“Stop it.”

You look up to find Aegon beside you. 

“Stop talking to him,” he glares.

You glance back at the table. The greens and blacks had gathered at King Viserys’ command, but there was no true merriment, all forced smiles and dinner knives gripped a little too tightly. That Aegon had been seated across from you did nothing to ease the tense environment. Aegon, who every time you dared look to him, looked ready to come to blows with your betrothed or to fuck you on that table then and there —maybe both. So you had avoided your lover’s gaze the entire night and kept your attention on Jace, something that seemed to only infuriate Aegon further. 

At least Aegon had restrained himself until you had stepped away from the feast to serve yourself wine from a side table. You hadn’t even noticed him follow after you, though honestly you should have expected it. Now that you looked at him properly for the first time, he looked absolutely sick with rage and desire, and more than a little intoxicated.

“Stop letting him touch you,” he breathes, leaning down to you.

“Touch me? —Seven, he held my hand,” you answer.

“I don’t want him touching you.”

“And am I to think you’ve been faithful? That you haven’t slept with any other girls since you first came to my bed? Why shouldn’t I—”

He grabs your wrist.

“Don’t. Don’t put that thought in my head, of you and the Strong boy. Don’t, or I’ll kill him. You may be betrothed to him, but you’re mine.”

You shiver as he said that. Aegon grins.

“Knew you’d like that.”

You blush and look away, back to the table, to see if anyone had noticed the pair of you.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me,” Aegon whispers.

“Let go of me. Are you trying to ruin me?” you try to stay angry with him, to be sensible, to remember that all it would take is the wrong person seeing, and scandal would break out.

“I could ruin you right now.”

His hand runs up your arm. You pull away.

“Control yourself, Aegon.”

“I am,” he hisses. “This is me controlling myself. Have you thought about how this is torturing me?”

Two serving girls are looking at you. One whispers something to the other.

“Now isn’t the time to discuss this. Come to my chambers tonight, after the feast. And keep off of the wine —I won’t let you in if you’re drunk.”

Aegon looks sullen, but he knows agreement is his only hope of getting you alone that night. He makes a show of setting aside his goblet.

“As my lady commands.”

***

Inviting Aegon to visit your bedroom for a ‘discussion’ went exactly as you both had known it would: with his hands on your hips the moment the door was open to him, Aegon kicking the door shut behind him, and pushing you up against it once shut, his mouth on yours.

You allow yourself to enjoy it, for a moment, before pulling back.

“You shouldn’t have acted like that in public. Someone will suspect us.”

Your hands ran up and down his neck.

“Are we still pretending I’m here to talk?” he asks, eyes dark but clear. He’d done as you asked and refrained from drinking any further. For all the greens had done to try to curb his indulging his cups, who knew the solution was actually quite simple: deny Aegon sex and he would sober.

“You are here to talk.”

“You often invite men to ‘talk’ in your room at this hour of the night? In just your nightgown?” 

There was an edge to his voice. Jealousy, yes, but something more. Insecurity. 

And you were clad in only your thin nightgown. You knew how this would end, with you both naked in your bed, so you had decided to make things a little easier once you reached that step. But you weren’t prepared for that yet. You still clung to some morsel of rationality, though having Aegon pressed against you, hot and angry and needy, was a terrible distraction.

“What do you think will happen if someone finds out about us? That Prince Aegon has stolen and defiled Prince Jacaerys’ bride?”

“Maybe if Jace knew where to put it…”

“This isn’t a jest, Aegon.”

“He won’t know. Doubt he knows where children come from.”

“Aegon.”

“Thinks he’ll kiss you on your wedding day, and that’ll get you pregnant—.”

“You aren’t funny—”

“He won’t know it was me that got you pregnant.”

Your breath hitches. Aegon, sensing weakness, grins.

“You like that? Like the idea of me finding you on your wedding night?” He leans in and trails kisses up your neck. “Poor thing, you’ll be so bored. He’ll have thought the ceremony was the end of it. He’ll fall asleep, leaving you wanting and needing…needing for me…”

His fingers curl to grip your hips.

“Say it,” his voice is commanding, but he nuzzles into your neck with an unspoken desperation. “Say you need me.”

“I need you,” you breathe. 

He pushes flush against you. You can feel how hard he is. But he doesn’t grind into you, doesn’t kiss you, just clings to you. As if he wishes to never let go, to crawl into your skin. As if he needs you and is frightened of being pushed away.

You lift up his chin to force him to look at you. There’s vulnerability in lilac eyes.

“I need you, Aegon. Need you to make me feel good like no one else can. Make me feel good like Jace can’t.” 

Aegon’s eyes go wide and his lips part slightly.

“Jace has never touched me. Not like you have. Not like this.”

“He hasn’t had you the way I have?” he asks, almost whimpering.

“Never. He’s kissed me, a little, but not like you have.”

Jace didn’t wish to do anything that might risk your reputation before you were wed. He didn’t wish to dishonour you. 

“How noble of him. How…innocent.” Aegon says. “Is that what you want? Innocent?”

“No,” you confess. 

Jace is a good man. He doesn’t deserve an unfaithful betrothed. But this marriage was not of your making, and though you view Jace with friendship, he isn’t what you want. You want wine-stained lips and lilac eyes and high laughter and grasping hands and bodies tangling together beneath the sheets. You want Aegon.

Aegon comes alive again. He pulls you forward by the hips and flush against him as he grinds his hard-on into your soft nightgown. He groans as you moan from the sensation.

“Good. Because I’m not innocent, nor are my intentions with you.”

He claims your mouth again, harder and rougher, and uses your gasp of surprise and pleasure as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

His hands are on your nightgown’s laces. Your fingers grip the hemline of his shirt, but before you can remove it, Aegon loses patience with untying your dress and instead opts to pull it over your head. 

“Gods, look at you”, he says, his eyes roaming over every inch of your naked flesh like it’s the most wondrous sight he’s ever seen. 

You shiver.

“Cold?” he asks.

You nod.

“Let’s warm you up, then.”

He leads you over to the bed and pushes you down onto the sheets, his body covering yours’ in an instant. You tug his shirt up and over his head, accidentally pulling his hair as you do.

“Ouch. Someone’s impatient.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Is that so?” One hand braces himself up by your head, the other runs up, up, up your leg. “And what’ll I find here?”

He cups between your legs. You gasp and buck your hips up against him.

“So wet. All this for me?”

“Yes! Yes!” you moan.

His fingers work to massage your cunt. It makes him grin to watch you squirm in pleasure and need.

“You’re mine,” his voice is deep and hoarse. “Tell me you’re mine, and I’ll give you what you need.”

You meet his eyes. Your arms wrap around his back.. You open your legs wider and hook one around his hips. You watch as his eyes blow wide with lust, but he restrains himself until you say what he is desperate to hear.

“I’m your’s.”

Aegon pushes his trousers down just far enough to free his cock. It hits against the soft flesh of your thighs and though you can’t see it, you can feel it is hot and leaking already. 

“Need it. ‘M ready for it. I —Aegon!” you moan as he pushes in. He obliges your need (and his own) by pressing on until he’s fully inside.

Normally he would hide his face in your neck as soon as he began to thrust, but this time, he keeps eye contact. 

Your eyes roll back in your head from pleasure as he hits that sweet spot inside you again and again.

“Uh uh. Need to see you,” he growls. 

You open your eyes. That seems to spur him on as he begins to thrust harder and faster. 

“Need to feel you cum around my cock,”

Your nails grip into his back. The hand that had been at your hip to anchor you to him, drops down to rub at your clit just right.

“Does that feel good?”

“Fuck!” is all you can manage, panting and sweating.

“Be good and cum for me.” 

You cum, hard, biting into his shoulder to keep from screaming so loud the entire Red Keep hears. You buck your hips up and cling to him as you ride out your high.

 When you start to wind down, it takes you a few seconds to realize Aegon is still thrusting into you with the same speed. It wasn’t unusual for him to fuck you through both of you cumming, but usually once he had finished he needed to pull out and rest, either in preparation for the next round or to fall asleep in your bed ( usually you were the one who had to wake him to remind him he needed to make his way back to his own room before dawn ). But he was still going as hard and fast as before. More than that, his face was screwed up, and he was whimpering.

