Fe 🎀

everything.

[byfawn]

cockwarming with owner!simon and kitten hybrid!reader

the apartment was silent except for the movie playing in the background. you were curled up in simon’s lap on the sofa.

“that’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble you felt deep in your chest. “just relax for me.”

you nuzzled your face into the column of his throat as a soft purr erupted in your chest. his other hand stroked from the base of one of your ears all the way down to the tip, making you shiver. you felt yourself nearly dose off from how relaxed your body had become under his gentle touch.

you felt him shift beneath you, a subtle movement. then, there was a new pressure of his cock at your entrance. you stilled, your purring stuttering to a halt. your head tilted, eyes wide and questioning as you looked up at him.

“shhh, kitten,” he soothed, his thumb stroking your cheek. “just makin’ you feel good.”

he pushed in until he was fully seated inside you. you let out a tiny, breathy sound, your body stretching to accommodate his girth. but he didn't move, his hips remained entirely still.

you wiggled your hips, trying to entice him to move. you heard him groan behind you as his hands flew to your hips forcing you still.

“no,” he grunted, the word harsh but his touch firm. “no, sweetheart. don’t move.”

you whimpered, frustrated. you needed to move. you needed to feel him.

“i know,” he breathed, his forehead dropping to yours. his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide from lust. “i know you want to, you perfect little thing. but we were gonna stay just like this. i want to feel this sweet cunt just… holdin’ me. savorin’ you.”

at first, it was just the feeling of being impossibly full. but then, the heat began to build. a warmth that started deep in your core and began to spread. your cunt fluttered around him and you made another soft sound, this one needier.

“there it is,” he praised, his voice thick. “there is that pretty cunt wakin’ up for me. fuck, kitten, you feel that? you are gettin’ all hot and soft for me, aren’t you?”

you could only nod, your breath coming in little pants now. every clench of your walls was amplified. you could feel the veins of his cock pulsing against your walls.

“gonna make a mess, aren’t you?” he rasped, his breath tickling your ears. “gonna soak my cock just from sittin’ on it? you desperate little thing. your cunt is twitchin’ like a heartbeat. fuckin’ adorable.”

his dirty talk shouldn’t have made you clench harder, but it did. a fresh wave of slickness coated him.

he shifted his hands, gripping your thighs. “let’s see you, baby. let me see what you are doin’ to me.”

he spread your legs wider, opening you up. the cool air hit your wet, swollen cunt and you jolted. he looked down to where his cock met your now drooling cunt.

“fuck. look at that. your pretty little cunt is poutin’ for me, all pink and soaked, stretched tight around my cock. it is the most adorable fucking thing i’d ever seen. made just for me, isn’t it?”

you were trembling now, your cunt a twitching and dripping mess around his pulsing cock. you felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes as he gave you a shallow, experimental thrust.

“that’s it, kitten,” he growled, thrusting up into your needy cunt. “now you are ready for me.”

find more of this adorable duo here!

[tojisteddy]

Dad bf!Simon, Like ruffling your hair, pats to the ass, checking your outfit all curt like that makes you feel all confident (lifting your chin up, fixing your shirt, kissing your forehead). Helping you calm down when you’ve got big emotions you can’t describe. Sitting you in his lap, rubbing your back.

Or telling you to “Watch your mouth.” When you get too smart. Or drawling out his words, “Coool it,” when you’re doing too much.

Doesn’t mind wrangling you up out of the truck and making you apologize to the rest of the 141 after being a brat for half the night, drawling out your name, a warning, leans against the hood. The much needed cigarette already to his lips. And you’re a hiccuping and babbling mess while you apologize, it’s all embarrassing because it not like you. You know that, but it’s all too much, tears burning your cheeks as they fall.

You wipe your tears with your wrists, eyes glancing at Simon and more tears building up. Letting out the littlest meek of ‘Dad’

He’s scuff, one end of his lip curving upward, “Fuckin hell, come ‘ere.”

You’re lucky you’re cute, adorable and his, gently tugging you into his chest by the back of your neck. Letting your feet stumble as they catch up to his movements, your sobs get muffled into his shirt. Poor thing doesn’t even know what’s wrong with you, Simon does though.

“Kids just stressed, lil things more than tired.” Simon explains to the men who are all ‘aww’ing’, talking as if you’re not there. Just small, by his side.

“Still got her workin mate?” Gaz asks.

“‘F she likes it, ‘f it’s too much I’ll pull the plug…” his thumb rubs your nape, feeling his arms wrap around you, voice coming out so much softer, “But… can’t say no to ‘er.”

a/n: oh shut up his is cute!! You’re his baby🥺 Im actually get Deja Vu and might have written this already ☠️☠️

[savagebite]

Mean owner! Price who snaps at Bunny hybrid! Reader after they accidentally break the nice ceramic bowl that he gave them for meals. You were just mad you got healthy yucky pellets!!! You wanted cake!!! (´∩｀。)

But he quickly feels bad because you give him the silent treatment. Refusing his pets, hiding under tables. You even refuse grooming time!!! You loved when he would brush your hair for you!! (╥ ω ╥)

So while you’re sleeping he gently scoops you up with those thick arms of his. giving you small kisses and coos while you wake up. And when you try to escape, legs kicking and wiggling with all your might! he just traces your hole. His finger against it. Finally pushing in when you whined enough. His two thick fingers pumping over and over as he whispers small apologies to you.

“Oh, I know, I know, m’such a meanie. M’sorry I’ll never yell again okay? Bunny? You gotta answer or I’ll stop”

You lazily nod your head, which makes him smile. He finally pumps harder making you finish. Your head against his chest as he enjoys finally being able to hug his bunny again <33

[midnight036]

oh my goshhh! i loved the follow up to 7 steps !! 🥹 keep them coming please!🙏 maybe something about the birth, or them being new parents? 🫶

Aerion 'Brightflame' Targaryen x Reader

Summary: A heated argument with him sends you into labor.

Word count: 3k

Took quiet some time but this is for you pookie. You can read this as a continuation of this request or not.

King's Landing smelled exactly as you remembered, salt from Blackwater Bay, smoke from a thousand hearths, fish, sewage, damp stone, and too many people packed too closely together. But beneath it all lingered the sweetness of summer flowers climbing through the terraced gardens, stubbornly blooming above the city's filth as though none of it concerned them.

You had forgotten how overwhelming it was or perhaps distance had simply polished the memory.

The smell hit you the moment the wheelhouse passed through the gates of the Red Keep. Instinctively, you pressed the back of your hand briefly to your nose before deciding that was an undignified gesture for a princess and lowering it again.

Across from you, Aerion glanced up from the letter in his hands. He had been reading the same reports for most of the journey. You suspected this particular letter was on its fourth inspection.

“We can return,” he said, he had been reading and re-reading reports for the last three hours of the journey, as though the words might rearrange themselves into better news if he gave them enough attention.

“We cannot,” you said pleasantly. “You know that.” You shifted against the cushioned seat, or tried to, at nine months along you had, made peace with the fact that your body was no longer entirely your own. The child moved as it liked and your ankles complained regularly. Still, you managed.

The Red Keep rose around you as the wheelhouse came to a stop, and Aerion was already reaching for your arm when the door opened, his hand settled at your elbow, steady and firm.

The days that followed passed in a blur.

Aerion had barely set down his travel cloak before the summons came, Maekar, requesting his presence at the first of what would be many meetings, briefings, discussions that bled from afternoon into evening into the following morning. The rebellion was not yet a rebellion, it was still a rumour with increasingly credible sources, movements of men in the Riverlands, conversations that should not have been had, allegiances tested quietly at the edges, and Maekar intended to deal with the problem before it became a war.

Aerion understood this. He had said so himself, in the brief intervals when he was with you. He understood the urgency; he agreed with his father's decision to act before the situation kept growing.

What he did not seem to understand was how exhausted he looked. You saw it in the mornings first, the dark circles beneath his eyes that had been there when you arrived and deepened with each passing day, staining the skin beneath them to the colour of a bruise. He slept perhaps three hours, perhaps less, and you knew because you felt the absence of him in the bed before you fully woke. By the time you were awake he was already at his writing desk, surrounded by maps and reports, a candle burned to almost nothing beside him.

You saw it in his movements. He was precise by nature, controlled, deliberate, each gesture measured, but under enough exhaustion that precision began to fray. Small things, the way he set down a goblet slightly harder than necessary, the slight tightening around his eyes when someone spoke to him at a volume, he found unnecessary.

His temper had always been a live thing. He had worked, with considerable effort and at considerable cost, to shorten its leash. But a leash under pressure tends to loosen.

You said nothing yet. You watched, and you waited.

You were not present for the council meeting that day. You heard about it afterward, in pieces, from a maid who had it from a steward who had stood outside the doors.

The meeting had begun well, by all accounts.

King Maekar had laid out the intelligence gathered so far, the scale of the rumoured movement, the families implicated, the question of where the rebellion might grow if left unchecked. Several of the older knights had offered assessments, cautious and conservative in the way men became when they had survived enough wars to be suspicious of certainty.

Then Aerion had presented his strategy.

He had prepared thoroughly, you knew this because you had watched him prepare, had seen the maps spread across the table in your chambers at all hours, had woken in the night to find him still working by candlelight, his silver hair loose around his face, his finger tracing routes through the Riverlands with intensity. He had done the work; there was no question of that.

His proposal was bold, decisive, characteristically Aerion. Strike early and disrupt supply routes, force the conspirators into the open before they could unite. But then Ser Duncan the Tall had spoken.

Not loudly, not with any evident desire to undermine, simply in his direct, honest manner. He had identified the flaw. The strategy assumed the rebellion's consolidation point was where intelligence suggested. But intelligence on the ground, Duncan had noted, indicated two separate and apparently uncoordinated movements. Aerion's plan addressed one, but it left the other entirely free to act while attention was directed elsewhere. Worse, it might inadvertently drive the two movements together, forging unity where there had previously been only parallel discontent.

He had offered an alternative, less elegant, but more methodical, requiring patience and a longer timeline. The room had fallen silent, Maekar had considered it and the others followed.

The storm had been building since midday.

You'd watched it from the windows of your chambers as dark clouds crept across the horizon, swallowing the sunlight piece by piece. By the time evening fell there was nothing left of the sky at all, only a low, churning dark pressed against the towers of the Red Keep, and the rain had begun in earnest, wind rattled the shutters hard enough to make them shudder in their frames, and cold drafts slipped beneath the doors.

You had tried to read, after the third time rereading the same page, you gave up.

Nine months pregnant to the day, you had spent the last week adjusting to a new kind of discomfort. The weight of the child seemed lower now, settled deep in your body. Pressure came and went in strange waves, leaving an ache behind that never fully disappeared. The maester assured you it was normal; your body was preparing itself.

That knowledge should have been reassuring, instead, it made everything feel worse. You shifted carefully in your chair and rested a hand on the curve of your stomach. The child moved beneath your palm, slow and heavy.

Aerion had returned from the council chambers in the early evening; he barely moved in over an hour. The flames cast shifting light across his face, catching in his silver hair and painting sharp shadows beneath his cheekbones. He looked carved from stone, one elbow rested against the arm of the chair, fingers curled loosely against his jaw. His eyes remained fixed on the fire.

These days you could read him almost as easily as weather, he had been worse than he had been in a long time. Plans for the rebellion had reached a critical stage. Meetings stretched late into the night. Reports arrived faster than anyone could answer them. Prince Maekar was making decisions Aerion disagreed with, and disagreement sat poorly with him even under ideal circumstances.

You saw it in the tightness around his eyes. In the clipped replies he gave servants who happened to arrive at the wrong moment. In the way his shoulders never seemed to fully relax anymore, as if he expected another problem to appear the instant he looked away.

The problem was that the discipline was running out, you had watched it running out, and had been patient, had given him space, and you had tried in small ways to be steady around him, tried to become one thing in his life that required nothing from him.

“My love,” you said quietly. “What's wrong?”

His gaze stayed on the fire, hard, distant, the flames reflecting in his violet eyes until they seemed almost unreal. You waited and he still said nothing.

“Aerion.”

A thunder cracked, a long, rolling sound that shook the window in its frame, and for the briefest moment, something shifted in his expression, you thought he might answer, a muscle jumped near his temple and he exhaled through his nose.

“Nothing,” he said.

You adjusted yourself in the chair, slow and careful. The movement sent another dull ache through your lower back. One hand settled automatically over your stomach where the pressure had been building all evening. “Don't push me away,” you said. “Talk to me.”

“I said-.”

“I heard what you said.”

Something flashed in his face, the last of the control giving.

“Nothing!”

The word came out sharp and loud and far harsher than anything he had directed at you in a very long time; the rain battered the windows.

You were quiet for a moment.

“I know you're stressed-.”

“You know nothing about stress.” His voice had dropped again, low and venomous. “What would you know about it? You sit here all day, you read and you wait for me to come back and fuck you like a slut every night.”

For a moment neither of you spoke, you looked at him and he was staring at the fire again, jaw tight, breathing fast, and you could see, that he knew. The moment the words had left his mouth, some part of him already knew, the ugly implication behind them.

“You can be an asshole all you want,” you said at last, your voice steady despite the hurt pressing against your ribs. “But I know you don't actually think that about me.”

“Don't act like you know me.” His voice was low, cracking at the edges, just slightly, a fault line beneath the venom. “You don't know what I'm dealing with.”

“Aerion, I'm your wife-.”

“You're carrying my child.” He turned from the fire at last, and his eyes met yours, the fury was still there, so was exhaustion, and underneath both, buried deep enough that most people would have missed it entirely, was fear, raw and desperate. “That doesn't mean I owe you sweetness every second.”

You pushed yourself to your feet.

It was slow, he shifts forward pulled at your lower back, and the familiar ache settled across your hips as you straightened. Still, you rose, because you refused to sit there and let him speak to you like that, you were his wife. You had given him more of yourself than he could possibly understand, and you would not simply absorb his anger because he happened to be carrying too much of his own.

“Aerion.”

You reached for his arm, slowly.

He jerked away, a reflex, already drowning in his own thoughts and he couldn't bear being touched in that moment. He moved his arm and by mistake, a miscalculation, his hand pushed you away.

It didn’t require much force and balance failed you. Your foot slipped on the damp stone. You felt the world tilt, the floor disappearing beneath you. You fell, hard enough on your side to drive the breath from your lungs, enough to send a sharp, frightened sound from your throat before you could stop it, enough to leave you sprawled on the stone floor, one hand pressing flat against stone while the other flew immediately to your stomach.

Then you felt it, the warmth between your thighs, a sudden rush between your thighs, your heart stopped and you lowly looked down, realization hitting you all at once.

You raised your head and Aerion was already staring at you.

He had seen your face, the wide-eyed terror that you could not control, the way your other hand pressed against your belly with a groan that wasn't only pain. You watched the comprehension move through his face. Watched the anger disappear so completely it was as though it had never existed, replaced by something you had never seen on him in all the time you had known him.

Pure horror.

He dropped to his knees beside you so quickly the movement was almost clumsy. His hands hovered helplessly over you, unable to decide where to touch, terrified of making anything worse. His voice when he found it had nothing of the earlier cruelty left in it, was cracked and desperate.

He said your name, coming out in pieces. He said it again, louder, and again.

You felt the world go grey at the edges.

“No.” His voice broke. “No. No, stay with me-.”

He slipped one arm under your shoulders, the other against your back, taking you to the bed with tenderness. He was shaking, you could feel it in his hands, a fine tremor running through the same hands that had wielded swords, reduced to shaking by this one thing, this one moment, this thing he had done without meaning to.

“Guards!”

The shout cracked through the room and through the door and into the corridor beyond, not a command but a plea. The door burst open, weapons were half-drawn before the guards understood what they were seeing. He didn’t even look at them.

“Get the maester.” His voice had gone frighteningly quiet. “Now.”

The room exploded into motion. Voices, footsteps, the fire being stoked higher so that the room blazed with sudden light, linens appearing from somewhere, the sound of running in the corridor beyond. Aerion's hand found yours, cold fingers intertwined with colder ones, he held on tightly and his other hand settled over the curve of your belly. Then he leaned forward until his forehead rested against your temple, words coming out in a whisper, just for you.

“I'm sorry.” His voice fractured on the word. “I'm so sorry.” He said it again, and again. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.” The same desperate prayer, each syllable trembling and broken.

You came back to yourself in fragments. A contraction rolled through you with terrifying force, dragging you upward from darkness and slamming you back into your body. Your breath came back first, sharp and gasping, and then your eyes, unfocused on the ceiling and the blazing light above you, then the awareness of where you were, what was happening, the sound of the maester's voice somewhere at the edge of your hearing giving orders.

And through all of it Aerion's hand, still holding yours, your fingers tightened around his.

Another contraction hit, harder than the first, and your back arched and your fingers dug into his hand with a force you had not known you possessed, and a moan escaped that you couldn't contain. You heard the maester's voice cutting through the chaos, clear and firm.

Aerion caught your hand to his lips, a kiss against your knuckles, soft, and then another on the back of your palm, his breath warm and unsteady there, lingering like a prayer he hadn't finished saying, his forehead dipped toward your hand.

“It's okay,” you whispered.

His head lifted immediately, and his eyes found yours, the disbelief in his face almost hurt to see. You were pale and soaked in sweat, in more pain than you had known existed before tonight, and somehow you were the one comforting him.

“It's not your fault,” The words wavered but held.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It is,” he said, barely above a breath.

“We can argue about that later.” A weak smile touched your lips. “After.”

Something moved through his expression, something he could not contain and did not try to, for once. He turned his face away for a moment and pressed your hand against his cheek, and you felt him breathe, just breathe, the shaking in his hands had not entirely stopped.

“Push, my lady.” The maester's voice cut through everything. “Now.”

You obeyed.

The sound that came out of you was nothing you recognized as your own voice. It came from somewhere animal and desperate, and your body tensed into it like a bow being drawn past its limits, Aerion stayed beside you, steady as stone, allowing you to crush his hand if you needed to.

“Again! Push!”

You screamed and you pushed harder than the first time.

And then, a cry, small, thin, breaking through the storm and the pain and the chaos of the room like a needle through cloth.

The maester lifted the child, small and red-faced and furious, wailing his outrage at existence. Through your exhaustion you caught sight of silver hair gleaming in the candlelight, that was entirely, unmistakably Aerion’s.

Then the maester's expression changed, only slightly.

“Another.” The room froze. “A second babe my lord, and tangled.”

Aerion's hand went cold around yours; you looked at him, is attention snapped toward the master then toward you. The contractions returning, faster now, harder, your body pressing on before you had been given a moment to simply breathe.

“I can't,” you cried, you had given everything you had, there was nothing left in you to give. “I can't do it-.”

“You can.” The maester's voice, firm but not unkind. He wouldn’t dare to do so in the presence of the brightflame prince.

Aerion bent close, his mouth brushed your ear.

“You can do this.” His voice was rough at the edges, still cracking. “My princess. You are the strongest person in this room. You are the strongest person I have ever met-.” His hand tightened around yours. “You can do this. Do you hear me? You can.”

Somewhere inside yourself, you found one final reserve you didn't know where it had been hiding, didn't know how it still existed.

You pushed, your back lifted from the bed, and Aerion's arm went behind you, an anchor, solid and unwavering, bracing you against the force of yourself.

And then silence, the maester working with swift, silent efficiency, and the room holding its breath around him, and no sound from where the second child should have been. No cry came, no sound. The maester's hands moved, one firm touch, once, twice. He leaned down and breathed into its tiny lungs.

Then, a faint hiccup, so small you almost imagined it. One more breath from the master, one more firm touch against it, and then a cry.

Thin and wavering and furious and entirely, completely, overwhelmingly alive. Your eyes filled instantly, tears spilled before you could stop them. Aerion exhaled hard, pressing a hand over his eyes, a single, private instant, and then it dropped. He looked at the two small faces being cleaned and wrapped in the firelight.

The midwife placed one child carefully in his arms and he looked down. Small, red-faced, silver-haired, tiny fists already protesting the world with remarkable determination. And suddenly every wall he had ever built disappeared, there was nothing left of the prince, there was only a father holding his son.

He leaned toward you, slowly, the child cradled against his chest, and pressed his lips to your forehead, careful and gentle, filled with something too large for words.

You looked at the child in your own arms, your bundle of small, perfect outrage, and felt the child in his being shifted gently closer, until two very small faces were inches apart. Both silver-haired, both absolutely, terrifyingly, entirely real.

“Twins,” you whispered, your voice came out hoarse and ruined but you did not care at all.

Aerion looked at you, his eyes still glassy. “Twins," he said.

“They're perfect,” you said.

He looked down at the small face in his arms.

Then, quietly. “Yes,” he said. “They are.” His thumb brushed the baby's cheek.

Neither of you spoke for a while, your head rested against his shoulder, his arm lay around you. The child in your arms had finally settled, his tiny face relaxed into a peaceful expression, you brushed your thumb over his cheek, his skin was impossibly soft, untouched by wind or sun or the roughness of the world.

You could have stayed like that forever.

“How are we going to call them?” you asked, your voice came out softer than intended, almost swallowed by the crackling fire. The question felt delicate somehow, as though speaking too loudly might break whatever fragile thing had settled over the room.

Aerion was quiet for a moment.

“I have been thinking about it for some time,” he said at last. “I was hoping for your approval.”

You lifted your head enough to look at him and his eyes were on the child in his arms, the first-born.

“Tell me.” you said.

He was quiet for another moment.

“Baelor,” he said. “And Maekar.” He was still watching the child in his arms, and the line of his mouth lifted, too sad to be a full smile. “It is my own immaturity that killed my uncle,” he said with and even voice. “Not my father. It was only my fault.”

He turned slightly, and something in his face stopped the protest before it reached your lips.

“I do not need reassurance,” he said. “Nothing is going to change my mind about that.”

You closed your mouth and he looked back at the child.

“But I thought…” His fingers adjusted the blanket around the baby with surprising care. “Perhaps I could give them another chance. In this new life.” He paused. “To be brothers again.”

The tears came before you could stop them and he turned to look at you then. Whatever reaction he had expected, it clearly was not this, his hand rose, he brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, slow and careful.

“Why are you crying, my love?” he asked with genuine confusion.

“Because what you're doing is utterly sweet, Aerion.” Your voice trembled despite yourself. “I'm proud of you.”

For a moment he simply looked at you.

“And of course you have my approval,” you added.

A quiet breath escaped him, a soft laugh, it lingered somewhere close to happiness in his chest. He looked down at the child in his arms, Baelor II. Aerion lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the child's forehead, the touch so light it barely disturbed him.

The child in your own arms stirred, a small, restless shifting, one tiny fist uncurling and recurling against your nightgown, Maekar II. The one who had frightened everyone, the one who had arrived second and nearly not at all, and who seemed, in the brief time you had known him, to have inherited his father's particular talent for making an entrance.

A second chance to be brothers again, in a new life.

[cranialpressure]

CW: Targcest implied. Implied grooming. Canon atypical misogyny. I went above and beyond. MDNI

Maekar puts his daughters in chastity.

His sons are lost causes; it makes sense that he should be so strict with you. He might be the son of the king, but the fourth one - and no better than an upstart lordling with too many heirs to earnings because of it. Yet for all his brothers' might, he's three things they've not: eligible daughters that the king might use to curry favor, for everyone knows that gooddaughters bring more joy than sons. So you will remain intact and you will make a respectable match for a high lord.

