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೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢𝟭 ⠀ᰋ TWENTY. SHE/HER. MASTERLIST. BLURBS. QUESTIONS. REQUESTING RULES.

REQUESTS OPEN! (but slow to write)

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢2 ⠀ᰋ this blog contains problematic and dark topics such as dubcon, noncon, and incest. requests or anything else in my inbox is welcome. stay safe and stay freaky babes!

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢3 ⠀ᰋ feel free to drop anything in my inbox! even if it’s not a request! kisses!

⤷ ゛my pinterest ! ˎˊ˗

I JUST 😢 CANT

oh he is soooo pussywhipped… also i am a firm believer that Valarr loves a bush

𑣲⋆｡˚ prince Valarr Targaryen did not stand as a prince should. in fact, he rarely did when his wife was present. he knelt on the cold stone floor, his tunic discarded. you reclined on the massive bed, legs draped carelessly over the side, thighs spread wide to invite in his gaze.

“you look desperate, Valarr,” you murmured, lips upturned, voice a low and teasing drawl.

“i am,” he said simply, honest as always. his eyes were locked in on the glistening slit between your legs, “i can’t think of anything else. i can’t breathe without the scent of you filling my lungs.”

you laughed at him—fondly, of course. you often wondered if he would be happier as a poet than a prince. undoubtedly though, the general public wouldn’t enjoy his erotic musings. “is that so?” you said, “the great Targaryen prince, reduced to a begging dog for a bit of wetness?”

“i am whatever you want me to be, as long as you let me taste you,” he groaned, leaning forward.

“then prove it.”

Valarr came to the call. he dove forward, his nose pressing into the soft, damp curls of your mound. it smelled of musk and honey and the slight tang of your arousal. he let out a shaky moan and parted the outer lips with his tongue, tasting the first salty drop of you. “gods… you’re so wet.” he mumbled.

“shh, less talking, more licking.” you commanded, hips giving a small yet demanding twitch.

he buried his face deep, tongue sweeping upward in one long, slow stroke from your perineum to the very top of your cunt. a loud, wet sound echoed in the quiet room as he slurped at your folds. he found the swollen pearl of your clit and began to flick at it with his tongue.

“ah… yes, right there,” you gasped, toes curling into the sheets. “suck it, Valarr.”

he obeyed, taking the small nub into his mouth and pulling it in with a vacuum like force. Valarr felt a pathetic sort of pride in his submission, in the way his jaw ached and his tongue grew tired while you remained at the centre of his universe. he licked deeper, pushing past your entrance of your pussy, tasting the thick, hot nectar inside.

“i love you,” he moaned, the words muffled by your skin, “i love your cunt more than the… than anything…”

you only moaned in response, a growl low in your throat, but it pushed the man forward, redoubling his efforts. he swirled his tongue in rapid circles around your clit while sucking your lips inward. you suddenly stiffened, your back arching off the bed as a violent tremor shook your thighs. they clamped down on Valarr’s face, holding him there as he continued to drink you in, swallowing every drop of your slick gratefully while shuddered under his mouth.

he remained there for a long moment, panting as if it was him that had been brought to release, face wet.

[u don't have to answer if u don't want to! :) ]

no i LOVE questions like this!! everyone must send me a million of your little questions and i’ll answer each of them happily!!

for anyone reading this, here’s the prior post for context :)

── .✦ i don’t fit his valarian criteria either but in my head he’s still in love with me ;) …. but on to the actual question at hand, i think that things really depend on if the marriage was a love match or one that was put in place for political gain!

⤷ ゛a political match ˎˊ˗ Aerion is inherently very argumentative, so whether or not the woman he weds is as gorgeous as Aphrodite herself, he won’t like her, because anything less than a Targaryen—in his eyes—is an insult. he will forever whine over the fact that this isn’t how things were meant to be.

his cousin.

okay, but actually, i think there are two different kinds of woman he would like.

he views himself as the picture of a great Targaryen. the rest of his family—such as his pathetic, drunken brother, or that little traitor Aegon—are worthless when it comes to carrying on the legacy of their powerful house. so obviously, he must do it. he, the dragon, must carry on the great and powerful Targaryen name, bring the dynasty into a new age of strength.