He hadn’t cum yet.

He never lasted once he felt you start to squeeze around him.

Had you done something wrong? Had he not liked it?

“Please,” he begged. “Please say it.”

You knew what he needed. Your hands left his back to cup his face.

“I’m your’s, Aegon.”

He came hard. Harder than he ever had before with you. You could feel the warmth filling you up between your legs. He shuddered and collapsed on top of you, breathing heavy.

Your arms wrapped around his back again, gentle this time. He hid his face against your neck like he was ashamed.

“Shhh. Shhh, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” you whispered. You pressed kisses to the side of his face. “You did so good. You did so good for me.”

Aegon kept his face hidden against the curve of your neck, but you could feel his body relax. He pulled out slowly and as he did, you could feel his cum spilling out of you.

“Oh,” his muffled voice had a tone of surprise to it that would almost make you laugh if he wasn’t being so sincere. “Sorry. Towel—”

Aegon tried to disentangle himself from you, but you pulled him back.

“We’ll clean up in a minute.”

He relaxed into your arms again. 

Aegon still hadn’t looked at you since cumming.

Slowly, his face lifted up to look at you.

“I haven’t,” he breathed in a soft, sleepy voice.

“What?” 

“You asked if I’d fucked any other girls. Not since you.”

Oh. You felt a fluttering in your heart.

“Half the brothels in the Street of Silk must have gone out of business, because of you.”

your husband only grumbled, rough hands trying to stop you from revealing more skin. still, you were determined, swatting every attempt away with a disgruntled sound, making maekar even more annoyed.

"have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like i'm nothing but a toy to be played with when i'm exhausted from the bloody fucking—"

but you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. all you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. all muscle and sinew and gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.

you almost sighed thinking of it. you loved your husband's cock. it was one of the best things about him.

"you're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "so sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."

maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. it made you warm under your chemise. you loved when your husband was all snappy and indignant.

you leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "you were gone for so long, and i have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "the least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."

aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "you always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipe of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.

as always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. you had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.

"you're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ah—fuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. the sweat, the grime, the dirt—him, musky and manly and oh so palatable. “stop. i reek of filth and—”

“and i love it,” you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press open—mouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. “you smell s’ good, husband, gods. i want to lick you all over.”

it always got like this. the more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.

maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. the touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.

“filthy,” maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. “you’re a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?” he spat, tone brooking on a growl. “always have been,” maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. “getting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,” his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.

“what of it?” you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. “it’s your smell i crave, your taste,—” another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.

maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.

“don’t you fucking dare—”

you did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.

a garbled moan punched out of maekar’s chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, white—knuckled and trembling with restraint. you could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldn’t be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. but you also knew he liked it. craved your attention like poison in his veins. hated that he needed it. snarled and snapped his jaws while being half—hard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.

“look at you,” he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. “licking and sucking like a common whore,—”

but you didn’t let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. it was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.

“how would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?” you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. “have you been indulging without my knowledge?”

each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragon’s nose, waiting for it to bite. and you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.

and he always bit.

“you think i would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?” he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.

as you nosed along his stomach, you couldn’t help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the V—shape of his hips. “i would hope you wouldn’t, dear husband,” you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. “i would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,” another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.

but, gods, the scent. the taste of him.

musky and sweaty and man.

it drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldn’t get enough.

a groan slipped unbidden from maekar’s mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. “don’t need some perfumed, wanton wench when i have my hands full with you,” he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. lavender hues half—lidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.

his words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. “good,” you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.

“woman, you—” but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. the friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten off pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. he looked good enough to eat. and maybe later, you intended to do just that.

the scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. “smell s’ good,” you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. “taste s’ good, husband.”

“gods, fuck—” came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldn’t be happier to succumb to maekar’s guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.

it made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.

“c—can’t believe you’re, shit—” he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. “can’t believe you’re getting off on this, you wanton woman,” maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. “mouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me hump—fuck.”

you could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. a delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.

“mhm,” you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. “not my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,” you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. “i’ve been so lonely,” the words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“always so fuckin’ demanding,” he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. “n—never satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wife—,”

wife. the word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.

his chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.

it made you smile and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. the sound seemed to bring maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.

“lick it,” he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. “can’t let good spend go to waste, wife.”

you only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palette. “yes, yes,” you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.

“fucking filthy woman—,” maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.

you knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husband’s cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.

In all the chaos and bawdiness of that night, YN and Stannis’s marriage remained unconsummated. But weeks turned to months, and YN’s belly remained flat, and soon gossip began to spread about the castle. Even the king was curious, asking his brother teasingly if he even knew how to perform the act.

That seemed to wound her husband’s pride. One evening, he took his supper in her chambers, and when the servants had been dismissed, he said simply, “I intend to bed you tonight,”

YN almost spluttered over her wine. Composing herself quickly, she was about to question him, when he continued. “We have allowed this marriage to go unconsummated for too long. I am Robert’s heir, and until he managed to sire a legitimate child, we must needs continue the bloodline,”

***

It was dim in YN’s bedchamber. The candles had been blown out, and the fire was starting to die out. Moonlight bathed the room, turning her bedsheets silvery as she tugged them up to her chin, covering up her nakedness. She peeked up every now and then to watch Stannis undress.

She had never seen a naked man before. As a girl, she had overheard older cousins gossiping over their sweethearts; muscled men who could hand a greatsword with ease, or lithe singers with long supple legs.

She decided that Stannis Baratheon was more attractive than them all. Though there was still some gauntness left over from the year long siege, there was no doubt that Stannis was an imposing figure. He had broad shoulders and lean muscles, and the wiry hair on his chest was dark like that on his head and beard, and trailed down between his legs. His manhood intrigued her, and she found herself squeezing her legs together in anticipation.

Her eyes flicked to him as he slid beneath the sheets next to her. She could feel the dip in the featherbed, sense the heat from his body…

“You’re a Maiden, yes?” He asked, and she was certain he was grinding his teeth.

“Yes, my lord,” she murmured, feeling suddenly meek. “H-have you…?”

“If a man could be a maiden, then that’s what I’d be,” he said. “But I suppose if Robert can work out the logistics…”

YN suppressed a smile. “I don’t want to think about your brother,” she murmured. “Not when I’m with you,”

Stannis looked down at her, his brows furrowed. “You’re my husband,” she went on, propping herself up on her elbow. “And…”

“And?”

“And you are the man I am attracted to,”

He made to dispute her, but she pressed a finger to his lips. The movement made the bedsheet slip, revealing the curve of her breast, made silvery by the moonlight. Stannis gulped, his eyes drifting downwards. Carefully, as if handling blown glass, he cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it in his large palm, watching her face for even a twitch of displeasure. When she pushed into his touch, he grumbled out a low noise of approval. Tentatively, she leaned up to graze her lips over his, humming with satisfaction as he yielded to her kiss.

Slowly, he gathered her in his arms, holding her body tight to his as they kissed. Her skin was warm against his, and he relished in the way her body moulded to him as he rolled on top of her.

As her legs parted, he felt the softness of her thighs, and for a moment he reflected on how well their bodies fit together. When his cock grazed against her entrance, she whimpered, her body tensing. Carefully, he stroked his cock through the growing wetness, enthralled at the sensation of her heat pulsing against his tip.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed into her, his teeth gritted as she enveloped him. She whimpered at the intrusion, at the overwhelming sensation of being so full, her hips rocking up to his as her mind swam.

“Let me move,” he gritted out, and she nodded quickly, rocking her hips up to his experimentally.

He took her deep and slow, holding her body tight to his all the while, drinking in her sweet desperate noises. When he felt his release building, he buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder, his hips faltering as he chased the high. With a strangled noise, he spilled inside her, riding out his release with a few more sloppy thrusts.

Panting and flushed, he rolled off her, staring stunned at the canopy above them.

YN instantly moved closer to him; she had quickly grown accustomed to feeling his skin on hers. He tucked her into his side, his hand splayed over her back.

“You are truly my wife now,” he murmured into her hair.