He trusts none but himself with your key, only relinquishes it to your maids when you're in need of a proper bath. Even then he must supervise. There have been many a Targaryen princess who've been deflowered with the help of their servants sneaking in lovers. You're sweet, but your brothers aren't, and your maids are all stupid and quite useless. Easily led. (How else could he ensure your general safety but by his constant influence, after all?) It's a pervasive fear that grips him, the thought of Aerion bullying his way past your gaggle of women. They'd tell Maekar straight away, of course, because he'd hired them for the very same qualities that some monster like his son would seek to take advantage of, but still. The deed would be done by then. So he sees to it himself, watching - sat at your table, swallowing thickly around a late meal - as she unlocks you, control stretched thin as the string of slick that snaps between your thighs when they pull the belt away.

Of course they cannot be trusted to lock you back in afterwards. That he must do, tugging on the lock to be sure it stays. You're not like your sisters who fight him tooth and nail all the while. Not enough of the dragon in you, maybe, but it's hard to be bitter about that when so many of your siblings have too much. You are sweet. Docile. Know your position and your duty and thank him for guiding you to it.

"No one will be worthy of you," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the chafed skin of your hip when he pulls your belt into place, aggravating it. He'll have to get you a new one, find an even more skilled tanner who can work the leather even softer. He prefers the chains your sisters still wear if he's being selfish, likes being able to see the faint outline of them through their skirts, but he's willing to sacrifice some things for his favorite little lamb. Especially when you smile down at him, just as easy to please as you are eager.

You will make a good wife; but more and more, he wonders for whom.

[poisonousrain222]

between hammer and anvil

maekar targaryen x baelor’s daughter!reader x baelor targaryen

warnings. [SMUT] unprotected piv, porn without plot, threesome, double vaginal penetration (no anal), targcest/incest (uncle/niece & father/daughter), dirty talk, pet names, concerning use of ‘uncle’ and ‘father’, reader is kinda pathetic

a/n. READDD the warnings before continuing. i out-freaked myself with this one

2.8k words (pure smut)

The muscles in your legs burned from exhaustion. With each push of your hips down onto Maekar’s dick you became sloppier and slower, until you stopped completely. His entire length was still buried inside you.

“My knees hurt,” you whined.

“Spoiled little girl,” Maekar grumbled, shooting his brother a glare. “You coddled her rotten.”

You heard your father chuckle behind you. One of his large hands came to rest upon your ass in an appreciative gesture. His palm felt refreshingly cool against the feverish heat radiating from your skin. The contrast in temperature sent an exciting tingle straight through your abdomen.

Your uncle’s thick length stretched your tight channel and stuffed you impossibly full, the veins along his shaft dragging against your inner walls with each movement. Your front pressed flush to his chest, skin slick and sweaty from your efforts. Your hardened nipples brushed against the coarse white hair dusting his pecs with every breath you took.

Baelor could watch from behind how your entrance strained around his girth, wetness pooling out at the sides. Thick and long, Maekar had plunged himself into your cunt, curses falling from his lips as he did.

But it was your father who offered praise far more often. The inherent gentleness he possessed had often served to soothe you, especially during your younger years. His voice would drop to that low, warm murmur as he whispered encouragements that made your chest feel warmer.

My good girl is doing so well, echoed in your mind. A shiver ran through your body at the memory.

Even now, with your body trembling between them, he remained patient and tender. His touch served as a steadying anchor amidst the overwhelming sensations — especially next to his youngest brother. Maekar was stern and unyielding, his demeanor as hard as Valyrian steel. He did not bestow approval or encouragement freely or lightly. It had to be earned to receive it.

When Maekar would force you open, that exciting flash of pain making you whimper, Baelor stroked soothing patterns on your hips and murmured in your ear. Relax, my sweet girl, he would say. It will feel better. But his brother could do that, too. If he wanted to.

Sometimes Maekar wiped strands of sticky hair from your temple with his thumb, muttering how you needed to simply breathe. Or he kissed your forehead and waited inside you until you relaxed around him, until your hole got accustomed to his girth.

A needy mewl escaped your throat, fingernails digging into the muscle at Maekar’s shoulders. “Uncle, move. Please.”

He groaned deep in his throat, tightening his grip on your waist.

“How could I ever deny her when she asks so sweetly?” Baelor murmured, fingers digging into your cheek. You clenched around his brother and a soft moan slipped through your lips.

With your head resting against Maekar’s broad chest, you lifted your gaze to meet his. The rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek provided a steady rhythm that contrasted sharply with your own ragged pants. His lilac eyes stared down at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. Sharp, focused, unwavering. They held none of the warmth your father’s gaze carried, but something about their severity made your core clench with need.

Yet beneath that stern exterior you could see the way his pupils had dilated, the violet rings thinning and betraying his own arousal. Your own eyes, glassy with unshed tears and hazy with desire, locked onto his.

“She’s simply learned how to wrap you around her finger,” Maekar remarked dryly, yet adjusted his hips below yours.

Excited anticipation coiled tight in your stomach, your body tensing in preparation for what youexpected him to do. The sensation transformed in an instant as Maekar pulled out almost entirely, leaving you achingly empty save for just the tip of his dick stretching your entrance. The loss made you clench around the little that remained.

Then, without warning, he slammed back into your warmth in one brutal thrust.

The force of it drove the air from your lungs in a shocked gasp. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as intense pleasure exploded through your core. The sudden fullness had your eyes rolling back into your head. A strangled moan finally broke free from your throat, raw and desperate, as your walls clenched involuntarily around his shaft.

The older brother only hummed, slight amusement audible in the tone. His hand traveled slowly from the soft curve of your bottom upwards, calloused palm dragging over your spine. The contrast between his rough touch and your sensitized skin made goosebumps erupt across your entire body.

The pale-haired prince set a brutal pace, swiftly pulling out and pounding into you over and over and over again. His length slid along your slick walls and pushed up against the deepest spot inside you, each thrust making you jerk up his body. He did not give you time to adjust to the sudden increase in pace — And you would not have it any other way.

“Is that what you wanted, princess?” he panted in your ear. “For me to fuck your brains out?”

Between strangled moans you nodded furiously, disheveling your hair even more. “Yes, yes, yes, yes—”

One of his hands came up to your face, thumb brushing against your temple with unexpected tenderness. He swept a damp strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture intimate. His touch lingered there for a moment.

Your eyes locked with his and your breath caught in your throat as you found yourself utterly captivated by the intensity of his gaze. It felt like you were hypnotized. You could not look away even if you wanted to. You could see yourself reflected in those depths, could see how thoroughly undone you were. Your lips were parted, your cheeks flushed, your eyes glassy and unfocused.

He had fucked you senseless, at last. Every coherent thought had been driven from your mind, replaced only by sensation and need and the overwhelming presence of the two men who held you between them.

“More,” you panted, eyebrows contorted in overwhelming pleasure. Waves of heat rolled through your body, a delicious ache that blurred the lines between ecstasy and the desperation for release.

Without warning, Maekar halted all movement, his hips stilling completely beneath you. The abrupt halt made you gasp, your body trembling with unfulfilled need as his dick remained buried deep inside you. Unbearably unmoving.

“No,” you complained, trying to roll your hips to create the friction you so desperately craved. But his iron grip on your waist tightened, holding you firmly in place. His expression hardened into one of feigned annoyance, though the desire in his eyes betrayed him. It was more a matter of iron restraint, than of displeasure.

A pathetic whine escaped your throat as you squirmed against him, your walls clenching around his shaft in protest. A single tear slipped free, rolling down your flushed cheek as frustration overwhelmed you.

“Do not demand,” Maekar scolded sharply, his voice cutting through your haze of pleasure. His thumb caught the tear on your cheek, wiping it away with surprising gentleness despite his stern tone. “A brat is what you raised.”

“Do not be so harsh, brother,” Baelor said. “She shall have what she desires.”

Before you could so much as nod in gratitude, you felt the blunt head of Baelor’s cock press against your already stuffed entrance, seeking space where there seemingly was none. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt the impossible pressure building at your opening. Your body instinctively tensed at the overwhelming stretch.

“Breathe,” your father murmured, his voice a soothing rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His large hand splayed across your lower back, grounding you. “Let me in, sweet girl.”

You tried to relax, tried to focus on breathing through the intense sensation as he pushed forward with patient insistence. The fat head of his length began to breach your entrance, sliding alongside Maekar’s already buried shaft. The stretch was maddening, burning in the most exquisite way as your body struggled to accommodate both of them.

"Fuck," Maekar hissed, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he felt his brother’s cock pressing against his own through your straining walls. “She’s so fucking tight.”

A strangled cry tore from your throat as Baelor pushed deeper, inch by torturous inch. Your walls burned with the strain, caught between pleasure and pain as they stretched around both lengths. Your eyes began to water, your vision blurred and more tears followed, your body trembling violently between them.

“Too much,” you choked out. Though even as the words left your lips, your hips rocked back slightly, seeking more despite the burn. “It’s too much.”

“You can take it,” Baelor assured you, his voice strained as he slowly sank deeper. Still, his words eased your doubts. They always did.

Your nails dug into Maekar’s skin as you struggled to process the overwhelming fullness. One hand found the crown of his head, sliding your fingers through his soft hair to grasp a fistful of the silky, silver strands. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, sparking with sensation as your father finally bottomed out inside you alongside your uncle. You dropped your head onto Meakar’s chest, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open stupidly.

Despite your closed eyes, you could feel Maekar’s fingers swipe at your tears again. The rough pads on your cheek served comfort and you moaned with closed lips.

For a long moment, none of you moved. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, your walls clenching and fluttering around the dual intrusion as you adjusted to being stretched beyond anything you’d ever experienced. You could feel everything — every ridge, every vein, the way their shafts pressed together inside your impossibly stuffed channel.

“Look at me,” Maekar commanded, his hand cupping your jaw. You forced your glazed eyes to meet his sharp violet gaze, wet eyelashes fluttering.

The words paired with the intense eye contact sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you, and you clenched involuntarily around them. Both men groaned in unison, the sound sending heat down to your abdomen and making you feel a pulse down below.

Then, Baelor began to move.

He pulled back slowly, the drag of his cock against your oversensitive walls making you see stars. Just as he withdrew almost completely, Maekar thrusted upward, filling the space his brother had left empty. They established a devastating rhythm, alternating their thrusts so that you were never empty, never given a moment’s break from the relentless fullness.

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods—” The words tumbled from your lips in a breathless prayer as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

Each thrust sent sparks of electricity shooting up your spine, your body caught in an endless cycle of being filled and stretched. Your legs trembled violently now, muscles quivering from the relentless exertion. You were acutely grateful for your uncle’s solid chest beneath you, providing a grounding firmness as your strength began to fail you. His strong arms bracketed you on either side, creating a protective cage that kept you from collapsing entirely, holding you steady even as your body threatened to give out completely.

Baelor’s hand snaked around your hip, his fingers finding the bundle of nerves above your entrance. The moment his calloused fingertip pressed against it, your back arched violently. Sparks of bliss surged through your abdomen, the sensation so delicious and intense you could scream.

“Father—” you gasped, your voice breaking on the word as his fingers began to circle your clit with maddening precision. The dual stimulations of being stretched impossibly full while he worked your clitoris had your vision blurring at the edges.

Baelor increased the pressure slightly, his touch alternating between firm circles and feather-light teasing that had your hips jerking involuntarily. Each movement caused both cocks to shift inside you, dragging against spots that made hot pleasure surge through your core.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his breath hot against your ear. “Feel everything we’re giving you.”

Maekar’s hands traveled up to your shoulders, pushing you upwards until your upper body lifted from his chest. A grumble escaped your throat as cold air rushed against your sticky skin. Your arms trembled as they struggled to support your weight, muscles already weakened from exhaustion.

His hands slithered up to palm ypur breasts and his thumbs found your hardened nipples, rolling and pinching the sensitive peaks simultaneously with his brother’s ministrations. The sensations overwhelmed you completely, dissolving all coherent thought. Your body melted between them, surrendering entirely to their touch, their rhythm and their control. You belonged to them in this moment, safe in their possession, cherished even as they used you.

“Please,” you whimpered, though you weren’t sure what you were begging for anymore. More? Less? The pleasure had built to an almost unbearable peak, hovering just out of reach.

“I will be good,” you sniffled, searching your uncle’s eyes once more. Searching for his approval, his permission.

“Not yet,” Maekar growled, and you felt him thrust up harder, driving deeper. The angle had his cock dragging directly against that spot inside you that made your head spin, and you cried out sharply.

“Father, I will be good, I promise.”

Baelor matched his brother’s increased pace, their rhythm becoming more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your lower body, threatening to snap at any moment.

“I know you will,” Baelor said.

Your father’s fingers pressed harder against your clit, his touch becoming more insistent as he felt your walls beginning to flutter around them. “Let go,” he commanded softly. “Let us feel you come undone.”

The dual fullness, the relentless friction, the pressure on your clit — it all became too much. Your body seized, back arching as the first waves of your climax crashed over you with devastating force.

"Gods, yes, oh—" The words dissolved into broken moans as pleasure exploded through every nerve ending. Your walls clamped down hard around both lengths, rhythmically pulsing as you came harder than you ever had before. Pain mixed with pleasure, until it blurred and became one.

The sensation of your tight channel convulsing around them proved too much for both men. Maekar cursed low and deep, his grip on your hips bruising as he thrust up one final time, burying himself as deep as possible. You felt the hot rush of his release flooding your depths, his stomach tightened beneath you when he spent himself. Greedily, you stared at his face the entire time. How his face contorted, his eyes closed shut that made his nose crinkle. A last, relieving groan and the relaxation of his mucles signaled you when his orgasm subsided.

Baelor followed moments later, his rhythm stuttering as he pressed fully inside alongside his brother. The feeling of both of them spilling inside you simultaneously, their mixed seed filling you to overflowing, sent another aftershock of pleasure rippling through your oversensitive body and made you shudder.

A shaky breath left your lips and your eyelids fluttered close as you nuzzled your face into your uncle’s chest. The coarse hair tickled your nose, but you did not care one bit.

For long moments, the only sounds in the chamber were your collective ragged breathing and the thundering of your and Maekar’s heartbeats in your ears. Your body felt boneless and completely spent.

Slowly, carefully, they began to withdraw. You whimpered at the loss, at the emptiness that followed, at the feeling of their combined release beginning to leak from your stretched entrance. Your thighs were slick with it, evidence of their claim on your body and soul.

Maekar’s hands found your waist, his grip firm as he began to push you upward. Your body protested immediately, muscles trembling with exhaustion as he forced you into a sitting position.

“No,” you groaned weakly, your arms giving out as you tried to hold yourself upright. Your body swayed, boneless and spent, before gravity won and you fell backward.

Your back collided with the solid warmth of your father’s chest, and his strong arms immediately wrapped around you, steadying you against him. His skin was sweaty as well, his chest still heaving, but he held you securely as if you weighed nothing at all.

“I’m here,” he murmured against your hair, his voice a soothing rumble that vibrated through your entire body. One of his large hands splayed across your lower stomach, holding you close while the other brushed damp strands of hair from your flushed face.

“My perfect girl,” Baelor pressed a tender kiss to your sweat-dampened temple.

Even Maekar’s expression had softened, calmed. His hand came up to stroke your disheveled hair with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Can barely sit upright anymore, hm? She is stronger than she looks.”

a/n. i’m only like 90% satisfied with this but i’m OBSESSEDDDUH with uncle!maekar rn. had to post this immediately fo you guys

-> akotsk masterlist

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! support content creators <3

[carmysdoll]

I CAN’T HEAR YOU

𐔌 ⠀⠀𓂃 ࣪ ִ⠀⠀aerion targaryen x spoiled princess reader !

contains ᦸ targcest smut oral f!receiving face sitting sub! aerion he cums in his pants manipulative reader! mentions of wounds and blood rushed ending? ٫٫ 4.1k part one

❛❛ you give your devote prince what he truly desires

Your footsteps were faint as you walked gracefully through one of the stone hallways in Ashford Castle; the torchlights flickered across the stone-carved walls and across your face, illuminating your purple eyes even more. The hemline of your robe brushed against your ankles with every step you took closer to his room. Closer to him. 

A satisfied feeling spreads across your body when you see your sworn shield standing outside the door, meaning he had succeeded in the command you had given him. He never did like to make his princess angry. One of his hands was resting on the pommel of his sword, the torchlight flickering across his handsome face. The corner of your lips almost twitches up into a smirk when you notice the way his posture immediately straightens up when he notices your presence.  

“Princess.” He bowed his head deeply in respect as you stopped in front of him. His eyes had no shame as he admired your form; it's not like you minded it anyway. You loved the attention. You were used to his wandering eyes and his touch. Ser Roland Crakehall had been your sworn shield for years; he knew some of your darkest secrets—the ones you allowed him to know at least. 

The two of you shared dark secrets of your own. 

“Be easy on him, princess. He won't survive any more of your cruelty." Ser Roland gave you that charming smirk, his tone teasing as he stepped to the side and quietly opened the large wood door to the prince’s private chambers. His eyes slowly raked up and down your body, a look you were all too familiar with in his eyes. 

Your eyes sparkled with mischief, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you brushed past him and stepped into the doorway, looking back at him over your shoulder. Your tone was dangerously soft but filled with seduction as you batted your eyelashes coyly at him, “Maybe that’s what I desire.” 

You drew your eyes away from your sworn shield as he quietly closed the door behind you, your eyes taking in the room. It was smaller than the one you were given, of course, Lord Ashford wouldn’t dare to insult the princess like that. The scent of the herbal healing medicines and the faint smell of blood lingered, mingling with the smoky scent from the lit fireplace. 

The chambers were faintly lit by the flickers of the few candles in the wall holders, along with the moonlight. The contrast of the warm ambers danced with the cool blue hues of the night, creating a chiaroscuro ambiance. 

Your eyes moved from the fireplace, following the glow of the moonlight to the large bed in the middle of the room, when you heard the sound of the furs rustling, accompanied by a weak groan. Your eyes found his pathetic figure in the dimly lit room. You took a few steps deeper into the room, your sharp and piercing eyes not leaving his still form. 

“He won’t stop asking for you.” 

Those words were indelibly etched in your mind over the past couple of days following the pathetic excuse of a trial of seven. Aerion was pathetic—letting everyone see how desperate he was, having the servants see him in such a way. Maybe if you were a better person, you might have felt a little sympathy for the servants who had to go back to Aerion, facing his wrath when he noticed you were nowhere in sight. 

But you weren’t, and you were tired of their constant pestering. 

Even that useless maester dared to stop you in one of the hallways, spewing some nonsense about how it could do some good for the injured prince if you went to see him, you stopped listening to the cunt when he said something about uplifting Aerion’s spirits. 

From the servants to the maester, pestering you—you were utterly displeased. 

You honestly couldn’t care less about the state Aerion was in and had no desire to see him—In your eyes, he deserved everything that had happened to him; he deserved worse. He embarrassed them all. It was amusing that Aerion had the gall to make a farce about Daeron having others clean up his messes, but then have 6 others fight his battles for him, instead of facing the hedge knight himself—but then your uncle came to you. 

“Please, sweet girl, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think I’d help.”

It was unnatural to see your stern uncle in such a way when he had come to see you late in the night. You could see it in his posture that he hadn’t come for you to kiss all over his cuts and bruises; he wasn't searching for that addictive high and peace he always got while in your presence. He was silent as he poured him a goblet of wine, his footsteps heavy and slow as he limped over to the bed. A heavy grunt left his lips as he sat on the edge. 

You had quietly pushed the thick blankets off of you, the bed creaking as you crawled over to where Maekar sat. The hem of your short nightgown raised to the top of your thighs as you shifted to sit up on your knees. You were careful as you hugged your tense uncle from behind, placing the softest kisses to where his neck and shoulder met. When he uttered those words, your jaw clenched, you knew you couldn’t say no to Maekar…not him…not when he was like this. 

That was the night before, and you were just now coming to see the hurt prince. You wanted to make him suffer more; he was never one for patience. The more desperate he was, the better it was to toy with him. And Gods did you love to toy with him. He was good at taking it, a rare compliment from you in your own sick way. 

“I asked for you...days ago—“ Aerion managed to speak through clenched teeth, every word costing him. He bit off a groan, cutting himself off with a pained cough as he slowly turned his head to find you, his eyesight blurry, but he could see your glorious figure moving closer to him. 

He let out a sharp exhale before he continued in a strained voice, “And you come now?” 

Your hands gathered the fabric of your robe and nightgown at your hips as your steps paused before the rug, stepping out of your slippers and onto the hand-woven rug. You clicked your tongue in disapproval, clearly irritated by his words. “If you truly wanted to see me, you would have gotten up and found me yourself.” 

You took a few more steps closer to the bed, scrunching your nose up at the ghastly sight of the cuts and bruises decorating his skin, the more serious ones covered by bandages. The blanket was pulled up to his waist, his skin covered in moonlight kisses. 

You shook your head mockingly, stopping your lips from twitching into a smirk as you leaned against the wooden bedpost. Your eyes raked over him slowly, a dramatic sigh leaving your lips as you continued, “But of course you had to get others to do it for you.” 

”You didn't want me enough, is that it?” You accused him with a breathy whisper, your lips twisting into a faux pitiful pout. Your fingers slowly unbutton the top buttons of your robe to expose more skin as the words left your lips. You knew he would fall right into your palms after a little emotional guilt-tripping and skin showing. 

It was pathetic how easy he was, and you loved it. 

Aerion’s breath hitched, and his fingers weakly gripped the sheets, wishing his hands were gripping your hips instead. His mouth watered at the sight. He begged himself to move, to touch you and show you how much he truly wanted you, but he couldn’t, and you knew that. He grunted with a hint of a whine, “Stop.” 

“Stop undressing? I thought you liked it when I’m all bare for you?” You taunted him with a tilt of your head, giving him a sultry view of the top of your chest and your neck—that dangerous pout still on your lips. You loved to use his own words against him, showing him how pathetic he truly is. 

A pathetic whimper slipped past Aerion's lips, “Please….” 

You swallowed the insults you wished to belittle him with, but remembering your uncle's defeated face caused you to stop. You let the robe slowly fall from your body and fall to a pile on the floor by your feet, showing your white—nearly sheer lace nightdress. Your hair was natural down your back in waves, the moonlight kissing along your skin. You looked enchanting under the moon and candlelight, Aerion’s breath hitching at the sight. 

You hitched up your nightdress as you climbed up on the bed, the bed creaking from the movement. Your eyes never left his as you slowly crawled across the bed and closer to him on your hands and knees. He felt his mouth water at the sight of your chest, the way your tits pressed against the fabric so perfectly from the angle. 

You noticed where his eyes fell, you purred tauntingly sweet, "Isn't this what you wanted? To see me?” 

You stopped at his side, your hair falling down your back as you perched up on your side, holding yourself up with your elbow. Aerion’s brain instinctively told himself to move closer to you, but the strain on his body forced him to stay still. For the tiniest moment, you wondered what was wrong with you when you felt no sympathy at the sight of his injuries so up close. 

You didn't feel sympathy, but you sure knew how to fake it. 

“I don’t smell milk of the poppy,” you mused airily, just now noticing the lack of that nauseating smell of the thick white liquid in the room. Your free hand lifted, the tips of your fingers were feather-light as you slowly moved them up his thigh and lower abdomen. 

His mouth dropped in want from the feeling of your delicate touch, something he’s never felt and something he didn't know he desired so much until he felt it in that moment. He didn't deserve the softness you scarcely showed. Every detail from your previous moment together and the cruel words you had spoken had played over and over in his head as he lay there for days. It was a beautiful nightmare that he couldn’t escape. 

He didn't want to escape it. 

