers came to an abrupt halt, and the pools of blood ceased growing.

“Daughter of Old Valyria, blood of the dragon, heed our words,” finally, a full sentence you could understand. The voice was deep, but you could not place whether the owner was male or female, nor if they were old or young. 

“Beholder of ancient sorcery, mistress of blood and fire, you are destined for something far greater than yourself,” another voice hissed. “Restore the ancient glory. Slay the non-believers, and bring fire to flesh once again.”

You blinked. It sounded as though they wanted you to bring back the dragons and raise your house to its former glory. 

“Bathe in your enemies’ lifesblood,” the same voice continued, “for only then you shall live an endless life, and stand with Azor Ahai when this world comes to an end.” 

The dream landscape started to blur and spin, and you found yourself awake, sprawled upon the silk sheets of your own bed in Dragonstone. You stared at the ceiling for a few moments, processing the words the voices had whispered into your ears. The dream was overwhelmingly life-like, so much that you’d felt the formless entities’ breath brush your ears as they spoke to you.

Destined for something greater than myself, you chewed on the words. That couldn’t possibly be good. If the scrolls and books you’d been studying were to be believed, ancient prophecies and omens had a cruel way of coming true in the most twisted, sadistic ways, especially for those who threshed to fulfill it. 

Then, your mind wandered to your ancestors who were known to be plagued by shadows of prophecy looming over them. Aegon the Dragon had had a prophetic dream, which drove him to unite and conquer the Seven Kingdoms. But at what cost? He’d lost his beloved sisterwife in a futile attempt to conquer Dorne, and spent nigh on ten-and-five years fighting wars and crushing rebellions. Then there was Daenys’ dream. Her dream had indeed saved her line, but left her ancestors to be the last dragonlords left in the realm, cripplingly alone in the world until the Velaryons had taken to dragonriding themselves.

You were simply not ready to carry that burden. Nay, you were unsure whether you ever wanted to carry that burden. You were simply a princess, a maiden of ten-and-five years, who had an interest in the ancient blood magic rituals and begun experimenting only recently. Bringing back dragons from their petrified eggs would surely cost more than a half-full bowl of pigs’ blood, or even a living sacrifice to the gods. Not even touching the moral part of it, the prophetic attribute of it seemed like a load of hard, tedious work.

In your dark bedchamber with only moonlight streaming from the windows, you stared down at your own hands, soft and pristine, never having known a day of labour or war, never mind carrying out grieve-sounding prophecies. Right then and there, you made a decision for yourself: you were going to procrastinate on this prophecy for as long as destiny allowed. 

-

As the years went on, your rituals became a routine occurence, as well as an open secret amongst your family. It began when the entire royal family had been residing in Summerhall to celebrate little Rhae’s birth, and Daeron’s eyes caught the string of odd events which seemed to follow you. He'd said that in his dreams, you were standing knee-deep in a pool of blood, dragons big and small circling the crimson skies above you. The pieces were then put together in his head, and he'd drawn the conclusion that somehow, the odd chain of events such as Dyanna's childbed injuries mysteriously healing themselves and Egg's cat which had been supposedly thrown into a well days ago climbing out from the watery depths were linked with you.

Next, Valarr and Matarys found out in their own time. Their sister was known to divulge in her odd studies, but the even odder occurrences in and around Dragonstone eventually caught their eyes. The crown jewel which verified their suspicions was when the Celtigars — who were quite unpopular within your family due to their incessant demands to the crown and attempts to encroach themselves to the King's court — were meant to visit Dragonstone, but were hindered by a sudden storm raging between Dragonstone and Claw Isle. 

Thus the era of persistent requests and wishes from your cousins and brothers had begun: you'd fulfill their petty wishes, and in turn, they'd keep your secret, and return the favor in one way or another. Nobody suspected a thing when weeks of heavy rain had hindered a tourney Daeron had been dreading, and even less when a new gold-and-ruby bracelet appeared on your wrist mere days later. Matarys' broken wrist had mysteriously healed itself overnight, and Valarr’s destrier had broken a hind leg during a hunt, only to emerge from the stables the next morrow as though nothing had been amiss.

Then there was Aerion. Your infamous cousin. He had been a glad child once, but his temperaments had begun to show in his pubescent years, to everone’s grief. His obsession with Old Valyria and dragons had been known; and it only grew with passing time. When it was his turn to discover your unusual talents, he’d decided that you were a goddess of Old Valyria reborn, destined to rule the realms by his side with fire and blood. And thus you’d become the only presence in the realm that which could quench his fires, and he started his incessant, rather bothersome pursuit of your attention.

“My love, my sun, my goddess,” Aerion padded after you in the corridors of the Red Keep. “How are you planning on spending this beautiful afternoon?”

“In peace and quiet, cousin.” You attempted to wave him off.

“May I come with you?” His brows raised in hope and expectation.

“I’d prefer not,” you tried to avoid his relentless, lovesick gaze.

“I would give you peace, my moon and stars. I’d be perfectly content with merely gazing upon your beautiful presence. You are a blessing from the gods themselves, bestowed upon by-“ his dramatics revved up again.

“I would like to continue my lectures in my chambers, alone, if you’d allow.” You interrupted his speech, before it could escalate any further into long, exaggerated poems.

“I could carry your books, or hold the scrolls up for you, light of my life,” he persisted. “I beg of you, please allow my presence in yours, do not exile me into the darkness which is your absence.”

You stopped in your tracks, and let out a deep sigh. “Alright, cousin.” At that, he visibly perked up, a smile creeping up onto his face. “But only, and strictly only, if my studies are not interrupted by you.” That did not seem to diminish his joy.

“Of course, my love. Your every wish and whim is my command, I swear, I will serve at your altar at every cost. Anything you wish for, you’ll have. Do you wish for me to fetch refreshments? In case you’d get thirsty, or peckish. I know you prefer the honeycakes, I will command the kitchens at once for them to prepare some with a pot of tea.” With that, he ran off in the direction of the kitchens with a bounce in his steps.

You sighed, and continued on your way to your chambers. 

-

Your lecture and studies accompanied by Aerion were, as he swore, quiet and peaceful. For once, he sat next to you on the carpeted floors, attentively observing the old tomes and scrolls you’d laid out in front of you, and snap to attention when you’d stop to take notes. In summary, Aerion’s company was proving itself to be significantly less bothersome than you had expected, and even something akin to comfortable.

When you’d finish reading a paragraph from a scroll and wish to compare the contents with another manuscript, you merely had to point to the material you’d wish for, and he’d nearly jump up to fetch it.

After a few hours, he’d taken to sitting a few yards away, pouring over a scrap of empty parchment himself with a quill in hand. You’d ignored it, assuming he was simply taking notes of his own about the scrolls. The Red Keep’s library kept quite valuable scripts too, albeit less impressive or rare as Dragonstone, but nevertheless, there were some scrolls and tomes you’d never seen before, which took over your attention quickly.

It was almost sunset when you’d decided to finish up for the day, with the sun nearing the western horizon and painting the sky in a faint orange hue. When you slammed a particularly thick book shut, Aerion looked up from his parchment, and looked at you.