She nodded, her fingers trailing through his wiry chest hair. “Yes,” she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss over his pectoral, before resting her head there. “Truly,”

You rocked your hips against his, a slow, deliberate grind that had him gasping into your mouth, his whole body stiffening as if struck by lightning. A broken, ragged sound escaped him, something between a groan and a prayer.

“Gods…” he whispered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His hands, which had been hovering nervously at your waist, finally gripped you, his fingers digging into the fabric of your tunic as if you were the only solid thing in a spinning world.

He was so beautifully, painfully sensitive. Every shift of your body, every press and roll of your hips against the hard ridge of his cock made him shudder. You could feel the tension coiling tightly within him, the unfamiliar sensations overwhelming his disciplined control. He was a man who had known cold and duty, but never this… this sweet, aching friction.

“It’s alright” you murmured against his ear, your breath hitching as your own pleasure began to build, hot and pooling low in your belly. “Just feel it, Jon. Let go.”

He was trembling, his breaths—more like whimpers—coming in sharp, shallow pants against your neck. His hips began to move then, tentatively at first, then with more urgency, meeting your rhythm in a clumsy, perfect sync. The scrape of leather, the rustle of cloth, and his soft, stifled whimpers were the only sounds in the world.

“Plea—please” he’d whisper, holding your hips while you move on top of him, your skirt lifted up enough so he can also have a view of your creamy thighs. Your underwear is soaking, leaving a stain where you move against him. The friction is delicious. The fabric of his pants hitting right in your clothed clit.

You felt the exact moment he unraveled. A great, shuddering breath wracked his frame, his arms locking around you like iron bands as he buried a muffled cry into your shoulder. He held onto you through the waves of his climax, his body trembling with the aftershocks of a pleasure so new it bordered on pain.

When he finally stilled, he didn’t let go. He just held you there in the dark, his face hidden, his breath slowly calming against your skin. “I made a mess” he breathed, pointing to his pants, cum dripping from them.

“I’ll clean it” you bit your lip.

The wind howled outside the tower, rattling shutters and setting the fire to crackle and spit as Robb fed it another log.

Behind him, the bed creaked softly as you shifted, burrowed deep beneath the furs with a book balanced on your knees and Grey Wind curled heavy and warm at your side. His tail flicked once with lazy contentment, thumping softly against the mattress.

Robb turned, brushing ash from his hands. "It’s freezing. Move over."

He crossed the room, tugging off his tunic with chilled fingers, but the moment he lifted the covers to slide in beside you, Grey Wind’s head snapped up.

A low whine. Then a growl, he wasn't angry, just... possessive.

"Don’t start," Robb warned, already half in the bed.

Grey Wind stood.

Robb froze as the stubborn beast stepped right into the spot Robb had been aiming for and promptly sat.

You snorted behind your book.

"Oh, you think this is funny?"

"A little," you murmured, eyes still on the page.

Robb glowered. He wasn't about to share his wife tonight, and especially not with his damn wolf. He gently pushed Grey Wind out of the way and crawled into the bed.

You giggled as Robb pulled the book out of your hands and tossed it across the room. He leaned down and nuzzled into your neck, trailing kisses over your bare shoulder.

"Robb," you gasped, "Your hands are freezing."

He hummed in response, pushing the covers down, so he could slip his hands beneath your nightgown. He kissed his way up your neck, his fingers tickling up your thigh.

You arched toward him with a breathy sigh, and Robb smiled against your skin, his voice low and thick with want.

"I’ve been waiting all day to have you like this," he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. "Warm and soft and all mine."

Your hands found his hair as leaned over you, the weight of him delicious, grounding. His mouth found your collarbone, your throat, your lips…and just as his fingers slipped beneath your nightdress, brushing over your soaked heat-

Whump.

Grey Wind jumped back onto the bed.

Pushing himself right between the two of you.

Robb groaned loudly, dropping his head to your chest as the direwolf circled once, then flopped down directly across your hips.

You let out a startled laugh, half breathless, half annoyed. "He’s so dramatic."

Robb sat up, shoving at the direwolf’s massive shoulder. "Off, Grey Wind."

The wolf blinked. Didn’t move.

"Down," Robb repeated, sterner this time. "Go lie by the fire."

With an exaggerated sigh, Grey Wind heaved himself off your legs and padded a few steps away... only to sit again at the end of the bed, watching. Judging.

Robb gave you a look that said ignore him, and you tried…really tried…as he lowered his head between your thighs and drew a slow, deliberate lick up your center.

You moaned, hand flying to his curls, hips canting toward his mouth. "Oh…Robb-"

Before either of you could register the sudden shift in weight on the mattress, all eighty pounds of fur and misguided concern landed directly on Robb’s back.

"Seven hells!" Robb sputtered, dragging himself up off you with an exasperated huff as Grey Wind walked over him, sniffing at your face, licking your cheek like you were the wounded party.

You couldn’t help it, you burst into helpless laughter.

Robb looked murderously betrayed.

"That’s it."

He stood, hoisting Grey Wind from the bed. The wolf let out a startled huff, clearly offended as Robb stomped to the chamber door, flung it open, and deposited the menace into the hall.

"No more interruptions. No more chaperones. You are banished."

Grey Wind sat outside the door and howled.

Robb slammed it shut and locked it, turning back to you with hair tousled, chest rising and falling, and a look in his eyes that made your thighs press together.

"Where were we?" he breathed, already climbing back over you, hands sliding up your sides.

"Hmmm," you hummed, grinning as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "I think you were about to make me forget my own name."

Robb smiled, a real, proper smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "My favorite thing to do."

He reclaimed your lips, one arm braced by your head, the other pushing your nightdress up, helping you pull it over over your head. Your skin tingled in the firelight, the cold air a shock before the heat of him returned.

He kissed down your stomach, and your hands tangled in his curls as he settled between your thighs again. His gaze met yours over the plane of your body, dark and adoring, and then he lowered his head, and the world narrowed to the point of his mouth on you.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he worked you with his tongue, slow, languid strokes that built a tight, aching knot deep inside you. Every flick, every suck, every breath against your slick heat was deliberate, practiced. He knew exactly what you liked, exactly what made your breath hitch, exactly what made you arch off the bed.

He murmured something against your skin, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through you. Your whole body tensed as he sped up, a relentless rhythm that made your toes curl, that made your own moans sound distant, unfamiliar. His name was a prayer on your lips as he pushed you over the edge, your entire body shattering in a wave of blinding, perfect release.

He stayed with you through it, gentling his touch as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your stomach until you were trembling and pliant, blinking back stars.

When he finally moved back over you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You could feel him, hot and hard and insistent against your thigh, but he made no move to hurry, content to just kiss you slow and deep, stroking your hair back from your damp forehead.

You pressed your hands against his chest, a gentle push that he answered easily.

You rolled with him, settling on top, straddling him. He looked up at you, firelight catching in his hair, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. He watched you as you positioned him, watched you as you slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch.

You both groaned at the connection, the familiar, perfect stretch of him. You began to move, a slow, rolling rhythm that had him fisting the furs, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

His hands came up to grip your waist, guiding you, encouraging you.

"There you go," he rasped, his head thrown back. "Just like that, my love. You're perfect."

You leaned forward, changing the angle, and the friction shot straight through you, pulling another moan from your lips. He sat up then, wrapping an arm around your back, pulling you flush against his chest. The new position left you breathless, every thrust deeper, more deliberate. His face was buried in your neck, his hands gripping your ass, moving you against him.

"Robb," you gasped, your own hands fisted in his hair.

"I know," he breathed, his voice ragged. "I know. Come with me. Come with me now, love."

And you did. It was a slower, deeper wave this time, a crest that broke again and again as you continued to move together, your bodies slick with sweat, your breath mingling in the frigid air. He followed you over, a choked groan against your skin as he pulsed inside you, filling you with his warmth.

After, you stayed tangled, a mess of limbs and heavy breaths. He kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, small, soft kisses that made your chest ache.

Then, from the hallway, came a loud, mournful howl.

And then another.

Robb stilled, then started to chuckle, a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated through your chest. You couldn't help but join in, burying your face in his shoulder, your body shaking with laughter.

