☆♡Gülnar♡☆

Even this version of Dex, who let himself free from the restraints, from the confinement he once accepted, the expectations laid upon him. He was still very much dependent on that structure, it’s not a thing he can just remove with a flick of his finger, it’s hardwired into his very being. And once again, Dex finds himself falling into those old, familiar habits.

Dex senses those same feelings creeping back whenever he watches you. The same feeling when he was watching Julie. But you couldn’t be his north star. The north star was meant to be his moral compass, to guide him to do good, to give him a purpose. His older self pretended to be this functioning hardworking man, who was devoted to his legitimate work. Took his meds and attended psych evaluations. But now? Now he is a man that society - no you would deem as a criminal, a murderer, a monster even.

He will be the good neighbor just for you; a role he plays quite easily. But Dex knows it won’t be long before he reveals his true nature. And shall that moment arise, you will have no choice but to accept him the way he is. Dex has mapped out your routine. Even from inside his apartment, he can identify your footsteps whether you are ascending or descending the stairs either in a hurry or taking your time.

Sometimes you see him. In the evening as you climb up, clearly exhausted from a long shift or in the early mornings clutching a coffee in your hand, heading to work or for a walk. Dex conveniently notices how much you skip breakfast, rushing not to be late. How he thought of waking you up early himself to the smell of breakfast. He’ll prepare the eggs exactly how you like them, if you like your pancakes soft with syrup, or your waffles crispy. Dex would do it with no complaint, because taking care of you will be as natural to him as breathing the same air as you. 

He can also tell when you are having a bad day. Sometimes you’d be wiping away your tears as you climb up the stairs, sniffing quietly. On occasion, he would comment, his poor attempt at cheering you up. “It’s hard, really hard working in customer service.” You’d freeze for a second cause you don't ever recall ever telling what you did for work. But the human brain has a knack for dismissing such concerns, seeing it as a lucky guess.

Or when you are limping from an injury such as tripping and hurting your knee on some uneven pavement. Dex had to restrain from compromising himself and had to watch from a distance as you struggled to get on your feet, embarrassment clearly written on your face. Later when he sees you slightly limping toward your apartment, he offers advice. “Make sure to clean it well before applying antibiotic ointment and cover it with a bandage.” You mumble a thanks, appreciating his concern. 

When you struggle with grocery bags, Dex offered to carry them for you. It feels like you couldn’t refuse, that would be rude. You thanked him by opening the door just wide enough for him to place the bags on the floor. Dex is tempted to offer if you want him to organize them, put everything in its proper place. He has been inside your room many times, he knows it like the back of his hand. Instead he says it was no problem, watching as you close the door. 

You also encounter Dex when you are carrying your laundry basket or checking your mailbox in the lobby. He has become a familiar face. And just like Julie, you too have cemented as a part of his everyday life. Intertwined with his very ability to function. He had once again attached himself to someone, but this was unlike anyone, not like Mercer, not like Fisk, not like Julie. This has consumed him whole. 

Dex was certain on one thing; he couldn't afford to lose you. If he did, he would spiral even further than was believed to be possible. He needs you safe and happy. The irony, of course, is that Dex will be the very thing that corrupts you. His version of your happiness and safety comes with much sacrifice and control. Dex wants your full attention, your approval in a way. He needs constant reassurance, needs your presence  at every moment. Dex cannot go days without seeing you, even if only from a distance.

Even before you got together, Dex was incredibly attentive. He remembered details that most people would never notice. The specific shoes you like wearing often, the lingering scent of your perfume, the way you take an extra large step at the end of the staircase, the way you hum when you are in a good mood. He listens intently with everything you tell him; the long exhausting shift you had, your complaints of the weather, the plans you had the next day. 

Dex is ever devoted, but it comes with a fixated obsession that borders on almost being cannibalistic. Dex starts to not see you as a separate entity but a part of himself. Like puzzles, he will remove many pieces of his to make space for you to fit inside so perfectly that removing you would leave a gaping hole. Dex wants to be your provider, your lover, your soulmate. He is convinced that no one cares for you more than he did, no one shall look after you like he does, no one can protect you like he does. Not even your mother who carried you in her womb. Even if it comes at the cost of your happiness, even if it feels more like a cage – at least your cage is pretty, maintained and you don't even have to lift a finger. Dex will do all you want and need. 

Dex can be careful, very careful. He is seen as an assassin, a mercenary; swift and silent. The old Dex would have been content to watch you from afar, to be so cautious about not alarming you; to leave no trace. But this Dex, oh he wants you to know he has been in your apartment. Not too obvious at first, he didn’t want to frighten you too much.

He walks around and takes his sweet time while you are at work. Your schedule was a standard 9-5, which gave him all the hours he needed. There was no reason for you to come home early, no emergency, no sickness. Dex opens your closet, letting his hand run through your clothes, feeling the fabrics. He examines the skincare products and makeup scattered across your stand. “Such a mess.” Dex thinks. Noting your clothes on the floor from you rushing to leave and the dishes on the sink. He will surely one day clean them up for you. Dex opens your refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. Lamenting the lack of proper ingredients, the many takeout containers, never mind the fact some of the food in your fridge are expired. Dex bought a cooking book a week ago, already planning the many meals shall you eat together.

Dex would purposefully make minor changes during those visits. Moving your chair slightly, reorganizing your cups in the cabinet, picking up your clothes from the floor. You’d walk into your apartment and perhaps never notice these small changes and even if there was a hint of doubt, a simple excuse of it being you’d forgotten that you did them was enough to suffice. Over time, Dex made his presence more known. The loose cabinet you had been meaning to fix was suddenly secured with proper screws. Your window left open wind blowing in. Things started to move, appearing in places you know you didn’t place there. 

You’ve become a pit paranoid. Sometimes turning around suddenly, expecting to see someone there, but no one was there, just you. When you swore you heard noise outside, peeking out of your door into the hallway, seeing nothing but the vacant corridor staring back at you. And the more anxious you become, the more you encounter Tony.

At times you went up to the building’s rooftop just to clear your mind. And there he was, climbing all those stairs just to stand beside you. You would pass him a polite smile as you both stared at the view. Either the sun blinding in the late afternoon or the wind blowing against your face or the way the city that never slept looked at night with all its light on. Dex didn’t say anything, he’d just lean against the edge, hands resting on the railing. Sometimes he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. 

Still, Tony was impossible to suspect. As said, he was nice and helpful. Unaware from an apartment across the way, Dex leaned with his binoculars, a clear view of you moving around your apartment. Eventually, it leads to him implementing surveillance. Oh don’t worry he identified all the optimal spots to install those little cameras, which he can access anywhere and anytime. A technology he stole from the many AVTF agents. 

Sometimes he’d be sitting at the table or lying in bed, watching you move through the day on his phone or laptop. Dex doesn’t look away even when you undress. He takes it all in, the scars, the beauty marks. How nice it must feel to touch your breasts and of course nothing beats the view between your legs. You remain as clueless as ever and it’s all just further proof to Dex that he needs to keep you safe. Now imagine if it was someone else watching you this way. It’s a blessing in disguise that it's him and not some creep. 

Dex watches even when you masturbate, your soft moans barely audible, trying to stay quiet because of the thin walls. His eyes refuse to leave the screen, transfixed by the sight of your fingers working between your legs. How he wishes it was him instead. He would gladly be eager to please you, make you orgasm over and over. Dex would have to kiss you to muffle your moans. He imagined the wet sounds that would fill the room as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, picturing you so clearly gripping his arm desperately searching for something to hold onto. And Dex would even be more eager to push his face between your legs, longing for the taste of you. 

Sometimes his hand reaches for his cock as he watches, moving up and down syncing with your movement on screen. But most often he’d stop himself, frustrated because it just doesn’t feel the same. There is no real satisfaction there. He wants it to be your hands. Dex wants nothing more than to be inside you, to feel you squeeze so tightly around him. 

As expected, Dex notices all those who interact with you. For someone like Dex, a healthy relationship is an impossible feat. You are a part of his core now, essential to his functioning. Dex belongs to you as much as you belong to him, in body, in soul, in every damn way that matters. Dex notices how you speak to that one elderly woman from the third floor, how you greet the delivery driver, how the man from three floors down would pause to speak with you in the hallway. The friend who comes over at the weekend which in particular bothers him the most. 

There is an odd feeling in his chest to see you laugh so freely with others as you recall memories or told stories. He wants to be that person for you. Wanting you to tell him everything about yourself, every fear, every loss, every aspiration, every person who ever wronged you. Dex will tolerate your friends and family because he understands it is a line he cannot cross if he wanted you content at his side. Last thing he wants is for you to fight and lash out. That quickly gets tiring and it will cause your refusal to comply with his expectations. No Dex couldn’t have that. 

But any exes you had, any hookups, even a single date, none of it matters to Dex. They will be eliminated even the man who catcalled you on the other side of the street. Dex has no remorse even as they beg for their lives. 

Dex plays the long game. He carefully thinks of every word, every step, every move. Sometimes things slip, a few inconsistencies, a crack there and there but they didn’t rouse any suspicions. Naturally you felt more at ease with him, beginning to reveal pieces of yourself to him. Details he already knew but alas. And when you tell him you feel as if you’re being watched, he offers reassurance and implies it must be you watching too many horror movies.

Dex doesn’t really care about things that don’t directly concern you. Your friend is in the hospital? Dex only cares that it upsets you and offers fake sympathy in hopes it makes you talk to him more. He doesn’t care when you recall fond memories with your family, only remembering what matters such as you loving your mother’s lasagna or how much you adore the beach. 