“I would be finished for the day, cousin. Thank you for your help, but now I’d better be heading down to supper.” You said, standing from your cushion on the floor.

Aerion nodded, and made to stand up after you. But when you turned towards the door, he softly called out your name, prompting you to look back at him with an eyebrow raised in question.

“I’ve written a poem for you, my love. Would you allow me to read it for you?” His eyes were gleaming in hope.

You suppressed a sigh. Although, he had indeed given you the promised peace and quiet, so perhaps this was the least you could do. You nodded in approval.

His poem was quite melodramatic and theatrical, to say the least. You almost regretted saying yes when you’d spotted that the entire parchment was filled with lines upon lines of rhymes.

O godess of Old Valyria reborn, o image of endless beauty upon this earth

Full of grace she walks, and the old fire burns bright in her hearth

Never has there been lips so beautiful,

Her tresses leaves even the Maiden herself sorrowful

When she speaks to me her voice rings like silver bells,

In her absence I may descend to the deepest hells

My heart lives a flame not even dragonfire could oppose

Which only burns for you, o my goddess of love and beauty

Not even the Narrow Sea could quench my love,

For a single gaze from her amethyst eyes would set me ablaze anew

For a moment, you were grateful that Aerion was born a prince, and not a singer or a bard, so that the remaining population of the Seven Kingdoms would be spared of his work. Nevertheless, you dragged the corners of your lips into a smile, and thanked him for the beautiful ode to your beauty. At your praise, his eyes glazed over in a dreamy bliss, and he clutched his heart as though it would explode.

Afterwards, he’d insisted upon escorting you to your father’s solar, where you’d be supping with your family. He walked dutifully beside you, an arm outstretched for you to hold on to.

“My beautiful goddess, would I have your leave to accompany you to your studies from now on?” He asked, a hopeful look laid in his eyes, which reminded you a little bit of a stray puppy.

You suppressed a sigh again, and considered your options. Even if you said no, Aerion would persist in his pursuits. If you said yes, he would be omnipresent in your studies, no matter the time or place. A compromise seemed to be due.

“Perhaps, cousin. Sometime, when I have need of assistance again.” His face split into a wide grin at that, and you both came to a halt in front of the double doors leading to Baelor’s quarters.

“You can always call upon me, my flaming heart. Always. For anything.” With that, he raised your hand to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles, and turned on his heels to take his leave.

As he left, Matarys came from around a corner, and saw Aerion leave you.

“What was that about, sister?” He raised an eyebrow at his temperamental cousin, walking away with a grin plastered on his face.

You only had a sigh and a shake of your head to offer as an answer, and opened the doors to your father’s solar to join your parents for supper.

-

It's quite short bc I wanted to tread the waters first, and sort of flesh out the groundworks to this AU. let me know if there's anything you'd do differently, or if you have any cool ideas! This is lowkey a crack fic, so planning on keeping it lighthearted, no serious plot stuff. xoxo

[valarrmorghvlis]

Your Ire, His Distress (drabble)

Valarr Targaryen x betrothed!Reader (no physical description, no specific house mentioned, pick one for yourselves:))

Summary: set in The Marriage Contract AU. The wedding date approaches with terrifying speed, and Valarr takes it upon himself to compensate for his lack of experience by... studying. As a drawback, he spends an increasing amount of his free time holed up in his chambers instead of with you, which starts drawing your suspicions, and in tow, your pettiness.

Tags/tropes: inexperienced couple, petty!reader, Valarr grovels, misunderstanding, slightest angst, make-up kiss, lead-up to the wedding night😏

Rating: Teen and up audiences

My Masterlist

WC: 4,3k words

-

After the betrothal was settled and the wedding preparations had begun, Valarr had initially thought that everything that followed would be smooth sailing. Except it wasn’t.

One issue that plagued him was the onslaught of council meetings and writing correspondances, which his father, the dear Lord Hand, had set upon him to prepare for his impending duties as his heir. The king was old, and had been old for quite some time, with his father having taken over the duties of ruling the realm in the past few years. Baelor had decided that his son should be better mentally prepared for his future position as Hand than he had been all these years ago, and would therefore sit in meetings and overtake tasks of handling minor correspondances. 

This left him scarcely any time to spend with you privately, which irked him endlessly. He had waited nigh on a decade to see you again, and that he had. But to have you back again, his sun and stars, the Maiden herself walking the earth, and not be able to spend every waking moment with you, was bothersome to say the least. The source of most of the additional burdens to the crown lied in the Riverlands and Dornish Marches, where minor revolts were rising periodically, as a persistent remnant of the Blackfyre rebellion. 

His only hope was that once you were wed, he’d be granted a few months’ leave to relish the newlywed period away from the capital, perhaps even journey to Essos for a much needed sabbatical. Either that, or the stubborn rebels would finally be exterminated once and for all, relieving the council of at least half its workload. 

The other, more pressing issue was another matter altogether. Listening to Daeron and Aerion boast their misadventures in brothels and taverns, Valarr had become dismally, hopelessly aware of his lack of experience. His inexperience stemmed from the duties imposed upon him from a young age, the sense of righteousness and virtue hammered into his head since he was but a child, and the fact that he'd been pining over his childhood companion, and his now betrothed. 

His rigid sense of duty and devotion meant that he had no intentions of becoming an inadequate husband, much less one who failed to satisfy his wife in any way. He was only a man, and the desire to please and serve his future wife had been blooming in his stomach ever since the betrothal had been set in stone. Then the first kiss you shared under the heart tree had truly awakened something in him; a carnal, red-hot desire for more. The problem was, he hadn't a sliver of an idea how he would provide you with all you deserved in that department.

So, with the wedding date closing in with terrifying speed, he had devised a plan with which he would overcome this plight.

And this was how he ended up in the restricted section of the castle’s library at the hour of ghosts, having abused his power as a crown prince to obtain the keys to the gate guarding the section, firmly locked with a sizable pad. As he fought to keep his eyes open, he drifted through the aisles, spotting bound books and scrolls on quite questionable topics, and dismissing them. Briefly, he wondered why in the seven hells the Keep's library kept track of every possible topic known to man, including A Study on Therapeutic Properties of Firewyrm Sputum: a Review of Existing Literature and an Analysis on the Possible Modern Uses of the Material by Grand Maester Morgyle. He came to a halt when he arrived at the subsection which he’d been looking for: aisles after aisles of literature deemed too obscene and indecent for the castle’s oh-so-puritan inhabitants. 

He walked through the aisles and searched through the tomes with the determination of a man on a mission, with only his lantern to light the way. There, he tracked down the volumes he’d been searching for: manuscripts on the way of seven sighs and the sixteen seats of pleasure - how the Lysene pillow houses would train their bedslaves - collections on Lysene poetry written by the priestesses who worship the goddess of love, and a thick, leather bound book named “Arts of the female pleasure” with the love goddess of Lys depicted upon its cover. If Valarr was to learn, he was going to learn from the very masters of the art. 