"I'm going to skin that wolf," Robb said, but there was no heat in it. "Make a lovely rug for our chambers."

"He's just protective," you mumbled against him.

"He's a menace," he corrected, but he was smiling. He rolled, pulling you with him so you were curled against his side, your head on his chest. The fire crackled, the only other sound in the room besides the occasional, pathetic whine from the other side of the door.

He drew patterns on your back, a slow, lazy path up and down your spine. "Maybe we should just leave him out there. A night in the cold might teach him a lesson."

"Now you are being cruel," you chided, sitting up to look at him. "He'll think we're angry with him."

"I am angry with him," he said, though he pulled you back down for another kiss, this one slow and sweet. "He interrupted his king."

You laughed, a soft, happy sound. "Well his queen has granted him mercy."

You slipped from the bed, pulling your discarded nightgown over your head. You padded to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open just a crack.

A huge, furry head pushed its way in immediately, a wet nose nudging your hand and a low whine rumbling in Grey Wind's chest. You knelt, scratching him behind the ears. "You are a troublemaker," you whispered.

He wagged his tail, thumping it against the stone floor and began to lick your face.You laughed, shoving gently at the wet nose now pressing insistently against your cheek. "Stop, stop-"

Grey Wind did not stop.

Behind you, the bed creaked. When you glanced back, Robb had pushed himself up on one elbow, watching you both with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and something unbearably soft. The furs had slipped to his waist. Firelight painted warm lines across his chest.

"You're too soft on him," he said, but his voice had gone quiet. Tired. The good kind of tired.

"You're too hard on him." You crawled back onto the mattress, and Grey Wind followed immediately, settling his considerable weight at the end of the bed like he'd never been banished at all.

Robb opened his mouth. You raised an eyebrow.

He closed it.

You smiled and curled into his side, your head finding its place on his chest like it had a thousand times before. His arm came around you immediately, hand finding your hip beneath the furs.

Grey Wind sighed. A great, rumbling sound, and then flopped down across your feet.

Robb huffed a laugh against your hair, his hand tracing slow patterns on your skin. His breathing evened out first. Then Grey Wind's, a low rumble you felt through your toes.

You were almost there yourself when Robb's lips brushed your forehead.

"Love you," he whispered. Half asleep already.

You smiled into his chest. "Love you too. Both of you."

Grey Wind's tail thumped once against the mattress.

And the three of you slept.

“Shhh, I know…” The Queen could only moan out as those emerald eyes of hers began to roll back. The dim light of the candles flickering in as the evening continued. Cersei gently reached for her love’s golden locks; so similar to her own as her back arched. “That is a good girl,” she whispered her praises with ease as pleasure began to move through her body. Her Princess only hummed against her; body shivering at the words coming her way. Cersei moaned as her sweet, sensitive clit was lapped at with growing hunger. It seemed her daughter was good at following instructions. “This is all to be a good wife, sweet girl.” Cersei lied as easily as she always did. It was only about her own pleasure but soon enough she would have the Princess squealing before her.

The Queen knew she was completely untouched. Cersei had made sure of such things; not that her Princess would ever know that. No, the Princess would be safe in her embrace; it was the only place she would be, Cersei thought to herself as her head fell back onto the soft pillows. Goosebumps easily began to move over her soft skin as the Princess only moaned against her some more. The Princess only stared up at her mother; her hunger only growing as she watched the reactions she could pull from the usual cold Queen. But her mother was never like that with her, especially when she was between her thighs. Her tongue slowly circled Cersei’s sweet tasting clit as she whined; lapping at her like a kitten.

A kitten was exactly what Cersei thought her darling Princess was as her body arched from the sheets once more. Gods, she was ever this sensitive before but now it seemed each touch sent shivers down her spine. A soft gasp escaped the Queen as her love’s warm tongue pushed in and began to thrust in and out whilst her moans vibrated against her sweet, creamy pussy. The Princess gently reached for Cersei’s hips and brought her impossibly close as her hunger only reached new heights, much to the Queen’s delight. Shyly, she reached for those soft breasts whilst her eyes began to flutter shut. Cersei could not keep her climax from appearing now as she reached for the sheets; her hold on them only tightening.

“Good girl, that’s it – ah,” The Queen moaned without care as her bright locks cascaded around her like a halo. The wet, obscene noises of her sweet Princess lapping away; sucking on her clit as Cersei was so sweetly pushed over the edge. Her hand tightened in her daughter’s locks as she began to rock against her lips. The Princess moaned and greedily took all that the Queen before her gave. Cersei began to gently stroke her locks as the sweet girl rested against her thigh. Cersei motioned for her girl to come closer and the Princess began to crawl up her body. Her soft breasts brushed against the Queen’s body before she stopped as their faces came to level.

The Queen only smiled up at her; their matching, bright eyes locked onto one another before Cersei leaned in. Their lips soon pressed against each other as the Princess only whined against her Queen once more; their tongues dancing with practised ease. Her fingers brushed through her daughter’s locks and kept her impossibly close. Cersei wrapped her arms around the Princess as she gently manoeuvred the pair of them so she hovered on top now. “Such a good girl,” the Queen cooed her praises as she watched the soft, pink blush come over the cheeks of her sweet girl. Her fingers brush against her face; the cold touch of the gold, lion ring that adorned the Queen’s finger caused a shiver down her spine as she leaned into the touch.

“Mama…” She whispered; their noses brushing together as they stared into each other's eyes. A rare smile tugged on the lips of the Queen as she only looked down at her Princess. “You are mine, hmm?” Cersei whispered so sweetly. The Queen peppered her face with soft kisses as her lovely girl nodded and burrowed her head into her neck. “Will I have to marry?” The Princess whispered into her ear as she wrapped her arms around Cersei to only bring her impossibly closer. The Queen gently stroked up and down her sides as the silence in the room continued. “One day, my girl.” Cersei whispered; her heart tightening at the mere thought of her daughter walking down an aisle.

In the arms of another. Of a man, Cersei thought to herself whilst her hold on the Princess only tightened as if she could keep her there forever. If only the world was a kinder place but for now, she would take these moments they had together. Their noses brushed together once more as she began to press sweet kisses on her face. “But you will always be here, I will make sure of that.” The Queen whispered her promises as the Princess cuddled into her neck some more. Gently, Cersei cupped her chin; their matching, bright eyes locking together. “I promise.” The Queen whispered as the Princess could only softly smile and believe her mother; the promise soon sealed with a kiss.

It would be helpful for her husband to die soon, the Queen thought to herself as her fingers gently traced abstract patterns on her soft skin. Robert had many proposals for his daughter’s hand sitting on his desk; ignored for now. Cersei would keep her Princess as close as she could before picking the best marriage for her. But for now - she was all hers and the Queen would make sure of taking every advantage of that as her hands only continued to wander. Cersei began to play with her locks as the Princess sweetly mouthed at her soft neck. Her mother’s scent was as ever so comforting as was the actions the Princess did which had Cersei shivering.

but then that very same night he’s four or five ciders deep and stumbling around the castle trying to find you with a drunken smile on his face.

you’re just minding your own business reading before bed when the knocking starts.

“are you awake, love?”

you can hear from his voice that raymun’s drunk, the way he’s slurring his speech ever so slightly and the way his words hold just a little tinge of mischief to them.

when you open the door and he finally see’s you standing before him, he’s just humming so happily and taking you into his arms as he shuts the door behind him.

“raymun.. you shouldn’t be in here..” you’d say, trying to pat his head of curls while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck.

“mm, missed you..” is all he mutters, just as his hands rest on your hips and slide down to give your arse a firm squeeze.

he’s already laying soft kisses over your neck and you’re just sighing softly and shutting your eyes before logic hits you and you push at his chest softly and turn around to take a few steps away towards the small table in your chambers.

“we can’t…”

and he’s just groaning and complaining like a grumpy toddler.

“please love..” he groans, wrapping his arms around you from behind and grinding his length against your ass.

“can’t you feel how hard my cock is for you..?”

and gods above, you can.

he’s gripping the thin fabric of your nightgown, pulling it up to your hips and letting his hand run down your stomach before disappearing between your legs.

he runs his fingers through your folds, feeling how slick you are already and he just sighs into your neck.