Dex doesn’t plan to meet your family, his only minimal concern is you simply caring for them. Though he thinks of the benefits. Getting to see your childhood photos, charming your mother enough so she recounts stories of your younger self even the embarrassing and awkward stags. He hopes he would find an old journal as he looks through your childhood bedroom. 

But Dex is thinking too far ahead, for now he is still your friendly neighbour. You need something fixed? A missing ingredient for dinner? Calling him to pick you up? Needing comfort after a long draining shift? He is there. He is always there. 

Dex restrains himself more than you could possibly know. There is an endless urge to touch you, to hold you close to him. Sometimes he indulges, fingers brushing against yours as you walk together or your shoulders touching when sat beside each other. But mostly he lets you initiate it, resting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, leaning against him when you are tired. It wasn’t long before you found yourself looking forward to seeing him, giving him those huge smiles that reached your eyes. Giggling awkwardly at his badly timed jokes (ones he overheard from other people). 

He enjoyed bringing you to diners. Dex couldn’t help the smile that creeps into his face when you burn your tongue on coffee and blow on it or when you let out a satisfied hum when the food is good. Eventually you had to give a label to whatever was developing between the two of you. It all started with Mrs. Smithers mistaking you for a couple, Dex didn’t correct her., Leaving you to awkwardly explain you are not dating despite returning from a night out where you did indeed look like a couple to everyone. The idea played around in your head and it didn’t sound too bad. Tony was handsome even with the scar on his face, if anything, it made him all the more attractive. 

When the two of you finally become official, Tony seemed like the most attentive boyfriend you’d ever have. Your exes could never compare or mayhaps it’s just the honeymoon phase. You know that phase where couples can’t seem to go a second without touching the other or without accompanying the other. But you remain unaware that with Dex, it’s not a phase. It will be all you will know. Till death do us part, the saying goes. 

Your exes were cheaters, liars, assholes. But Dex? He made you feel like you were the most important person in the world, you have never felt safer, never felt more seen than with him. Tony would walk you to your door after dates, text you every morning, check on you during work hours, listen to your complaints with his solution being to leave it all behind and only be with him. Still, he gives you the illusion he cares about all your mundane problems. He brought you flowers, ones that happen to be your favorite. 

Sure Dex has accidentally let out certain details that he should have never known. Like the old place you used to work at, the pet you had that passed away, somehow knowing your aunt’s name. But for the sake of this semi-paradise, you ignored that gut feeling in your stomach. Telling yourself he’s merely observant, that he pays close attention because he cares for you. 

When you finally found the courage to ask him to come inside one evening. Dex paused for a moment before agreeing. The two of you shared a look, understanding the unspoken intention of this invitation. Before you know it, his mouth was on yours, clothes shed and Dex having your back pressed against the mattress as he thrusts in you – you dig your fingers into his arms, trying to muffle your moans to not wake up your neighbours. 

And you have learned quickly Dex is very giving in bed. The many times where his head is between our legs, tongue lapping at your folds. Dex ate you out like a starving man and you’d clutch his hair grinding yourself against his face. Dex didn’t complain, if anything he seemed to relish it. You spent many nights at his place. Your legs would be too sore to walk back upstairs and Dex would offer to make you breakfast in the morning. How can you refuse? As you're seated at the table, watching him cook while wearing one of his shirts.

It wasn’t long before Dex became the most consistent, inescapable presence in your life. You barely had time for friends or family or anything outside of him. Your mornings were spent in his bed after spending another night where he fucked you so good that your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Nearly every breakfast or dinner was him making what you liked or taking you to your favorite place to eat. 

You’d head to work leaving his apartment, leaving most of your clothes at his place, even your work uniforms. It was just easier this way instead of heading all the way up besides Dex would wash your clothes and lay them for you to wear the next day. It warmed your heart, telling him he shouldn’t have. And you’d come back to him after long shifts and god forbid some rude customer made you cry. Dex will mentally note to deal with them later. It will all be good, you would never have to see them again. 

Slowly, Dex suggests you leave your work or at least go part time. The work is clearly stressing you out, that can’t be good for your health. He is just worried about you, can’t you see that? Dex also plants the idea you should move in with him. At this point you are just paying rent on a place that is collecting dust. Dex insists he doesn’t mind, it won’t be much of a difference from what you were already doing. Hesitantly, you agree even when your friends insist it’s all too sudden, too fast, too rash, in a relationship that would still be considered relatively new. 

Moving in with Dex felt like a blessing at first. You’d insist on paying half the rent, but Dex told you it wasn’t needed. Just let him do what he does best, kay? You’ve learned to do things in a certain way; mugs placed in a certain cabinet, sorting your makeup and skincare products in a certain order, folding your clothes to their designated drawers. It didn’t bother you much, it felt good to come to an apartment that was spotlessly clean. You did add some color and life to the place. It felt voided, sterile almost. Bringing in your favorite carpet, the plants you wanted to care for, your scented candles, the framed paintings. Dex didn’t seem all that bothered. He built a shelf to put your books, nailed up the frames, and installed the curtains you were eyeing at the store. 

Still, it wasn’t all a perfect paradise. Dex would disappear for long hours. You’d call and text him, sometimes getting little to no answer for a period of time. He’d come home late with a faint smell of gunpowder, sweat, an almost copper like smell. Dex would head straight to the shower within a minute of stepping inside the place. You’d ask him what he has been doing. It’s just business, he excuses. You try to pry for specifics. Where did he work, what were his coworkers like, who is his boss, but you were left frustrated with his vague answers. Sometimes he brought in a generous amount, other days it would be a large sum, triple what you made in a month. 

As said, your friends and family matter little to none to Dex. Every time you suggested visiting or making plans to meet up, Dex would always come up with an excuse. Sometimes he bluntly tells you, he hoped you’d spend the rest of the day with him. What about that favorite restaurant or that new park you said you were curious about? Or how about a night where he has you naked and all pretty for him in bed, doesn’t that sound tempting? Your work took you away from him long enough. 

Besides, you never know when he might receive a call and have to leave for however long the job requires. Dex tries to hide his annoyance even when you answer phone calls. How rude of them to interrupt you both as you pull away from him to stand up to focus on the conversation. And if your job calls you, asking for you to come in on your day off, you know the answer you must give is a no. 

Even if you had doubts, even if there was this persistent uncomfortable feeling residing in the pit of your stomach, even when every sensible part of your brain screamed at you. Even when you stare at the mirror and can see yourself slowly changing, molding into a person you are not entirely sure you recognize. You push all of it to the side all for the sake of the love you have now. 

Dex is fully aware you will never feel so strongly as he feels for you. You aren’t like him. You weren’t born with that endless void, the urge to commit such acts, you didn’t have a vicious streak that was supressed many years. You were raised like most surrounded by family, with friends, with people who loved and cared for you. A whole life that existed long before him. And Dex wanted you. He wanted you to be yourself of course, after all there is a reason you are where you are now. He just wants to chuck bits and pieces, anything to make himself the absolute center of your world. 

All that remains is for Dex to reveal who he truly was. He grimaces at the name Tony slipping from your lips, wanting to tell you to just call him Dex. You love him, you spend many hours waiting for him and doesn’t he make you happy? After all, you eagerly take him, moaning his fake name so sweetly. What difference would it make for you to know what he had done, to know who he was, who he is now. He would still be your devoting and doting boyfriend. It wouldn't change how he felt about you. 

He knows there will be a day when this disguise won’t last. Someone will recognize him, someone will discover his hiding spot. He will have to do his one final good deed and disappear before the traces lead back to him, before they lead to you. You have been brought to his inner world now, anyone will use you against him and he cannot, would not allow that to happen. You must go wherever he has to go. There is no choice in the matter. Your survival, your very life is all dependent on him. But for now, Dex will enjoy these blissful days. 

Today was no different. Been convinced by Tony to call in sick to work, to spend the day together. He even promised to watch that awful reality show you seem to love. Your boyfriend headed to the shower as you informed him you’ll head down to get the mail. When you returned to the apartment, you laid all of it on the kitchen table. Spam mail, useless advertisements and newsletters. Then something caught your eye. There you saw a face, one that was far too familiar. 

It was Tony. Unless Tony has some twin he didn’t tell you about, but no it was Tony. Except the paper didn’t say his name. Instead the name “Benjamin Poindexter” is read. As your eyes skim down further, your hands start to tremble. There it was, all the atrocities committed by the man who you once thought was your good friendly neighbour. Who you thought was your all attentive loving boyfriend. The man who you cried to, who you let hold you, who you let in your bed, who you let in your heart. 

The crimes didn't seem to have an end. All the deaths he caused, the people he took from their family and friends. The article claims he is the most wanted man in the city and to not approach in any circumstances for he is dangerous. Yet that very danger is a few meters away from you. You were breathing too hard, your chest felt too tight. You sat there unable to process what you just saw, unable to reconcile that this man in the photo is your boyfriend. This didn’t feel real as if you are watching and reading this from outside yourself. 

You hear Dex’s voice from the bedroom, he has already finished his shower and gotten dressed. Panic seized as you acted quickly flipping the newspaper over to hide that damning front page. There was no time to dispose of it and had you - it would seem too suspicious. You just sat down where you were, forcing a smile on your face. Your mind screamed at you, to act normal, to not let him suspect you. Forcing yourself to listen to nod along. But Dex could tell something was wrong. He could always tell. 

After all, he spent many hours just watching you, studying you, dissecting you. He could even boldly say he knew you more than you knew yourself. It was clear as day to him something was wrong, something happened. “Find anything important in the mail?” He asked casually. You utter a weak no, even you were painfully aware at the lack of your conviction. 