Satisfied with his bounty, he proceeded to exit the library, not forgetting to lock the gate to the restricted area behind him, and cooped up in his quarters with his newly acquired resources. Judging by the thickness of the manuscript and the leather-bound book, he would need most of his free time before the wedding to get through the material with enough time to spare, just in case he'd need to revisit some topics. He lit the candles in his chamber, then sat himself down at his writing desk with the Lyseni manuscript. It was going to be a long night.

-

You were disgruntled of late. Your dear betrothed, the crown prince of the realm, had been quite distant in the past few weeks. He seemed to be “occupied” with only gods knew what, even though you knew for a fact that there were no council meetings taking part in that specific time, and when you did grasp a chance to see him, his eyes were sunken in from lack of sleep. Every time you’d ask him which matters were consuming him so, he’d only mumble about council and correspondence duties. Lies. Egregious lies these were. You narrowed your eyes at the memory, and aggressively stabbed a honeyed fig with your dessert fork.

On the other side of the table in your family’s solar sat your mother, watching you with a concerned look in her eyes at your seemingly unprovoked assault upon the innocent sweet treats.

“Darling, which crime have these figs committed for you to punish them so?” Your mother scrunched her eyebrows in worry.

“They might as well be vile traitors, mother. Abhorrent liars. Foul villains.” You hissed.

“I doubt the figs are capable of being as such; might you be speaking of a certain… prince? I have noticed you two are not spending as much time with another as of late.” She carefully breached the topic.

“Well, I would spend some time with him, if he was not currently avoiding me in false pretenses. He seems to be perpetually occupied with one matter or another.” You pouted.

“And why do you suppose he is acting so?” Your mother’s eyebrows rose in concern.

“Seven hells if I know. But if he has gained a mistress or changed his mind on the wedding, I will strangle him with my bare hands, even if it costs me my head.” You scoffed, still assaulting the blameless honeyed figs.

“I doubt he has, my dear. It is clear as day to anyone that he is quite besotted with you, there must be some other explanation. Perhaps I could ask Jena?” She smiled in an attempt to soothe your ire. 

“Whatever the reason may be, it better be a good one. I'm quite cross with him."

-

Currently, Jena was watching an exceptionally entertaining, but equally pathetic situation unfold before her eyes. The initial thing that raised her suspicions was when her son had begun retreating into his chambers in his free time and instructing the guards not to let anybody in, only to emerge hours later with ink-smudged hands; and the other indication that something was amiss was the ever growing dark shadow under his eyes when he'd show to break fast with the family. Baelor had denied assigning him any additional correspondence duties at her interrogation, so only gods knew what he'd been doing. 

As a result, he'd been spending significantly less time with his betrothed or his family when he was free of his council duties, and Jena could see your irritation rise every so slightly every passing day. 

As any overexcited and overly curious mother would, she'd then asked the chambermaids and the page boys who were tasked with cleaning her son's chambers. The chambermaids refused to speak of what they'd witnessed at the order of the prince, but a page boy finally cracked when she'd bribed him with new leather boots to replace his tattered old ones. 

"M'lady, the prince has been... extensively studying quite sensitive literature," the boy, who couldn't have been older than three-and-ten of age, mumbled. "And he's thoroughly instructed everyone to never mention the books he's taken from the library."

Her eyebrows rose at that. "Sensitive literature?"

"Marta, the chambermaid, has said that they're from... Lys." The poor boy blushed. 

At the reveal, Jena's eyebrows climbed impossibly higher on her forehead. She thanked the boy and sent him on his merry way. Then, she sat herself down by the tea table to process what she'd heard. After pondering the circumstances, what with the wedding ceremony taking place in mere weeks' time and Valarr's known disapproval of his cousins' rather indulgent habits, she finally derived the source of her son's behavior. He was nervous before the wedding night. 

And he'd been coping with his unease with the way he knew best: studying the topic the best he could before facing the source of his nervousness. At that, she had to suppress an amused snort even though she was alone in the room. Her sweet, gentle boy, who'd been besotted with one girl his whole life, was completely and utterly terrified of being an inadequate husband. It was endearing, really, but if only it hadn't been causing the said girl's tempers to sour. 

So, when her dear friend came to her, inquiring about her son, as her own daughter had been growing ever more irritated, she'd simply told her the truth. Perhaps not the full truth, but a slight omission of truth, may the gods forgive her. She said that her son had been quite anxious before the wedding, feared he would not be an adequate husband to his love, and had been... coping. Nothing about Lys, nothing about the first wedding night, just... anxiety about being less than adequate his beloved. She'd nodded, still with a slight puzzled look, but accepted her answer as it was. 

-

Your irritation had newly reached its new peak when for a fortnight in a row, your only private, quiet time windows with Valarr had been one hour long walks or afternoon tea in the gardens at the very most. Afterwards, he'd excuse himself and be off in his chambers, doing only gods knew what, or be off with his father on his princely duties. Deep in your heart, you knew it was selfish to wish that he wouldn't have to attend so many meetings or write correspondences. But it felt quite rational to be cross at him for leaving your presence with a false pretext to retreat to his chambers. 

After convening with Lady Jena, your mother had come back to your quarters, and had offered a vague explanation that perhaps, Valarr was simply quite anxious before the wedding. You nodded politely at the suggestion, but the argument failed to convince you. Why would he have need to be nervous? Why now? And why would he distance himself so for that reason? 

Before, you knew that Valarr loved you. Before, you knew that he'd do anything to keep you happy. Before, you knew that you stood on the very top of his priorities. Now, that confidence was dwelling, and left you with a sense of hurt and bitterness where it used to be. And your mind, as would be the case with any sensible person in this situation, started to weave scenarios. And no good ones, at that. There was this creeping sense of dread that perhaps, he'd finally snapped out of his childish whims and seen you for what you were: just a dear childhood friend, nothing more. He was a handsome, valiant, kind, gentle prince, and you were just... you. 

So, the next time his page had arrived to extend Valarr's invitation to take lunch with him in the gardens, the ugly, petty monster in your heart raised its head. You looked up from your book and set it down on your lap, and huffed out an angry little exhale. 

"Tell the prince I won't be able to join. In fact, I will be indisposed for the next sennight, and he should not bother to ask why that is." With that, you dismissed him with a wave of your hand. The page boy hesitated with an uncertain look, but at your persistent ignorance of his presence, he turned on his heels and left. 

A small pang of satisfaction filled your heart, but it turned sour soon after. But you hardened your resolve; if he thinks he can neglect your presence so, then two could play this game. 

-

Valarr's world was fraying at the seams. Since the page boy had arrived with the news of your rejection, he'd been drifting through his day in a numb, melancholic state. As the Lord of the Tides was prattling on about the Stepstones and possible pirate sightings, his brain simply tuned him out and locked him in his own little bubble of confusion and despondency. A sennight, you had said. A whole sennight. One might think that seven days were nothing compared to the decade he'd spent waiting for you, but in his melodramatic state, it might as well have been eons. 

It was one thing waiting for your return while harboring his childish affection, but it was another thing to be finally, finally be reunited with his love, be betrothed to you, then lose your company for seven whole days again. 