“just let me taste you at least, love…”

you’re already moaning softly while he rubs small circles over your clit, feeling your back arch as your ass pressed harder against his clothed cock.

turning around in his arms, he smiles so sweetly at you, it’s practically impossible to say no.

without a word, you lift yourself onto the table and he grins as he realises what you’re doing, lowering down to his knees and gripping your thighs.

pulling your dress back to reveal your glistening cunt, raymun lets out a groan from the back of his throat, only sparing a few quick kisses along your inner thighs before he’s burying his head between your thighs.

he’s impatient, you can tell by the way his tongue licks a long stripe of your slit, the way he’s flicking his tongue over your clit while he starts to push his fingers inside of you.

this isn’t the first time by any means, not the first time raymun’s begged to taste you, the only thing he hasn’t done yet is actually fuck you, and yet everything else seems to be well and truly on the table.

each time it happens, he says it’s going to be the last before you’re finally married, but it never is.

whether it’s letting your hand slip down his pants as he moans against your shoulder or taking his cock in your mouth and swallowing every drop of cum he gives you, it’s never the last time.

his cheeks are flushed and he’s moaning, the sloppy noises emitting from between your legs more than a testament to how desperate he was for your cunt.

“i’m not going to last long, love..” he groans.

you nod in understanding, though you can’t form any words as he continues to lap at your pussy.

he’s taken his cock out his pants, fucking his fist quickly and desperately as he eats your pussy, just the taste of you alone paired with your soft moans of his name, it’s enough to have him nearing his peak quickly.

when he stops, you look across as him with a disappointed whine, but you watch him stand up quickly, continuing to pump his cock fiercely, resting one of his hands on the underside of your thigh as he pants.

within seconds, he’s stilling his hips and letting out a deep moan, his cock twitching before it lets out multiple spurts of cum, letting them fall onto your pussy and inner thighs.

he rides out his orgasm, his head tipping back as he shuts his eyes and his mouth falls open, his adam’s apple bobbing as he chokes out strained moans of your name.

Being King in the North and fighting a war was not an easy task by any means. Robb's days were usually spent either fighting, listening to his lords give unsolicited advice for ruling a kingdom, or planning the war which had gotten him the name King in the North in the first place. It was incredibly stressful, especially on days when he felt as though he was useless and that the planning wasn't going at all how he wanted it to.

Robb was incredibly stressed, to say the least. His shoulders were tense, he felt irritable, he was exhausted, and he hadn't gotten to see you, his gorgeous wife, almost at all today except in the morning when he woke up before you to start his day. His men knew he had been having a rough day due to the amount of times Robb had snapped at them.

It was now late at night and Robb expected you to be asleep. As he walked towards your guys' shared tent, his annoyance only amplified as he almost tripped on a rock. He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. As he approached the tent, he noticed the dim lighting that illuminated the tent, signaling you were still awake. He opened the tent flap and his eyes immediately found you.

There you were, lying on the bed in nothing more than a silk chemise that hugged your curves, as though you were waiting for Robb. You were lying on your side with a book beside you as a hand help your head up. A smile appeared on your lips as you saw Robb. You closed the book and sat up. "You're back," You said as you moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

Robb only hummed in response as he stepped towards you. He was dressed in his usual garb of breeches, a shirt, boiled leather and his heavy fur cloak. "I thought you'd be asleep by now," He said as he stood in front of you, looking down.

"I wanted to stay up for you," You smiled softly at your handsome husband as your hands moved to rest of his torso through the heavy material of his fur cloak.

Robb couldn't help the small smile that appeared on his lips as he looked down at you. His hands moved to rest on your shoulders as he leaned down to press a kiss onto the top of your head. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, relishing in the comfort of each other. Robb had missed you terribly, had missed your scent and the comfort of your presence.

You could feel the tension in Robb's demeanor and in the way his muscles were clenched. "Rough day?" You asked softly, breaking the curated silence between you both.

"You could say that," Robb murmured as he rested his head on top of yours.

You said nothing for a few moments as you thought about how you could possibly help your wonderful husband be not-so-stressed out. When an idea came to mind, you said nothing as you slid out of Robb's embrace. You sunk to your knees on the floor, your head right near Robb's crotch.

"Sweetheart?" Robb asked, looking down at you with a confused expression.

"Let me take care of you," You said as you looked up at Robb. "As your queen, it's my duty to make sure my king is properly taken care of." You brought your hands to Robb's thighs, gently massaging them through his breeches.

Robb let out a breath and licked his lips. "I suppose you're right," He agreed. He undid the clasp of his cloak, placing the fur on the bed, leaving him in just his boiled leather chest plate, tunic, and breeches.

You could see the semi-hard erection that he was already sporting through his pants. A small smirk appeared on your face while you looked at him. "I'm going to take such good care of you, my king," You murmured in a sultry tone as you leaned in, gently nuzzling Robb's clothed cock with your face.

"Fuck," He breathed out, turned on simply by watching you. You didn't often give Robb head, mostly because he preferred going down on you or pounding into your tight cunt. But when you did? You were a full on cock whore about it.

Your head rubbed against his cock, feeling it come to its full hardness. You looked up at Robb as you began planting kissing along the outside of his leather breeches, eliciting a shaky breath from your dear husband. You reached a hand to the laces, your fingers moving to slowly untie them. Robb undid his leather chest plate, throwing it somewhere in the room.

"You look so beautiful kneeling in front of me," Robb rasped. He licked his lips as he watched you undo the laces. When you finished, you gently tugged down the material just enough to reveal his cock. Robb let out a small hiss as the cold air hit his skin.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," You whispered, glancing up at him. You wrapped a hand around Robb's cock and leaned in to press a kiss onto the tip. Robb's hips jerked in response, sensitive to your touch. You moved your head down, planting a kiss onto the base and kissing your way up his length. When you reached back to the tip of his cock, you swiped your tongue across it.

Robb made a small noise and his hand went to rest on your head. "Gods," He breathed out as you slowly eased your mouth onto his cock. You made it about halfway before stopping and moving your head up his length. Robb groaned in pleasure as his eyes fluttered shut. "Sweetheart," He hummed out, his hands resting on the sides of your head. You began a slow rhythm of bobbing your head up and down Robb's length. You had one hand resting on Robb's thigh while the other moved to Robb's balls, gently massaging them.

Robb let out a shaky breath and moaned out your name, relishing in the pleasures of your mouth engulfing his cock. You began bobbing your head a bit faster, hollowing your cheeks a bit to add to the feelings. "Oh fuck," Robb whimpered out, unable to help the small thrust of his hips in sync with your mouth. "You feel so good, sweetheart," He said, throwing his head back.

You hummed around Robb's cock in response, sending vibrations through his length. Robb gripped your head firmly and paused your movements. You looked up at Robb, cock still in your mouth, confused with why he stopped you. He opened his eyes and looked down at you, his cheeks red and breath a bit heavy. "I'm going to fuck your mouth," He breathed out. "Pinch my thigh if you'd like me to stop, yeah?"

You gave a slight nod of your head and a hum of confirmation, eliciting a hiss from Robb's lips. You inhaled sharply through your nose before relaxing your throat, giving Robb the necessary access to fuck your mouth properly. You had done this a few times before and you absolutely loved it, almost as much as Robb did.

Robb drew his hips back until only the tip of his cock remained in your mouth. He then began moving slowly, his cock only going in about halfway. He didn't want to hurt you or force himself down your throat. He simply just wanted to be in control. "You're so beautiful like this," Robb sighed, looking at you as he moved his cock in and out of your mouth. "On your knees, cock in your mouth. Exactly where you belong, aye," His hips began moving a bit faster. "My dutiful queen."

You moaned at Robb's words as your hand stroked what couldn't fit into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks once again, sucking each time Robb moved his cock into your mouth.

"Fuck, sweetheart," Robb moaned, losing himself in the pleasures of your mouth. He continued his thrusts, uncaring of how deep his cock was going until he felt the tip hit the back of your throat. He felt you gag around him but he could hardly care in that moment. Robb could feel the pressure building inside of him as his orgasm neared.