And you don't resist when Tony, no, not Tony – reaches out and pulls the newspaper from underneath you. Your eyes refuse to look at him, staring at the wooden surface. Tears begin to spill down your cheeks, born out of fear of this man who could overpower you at any moment, who could stop you from taking another step. And born out of the pain and betrayal knowing he just had been lying and deceiving you this entire time. When you finally dared to look up at him, his eyes were still scanning the article. He scoffs, almost amused, "They said I killed seven agents here, but it was actually nine. The other two were in different locations.” 

You simply stare at him in disbelief, tears straining your cheeks. Tony, no you reminded yourself, Benjamin as they call him, seemed completely calm. As if you didn’t just discover he was the most wanted man in the city, that he wasn’t a criminal that you couldn’t very well turn him in, destroy this life he constructed. “Guess it was always meant to happen hmm? He asks, turning his head slightly. I’m glad it’s rather now than later. Saves me from having to sit you down-” he gestures vaguely at the chairs, “and tell you all about it myself.” 

Balerion + Daemon's Bastard

♱ Balerion, who is too old to really ride to war anymore. He bonded with you for the same reason he stayed by Viserys' side for so long; the peace was welcome.

You were such a sad child when Balerion happened upon you, you were as pathetic as weeping children came, but you had a certain strength that Balerion couldn't shake. He supposes that he could come out of retirement for you, especially when your shit head of a father forces you into the war effort. He'd happily burn every inch of Westeros if it meant keeping you warm and safe.

Your death comes simply, the war had passed, your family was gone, and yet the Stranger had come for you. A sickness, you die in your sleep, and many report that Balerion follows shortly after setting your pyre ablaze.

For a dragon that had lived so violently, so loudly, Balerion passes peacefully with his body wrapping around your charred remains.

Grey Ghost + Rhaenyra's Heir

♱ Grey Ghost, who is hatched to you, and never leaves your side until the day of your death. He's a timid creature, yet large in size, and your mount matches you in personality almost to a tee.

Grey Ghost, who flies over The Red Keep during your pregnancies so he can see you from a balcony just to know that you are alright.

During the Dance of Dragons, he can feel your anxiety, the grief of losing your children. Everything was so overwhelming for you, especially after the death of your son. Grey Ghost takes his final ride with you sometime after the war ends, he takes you to Driftmark, a startled shriek leaves him as you simply slide off of his saddle, your body falls into the ocean.

Neither you or your dragon are ever seen again.

Grey Ghost had entered the world with you, and he had left with you just the same.

Silverwing + Targtower Princess

♱ Silverwing, who doesn't take a rider after Alysanne dies. She sees no one as kind and gentle come near her, and so she stays isolated for many years.

That is, until a little red-haired child approaches her, no older than nine years old. Hair the color of bloodied copper, you don't look like Alysanne, but you feel like her. You are all kind words and gentle songs, and Silverwing loves you just as much as a mother dragon loved her eggs.

Silverwing takes you to the skies, loud purrs emanating from her throat as the wind kisses her scales. It's nice, she thinks, to finally not be so alone.

She remembers the grief clearly. Your entire family was gone, save for your oldest brother, mother, and little niece. Daeron's death had shifted something in you, Silverwing had felt it. You were no less kind, but an air of sadness had followed you until the day of your death.

Your twin, the one you shared a womb with, had left a gaping mass where your heart should have been. It was a raw injury, one of comprised of grief.

You died from a broken heart, slowly.

Silverwing had watched you wither until nothing else remained.

The Cannibal + Maegor's Heir

♱ The Cannibal, who lets his flames devour whoever dares to try to claim him. He is not a beast chained by duty, as many of his kin had been. He would not die at the hands of men, nor would he obey at the crack of a whip. He'd rather slumber, dreaming of you.

Ten years, thirty years, fifty years, eighty years without you to keep him company. The daughter of an usurper, infamous for his cruelty, you had been the opposite. You life had been drenched in ash and blood, war-riddled years withered your dreams down to nothing.

In the end, Cannibal could do nothing to save you from your own mind. Many argued that you just so happened to find your father dead, others knew the truth of it. The poison found in Maegor's cup of wine told the story of your desperation. The war had been put to an end, but you had been in so much pain. The Cannibal had felt it, and he had lifted his head just in time to see you fall to the ground, a crack of bones, a splatter of blood.

The truest form of love, he thought, your blood tainting his teeth, a disturbed hiss sounding from his throat.

“ Ohhhhh. . . Good morning! Good morning, darling! It's lovely that you’re awake now.. “ a voice breaks the silence in a deep, but strangely affectionate tone. 

The strange man peaks his head over the nearby side of the table when you meet eyes. He's.. huge. He's taller than you by damn near a foot, he's broad, with sharp, angular features. He wore a patched suit and bowtie, splattered with blood and entrails, it almost makes you gag. However, the part about him that stands out the most is his eye, and its surroundings. Blood-.. or at least its red. It's hard to make out in the dark, but you don't dwell on it as he leans down.

“ Shhh dont struggle.. you’ve been asleep quite a long time, “ he voice, strangely soothing, eases you. He looks down at you strangely. His eyes are soft, and he's smiling. Like.. smiling smiling. Wrinkles form around his eyes and his nose scrunches. “ Aren’t you a pretty girl..? “ he coos manically like you were nothing but a dog.

He reaches a hand up and strokes your hair gently, his touch is more tender than you’d expect, for a man covered in other’s insides.

“ W.. What? “ you manage, your lips cracking as you speak, your throat scratchy and dry. He furrows his brows and laughs to himself, a deep reverberating chuckle that makes you feel things you don't wanna feel.

“ Didn’t you hear me, silly girl? You’re pretty.. round.. soft, “ he muses, more to himself than to you as his gaze trails down your body. You’re still in your old, dirty nurses dress. It isn't exactly flattering, but he doesn't seem to mind one bit. 

You don't know what to think. Your mind is reeling in confusion, and bashfulness. As much as you hate it, he's attractive, extremely so, and he's looking at you with this intense desire you had never seen on another man's face before.

Suddenly, the man above you seems to snap out of whatever trance he's in. 

“ Oh how rude of me, leaving a pretty little girl like you all tied up, “ he laughs to himself as he looks at your restraints. “ I thought you’d throw a hissyfit like.. the other whores who lied to me! “ he grits his teeth, tone suddenly shifting from loving and sweet to spiteful and rage-filled. He pauses again, and just as quickly as he had gotten angry he was back to normal again.

He untied you gently, slipping a hand under your back to guide you into sitting up. He practically had hearts in his eyes when he looked at you.

When he looked at you you felt.. different. He gazed at you sweetly, a smile on his face, nothing but love in his manic eyes. Maybe you were just desperate, or maybe you knew that there were far worse fates in this place than being loved and adored.

“ Dearest? Where have you gone? Are you ignoring me?! “ he asked, his intensity escalating incredibly quickly as he notices you mentally checking out. 

“ N-no no im.. not ignoring you! “ you attempt to reassure him, awkwardly rubbing a hand up and down his big arm. At your touch he softened, and smiled widely. “ Just um.. still a little.. shocked. “

He didn't listen to a lick of what you said, a dopey smile on his face as he watched you touch him willingly. He reached his own hand up to cover your own, and you're struck with how much bigger he is than you. His hand dwarfs you in size, it's cold, but strangely soft.

He didn't say anything for a while, just watched you, bathing in your attention. 

You came to the awkward realization that.. You didn't even know this man's name. He was doting on you and making you blush, and you didn't even know his own name. 

“ Excuse me.. Sir. I dont mean to be rude but.. “ you meet his curious eyes. “ I don't believe you’ve given me your name yet. “

His eyes shoot wide open in realization as you told him that, pausing his hand on yours as he cleared his throat with an awkward laugh.

“ Oh oh Eddie you doofus! I would forget my own head if it wasn't screwed on! “ he says, somewhat bashfully, like he was embarrassed. “ Edward Gluskin, “ he introduced himself, bowing his head slightly. “ But I’d prefer if you’d call me Eddie. After all, why would my wife not call me by a sweet nickname like that? It's so.. intimate.. domestic.. “ he trails off, lost in his own head again.

Eddie.. You liked that… wait.. what did he say?

“ I'm sorry.. wife? “ you ask, your eyebrows furrowing and your heart rate picking up embarrassingly quickly. 

“ Yes my dear, wife. wife! My.. bride.. “ he whispers to you like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “ Isn't it every girl's dream? To be wed to a passionate.. loving man? Who will give her all that her heart desires.. “ he coos as he cups your jaw, squeezing gently.

Your head begins to spin as you process what he's saying. He wants to marry you. YOU.. you. Oh, why are you enjoying this so much? Is it because you're desperate, becoming easy after so many years of being rejected? Or maybe its fear in you; you see this man clearly, for who he is. He's obviously a maniac, crazy, covered in blood. If you fight you most certainly will die. Why not enjoy it?

“ I.. intended for us to be wed by midnight tonight but unfortunately… “ he pauses, picking up your left hand gently. “ The ring I had doesn't fit your pretty fingers. It's alright, beautiful brides come in all shapes and sizes, “ his voice is affectionate as his gaze returns to your body, “ and my bride happens to come in such a delectable shape.. “

He giggles to himself softly as he runs his hand up your arm, resting on your collarbone.

“ Now I know this is rather.. Improper of me.. But my dearest I cannot control myself, “ he says with a laugh as he moves his hand down, groping your breast though your uniform. You squeak, reflexively jumping under his touch. 

He doesn't respond to your surprise, too entranced by your boobs to notice much more. 

“ I’ve been waiting to wed such a beautiful woman, “ he mumbles under his breath, “ I've been waiting even longer to breed one. To fill you with my seed.“ His comments are vulgar, and his gaze lustful, but for some reason you find yourself aroused by it. He wants you, and he's definitely not afraid to show it.