Perhaps she was not feeling well, a hopeful inner voice suggested. Perhaps you'd just been exhausted from the wedding preparations and needed rest. 

That was what a rational, reasonable man might think. But while Valarr was by all means a most rational, logical man when it came to other matters, that rule crumbled to dust when it came to you. 

After the council meeting, he'd skipped his daily studies of the stolen — borrowed, he reminded himself — Lysene literature for the first time in a while. Instead, he instructed the castle's sugar baker to whip up your favorite treat, lemon and honey cakes, and to send a maidservant to carry it up to your quarters. Following his visit to the kitchens, he summoned the maester, and requested he brew a soothing tea for the maidservant to bring it to you along with the cakes. He did promise to do anything for your happiness after all, and it was the least he could do at this moment.

He prayed that it would ease your current predicament soon enough. 

It did not. 

The following days, his inquiries about your wellbeing went unanswered, and when he'd knocked on your doors himself, the maid came to the door to relay that you were still indisposed. So, he took the only possible course of action. 

The kitchens were instructed to keep extra staff, as to insure they'd prepare your favorite meals apart from the rest of the castle's dishes. The maesters were tasked with brewing the best soothing, nourishing teas, to ensure you were being supplied with the utmost quality of care. The sugar baker was in overdrive, and he had fetched a second baker to assist him with the additional workload. Then, he sent the softest silk feathered pillows and blankets, so you'd be comfortable while cooped up in your chambers. As that was not enough in his mind, the goldsmith had been commissioned to craft a new bracelet for you, in hopes that it would lift your spirits. 

This chain of events had not gone unnoticed by Baelor, as he asked Valarr to stay behind after a Small Council meeting, and inquired about him sending the castle's staff into a frenzy, to which Valarr offered his honest answer. 

"So the lady is refusing to see you." Baelor raised an eyebrow at the simpleness of the cause of it all. 

Valarr nodded, distraught evident in his eyes. "And I simply do not know how to solve this, father. What if... what if she has-" his voice broke off, not wanting to voice out his biggest fear that maybe, you'd come to the realization that you'd made a mistake agreeing to marry him after all. 

Baelor sighed. He was Baelor Breakspear, the Hammer that had broken the ranks of the Blackfyre army at the Battle of Redgrass Field. But he was simply not equipped to deal with matters of the young, melodramatic hearts. Mentally, he cursed himself for addressing this matter in the council chambers instead of in his family's solar, where Jena would have been there to handle this. 

"I doubt that, my son." With the utmost of his abilities, he offered a curt consolation. Unsurprisingly, Valarr did not seem calmed by that. "What if you simply asked her? Speak with her. Directly. I am sure a heartfelt plea would allow you at least a few words with her, even for a few moments." He added. 

Valarr nodded, though the weight on his chest remained firmly planted where it'd been. 

-

The hot midday sun was dwindling from the sky, and gave way to a warm, comfortable late afternoon breeze. You were lounging on the chaise longue on the balcony, enjoying the cool rafts threading through your hair, leisurely eating lemon cakes, and pouring over a book on the history of the Rhoynar when your peace was broken by your maidservant notifying you of Valarr's presence at the door. A small glimmer of satisfaction flickered in your heart at landing a blow to his heart just as he'd bruised yours. But this time, unlike any other time, he did not leave the door when you'd waved at the maid and told her to relay that you were currently indisposed. 

"The prince insists that he must speak to you, m'lady," she looked back at you with an apologetic look. 

At that, you let out a sigh before closing your book and padding to the door. The maid excused herself, and took her leave. 

When you arrived at the door and swung it open to face Valarr, his eyes widened in relief at seeing you after five days' silence. 

"My prince," you greeted him, deliberately using his title knowing his dislike for it coming from you. 

"Love, I've missed you. I was worried that-" he hesitated, not daring to say the words out loud. The bags under his eyes had gotten visibly darker, and his eyes were red-rimmed. 

You raised an eyebrow. 

"That you were unwell, that- that it had all gotten too much, I-" he paused, looking for words. 

"I'm quite well, my prince. As you can see." You kept your tone neutral, but your heart was ever so slightly yielding, seeing his distress. Valarr's lips closed at that, and you almost regretted your words as they came out. 

"Please, darling. If something is amiss, just tell me. I did promise that I'd do anything to ensure your happiness, and I meant it." He pleaded, his eyes desperately searching your face for a hint. "Whatever it is, I shall fix it. If it is not in the scope of my abilities, I shall search the realm for someone who can. But please, tell me, love."

A corner of your heart cracked open at his earnest look. Looking at him, there was no imagining that he'd have changed his mind on the wedding or taken a paramour. At the same time, a hint of guilt at your own pettiness filled the newly formed crack in your heart. 

"In truth, Val," honesty flew out of your lips as though a dam had broken. "I'd not thought that you wished for my presence anyways."

"What could possibly make you think that, love? You must know just how completely my heart, my life belongs to you. Has someone said something? What is it?" His eyebrows scrunched in distress, as though he could not comprehend the words coming out of your mouth. 

"Well, you've been quite distant of late. In the last weeks, it feels I have barely seen you." You chewed on your lower lip. 

Valarr blinked as the realization hit him. He'd been so consumed with his worries about his own inexperience out of fear of disappointing you, that he'd been cooped up during most of his unoccupied time in his chambers, buried in the Lysene manuscript, whilst his beloved had been growing distraught over his secrecy. He was an idiot, as he came to realize in this moment. 

"And you thought- that I've been avoiding your presence?" Valarr gaped, reeling in his own ignorance. You simply nodded at that, your lower lip still caught between your teeth. 

"Oh seven hells, my love," he breathed out, gingerly stepping forwards, a hand reaching out to cup your face. "I would never. I could never, ever not wish for your presence. I apologize that I have not made that clear, my love." He planted a kiss upon your forehead, as though he was affirming his point. 

You stepped back slightly and craned your neck to gaze up at his face, still unsatisfied with the resolution. "What have you been so occupied with, then? You've been spending most of your times in your chambers, not allowing anyone to disturb you while at it." You pouted slightly, but in Valarr's eyes, it was simply an adorable sight to behold. Not that he'd ever tell you. Moreover, you were starting to threaten one of his more guarded secrets with that endearing pout, and he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn as the topic loomed over his shoulders. 

"I've been... studying," he searched for adequate words to describe his lectures, "things for the wedding." His cheeks flushed a bright red. 

Your eyebrows rose in confusion, and you blinked. "Things? For the wedding?" 

"Yes, for the," Valarr cleared his throat, blushing even more, "wedding night."

"Oh? And what might have you been studying?" Now you were truly intrigued as to where this was heading. The only knowledge on the topic stemmed from the septas, or hushed gossip between other ladies or maidservants. 

Valarr's gaze pointed to anywhere but you, his lips silently opened and closed a few times while he searched for words, but decided not to voice out the majority of them. 

"Some Lysene literature," his voice was almost a whisper now. "To- to ensure our wedding night would be... pleasant."