Tears formed in your eyes as Robb's cock hit the back of your throat. Being used in a manner such as this had never failed to turn you on. The times Robb would be far too gone, too engrossed in chasing his own release that he couldn't even think about being gentle, you craved it. Sometimes he was far too soft, worried far too much about hurting you, meanwhile you adored being used and manhandled. You clenched your thighs to relieve the tension you felt.

"Oh fuck," Robb whimpered as his release came near. "You're taking me so well, sweetheart, I'm so close," He said in that same whimpering tone. Robb's cock stiffened in your mouth and after a few more thrusts, Robb came with a loud cry of your name. He filled your mouth with his cum, rope after rope, and you, like the beautiful and wonderful wife you were, didn't hesitate to swallow each drop.

After a few moments, Robb pulled out of your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva and cum. He opened his eyes and looked down at you, taking in your appearance. There you were with glossy eyes, swollen and shiny lips, looking absolutely ethereal. He breathed heavily as he came down from his high. "Thank you," He breathed out, running a thumb across your cheek.

You smiled up at Robb. "You don't need to thank me," You replied, your voice hoarse. "I wanted to do it."

Robb reached out for your hands and helped you up. As you stood, he placed his hands on your hips. "Then perhaps I should return the favor," He murmured before leaning in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. He tasted himself but didn't care.

Your soft form was curled beneath the furs, silky hair sprawled across the pillow, your lips parted ever so slightly as you slept. You were surely a pretty sight, one that only served to make him grow harder in his smallclothes. It was almost pathetic, Robb thought, that the mere sight of his wife could make him ache. He hoped the feeling was mutual. Your body was so warm and pliant against his own, one firm arm slung over your waist as he held your back to his chest.

Robb didn't want to disturb your slumber, not when you slept so peacefully, but his need for you was getting harder to ignore. He would make sure your abrupt awakening was well worth your while. His lips found your neck, planting gentle kisses over the marks he had left the night before. He could feel the shift in your breath, even if it was unconscious, your body responding to his familiar touch in your slumber. His hand, once splayed over the soft plane of your stomach began to dip lower, fingertips gliding across the skin of your thigh that was left bare from the way your shift had tugged up on the night. He savored the warmth of your skin and the subtle shift of your hips as you began to wake.

Robb's touch grew bolder as his fingers moved to the honey between your legs. He groaned softly at the wetness he found there, eyes squeezing shut as his calloused fingers found your clit. The little nub was already slickened with your arousal, two fingers easily gliding over it in tight circles. The whine you let out was so soft, so needy, it had your husband throbbing.

“Shhh, my lady,” he murmured, voice rough from disuse, “I've got you.” The scratch of his stubble against the delicate shell of your ear had you shuddering, hands clutching the bedsheets as you began to come back to reality.

“Robb.”

The breathy call of his name had his fingers speeding up on your clit, and it was then that he realized he was rutting against your rear, too desperate to stop himself like a dog in heat. His mouth found your neck again, teeth gently sinking into the sensitive skin before he soothed it with his tongue. It had you gasping, and Robb took the opportunity to slide a finger into your welcoming heat. “You're soaked, love,” the smirk was practically audible in his words. His hips rolled slowly, grinding the hard outline of his cock against your ass. “Were you dreaming about me?”

“Mhh… perhaps,” you replied, eyes fluttering shut with a small pinch of your brow. Your walls clamped around his invading digit, already wanting for more as you subtly rocked against his hand.

In tune with the tells of your body, and the soft little sounds that escaped you, Robb slid a second finger inside of you. He scissored his fingers for a few long moments, stretching you out for what was to come. “I hope it was a good dream,” he spoke huskily, lips still planting open-mouthed kisses along your neck and behind your ear until your skin glistened with his spit. “But never better than the real thing. I am here, my wife, let me love you.”

He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, reveling in the whimper of protest you let out, ready to be filled again. He made quick work of shoving down his smallclothes, his cock springing free. It was hard and aching, leaking with his need for his wife. One hand tugged up your shift in a haste, revealing the swell of your rear and the shape of your hips. His fingers sunk into the supple flesh of one of your cheeks, spreading you open for him. He grasped his cock, guiding the leaking tip through your folds. He watched, enraptured, as your folds parted around him, his length gliding easily through your arousal.

“Husband!” You gasped when his head caught on your clit, the delicious drag sending heat through your core as your body tensed.

“Shhh, my lady wife,” he repeated. Without more preamble, Robb lined himself up with your entrance. He groaned as soon as he slid inside, your warmth pulling him in further as he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. His hand slid from your ass to your hip, fingers clutching onto you as he bottomed out. The moan you let out had him exhaling shakily, and it took all of his strength not to move until you adjusted.

Slowly, agonizingly so, Robb began to rock his hips. He dragged out of your clenching cunt until only the tip remained before pushing back inside. The pace was slow and deep, and he reveled in the soft moans he could draw from your lips, he reveled in the feeling of your warmth around him. It was what he had been aching for, and now he was lost in the pleasure. His hand slid up your body, arm looped over your waist, as his hand cupped one of your breasts through the thin fabric of your shift. He kneaded the soft mound, thumb circling your pebbled nipple as he sped up. Robb's hips slapped against your ass, the sound of flesh against flesh mingling with his grunts and your moans.

“So pretty,” Robb gasped, words falling from his lips without rhyme or reason, “so perfect. My lady. My wife. My heart."

As his thrusts grew more erratic, he eased you onto your stomach without missing a beat. His chest was flush against your back, body covering your own as he continued to run into you. “Robb!” You cried out, the noise strangled as his weight pressed into you. He pried open the tight grip you had on the pillows, fingers locking with your own. The other hand slid up your body, finger wrapping around your chin to tilt your head to look at him. His lips found yours in a messy kiss, though it was far too quick for your liking.

“You feel so good beneath me, my darling,” Robb panted, eyes glued to the way your brows furrowed, your hair clung to your sweaty forehead, your lips parted around soft gasps and whines. He felt his balls begin to tighten, threatening with his incoming release. He dropped his head upon your shoulder again, teeth biting at the bare skin he found. “My love, my lady, I'm close.”

“In… inside!” You managed to gasp.

That was all it took.

“You want me to cum inside, darling? Want me to fill you up and fuck you full of my seed?” The words were ragged as his hips stuttered, his hand sliding away from your jaw to clutch your hip. Robb squeezed your hand, and though his next words were spoken in a daze of lust, he meant them. “I can't wait to see you round with our babe. Let the whole North know you're mine.”

With a few punishingly hard thrusts, Robb stilled, and spilled inside of you. He felt your walls clench and spasm around him, a shrill cry falling from your lips as you met your orgasms together. He screwed his eyes shut, lips parted around gasping breaths and raspy moans. His hips stuttered as he rode out the waves of his climax, each pulse of his cock sending jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last spurts of his release dribbled out.

You were both panting, trembling with the aftermath of pleasure. Robb rolled his hips lazily, feeling his softening cock still nestled inside you. He could feel their combined releases starting to leak out around him, dribbling down your thighs. Marking you. Claiming you. He let go of your hip, hand propping himself up so he did not fully crush you with his weight. Nuzzling against the crook of your neck, he placed a reverent kiss to your skin.

“Are you alright, love?”

His question was almost laughable.

“Never better, husband. Only.. tired.”

Robb grinned against your neck, peppering kisses up the expanse of it until he met your jaw, your cheek, your forehead. “Well-spent, hm?” He hummed. He hissed as he slipped his softening cock out of you, rolling onto his back to gather you on his arms. He didn't miss the way you clenched your thighs together, an attempt at keeping his warm seed inside of you. It made his heart stutter, not entirely with lust, but hope. Hope that it would take.