He reaches behind you and unzips your dress, tugging it down off of your body. You’re left in a plain black matching set of bra and panties, you would’ve wore nicer ones if you knew tonight was your wedding night. 

You feel a bit awkward. You’ve never had a guy so openly ogle you. Maybe your breasts, or butt, but never.. your body as a whole. 

He stared at you like how a devoted follower would stare at God. There's this.. adoration in his eyes that sparkles as his gaze devours you.

“ Oh darling.. “ he coos as he places his hands on your waist, thumbs tracing circles over your stomach. “ I shall breed you properly my dear, a bride like you deserves to be ravished, “ he said, a grin crossing his face as you blushed. You couldn't resist a bashful smile, avoiding his gaze. 

A beat passes and Eddie decides to take control properly. He grabs you by the waist, ducking an arm underneath your knees to hold you bridal style. Your arms shoot up instinctively to wrap around his neck, keeping you flush with him.

He didn't seem to mind the touch at all, proudly making his way down the halls. There's a grin on his face, celebratory as he marched with you in his arms.

In his mind, there was nothing more masculine a man could do than carrying his wife down the aisle to the altar before pleasuring her. 

At the end of the hall there is a door which he kicks open unceremoniously, shutting it behind him with his foot. The room is dark, it's hard to see your surroundings before you're dumped onto a bed, hitting the mattress with an awkward oomph. The bed was soft, a bare mattress that seemed to be stained and slightly dry rotted, but anything is better than an operating table.

Before you could react Eddie grabbed your ankles, tugging you to the edge of the bed. There was something about his strength. He was so.. strong. He manhandled you with ease carrying and dragging you wherever he’d like. It made your cunt tingle as you thought of all the other things he could make you do. 

“ How many do you want? “ he asked, suddenly. The little light in the room allowed you to see his face, there was almost a boyish excitement to him.

“ .. what? How many? “ you asked back, your brain was far too jumbled to make sense of anything right now.

“ Children. “ 

You pause, watching his excitement grow. His smile widened as his eyes glazed over almost, gazing down at you lovingly. 

“ I think I want four.. I think four is the perfect number, “ he said mindlessly, not noticing your surprise, or maybe just not caring. “ Two little boys, two little girls, our perfect little home. Me, you.. And our little babies, “ he giggled in excitement.

Before you could respond you felt pressure against your panties. When you look down you see he's relaxed himself down onto you in the bed, pressing his bulge in his pants against your clothed pussy, you sigh softly as he gently grinds down on you, the sensation pleasant.

“ Maybe we could move to the country. I’d go to work everyday, and you’ll stay home.. cute and swollen.. with me… with.. me.. “ he mumbles under his breath, getting lost in his own fantasies. “ Doesn't that sound wonderful? “ he coaxed.

You nodded. You didn't have much of a say, you knew he was likely volatile. 

He smiled at that, cupping your face with his hand.

“ So agreeable.. Like you’ve been gifted to me by the Lord above, “ he sang softly. His lustful gaze returns to your body. It's like he can't take his eyes off of you. He bites his bottom lip, reaching up to cup your pretty breasts through your bra. 

He quickly reached back, his hands gliding down your shoulder blades to unclip your bra more deftly than you’d expect for a man his size. Gently, he slides the straps down your shoulders, pulling it off in one foul swoop, discarding it without a second thought. 

His eyes snap down to your breasts, shamelessly ogling your boobs. You were his wife after all, why would you care?

Big hands come up to cup your breasts, his thumb gently rubbing over your nipples, watching them harden under his touch. His hands tug on your breasts, squeezing them tenderly. 

“ Mm.. so beautiful, “ he praised mindlessly, like it was his second nature. He leaned in, licking one of your nipples, before latching onto it like a babe. He sucked happily, his other hand tweaking and lightly pinching your other one.

But he doesn't linger for long, his mind racing at a million thoughts a second, all of them about you.

Your panties are gone before you can process it, his big strong hands holding the outsides of your thighs as your legs rest on his shoulders. You don't even remember moving your legs, in hindsight he probably moved them himself.

His eyes are transfixed on your slit, watching in almost childlike wonder. You were so wet, you could feel it, and he could certainly see it. One of his hands comes up to rest on the top of your cunt, his thumb grazing up and down your slit, gently spreading your folds.

“ oh.. darling you dont even have to be altered.. “ he said in amazement, you don't dwell on what that means as he continues to coo. “ such a perfect place to plant my seed, to grow our family, “

He brings his thumb up to his lips, slipping the tip of his thumb in, tasting your juices. His eyes widen, practically sparkling as he tastes you. 

When he pulls his thumb out of his mouth he practically dives in, leaning down to envelope your cunt in his mouth, lapping at the juices leaking out. He hummed in satisfaction, allowing his tongue to push past your folds, licking the outside of your hole meekly.

He brings his hand up to press a finger into your hole, his thick digit rubbing up against your walls experimentally.

“ You know darling, I’ve read many things about women’s bodies, “ he says slowly, “ your body is so powerful.. yet so sensitive. “ he brings his thumb up to gently rub on your clit, most likely a skill he had learned in whatever books he was talking about. You shiver at the sensation, breathing deeply. He notices, and his grin widens. “ Yes, that feels good doesn't it? “ he asked as he pushed another finger in.

You don't know what to say, because yes it does, it feels too good. Why were you doing this? This man was a monster. But you suppose denying an easily agitated serial mutilator wasn't ideal on your list, and the way he grinds on you.. 

“ Mhmm.. feels good.,. “ you manage to whimper out, and that satisfies him. 

He speeds up his fingers, replacing his thumb with his tongue as he lightly sucked on your clit, pumping his fingers in and out of you. You can feel his fingers push up against your walls, trying to find that spot inside you.

He pushes around a few more times before he curls his fingers, hitting that spot perfectly. 

You feel your breath leave you as his ministrations overwhelm you. It was wonderful, you feel your body tensing and tingling as he coaxes an orgasm out of your body. 

He laps up your juice as you cum, curling his tongue inside you as you ride it out.

The moment goes still, he simply stares at you, face to face with your glistening pussy, like he's entranced. He rubs his thumb along your slit, gathering your slick.

You look up to the grimey ceiling, trying to catch your breath as he crawls up, hands on either side of your head as he smiles down at you.  His face is still wet, covered in your juices, which he clearly doesn't plan on wiping off anytime soon.

“ My love, oh my love.. “ he crooned down at you, his voice low, and masculine. It reverberated inside of your mind like an echo in an empty cave. He took your hand, and pressed it against his bulge. It felt big, like big big, like the rest of him. “ Can you feel what you do to me? The way you make me feel.. “

He laid you back gently, spreading your legs with his hands, palming and groping at the fat of your thighs. He unbuckled his pants, pushing them down to reveal muscular thighs, and his cock. He's.. big. Like very big, and deliciously thick, leaking precum down his shaft. He watched you stare at him, stroking himself to your reaction. 

“ Are you ready to consummate our union, darling? “ he asked, his voice manic, but still loving. You, speechless, just nod.

When he slides it it's almost painful, you can feel your body stretch to accommodate his inhumane size. He’s genuinely whimpering over you, his deep voice whiny as your cunt clenches around him.

When he finally bottoms out it's painful, you can't even formulate a thought as you feel the heavy sensation of his cock inside of you. He's definitely enjoying himself though.

“ Oh- ohh darling.. darling darling.. , “ his voice is heavily laced with want, need for your body. He pulls out almost entirely, before slamming back into you.

“ OH- oh gosh- “ you yelp, grabbing onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his torn and tattered dress shirt. He dragged his fat cock along your insides, filling you deliciously. Fuck he was big, and good, so fucking good.

His hand snakes down your stomach, pawing at your flesh as it makes its way to its final destination, your clit. His big strong fingers lazily start to trace circles on your clit, a little shakily, as everytime he thrusted into you your entire body shakes wildly. 

He watched you as he fucked you in pure and total awe. This was the moment he’d been waiting for for years. He was finally becoming a husband, a father, he could finally reach his one and only goal in life.

“ YES-.. oh yes yes you are wonderful, so- wonderful.. warm, wet, welcoming.. “ he babbled above you, drool building up at the corner of his mouth. This was the most enticing sight he’d ever seen, his lovely wife being impregnated. 

“ EDDIE- Eddie-! “ you whine pathetically as his thick cock bullies your insides relentlessly, the loud vulgar sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, along with the wet squelch of your pussy.

“ Darling, sweet girl I am.. awfully sorry but I- ahh.. wont last much longer- “ he murmured as he ducked down to kiss you.

His fingers sped up, his hips sped up, and after one, two, three thrusts you felt yourself orgasm, it was intense, a wave that washed over your limps from head to toe. You cunt tightened around him, and he quickly followed, finishing deep inside of you while frantically kissing you. 

After he finally stilled the room got real quiet.

All of the intense sensations stopped. Eddie had finally stilled on top of you, his heavy, sweaty body pinned yours to the mattress, not that you minded. When Eddie finally pulled himself back to reality he slipped his softened cock out of you.

He leaned down and kissed you a few more times, softly, and sweetly.  “ I love you, dearest, I know we will make a very happy family one day, “

𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑈𝐼𝐿

・Your wedding was spectacular to put it mildly.

・Dancing, music, drinks, lovely assortment of foods. There was nothing you could have wanted. Because it was all upto your taste.

・It's what Thraduil wanted; that you get the wedding you desire. Nothing is too much.

・So, when it was time for the pair of you to leave, he picked you up bridal style and took you to your shared chambers

・He walked you over the threshold and gently placed you down on the bed.

・He loomed over you, white soft hair encasing you

"You wish this, yes?"