“I wished to be myself when you came,” he whispered breathlessly as he tilted his head to look up at you better. You noticed the way his chest rose and fell faster, the corners of your lips just begging to twitch up into a smirk at the sight of him already so overwhelmed. He had been fully enthralled with you for as long as he could remember. 

You felt disgust at the feeling of your heart fluttering from the pure devotion Aerion was once showing you again. Your fingertips were teasingly grazing against his sensitive nipples as you moved your fingers closer to his collarbone. Fluttering your eyelashes charmingly, you cooed breathlessly, “How devoted of you.” 

“It was sweet of you,” You started as you broke the several beats of silence that filled the room, along with the faint sound of the fire crackling. The words you had murmured tasted bitter leaving your lips, but you knew it was necessary…your uncle better get you the prettiest dress or jewels as a reward for this. 

You’d prefer his cock to a dress and jewels…and he knew that. 

“You coming to me—wanting me, in moments you thought were your last,” you purred, your voice soft with honeyed satisfaction as you looked down at him through your eyelashes with your riveting gaze. Your fingers continued their journey across his chest, dancing around the bruises and cuts. Sweet wouldn’t have been the word you would choose if you were being honest; you hated how a small part of you found it desirable. 

An unfamiliar warmth spreads across his chest as your words sink in, stabbing him right in the heart. His eyes filled with unshed tears as he felt you place your hand over his heart. The gesture was so tender and so out of your character that it made his heart race. All he ever wanted was for you to feel that same desire, that same yearning he had for you, for him. 

You’ve always been the same, even as a young girl. You’ve always had everyone wrapped around your finger, had everyone eating out of the palm of your hand. He wasn’t blind to it; he knew you liked everyone’s attention, he just wanted to be the only one you loved. 

He was delusional enough to believe he would get it, as long as he was good for you…as long as he showed you pure devotion.  

A mixture of a whimper and a whine left Aerion’s lips as you removed your hand from his chest, his eyes never leaving your hand. Your touch was light, almost teasing, as you slowly traced down the curve of your shoulder and down to the line of your collarbone, your eyes never leaving his. 

“Y-you do?” He stammered in disbelief, his weak but proud tone trailing off into silence as he got lost in following your hand. The tension in his body slowly disappeared, and it was replaced by want and desire as he watched your hand lower. The tips of your fingers moved down to the swell of your breasts. 

His mouth watered as he watched your nipples press against your nightdress as they hardened. You wanted to roll your eyes at how desperate he sounded for your approval, but you kept that faux look of adoration on your face as you hummed “Mhm.” 

“I thought I’d give you a reward for your valiant actions,” you whispered in that sweet tone you had mastered over the many years. He watched as you sat up on your knees, your hands slowly moved down your stomach and thighs to gather the soft linen hem of your nightgown. 

You slowly pulled up your nightgown, inch by inch, slowly revealing more of your skin. First, it was your plush thighs and then the little sneak peek of your Venus mound between your thighs, the curves of your body, the soft skin of your stomach he’d love to trail wet kisses down. 

You paused for a torturous moment, taking notice how Aerion’s breathing paused with you as the hemline paused just perfectly so he could see the undersides of your breasts. You didn't wait any longer before you pulled the nightgown over your head, your hair strands tickling your back. Aerion’s eyes didn't linger long on your breasts before his eyes fell to your thighs as you slowly spread them, giving him a look at what he’s always wanted. 

You tilted your head to the side as one of your hands slowly moved down your stomach, stopping right above where he wanted to touch the most. You purred in that seductive tone you did so well, “Give you a real taste of what you desire.” 

Aerion’s chin jutted weakly as he tried to nod; his arm brushed against the blankets as he moved his hand towards you, not being able to lift his arm. His fingers gently brushed against the soft skin of your knee, his tongue parted his lips as he slowly licked them, faintly tasting the metallic blood from his cut. He wished to touch you more, but the lack of your permission had him stop. 

He begged with a breathless whine, “Please…” 

You raised your eyebrow as you repeated his words as if you were testing him, “Please?” 

“Please, princess,” he was quick to correct himself with wide eyes. He didn't wish to upset you…not when he was so close. You could see the panic in his eyes, cute. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” you cooed as you batted your eyelashes down at him, not wasting any more time to give him what he wanted. The faster this was over, the faster you could find your way to Maekar’s bed. 

Aerion’s eyes filled with desire, never leaving your body as you crawled up to his face, the bed creaking from the actions. He tried to ignore how natural the movements came to you, not wanting to think about how you’ve done this many times before with others. 

One of your hands gripped the carved dark wood headboard as you adjusted your position. Your wet pussy hovering inches over his desperate tongue. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked down at him, holding back the gasp you wanted to let out at the feeling of his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. 

Even with the cuts and bruises decorating his face, Aerion looked undoubtedly ethereal between your thighs. His eyes filled with pure longing, a consuming desire to feast on you. 

“Thank you.” A weak, wistful sigh left his lips as you finally lowered yourself to his mouth, his tone showing how pleased and relieved he was for not being denied your taste any longer. His tongue slipped through his parted lips, Aerion’s eyes rolling back as his tongue delved into your folds, your wetness coating his tongue and lips. 

He moaned lewdly against you in pure bliss, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body. He licked and sucked eagerly at you with a desperate and insatiable hunger, savoring your taste because he didn’t know the next time he would be blessed with it.

“Mmph, just like that,” you gasped softly, biting your lip to hold back any louder noises. You didn't wish to praise him too much and have his ego get any bigger. But it was too late, as soon as he heard those sweet noises leaving your lips, it lit a fire in his chest. The praise went straight to his cock, making it twitch under the loose breeches. 

The sound of your moans and the taste of you on his tongue was driving him wild, making him forget all of his injuries and the throbbing pain he felt all through his body as he lifted his hands to grip the plush of your thighs and hold you down on his face. Your breath hitches, a loud moan catching in the back of your throat as his tongue presses into you harder. 

He held you in place as he sucked on your clit with hard sucks, flicking his tongue back and forth over your sensitive pearl rabidly. The wet sounds of him feasting on you, the muffled sounds of pleasure coming from him, and your enchanting moans filled the chambers. Your sworn shield smirked at the faint sounds of your pleasure through the wood door, standing up straighter and squeezing the hilt of his sword harder.  

“Oh, Kessa—tolī jaelan!” You moaned louder in your mother language, feeling his teeth graze against your sensitive flesh, his tongue and lips ached, but he had no care for it. The sounds of his mouth on you and the moans he was letting out were completely indecent and utterly delightful. You start to move your lips in slow circles, grinding yourself against his mouth with a desperate hunger. (Oh yes—I want more!) 

Neither of you was worried about crushing him; he would be honored to die between your soft thighs. It was a death he would happily welcome with open arms and an even more open mouth. His grip on your thighs was bruising; he ate you like a man possessed—as if you were his last meal. 

“Say it.” Your breath catches in your throat as you command him with a low moan, fluttering your eyes open to look down at him. Your half-lidded eyes locked eyes with his glazed pleading eyes, still so needy that he was begging for more. You smirked and pressed yourself more down onto his mouth. You seductively crooned as you finished your command, “Tell me how good I taste.” 

His violet eyes glisten up at you, filled with desperation and devotion as your mound presses harder against his eager mouth. He lets out a desperate, muffled whine against you, the vibrations nearly having you bucking against his bruised face. You bring your hand down, your fingers tangled into his hair. 

”I can’t hear you,” you taunted him with a cruel smile as you gripped onto his silver strands and pulled him away from your cunt. A pained gasp left his lips, and a whine followed closely after at the feeling of you tugging at his hair. His mouth instinctively tried to move back to your cunt, but you just tug harder, your heart fluttering at the sound of his pained whine. 

“Mmmph…divine—you taste divine,” He moaned pathetically, his tongue darting out to lock his lips, desperately trying to savor every last drop of your taste. His hands itched on your thighs; he used all the power he had to stop himself from pulling you back down on his mouth. He could feel it, the way your thighs trembled; you had been close. 

He needed to feel you come apart on his tongue. 

Your grip on his hair loosens as you pull him back towards your burning heat, right where he wanted to be. The moment your grip slackened, he was surging forward with a desperate, grateful moan. His mouth latched onto you with an insatiable hunger, his tongue delving back deep inside you, eager to bring you to the peak you deserved. 

His tongue slides between your lips, finding your clit with a happy moan, circling it in wet, worshipful strokes that make your thighs tremble. The headboard creaked as you gripped it tight, your hips bucking against his mouth with little care for him, grinding yourself harder into his ruined but beautiful face. 

Your thighs trembled and quivered around his face, your walls clenching around his tongue as his nose pressed into your clit. One of your hands stayed in his hair while the other kneaded your breast, your fingers rolling and twisting your nipple. You tried to hold in your moans, but the closer you got, the less you cared. Let his ego get better, let him become even more desperate and devoted to you. 

You would give him this. 

“F-fuck—!” You threw your head back as you let out a loud moan that would play over and over in his head for years, finally giving into the pleasure that had been building inside you as he feasted on you, cumming hard on his tongue. He moans loudly as your nectar floods his mouth, the vibrations extending your orgasm, a bigger wave of pleasure washing over your body. 

Aerion loses himself completely as he greedily drinks and laps at your convulsing cunt, desperate to catch every drop of your sweet nectar. His eyes rolling back with a choked-out moan against you as his own hips buck involuntarily against the air between his legs, the hot burst of pleasure he felt was accompanied by the sharp pain coursing through his body. 

Making his release even better. 

You pushed yourself back up, gripping the wood headboard with two hands as you hovered over his mouth with shaky thighs, his hands on your thighs falling to the bed limply. You smiled down at the ruined sight of Aerion, a small cry leaving his lips as he felt you pull away, as if he wasn't done with you. You found it cute, he couldn’t even breathe properly—his whole body trembling, and yet he still wanted to feast on you. 

Your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath. You reach down and grip Aerion's chin roughly. All that faux kindness was long gone in your eyes as you looked into his own watery eyes, tears rolling down his face, mixing with your nectar. You gripped his face harder, a pained gasp leaving his bloodied lips—the cut on his lip opened from his vigorous feasting. 

You leaned down, your eyes filled with such cruelness it nearly took his breath away. Those pathetic tears kept rolling down his face, his chest rising and falling faster as he felt a sense of panic go through him. What did he do wrong? He intently begged you to give him another chance; he could do better, he swore it. 

The sound of your cruel, sharp hiss breaks the silence of the chambers. 

“Next time, come get me yourself.” 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙖𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 & 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Ი𐑼 guys guys I knowww i’m so sorry for how long this took to get out , I struggled with trying to keep the readers personality just like how it was in the first part but I’m excited with how to turned out !! please tell me all your thoughts it really motivates me to keep writing !! reblogs and comments are my best friend <3

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© carmysdoll | all rights reserved.

[obse66ion]

on top - rafe cameron

warnings - smut (some plot), smoking, p in v, cowgirl, slight submissive rafe, swearing, kissing, hickeys, mentions fighting/blood

You were walking along the shore with Sarah and Kie. Rafe had dropped you off a few hours ago and is about to pick you up soon. You checked the time 9:30pm, Rafe should be here in 20 minutes. John B, Pope, and JJ were smoking in the van, off the beach, which is where you guys were headed.

“How’s Rafe been treating you?” Sarah asked while she picked up random seashells. “Yeah, is he as bad as we told you he was.” Kie added. You laughed at little at Kie’s comment. “No he’s not a raging psychopath who hates everything, he actually listens to everything I say or ask,” You answered, “he even watched The Notebook with me.”

“What the fuck, me and Wheezie have been begging Rafe to watch movies with us for years, and he actually watched The Notebook.” Sarah said in disbelief. You just shrugged, unsure what to say about your boyfriend’s behavior. Kie was stood there surprised.

“So Rafe can be normal.” Kie says bluntly. “Yeah for his girlfriendd.” Sarah starts teasing. “Don’t get me started on you and John B.” You said. You all started laughing together and teasing eachother. As you guys got closer to the van, Kie heard something in the distance.

“Guys stop.” Kie abruptly says while you and Sarah are playing fighting. You both look at her confused and pull alway from each other. As you guys keep walking, you hear yelling. Sarah starts running in which you and Kie follow behind her. You all see Rafe and JJ arguing, a little too loudly.

It was not out of the ordinary to see Rafe and JJ argue, they hate eachother and will continue to do so for however long they keep it up. You run towards Rafe while Kie goes to hold back JJ.

“What is this even about?” Sarah frantically asked John B. “JJ’s drunk okay, he started yelling at Rafe calling him a daddy’s boy and shit,” John B says, “then he started bringing up [your name] and their relationship which got Rafe pissed.”

Sarah groans out loud, annoyed between her brothers yelling and JJ’s drunk voice. “Rafe stop, just take me home.” You whisper to him. You see in his face that he’s fighting everything in him to not hit JJ. You grab his hands and turn him away from JJ and towards you.

Not even your pretty face can take away JJ’s loud yelling from Rafe’s head. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.” Rafe says while gripping your waist. You can feel his frustration from the way he’s holding onto you, like only you can keep him stable. “You know you can’t fight him when he’s drunk.” You say

Rafe had promised you a while ago that he wouldn’t fight your friends if they were under the influence. You accepted what you could get, knowing the past history. In the back Kie is yelling at JJ to calm down. “JJ just drink some water please.” She begs.

“You’re right, let’s go home.” Rafe says frustrated as he grabs your hand. As you two are walking away JJ yells, “That’s right, take your girl home to your daddy’s house powerfuff girl.” Rafe stops walking, you can feel his grip tighten. “Rafe, seriously be mature about this.” You say getting annoyed, but he stays still.

“Rafe don’t do it please, for me.” You say. As you feel him relaxing all you two can hear is, “C’mon bubbles fight me like the man your dad brags about.” JJ shouts. That took Rafe straight away from you and striding towards JJ. You turn around and walk away, fighting JJ was more important than your promise.

You can hear everyone’s yelling in the back, along with the punches they were throwing at eachother. You hated Rafes fighting and he knew that, especially with your friends. You hate how everything you know about him changes back to his old ways.

You reach the car and realize he has the keys. “Fuck.” you whispered. You leaned back onto his car and took out a joint from your bag. You smoked whenever you were stressed, which in this moment you were. Seeing Rafe’s face after a fight is so annoying, what he does is wrong but he always looks so good no matter how fucked up his face gets.

But you had to remind yourself this time was different, this time he broke a promise he made to you. As you finish off the joint, you can hear fast footsteps coming your way. Rafe, he has a few marks and blood around his face and neck. He looks more peaceful now, but now even more upset in himself than he was with JJ. He realizes the car is locked and unlocks it.

Rafe goes to open the door for you as usual but you beat him to it and shut the door before he can try to mumble some sort of sweet apology. He stands out the car for a while after that, balling his fist and putting them over his eyes. He finally lets out a deep breath and heads towards the drivers seat.

He gets in and starts the car, looking over at you but you’re too busy looking at the window. He sighs and starts driving. The car ride is very silent, no music, no conversation, just Rafe’s loud breathing. His frustration keeps growing as the silent treatment continues on and you not even batting an eye towards him.

Soon enough you reach Rafe’s house and he drives into the quiet garage. Rafe parks the car and you get out before he does. This time you had the keys that Rafe had given you months ago and opened the door. His steps follow quickly behind you. “Princess, please talk to me.” He asks softly.

You ignore his words and continue to walk towards his room. “Can you even blame me?” He blabbed on about how JJ went too far. You continue to take off your jewelry acting like you were deaf. As you get up to go to the restroom, Rafe gets infront of you blocking your way.

You try to move out the way but he blocks you. He slowly grabs your waist with his bruised knuckles and puts his head into your neck, “Please say something.” He whispers. “I’ll do anything, just look at me.” He begs into your neck. You sigh, “You broke your promise.” You whispered.

You feel him nod his head, “I know, i’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He says moving his head out your neck and pulling your face gently to look at him. You can see his bruises forming, but the hurt his eyes is winning against your anger.

“You’re never gonna break a promise again.” You ask. “I will never disappoint you like that ever again.” He says looking into your eyes. You slowly start giving in but still hesitant. He brings his face closer to your neck, “Please don’t hate me.” He whispered. “I don’t hate you, but you make it really easy to be mad at you sometimes.” You admit.

“How can I be forgiven.” He asks. You think for a moment, deciding to toy with Rafe since he upset you. You gently move him away from you, taking his hand and sitting on the bed. “Give me a reason to forgive you.” You say, looking up at him. He let out a soft, “Fuck.” Still holding onto your hand, he sinks onto his knees, spreading your thighs apart.

He starts using both his hands to unbutton your pants and slide them off, along with your underwear. “You get mad when I fight but this is how wet you are.” He says smugly. “And yet you’re still not giving me a reason to forgive you.” You say annoyed, pulling his head towards your pussy.

All of a sudden his mouth is your clit, tounge licking up and down. His movements are sloppy and desperate like he’s begging you with his mouth. You let out soft moans, trying to wrap your legs around his head but his arms are still holding them apart. “Please Rafe.” You softly beg. He looks up at you, “What do you need princess, tell me.” He says while leaving soft kisses in between your legs.

You wanted to try something different, something that Rafe usually wouldn’t let happen. But since he’s on his knees begging for your forgiveness, might as well take advantage of the situation. “I want to be on top.” You tell him. He stops with the kisses and takes a deep breath. He sighs and lays his head against your stomach.

You slowly caress his head, till he brings his hands and takes off your shirt. “You’re so beautiful.” He tells you. You smile shyly and tug at his shirt. He stands up and pulls his shirt off his head. Next his shoes and he pulls his pants off, now he’s just left in his boxers. He holds eye contact with you and he pulls them down, you can’t help but let your eyes drift down Rafes body.

His dick is painfully hard and swollen from just you. He walks over and settles himself on his bed. He grabs your hands and guides you to sit on top of him. You let out a shaky breath and you angle yourself right above Rafe.

His bruised hands are now tight on your hips, trying to pull you down. “No Rafe it’s not gonna be that easy,” You say smiling, “ask me nicely.” He lets out a frustrated huff. You know it must be killing his ego to beg for you, so you start slowly moving your wetness on his tip.

You lay your hands on his chest and start teasing his tip by putting it in, then taking it out. He tries to move his hips up but you hold don’t let him. He lets out a defeated noise, “Please, please fuck me beautiful.” He starts begging. But you just keep teasing his tip, making it very sensitive. He starts breathing heavier, “Fuck, i’m sorry I won’t ever do that shit again, please baby you know I love you more than anything else, let me help you feel good.” He starts pleading to you.

“Your so sweet Rafe.” You tell him as you sink down, taking it all. Both of you gasp, filled with pleasure. You slowly start moving your hips back and forth on his dick, grabbing his shoulders to help ground you more. “Just like that, fuck.” Rafe says, looking at your face twisting in pleasure. “You feel so good Rafe.” You moan out, picking up the pace.

“You’re so good to me Rafey.” You tell him. He moans out at the nickname that you have for him. Your movements are slowing down as your legs get weaker. “Let me help you finish.” Rafe says while grabbing your hips. You give in, too filled with pleasure to deny Rafe.

You let your chest meet his and put your face into his neck, leaving small kisses and hickies. He moves up, sitting with you on top of him and bouncing you up and down. You let out moans in his ear, holding onto his shoulders. “Faster Rafe.” You whisper into his ear. He wraps his arms around your waist and starts fucking you faster. He lets out deep groans and he feels himself hit your sweet spot.

You feel yourself getting closer, moaning out Rafe’s name. Your head moves backwards in pleasure, causing Rafe to start sucking on your neck and leaving sloppy kisses. You start clenching tighter onto Rafe, “Fuck, cum with me baby.” He moans into your ear. You dig your nails into his shoulders as his moves get sloppier.

You let out a cry, letting yourself go as Rafe whimpers and releases himself into you. You both catch your breath as Rafe holds you in his arms. “Am I forgiven now princess?” Rafe ask’s softly. “Yes Rafe, I think you learned your lesson.” You say with a soft smile.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He says. “You too, i’m still gonna clean your face and knuckles.” You say leaving a small kiss on his lips. “Anything for you.” He says grabbing the back of your head and moving your lips towards his, finally kissing you after being forgiven. He picks you and starts a bath for the both of you.

©OBSE66ION

first time writing p in v smut, please let me know if I can improve, hope you guys enjoy - v

divider credit - @/sweetestpeacreates

[mypoisonedvine]

A tommy idea: he hires us to help take care of his kids when they’re home but he soon realizes that he likes us more and more seeing how maternal we are with them. He’s constantly checking us out, when we bend over he’s always accidentally bedons us, good girl girl and praising us for doing well taking care of them, and the idea of us carrying his next baby also turns him on so much

oh my goddddd!! this turned out pretty short cause I wrote it in my car on break from work 😭 but I just had to do this concept pronto

warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, slightly dubious consent (tommy is a little... pushy), age gap (not specified, everybody's grown), breeding kink

You were bouncing the little one on your hip when he came in; you gestured to the older child, already asleep, as a reminder to Thomas to speak softly so she wouldn't wake.

He approached you slowly, waving a quick hello to the baby but otherwise just watching him slowly shut his eyes as he drifted off.

"The children adore you," he noticed, smiling proudly, "as do I."

"I adore them," you returned, "and I'm... thankful you hired me to care for them."

You felt his gaze on you as you gently laid the baby in his crib, feeling a little strange about him standing so close behind you while you were bent over. "Don't you ever want any of your own?" he asked, lowering his voice a bit. "You'd make a lovely mother..."

He trailed off for a moment, his fingers brushing over your back through your dress, making your breath catch.

"...and such a sweet little wife, too," he added with a slow breath. You shuddered, turning to face him and completely intending to tell him how inappropriate this was, but the look in his eyes shut you up in a second.

"M-Mr. Shelby..." you mumbled, blinking up at him as he stepped closer again, nearly pressing his body to yours-- you tried to step back but only found yourself pressed against the crib.

"Well?" he pressed. "Don't you want children?"

"M-maybe someday," you answered nervously, struggling to keep your attention on the conversation when he rubbed your arm through your sleeve. "But I think I'm still too young--"

He knit his brows together, shaking his head. "Oh, no-- you're the perfect age for it, darling..."

You swallowed thickly, his fingers running gently over your jaw and lifting your chin so he could get a better look at your nervous, confused expression.

"You should have one," he decided suddenly, "and I should have another."

You opened your mouth to disagree, but nothing really came out... instead, he just pulled you into a kiss: slow, gentle, patient. You knew Tommy could be a volatile man, even violent, but you'd never known he could be so tender.

Of course, it didn't last long. He was anything but slow or gentle or patient when he had you in his bedroom, pressed up against the wall as he drove into you mercilessly, holding your legs open as he grunted with each rough thrust into your heat. "Good girl," he growled as your head fell back with a sigh of pleasure, "look how well you take it. I knew you needed a baby in you, darling-- as soon as I saw you, I knew. This body of yours just begging to be bred..."

You whined and bit your lip, but a hard thrust that went just a bit too deep made you yelp loudly-- and his hand quickly snapped over your mouth, muffling your noises as he panted in your ear.

"Shh, not so loud," he warned, "you don't want to wake the baby..."

[byorderofana]

What Loving You Costs

☾‧₊˚ ⋅ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: thomas shelby x fem!reader

☾ Warnings: pregnancy, hidden pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, break-in/home invasion, threats related to shelby business, reader being chased, minor injury and mentions of blood, fear for pregnancy after a fall, emotional distress, crying, shouting/argument, tommy being protective and angry, references to violence and danger, complicated relationship, angst with comfort.

☾ Tags: @spn-reader

☾‧₊˚ ⋅ ───────────── ⋅ ˚₊‧☽

By the time Thomas realized the threat was meant for you, the glass had already been broken.