Oh. Gods. Valarr, you impossible, ridiculous, adorable man. You couldn't suppress the giggle that escaped your lips, and felt your cheeks heat up. At your giggle, the poor prince looked mortified. 

"Valarr, you're a fool. A wonderful, lovable fool," you said breathlessly. 

At that, the prince hesitantly turned his gaze back to you, his cheeks still burning. "Are you teasing me, love?"

"If you'd call it that, yes, Val. But frankly, I am quite touched that you've been cooped up in your chambers studying Lyseni scripture; I had thought you had gained a mistress, or something of the like." You smiled up at him, relief coursing through you. 

"A mistress?" Valarr repeated with an incredulous look in his eyes. "Love, if it has not been obvious enough, I've only ever had eyes for you since we'd met in the godswood all these years back. How could I ever take a mistress, when you're finally my betrothed, my future wife?" 

"Well, you have been spending an awful lot of time alone in your chambers, mind you. A girl's thoughts are bound to wander sooner than late." You said defensively, but still with a teasing air. 

"You're the only thing my mind wanders to," Valarr approached you again, tipping your chin back ever so slightly to face him. "In council meetings, while writing impossibly dull correspondences, while reading, when I eat, sleep, breathe, you are and always will be the destination my thoughts wander to." 

With that, his lips came down to meet yours. His lips were so soft, warm, and gentle in their movement. As they moved against your own lips, you felt the slightest bit of stubble scratch against your chin; he must've been quite distraught if the otherwise perfect prince had forgone his daily shave. You welcomed the sensation, and brought your hands up to rest upon his shoulders. 

At your touch, he let out the slightest groan, and pulled you in by the waist to hold you impossibly closer. Your arms were now wrapped around his neck, a hand carefully stroking the brown and white locks at the nape of his neck. His upper back muscles tensed at that, and his hand at your waist tightened its grip. 

When you broke off the kiss for air, Valarr's mismatched irises had been near completely swallowed up by his pupils, and his lips were slightly parted while he caught his breath. 

"So Val, if your mind wanders to me while reading, have you also had thoughts of me during your studies?" You grinned up at him. Teasing the poor, blushing prince was always such great fun, after all. His pretty cheeks always turned the loveliest shade of pink. 

Valarr stammered, his wits leaving him to fend for himself once again. 

"Well I did not- I mean, I haven't had any unchaste thoughts of you, I could never- I mean, yes, but-" he closed his mouth before embarrassing himself any further. His hand came up to his forehead, as though his own misspeaking had delivered him a migraine. 

You giggled again, which did not help the bright red flush on his face. You gently pried his hands into your own, and placed them on your waist. 

"Val, I'm only jesting," you struggled to suppress your laugh, "but perhaps you can show me on our wedding night which improper thoughts you definitely haven't had about me."

With your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, you rose on your tiptoes to meet his lips with your own before he could answer. Your lips were moving more fluidly against one another now, and you thought to yourself that you might just get addicted to this, to his soft, plush lips, his stubble grazing your skin, and the taste of his lips; something uniquely Valarr. His mouth opened a little in a sigh, and when you tried to pull him down farther to deepen the kiss, he pulled away. 

"Gods, pretty girl. You'll be the death of me," he huffed out breathlessly, and you let out a quiet laugh. 

"I do not know what you could possibly mean by that," you grinned, and tugged on his doublet's collar. "Come back down here, Val." 

His hands gently grasped your wrists, and pried your grips loose from his doublet. 

"Love, I fear I might get carried away if I do. I will not dishonor you so, especially when our wedding date is so near." He raised one of your hands to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the knuckles. 

This time, it was your time to blush. A warm ball of desire was starting to gather in your belly, as your gaze traced his beautiful mismatched eyes, framed by unfairly long eyelashes, and the sharp slope of his nose, followed by the angular line of his cheekbones and jaw. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and your eyes followed the movement as if in a trance. He noticed your look, and his pupils dilated impossibly widely at that. 

"I must take my leave, darling. I'll see you in the gardens for lunch tomorrow?" Entranced by his lips, you only nodded at his request. He left you with one last peck to your forehead, then turned around before disappearing into the corridors. 

The wedding night was looking to be a lot more... eventful than you'd thought. 

-

Notes: sorry this one is so short! But I wanted to have a brief lead-up to the wedding night fic, and didn't want to drag it out too much. I'm absolutely floored at all the love this AU got, I did not expect people to like this little fictional couple I randomly thought of one day🥹

[theladysoleil]

The wolf he chose ||

CHAPTER 10 ||

VALARR TARGARYEN X FEM!STARK!READER

□ summary: After the celebration following the trial, you seek refuge beneath the weirwood tree to clear your mind, only for Valarr to find you once again. What begins as a quiet conversation filled with gratitude and unspoken feelings quickly turns into something neither of you can stop, nor undo.

□ word count: 4.5k

□ tropes: slow burn, he fell first and harder, hurt-comfort, No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is a badass and can fight, reader and valarr are adults.

□ warnings: afab reader, slight misogny, violence, death, cursing, reader has a direwolf, no beta read.

□ a/n: It took me so long to perfect this chapter. Also i started working on a new baelor angst fic, cant wait to complete that :). Thank you so much for reading 💛💛 see you next week.

Chapter 9

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The Great Hall was alive with celebration. The voices of drunken lords echoed beneath the ceilings of the hall as bards played lively songs from one corner. Servants hurried between tables, carrying roasted meats, steaming pies and overflowing goblets of ale, weaving around laughing nobles.

And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos was you.

After the trial had ended, you had returned to your chambers for a much needed bath before spending what felt like an eternity in your father's solar discussing Lord Mallery's punishment and the unrest it might cause amongst the southern lords.

By the time you had finally entered the Great Hall, almost every pair of eyes had turned towards you.

The Northerners had congratulated you on your victory, praising you with pride shining in their eyes.

The southerners had been different. Many older lords had eagerly introduced their sons or widowed relatives to you, while younger knights and heirs had attempted to charm you with smiles they no doubt believed irresistible. Every few minutes another unfamiliar face would appear before you with compliments that grew more exaggerated than the last.

One even claimed the Maiden herself must have carved your face from marble. You had nearly laughed.

It had been over an hour, yet you still had not managed to reach the High Table. Instead, Alyssane had practically kidnapped you almost the moment you stepped inside and proudly introduced you to the group of young southern ladies she had somehow befriended during their stay.

To your absolute horror, they had spent most of the evening lamenting the fact that you had been born a woman.

"If only you had been a man," one sighed dramatically. "I would've married you."

Another had simply shrugged. "I still would, if you allow it my lady."

Your ears had burned scarlet while Alyssane had laughed herself breathless beside you. Northern ladies, as William often liked to remind you, had always swooned over you. But unlike the southerners they usually do not possess enough courage to announce it aloud.

Yet another difference between the North and the South.

You quietly accepted another slice of cake while Alyssane enthusiastically retold the events of the trial for what had to be the fifth time.

"...and then she simply walked into the courtyard covered in blo-"

"My Lady Stark." The unfamiliar voice interrupted her.