"Yes," you said a bit too quickly. But Thranduil didn't notice, because he was just as excitable.

・He pulled off his garments and draped them over a chair. Then came your clothes, which were undone the proper way

・Thranduil hovered over you, knees under your thighs to get a closer position. In one hand he holds your wrists, and in the other hand, he teases your nipple.

"My King!" You near-shouted.

"Yes, my Queen?" Both of you felt breathless.

"Please, fuck me-" you whined, opening your legs even more. Letting him see your wet core.

・One of his hands guided his cock against your cunt and slipped it in.

・You both felt the pressure and moaned.

𝐻𝐴𝐿𝐷𝐼𝑅

・Your wedding night was something you had been waiting for, for a long time.

・You held hands and walked to your now combined quarters.

・When he opened the door, you saw the chambers first - and they were exquisite

"Is it to your liking?" Haldir asked, shutting the door behind him.

"And more..."

・The room looked like it was created from a dream. Flowing curtains, handmade bed, well, everything was handmade.

・You moved to the bed and sat down. You ran a hand over the blanket and then looked at your husband. He seemed ravenous.

・You widened your legs and leaned back, within seconds Haldir was on his knees in front of you. He pushed up your gown, and pulled off your undergarments.

・This made you bare and you blushed.

"You want this?" Haldir asked breathlessly.

・You nodded and let out a meek, "yes."

・He looked at you with such love. Then moved his hands to keep your legs apart while he lowered his face to your cunt.

I can imagine that you would meet Robert at a tournament. You're sitting next to other beautiful ladies from diffrent houses. But unlike them, you weren't slim, let alone petite. Your curvy figure stood out, and even though you wore a flowy dress that made you look even heavier than you actually were, it didn't help much. After all, you could sense their judging glances from far away. It wasn't the first time others had reacted that way toward you. Others, on the other hand, seemed friendly at first, but it didn't take all too long to realize they just wanted to sleep with you.

You were in a marriageable age, but you still had no luck with mens, let alone with love. Your father didn’t want to send you to an old lord either. Even though that would probably have been your only hope, you were grateful that he turned this offer down. “My daughter deserves a permissible man their age." he always said.

And so there you are, sitting in the crowd, waiting for the melee to start. As the Baratheon steps on the field, with his warhammer in his right hand, the crowd began to go wild. He was huge compared to all the other knights and lords. His dark hair made him seem almost untouchable, and above all, his striking dark blue eyes stood out. Many ladies clapped and screamed, with hope to catch his attention for a second. Somewhat surprised by this behavior, you decided to hold back and just enjoy the upcoming fight instead.

Roberts sharp eyes dart through the crowd, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy being adored like this. But his gaze stopped abruptly when he noticed you. You were sitting there alone and seemed unremarkable—almost invisible. Yet the lord couldn’t take his eyes off you. Unlike the others, you had larger tits, something he noticed immediately. As he strides toward the women to ask for their blessing, he comes right up to you. He holds out his hammer, his loud, booming laughter instantly silences the crowd. “I hope I’ll receive your blessing too, Mylady.”

For a moment, you couldn't believe what was happening. Was it a dream or a nightmare? Was he perhaps making fun of you? But when you looked into his intense almost greedy eyes, you knew it wasn't a joke. You quickly nodded, managing only a hurried “Of course, Mylord.” out.

Robert didn't just fight in these tournament for fun or for alcohol no, he wanted to get your attention. And he would only recieve it if he wins. He fights like a barbarian, and none of his opponents were even remotely as strong, let alone powerful enough to stand a chance against him. For him you were a beautiful (h/c) haired godess, sent from the gods. And so, on this special day, he crowned you queen of love and beauty. Something that neither you nor the other participants expected.

From that day on, the lord wanted to know everything about you. Once Robert had set his sights on someone, it was hard—almost impossible—to get rid of him. After all, you were constantly on his mind. He would start a war and conquer the Seven Kingdoms just to have you by his side.

One day he would show up at your castle and demand that your father hand you over. Behind him stood an army of men ready to reduce everything to ashes. Your father wasn’t stupid, he knew he couldn’t win a war on that scale. Especially not against Robert Baratheon. Besides, House Baratheon was a great house, which is why it was easy for him to say yes. If this happened against your will, simply, nobody would care. You belong to Robert, and soon you would become his wife, whether you wanted it or not. It doesn't matter.

I think there a two possible ways how he might treat you. Either he would spoil you and give you everything you’ve ever wished for. As long as you submit to him and do what he says, he'll treat you like a queen. Robert adores your body from head to toe and would brag about you to anyone and everyone. Not even Ned is spared.

However, if you stand up to him and fight back, he wouldn't treat you well. As the saying goes "If you act like a whore, I"ll treat you like one." He’d even hit you if you made him angry. And let me tell you, that happens very quickly, especially when he’s been drinking. Plus, he’d put you down and constantly insult you. “Do you think anyone else would love you? Be grateful that you have me, no one else would fuck you ” Your his wife and you better start to act like it.

Escaping is nearly impossible. Even though Robert is often away, he has guards everywhere to keep an eye on you. But if you somehow managed to slip away, he would immediately start a war to find you. And may the gods have mercy on you if you’re with another lord. Let's just say the Lord wouldn't last long. Not if the warhammer crashes down on his head-.

But he wouldn't lock you up, though he didn't need to. His authority alone was enough to make it clear to you who's in charge. And even if you're rebellious and continue to defy him, he'll be able to discipline you.

However, he is a very possessive and jealous man. If anyone stares at you for even a second too long, he gets angry. No other man has the right to stare at you the way he does. His pure fury rains down on anyone who dares to take you away from him. It takes a lot of mens to stop him, and even that is almost impossible. When it comes to you, he knows no mercy.

If someone in his right mind dared to speak bad of you or make fun of your figure, by the gods, this would be a death sentence. He protects the shit out of you, and if anyone ever dared to make you feel sad, he would lose his temper. This man is a ticking time bomb. One minute he's laughing and drinking his wine, and the next one he's smashing someone's jaw.

I also can imagine that Robert has a lot of perverted intentions toward you. I don't think it's any secret that he has a thing for women, especially those who are on the heavier side. All he wants to do is rest his head on your breasts and grope your ass. Was that too much to ask for?

When I say he loves your body, that’s actually an understatement. Especially if you have wide hips and thick thighs. Be prepared for this man to touch you everywhere, especially your tummy. He doesn’t care whether you’re in public or in bed together. I assume that he often slaps your butt, even if you tell him it’s embarrassing, he just starts laughing. Robert will make so many inappropriate, perverted jokes about you and your body. He doesn't care if anoyone hears is or not. "Thank the gods for (Y/n) and her tits. I don't know what to do without them."

Nevertheless, he demands you to give him a heir. After all this was your duty as his wife. Be prepared for him to stumble into your bed every night, drunk, just to get you pregnant. Also, this guy is constantly horny, and you're only making it worse. It works in his favor if you get pregnant fast, maybe then you would finally accept that you belonged to him forever.

THE UNBOWED

The first time you sailed into King’s Landing, the city emerged from the morning mist; red towers standing proudly above all else, making you feel so small in comparison.

You had come by ship for the voyage was far quicker by sea but it was not any less lonely. You were supposed to be accompanied by your cousins – daughters of Prince Maron. However, they had fallen ill with fever shortly before departure and the maester, cautious as ever, insisted they remain behind. 

Both of your cousins were devastated, meanwhile you felt a little lost and unsure. As a Dornish Princess who had never been to King’s Landing, you had a feeling that you would find yourself in a place that was completely different from what you were used to. And you were anxious about failing to fit in.

Your father was the youngest sibling of Queen Myriah and Prince Maron and you were his only daughter who had recently turned twenty years old. You had a feeling that this whole trip had been planned for you and your cousins to find husbands from Westeros. Perhaps King Daeron had to do something with this as well because he hoped to strengthen the alliance between Dorne and the rest of the Kingdom even further.

The excuse for your invitation was Queen Myriah’s name day that was supposed to be celebrated exceptionally grand. For that occasion, you had been gifted with the most beautiful Dornish gowns from your grandsire. Although calling them gowns was an overstatement, you realised as you stepped out of the ship and all the people were staring at you.

You fixed the thin fabric around your breasts as if it would help. Even though King’s Landing was also quite warm, no woman there was wearing a dress as revealing as yours. You blinked a few times, feeling their burning gaze.

“Princess?” The knight sent to guard you extended his hand towards you. “The carriage is waiting, Princess.”

You nodded at him and took his hand. At least his eyes were kind because they were trained to remain as such around a Lady.

Aunt Myriah was the one to greet you. She didn’t say anything about your dress but she was dressed much more modestly herself and her gown was made of Targaryen colours, which was something that made you feel quite sad. However, you decided not to bring this up. Of course she still remained a Dornish beauty but you were standing out with your outfit without any ally by your side. If only your cousins were there… You’d feel more powerful in a pack.

The Queen hugged you and walked you around her part of the castle but then she was being called upon and she left you alone to wander on your own. So you did, staring at the paintings on the wall. Below you, at the courtyard, two men were practising their sword skills.

The fierce one had silver hair and you wondered if he was one of your cousins. The other one was more plain looking. He had dark hair and he reminded you a bit of the men back in Dorne. His fighting style was calmer and more precise but not any worse than the other man’s.

You watched curiously as you looked down while leaning on one of the pillars when a young woman approached you while looking you up and down. You glanced at her. She was pretty; with curly ginger hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Who are you?” She asked, unsurely. The question sounded nearly like an accusal and you wondered if she had taken you for a whore.

“I could ask the same thing,” you smirked at her, still leaning on that pillar.