He had been in the back room of the Garrison with Arthur when the boy came rushing in, hat clutched against his chest, cheeks red from running. Finn had been sent to watch one of the warehouses after a deal turned sour two nights before. Nothing unusual. Nothing Thomas had not expected after telling the Hanley brothers they would no longer be permitted to move liquor through streets controlled by the Peaky Blinders.

A few men posted outside buildings. A brick through a bookmaker’s window. Perhaps one poor bastard dragged from an alley with his face split open for refusing to pass along a warning.

Thomas had expected all of that.

He had not expected the boy to hold out a folded scrap of paper with your name written across the front.

“What’s this?” Arthur demanded, cigarette already paused halfway to his mouth.

The boy swallowed. “Found at Y/n’s home, Mr Shelby.”

Thomas’s hand stopped before it reached the paper.

Arthur was looking at him now. “What woman?”

The boy shifted his eyes between them, already regretting being the one sent to deliver it. “Y/n, Mr Shelby. Front door of the building were hanging off. Mrs Palmer from downstairs said two men went in not ten minutes before she heard the crash.”

Thomas took the paper from him without speaking.

There were only four words inside.

We know her name.

For a moment, Arthur said nothing. He had never been especially good at silence, but even he understood the look that came over his brother’s face. Thomas did not swear. Did not throw the paper. Did not reach for his cap or glass.

He simply folded the note once and slid it into his coat pocket.

“Get the car,” he said.

“Tom—”

“Get the fucking car, Arthur.”

Arthur moved.

Your building was three streets over from where Thomas had last seen you, though it felt longer than three weeks since you had stood in his office doorway with your gloves clutched in one hand and told him you would not be staying that night.

You had not made a scene. That was never the kind of woman you were.

You had only become more difficult to reach.

At first, he had allowed it. Thomas Shelby had never chased a woman down to ask why she had stopped warming his bed. If you wanted something said, you would say it. If you were tired of him, that was your right. He had told himself he understood. There had been nights when he wanted you beside him badly enough that he poured himself another whisky instead of sending for you, but he had left you alone.

Then he started noticing the details.

You did not come into the Garrison anymore.

When he caught sight of you on the street and stopped the car, you made some excuse about being late and kept a careful distance between your body and his.

Once, when he had stepped close enough to touch your cheek, you had caught his wrist gently and given him a smile that had looked too tired to be real.

“I ought to go home, Tommy.”

He had let you.

By the time Thomas reached your building, the front door was hanging from one hinge.

He stepped through first, Arthur hard on his heels. The downstairs hall had been pulled apart. A small table lay on its side beneath the stairs, its lamp smashed across the floor. Arthur swore under his breath as Thomas took the steps two at a time, reaching the landing above before him.

Your door upstairs had been forced open too, splintered wood scattered across the floorboards.

Someone had broken into your home because they knew you mattered to Thomas Shelby.

Thomas entered first.

The little front room had been pulled apart. Cushions slashed open. Your drawer turned onto its side. A cup smashed beneath the table, tea stained dark across the rug. There was a fresh dent in the wall beside the door where someone had thrown it open with enough force to break the latch.

“Jesus Christ,” Arthur muttered.

Thomas scanned the room quickly, then moved into the bedroom.

Your handbag was on the floor, the contents scattered near the bed. A comb. A little coin purse. A handkerchief. Two hairpins. Your bedcover had been dragged halfway off the mattress.

No you.

He opened the wardrobe. Nothing disturbed except a missing coat and one empty hanger left swinging.

“She got out,” Arthur said behind him. He spoke too quickly, as though saying it firmly enough might make it true. “Her coat’s gone. She heard them, got out before they could get her.”

Thomas did not answer.

His eyes had caught on the window.

One pane had been smashed through from the inside. Jagged glass remained in the frame, and along the lowest edge, where someone had pushed a hand through to unlatch it, there was a thin red smear.

Thomas crossed the room and touched it with one finger.

Still tacky.

Arthur saw it a second later. “Tom.”

“Get John to the station,” Thomas said, his voice quiet. “Get boys at every road out of Small Heath. Check her friends, the dressmaker on Camden Street, the church she goes past on Sundays.”

“Right.”

“And find out who the fuck was at that door.”

Arthur turned, then stopped. “Where are you going?”

Thomas took one last look at the blood on the window.

“Everywhere else.”

༺ ☾ ༻

You had known someone was outside your building before they broke through the front door downstairs.

The feeling had settled over you sometime after supper, a crawling unease you could not explain. You had been standing at the washbasin, trying to hold down a piece of bread and half a cup of tea, when you glanced through the curtain and saw a man leaning against the lamp post across the road.

He had not been smoking.

Had not been waiting for anyone.

Only looking at your window.

Your stomach clenched, one hand instantly moving beneath your loose dress. The gesture had become habit before you even realized it: every sudden noise, every jolt of fear, every time a man lingered too long behind you in the street, your hand went to the quiet little secret tucked beneath your clothes.

You backed away from the window.

Perhaps he had nothing to do with you. Perhaps he was waiting on a woman downstairs, or watching the rain, or drunk enough not to know where his own feet had brought him.

Then you heard the front door of the building give way with a violent crack below.

Your breath stopped.

Heavy footsteps charged up the stairs.

The floorboard outside your door creaked once.

Someone knocked.

“Miss Y/n?”

You did not move.

Another knock came, harder this time.

“Message from Mr Shelby.”

The baby seemed suddenly impossibly precious inside you. Too small. Too helpless. Your own heart began beating so violently it made you feel sick.

Thomas would not send someone to you like this. Not with a voice you did not know. Not at night, after you had spent weeks making it clear you did not want his men turning up at your door.

You took one careful step toward the back window.

Your door shuddered beneath a heavy blow.

A frightened sound escaped you before you could swallow it down. You seized your coat from the hook, pulled it over your shoulders with trembling hands and climbed onto the narrow ledge outside the kitchen window just as the door split open behind you.

A man shouted when he saw you.

You slipped.

For one awful second, your stomach dropped as your foot skidded on wet brick. Your palm came down hard against the shattered corner of the pane, glass biting into your skin, but you managed to catch yourself before you fell fully.

Pain tore through your hand.

You did not stop.

You scrambled down the back stairs, one hand clasped beneath your stomach even as blood ran down your wrist. Behind you, boots hammered against the floorboards. A hand caught the back of your coat as you reached the alley, jerking you off balance. You twisted out of it so quickly the fabric tore at the shoulder, leaving the man with a fistful of wool while you ran.

You did not think about where you were going until your legs had already taken you there.

His house.

The place you had sworn you would not return to. The bed you had stopped sleeping in. The door you had avoided because the longer you kept away, the more possible it felt that you could have this baby without his world closing around the both of you.

But when men came into your home because of Thomas Shelby, it was Thomas Shelby’s house you ran to.

The maid who let you inside went pale when she saw you.

“Miss, are you injured?”

“No,” you lied quickly. “No, I only— I need somewhere to sit. Is Mr Shelby here?”

“No, miss.”

Relief and terror moved through you together.

“Please don’t send for him,” you said, too fast. “Please. I just need a moment.”

She looked at the blood dripping from your hand, then at your face, but you were already past her, climbing the stairs with your heart trapped somewhere in your throat.

You knew his bedroom too well. Knew the handle that stuck slightly before it opened, the heavy curtains, the smell of tobacco and clean linen and the faint cologne that clung to his collars. You locked the door behind you and stood very still, trying to breathe.

You were safe.

You thought you were safe.

Then a cramp pulled low in your belly, and all thought vanished beneath a wave of panic.

You looked down at yourself. Your coat was torn. The side of your dress was wet from the rain and streaked with grime where you had scraped against the wall. There was blood on it too, though you could not tell at first whether it had come from your palm or somewhere else.

“No,” you whispered.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons. You tore the dress down from your shoulders and let it pool on the floor, then pulled your damp stockings away, barely aware of your own movements. You were left in your brassiere and knickers before the long mirror by the wardrobe, bare skin prickled from the cold, hair loose from its pins, your cut hand shaking badly.

Your eyes dropped instantly to your stomach.

There was no blood there.

Nothing wrong that you could see.

Only the slight roundness that had become harder to disguise these past few weeks, rising softly beneath your navel. Nearly four months, the doctor had told you. Soon enough you would not be able to hide it beneath wide coats and lowered eyes. Soon enough the choice would be taken from you.

You turned slowly to the side, pressing your uninjured hand beneath the curve.

For weeks, you had avoided looking at yourself for too long. It made everything too real. The nausea. The tiredness. The quiet terror that would come over you at night when you lay alone and tried to imagine raising a child whose father carried a razor blade in his cap and enemies in every street.

But now you could not look away.

Your eyes filled with tears before you felt them fall.

“Please be all right,” you whispered, smoothing your hand over your stomach. “Please, darling. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Downstairs, the front door slammed open.

You did not hear it.

You did not hear the voices, the hard rhythm of men’s boots on polished floorboards, or Arthur demanding where Thomas thought he was going when he suddenly changed direction at the bottom of the stairs.

You only saw them when the bedroom door opened behind you.

In the mirror, Thomas stopped dead.

Arthur nearly walked into him.

Neither man spoke for a moment.

Thomas had come into the room with his pistol still in one hand, his coat wet across the shoulders and his cap low on his forehead. He looked as though he had been running through the whole of Birmingham with murder on his mind. Arthur stood just behind him, face flushed, breath heavy, mouth already parted around whatever he had been about to say.

Then Thomas’s eyes moved down the reflection of your body.

Your bare shoulders.

The torn dress on his floor.

The blood dried across your palm.

Your hand, resting carefully around the little swell of your stomach.

The color drained from his face.

You turned too quickly, reaching for the first thing within reach: one of his white shirts lying folded at the foot of the bed. You held it against your front, shame and panic rushing through you at once.

“Tommy—”

Arthur leaned slightly around his brother, squinting as though the answer would change if he stared a little harder.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. “Is she—”

“Out.”

Thomas’s voice was so low that Arthur did not immediately understand him.

“What?”

“Get out, Arthur.”

Arthur stared at him. “Tommy, is that yours?”

A silence passed through the room that made you wish the floor would open beneath your feet.

Thomas turned his head only slightly.

“Go downstairs.”

“But, Tom—”

“Now.”

Arthur’s gaze flicked to you again, his expression part shock, part alarm, as though he wanted to say something kinder and could not find the words quickly enough. Then he retreated into the hall and shut the door behind him.

You and Thomas were left alone.

He had not looked away from you.

Your shaking fingers worked at the shirt, forcing your arms through the sleeves and dragging the fabric around yourself. It smelled like him, which made the tears threatening behind your eyes feel even closer. The hem fell over your thighs. You buttoned it badly, missing one near the middle, but it covered enough of you that you no longer felt completely stripped before him.

Thomas put the gun down on the dresser.

He took off his cap next.

Slowly. Carefully.

As though the smallest sudden movement might break whatever little control remained in the room.

His eyes lowered to your stomach beneath his shirt, then moved to your face.

“How long?”

You swallowed. “Tommy…”

“How long, Y/n?”

You pressed your lips together, unable to soften the answer no matter how badly you wanted to.

“Nearly four months.”

He stared at you.

“Four months?”

You nodded once.

Something moved in his jaw. His gaze dropped from your face, as though he needed a moment before he looked at you again.

“Is it mine?”

It was the wrong thing to ask. You saw him know it almost as soon as the words had left him.

Still, it cut.

“There hasn’t been anyone else,” you said quietly.

“I know.”

“Then why would you ask me that?”

“Because I have just walked into my bedroom and found a woman I have been searching half this city for standing here carrying a child I knew nothing about.”

His voice had started controlled, but the last few words sharpened. He moved away from the door, dragging a hand over his mouth as though trying to pull himself back together.

“You knew,” he said. “All those weeks, you knew.”

You looked down.

“When you stopped coming to see me, you knew.”

“I didn’t know what to do.”

“You tell me.” He turned toward you suddenly. “That is what you do.”

“Is it?”

The question came out smaller than you meant it to, but it struck him all the same.

His eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means we were never anything, Tommy. Not properly. You never asked me to stay. You never said what I was to you.”

“You know what you are to me.”

“No, I knew where I was expected to be when you sent for me.”

The hurt in his expression only lasted a moment before anger covered it.

“That is not fair.”

“Perhaps not.”

“No.” His voice rose. “No, you do not stand there with my fucking child inside you and speak as if you were some woman I used and discarded when you know damn well you were more than that.”

You flinched before you could help it.

He saw.

But the shock and hurt in him were already burning too fiercely for him to stop.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he demanded. “Were you going to come knocking at my door when it were born? Or was I meant to hear about it from someone in the street?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I said I don’t know!”

“You had four months to know!”

His voice struck through you so hard that one hand went automatically to your stomach again, covering the baby through the thin white shirt.

Thomas saw the gesture and went still for half a second, but his breathing remained heavy.

“I had men tearing your home apart tonight looking for some sign of where they had taken you,” he said, lower now, though no less furious. “I stood with your blood on my hand and thought you might be lying somewhere because of me. And all that time, you were carrying my child.”

Your mouth trembled.

“That is exactly why I couldn’t tell you.”

His brows drew together. “What?”

“You think keeping it from me keeps it safe?” he asked, bitter disbelief breaking through his voice.

“No.” Your voice cracked before you could steady it. “I think staying away from you might have.”

The words landed between you harder than any shout.

For one awful moment, Thomas did not move.

Then he laughed once, without humor, looking away from you as though you had slapped him.

“Staying away from me.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” He paced toward the window, then turned again, his face drawn tight with anger. “You’ve got my child growing inside you, and you thought you could simply disappear from my life to keep it from my name?”

“I was trying to protect it.”

“From me?”

“From this!”

You gestured at the discarded dress, the torn coat on the floor, your injured hand. Your voice wavered violently, but you could not stop anymore. Everything you had been forcing down for weeks was coming up too quickly.

“From men kicking through my door because I once let you into my bed. From running through an alley believing somebody might catch me and hurt my baby because hurting me would hurt you.”

His gaze snapped to your hand.

For the first time, he seemed to truly see the blood.

“What happened?”

You shook your head, tears starting to spill down your cheeks.

“What happened to your hand, Y/n?”

“I broke the window getting out.”

“Getting out of what?”

“Men came into my home because of you, Tommy. Because they knew I meant something to you.”

His face went still.

“Two men,” you continued through your tears. “One was outside the building and the other came up the stairs. They said they had a message from you, and then they broke into my home. One of them nearly caught me in the alley.”

Thomas’s expression changed.

Not softened. Not yet.

But the rage was no longer all pointed at you.

“He put his hands on you?”

“He grabbed my coat.” You looked toward the wool torn across the floor. “I got away.”

Thomas turned his head toward the door, as if Arthur might somehow hear the order he had not yet given. His hand flexed once by his side. He looked terrifying in that moment, quiet in the particular way that meant someone would be bleeding before the night was done.

And still, the sight of him frightened you.

Not because you thought he would hurt you. Never that.

Because this was exactly what you had tried so desperately to avoid.

The violence. The fury. The men being sent out after other men. A child growing inside you who would one day see the way a room shifted when Thomas Shelby became angry.

Your tears began coming harder.

“I can’t do this, Tommy.”

He looked back at you.

“I cannot live like this.” You tried to wipe your face, but the cut across your palm stung and made you wince. “I cannot have a child and spend every night wondering who knows about it. Wondering whether someone is watching my door. Wondering whether you are coming back alive.”

“You think I would let anything happen to you?”

“You cannot stop everything!”

Your cry seemed to knock the rest of the anger out of the room.

Thomas went quiet.

You took a shuddering breath, wrapping both arms around your stomach now, his shirt bunching in your fists.

“I am scared all the time,” you said, hardly louder than a whisper. “Since I found out, I’ve been scared. I wake up scared. I walk down the street scared. Every time I see your car or one of your brothers, I think somebody else has seen it too. Somebody else has figured out that I mean something to you.”

“You do mean something to me.”

“I know.” You let out a broken little sob. “That is the problem.”

His expression tightened.

You looked at him through blurred eyes. “I’m not frightened of you, Tommy. I’m frightened of what loving you costs.”

He looked away then.

His hand went automatically to the cigarette case in his pocket. He took it out, thumbed it open and drew one cigarette free, but when he went to light it, his hands were not quite steady. He stared at the tremor for a second, then closed the lighter again and set the cigarette down unlit beside his cap.

The sight of that nearly broke you more than his shouting had.

Thomas always knew what to do with his hands.

He took a breath through his nose and glanced back at your belly.

“You saw a doctor?”

You nodded.

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Alone?”

The hurt in that single word made you lower your eyes.

“Yes.”

He swallowed, the muscles in his throat shifting. “And?”

“He said everything looked well. I’ve been sick, but not badly. He said that was normal.”

“And tonight?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice became small again. “I slipped climbing out. I didn’t fall badly, but I was frightened. There was blood on my dress from my hand, and I didn’t know where it came from at first.”

Thomas crossed the room before you could think to move.

You shrank back on instinct, only half a step, but he stopped immediately.

His face changed again when he saw what you had done.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

The question came out rougher than he intended. He rubbed his thumb against his fingers once, looking down at the floor between you.

“I should not have shouted at you.”

“You’re angry.”

“Yes.” He met your eyes. “I am.”

You nodded, tears still sliding silently down your face.

“I don’t know what to do with the fact that you kept this from me,” he said. “I do not know how to look at you and pretend four months is nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“I don’t want you sorry because I frightened it out of you.”

You did not answer.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint clatter of movement downstairs, Arthur likely pacing holes into the floor while trying to decide whether he ought to interrupt or run to tell Polly what he had just seen.

Thomas looked at your wounded hand.

“Let me see it.”

“It is only a cut.”

“Let me see it, Y/n.”

This time there was no anger in the command. Only the familiar certainty in his tone, made gentler by something neither of you quite knew how to name.

You held your hand out.

Thomas moved slowly, taking it in both of his as though even your fingers required care. His touch was warm against your cold skin. The cut across your palm had already begun to crust with blood, but there were tiny shards glittering near the base of your thumb.

“There’s glass in it,” he said.

“I know.”

“You need a doctor.”

“Tommy, please don’t start sending people everywhere.”

“I’m sending for a doctor because you are hurt.”

“And then what?”

His eyes lifted to yours.

“And then he checks the baby,” he said quietly. “And then we know you are both all right.”

Your throat tightened at the word both.

He released your hand carefully, then stood in front of you without touching anywhere else. His gaze dropped again, almost helplessly, to the slight curve under the white shirt.

You saw him hesitate.

For the first time since you had known him, Thomas Shelby looked uncertain of whether he was permitted to reach for something he desperately wanted.

“May I?” he asked.

You started crying again before you could stop yourself.

It was ridiculous, perhaps. After everything. After his raised voice and your terror and men breaking through your front door, it was the quiet request that undid you.

You nodded.

His hand came to rest over your stomach with unbearable gentleness.

He did not press. Did not pull you to him or act as though that single touch had made you his possession. His palm only settled against the small roundness beneath his shirt, fingers spread carefully around the place where his child was growing.

Thomas looked down.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

You saw a dozen emotions move across his face in the space of a breath: disbelief, pain, fear, something so soft it almost looked foreign on him. His thumb shifted once, scarcely more than a brush of fabric.

“That’s mine,” he said finally, so quietly you nearly missed it.

“Ours,” you whispered.

His eyes closed for a moment.

“Yes.” His hand remained where it was. “Ours.”

You stood there in silence, close enough now to feel the warmth from his body. You wanted to lean into him. You wanted to push him away. You wanted him to promise nothing bad would ever happen again, even though you knew the promise would be a lie.

When he looked at you again, there was still anger there. Not the shouting kind anymore. Something deeper and wounded.

“I am not finished being angry with you,” he said.

“I know.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know.”

“I would have wanted to know from the first day.”

Your mouth tightened. “That’s what frightened me too.”

His brow creased.

“That you would want it,” you explained, looking down at the hand covering your belly. “That you would put your hand there and I would see this look on your face, and I wouldn’t know how to take the baby away from you even if I still believed I should.”

Thomas’s jaw worked slightly.

“You were planning to leave Birmingham?”

“I thought about it.”

The words wounded him visibly.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere nobody knew your name.”

“There is no place far enough for that.”

“I know.”

It was the sort of thing he might once have said with pride. Tonight, it sounded like a confession.

A knock came at the bedroom door.

Both of you stiffened.

“Tom?” Arthur called cautiously through the wood. “I ain’t trying to interrupt whatever… whatever the fuck this is, but Polly’s downstairs, and she knows something’s going on because I apparently don’t have the face for keeping secrets.”

Thomas exhaled slowly through his nose.

Despite everything, a small, watery laugh escaped you.

His eyes flicked to your face, and for the briefest moment, something close to relief appeared in his expression at the sound.

“Tell Polly to send for a doctor,” Thomas said.

Arthur paused. “A doctor?”

“Yes, Arthur. A doctor.”

“Right. For the…” He cleared his throat loudly. “For her hand, yeah?”

Thomas gave him no answer.

“Right,” Arthur muttered. “Doctor. Going.”

His footsteps retreated quickly.

You wiped beneath your eyes with the heel of your uninjured hand. “He is going to tell everyone.”

“No, he won’t.”

“He already brought Polly into it.”

“Polly does not require Arthur to tell her anything. She looks at a man and knows what he had for breakfast four days ago.”

You let out another tiny, unsteady laugh, then immediately pressed your lips together as guilt came over you for finding anything funny while the night still hung so heavily around you.

Thomas noticed.

“You are allowed to breathe,” he said.

“Am I?”

His face sobered.

“Tonight, yes.”

“And tomorrow?”

His hand remained on your stomach, but his eyes held yours.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “we speak properly.”

“Meaning you decide what happens?”

The question made his mouth tighten.

You expected him to say yes. Expected him to begin immediately: which house you would move into, which men would guard the door, which streets you were no longer permitted to walk alone.

Instead, he looked down at your bare legs, at the torn dress, at the blood dried on your palm.

“Tonight I want you somewhere no man can break through your door,” he said. “I want a doctor to tell me you and the baby are unharmed. And I want the men who frightened you found.”

“Tommy—”

“I know.” His voice dropped. “I know what you are going to say. That this is the very thing you were running from.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

The honesty of it stopped you.

He drew his hand back from your stomach, slowly enough that it seemed difficult for him to do it, then reached for the blanket at the end of the bed and placed it around your shoulders. He did not fasten it around you himself. He allowed you to take it and close it across your chest.

“I do not know how to make being near me harmless,” he said. “I cannot stand here and tell you danger ends because I know about the child now.”

Your eyes filled once more.

“But I can listen before I start making decisions for you,” he continued. “I can try.”

You held the blanket tightly around yourself.

“Are you only saying that because I might run again?”

A faint shadow passed over his face.

“I am saying it because you looked at me like you thought I might lock you in this room and call it love.”

You looked away.

He reached up then, very carefully, and wiped a tear from the edge of your cheek with his thumb.

“I may not be good at gentle things, Y/n,” he said. “But I know I don’t want my child’s mother frightened of speaking to me.”

The words settled painfully in your chest.

Not his woman.

Not his wife.

His child’s mother.

It was not romantic, exactly. It was larger than romance. More permanent. More terrifying.

“I don’t know what happens now,” you confessed.

“Neither do I.”

You almost smiled at that. “Thomas Shelby admitting he doesn’t know something?”

“Do not repeat it. I have a reputation.”

The softness disappeared quickly, but not entirely. His thumb moved once more along your cheek, then lowered.