You looked up to find a young man standing before your table. He could not have seen more than twenty namedays old. Judging by both his accent and attire, he was undoubtedly from the South. He bowed politely before extending a hand towards you.

"My lady..." His cheeks flushed crimson. "May I be so bold as to ask for a dance? I fear you have quite thoroughly bewitched me."

You stared at him for a brief moment. Then, internally, wondered whether shoving his face into the cake would be considered poor etiquette.

This made seventeen men today who had claimed to have fallen hopelessly in love with you. Taking a slow breath, you forced your most polite smile onto your face.

"I am honoured by the offer, my lord. Unfortunately...I do not dance."

You deliberately returned your attention to your cake, silently praying he would understand the dismissal. And thankfully, he did. After a hurried apology, the poor man practically fled.

Beside you, Alyssane failed spectacularly at suppressing her laughter. You slowly turned to glare at her and she immediately looked away.

With an exhausted groan, you rested your forehead against the table. You wished, quite sincerely, to be anywhere else.

"My Lady Stark."

Another voice came from behind you. Your head snapped upwards, every intention of refusing whoever had interrupted your misery.

"...Ethan?"

He stood before you with one hand extended and the most sympathetic smile you had ever seen him wear.

You raised an eyebrow.

"These dance proposals won't stop until someone actually dances with you." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Allow me to be the sacrificial lamb."

You stared at him for another second. Then immediately accepted his hand. The two of you made your way towards the centre of the hall, joining the countless other couples already swaying gently to the music.

"Gods..." you muttered beneath your breath as Ethan guided you through the dance. "I hate this."

"I know."

"I have developed a headache because of it."

Ethan laughed. "I was wondering why you looked ready to declare war." He spun you gently before continuing. "So...how many?"

"Seventeen men." You sighed dramatically before continuing. "And two women."

Ethan's eyes gleamed with poorly concealed amusement. "Then I truly deserve your gratitude."

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, yes. Thank you, Lord Glover. My eternal thanks."

"I shall expect a statue."

"You shall receive another kick."

He laughed again before his expression shifted ever so slightly.

"What?"

He nodded subtly over your shoulder.

"If looks could kill...I'd already be dead."

Confused, you allowed Ethan to guide the dance until his back faced the High Table, and you had the view of the table over his shoulders.

"Don't look immediately," he murmured. "That'll make it obvious."

Naturally, you looked immediately, and your breath caught in your throat.

Valarr was staring directly at the two of you. There was no smile upon his face, only something that looked painfully close to hurt. His jaw remained tightly clenched, his mismatched eyes fixed upon Ethan with an intensity you had never seen from the gentle prince before.

Then, his eyes met yours. You looked away so quickly your neck nearly hurt. Your heart began pounding against your ribs, as you remembered the way he had smiled down at you after the trial. The pride shining in his eyes. The warmth of that smile had lingered with you long after you had left the courtyard.

You had wanted to speak with him afterwards. Instead, duties had pulled you in opposite directions. Even tonight, when you entered the Great Hall, your eyes had instinctively searched for him first. He had been seated beside Berena as always, but he as looking at you.

Then the nobles had surrounded you, Alyssane had dragged you away, and the moment had slipped through your fingers. Ethan's amused chuckle pulled you back.

"Tch..." He shook his head.

"Looks like the prince isn't the only fool in love."

"There is nothing like that."

You answered far too quickly, and Ethan merely smiled.

"Of course." His grin widened as he looked at your properly.

"And I suppose the two of you simply keep staring at each other because the roasted venison wasn't cooked properly."

You stepped squarely onto his foot.

"Ouch!"

"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

The music ended and you offered Ethan a quick bow before anyone else could approach. Without another word, you slipped from the Great Hall.

You had no intention of remaining there long enough for an eighteenth proposal.

Your sword still needed tending. Although the blood had long since been washed from its blade, it still required oil before it could be sheathed properly for the night.

The armoury guards greeted you with respectful nods as you collected a clean cloth and a bottle of oil before quietly making your way towards the Godswood. The moment you stepped beneath the ancient trees, the noise of the feast faded behind you. Only the whispering of the leaves remained.

Specter already rested beside the great stone beneath the weirwood. His ears perking up the instant he saw you before he lazily stretched and wandered over.

You smiled at him as you scratched behind his ear, "At least someone has had a pleasant evening."

Settling upon the familiar stone, you dipped the cloth into the oil before drawing your sword across your lap, working the cloth across the steel.

For several peaceful minutes, nothing disturbed the silence beyond the rustling leaves overhead and Specter's slow breathing beside you.

Eventually, however, Specter's ears twitched. The great wolf lifted his head and sniffed the air. But he showed no signs of aggression, meaning the whoever it was, they were not a threat.

You sighed softly and closed your eyes.

"Ethan..."

You had already begun rehearsing whatever sarcastic remark you intended to greet him with. Instead, your name reached your ears, and your eyes snapped to confirm that you did just hallucinate the voice.

Several feet away stood Valarr. He wore a black and crimson doublet embroidered with dragons that shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. A heavy fur-lined cloak rested upon his shoulders, fastened with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. His hair was more untidy than it had been during the feast. And his expression...looked relieved almost.

For several long moments, neither of you spoke. The sword resting across your lap was entirely forgotten as your gaze drifted towards those mismatched eyes once again.

"Valarr..." His name escaped your lips before you could stop it, and the silence finally broke.

Valarr scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I promise I wasn't following you." He spoke so quickly that you almost laughed. "I didn't even know you were here. I only wanted some fresh air, and I remembered you saying the Godswood was peaceful, so I thought perhaps I would walk here and then I—"

A quiet laugh escaped you, and you bit your lip before it grew any louder.

"It's alright." You smiled reassuringly. "I believe you."

Valarr visibly relaxed. He approached slowly before stopping a respectful distance away, his hands once again finding their familiar place clasped neatly behind his back.

You realised, rather belatedly, that you had begun staring again. You quickly lowered your gaze back towards your sword.

"You come here often to clean it?"

You nodded. "I do." You gently ran the cloth along the blade. "It is peaceful here."

Valarr glanced around the Godswood before nodding in quiet agreement. His eyes drifted towards Specter, who regarded him with sleepy indifference. Valarr offered the direwolf a tiny smile. And you hid another smile of your own.

"I..." Valarr began quietly as you looked up at him, "I never had the chance to congratulate you."

A breath escaped you, warmth immediately creeping across your cheeks. You cleared your throat as you slid your sword back into its sheath, trying your best to appear unaffected. "Thank you."

Valarr shook his head almost immediately, his mismatched eyes never leaving yours.

"No, I mean it." His voice carried an earnestness that made your chest tighten. "I have never seen anyone fight like that before. Even the master at arms back at King's Landing does not fight the way you do. Every strike was precise, every movement deliberate. You looked comfortable. Like the sword belonged in your hand."

He paused for only a heartbeat before continuing, his excitement carrying his words faster than he could seem to think. "You never looked afraid. Even when everyone was watching you, it felt as though you had forgotten the crowd entirely. You only saw your opponent. It was..." He breathed out a small laugh and scratched the back of his neck. "It was incredible."