── .✦ the non negotiable is looks. he wants a woman with Targaryen features: white hair and purple eyes, just the same as him. a woman who has his own blood flowing through her veins is the only one he will bother to wed. a sister or a cousin will do.

── .✦ as for personality, this is where things split off!

⤷ ゛option one ˎˊ˗ Aerion wants a woman that’s strong willed, intelligent and confident. someone he can confide in, or complain to, as he often does. his wife will be the sole person he can trust, the one that he will share all his secrets and schemes with, his only true brother (well, sister) in arms. he wants a woman that is an equal to him. though, you should be the calm to his storm. he can be quite erratic and emotionally driven, so it would be important for you to guide him in the times he’s acting irrationally— which is most of the time!

ooh, tough one!! especially because i have so many different versions of them in my head… here is the kind of standard version i’ve formulated:

── .✦ ( AERION )

aerion is a sadist, and usually focuses on what pleases him rather than you. he likes the look you give him when he scratches your back, how your ass turns pink after a good spanking, or how your blood looks trickling down the peaks of your breasts after he slices up your collarbone with a dagger of valerian steel.

he wants—no, he needs—control. he needs you to only be his. he’ll keep you in chastity, make sure no one, including you, gets to touch that sweet cunt of yours. he’ll pinch your nipples, rolling them around between his fingers until they’re reddened and puffy and painful, watching the result of his prodding drip through the metal of your chastity belt in sticky slick.

he wants to slap your face until your cheeks are red, until you’re begging him to stop, that it’s too much, it hurts so bad. he likes your tears. he’ll lick the salt of them off your hot skin.

he’s the type to wake you up with a cock in your mouth. he wants pleasure always. he wants to train you into believing that pleasing him pleases you. he wants you under tables and desks, sweet lips on his dick, doing whatever he says. he wants you ready for him whenever he pleases. a wet, warm cunt for him to fuck when he is angered, or bored, or perhaps in one of his rare moods of romance.

Aerion wants to be your lover, your master, the owner of your pain, your pleasure, and your heart all in one.

── .✦ ( DAERON )

Daeron is a whole different kind of pervert. he’s a bedroom sneaker, a panty sniffer.

he’s a lurker, he’ll wait in the shadows of your chambers, watching you undress, your breasts lit up softly by the flickering candlelight, staring at your naked body silently until you notice him. he wants you to be frightened, he wants you to yell at him, ask him what the hell is wrong with him, throw a nearby goblet in his direction.

he likes the punishment that comes with acting like a degenerate. he’ll get drunk and use it as an excuse for his behaviour of flirting with you, someone he should not. you are his sister after all!

Daeron will sneak into your room and go through the basket of dirty laundry. he’ll rifle through it and find your already-worn undergarments, bringing them to his nose while he jerks off, then spilling himself on your sheets. he half heartedly tries to hide the evidence of what he did, but the other part—the bigger part—wants you to find it. he wants you to know.

he fantasizes about getting too drunk, about having you take advantage of him. he wants you to tell him everything’s okay, that you’ll take care of him, all while you’re pulling his half-hard cock out of his breeches while he apathetically tells you to stop. he doesn’t want you to listen, he wants you to stroke him until he cums pathetically all over his stomach.

he wants to be debased, wants to be hit, degraded.

_🎀

( DAERON TARGARYEN X READER )

☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ frightened by attention not being on him, Daeron tries to make you understand how good it is to just be his.

contains! modern!daeron, established relationship, kidnapping, jealousy, noncon. requested content.

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ your boots sank into the damp dirt, the scent of pine needles and ozone filling your lungs. you didn’t look back at the cabin, you just ran, breath ragged, coming in freezing gasps that burned your throat.

he’d brought you here only a week ago, but each hour felt terrifying. Daeron was always… unstable, you knew that. but he was kind. he was loving and gentle, even when he had problems. you were surprised when things started to change. he had began to get more frantic for your attention, texting you constantly, asking where you were, who you were with.

then came the neighbour. he was nice, attractive, around your age. you didn’t feel anything for him, but you were polite. Daeron didn’t like that— he saw it as flirtation. as betrayal. and now you were trapped in some cabin bought with daddy’s money, in the middle of who knows where.

now you were dashing out of the cabin, trying to find the phone booth you had seen on the drive here. maybe you could call for help, (and get your boyfriend institutionalized).