“I am Lady Jena of House Dondarrion. Prince Baelor’s betrothed,” she announced, a little annoyed.

“I am Princess (Y/N) Martell. Prince Baelor’s cousin,” you explained with a shrug and her eyes widened when she realised her mistake.

“Oh! Forgive me, Princess. I knew you would be coming but I did not expect that–”

“I know,” you assured her. “I have already realised that my dresses stand out here.”

Lady Jena cracked a smile and stood next to you as she looked down.

“I do wonder which one will win,” she changed the subject. Her eyes were full of admiration as she stared at the dark-haired man. You assumed he was your cousin Baelor.

“Which one usually does?” You inquired.

“Maekar, he is very strong. But also fussy, therefore Baelor often lets him win just to please his brother. He is very kind-hearted, my Prince,” Lady Jena explained to you.

“Is your union a love match?” You asked. She blushed, finding your question very straightforward. But you were from Dorne and you didn’t find anything wrong with this.

“Not really, no. It was an arrangement,” she explained. “But it is impossible not to adore him. Oh, look! He won!” She clapped her hands and you looked down.

The silver haired man – your cousin Maekar – was laying on the ground now. He was cursing and his brother laughed. At the sound of the clapping, he looked up. His face softened at the sight of Lady Jena and then his mismatched eyes found yours.

You held your breath. 

By the dining table you were sitting next to your Aunt. You asked her about Lady Jena. Apparently the betrothal between her and the Prince was not yet official. She was Queen Myriah’s lady-in-waiting.

“You could be my lady-in-waiting as well, sweet (Y/N),” your Aunt smiled at you. “Would you like that?”

“I am honoured, Your Grace,” you nodded. “But allow me to decide after I spend some time here. I am not yet sure if I would be able to feel at home here.”

“Of course, take your time,” she nodded.

King Daeron was asking you many questions about Dorne and about his sister who was your Uncle’s wife. You were more than glad to answer all his questions.

You were glancing at your cousins throughout the dinner. The youngest, Maekar, was still grumpy. You wondered if it was because of the duel with his brother or was it truly his nature.

The two in the middle seemed to live in their own world. One of them had a book on his lap he was reading throughout the meal. His name was Aerys.

The eldest – Prince Baelor – was smiling at you and you were smiling back, shyly.

After the meal, he approached you and you bowed your head.

“My Prince,” you greeted him.

“Please, spare the courtesy. We share the same blood,” he held your hand and leaned in to place a kiss on the back of it.

“Cousin,” you fixed yourself and he smiled.

“That’s better,” he teased. “It is a shame my other cousins could not come from Dorne.”

“A shame indeed. However, their health is the most important.”

“Of course,” Baelor nodded. “Are you excited for my mother’s name day? We are planning a small tournament.”

“I love tournaments,” you nodded.

“It brings me joy to see you here, truly,” Baelor’s smile widened. “You brought the Dornish smile with you, cousin.”

“You are way too kind,” you chuckled nervously and approached Maekar next. He was standing around and pretending he did not care about you but if it was true, he would have left the room already like Aerys and Rhaegel. “Cousin?” You smiled at him.

“Princess,” Maekar looked you up and down. “Are you not too cold?”

“Indeed, it does feel a bit chilly when you happen to be around,” you answered, hearing Baelor snort with laughter behind you. Maekar clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes.

“Either way, it is nice to meet you,” the Prince bowed his head.

“The pleasure is mine,” you smiled at him. 

“Forgive me, my brother is very straightforward," Baelor whispered.

“That is quite alright. I like that about people,” you admitted.

You could feel her eyes on you. Lady Dondarrion. She was gritting her teeth as she kept following you around the Keep.

Her betrothal to the Prince was supposed to be announced after the Queen’s name day so your aunt’s spotlight wouldn’t be stolen by her son’s announcement. Lady Jena had every right to call herself his betrothed already, though. The marriage contract was already prepared by her Lord Father and the King.

You didn’t understand why she felt the need to follow you around. After all, Prince Baelor was hers. And the fact he was spending most of his time with you was simply caused by the fact that you two were cousins who wanted to get to know each other more.

He loved to listen to your stories of Dorne. He promised to visit one day soon. And he was probably the only person – except for your Aunt – who was not looking at your revealing dresses with contempt. In fact, he would tell you every day that you looked beautiful.

You watched him train every day as you followed his every move with your eyes, smiling to yourself. He was an exquisite knight.

“Not many princelings and heirs to the throne are actually good knights,” you teased him.

“I am only what is expected of me,” he would answer with a slight blush, humble as ever.

You couldn’t help it but your heart was beating faster at the sight of him. The soothing sound of his voice was bringing heat to your cheeks and you were beaming with pride whenever you managed to make him laugh. A chill would travel down your spine whenever he wrapped his arm around your elbow to lead you somewhere. 

Still. He was not yours. And Lady Jena did not have to worry about the loyalty of a man as honourable as him.

In the meantime, your Aunt was introducing you to a lot of noble Lords and knights around the castle, only proving your suspicion that you had been sent to her to find a match. 

Some of them were handsome, some of them were rich, some of them were very kind despite their judging looks caused by your outfits. You were nice to them but in your head you kept comparing them to your cousin Baelor and none of them was even half as good.

“Why was Lady Dondarrion chosen for Baelor?” You asked your Aunt one evening when you were alone with her in her chambers, brushing her hair.

“We are trying to bring the realm together with marriages. Your uncle has already brought Dorne to the kingdom, now other houses wait for their alliances with the Targaryens,” she explained. “Many people are not happy with them on the throne so we seek alliances. Also, the Dondarrions are enemies of the Martells, do you remember? That means dealing with two birds with one stone.”

“I see,” you hummed to yourself. “I have also noticed the King is not so fond of marrying within the family.”

“Daeron prefers to extend his influence through royal marriages,” Queen Myriah told you. “Why are you asking?”

“Just curious,” you shrugged.

You loved the gardens because they reminded you of home and you liked to hide between the rose bushes while you sunbathed and listened to the people walking around, unaware of your presence. You had learned a lot of gossip this way. 

That day was no exception. You had already heard two knights confessing their love for one another – something not shocking at all for a Dornish woman. Still, it felt good to know their sweet little secret.

As you watched the clouds pass you by, feeling the sun warming your skin and smelling the roses, you felt pretty content. You began to seriously consider Queen Myriah’s proposal to stay here as her lady-in-waiting.

“Have you been invited to talk to her?” A young man’s voice interrupted you. You furrowed your brows. You recognised that voice. It belonged to one of the Lords you had been introduced to.

“Thankfully not yet and I hope I will not be. I believe they decided I was not worthy of her time,” another man snorted. “You were invited, though. How was it?”

“Boring,” the first man answered. You realised it was Lord Clegane.

“Can you even imagine if I took her home to my father? He would think I brought a whore from an Essosi brothel,” he laughed and the other man followed.

“Do you think she is a maiden? I highly doubt that. I have heard they don’t care about those things in Dorne,” the other man asked.

Your heart skipped a beat when you had your confirmation that the conversation was about you.

“Well, if she is not, I would not mind to bed her. But I would be a fool to marry her. Good luck to the King if he truly wishes to marry her off,” Lord Clegane chuckled cruelly and they both walked away.

You sat up as tears filled your eyes. It felt humiliating to find out that you were an object of such cruel gossip amongst the men. Perhaps the Red Keep would never be your home and it would be for the better to go back to Dorne as soon as the name day’s celebrations would end.

You waited a moment to make sure they would not see you and you walked out of the bushes onto the main path to hurry back to the castle. On the way to your chambers, you bumped into Baelor and Lady Jena walking together.

The sight of them being so close felt like another slap. You glanced at her with envy; her beautiful face, her proud posture, her elegant gown. She was a proper Westerosi Lady and you were nothing but an outsider; a stranger.

“Princess? Is everything alright?” Baelor asked, his voice full of worry at the sight of your face and dried out tears upon your cheeks.

“I am quite fine, thank you, cousin,” you mumbled out and walked away as fast as possible.

The celebrations were supposed to start on the next day and you found your solitude in the gardens again. While other ladies fussed about their dresses, you focused on creating a wreath. Your fingers worked delicately as your eyes focused on picking the most beautiful flowers.

To your surprise, Prince Maekar joined you while he sat next to you and watched the movement of your hands with a grumpy expression on his face.

“Why are you here all alone?” He inquired.

“Lady Jena made sure I have no friends amongst your mother’s ladies-in-waiting. Besides, I prefer it this way,” you shrugged.

“And what are you doing exactly?” He asked.

“A wreath, can you not see, cousin?” You smirked to yourself.

“What for?”

“It will be a favour I shall give to a knight of my choice on the morrow,” you explained.

“Who will that be?” Maekar scoffed, squinting his bright Targaryen eyes at you.

You finally looked up at him as the warm breeze brushed your hair. His face softened a little at the sight.

“You,” you said, quietly.

Of course you wished it was for someone else but you knew he was not yours. You wanted to make something nice for Maekar because he probably would not receive any favours or so your Aunt had told you.

“Me?” Maekar chuckled nervously. “Gods, why?”

“Perhaps out of pity,” you teased him and he laughed again.

“Give it to the one you truly care for,” he lowered his voice as his face became serious. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I have no idea what you’re implying,” you lied.

“Yes, you do. There are many things that can be said about you but not that you are stupid,” Maekar insisted as you looked down at the wreath between your fingers. “I shall go now. I wouldn’t want Baelor to see us together like this.”

“Why?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

“You know why,” was all he replied before walking away.

You looked up to watch him leave and then you spotted Baelor standing a few paths away. He was staring at you and his brother with his hands clasped behind his back. You waved at him shyly with a smile and he nodded his head before walking away as well.