“Sleep, wife,” he whispered, placing a final, lingering kiss upon your forehead as you rested on his chest. “I will be here when you wake.”

recently, you’d uncovered a different side to aerion. it was quite the shift. you were accustomed to his usual cocky, dominant, violent approach in bed — where, more often than not, he’d push you beyond your limits and leave you sore for days after. his needs fulfilled, and yours thoroughly forgotten.

yes, bedding your husband was pleasurable enough. sure, he’d bend your legs so far you’d fear they’d snap, and he’d bite so deep into your flesh that your blood would leave deep stains that wouldn’t come out in a wash. and yes, sometimes, he’d even trace his dagger’s edge along your stomach whilst he rutted into you, the one with the hilt embedded with a dragon.

but you were left satisfied, more or less. his cock would hit that spot inside of you without effort, and when he was feeling generous, he’d reach down to play with your clit and drag you to climax. and rarely, when he was in the mood, his tongue would bring you to the brink until you passed out.

but you weren’t really satisfied. something was missing.

after you’d ridden him for the first time, in which took much convincing, you’d uncovered a whole new side to him. to you.

that night, after you’d seen him like that for the first time — whining, at your mercy, pathetic — you knew what you’d been wanting deep down all this time.

and ever since then, you’ve been wanting that sight more and more.

“Fuck.. slow— slow down.”

His voice was strained, words coming shaky and harsh, like they were punched out of him with more effort than expected.

But you didn’t heed his demand. He was in no place to demand anything of you, not like this.

He was lay back against the pillows—silks of deep reds and blacks, the colours of his House. Fire and blood. Something to be feared, respected, obeyed.

It was a sweetly ironic sight.

His hands were everywhere, one clutching the thigh that bracketed his narrow hip, the other wandering your body - your tits, your stomach, your waist, your ass. It was as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Likely because he didn’t. How could he?

Your hips move without the grace or elegance expected of a princess, the wife of prince Aerion Brightflame. Instead, they are quick, filthy, determined to make your husband come undone with your pace.

It seems it’s working.

You tighten around him when his pelvis grinds against your clit when his hips buck to meet yours, and he chokes on the moan he emits. The sound is loud, and he pulls a swollen bottom lip between his teeth to muffle further sounds. Embarrassed.

Anger flashes behind his lust-filled eyes, and he finds himself trapped in the same inner war he is constantly confining himself into. Torn between his shameful, buried desire to submit to you, and the resentment towards his position.

He knows that later, when you are asleep beside him, utterly spent and exhausted, he will lie awake - hating himself, feeling shame burn unpleasantly in his stomach. For his vulnerability, letting someone see such a deep part of him he thought he’d never let see the light of day. He’ll reassure himself silently, that you are riding a dragon, he should feel accomplished. He hates it. Hates feeling lesser to anyone. He is the blood of the dragon.

But his body will always betray him.

He can’t help the whimper that wrenches out of him when you nip at his neck, your cunt fluttering around him, despite him biting his lip so hard that blood rises in his teeth’s wake. He can’t resist when your lips smash against his, his blood staining you. And when your tongue dances languidly with his, and his cock twitches inside of you, and he’s on the verge of cumming inside of you for the umpteenth time that night — it doesn’t matter anymore. His name, his blood.

When his seed fills your womb, and your cunt soaks him with your own release, and he can’t help but moan and writhe with the overstimulating pleasure when you keep moving, eyes rolling back into his skull, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

of course, this newfound taste for offering up his control of things has translated into other scenarios too.

wherein before, he’d have you pinned to the bed by your hips, his strong fingers holding you in place as his tongue ravaged your pussy, leaving you writhing and begging and thrashing. and cumming. lots and lots of cumming.

and whenever he sinks between your thighs now, which you’ve realised is somewhat more often (he thinks he’s being subtle), he’ll smirk smugly up at you - assuming it’ll go like it always does. you submitting to your dragon’s tongue, letting him decide when you finish and when you don’t, letting him speak filth to you.

but for some odd reason, one he just can’t figure out, it always goes differently once his tongue finally meets your cunt…

You’re on the verge of death, you’re sure.

You’ve already met your climax a good four times now, and you’ve got the proof to show for it. Your bare skin is covered in a coat of sweat, your chest rising and falling harshly with each intake of breath. Your stomach is tensing with the shocks of pleasure buzzing at your nerves, and your husband is still between your thighs.

“Aerion,” you push out, breathless and desperate. “Husband, that’s.. that’s enough now.”

Usually, he’d snap at you, tell you that he decides when you’re done. Or, more likely, he’d part from your cunt and climb up your body, ready to shove his cock inside and take you rough, like he always does.

But now? He just shakes his head, and tries to sink his tongue impossibly further into your hole - the guttural moan he lets out vibrating against you.

Your breath hitches, and the fingers that are buried in his pale hair tug slightly - and you slightly hope it might aggravate him a little, make him cease his ministrations as ‘punishment’. But he just grows deep in his chest, hips twitching against the bed, and his eyes roll back behind his eyelids.

Despite yourself, you let out a moan of your own. You love him like this. Desperate, needy, unlike himself.

And when his tongue drags up to flick at your clit, you decide a fifth peak wouldn’t hurt.

“One more,” He mutters, words slurred against your sex. His voice is still deep, still his, but it’s lilted with a whine at the end. It almost disarms you. Almost. Instead, you smile, and your fingers tug again at his hair. He grunts, and repeats, more high-pitched than before, “Give me one more.”

You nod, even though his eyes are closed blissfully, and silently part your trembling thighs more for him. A hint of a cramp curls in one - his broad shoulders keeping them parted uncomfortably.

It’s worth it when he sighs against you, furrowed brows relaxing, and tongue lapping at you with all the grace of a man starved.

And, despite your exhaustion, and frankly, your belief that you have no more orgasms left to offer - when he groans deep against you at the taste of your cum, and rags you harder against his face, you decide one more wouldn’t hurt.

You briefly wonder, amidst the throes of mind-numbing pleasure, when you’ll tell him to lie back, and seat yourself on his face.

Soon.

and finally, aerion has lost himself completely.

once he let you mount him for the first time, it was inevitable.

now he cannot crawl between your legs without turning into a green boy that paints his breeches white. pathetic. humiliating.

but now? you have completely stole him of everything he once prided himself of.

he cannot even fuck you like he once did.

he would hold your calves against his elbows, pushing them back, and his hips would snap against yours so aggressively that there are still dents in the wall from the headboard.

and he’d whisper pure filth in your ear, promising you his seed, vowing to paint you until you’re dripping with it for weeks, and even after that, he’ll keep going. all night, if he must. however long it takes.

now, things are different. he’s different. maybe he isn’t, not really. mayhaps he’s always been this way. mayhaps you have merely conditioned him to be like this. he supposes he’ll never have the answer to such intriguing queries - but he does detest the change so.

“Oh… that’s- fuck..”

Indeed.

Your husband is above you, elbows pressed against the mattress, either side of your head, and his biceps tense and strain with the labours.

His hips slap against yours, sloppy and nonsensical - different. His cock has been twitching since the moment he sank inside, and your thighs had wrapped around his narrow waist so perfectly.

“Yeah?” You whisper, the hand that’s holding the back of his neck pulling him down towards you. Your lips brush his cheekbone, and your eyes flutter when his hips dart forward faster. “Do you like that? Hm?”

He’s the one fucking you, he thinks, it should be him asking you that.

But it’s difficult to remember that when you clench around him so deliciously.

And instead of snapping at you, snarling and ripping at you, he just groans - deep and guttural - and nods. He fucking nods. Fury flares in his gut. Sorceress, you are. Come to steal his soul, a dragons magic, and leave him human and obeying.

He wants to hate you for it, to thrust harder, rougher, make you bleed and apologise, like he used to. But all he can do is sink his head into the crook of your neck when your fingers rake through his hair, nails tickling his scalp, and let you.

And where he used to bite, he now kisses, and where he used to dig his nails in, he now just grips to ground himself.

“Fuck— I can’t, I need..” His voice is sharp, words cracking and quick. He lifts his head from the safety of your neck, lidded eyes flitting down to where the two of you connect again and again and again and the sight is so lewd he’s already going to come-

“Aerion,” You moan, thighs twitching around him, pussy clenching. “Doing so good..”

He chokes out a garbled sound, brows pinching as he stares down at you, violet irises staring into yours. His hips stutter in their pace.

“I’m going to come.” He announces, rather loudly (you foolishly hope the guards outside didn’t hear that), and his tip hits that spongy spot inside your cunt so perfectly when his cock twitches.

You nod, your legs coming together harder around him, making it harder for him to actually keep up with his thrusts.