A second knock sounded, followed by Arthur speaking before he was invited to.

“Doctor’s coming. Polly wants to know whether she can come up, and I told her I did not think now was the moment, but you know Polly, Tom, she’s already halfway—”

The door opened before he finished.

Polly stood behind him, perfectly composed except for the sharp worry in her eyes. Her gaze took in the blanket around your shoulders, the blood on your hand, Thomas standing close beside you, and then the gentle shape beneath the oversized shirt.

She looked at Thomas.

Then at you.

No surprise reached her face. Only understanding.

“Oh, love,” she said quietly.

That nearly set you crying all over again.

Thomas shifted at your side, his shoulder brushing yours as if to steady you without drawing attention to it.

“Someone came to her home,” he told Polly. “She got out through a window. Doctor checks her hand and the baby, then she rests.”

Polly’s eyes sharpened at the mention of the men, but she nodded once. “Of course.”

Arthur remained in the doorway, still appearing as though someone had struck him over the head with a chair. His eyes moved down toward your stomach once before snapping quickly away in awkward embarrassment.

“So,” he began, pointing vaguely downstairs. “I’ll, er… go see about tea.”

“Whisky,” Thomas said.

Polly turned on him. “Not for her.”

“For me.”

“You’ll have tea as well.”

Arthur gave you a helpless look from behind her shoulder, as though to say this was how every family crisis ended: with Polly taking command and no man quite brave enough to stop her.

For the first time since the door to your home had splintered open, you felt a little of the panic inside you loosen.

Not gone.

Never gone.

But loosened.

Polly and Arthur disappeared downstairs again, leaving the bedroom door cracked open this time.

Thomas did not move away from you.

He lifted your uninjured hand and brought it briefly to his mouth, his lips pressing once against your knuckles. The gesture was so quiet, so unlike any grand claim you had feared from him, that you could not find words for it.

“I should have told you,” you said finally.

“Yes.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You could pretend to make that easier for me.”

“No.” His gaze stayed on yours. “Not tonight.”

Strangely, you were grateful for that. Grateful he was not making the hurt prettier than it was.

After a moment, his eyes lowered to the blanket over your belly.

“May I again?”

You nodded.

He placed his hand against you for the second time, warmer now through the layers of cloth. This time, when his fingers spread over the small curve, you covered them with your own.

His breath caught slightly.

Downstairs, Arthur’s voice rose in an argument about where the good tea had gone. Polly ordered him to stop shouting. Somewhere outside, rain struck steadily against the windows, and somewhere farther away, men were already being sent into the streets to find the ones who had come for you.

None of that had been solved.

The Shelby name was still what it was. The child beneath Thomas’s hand was still bound to a world you had tried to keep away from them. Morning would bring questions, decisions, and fear that love alone could not take from you.

But Thomas stood in front of you with his forehead gently touching yours, one hand covering the life you had hidden from him and the other keeping yours carefully raised so the glass would not press farther into your palm.

“You are not alone tonight,” he said.

You closed your eyes, tears slipping quietly down your cheeks.

For tonight, you let yourself believe that was enough.

Part Two

[captainfern]

Maekar headlock fucking? Anyone??

oh absolutely

18+ (smut, dirty talk, breeding!!!)

evening light came streaming in through the windows of your chambers, lighting the space in a soft yellow glow as the sun begins its journey behind the distant hills. dappled sunlight catches in your eyelashes as you blink from where you hunch over on the bed, writhing on your hands and knees.

your husband’s hands are tight on your hips, gripping the flesh as he splits you apart on the thick of his cock, grunting little obscenities as he ruts you deeper and deeper into the feathered mattress, your hands and knees pressing indents into the silk.

but you’re wriggling too much. you can’t help it. pleasure sits hot in the pit of your womb, a sticky sort of pressure in the base of your spine too, and you just can’t help the way you wriggle your hips to chase it away, or tremble on your hands and knees when it starts to be too much.

you can’t help it, but maekar can.

you pitch a whine from the back of your throat as his cock spreads the wet clutch of your pussy apart, dragging deep towards the plug of your cervix as he ruts into you, hips smacking against the flesh of your arse. but that’s when you feel it—the solid mass of his chest and abdomen as he leans over you, crowds you, then the thick, scarred column of his arm as it wraps around your throat.

you yelp when he hauls you up until you’re kneeling with him, your sweat-slick back flush with his chest. the corded muscles in his arm contract as he pins your neck into the crook of his elbow, his head coming to rest directly beside your ear.

you suck in a gasp at the new angle and the way the head of his cock pushes up deep inside you. the pressure makes you keen, moaning his name as he traps you against his chest. your hands find his arm, nails dimpling the sun-kissed skin, as he noses at the shell of your ear, his hips rucking upwards.

“you’re restless today,” maekar mutters, tip of his cock nailing that perfect spot inside you. you mewl, clutching his arm as your pussy flutters around him. he pants against the pulse point below your ear. “you just couldn’t kneel there and take it, could you? were you waiting for this, sweet girl?”

his cock hits deep, the velvet ridges along the length rubbing against the slick walls of your cunt. you take him so well, squeezing tight each time he thrusts in and out, slick dribbling from you as he takes what he needs.

you whine in response. “no, maekar, i’m—”

“s’alright, s’alright…” maekar coos, his other hand curling around your waist to press flat to the mound of your lower belly. “i’ve got you, sweet girl. can’t go anywhere now, can you?”

the strong mass of his arm presses tighter to your throat, and you suck in a sharp breath. you hold his arm too, anchoring yourself as he fucks you, your entire body shifting with each of his movements. he’s grunting in your ear, and a couple of damp, white strands of hair fall across his forehead and rub near your temple.

“that’s a good girl, that’s it,” he whispers, feeling your pussy flutter around him. he’s holding you firm against him, the space between you nonexistent and boiling hot. the hand on your belly presses in, the added pressure making you cry out his name. he kisses your cheek softly. “s’alright, don’t fuss, sweet girl. just take it—just fucking take it.”

you can’t do much but take it, really. you’re pinned to his body, heat radiating from him. the bed creaks softly as his hips slam up against you, and he groans right in your ear. you moan his name in response, the vowels stretched around a whine, and he kisses the heated skin of your cheek again.

“my sweet girl, my best girl,” your husband rambles, breathing harshly as his cock ruts in and out of you, the wet heat of your cunt sucking him in. he groans, “i think you’ll take my seed just as well as you take my cock, won’t you?”

you whimper, gasping through the sound as the head of his cock grinds up against that spot inside you that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. the heat in your belly and the pressure in your spine threatens to shatter within you, and you clutch maekar’s arm in support as he fucks you. he groans, revelling in the tight squeeze of your pussy and the way slick dribbles from you, wet across the seam of his balls as he moves.

“she’s begging me for it,” maekar utters, holding you tightly as you flutter around him. “she wants me to fill her, doesn’t she? she wants me to fill her, sweet girl, i can feel it.”

you moan. “maekar, please, please, please—”

“i know, i know, i’ve got you,” your husband mutters, kissing your cheek as the heat and pressure inside finally overwhelm you. he feels your body seize up, your cunt clenching vice-like around the thick of his cock, and he knows you’re on the edge. his hand on your lower belly presses down even firmer. “let me feel you.”

you splinter from the inside out, orgasm racking through you as heat bursts like stars in your veins, and the pressure in your belly dissolves into the marrow of your bones. you come with his name on your lips, moans filling your chambers as your body trembles against his, nails digging into the scarred skin of his forearm. he fucks you through it, trapping you against him as you tremble and whine, pleasure flushing through your veins.

“good girl, there we go,” he mutters, practically bouncing your spent body back onto his. your head rolls back onto his shoulder and he plants a wet kiss to the junction of your jaw. his hips snap, then snap up again, and he growls where he kisses you, his balls drawing tight. “gods above, you’re so fucking tight. she’s begging for a babe, isn’t she? cunt’s pitching a right fit—doesn’t want to let me go.”

you mewl softly, eyes closing as maekar barrels towards his own release. there’s a sharp pressure in the base of his spine, and you can feel the desperation of his movements as he chases that pressure towards its breaking point.

maekar groans, thick and rumbling. “i’ll spill inside you, alright, sweet girl? fill you with my babe—fuck, you always look so fucking good when you’re with child, when you’re round with my babe. yeah, fuck—fuck, my sweet girl, my perfect girl—”

he’s rambling now, and that’s when you know. maekar groans your name right against the shell of your ear as his hips stutter, the arm around your throat pinning you back as he spills inside you. the pressure in his spine snaps and spreads, and he moans deep from his chest as the heat of his orgasm crashes over him. his cock nudges deep inside, right at the base of your cervix, and paints you in thick, hot ropes.

being filled has you leaning back into his hold, whimpering across a sigh as he ruts a few more times, emptying himself completely as your pussy pulls tight, milking him. he kisses along your jaw, cradling you as his cock jerks, then softens where he’s buried, slick and seed drooling slowly from where you connect.

“there we go…” maekar whispers, large hand rubbing across your belly as if that’ll help the taking process. he kneads the soft fat there with calloused fingers. “nice and full, sweet girl.”

you whine, pliant in his arms, blinking the setting sunlight from your eyes.

he kisses your cheek. “always do so well for me—” another kiss, then another. “—i love you, sweet girl.”

[spiced-reads]

🥵

[ghostlybfgf]

HOW DID YOU GET SO MANY?

summary: you have long wondered with your husband’s nature, just how he came to father six children. and its high time he proved it to you.

pairing: maekar targaryen x second wife!reader

warning(s): porn with little plot, rough sex, breeding kink (it’s maekar), fingering, hair pulling, biting, dirty talk, slight degradation, slight bit of spanking

word count: 3.6k

a/n: will i ever stop writing maekar with breeding kink? uhhh.. no :)) i hope you enjoy lovelies

If there was one thing more than anything else he’d been forced to endure, it was you.

Not that, but the things that had come with it, the questions and nonsense from others. And some, even worse, from you.

“For the way he acts it is a wonder.”

“Mayhaps he is just nervous.”

“Id wager he’d enjoy the idea of it.”

“But how exactly did you?” That one, was you.

Endless questioning. That was all he had heard, and it was just about enough to drive him crazy, past the point of insanity if possible.

You were no fool, he knew of it. He would not have stepped foot into another marriage let alone being forced to take a bride, if she was dimwitted. And you were far from it.

Callous, stern and prickly many called him, and yet you and what followed had wandered round him like a buzzing fly. Though it was not your company he despised, he liked that more than he could admit, but it was the mockery. For a man of his age, not old and yet not young with six children in his stead, you had been incessant in wondering exactly.

How.

He was handsome, far more than people had mentioned or cared to, striking in that fierce way. Hardened by battles and fatherhood alone. And you were captivated, and curious. And luckily for you, you were the thing, the creature, the pest that consistently managed to get under his skin.

The way you walked, talked, the way you made eyes at him across the feasting table, the way you’d so perfectly slotted into the family and how everyone, including the children adored you. For that he was thankful, truly, but it didn’t stop the fact you drove him mad.

“She is a new addition to the family, and she is fitting in quite well I should say.” Baelor countered as both men walked through the punctured halls of Maegor’s Holdfast.

“She has taken over.” Maekar muttered with a roll of his yes , stalking slowly beside his brother.

“Your senses perhaps.” Baelor replied coolly, an edge of amusement following.

Maekar slowed, squinting piercing eyes at his brother as they moved to stand over the edge, overseeing the court below where you and the children had played. Egg and Rhae had tugged at your hands, making you stand to play and duck behind the plant pots with them in small strides, with Daeron watching on. Even Valarr stood at the corner with a smile, whispering no doubt pleasantries and flattery about you. Some said you would have been more suited to one of the younger Prince’s, perhaps there would be more in common, a likeness, but even though he remained shadowed, the idea made his blood boil. A possessiveness over territory he had yet to claim.

Not a chance.

“What I mean is, she does no harm. It has been a long time since they have all looked like this.” Baelor reasoned, picking at the stone underneath his palm as he eyed Maekar.

“Around you she may not.” The grumble came fast, quick to override his brother’s words. But his throat felt dry, tacky and stuck like the words could barely come out. Like what he had heard was true.

His senses, overtaken his senses. How?

What with your cunning ways, your ability to charm and please, and weasel your way in without needing to, to be so beautiful and too good for him. It needled at him. The marriage both of you had been so blessed with was not necessity, not by anyone’s means, but yet it came anyway.

Swift and secure, as all things should be, strengthening alliance or something else they had bothered to give title.

The loss changed him, hardened him in ways that most wouldn’t be able to understand, but you had tried to. Endlessly. Attempts to break down the brick wall that was your husband became futile, and so you decided to go around him. For it was jsut as new to you as it was to him, and with him years your senior, you had expected him more forthcoming.

And yet he was not.

He was reserved and callous, moving through the halls of Summerhall like a gust of wind more than a steady hand, ignoring all of your questions insisting they were nothing but “nonsensical whims.”

But you had longed for something different. Perhaps not the chivalrous fanciful lords and their ways, but his own.. the longing looks he had given you across court, the fleeting touches at your lower back and arm when duty had warranted it. But you wanted more, you wanted him, not duty. And he had been rather intent on keeping it from you.

But one thing he didn’t deny, was that his brother may well have been right. None of them had looked like it in such a long time, nor had he felt the way he had in so long. So.. undone, having to pry himself from his thoughts, especially when you caught his gaze from across the din.

Your smile bright and curved, more like a smirk, knowing and tempting. His jaw ticked harshly, tongue pressing deep into his cheek, only for a fleeting moment before you had looked away, and his fingers had all but gripped the stone under his fingers enough to chip it.

Baelor had caught it, a single glimpse to his side and back onto you and the children again. The heat that burned from the man beside him was enough to scold and he had not lingered on the thought of what had wandered through his head.

Nor did he need to, because before pulling away, Maekar’s eyes barely left you.

His thoughts were, you.

——

The chamber was cool, years of aged stone encasing you more than you’d have liked. The day had .. wonderfully, breaking your fast with your ladies and the children, tending to them in the gardens and watching over some of their lessons, and retreating back to your ladies once more. For them you were thankful, able to wander the lower halls without question or prying eyes, and the ability to talk as freely as you wished.

“If only he wasn’t so prickly.”

“Careful, he is our Prince after all.”

“It is a miracle he has fathered children of his own at all, not near as pleasant as his brother.” Quickly followed by, “Apologies my lady, we only wish to see you happy..”

You had confided in them briefly, private chatter between you of how exactly to woo the prince, or rather atleast to accept his affections that so many had claimed to have seen. Also that so many had claimed the Prince did not have a heart to give.

But they were wrong.

Not with the way he looked you, so dark and delicate, like he could snap at any moment..

You must have made him feel green again, one had giggled, as you did.

You had asked him to visit your chambers many nights, and yet he did not, instead your maid came to you, always. She bathed you often, brought tea and a fresh pitcher of water, even sat with you a while when you had wanted it. Almost as if it had been sent for you, and for that you were thankful. But there was no sign of him.

And alas, you had had enough.

They were not wrong, you had noticed it too. Such fighting for restraint and the tension that lingered was inevitable, a livin thing that made you ache.

And so you had taken their advice.

If he will not make such a move, perhaps you should.

And you liked that idea, you liked it very much. Because out of all the talk and gossip, the questioning of your husband’s want for you was dwindling, and yet you did not give in.

Your chambermaid, Niamh, had just finished setting out the tray in the small table, a glass bowl of fruits beside a candle, a hand towel and your bodily oils. She stood straight backed and patient for what her ached body would allow, resting her arms at her middle with a small, expectant smile.

“I have run you a bath, should you require assistance, my lady?”

“That will be all thank you Niamh, you are dismissed.”

She nodded curtly, and with the turn of her heel the oak creaked behind her softly. You had waited a further few moments to let the echoes of her footsteps die out before you moved, stepping into the thinness of your laced nightgown with a devilish grin.

Because it was not the bath you were ready for.

Your steps patterned the lines of the corridors you’d mapped out for some time, every corner and shortcut that was hidden beneath stone. Maekar’s own chambers was not far from your own, a whole stretch of hall and a turn away. Every outline of jagged rock shadowed with a trail of sconces and the few tapered and coloured tapestries that hung from the walls.

Your heart thrummed harshly in your chest with adrenaline, your fingertips flexing as you clutched your arms around yourself from the cold night air. And once you arrived outside of his chambers, the feeling only seemed to grow, goose pimples trailing your skin. But with a single look, defiant and what confidence you could muster up, the two men standing vigil outside had stepped aside without protest for you.

Seemingly aware of the mission you had embarked yourself on.

The chambers were darker than your own, everything lined perfectly and sparse just as you had remembered it from your night together moons ago. The last time he had truly touched you. You stepped inside carefully, snaking yourself around the door before closing it shut with a heavy click.

The hearth warmed the room, dimming it in golds and oranges across banners of red and black. Your breath stuttered as you turned, so taken with breathing the space in you hadn’t known the figure staring right at you. And a look of confusion etching the striking, miserable features.

His robe was a dark and velveted crimson, one that wrapped to his shins and broadened his shoulders. His eyes glistened in that light, twinkling more tender than they had let on, almost enticing.

“Husband.” You greeted innocently.

“Who let you in?” Maekar spoke sharply, like the words were a bad taste on his tongue.

“Your kingsguard, very thoughtful of them.” You gestured behind you at the door as you moved further into the room, closing the gap between you as much as you could dare.

“You should be asleep,” His eyes raked over you for a single moment, rather all he could allow himself before he turned to his side, back facing you as he made for the bed, “in your own chambers.”

Your nightdress was of the finest silk, cream and a lightness that hugged your curves in the most torturous way, your hair clung to your shoulders and your skin bared.

Something he should not have seen, should not have wanted as much as he did.

“I have come to see you.”

You dared a foot forwards, planting it across the cool floor and onto the myriah carpet just at the end of the bed, a small smile peeking at your features. He had rested himself onto the edge of the bed, sitting hunched as his legs trailed far and long in front of him, shoulders sagged and tense.

“Well now you have seen. Now leave.”

But you did not, you couldn’t. He was far too close, and you had not yet begun.

You didn’t answer to that, instead you had crawled toward him on the edge of the bed, a mere arms length away.

“I have missed you.”

He only looked at you as he took a heavy inhale, a simple look, displeased and thrown. Why. You blinked up to the violets that bore into yours, a face like statue and stone. How could you. After all that was placed on you both, all the gossip and venomous words that spilled behinds backs, after how much he had attempted to keep from ruining you.

“What are you saying?”

“Well you hardly spend any time here.. with me.” You kicked your legs in front, swinging just beside his, close enough to knock together where yours didn’t meet the length of his own.

“Do not pretend to be so stupid.”

“It scares you.” You inched closely, carefully, arms reaching toward him, through the robe. And he allowed you to, legs spread wide and shamelessly as you settled yourself over him, a knee perched on either side.

“What?” He blinked up through lidded eyes, pupils blown and decisive, even if he would not speak as such. He would let you have your fun, amuse yourself and find out what you had so longed to have.

“The thought scares you.” You continued, fingers running along the collar of his robe, lining the silk just across the hem where his skin was bared. Few silver hairs littered his chest where the material opened, hard planes of pale muscle rising and falling sharply.

“What thought woman? Speak.” Maekar snapped through the quiet, impatience clawing at his skin like a fire.

“Surrendering yourself.”

He almost laughed, almost, a short incredulous huff bubbling from his throat.

“It is not my duty to surrender.”

“But it is your duty to put a babe in me is it not, the marriage was consummated moons ago and you had done so little as touch me.” Your fingers worked at his shoulders, taut muscle pulling between your nails. He stayed rigid, batting your hand away with a flick.

But you moved it back, placing it right back to where you had it.

“Do not test me.”

You could feel him there. The warmth of his breath, the burning glare that did not leave your face, the heat brushing between you through thin layers of fabric. Arousal flooded your core, and you had half the mind to bite back a moan. You had not had him like this, and he was not denying you.

“I’am not testing you.” You shrugged, hands slowly circling to meet around his neck. A brave move, even if not wise. He swore he could hear the hammering of your heart, and still see the curve of the smirk he had not from forgotten hours earlier, the one that plagued his mind.

The one he wished to wipe off of your face and take you over his lap in an instant—

“Perhaps it is more than duty you require..” Your fingers continued at his collarbones, humming dreamily at the thought. “Perhaps it is want.”

Your eyes met, bearing down into one another as your breaths mingled, your faces somehow rocked closer together on instinct, where your lips neared touching.

“Though if you do not wish for more, nor to consummate this marriage.. I wouldn’t be offended. Perhaps you are scared.. and after having so many it would be more than enough for an old man to—“

That was enough. The pure breaking point he’d sure he’d lost a long time ago. All resolve had seemed to snap with a heavy punch in his gut.

You didn’t have time to contemplate another word before he had shifted you both roughly. Long, thick fingers circled around your throat, your back shoved down into layers upon layers of silken sheets and furs. The tassels of his robe had fallen in his swiftness, bearing his chest completely leaving him only in his breeches and you had completely lost your breath.

You were pinned, folded with your legs pressed into his thighs as he kneeled over you.

“Do not anger me, girl.”

You blinked up at him, gasping at the pressure against your throat. You could smell him from there, more than before. And he was intoxicating. His scent, the smell of woodsmoke and pine, and need.

“You know well that is not it.” He gritted, glaring down at you with a gaze that made the pressure in your belly pinch hot.

“Then what is it.. mayhaps that you are older—“

The fingers tightened at your throat as he leaned down, body rising over yours as more weight anchored you down.

“Seven hells no. Tell me what you want. Say it, tell me you want this as I do, before I change my fucking mind.” The hand at your waist clamped tighter, stretching the seams of your nightgown. Your skin was ablaze, ignited under his touch and the aching deep in your core.

There was much you could have said, even struck him for making you wait so long, for denying himself of you for reasons he couldn’t even begin to name, but you had forgotten all else, raw need buzzing through your skin.

“Want you to put a babe in me husband.. want you to show me how well you fuck.”

You breathed out with a whine. And he growled, deep and beastly, like a primal instinct that could not be tamed. So guttural it sounded almost dragonlike.

His grip curled around the back of your neck, shoving you up to face him with bared teeth as he pressed himself further down, nose nudging harshly into yours.

“Good girl.”

His lips crashed to yours, fierce and unyielding, the force shoving you both back onto the bed as he bent over you. Your tongues swept together before his pushed his between your lips, tasting you, savouring and claiming all at once.

“You have driven me mad, wife.” With one hand he reached between you, unlacing the confines of his breeches in one heavy tug. They fell away down to his knees, the sharp ‘v’ of muscle trailing down to his cock defined and pulsing with vein. Even through lidded and lusted eyes you could see him, all of him. He was thick as he was long, the tip reddened with an aching blush and the beading sticky stream of precum.

Maekar waited a moment, slowing as he rose, releasing his grip on your neck, tracing his fingers over the bunched hem of your nightgown. He pushed it up, inch by inch until he brought it to your chest.

“Off.” Was all he called gruffly, and the command made you dizzy, raising your arms shakily as he snaked it off of you before tossing it somewhere to the floor where neither of you had cared to look for it.

He had longed for this sight. You had lingered long in his memory since the first time, the swell of your breasts and nipples pebbling under the cool air, the dip of your waist and curve of your stomach. The flush of your face under the firelight flickering behind you, silhouetted only by his shadow above you. Gods you did drive him mad.

And he was a fool to wait so long, to make you wait.

Hands brushed down your sides, callouses scratching along your skin as you shivered under his touch, fingers splaying over your belly and parting your thighs.