You sighed.

You were sitting in the royal box by your Aunt’s side. King Daeron was sitting on her other side and you were all waiting for the tournament to begin. Prince Aerys was next to you but he was reading a book instead of watching. You found it a bit adorable in a way as you teased him from time to time by covering the words on the page he was reading.

Your jesting was only to hide your nervousness, though. Your hands were sweaty as you played with the wreath of flowers in your hands. 

“As my guest and the most important Lady at court after me, you will be the one to offer your favour,” Queen Myriah whispered to you with a smile.

“Everyone will be staring at me,” you sighed.

“As they should. You’re a Dornish flower and you should be proud of it,” she encouraged you.

“They stare and they judge.”

“I have survived it, too,” she reminded you, gently.

“You adjusted yourself to their customs, Your Grace,” you glanced at her elegant and humble gown.

“Some days I regret it. When I look at you, for example,” Queen Myriah fixed your hair strand. “You make me feel so homesick, my sweet.”

You eventually cracked a smile at her.

“It is time for Princess (Y/N),” King Daeron whispered and you nodded before standing up and approaching the railing.

A dozen knights on their horses were standing below you in a line. You extended your hand with the wreath and hesitated, swallowing thickly.

Maekar’s bright eyes caught yours and you tilted your head at him. He nodded gently as he glanced at his brother. You took a deep breath in.

You knew it was improper. You had seen Lady Jena earlier on that day bragging about the new silk ribbon she had been planning to give to her betrothed.

But their engagement was not yet announced and you had your privilege as the Princess of Dorne and the royal guest.

“Cousin,” you looked at Baelor. He seemed to be a bit surprised but he smiled. “May you receive my favour,” you threw the wreath down and he caught it with his lance.

“Princess,” he bowed his head.

As you went back to your seat, you could feel Lady Jena’s burning gaze on you from the box nearby. You ignored it and sat down next to your Aunt.

Both her and the King were glancing at you as well, so you pretended to find something interesting in Aerys’ book to ask him about it.

The tournament was supposed to take two days. At the end of the first one, Baelor was the only knight who had won every single joust, which placed him at the top of the lists. 

You were on your way to your chambers in the evening when you heard raised voices coming from Queen Myriah’s room. The doors were ajar and you spotted Lady Jena gesticulating with her face flushed.

“I felt disrespected, Your Grace!” She exclaimed.

“I am sure my niece did not mean anything wrong,” the Queen explained and you felt nauseous in an instant as you realised the argument was about you.

Without thinking twice, you pushed the door open as you cleared your throat. Everyone turned around to look at you and your cheeks burnt at the sight of more people than you had expected. Queen Myriah and Aunt Jena were there, yes. But also King Daeron, Lord and Lady Dondarrion, Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar. 

Lady Jena gave you a hateful glance as she squeezed the ribbon she was holding even tighter. It was the very same she had wanted to give to Baelor but ended up giving to none to show off her loyalty.

“I could not help but overhear,” you explained. “I wish to be present when my person is being discussed.”

“Of course, my dear, come join us,” Queen Myriah nodded and you stood by her side. “Lady Jena here believes you gave your favour to Baelor just to spite her.”

“That is nonsense,” you shook your head. “I am a Princess of Dorne, I give my favours to whomever I wish,” you answered and Lady Jena scoffed.

Oh, now you truly wanted to spite her. And so you did.

“I could give my favour even to Lady Jena’s Lord Father if I wished to do so,” you smirked.

Maekar chuckled proudly but Lady Jena and her mother turned crimson red while Lord Dondarrion gasped. Queen Myriah sighed and so did King Daeron. Baelor remained quiet, watching the scene unfolding in front of his mismatched eyes.

“This is outrageous!” Lady Jena spat out.

“Please, let us calm down,” Baelor finally spoke up. “The engagement is not yet announced, so there is no scandal. It is socially acceptable to receive a favour from a cousin.”

“Then announce it! Announce the engagement!” Lady Jena insisted. “How long do I have to wait?!”

“Jena, we have an arrangement–” her father tried to reason with her.

“Very well then,” Queen Myriah interrupted him. Everyone looked at her. “I know it is my name day’s celebration but I do not mind sharing the spotlight with my eldest son. It is no secret he most likely will become a victor. We will announce that the woman he chooses to crown as The Queen of Love and Beauty will be his betrothed.”

“I like the idea,” King Daeron nodded. “It will look nearly spontaneous and very romantic. The smallfolk will adore this tale. It is much better than an announcement of an arranged union.”

“That is so generous,” Lady Dondarrion bowed her head at the Queen. “Darling, are you content now?” She asked her daughter.

But Lady Jena was not sure about it. She was breathing heavily while looking at you angrily. She squinted her eyes.

“I am,” she nodded, her piercing blue eyes still upon you. “However, I am still not convinced about the Princess’ intentions.”

“That is an accusation!” You defended yourself.

“You have given me plenty of reasons to accuse you!” Lady Jena insisted.

“Oh, have I? Why so? Because I am from Dorne?!” You snapped at her.

“Well… Yes!” Lady Jena raised her voice and everyone went silent in an instant.

The Dondarrions gasped as all heads turned to glance at your Aunt. She blushed slightly but her warm eyes turned unusually cold. Her greying hair and a humble dress with the Targaryen sigil embroidered on her chest made it so easy to forget that she was a daughter of Dorne as well.

“F-forgive me,” Lady Jena looked down.

“I think it will be best if we all go to sleep now,” King Daeron clapped his hands and everyone agreed as they bowed their heads at him and the Queen.

Lady Jena left the room first, accompanied by her parents in a hurry. Maekar left after them and then you did as well.

You felt Baelor walking behind you. You were left alone in the hall when the heavy doors closed behind him.

You sighed.

“I am the reason behind all this mess, I am so sorry. I did not mean to,” you turned your head around to look at his face. You expected him to be stern but his expression remained soft as ever when he was looking at you.

“You are not to be blamed,” he assured you and put his hands on your bare shoulders, revealed by your Dornish dress. A chill travelled down your body and straight to your core, especially when the cold metal of the rings on his fingers brushed your hot skin. “You are simply being yourself,” he whispered. “Unapologetically… So do not be sorry. It is unlike you to be.”

“I am a Martell,” you chuckled, nervously.

“Do not forget that so am I,” he leaned in to whisper right into your ear before letting go of your shoulders and walking away.

Whatever it meant what he had just said, it made you feel dizzy. You had to snap out of it, though. On the morrow his engagement to Lady Jena would be announced.

You went to your chambers with a heart so heavy in your chest that you nearly collapsed halfway there.

The last joust took place between Baelor and Maekar as everyone watched while holding their breaths.

To you, it would not make a big difference. Perhaps a small part of you hoped Maekar would win so Baelor wouldn’t become a champion and his romantic betrothal to Lady Jena would not take place like it had been planned. You could see her sitting in a box nearby; her knuckles turned white from clenching her fists out of stress. 

You studied her profile as your heart twisted inside your chest. She was so beautiful and noble. So were you, of course, but in a Dornish way. And you were in King’s Landing, not at Sunspear. Your type of beauty was nearly invasive here.

Already accepting your defeat, you decided to hide behind what was known to you. Unapologetically yourself, as Baelor had called you, you had chosen the most Dornish outfit possible this morning. The orange fabric of your dress was thin and flowy, dancing in the slight breeze. Not only your shoulders and a good part of your back were revealed but even your navel decorated with a golden chain was visible through an extremely sheer chiffon covering your belly. Delicate golden chains were also in your hair, clinging whenever you moved your head. 

You were sure that all those people were thinking that you were making a spectacle of yourself. And they were right. It was your armour so all they could see was a proud Dornish Princess instead of a hurt and heartbroken young woman forced to watch the man she loved choosing another.

Sudden outburst of enthusiasm from the crowd brought you back to reality. You turned your head away from Lady Jena’s profile as you stood up and clapped like all the rest. You looked down and spotted angry Maekar clumsily standing up from the ground as his older brother was smiling triumphally and bowing his head at the cheering crowd. 

The King raised his hand to silence everyone as Baelor’s squire approached him while holding a beautifully decorated wreath made of flowers and jewels. It was no ordinary crown for The Queen of Love and Beauty. It was a proper diadem and you held your breath, bracing yourself for what was to come.

“I wish to congratulate both of my sons. You have fought well,” King Daeron announced. “Prince Baelor remains the champion, however,” he added and people cheered once more. “To celebrate this victory and the Queen’s name day, my son wishes to make his Lady Mother delighted and choose a bride for himself.”

The crowd gasped at first and then they clapped even louder as they whistled. You smiled to yourself. Baelor was truly loved by them and you could not blame them.

You looked at Lady Jena again. She was blushing already, nearly jumping out of her seat. And you had to admit, as you smiled sadly, that she would make an excellent Queen by your cousin’s side.

Baelor took the crown from his squire’s hands as he approached the boxes on his horse to be able to reach higher. The crowd held their breaths while the King and Queen were staring at their eldest son lovingly.

Baelor’s horse passed the box in which Lady Jena was sitting and he stopped right in front of the royal one. His mismatched eyes found yours as nausea hit you in an instant.

Why was he doing this? Why was he teasing you so? You had not taught him so cruel.

“Princess (Y/N) Nymeros Martell of Dorne,” he started as everyone – including you – froze in disbelief, “in the sight of the old gods and the new, I crown you Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The silence was heavy but Baelor did not seem to care. He extended his hand with the diadem towards you. Your cheeks were burning and you felt so dizzy that you nearly fainted when you approached the railing. Everyone was staring at you. 

Some eyes were shocked, some were curious, some angry and offended. But his eyes – his beautiful mismatched eyes – they were staring at you with nothing but love and devotion.