You stared at him. No one had ever spoken about your swordsmanship like that. Most compliments had always come with conditions about how you were good enough for a woman. For someone who was never meant to inherit. There had always been something attached to the praise.

But Valarr had simply called you incredible. Your heart fluttered so violently that it almost hurt, and you looked away before the prince could notice just how affected you were.

"Thank you," you repeated more quietly, your voice softer this time. "Truly."

You took a small breath before looking back at him. "And...thank you for speaking up during the council."

Valarr visibly tensed before slowly relaxing again. From the corner of your eye, you caught the faint red spreading across the tips of his ears.

"It was nothing," he murmured. "I only did what anyone should have done."

You smiled gently. "That may be true, but no one found the courage to speak against another lord before an entire council."

Your eyes met his. "You did, and I am grateful."

For a long moment, Valarr simply stood there, his gaze lowered as though he did not quite know what to do with your gratitude. He finally inclined his head ever so slightly before looking towards the great weirwood standing proudly before the two of you.

Silence settled once more between the two of you. It was not uncomfortable, if anything, it felt peaceful.

The wind stirred the crimson leaves overhead, carrying with it the distant sounds of celebration from the castle.

Then Valarr spoke again. "I lied."

Your brows drew together. "You lied?"

He swallowed. "I did follow you."

His shoulders stiffened immediately afterward. "I-I mean- not in a strange way." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I saw you leave the hall, and you looked uncomfortable. I know how persistent southern lords can be. And then I saw you dancing with Lord Glover."

Something flickered across his expression. Something uncertain and something that lingered close to hurt. "I thought perhaps he had upset you. And I remembered finding you here before."

He laughed nervously, though there was very little humour in it. "So, I guessed this was where you would come." He looked down at the ground. "I am sorry if I overstepped."

Something inside your chest softened. Without truly thinking, you stepped closer, your hand reaching for his gloved one almost on instinct, your fingers wrapping gently around it.

And you can feel Valarr freeze. His eyes slowly lifting until they met yours once more.

"I must say," you murmured with the smallest smile, "you worry far too much, my prince."

A faint blush coloured his cheeks.

"But..." you continued softly, "...I find it rather endearing."

His lips parted ever so slightly, you could almost hear his heart stop.

"And Ethan and I are only friends," you explained. "We have known each other since childhood. We argue, we tease each other, and occasionally I contemplate pushing him into a lake. He can be quite insufferable."

You can see Valarr's shoulders easing ever so slightly.

"So..." he asked cautiously, almost afraid of the answer, "...Lord Ethan is not your lover?"

You could not help the disbelief laugh that escaped you. The expression on your face turned positively horrified.

"Gods, no."

You wrinkled your nose dramatically.

"He is practically my brother."

The relief that crossed Valarr's face was almost immediate. His entire posture relaxed, and the tension he had been carrying seemed to melt away all at once. You looked away before he could notice the smile threatening to spread across your own lips.

"Then," he murmured sheepishly, "I apologise for assuming."

When you turned back towards him, you realised just how little distance remained between the two of you. Neither of you had noticed yourselves moving closer. And his face was barely inches from yours.

For the first time, you noticed the freckles scattered lightly across his cheeks and nose. You had never realised he had them. They somehow made him look even softer, even more handsome.

Your eyes drifted lower to look at his lips, only for the briefest of moments. Warmth rushed through you so suddenly that you almost forgot how to breathe.

When your gaze lifted again, Valarr was already looking at you. His mismatched eyes searching yours with the same quiet wonder and daze that you imagined was reflected in your own.

Neither of you moved or spoke. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your hand, and your heartbeat thundered against your ribs.

You knew this was wrong, and exactly who he was meant to marry. You knew what your duty was, that you should step back and let go.

You should say something.

Instead, you remained exactly where you were. Blaming the blurr of your judgement on your blood, which was still running hot from the trial.

Valarr hesitated slightly, and you watched uncertainty cross his face. As though he wished to move closer but feared he had imagined everything.

Then slowly, he leaned forward. His forehead almost brushed yours, his lips mere inches away from your own as his breath fanned softly across your face.

You closed your eyes for only a heartbeat before opening them again, meeting his gaze one last time. And then, you were the one who closed the remaining distance.

Your lips met his.

It was soft and tentative. Almost questioning. For a fraction of a second, Valarr stood perfectly still. Then he kissed you back with the same hesitant gentleness, as though terrified that moving too quickly would shatter the moment entirely. His body moving to press against yours.

One of his hands lifted carefully to cup your cheek. It was warm despite the cold air around you. Your fingers tightened around his other hand without thinking.

Time seemed to lose all meaning. There was no rustling of the leaves or the distant celebration from Winterfell. The only thing you felt, was the warmth of the prince who was standing impossibly close.

It was everything you had imagined a first kiss might be. So gentle and so innocent.

Then reality returned all at once. Your eyes flew open, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

Berena.

You just kissed your sister's possible betrothed.

Everything crashed into you with enough force to make your stomach twist. You stumbled backwards, your hands pressing against Valarr's chest.

He stepped away immediately. The colour drained from both of your faces. Behind you, Specter let out a quiet, uneasy whine. Valarr looked every bit as horrified as you felt.

"My-" He swallowed. "I...I am-." His words tumbled over one another, his own breath coming in panicked pants. "I should not have-I never meant- I-"

He took one hesitant step towards you. But you instinctively took another step back. Your ears rang, and chest felt painfully tight. Tears blurred your vision before you even realised they had formed.

"I..." Your voice broke. "I need to go."

It was barely more than a whisper. You turned before he could stop you. The trees blurred together as you ran through the Godswood towards the castle without ever looking back.

Valarr remained standing in the Godswood for what felt like hours. His feet refused to move, rooted to the snow beneath them as he struggled to steady his breathing. The cold wind bit at his face, but he scarcely felt it. All he could see was the horrified expression that had crossed your face before you fled.

His first kiss.

Ever since he was a child, he had imagined that whoever became his wife would also be the one to share that first kiss with him. It would be something precious, something he would remember with fondness for the rest of his life.

Instead, all he could remember were the tears that had gathered in your eyes. The way you had looked at him as though the two of you had just made a terrible mistake.

Valarr closed his eyes and dragged a trembling hand through his hair.

Gods.

What had he done?

He should have stopped. He knew better. He knew your sister was the one everyone expected him to marry, and yet the moment you had stepped closer, every lesson about duty and honour had abandoned him. He had let his heart decide where his mind should have.

And now he had hurt you and the thought alone made his stomach churn. His fingers tightened in his hair until the slight sting grounded him.

He needed to apologise.

Now.

Valarr turned and broke into a run. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he raced through the Godswood and across the courtyard, barely noticing the startled guards who stepped aside to let him pass. His cloak billowed behind him as he hurried through the castle corridors, his thoughts running faster than his feet.

He did not even know where your chambers were. But if he had to knock on every single door in Winterfell until he found you, then he would.

As he rounded another corner, he nearly collided with Meera. The maid balanced a plate carrying slices of cake, her brows knitting together in confusion the moment she recognised him.