“All of this teasing.. and talk with your ladies who do not know fuck all.”

His fingers dug into the flesh of them, ignoring the way you inched downward to him, the hard press of his length just above your aching cunt.

“She must be so needy for me for being desperate like some common whore...” He tutted sharply, running a finger from your navel to your heat, slipping through the wetness that gathered over your clit and entrance. Flush crept your cheeks brazenly, hips arching instinctly as he curled two inside of you.

You moaned loudly, digits filling you at once as your cunt sucked them in greedily, rocking back onto them as he flexed them. He worked you open like that, scissoring as you bucked and humped yourself back onto his hand restlessly. And again he let you, urging you on, pumping his fingers deep while his thumb circled at your clit, letting your sticky sweetness coat his hand.

The sounds were lewd, a squelch against his palm where it filled you, motioning and massaging at your g-spot over and over until you had broke a sweat across the sheets, working yourself up with a desire that needed to be sated.

He didn’t let you finish, couldn’t, not even the satisfaction of having you come undone on him was enough. He had to have you, and there was only way it was going to happen, with having you wrapped around his cock and buried deep inside of you.

“Why the fuck did you—“ Your words caught on your tongue, dying as he angled himself, heavy length rubbing through your folds with a sickening tease. He slipped himself inside, thickness filling you with a burning stretch as you took him. His mouth moved back over yours, catching your whines and enduring the way your nails clutched at his back with a groan.

He stilled only to feel all of you, sheathed so far inside you swore you could feel him in the your belly. His cock punched deep, fingers gripped in a swarm around your hips to only anchor himself further, tongue sweeping over yours in a feverish haze. You could hardly breathe, the air punched from your lungs as he thrust inside of you, pulling out gently just to shove himself back deeper, and purposefully until stars blurred your vision.

Your thighs curled at his hips, muscle tensing and straining where he fucked into you like a man possessed, grunts muffled into the curve of your jaw as you begged and whined for him, wrapping yourself tight at his middle as he huddled himself over you. The hard bone of his knees braced at the bottom of your thighs, stretching you further for him to get more of you, your body on full display and all for him.

You tried to speak, to rise over the lack of words as your mouth parted, but it failed you, he was merciless.

“Take. It.” He rasped, rising over you to tug your legs upward, resting them onto his chest and up to his shoulders. Your husband was undone, completely. Silver flattened hair had fallen into his eyes, pale skin flushing with a sheen of sweat and desire, his eyes burning as he took you in. As if to study you so deeply and commit you to memory, finally having you in his arms, unable to spout those stupid questions and irk him further.

But it did not last long, not until he had you flipped again, this time with your face pressed into the furs, a heavy palm smoothed over your back.

“You want to know how hm?” His breath hit the shell of your ear, cock sliding over your arsecheek.

Your blood ran cold, a shiver wracking your body as fingers twisted into your hair, forcing you up along with his hips. He had you bent beneath him, his hips dragging into your arse as he lined himself up once more. You were arched up into him, breasts bunched into the mattress and your cries muffled into the sheets.

The angle there hit deeper, fuller, settling that spot inside of you with every snap of his thrusts. The sound of slapping filled your ears, punctuated only by his grunting and your moans. He tugged you back onto him where you fell completely boneless, his cock spreading you open as your arms spread wide, clutching and fisting at the pillows as you moaned into the mattress.

“This is what you wanted is it, to fuck you full..” A hand cracked down onto your arscheek and you mewled, arching your back to meet the stinging pressure. He fucked into you still, sinking in and out so deeply it was certain to kiss your cervix.

“Perhaps this will shut you up.. spilling inside of this cunt.”

Your whines became babbles, a plea of “yes yes yes” falling from your lips needily, and he gave you it, everything you desired, begged for, everything you deserved. His head fell, a hand moving over the trail of your spine, cinching at your waist to bring you closer.

You couldn’t take it.

The pair of your fell apart together, every slap of skin and pant sending you over the edge. His teeth bit into your shoulder from behind, tongue smoothing over the marks that punctured your skin.

“Please..” You whined, your walls spasming wildly around him as your climax crashed over you.

“Let go for me, my girl..” He groaned through gritted teeth, grabbing a harsh fistful of your arse as you clenched around him, your swollen cunt milking him dry as he chased his own high. He gave few more thrusts before spilling inside of you, fucking it back into you as you shook round him, legs limp beneath him.

He did not let go of you right away, pulling from you carefully, your wetness and his spend leaking from you as he rested your hips back onto the bed. A pillow was placed under your middle as he lifted you without fuss, tilting you ever so slightly downward. So it will keep. Your heart eased its hammering as your body began to rest, heavy warm arms tugging you upward and onto his chest.

The sheets were pulled over you carefully in silence, only his ragged breaths and the crackling of the hearth filling the heavy silence in the room.

“Rest.”

A hand combed through your hair, smoothing over your face as you looked up at him, and this time he found yours, and really looked. Your arm wrapped over his as his hooked under your legs, sweeping you closer, together wrapped in your warmth.

He felt you looking, and he waited, expecting another quip as per usual.

“Are you done with the nonsense now?” He mumbled, resting his head back onto the wooden headboard.

“Mhm.. maybe.” You hummed, tracing the silver hairs at his chest.

“For fucks sake..”

“I believe you’ll have to do it again.”

There it was.

The mouth that drove him mad. His arm tightened around you, but he said nothing.

Though he didn’t need to, his exhales grew harsher, his spend still dripping from you as you rubbed your thighs together, and over the hardening of his cock.

Not as duty, not as requirement, but as your husband, and the pure unrestrained need for wanting you, and how he wasn’t to deny it again.

loving taglist: @targlocket (let me know if you want to be tagged for future reference, i’m accumulating a proper taglist) 💗

[nanascharms]

Gardening Session

Aerion Targaryen x Lannister!reader

Author’s note : this is my first fic, and I’m not sure if I like it or hate it.. 🫤 I was considering making it into a series but I don’t know yett

- this work contains : SMUT It’s basically porn with plot, mdni, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, aerion gets jealous, gardens sex ? Reader is mean, rude, kinda lunatic and spoiled but fucking ambitious. She kinda match Aerion’s freak. Aerion being Aerion.. they are both freaks Summary : The Targaryens are invited to the nameday celebration of a Lannister lady, and the cruel Prince Aerion — forced into attending at first — finds himself unexpectedly intrigued by the sharp-tongued lioness. By the end of the festivities, what began as boredom and irritation turns into dangerous obsession and possesiveness.

The birth of a daughter was never celebrated as greatly as the birth of a son.

Yet the gods seemed to have favored you. Though you had indeed been born a girl, you were no ordinary one found anywhere in the realm as you were born a lady of House Lannister.

And the gods had been generous still, blessing you with remarkable beauty. But behind your pretty lips lay a tongue as sharp as Valyrian steel, a trait that was perhaps the true reason for your lack of suitors.

You had been of marrying age for quite some time now, yet your arrogance and biting wit were enough to discourage even the boldest lordlings.

Perhaps the true issue was the way your parents had spoiled you rotten, granting you everything you had ever desired. Yet how could they ever deny their precious princess anything?

Your father, Damon Lannister, The grey Lion had even organized a grand tourney in honor of your nameday — perhaps the most extravagant celebration the realm had ever seen. The royal family, House Targaryen, had been invited as well.

Though King Daeron himself would not attend, whispers spread through the halls that his sons and grandchildren would be present.

What an honor indeed.

Yet marriage had never truly interested you. You knew it would come eventually, as it did for every noblewoman, but your ambitions stretched far beyond those of the other ladies at court.

You did not dream of marrying a lord.

Because deep down in your heart you wanted a prince.

Today, the Targaryen princes were to arrive. And you had specifically requested your maids to braid your hair in the way valyrians used to do —based on the knowledge you had learned during your history lessons with your septa—with intricate silver ribbons woven delicately through the strands. If dragonlords favored beauty reminiscent of their own blood, then you would give them exactly that. And perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to get one of the princes favor.

“You look ethereal, my lady,” your thoughts were broken by one of your handmaidens whispering softly as she had finished tightening the laces of your gown.

Your gaze remained fixed upon your reflection in the mirror, carefully studying every detail before a faint smile tugged at your lips.

“Please save your breath for something I do not know already,” you replied coolly. Your eyes glacing at her through the mirror and the handmaid lowered her eyes at once. You enjoyed the way they submitted to you this easily.

You rose from your seat with practiced elegance, smoothing your skirts before speaking again, your tone calmer now, though no less arrogant as you changed the topic.

“Tell me… do you think one of the princes might take an interest in me?” you asked but you weren’t exactly expecting an answer as you were admiring your reflection in the glass. “I believe I would look quite lovely as a princess…”your smile was as sharp as your tongue and arrogance.

“you may fetch me the family jewels. The ruby necklace.” You ordered the same maid as your neck was too plain and simple for you and knew your mothers rubies were the only thing missing to make yourself look even more perfect than you already were.

You had remained standing before the mirror, waiting for your maid to return with the rubies already imagining the heavy crimson stones resting against the pale skin of your throat. Rubies suited a Lannister far better than sapphires ever could. Well gold and red were the colors of power.

Later that afternoon, you had found yourself seated in one of the sunlit galleries of Casterly Rock, taking tea with your ladies in waiting whilst awaiting the arrival of the royal family.

The harbor bells had rung nearly a quarter hour ago, announcing the arrival of the Targaryens at the port below, yet still they had not appeared within the Rock itself.

And your patience was wearing dangerously thin.

Lady Redwyne, one of your ladies in waiting was seated at your right hand, and had spent those same endless minutes stuffing herself with lemon cakes whilst gossiping loudly about some Reach lordling no one truly cared about.

Your duty demanded that you remain there, smiling sweetly and entertaining noblewomen, when you could already have been at your father’s side, charming princes.

You finally set your teacup down with quiet precision before finally speaking.

“Tell me, Lady Redwyne…” you began smoothly, your eyes drifting toward the half devoured platter of cakes. “Has your house fallen upon difficult times of late?”

The chatter around the table died at once.

“You do seem terribly hungry today. I merely wondered whether House Redwyne could no longer afford proper cooks.” A fake smile touched your lips as you kept going "It would explain why you insist upon eating enough for three ladies.”

A deep flush spread instantly across the Reach girl’s cheeks. Her hand froze midway toward another cake.

Several ladies lowered their gazes to hide their amusement and giggling.

Lady Redwyne opened her mouth to answer, indignation already burning in her eyes, but before a word could leave her lips, your attention was drawn elsewhere.

A few yards away, your father — Lord Damon Lannister, the grey Lion— stood amongst a gathering of crimson-cloaked guards, offering greetings to the newly arrived royal party.

Then the lord of Casterly Rock glanced toward you— his only daughter and beckoned you forward with a single motion of his hand.

At last.

You rose with grace to your feet, smoothing your skirts of cloth-of-gold, your ruby necklace gleaming at your throat on full display as you excuse yourself to your ladies in waiting — though you were not sorry at all and quite please to finally leave— before making your way toward the dragons.

Your father was already greeting the royal guests with all the pride and grandeur expected of the lord of Casterly Rock when you arrived, before finally motioning for you to step forward to introduce you properly.

“Your Graces,” the lion lord began smoothly, “allow me to present my daughter.” Pride could be seen in your father eyes, you were a beautiful young woman, the only issue was your behavior but your father expected you to behave during the festivities.

You dipped into a graceful curtsey, your ruby necklace glimmering beneath the golden light of the hall.

Your sharp eyes first settled upon Prince Daeron.

The prince possessed none of the striking silver-gold beauty one expected from the blood of Old Valyria. His hair was a darker shade, more golden than silver, tousled from the long journey, and his tired lilac eyes seemed clouded by wine and exhaustion alike. Even standing still, he looked as though he would rather be back in a winesink in King’s Landing or a brothel in flea bottom than attending some western celebration.

Then your gaze shifted toward the younger prince.

Prince Aerion Targaryen.

The infamous cruel prince.

Unlike his brother, Aerion stood perfectly straight beside his father, every inch the dragonlord despite the irritation written plainly across his features. His pale eyes swept over your form slowly, lingering for several long moments upon your face, your gown, and the rubies at your throat.

Judging you.

You were pretty, certainly.

But pretty girls were hardly rare in the Seven Kingdoms. Every court from Dorne to the Wall was filled with maidens boasting soft smiles, bright eyes, and delicate waists, all desperately hoping beauty alone might earn them a favor from a prince.

Aerion finally looked away, though the displeased scowl upon his handsome face did not lessen.

Oddly enough, you were smiling. So the pretty prince was a difficult man. interesting, your nameday shall be entertaining then.

You had heard countless tales of Prince Aerion’s beauty, and even more of his cruelty. Yet cruelty had never frightened you half so much as dullness or boredom did. And the stories had spoken true indeed — the dragon prince was beautiful in the way wildfire was beautiful.

It is Dangerous, Unstable indeed but Fascinating.

It was decided then and there.

You wanted him. Him not another prince, you wanted Aerion Brightflame. And you would even if you had to bewitched him or something you would do it without any shame.

Whether for marriage, a night, or merely the pleasure of taming something wild, you did not yet know. But you would have the prince’s attention before the festivities ended.

“Daughter,” Lord Damon suddenly said, “perhaps you would be so kind as to show the young princes to their chambers and help them find their way through the Rock." You nearly stared at her father in disbelief. Did he perhaps hit is head too hard on a wall this morning? Or Did he mistake her for some servant girl?

You had spent half the morning preparing yourself— sacrificing your sleep to prepare early— to be admired, not to guide guests through corridors like a household steward.

“Why me? I am not a—” The protest died instantly beneath the cold warning look your father cast your way.

Ah.

So today, your tantrums would earn you nothing.

Too bad

You forced a thin smile onto your lips. Though anyone could see that it was a fake one.

“Of course, Father,” you replied smoothly, though the irritation beneath your voice remained impossible to miss.

Without another word, you turned sharply upon your heel and began leading the way deeper into Casterly Rock, your silken skirts trailing behind you flawlessly.

Every few moments, you were glancing back to ensure the princes followed.

The displeased expression that had once rested upon Aerion’s face now appeared upon your own instead.

Prince Daeron, likely too drunk or weary to notice, merely wandered after you lazily.

Aerion, however, noticed immediately.

And to his own surprise, the dragon prince found it amusing.

When King Daeron had first announced that they would travel west to attend the nameday celebration of some Lannister maid, Aerion had nearly scoffed aloud. Casterly Rock lay days away by horseback, and he would have greatly preferred remaining in King’s Landing — tormenting his brothers, haunting the streets of Flea Bottom, and indulging in cruelties that brought him far more entertainment than courtly feasts ever could.

Yet now, as he watched the pretty lannister storm ahead of them with fury hidden beneath elegance, Aerion began to suspect this journey might not prove dull after all.

The first stretch of the walk passed in near silence, broken only by the sharp echo of their footsteps against the stone floors of Casterly Rock.

At last, they reached Prince Daeron’s chambers.

The weary prince barely glanced around before stepping inside, already looking eager for wine and sleep alike.

“If you require anything, Your Grace,” you said smoothly, though not warmly, “I suggest you ask one of the servants. I am not known for answering foolish questions.” You didn’t even care about the fact they were princes and that you were being disrespectful, you were not happy and you would show it.

Daeron merely laughed drunkenly beneath his breath before disappearing into the room.

And then you were finally alone with him

The silence that followed lingered only a moment before Prince Aerion moved to walk beside you instead of behind. The corridor ahead stretched long and wide, lit by towering windows where the dying afternoon sun poured across the marble floors.

Richly colored tapestries lined the walls between golden sconces, depicting ancient Lannister battles, hunts, and previous Ancestors of the Casterly Rock. Everywhere one looked, wealth announced itself proudly.

The dragons upon the Iron Throne might rule the realm but the lions possessed enough gold to shame royal blood.

Aerion’s eyes were drifting toward several painted portraits hanging along the corridor.

Your portraits.

Three already, and all placed prominently.

Oh

The prince was quick to understand what that meant.

This pretty wench was favored and spoiled— perhaps excessively so. Certainly more cherished than your elder brothers if the halls themselves were any indication.

The realization amused him.

Eventually, the silence bored the dragon prince enough for him to speak.

“I have heard songs of your beauty,” Aerion drawled lazily, violet eyes settling upon you once more. “Some even call you the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.” A smirk slowly spread across his lips. Before spitting his next words. “But now that I have seen you…” he continued cruelly, “I can say with certainty that I have fucked whores much prettier.”

The insult was delivered lightly, almost playfully, though the malice behind it was unmistakable.

Aerion expected outrage. Tears perhaps. At the very least, wounded pride.

Most ladies wilted beneath his words.

But you did neither.

Instead, you turned your head toward him with maddening calm, your eyes sweeping over him slowly, deliberately, Searching your words.

“Well,” you replied coolly, “I," she marked a pause, "expected you to be taller, my prince.”

One brow arched elegantly.

“It seems songs and rumors greatly exaggerate certain things.” Your gaze flickered downward for the briefest moment before returning to his face. “Before your father introduced you, I almost mistook you for a stableboy. And I find myself sharing your disappointment my prince..” she was obviously lying but it was still amusing to see her try.

Aerion’s amusement faded only slightly, though the corner of his mouth still twitched.

“Careful, my lady,” the dragon prince murmured. “Insulting a prince can be dangerous."

You only huffed and continued your walk at an unhurried pace, your golden skirts whispering against the stone beneath your feet.

“And so is provoking lions within their own den,” you replied smoothly. “It seems we share a certain fondness for danger, you and I.” Aerion did not answer immediately, to your surprise.

Instead, the dragon prince merely watched you with that same unsettling gaze, as though trying to decide whether he wished to strangle you or push you against the wall.

At last, you finally stopped before a tall oak door adorned with carved lions in the wood.

“your chambers, my prince,” you announced calmly. “The servants shall bring your belongings and those of your family before supper tonight.”

Yet as you reached for the door handle, Aerion made no move to enter.

“You are dismissing me already?” he asked lazily.

You almost laughed. What was he thinking?

"Were you expecting me to linger outside your chambers, my prince ?”

“Perhaps.” A smirk ghosted across Aerion’s lips. “Most ladies would.”

And you finally let out a soft laugh beneath your breath, the sound dripping with amusement and mockery alike.

“I fear I am not most ladies, Your Grace.”

A sharp, knowing smile crossing your lips before you turned gracefully upon your heel, your golden skirts trailing behind you as you were disappearing down the corridor before he could answer.

Aerion remained standing before his chamber door long after you had vanished from sight.

Though at first, Prince Aerion had seemed less than pleased upon arriving at Casterly Rock, he found himself increasingly entertained by your pretty sharp-tongue.

Far more entertained than he ought to have been.

Your chambers, unfortunately — or perhaps fortunately — had been placed near one another, and that morning the dragon prince had lingered outside his rooms with suspicious patience, waiting for you to emerge.

At last, your door opened. The maids were the first to step outside hurrying to return to their task, even more when they saw the cruel prince. And then you walked out already dressed for the day.

As you were stepping into the corridor dressed in deep crimson silk trimmed with gold, your hair braided in curls resting elegantly over one of your shoulder.

Aerion pushed himself lazily from the wall where he had been waiting. He hadn’t been waiting that long luckily.

“I shall be jousting today,” the prince informed you confidently as you began walking side by side through the corridor.

You merely hummed in acknowledgment, clearly expecting him to continue.

“I assume you will be seated and you will watch me,” Aerion went on. “Perhaps I shall ask for your favor… though I hardly require it to win.”

That earned him a small smile from you.

“Is that an invitation, my prince?” Aerion glanced toward you before the words came out.

“A command,” he corrected smoothly. “And should I fail to see you there, I might be forced to punish your arrogance.”

Oh really?

You only huffed softly beneath your breath, though the corner of your mouth was twitching upward despite yourself. You were trying so bad to contain your laughter.

“Very well,” you replied with deliberate indifference. “I shall consider it.”

Aerion only nodded quite satisfied with your answer convinced that you will attend, before leaving to join his family.

—————

Surprisingly, the seat reserved for you had remained empty throughout the entire joust.

Yet instead of feeling anger or humiliation, Prince Aerion found himself enjoying the challenge. You had ignored his command entirely, and strangely enough, that only made him desire your attention more.

In time, he would bend you to his will.

He knew it.

No one refused the dragon forever.

As Aerion had promised, he won against every knight participating that day, though not always fairly. Yet who would dare call out a prince of the blood openly?

By the end of the tourney, the crown of flowers still rested in his possession.

Aerion cared little for tradition. He had no desire to crown one of those simpering noble maidens his Queen of Love and Beauty.

No.

He had reserved that honor for one lady alone. And she made herself desired.

You had been taking tea and eating cakes within the beautiful gardens of your home alongside your ladies-in-waiting — thankfully without Lady Redwyne, who had been dismissed after Lord Damon finally grew tired of hearing incessants complaints.

And the afternoon had been quite peaceful until Prince Aerion decided to interrupted it.

Ignoring the other ladies entirely, the dragon prince requested that you accompanied him for a walk.

You were wandering slowly through the gardens side by side under the warm western sun.

“You did not come to watch me joust,” Aerion stated as you walked along the stone paths.

“I did not,” you answered calmly.

He turned to look at you — and stopped.

The sun shining upon your face made you look almost ethereal beneath the golden light of the gardens. You curls gleaming like molten gold, and the warmth upon your skin only sharpening the dangerous beauty you were carrying so effortlessly.

Now that he thought about it, Aerion had been so certain he had seen prettier women before… yet as he found himself lost within your pretty eyes, he realized he could no longer remember when.

His gaze slowly drifted lower.

To your lips.

And there, at the corner of your mouth, lingered the faint stain of blackberry jam.

The sight alone sent sudden heat and hardness curling low within the prince’s crotch.

Fucking hell.

Aerion imagined for one reckless moment that it was not jam staining your mouth at all.

“Must you eat like a peasant?” the dragon prince asked, his voice lower now, roughened faintly by thoughts he ought not entertain.

You turned toward him at once, confused and insulted in equal measure, already preparing one of your venomous replies but before you could speak, Aerion stepped closer.

Too close.

His thumb brushed slowly against the corner of your lips, wiping away the dark stain with deliberate care. The touch lingered just long enough to make your breath catch softly in your throat.

The prince’s pale violet eyes never left yours.

Then, without hurry, Aerion brought his thumb to his mouth and slowly sucked the sweetness from it.

You froze.

For perhaps the first time in your entire life, no sharp remark came to your lips.

You couldn’t think.

Instead, heat bloomed deep within your body, sudden and unfamiliar, settling low in you lower stomach as you watched the prince’s tongue glide over his finger with obscene slowness..

“Blackberry,” he murmured lazily. “My favorite.” Aerion hummed softly, savoring the taste far more than simple blackberry deserved.

His gaze dropped briefly toward your parted lips before returning to your eyes once more.

“M-my apologies, my prince… I must go. I feel quite unwell…” The proud lioness who had mocked and challenged him since his arrival was nowhere to be seen as you now stood before him as a blushing, stammering mess.

Before Aerion could answer, you turned sharply and hurried away from him, nearly fleeing through the gardens without daring to glance back.

And all the while, the dragon prince watched you leave with dark amusement lingering in his pale eyes.

————

The corridors of Casterly Rock felt far colder than the warm gardens below.

The towering stone walls, the endless crimson banners, the painted faces of dead Lannisters staring down from gilded frames — suddenly all of it felt suffocating.

Your heart was still pounding violently within your chest from what had occured moments ago.

By the Seven.

You needed your chambers.

And where were your maids when you needed them ?

You needed this cursed gown unlaced before it strangled you entirely.