And because of that, you decided to ignore the rest of the world just like he was doing at the moment. He risked everything for you, therefore you could not turn away now. You gently took the crown from his hand and carefully placed it upon your head, making sure the chains in your hair wouldn’t tangle or break.

“You honour me, my Prince,” you managed to breathe out. Baelor smiled widely at the sight.

Maekar was the first one to break the silence of the crowd as he started to clap his hands as loudly as he was able to. The rest followed him, awkwardly and shyly until they eventually cheered for their Prince and his new betrothed.

Lady Jena gasped and sobbed, leaving her box in a hurry with her offended and outraged parents.

But you were only staring at him and he was only staring at you as if nothing else existed; as if the whole world was yours. Because even if the consequences would be severe, Baelor was not going to give up on this. He had been following his father’s advice and orders his whole life dutifully and loyally.

But this one thing he wanted to decide for himself.

“Why?” Was all King Daeron asked his son. He was visibly disappointed and hurt that his chivalrous son had done something like this in front of the whole Realm.

“No one knows the marriage contract between Lady Jena and I had been prepared already. There was merely gossip she had been spreading herself. No one thinks it is a scandal,” Baelor explained, calmly.

“The Dondarrions will make sure the whole Realm knows the backstory,” Daeron pointed out and pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed. 

“We will find a way out of this. We will offer them something else,” Baelor said. “Father… I could not… Especially after last night. How could I marry a woman who spoke such things about my mother and her family?”

“I understand,” Daeron sighed. “But… (Y/N) is your cousin. Your marriage could create a powerful union and yet you chose to mix your own blood.”

“It does create a powerful union. It strengthens the alliance with Dorne,” Baelor smiled. “After having not one but two Queens on the throne, the Martells will never rebel against us.”

“Of course. But the rest might complain about us favouring them.”

“I will make sure my children will not marry in Dorne, I promise,” Baelor assured, already feeling his heart beating faster at the mention of his possible children with you.

“You cannot promise that. If your children are truly yours, then no one will be able to tell them what to do,” Daeron finally chuckled. “Why her, though? Why Princess (Y/N)?”

“She is strong yet gentle. Stubborn and brave yet delicate when no one’s looking. But I am looking. I have been looking very carefully those past few weeks,” Baelor explained. “And… I love the dresses,” he teased as his father sighed.

“And who is that?” Dunk asked as he stared at the young Targaryen knight by his tent. He had short dark hair with one silver streak and a pair of mismatched eyes like his father but Duncan could not see that from afar.

There was a woman standing next to him, she had a red flowy dress that stood out amongst other noble women. She was holding a helmet under her arm and fixing the young knight’s hair.

“It is Prince Valarr, the eldest son of Prince Baelor, second in line to the Iron Throne,” Egg explained.

“And the woman?”

“The woman is his mother, Princess (Y/N) Martell,” Egg said and Dunk swallowed thickly as he squinted his eyes to see her better. He should have known that. After all, everyone knew Prince Baelor’s wife was from Dorne. “Prince Valarr is a mummy’s boy,” Egg giggled.

Princess (Y/N) finished fixing her son’s hair and kissed his forehead before watching him mount his horse. Then, she handed him his helmet.

“She is as beautiful as they say,” Duncan mumbled out as Egg smirked.

“Yes, she is. They call her The Unbowed,” the boy told him.

Duncan nodded as he watched her walk away from her son’s tent. She went to the royal box to take a seat next to her husband as they watched their firstborn joust. 

Dunk spotted that the Prince and the Princess were holding hands.

aerion is a dragon in human form. he can feel the fire in his flesh, the fury, the power. he is the last hope for his family's legacy and the return of the dragons. and yet his father will not grant him the valyrian wife he needs to bear his dragonlings. aerion alone is denied the right to a mate. valarr and daeron have wives. even maekar had remarried to a pretty young thing closer in age to aerion than to his father.

so aerion will just have to put his heirs in their wives.

true, he could easily find some dragonseed in flea bottom or seduce some lord's maiden daughter, but that is too easy. he wants his seed to take root in as much of the targaryen family tree as he can. truly, he's doing it for the good of his house, giving them as many dragons as possible. and not one of his three intended have yet swelled with child and delivered healthy babes, so really, they should be grateful he has chosen them.

he claims valarr's wife first.

she hasn't yet managed to give the young prince his heir. valarr plants his seed, but it doesn't take; if it takes, it does not grow long, before the child is lost. it isn't her fault. she's doing her duty. her body is trying to grow the future king of westeros. valarr is to blame. he isn't strong enough. man enough. he might look gallant on a steed and have fair manners, but he's failed in that most basic purpose of a prince, to father more princes.

that's what aerion tells her, with gentle, comforting voice so as not to frighten her. perhaps valarr can never give her a child. and yet he must have an heir, or else his legacy will pass to his brother. valarr's line ended. failed. but aerion could give her that child. what did it matter which targaryen put the baby in her? valarr need not ever know. and it would be such a relief to him, a joy even, to have a son. doesn't she want valarr to be a father and feel like a real man? doesn't she want to do her duty to house targaryen by giving it the heir it needs?

aerion coaxes his way into her bed. angles her knees up and bent, hips up, into a mating press, to get his cock in as deep as possible. he takes her like this every time without fail. this isn't about perversion or desire, though he does insist on making her cum every time. he tells her it helps with procreation if the woman cums, but really it's about control. he's forcing her body to admit to enjoying this. that as much as she acts detached, even disdainful, she craves his touch. and he gets the satisfaction of knowing he's stolen valarr's bride and she loves it when he fucks his baby into her, filling her womb the way valarr can't. valarr has everything, but he'll never have this, not truly. sometimes he fantasizes about valarr returning to her earlier than expected and finding another man's seed dripping from her, some remnant of aerion that had just gone too deep for her to clean away; aerion knows that can never happen, it would ruin everything, but he still enjoys the fantasy.

aerion breeds her as often as he can for a month, just to be certain it takes, before moving to his next chosen mate.

daeron's wife is trickier. valarr's wife had a reason to give in to aerion and he knows she will never reveal the truth, for her sake and the sake of her child. daeron and his wife have shown no real interest in having children. daeron has never cared for legacy. he has never done anything for his house. in truth, it's better he never has children; he isn't worth of continuing his line. aerion might try to directly seduce her, but that path presents risks. daeron's wife is harder for him to read. and if she did rebuff him, it could risk exposing his seduction of valarr's wife. aerion can't risk that. aerion will have to be clever.

at the next feast, aerion pays a servant to ensure her wine glass is never empty and is always filled with the strongest vintage. he doesn't have to do anything to daeron; daeron puts himself into a near stupor on his own. aerion arranges for her to receive what she thinks is a message from daeron telling her to meet him back at their chambers, with the candles unlit. aerion watches her flush, and sway, and knows she's ready for him. she leaves the party. aerion ensures daeron is kept occupied and follows after her.

she ought to have easily recognized that the man who entered her rooms was not her husband, even in the dark, what with aerion's much shorter and leaner frame. but he's made certain she's too drunk. still, to be cautious, he bends her over the bed and takes her from behind with only his cock and hips making contact with her. aerion makes her mewl and moan for it. he's not got much time, but he again needs that satisfaction of knowing his chosen enjoy being bred by him. aerion doesn't stop until you've taken three loads and are nearly asleep. he knows by the time daeron stumbles in, and wakes beside her the next morning, he'll just have assumed he'd fucked her and forgotten it in his wine-addled state.

aerion pulls the same trick twice more. he'd like to keep going, increase his chances, but he can't risk being caught. he'd prefer for all his women to be carrying his babes at the same time, purely for the pleasure of seeing the overwhelming proof of his virility, but aerion is patient. daeron's wife is like to still be fertile for several years. he can take his time with her, if need be, but he will see her swollen with his child.

maekar's wife is aerion's favourite and he has been saving her for last. he's wanted her the moment he laid eyes on her. it wasn't right, that his father should take a second wife, when aerion was still denied his first. aerion might have forgiven it if he knew it to be an old man's lechery. but no, his father had lain with her only once, to consummate the union. otherwise he ignored her and she was left to her own devices. she had confessed as much to him, once, and looked so embarrassed for it, so innocent, so underappreciated, that it had made aerion long to take her then and there.

but aerion waits. he earns her trust. he becomes her confider, her friend. the only targaryen who really pays her any attention at all. she's just so alone, apart from him, she tells him. and aerion answers, of course he's there for her. they are family. step-mother. and aerion watches the disappointment in her expression, the frown, the longing, and he knows he has her exactly where he needs her.

aerion reassures her in between kisses that this isn't wrong. she was meant to be his wife. maekar had stolen what rightfully should have been his son's. aerion is only taking back what is his. he just wants to please her, love her, after she's been cruelly neglected for so long. trust him. he knows what's best for her, he's the only one who really cares about her.

aerion makes her ride him. she struggles to take him, but he insists. she needs to ride her dragon. and aerion finds that so long as he rubs her needy, neglected little clit just right, she'll do whatever he says. keeps bouncing on his cock until she's shaking. even then aerion doesn't let up, but instead holds her up with his hands while he bucks his cock into her, again and again.

over the next fortnight, he takes her all the ways he's been dreaming of for so long.

it isn't long until the court learns that valarr, daeron, and maekar's wives are all expecting their first child. it nearly makes aerion roar with delight. he's done it. he's done exactly what a dragon is meant to. he's claimed. he's bred. he's made three little dragons to continue his family's legacy.

as the three ladies grow larger, and often accompany one another to share their pregnancy pains, the court notes that prince aerion is unusually attentive, almost always to be found in the same room in a protective, guarding stance.