"My prince?"

Valarr stopped so abruptly that he nearly lost his footing.

"My lady Meera," he breathed, struggling to collect himself. "Please..."

Your name escaped his lips before he swallowed hard.

"Can you tell me where her chambers are?"

Meera blinked several times. "My prince... I..." She glanced down the corridor before looking back at him. "Why would you need to know that? I do not believe it would be appropriate."

"I do not care." The words left him before he could soften them.

"I need-" He took another shaky breath, his eyes searching Meera's desperately. "No...I have to speak with her. I beg you."

The maid studied him carefully. His hair was dishevelled, his breathing uneven, his hands still trembling ever so slightly. Something in her expression shifted.

"My prince," she said gently, "I do not think that would be wise."

Valarr's heart sank.

"The lady requested not to be disturbed tonight. She did not look herself when she returned. I do not believe she wishes to see anyone."

"Please." His voice cracked. "I only wish to apologise."

Before Meera could answer, footsteps echoed through the corridor and a Kingsguard approached before bowing respectfully.

"Your Grace."

Valarr turned sharply.

"What is it?"

The impatience in his own voice surprised even him.

"Prince Baelor requests your immediate presence in his chambers."

Valarr frowned. "Tell my father I am unavailable."

The Kingsguard remained perfectly still. "I was given strict instructions that you were to come immediately, Your Grace."

Valarr closed his eyes. For one brief moment, he considered refusing. Then Meera spoke quietly beside him.

"My prince, I think you should attend to your duties." She offered him a sympathetic smile. "I promise you, Lady Stark will not be speaking to anyone tonight."

Those words struck harder than he wished to admit, because he knew the reason for her isolation. He lowered his head before letting out a slow breath.

"If- if you see her," His throat tightened. "Please tell her-" He struggled to force the words out. "Tell her I wish to apologise. And whenever she finds it in her heart to grant me even the smallest amount of forgiveness, I will be waiting."

Meera inclined her head. "I will tell her."

Valarr managed a quiet nod before turning away to follow the Kingsguard. The journey to his father's chambers felt strangely endless. His thoughts refused to settle, every few moments returning to the memory of your lips against his before immediately replacing it with the image of your horrified expression as you ran away.

He knocked softly.

"Come in." His father's voice came from the other side.

Valarr straightened himself as best he could before opening the door. Prince Baelor stood near the fireplace with several letters in his hands while Princess Jena sat comfortably upon one of the chairs nearby.

Valarr bowed. "Father. Mother."

Jena smiled the moment she saw him, though her expression softened almost immediately.

"My sweet boy, you look troubled?"

Valarr forced himself to smile. "It is nothing, Mother."

He turned towards his father. "You wished to see me?"

Prince Baelor folded the letter in his hand before looking up.

"Yes."

He motioned for Valarr to come closer before taking a seat beside his wife.

"I believe it is time we accomplish what we came North to do."

Valarr felt something tighten in his chest.

"I also believe," Baelor continued, "that we have already overstayed Lord Stark's hospitality. Especially after everything that transpired yesterday." He sighed quietly. "I do not wish to burden him any longer."

"What do you mean, Father?"

Jena smiled warmly beside her husband. "What your father means..." She reached over to squeeze Baelor's hand. "...is that it is finally time to offer the betrothal."

Valarr felt his heartbeat stop.

"Lady Berena is intelligent, graceful, and carries herself exactly as one would expect from a future queen," Prince Baelor continued. "She possesses every quality worthy of becoming the future Lady of the Red Keep."

The words blurred together, Valarr scarcely heard another sentence. His breathing grew shallow and his chest tightened painfully.

The thought of marrying Berena after what had happened in the Godswood made him feel ill. Not because Berena lacked anything. But because she was not you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. He lowered his gaze to the floor as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

He had to tell them. He had to tell them that somewhere between your laughter, your stubbornness, your sword, and the quiet evenings beneath the heart tree, he had fallen hopelessly in love with you.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The words lodged themselves somewhere between his heart and his throat, refusing to leave him. His thoughts spiralled until he felt lightheaded, as though the room itself had begun to spin around him.

Then, he heard your name, and his head snapped upwards. Prince Baelor was already watching him. Not with confusion or disappointment, but with an expression Valarr could not quite place.

"Lord Stark's eldest daughter." His father spoke your title slowly, almost thoughtfully. "She is not what many in the southern court would expect a lady to be."

Valarr's heart began hammering.

"She is not soft-spoken." Baelor smiled faintly. "She does not embroider, nor spend her days composing songs."

A small chuckle escaped Princess Jena beside him. "I have heard she once broke a northern lord's nose during training."

Valarr blinked confusingly and his father continued as though he had not spoken at all.

"Many would say she is not ladylike enough." He paused. "I disagree."

Baelor stepped closer until only a single pace separated father and son, and his eyes softened. "A woman who understands diplomacy as well as warfare, who commands respect without demanding it, and who would gladly place herself between danger and those under her protection..."

He smiled proudly.

"That is exactly the sort of queen the realm ought to have."

Valarr felt his ears burn. His heartbeat became so loud he was certain both of his parents could hear it.

Hope. Silly little hope. It bloomed inside his chest so suddenly it almost hurt. If there truly was even the smallest chance, if he could marry you...He would thank the Seven every day for the rest of his life.

Baelor regarded him quietly for another moment before stepping forward. He lifted a hand and rested it gently against Valarr's cheek, just as he had done ever since Valarr had been a little boy frightened by storms.

"And she may not be what the Red Keep expects or wants," Baelor said softly. His thumb brushed against Valarr's cheek with quiet affection.

"But, my son..." A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I believe she is exactly what you need."

Valarr stared at him and he felt something warm bloom inside his chest. A feeling he had thought he had lost the moment you ran from him in the Godswood, and the moment his father had started talking about betrothal.

But as quickly as it had come, the memory of your horrified expression returned, dulling that warmth once more. If there truly was a future where he could stand beside you, then he first had to earn the right to stand before you again.

Chapter 11 [Weekly Updates]

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If you want to be added, please let me know 🫶🏼🫶🏼💛💛

[valarrmorghvlis]

i'm moving flats rn (yes in this fuckass heatwave) so no updates for a while🫠 but in my drafts are ch. 5 of the gold and the steel, a misunderstanding!trope spinoff of the marriage contract, a half crack fic about loser!aerion and blood magicker!reader, AND a sugar daddy-esque baelor smut🤭

good soup is coming!! in like a week's time probably

[pickledturnips]

Squire! Bring me the most pathetic knight with the sluttiest waist in the kingdom!

[valarrmorghvlis]

i know i'm absolutely spoiled from having been in another fandom a few years ago where there were basically dozens of fic updates a day; but the akotsk fandom is giving me legitimate WITHDRAWAL REACTIONS to the point where i actually just decided to do it myself😭

like there are SO many amazing authors here but i'm just so used to having 50k+ words of new reading material for my fave coupling daily

[edgeofgreatness]

let this be your sign to just go watch the supergirl movie, please dont let a bunch of misogynistic bad reviews get the best of you