Needed to think.

You were walking so quickly through the halls, so lost within your thoughts that you failed to notice the approaching footsteps behind you. Only when a hand settled upon her shoulder did you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Sister?”

You spun around sharply, ready to curse whichever fool had dared to startle you so badly but relaxed slightly upon seeing that it was only your brother instead.

Tybolt Lannister. Your father’s heir.

“Gods, Tybolt,” you hissed beneath your breath. “Must you creep about the halls like an assassin?” Your dearest brother only laughed softly as you were throwing him daggers with your eyes.

“Are you well? I called your name at least three times.”

“What is it, brother?” You asked quickly, almost impatiently.

Truly, you only wanted nothing more than to escape to your chambers and be left alone for at least an hour before someone else decided to torment your sanity. Tybolt was studying you carefully before a knowing grin slowly spread across his face. “Since when has the prince been courting you?” Immediately, irritation flashed across your pretty features. That’s it you were going to strangle him, strangle them all.

The son of the Grey Lion already looked far too entertained by the idea of his younger sister finally attracting a suitor — and a prince no less.

“The prince is not courting me Tybolt.” You were rolling your eyes at him ready to strike your brother if he dared to open his mouth again.

“Of course he is,” Tybolt scoffed. “Why else would—” He stopped abruptly, frowning now at the genuine annoyance upon your face. Confusion flickered across his expression. He knew his sister well enough to recognize ambition when he saw it, and marrying a Targaryen prince had once sounded precisely like the sort of dream you would chase. Yet now you almost sounded angry at the suggestion when days ago you were dreaming of marrying a prince.

“The prince has not asked for my hand,” you cut in sharply. “Nor has he sought Father’s blessing. Has he?”

Tybolt opened his mouth, though no answer came.

“He has not,” the lioness continued coldly. “Therefore, he is not courting me.”

You adjusted the sleeves of your gown impatiently before brushing past your brother.

“And if you would excuse me,” you added irritably, “this dress is no longer allowing me to breathe properly.”

At last, you were finally able to retreat to your chambers in peace. Yet even within the safety of your own rooms, the strange sensation twisting low within your stomach refused to leave you. You had never felt such sensation before. Never felt your body react so violently to mere thoughts.

And worst of all…

Every time you mind wandered toward the dragon prince — toward his voice, his smirk, his fingers, his lips—it always returned to his tongue.

Seven hells…

Surely a bit of distance from Prince Aerion would rid you of all of these ridiculous feelings.

It had to.

Because your nameday festivities would soon come to an end, and still no proper suitor had approached you openly — not with the dragon prince constantly circling you like a treasure he wished to protect and keep to himself. And you were certainly refusing to end your days as some forgotten septa because a mad Targaryen princeling had unsettled your senses.

For the next few days, you made every effort to avoid him.

Whenever you caught sight of silver hair in the corridors of Casterly Rock, you were immediately changing direction. If Aerion appeared in a hall, you vanished from it. If he entered a room, you found any excuse to leave.

At first, Aerion found the game amusing.

Then it became irritating.

And when Aerion began noticing some impudent Dornish lordling attempting to court you openly, irritation quickly twisted into something far uglier.

Jealousy and Possesiveness 

The dragon prince watched from across the hall as the young Dornishman spoke to you with clumsy admiration, smiling far too boldly whilst you were answering with practiced politeness.

Aerion hated the sight instantly. You were his.

And when you were lowering your lashes with faint amusement at something the fool had said..

—that was enough.

The prince crossed the room without hesitation, fury darkening his handsome features.

He stopped directly before you.

“Do you need something?” You asked coolly, though the undertone of annoyance in your voice was impossible to miss.

Aerion ignored you completely.

Instead, his pale eyes settled upon the Dornish lord.

“If I ever cross your path beside her again,” the dragon prince said calmly, “I shall have your head impaled upon a spike and sent back to your pathetic little house in Dorne. Is that clear?”

His tone remained so smooth, so frighteningly composed, that anyone overhearing might have mistaken the exchange for ordinary noble conversation.

The young lordling paled instantly.

“M-my apologies, Your Grace,” he stammered before quickly retreating, nearly tripping over himself in his desperation to escape.

Wise boy.

Aerion watched him disappear with grim satisfaction before finally turning back toward the lioness.

And gods—

You looked furious.

Your eyes burning with enough rage to set the gardens aflame, and somehow the sight alone sent heat surging low through the prince’s crotch.

You had never looked so beautiful than right now.

You looked like moments away from striking him, strangling him, or perhaps both at the same time, you were still thinking.

But Instead, you spun sharply upon your heel and stormed away through the gardens.

And Naturally, Aerion followed after you.

“You dare ignore me, wench?” the dragon prince called after you.

His longer strides quickly closed the distance between you two.

You had barely made it between the tall hedges before Aerion caught your arm and forced you backward until your spine was being pressed against the greenery behind you.

That is when it hit you, Aerion stood far too close.

One hand braced itself beside your head against the hedge, trapping you neatly between his body and the leaves.

“I should have punished your arrogance the first time you dared speak to me so insolently,” Aerion murmured with anger flooding his eyes.

Gods, he was close.

You could feel everything, could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could feel his breath against your skin, could smell leather, steel lingering upon him.

And his lips

You were no longer listening to whatever threat the prince was whispering against your ear. Because you could only think about the way where he was standing—

if Aerion leaned even slightly closer—

You would kiss him.

And he did leaned closer

Your eyes locked with his as you grabbed him by the base of his silver hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him toward you, attacking his lips like a beast worthy of the sigil of your house.

The kiss was messy and rough, every ounce of tension and desire between you finally spilling into it. Aerion’s hands settled firmly upon your hips — perhaps a little too firmly, for you would likely wake with bruises there by morning — holding you as though loosening his grip for even a second might allow you to disappear again.

You could feel everything — his hardening cock pressing insistently against your thighs as he unconsciously rutted his hips against you, the hunger and desire he poured into the kiss as low sounds escaped into your mouth. Your lips parted briefly for breath before finding each other again almost immediately, unable to remain apart for more than a heartbeat.

You could already feel the wetness gathering between your thighs your slick soaking your silks covering your womanhood as though your body had entirely surrendered to him. You were still devouring each other’s mouths, tongues battling for dominance whilst the prince’s hands wandered beneath your skirts, slowly pushing the fabric higher until he discovered the ruined silk dampened by your arousal.

Aerion’s fingers brushed teasingly against you, and the dark amusement in his violet eyes made it clear he was more than pleased to discover how wet you had become from nothing more than a bit of kissing.

“Are you sure you’re not a whore with the way you’re soaking my hand?” he asked, voice low with dark amusement as he finally tore away the silk, giving himself unrestrained access to you.

You gasped at the roughness of the gesture, scandalized both by his crude words and by your ruined silk now clenched in his hand.

Aerion only watched you with that infuriating, satisfied smirk — as though your reaction was exactly what he had been waiting for.

“Aerion!” you struck his shoulder, scandalized, as he looked at you with that familiar, maddening smirk while slipping your ruined silks into his breeches pocket.

“What?” he replied, amusement clear in his voice. “Just want a little souvenir.” You could hear the smirk even before you saw it, felt it in the way his tone dropped lower, more dangerous, as he leaned in again.

His lips returned to your neck, trailing small, deliberate kisses along your skin, while his skilled fingers wandered once more, unhurried and confident, as though he already knew exactly how easily he could undo you.

“You better not leave any marks on my neck, I am still a maiden,” you said, frowning at him even as you pushed his head closer into the curve of your perfumed throat, silently encouraging him to continue. "And I still need to find a husband.” That last remark earned you a bite against your skin.

“If you keep speaking,” Aerion muttered against your neck, his voice rough with warning and desire all at once “I will have your mouth busy with something else, wench.”

You were preparing another sharp insult, but the words died on your tongue when Aerion’s skilled fingers entered your warm cavity pulling a high pitched sound from your throat instead.

Whatever retort you had planned dissolved into moans you could no longer fully control.

The prince did not allow you the space to recover.

His mouth moved along your jaw and throat with relentless focus, each kiss messier and sloppier than the last, while his fingers were still fucking you, and tearing pretty sounds from your lips. 

Your fingers were tangled in his hair almost instinctively, gripping tighter whenever his fingers reached a certain spot or the way they curled inside, stealing more gasp and moans from you— as though anchoring yourself was the only way to stay grounded.

It was hard not to notice how his hips were rutting and staining his breeches when you decided to wander your hand lower and to untie his breeches for him as his other hand was already too busy struggling to unlace the ties of your gown, in order to allow him more space to kiss your exposed cleavage.

Your hands had managed to push his pants just enough to free his aching cock from it. Your gesture made him release a deep groan as your hand got in contact with his manhood..Aerion hadn’t been stranger with woman touches as he had been visiting pleasure houses for a while now.. but you, a maiden lady was grabbing his cock like a courtisan and Aerion could swore that he almost cummed from your touch only.

He got back to himself as his hand immediately reached yours to stop you from pursuing your movements on his length, he had almost ruined his expensive pants from fingering your tight hole but your stroking would be the reason of his spilled seed, and he was planning to keep it for something else..

His reaction caught you of guard as you were throwing him a curious glance and tried to repeat your movements but when he blocked you again, you focused on the expression he was wearing and there you understood..

Oh

You were now the one smirking, ready to tease him.

“Are you sure you want to shut me up with your cock when you can hardly handle my touch, my prince?”

Aerion’s reaction was immediate.

A low, sharp grunt left him, irritation flickering across his features before he seized you again, pulling you closer as if your words had physically struck him.

Then he bit into your neck. Hard enough to bruise this time..but not enough to truly hurt, but still enough to steal the breath from your lungs and shut you up.

“You dare mocking me?” Aerion growled against your skin. “I should take your tongue for that, whore.”

His hand rose to your throat in an instant.

Not quite choking you.

But holding you just firm enough to make you feel it — the pressure, the control, the silent reminder that he could end your life if he wanted to but he simply chose not to.

His grip tightened slightly as he held you there, forcing you to meet his gaze, violet eyes dark with something far more dangerous than simple anger.

He withdrew his fingers from your cunt stealing another gasp from you before putting those same fingers in his mouth, the same way he had done with the Blackberry jam he had collected from the corner of your mouth, some days ago, but this time it was your slick he was sucking from his slend fingers, this view only, could be enough to make you come undone on the spot.. He noticed the way you were rubbing your thighs together, clearly missing the sensations he had given you and then taken away from you—without any remorse..

"I was planning to fuck you properly after the wedding,” he murmured darkly, “but since you insist on behaving like a whore, I will fuck you like one.”

You froze at his words.

What could he mean?

What wedding was he talking about?

You were so confused and struck upon these words that you hadn’t noticed him entering you with his manhood, the painful stretch made you stir from your thoughts and you find yourself grimacing at the new sensation..

this was new and very different from what you imagined as you recall the explanations from your septa about women duties when it comes to marital act, this new stretch wasn’t comfortable at first but you could still feel the same pleasant feeling his fingers offered you minutes ago but quickly you cavity got used to this stretch and the pain turned out in pleasure.. you also noticed the blood of your maidenhead coating his pulsing cock, but it did not hurt like you thought it would.

Aerion could feel himself even more aroused at the view of your blood staining his cock, he would have been disappointed to not be the first to be able to fuck your pretty cunt, his eyes searched for you as he waited a few seconds for you to relax around him before starting to move in and out, hips meetings yours while he couldn’t contain his grunts anymore

The faint pain you had felt from the stretch of him had now entirely disappeared to be replaced by the spasm of pleasure running between your thighs

The only issue was the sounds you were making, you were too loud and while you were to lost in the pleasure you were feeling to take notice how loudly you were being, Aerion did.

And someone — a maid, a noble, or perhaps worse, your father — might hear you. And Aerion could recall the frown on his father’s face when Daeron had caused yet another scandal that morning by inviting whores into the bed your family had lent him. And Aerion knew that if the Grey Lion discovered that his pretty, spoiled little princess had been ruined in his garden, Aerion might not be able to simply hide behind the excuse of being a prince of the blood. Even though, he had already decided he would ask your father for your hand once your “gardening” was over…

His lips claimed yours roughly, cutting off whatever sounds you were about to release, while his hips met yours in a rhythm that left you both breathless.

you were so perfect, this tight cunt was perfect and had been made for him to keep his cock warm, he was sure of it.

You were now a clenching mess and the way he could swallow your cries and gasps, he could sense that you were close from reaching your end

And so was he

One of his hands went low enough to tease your clit by rubbing it in circle, trying to help you finish quickly as your little escapade in the hedges, unchaperoned with a prince would soonly get you into a scandal if someone was to caught you in the act.

Fortunately the combination of his cock crushing your inside out and the rubbing of his skilled fingers on your clit lead you to reach your orgasm…

your eyes were now rolled back in your skull, too lost in the pleasure you were feeling — you now understood why some of your ladies in waiting talked fondly of the bedding they shared with their lord husband— Aerion was swallowing another of your sound, this one louder than the others as your nails scratched his neck, like a lion would with his claws

and the view you offered him,

the marks you were putting on his neck, your tightness.. all of that was now enough to help him reach his end as his hips jerked off and the dragon prince filled you with his hot seed..

It took you a few seconds to regain your breath and come down from the intensity of the moment as Aerion finally pulled away from you and straightened himself.

He adjusted his pants back before moving to you, helping you retie the laces of your crimson dress. Your legs were still unsteady beneath you, your body too slow to obey you again after what had just passed between you.

You were exhausted — spent in a way that left you quiet, almost dazed, but not unhappy.

When he finished, your eyes met again.

Aerion lingered for a moment before pressing a brief, softer peck to your lips, as though nothing in the world had just shifted between you two

And then you remembered his words.

“What wedding are you talking about?” Your tone was serious again, your composure snapping back into place as you demanded an answer. You watched him closely, impatience sharpening your gaze as you both finally stepped out from the cover of the hedges.

Aerion couldn’t possibly mean it. Could he?

“Did my cock make you forget how to think, or have I finally made you entirely stupid?” he replied sharply, his cruelty returning as easily as breath. You stiffened instantly, ready to slap him for it, done with his games—

But he must have noticed the shift in your mood, because his expression changed just slightly. Less mockery. More intent.

And then he gave you the answer you had been waiting for.

“I’m going to ask your father for his blessing,” Aerion said, voice lower now, controlled. “For your hand. Even though I do not need it. I am a prince of the blood and—"

He was suddenly cut off as you raised your hand to his mouth, stopping the words from spilling out. Your eyes rolled slightly in exaggerated annoyance, though a smile tugged at your lips anyway.

“Oh please, shut up.”

Thanks you for reading <3 this is probably so messy or trashy I really don’t know what to feel about it :/ anyway if you like it you can leave a comment and if you don’t like it you can also say it as long as you are being respectful asks are opened btw 🫶🏻

© nanascharms, May 2026

[angelicstarkey]

double feature

bsf!rafe cameron x reader

summary: aka yall get freaky in a drive in theatre

content warnings: pwp, unprotected piv, car sex, fingering, semi-public sex, rafe can't ever seem to get his hands off bsf!reader like goddamn, nor can either of them confess their feelings smh 18+ MDNI

w/c: 3K

Rafe stared at the movie in boredom and disgust as he watched the two main characters fight with each other in the rain, his chin resting on his fist with a drink gripped by the other. You’d insisted that it’d be more fun to watch a movie at the drive-in theatre, except Rafe had lost all interest in the horror movie he’d chosen after rigging the coin toss done to avoid watching the chick flick you usually opted to watch.

“They do the same predictable shit in every movie,” he muttered as he watched the exasperation painted on the male lead’s face. “He’s gonna blurt out that he’s always loved her in a minute, then the motherfucker’s gon’ be slashed in half.” Rafe turned his head to you as he swatted him square in the face, seeing the look of adoration in your face that almost made his torture worth it. Almost.

“Hate to break it to ya, but you chose the movie, dumbass.” You turned to look back at him, your smirk giving away the fake annoyance you’d tried to give him. “If you hadn’t cheated like I know you did-” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, but I didn’t cheat.” Rafe retorted as he watched you turn your attention back to the screen. A few minutes passed in silence as the movie continued its predictable plot. Rafe shifted in his seat, the leather of the expensive car making an annoying sound against his jeans. He glanced over at you again, noticing how the light from the screen illuminated your features, making your eyes sparkle.

He let the silence stretch for another moment, the flickering blue light of the screen casting shadows across his sharp jawline. He watched you more than the movie, the way you bit your lip during a tense scene, how your eyes widened. He was so bored, he could feel his brain turning to mush, but watching you was truly something else. Something that he knew what it implied, but he wasn’t going to analyze it any more than it should be. Something that teetered a line that he wasn’t sure if either of you was willing to cross yet.

"Alright, that's it," he suddenly declared, tossing his now-empty cup into the backseat. It landed with a soft thud. "This is officially the worst movie I've ever seen. And I've seen some real shit." You laughed, not taking your eyes off the screen. "Serves you right, you rigged that coin toss."

“Nah, Peaches. I'm mad because I'm wasting m’hard money on this garbage," he said, but his tone was playful. He shifted in his seat, turning his body fully towards you; the expensive leather creaked with the movement. “Y’know what would be more entertaining than this?”

“Hmm?” you hummed, still distracted. Rafe glanced down, smirking at the sight of his hand, which had been resting on your thigh. Slowly, he began to move, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path upwards, inching under the hem of your shorts. The warmth of his hands on that area was suddenly gone and now cold, while the chilling path his fingertips left against your skin was a stark, thrilling contrast. You shivered, your body already responding to him, a familiar ache beginning to build low in your stomach.

“Rafe,” you softly breathed out, unable to fight the urge. “Quit it.”

Rafe watched your face, his gaze predatory and satisfied as he saw the effect he had on you. His fingers danced along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasingly close to where you wanted him most but never quite touching. It was torture, infuriating, even. You squirmed in your seat, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Quit squirmin’," he taunted, his voice a low whisper against your ear. He knew exactly what he was doing; he always did. 

"Oh my god, stop teasing," you managed to let out, your voice shaky.

He chuckled, a deep, smug sound. "Where's the fun in that?" But he finally relented, his fingers pressing against the damp fabric of your panties. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily at the contact. He rubbed you slowly through the thin cotton, his touch maddeningly light, a perfect, frustrating circle that had you seeing stars. He was toying with you, enjoying every second of your desperation, of the way your breath hitched with every pass of his thumb over your clit.

"You're so fucking wet already," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "All this from the movie? Or were you thinking about this the whole time?" He didn't wait for an answer, finally hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulling them aside. The cool night air hit your heated skin for a second before his fingers were on you, bare and unimpeded.

You cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again. This time it was slower, deeper, a filthy exploration as his fingers worked their magic. He slid one inside you, then another, curling them just right. Your head fell back against the seat, your eyes squeezed shut as a wave of pleasure washed over you. All you could feel was him—his fingers pumping into you, his thumb circling your clit, his other hand tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

"Look at me, Peaches," he commanded, his voice rough. You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The raw hunger you saw there sent another jolt of desire straight through you. "That's it. Let me see you."

He could feel you getting closer, your walls clenching around his fingers, your breathing coming in ragged pants. Just as you were teetering on the edge, he pulled his hand away, letting a frustrated groan from your throat.

"Rafe, what the—"

"Patience," he cut you off, his voice tight with his own need. He was just as affected as you were, his pupils blown, his jaw clenched.

Before you could understand what was happening next, Rafe leaned across the console, the space suddenly feeling charged and electric. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your skin as he crashed his lips against yours. It wasn't gentle nor questioning; it was exactly how you’d expected it to be, a hungry, demanding kiss that stole the air from your lungs. One that tasted like the salted richness from the butter in your popcorn, with a hint of tobacco and a desperate need for distraction. 

You melted into it instantly, your hands coming up to grip the collar of his polo shirt, pulling him closer. The movie, the other cars, the whole world outside the bubble you two comfortably relished in faded away. All that mattered was the heat building between you, the way his tongue swept against yours, claiming your mouth. 

It was moments like these that made you ponder how much everything would change if you’d just told him that you’d want something more. Or if you’d confessed the way you never wanted to feel anyone else’s lips if they weren’t the slightly chapped ones that belonged to him. Or maybe, just maybe, how he’d take in the fact that for you, it was either him or no one, because how could you wake up next to someone whose smile didn’t bring you the same joy his did, or the same comfort that his hands did as he’d lead you through a crowd, or how you didn’t have to worry because you knew Rafe had it handled.

When Rafe finally pulled back, you were both breathing heavily. His eyes, usually a cool, distant blue, were dark and intense, fixed on your swollen lips. 

"Rafe," you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. "We're in the middle of a lot; there are people everywhere."

A slow, cocky smirk spread across his face. "Yeah, and?" His hand slid from your jaw down your neck, his fingers tracing the collar of your shirt. "Relax, baby. No one can see shit. These windows are tinted." His voice was a low, confident rumble that vibrated through you, ironic considering you should’ve gotten used to it by now. You let out a sigh as Rafe pressed his lips on your neck behind your ear, tracing an agonizingly slow path down, while small splotches of purple hues began to come to light—a subtle sign that Rafe had a chokehold over you, a reminder for you in the morning that Rafe’s possession would forever be etched in you. 

Rafe was just as overwhelmed as he took in the scent of you, the way you smelled of salt air, caramel, and the subtle hint of peaches that reminded him of what it was like to be okay. Though his eyes might’ve been closed, he knew his way around your body like it was second nature, licking the area above your collarbone just how you once confessed you liked it. It was only a matter of time until he quickly undid his own jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself. He was hard and thick, the tip already glistening. "Come here."

He didn't have to ask twice. You scrambled over the console, settling yourself in his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs on the driver's seat. It was a tight fit, awkward yet you both slotted against each other perfectly at the same time. You positioned yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Ride me."

You sank down slowly, taking him in inch by inch. The stretch, the feeling of being completely filled by him, was overwhelming. You both let out a shaky breath when you were fully seated, your forehead resting against his. For a moment, you just stayed like that, savouring the feeling, the only sounds the distant movie soundtrack and your mingled breaths in the cramped space.

Once you’d adjusted to Rafe’s size, you started to move, lifting your hips and sliding back down, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Rafe's hands roamed over your body, pushing your shirt up to palm your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they were pebbled and sensitive. His mouth was everywhere he possibly could, kissing, biting, sucking marks into your skin that added onto the collection that you knew you'd have to hide later.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he groaned against your skin, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, making you go faster. The car began to rock slightly, a steady, creaking rhythm that matched your movements. The thought of getting caught, of the car next to you hearing, only fueled the fire. You rode him harder, chasing your release, your hands gripping his shoulders for leverage.

"Rafey," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. "Shit, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, come on," he urged, his voice strained. "Cum for me. Show me how good I fuck you," he slid a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, fast circles.

That was all it took. Your orgasm washed over you as the dam of pressure that’d been building broke open, a blinding rush of pleasure that made you cry out his name. Your walls clenched around him, your body shaking as you rode out your high. Rafe followed you over the edge a moment later with a guttural groan, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside you.

You collapsed against him, boneless and breathless, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. The air in the car was thick and humid, smelling of sex and sweat and Rafe's cologne. You could feel his heart hammering against his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

"Holy shit," you mumbled into his skin, your voice muffled and sated. A lazy, satisfied smile spread across Rafe's face as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close in the cramped driver's seat. The aftermath left you both sticky and breathless, the intense heat of your bodies fogging up the windows even more.

"Holy shit is right," he rumbled, his voice a low, contented gravel. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, a rare gesture of tenderness that made your chest ache. "Told ya it'd be better than that shitty movie." 