“going somewhere?” Daeron’s voice called out. it was so close. the suddenness of it all made you yelp and turn around, only to find him standing about five feet away, a little out of breath. he looked disheveled: button down shirt half tucked into his pants, a smudge of something across his cheek, his eyes wide. he still looked handsome—he always did—but something about him was wild. he smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes, which remained flat and vacant.

“i can’t do this, Daeron. please, just let me go home. let us go home.”

Daeron tilted his head, stepping forward. “home? we are home, sweetheart. just us.”

“you’re acting insane!” he continued to walk towards you, calm as ever.

then he lunged, his fingers clamped around your wrists, pulling you forward before you could pull away, jerking you off balance. he slammed you back against a rough cedar trunk, the impact knocking the wind from your lungs.

“i’m the one who loves you enough to save you from yourself,” he whispered.

you struggled, kicking at his shins, but he pinned your hips down with the weight of his body. he ripped down your shorts, exposing your ass to the cool air, followed immediately by the warmth of his palms. “you really want to see what happens when i lose my patience with you?” he said through gritted teeth. he fumbled with his belt, fingers clumsy and shaking, before pulling out his cock. he shoved you down onto the dirty ground, grabbing your thighs and hauling your legs up.

“Daeron, stop, please, let’s just talk about this!”

“shut up,” he groaned, driving into you unannounced. he was so big that it felt like he slammed right into your cervix, a blunt pressure, raw and searing. the sound of your bodies colliding was the only noise in the entirety of the forest: no bird calls, no wind whistling through leaves, nothing but the fleshy slap of skin on skin. “you’re mine…” he moaned, his voice wavering, like he was trying to convince himself of it rather than you. “i need you to say it.”

“i… ah.”

he ignored you, his pace getting faster. the ground was gritty beneath your back, pine needles and pebbles digging into your skin. he gripped your waist so hard his fingerprints would surely leave bruises. every plunge was deep, mindless, the sound of his cock sliding into your tight, resisting pussy echoing in the quiet woods.

you felt the sudden, sharp spike of a climax you didn’t want, your body betraying you as the friction hit your clit each time he fucked into you, his pelvis rubbing up against it.

you sobbed, one hand digging into the dirt, the other clawing at his arm. Daeron let out a guttural howl and started to pound into you at an animalistic rate, overzealous and frantic.

he thrust one last time, his cock slipping slightly out of your wet heat before he rammed back in to the hilt. he shuddered violently, balls slapping up against your ass as he dumped a hot, thick load deep inside you. he struggled to stay upright, letting go of you and bracing himself on the forest floor, chest heaving.

he kissed your cheek softly, the tenderness terrifying in its contrast. “see? wasn’t that nice? don’t you want this all the time?”

_🎀

I just read your ask answering anon you are not writing any valarr fic rn. But I remember sending you valarr incest fic or did I not? I'm confused.

_🎀

i don’t have a valarr one from you in my inbox rn!! i’m writing a daeron one from you right now though! :)

sometimes i go through my inbox to clear it out as i usually have like 20-30 requests, and it just gets too overwhelming, so there is a chance it got deleted… but i never delete special anons requests on purpose!! u can resend if you’d like!

( VALARR TARGARYEN X READER )

☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ Valarr is not a man of many words, but he will make sure that you understand who you belong to

contains! violence, death, targcest, suggestive content requested material

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ the dust almost choked out the smell of horse sweat and grass. almost. you scrunched your nose and tried to strategically only breathe in the scent of your crushed lavender perfume, but it was mostly useless.

you watched as the knights, lords sons and common men alike all flitted restlessly around, either atop their steeds or on the ground, inspecting their armour to make sure it was in the most perfect of conditions for the tourney; if they couldn’t win, perhaps they could look good enough to find themselves a wife.

ser Berenger steered his stallion toward the royal box, his armour gleaming under the midday sun, the serpent on his breastplate so intricate it seemed to snake and writhe around in the shadows and light that bounced upon its metal scales. he looked up at you, eyes gleaming with hope, “my lady,” he called, pointing his lance up towards the box, “grant me your favour, and i shall carve the prince from his saddle in your honour.”

you smiled, a shy curve of your lips. ser Berenger was a handsome man: blonde and broad framed. he was the son of a lord, and a very good hunter. the man was one of the better options for a targaryen princess to wed, even if he was a bit dull. you untied a pale purple scarf from your hair and leaned over the railing.