You could feel the smug grin in his voice, making you roll your eyes as you lifted your head, a weak laugh escaping your lips as you looked at him. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his lips were swollen and red. He looked thoroughly debauched, and it was the best thing you'd ever seen. "Okay, let’s not forget you chose this movie," you argued, though the tone in your voice was all the more playful. You took in the way Rafe’s body slightly shone in the soft, muted light,  tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "But, yeah. You were right."

"Damn straight," he said, his hands sliding down to grip your ass possessively. "So much better, we should probably go for round two. Truck’s got a backseat for a reason." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and you were just about to agree, your body already humming with the possibility, when a sudden, sharp rap on the driver's side window made you both freeze.

The sound was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your heads. Your head whipped around to see a blurry figure standing just outside, illuminated by the flickering light of the movie screen. 

“Shit,” you seethed as panic seized you. You scrambled to get off Rafe's lap, your movements clumsy and frantic as you tried to pull your skirt down and straighten your shirt. Rafe cursed under his breath, fumbling with his jeans and shoving himself back into his pants with a pained hiss. He yanked his polo down, trying to look presentable, which was a lost cause.

Another knock, this one more hesitant. "Uh, excuse me?" A young, cracking voice called through the glass. It was the voice of a boy who was probably more comfortable asking his mom for the car keys than confronting strangers about public indecency.

Rafe rolled his eyes, rolling down the window just a crack. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the smell of popcorn and gasoline. Standing there, looking profoundly uncomfortable in his red vest and popcorn-scented uniform, was a teenager who couldn't have been older than sixteen, his face littered with small pimples and prepubescent facial hair that you knew would haunt him later. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes fixed somewhere on the roof of the truck.

"Can I help you?" Rafe asked, his voice dripping with an impatience that was pure Kook privilege, acting as if he wasn't just balls-deep inside his best friend two seconds ago.

"Uh, yeah, sir," the kid stammered, his face turning a bright shade of crimson. He wouldn't make eye contact. "My manager, he, uh... he saw the car... rocking." The last word came out as a squeak. "And, well, this is a family establishment, and we've had some complaints about, you know... the fogged-up windows." He gestured vaguely at your steamy windows. "So I have to ask you to, uh, to leave. Please."

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. You sank down in your seat, wishing you could become one with the leather upholstery. This was mortifying, but Rafe, however, was anything but mortified. He let out an exaggerated sigh, like the kid was asking him to solve world hunger. "Fine, holy fuck," he snapped, already starting the engine. The roar of the V8 engine was aggressive in the quiet night. "We're leaving. Relax, kid."

"Okay, great, thank you," the teenager said, looking like he'd just been pardoned from death row. He practically scrambled backward as Rafe slammed the car into drive, not even bothering to wait for the kid to move away completely. The tires spun on the gravel as he peeled out of the parking space, leaving the flustered employee and the predictable horror movie behind in a cloud of dust.

You didn't speak until he was on the main road, the neon lights of the drive-in theatre’s sign fading in the rearview mirror. The silence was thick with a mix of lingering arousal and sheer, unadulterated embarrassment.

Finally, you broke it. "Oh my God," you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "That was, single-handedly, the most humiliating moment of my entire life."

Rafe let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet car which warmed your heart, despite the embarrassment you couldn’t shake off. He reached over and pulled your hands away from your face, his grip firm. "Nah," he said, glancing over at you, a genuine, amused smile lighting up his features. "That was fucking hilarious. Did you see his face? I thought he was gonna pass out."

"It's not funny!" you protested, but you couldn't help the giggle that escaped. "He looked like he was about to cry."

"Good," Rafe said, his smirk returning full force. "Serves him right for interrupting us." He squeezed your thigh, his touch possessive and warm. "Besides, I told you. No one can see in these windows. Kid was just jealous."

You shook your head, a real laugh bubbling up now. "You're unbelievable, Rafey. D’you know that?"

"Hmmm, no," he shot back playfully, his eyes raking over your dishevelled state. "Maybe it’s because of you." His tone softened slightly on the last part, and your heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he let his guard down.

He took a sharp turn, heading not towards your house or his, but down a dark, empty road that led to the marina. "Now," he said, his voice dropping to that low, husky register that made your stomach clench.

"About that backseat..."

taglist: @raf3cam3r0n @bonjourjiminie

dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics

[celestialwyvern]

A PATHETIC LITTLE THING. - Aerion Targaryen

SUMMARY - Your father Maekar speaks of alliances through betrothal, and you unravel at the thought of leaving your brother.

CONTAINS - DDDNE!, targcest, reader is childish, reader is pathetic, power difference, fluff in the end as usual

A/N - Am I a victim to targcest? Yes! Will I continue to be? Yes!

From the moment you could understand the world, you understood that everything outside of Aerion was vast, indifferent, and terrifying.

The court was a sea of shifting faces, of lords and ladies with nothing but calculating eyes. During public feasts, the noise alone was enough to send your nerves off. It all pressed against your chest until you couldn’t draw a breath.

During those endless hours, you would sit rigid, your eyes frantically scanning the area until you found him.

Aerion.

If he was looking at you, the world stopped spinning. If he was close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off him, the ringing in your ears faded into silence.

You grew to need his presence the way a drowning person needs the surface; a suffocating weight that left you trembling and small.

Aerion fed on it.

You didn’t care that his safety came with darkness. You didn’t care that his affection was a cage. The cage was warm, it was anchoring. That was all that mattered.

But a princess cannot hide in her brother’s shadow forever, no matter how desperately she clings onto it. Eventually, the world you tried so hard to shut out found a way to corner you.

It happened in the suffocating quiet of your father’s quarters, where the true weight of your duty had been waiting for the right moment to crush you.

The lamps flickered softly upon the dark stone walls. Outside the windows, rain battered against the glass in steady waves.

You sat across from your father with your hands folded carefully in your lap.

Maekar finally looked up from his ledgers.

“You have been of age for several moons now.”

Your stomach tightened immediately.

His gaze remained fixed on you, hard and measured as they always were.

Your fingertips dug into your palms beneath the edge of the table.

He continued, entirely blind to the panic rising in your chest. “Several lords have shown great interest in pursuing your hand. A union would strengthen the house considerably,” Maekar explained. “Especially with the Baratheons expressing interest.”

Baratheons.

Storm’s End.

Far from King’s Landing.

Far from Aerion.

Your father kept speaking, his voice going on about duty, alliances, and the children you would bear for a man you had never met.

The words blurred together until they became meaningless sounds ringing inside your skull.

“I…” Your voice broke embarrassingly. “I can’t…”

Maekar stopped. He stared at you with confusion and irritation, as though you were a problem he could not solve.

Tears suddenly welled in your eyes, clouding your vision.

No no no.

You swallowed hard, trying to force the sob back down, but panic had already wrapped itself around your throat.

The first tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop.

Another breath caught painfully in your chest and you could only press both hands to your lips to stifle the sound of your own undoing.

Maekar exhaled sharply through his nose. “Gods,” he muttered quietly.

A servant stepped uncertainly toward the table, looking between the weeping princess and the cold prince.

Your father did not hesitate. “Go fetch the prince,” he ordered. “She’s crying again.”

He rubbed fiercely at his temple. “You must outgrow this attachment eventually,” he said at last.

Minutes later, the doors swung open.

You felt him before you saw him. A sudden shift in the pressure of the room, causing the erratic beating of your heart to steady itself.

Aerion entered without urgency, his expression perfectly composed as his gaze swept across the room before landing on you.

You were curled into yourself, with tearstained cheeks.

His eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.

“There you are,” he said softly, a melodic purr that cut through the droplets of rain.

Your body moved before your mind could even think.

You stumbled across the floor and clung onto him, your face hiding below the crook of his neck.

His arms came around you, heavy and unyielding, locking you against his chest.

“Fretful little thing,” Aerion murmured into your hair as he looked over at Maekar. “Look how she trembles, father. You should not speak of storms to her.”

Maekar scoffed, turning back to his papers. “Take her away, Aerion. Let her come to her senses.”

“With pleasure,” Aerion responded, leading you out with his arms wrapped securely around your waist, keeping your small frame pressed tightly on his side.

You clung to his arm, your face pressed against his arm, entirely helpless.

He stopped near an alcove away from the main hall and forced you back on the stone wall. His hands came to hold your face, thumbs wiping the lingering tears from your cheeks.

“Look at me,” Aerion commanded.

You raised your glassy eyes to his.

“Father wants to send you to the Baratheons,” he said, his voice dropping in a way that made your pulse spike. “They plan to give your pure blood to a stag. Do you want that, little sister? Do you want to leave your dragon?”

“No,” you gasped out, the word frantic and breathless. You grabbed his wrists, your small hands useless to his strength. “No Aerion, please. Don’t let them. I can’t leave you. I’ll die there. I can’t–”

“Shh,” he silenced you, pressing his thumb into your lower lip. “I won’t let them take you. You belong here. You belong with me, where no else can touch you.”

The sheer weight of your terror—the fact that the mere mention of a world without him had reduced a princess of the realm to a breathless ruin—settled into his veins like an intoxicant. “So small. So fragile.” He wasn’t mocking your tears, rather, he was drinking them in.

You nodded quickly, a desperate confirmation. “Please, brother. Just… don’t let him talk about it again.” You pleaded with big frightful eyes.

“He won’t,” Aerion promised softly.

A faint, pleased smile touched the corners of his lips as he watched the panic recede from your face, leaving you soft and pliable in his hold. Your utter helplessness was a necessity to him.

“Better,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the delicate skin on your wrist, where your pulse slowed down. “See? The world is nothing. They are all nothing.”

Two days had passed since the conversation with your father. Tonight was the feast celebrating the nameday of some minor lord—an event your father insisted the entire family attend to show the crown’s solidarity.

Hundreds of voices mingled with the discordant scraping of fiddles and the clatter of silverware.

You sat at the high table, your eyes fixed entirely on the linen of tablecloth in front of you. A platter of food sat untouched before you, the mere thought of trying to swallow made your throat close up.

You felt exposed.

Then, Daeron leaned across the table to call for more wine, his clumsy movement temporarily blocking your view of the seat beside you.

Aerion was gone.

The realization hit you like a wave. Your head snapped up, frantically scanning the sea of people.

Perhaps he had left to speak with Uncle Baelor, or perhaps to humiliate some unfortunate knight. Your mind couldn’t process the reason, only the terrifying reality of his absence.

The noise in your ears seemed to double in volume. Without his presence beside you, the crowd felt predatory. You clutched the edge of the table, knuckles turning white, completely paralyzed by the sudden, overwhelming certainty that you were about to dissolve into your chair.

A hand suddenly touched your shoulder from behind.

You flinched hard enough to send a goblet falling, a small pathetic gasp escaping your lips as you turned your head.

It was Aerion.

He had returned as silently as he had left, stepping into the space beside your chair. He didn’t reprimand you for the scene you were making. Instead, his expression softened into something intensely focused, his attention narrowing down to only you.

Slowly, he moved his hand from your shoulder to rest his fingers flatly against the warm skin of your neck.

“I’m here,” he murmured, leaning down slightly. “I only went to get this for you.”

With his other hand, he placed a silver goblet on the table. It wasn’t the heavy spiced wine the lords were drinking, but a sweet watered-down liquor he knew you preferred.

He doted on you with a quiet, boundless patience in these moments, pouring all his attention into soothing your tremors.

He slid into the chair beside yours and beneath the table, his hand found yours. He laced his fingers tightly through your shaking ones, anchoring your hand flat against his thigh.

After a moment, you began to slide your thumb over the smooth metal of his rings, a subtle but restless need to ensure his attention hadn’t drifted away.

Aerion caught the move instantly. He didn’t look down at you, but the corner of his mouth ticked upward into a faint, knowing smirk.

Without a word, he stood and pulled you up with him. He navigated the room with an elegant arrogance, his arm tucked tightly with yours.

He led you out into the cool night, a long walkway overlooking the cliffs of the lower yard.

You didn’t bother waiting for him to find a place to stop. You stepped straight into his space, reaching out to bunch his doublet in your fist.

You leaned your forehead against his chest, sighing as you inhaled the familiar scent that always meant safety.

“Restless, little dragon?”

He didn’t move to pull away, taking satisfaction in the way you practically sought to bury yourself beneath his clothes. His hands came up, his large palms settling onto your waist with pressure, drawing you flush against his heat.

“You left me,” your fingers tightened around his fabric, “you stood up. I couldn’t see you over Daeron.”

Aerion let out a light, mocking chuckle. He loved when you got like this. Demanding and petty.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said, voice laced with an almost condescending sweetness as he stroked your cheek with his knuckles. “I forgot my little dragon forgets how to function when I step away to fetch her a drink. Did the big, loud lords frighten you while I was gone?”

“Stop it,” your brows furrowed, a flush rising to your cheeks, though you didn’t pull away. “You know I hate it. I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” he asked with feigned innocence, catching your chin to tilt your face higher. He stepped forward, using his weight to ease you back until your spine met the smooth wall. “Do you think Baratheon Lords would know what to do with a princess who complains because her brother stood up for a minute?”

“I don’t care about any lords,” you breathed, “I don’t want them. Aerion, please. You’re doing this on purpose.” You whined as you reached up, fingers feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric.

Your shameful and frantic need to be entirely possessed by him did not compare to any wonders the world could offer. A smirk formed across his face, thoroughly pleased.

“You really are a fragile little thing,” he tutted, his fingers tangling into your hair, locking you in place, “but I suppose you’re exactly as you ought to be.”

He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours, teasing the space between you until you let out a small frustrated whimper.

He chuckled a low vibration before he finally bit your lower lip, parting it before his tongue entered, completely consuming you.

[targaryenstar]

Hi, i was thinking about a scenario where the reader goes to Aerion after having a bad day in the sense that some small things didn't go her way like wanting a cake and not getting it because someone had already finished it, followed by accidentally wounding her finger during embroidery, etc.And she enters Aerion's room, doesn't say much, and just throws herself on him. Just climbs up the bed, puts her head on his chest, and cuddles him.And he is there, just confused. He tries to detach her from him, but she just won't budge even a bit, and takes his hand and starts petting her head with it. And he is just... there, and slowly gives into it without asking much .

-🦚

the gods were against you on this day. the kitchen staff had regrettably informed you about the lack of your favourite pastry in the breakfast feast, leaving you to push the bland food around your plate with your fork. then it had been a small pinprick wound from your embroidery, holding your tongue to refrain from cursing each god. which resulted in your maids scuttling around for a cloth to catch the blood. and now, you had been made aware of your quietly arranged trip to the capital in the coming days. for who only knows what.

it had all grown too much to simply handle alone, not a hot bath or stroll in the sun could undo the turmoil in your stomach. you were plainly vexed.

most would think in a state such as this, you would turn on your foot and run from your husband. the dragon you were forced to give your hand to, the cruel prince, the aerion targaryen.

but that was not the case. in actual fact, you hastened your footsteps toward his chamber after your bath. with a tightly clenched jaw and even tighter fists, you pushed open his door unannounced.

“gods, wife.” he tutted, abandoning the heavy book to the side of where he sat on the bed. “if you were anybody else, i would have your hands.”

you were quiet. no usual, quick rebuttal to his attitude, not a roll of the eyes nor a light slap against his arm. no, you were quiet. hunched over as you crawled into the bed beside him. your unusual manner had him frozen, limbs unmoved as you curled into him. head in his lap, knees pulled up to your chest. eyes squeezed shut to force the tears further back into your ducts.

“sweet girl,” he whispered, eyebrows knitted together in a state of utter concern, “what is wrong?”

“the gods are against me on this day, husband. nothing is going as i wanted it to.” you admitted.

he smirked, a subtle one, as if you could even see the look on his face. it had been him you’d run to, not to your own chambers, not to submerge yourself in a bath until your lungs filled with the water, nobody else. just him.

“we cannot have that now, can we?” his tone was dripping with condescension, stroking your hair as your sought solace in his arms. “sweet wife. what can i do to make you happy?”

“nothing,” you sighed, “nothing at all.”

[imthefemalemonster]

⸻Eternity

CHAPT. 2

Daemon Targaryen x Female!Reader (smut)

⸻Summary: Your father Daemon invites you to take a bath with him.

Tags: Father/Daughter Incest, Smut, Porn without Plot, PIV, Orgasm, Kisses, Hugs

⸻Read on Ao3

Notes: You are Daemon's adoptive daughter

REQUESTS OPEN

⸻Words: 1635

“Father?”

You walked into the silent room. Unsure you looked around, nobody was here. You could hear the wind pushing against the curtains. But your father was nowhere to be seen. You moved forward, observing the well ordered room. A few books waited on the desk, half opened for some. You turned around to face the bed. It was made, neat as you approached but still couldn’t find Daemon.

“Father?”, you repeated.

You sounded like you were almost begging for him. After what happened earlier today you had thought about this moment all day. You could barely stand without your whole body shaking from eagerness.

“In here.”

You heard his voice before seeing him. As you stepped further into the room you noticed him. Daemon was lying in the bath, his legs out as the water stopped at his torso. You could see his scars, his silver hair floating in the warm water. You didn’t know where to stand so you just waited. Looking like an idiot, you thought. But in these types of situations you were inexperienced. You weren’t sure what a daughter had to do when she was facing her naked father in his own room, taking a bath.

You smiled as Daemon reached for your hand. You felt his warm skin as you fingers touched. He was so beautiful and you could barely hold it together. You wanted to rip off your own clothes and climb in the bath with him. Maybe you could show him how to ride. But you were still standing here, not moving, just caressing your father's hand as you smiled widely, lost in your own dirty thoughts.

“Will you help me bathe?”, asked Daemon, breaking the silence as you were still standing next to the bath, silent.

Your eyes opened wide as you listened to his words.

“H-help?”, you stuttered, “Yes, I guess. But h-how…”

Daemon smiled as he straightened up. You could see his whole body now, his neck, his scars on the chest, his muscular leg, but most importantly his cock. You could drool from the sight alone but you tried to focus your mind back on your father. You couldn’t go so quick, he was the one who could teach you how to do it. You had to be good, you had to be patient.

“Come closer”, Daemon said, taking you out of your thoughts, “Sit next to me.”

You obeyed immediately, sitting down next to the bath. You looked into your father’s eyes as you waited for his next

“Are you ready to listen to me, sweet girl?”

You smiled at the name. You were his adored, sweet, sweet girl and you would do anything to please him, whatever he asked for, you would provide. You had dreamed so your entire life.

So you nodded, waiting for the next command.

“Take this cloth and help me wash myself.”

You didn’t hesitate and grabbed the piece of cloth hanging at the side of the bath. Daemon extended his arm to you as you began to rub his arm gently, starting from his hand to his forearm, to his shoulders. Caressing his scars as you reached for his neck. He turned his head waiting for you to reach his face. Kindly you rubbed his face, his cheek, his temple. Your other hand reached for his hair, combing them gently as they fell into the water.

“How does it feel?”, you asked. You were so lost in your movements you forgot what happened, where you were, what were you doing. Automatically your hair caressed your father’s hair, your fingers danced on his naked skin. You could only think about one thing. Him, him him.

“Good”, Daemon replied, “But better if you were in here with me.”

You blushed, taken out of your thoughts again you realized you were still fully clothed standing next to the bath. You had seen what was inside, all the parts in your body desperately cried for you to undress and climb into the bath. To ride your own father to pleasure.

“Get your clothes off”, Daemon commanded as your whole body was shaking from excitement, “Now.”

His voice was low, there was a sort of dominance in his voice. Without hesitation you obeyed, your hands working fast to undress yourself, getting rid of the last bit of clothes you could find still hanging on your body. Soon enough you were naked next to the bath and you could feel how your whole body responded to the situation. You were cold but also wet, your body slightly shivering in anticipation.

“Climb”, he said, spreading his arms to welcome you.

You looked at him, he hadn’t moved his body aside to let you in, meaning you were supposed to climb him.

Unsure at first you finally obeyed, letting your legs guide you. The water was boiling hot, your body reacted by sending shivers down your spine as you lowered yourself in the bath.

Now you could feel him. His entire body but most importantly his hard cock between your legs. You wanted to move, to take him whole here and now. You waited for the next command, terrified to move.

“Relax”, Daemon joked, “You are so tense dear.”

You smiled at him. No wonder you were, it wasn’t everyday that you could have such intense and intimate moments with your own father.

“Where do we start?”, Daemon talked, looking at you like he was expecting a precise answer.

Surprised you shrugged your shoulders. You expected him to guide you into it, not ask you what you wanted.

“A kiss… maybe?”, you murmured, unsure.

Daemon smiled as he gestured to you to get closer, his hands reaching for your back as you positioned yours on his shoulders. Slowly you approached your face as your lips grazed his and in a second you were glued to your father. You opened your mouth to let his tongue in. You let him battle your tongue for dominance as you smiled into the kiss. Daemon moaned as your cunt got closer to his desperate and hardened dick. Slowly you moved forward and backward against him, making him moan louder in your mouth. Gently you broke the kiss and opened your eyes again, drowning in his purple iris. You hadn’t stopped the movement of your hips and you could feel Daemon’s following your rhythm as he was trying to get off the friction with your wet cunt.

“I need to be so deep inside you you forget your own name, sweet girl.”

There is nothing more you wanted from him. You wanted him to penetrate you so deep you would be unable to walk for a few days at least. You wanted him so deep that you would not forget the width of his cock for weeks.

You smiled again, getting your head closer to your father’s for another loving kiss.

“P-please Father”, you begged as you broke the kiss, your lips still brushing his own.

Your voice made Daemon so weak there was nothing more he could do than to grab your waist and forcefully penetrate you. You let a little scream at first, you expected it to be large, to be painful, but it wasn’t. With the water it was surprisingly smooth at first, you took him little by little as he moved his crotch up and down. Your fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders as he pushed deeper, now moving in and out.

Daemon’s face moved closer to your neck, his lips attacking your skin as you bite your own lips not to moan too loud. But you couldn’t stop the sounds from escaping your mouth, soon enough you were moaning loudly as your father’s cock was ramming inside your virgin hole.

“Beautiful”, Daemon growled.

You smiled, there was so much pleasure in having your father deep inside you while he ravaged your frail skin with bites and kisses. His hands moved up to grab your chest, his hinges playing with your nipple as you moved forward to kiss him again. Your movements were coordinated now and you could feel both his cock and tongue penetrating you up and down. You slammed your hips against his crotch in a rapid rhythm. Your mind was empty as you jumped on your father’s cock again and again, each time his dick reaching further and further inside you. You could now feel his whole body against yours, the water splashing everywhere in the room as you rode him to orgasm. It only took him a few more trusts until he came deep inside you and you fell onto his chest, exhausted.

“So beautiful”, Daemon repeated, his hands reaching for your hair as he caressed them gently.

You took a deep breath, Daemon was still inside you as you as you breathed, trying to stand on your own as you felt like your whole body was giving up on you after the orgasm. You could feel your whole body shaking from pleasure as Daemon slowly embraced you.

“What a good girl”, he murmured to your ear.

You wanted to stay here, in the warm water next to him, inside his arms as he gently kissed your forehead. You could feel how hot his body was. Slowly you were drifting away in his arms, taken away by the warmth of his body.

“I’ll take care of you”, Daemon whispered as he gently kissed your forehead.

You felt him lift you, carrying you outside the bath to the bedroom. You smiled as you felt his skin against yours as he dropped you on the bed. You could feel his lips against your ear.

“We’re only getting started, my dear”, he murmured as you opened your eyes again, feeling your wet skin on the bed, “I have a surprise for you…”