“ride well, ser.” you dropped the fabric and he caught it as it fluttered down, tying it tightly around the hilt of his lance.

in the distance, Valarr sat atop his great black charger. his face remained a mask of stone—as it always did—eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, watching your silk scarf cling to somewhere it didn’t belong.

the herald blew the horn. the clash of lance and armour sounded like a thunderclap as Valarr hit ser Berenger with the force of a landslide. his lance was shattered into splinters, and the blonde man was flung backwards, armour clattering violently against the hard earth.

the crowd roared, two thousand hands coming together to celebrate the unhorsing. but Valarr did not celebrate. no, not yet. he spurred his horse forward, the animals hooves drumming a frantic rhythm. he leapt from the saddle before the horse had even stopped.

“you dared take my favour,” Valarr said, voice low.

the other man groaned, struggling to sit up, still winded. “it was but a game, my prince—”

Valarr didn’t let him finish. he seized a mace from the dirt, discarded from a previous joust, and lifted it above his head.

you gasped but didn’t look away, your hand darting out to grip your fathers arm out of fear.

Valarr’s first blow broke ser Berenger’s visor, the steel crumpling as if it were made of copper. the second crushed his jaw and pulled a ragged scream from the man’s mouth. the third and fourth sounded wet; the mace was bloodied, chunks of facial viscera clinging to it and being dirtied on the ground. Valarr continued to bring it down until the knight stopped moving beneath the heavy metal, until he was naught but a mangled piece of flesh. he stood over the corpse, chest heaving, blood splattered across his pale cheeks.

the body was dragged away by two green-faced squires who desperately tried to look away from his mangled face. the day continued on, and Valarr remained victorious throughout the entirety of it.

when nightfall came, you retreated to your tent despite begging your father to let you sleep in his with him, the gore of the morning still fresh on your mind. Maekar was stern as ever and banished you to your own makeshift chamber with a pat on the cheek.

you lay beneath your sheets, the flickering light of a single candle flickering across the walls of the tent, making strange shadows dance around the linens, as if mocking you in your wakefulness with each shape that almost resembled a moving mace and a cracked face. a shadow eclipsed the light as the tent flap opened.

Valarr stepped inside. he had washed the blood from his skin, but the tang of iron still clung to him, like death itself had shackled itself to his bones. he had exchanged his knights armour for something softer and quieter, and moved with almost no sound, leather boots pressing softly into the rugs. he sat on the edge of your bed—a cot draped in red and black fabrics, a lambs skin over your pillow so you could sleep in luxury—and the mattress dipped under his weight.

you stirred, moving your eyes from their place on the tent’s wall and blinking up at him in the dimness. “cousin?” you whispered, “what is it?”

he reached out, thumb grazing your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw and watching you as he did so, like he was waiting for you to startle like a spooked rabbit ready to bound away. his hand lingered then slid down to the column of your throat. your pulse fluttered for a reason you didn’t know. maybe it was the remnants of earlier in the day.

“were you frightened?” he asked, “when i killed him?”

you shuddered, remembering the sound that had come from the dead man as Valarr stole away his life. “yes.” your fingers dug into the linen sheet, pulling it up to your chin, “i’ve never seen you… like that.”

Valarr leaned closer, the heat of his body radiating through his tunic. he shifted and his thigh brushed up against your hip through the sheets. “do you know why i did it?” he asked.

you shook your head slowly, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes locked onto his mismatched ones.

“because i cannot have another man after you like that,” he murmured, “do you understand?”

“he was only asking for a favour.”

Valarr leaned down, lips hovering just an inch from your face, his breath warm. “he had more in mind for you than getting a favour. i will not tolerate another man dreaming of you.” he shifted again, pressing his weight more firmly against you, the suggestion of his desire hard and insistent against you. “you are to be mine, cousin. now, do you understand? answer me, briefly.”

you nodded quickly, a strange heat blooming down below. “yes. yes, Valarr.”

he lifted his hand from your neck and moved it back to your cheek, stroking your cheek with his thumb tenderly until finally backing away entirely. “good girl.”