“Come inside of me.” You demand. You nod encouragingly again, willing him to continue. He stares down at you, fingers flexing beside you, pace growing more desperate.

His breath catches when you reach down to rub at your clit, and when you tighten around him impossibly more, he doubles over, face meeting the pillow, his nose against your cheek. His pathetic moans are hit against your skin.

“I’m.. oh— you’re going to make me-”

“Come.” You interrupt, nails digging into the back of his neck. “Give it to me, Aerion. Make a mess.”

Your face turns towards his, and his eyes barely open to meet yours. Your other hand reaches to hold his cheek - lovingly, softly, like you can.

“My dragon.”

And then he stuffs you full, coming undone with a cry that you muffle with your lips.

And it’s so filthy - his seed drips out of you, staining both your and his skin, the bed. Both of your bodies are slick with sweat, and your breaths are panted into the others, until you can’t decipher who’s is who’s.

And he’s looking at you, his pale lashes tickling your cheekbone with how tired he is. And for once, he doesn’t have it in him to rebuild his walls, reconstruct that facade of dominance.

A moment to seize is not to go to waste, you’ve gratefully learnt.

“Again,” You mutter. Your hips shift slightly to encourage him.

And, with a nudge of his nose against your skin, and the fluttering of his eyes, he shakily picks himself up again - already hardening inside of you again at just a mere demand.

He doesn’t know when this shift underwent. He hates it. Hates you for making him like this. Manipulating him, torturing him.

Yet, he finds himself seeking it out more and more, this, you. Don’t ask him to admit it though, because he likely will. (And regret it later).

the room is near stifling, air hot and humid. you're sitting atop aerion targaryen, cunt stretched open with his cock buried to the hilt. your hair has come down from the complicated mass of braids your handmaidens have put you in (aerion's choice, of course, as according to him, you looked like a true bride of a scion of old valyria this way) due to the tugging and pulling your husband had subjected it to.

the man in question is scowling impatiently and trying to rock his hips up into you, hands an iron-clad brand on your doughy hips.

“are you going to start moving before i regret letting you have your way tonight, wife? or shall i do the ardous task of bedding you, as i always do?”

bitch.

you respond by clenching down hard around him, prompting your husband's cock to twitch inside of you, groaning and cursing your name he throws his head back.

“if i recall correctly, you're the one that couldn't stop proclaming that i wouldn't be a true bride of the blood unless i were a dragonrider,” you emphasise your point by rolling your hips, “i am simply doing as you said.”

his eyes flash, and before he could throw you off of him and fuck you into the mattress with no regard for your pleasure, you start bouncing your hips, sheathing his cock in and out of you.

you set a brutal pace, the sharp smack of skin on skin echoing and ringing around your marital chambers. the pale white curls at the base of his cock provide a coy friction against your clit whenever you grind your hips forward on the downwards stroke, sending a shiver down the arch of your spine and a fresh gush of arousal whenever his cockhead stabs at the opening of your womb.

you wince in pain, the onerous task of chasing your own pleasure waylaid by the discomfort of your tits not having the steady support of your corset. aerion rectifies this, cupping both tits in his hands and squeezing. he leans down, letting his serpentine tongue curl around one of your nipples, sucking it into his warm, wet mouth. he moans around it, sucking harder when you tug at the silver blonde locks at the back of his head.

“i like you much better like this,” you comment, voice shaking, clutching his head to your breast, “so much quieter, more obedient.”

he glares up at you at this comment, closing sharp canines around the skin in his mouth and biting down, as if to prove that he wasn't cunt struck and fucked out. he fails miserably at this, as you're sure most of the wetness seeping out of you is his arousal, not yours.

“i–i am a dragon. the blood of old valyria. a prince of the realm. not some lowly stableboy a marcher lord's second daughter can fuck in a taver–” you cut him off, yanking his head back by the grip you have in his hair.

“yes, husband, we've long established that. why else would i be doing this; letting you carry out your purpose?”

you stress this point by sinking off of him, only leaving the very tip of his blushing red tip inside of you, slamming back down to take him to the hilt all at once. a strangled moan leaves your kiss-bitten lips, still tender from where aerion had dug his teeth into them.

“m–my purpose?” aerion manages to choke out. “and pray tell, what might that be?”

you lean forward, lips ghosting over his, and at this angle you manage to take his cock even deeper into you.

“to be mounted like the beast you are.”

and with that, he growls, finally readjusting his grip and fucking up into you with a newfound fury, intent on proving how hot his blood truly ran. you laugh in delight, only to be cut off by your own cry of pleasure as he thrusts directly into the sensitive spot inside of you, thumb snaking down to the limited space between your bodies to roll your pearl under his thumb.

you find yourself tipping closer to your climax, the rough treatment of your cunt sending dizzying shocks of pleasure to run through the entirety of your body. the man underneath you isn't faring much better, trying desperately to sniffle his pathetic whines and groans and failing atrociously.

your breaking point comes when aerion leans down and sucks a bouncing tit into his mouth the same time he pistons up into your cervix while looking up at you through watery pale blue eyes framed by even paler lashes stuck together by overwhelmed tears. you clench around the length of him, convulsing and throwing your head back, whining his name in an unbroken chant as you come, hips still rocking and trying to ride out your orgasm. aerion follows shortly after, spilling himself into you with a final, savage thrust, a guttural sob leaving his plush lips.

as you both lay panting in the aftermath, him buried in your chest, laving mindless kisses to the flesh and you running your fingers through his silvery white locks, you muse that mayhaps being a dragonrider wouldn't be such a bad past time if this was your mount.

the stone walls of the summerhall chambers are cool, but aerion’s skin feels like it is burning with a fever. he paces the length of the room, his eyes bright with a manic, violet light. you watch him from the window seat, a knot of dread tightening in your chest as he won’t slow down.

the moonlight catches the pale silver of his hair. he stops suddenly, turning to you with eyes that burn to your skin. he is beautiful in a way that feels dangerous, a jagged edge wrapped in velvet.

"it is the only way," he whispers, his voice low and vibrating with a strange energy. "the blood of the dragon runs thin in our veins. we are targaryens. we are shadows of what we should be. but i have found the key. wildfire. it is living flame, the purest essence of the old gods of valyria."

he stops in front of a small flagon, the green glow reflecting in his eyes. your hands tremble slightly as you reach out to him.

"aerion, please," you say softly. "fire doesn't make you a dragon. it only destroys. you are a prince of the realm, a man of flesh and blood. that is enough."

"they don't understand," he whispers, his voice a low, frantic rasp. "they look at me and see a prince, a son, a brother. but that is just the shell. the cocoon."

he scoffs, a sharp, jagged sound. "it's just not enough. i will drink it, and the transition will begin. the scales will grow, the wings will unfurl. i will be a god among men."

he turns to you, his expression softening into something terrifyingly tender. "and you will be by my side. we shall rule the skies together."

he moves toward you, sinking to his knees and resting his heavy head in your lap. you feel the heat radiating off him; he always feels as though he is running a fever. his fingers grip your wrists, not painfully, but with a desperate intensity. despite his words, you cant help yourself but run your fingers through his silver hair.

"the blood of the dragon runs thin in the others," he says, looking up at you. "it is a guttering flame in my brothers and my father. but in me, it is a roar. i have seen it in my dreams, the scales breaking through the skin, the wings tearing free. i am meant for the sky, not this damp, stone cage."

he reaches for the small, ornate vial on the table and lifts it up. the liquid inside is a swirling, sickly green, glowing faintly in the dim light. he looks at it with a reverence that makes your stomach turn.

"one sip," he breathes, his smile widening into something sharp and ecstatic. "that is all it takes to burn away the human dross. the fire will transform me. i will rise from the ashes, and you... you will be the first to see me in my true form, jorrāeliarzy."

he presses a dry, hot kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving the vial. he isn't looking at you anymore; he is looking through you, at a world where he is a god of fire, and the rest of the world is just tinder.

"soon," he promises against your skin. "soon, we will both be eternal. "

your heart hammers against your ribs. you catch on his last words, the way he linked your fates together. "you said we," you voice, barely audible. "you said we would be eternal. what do you mean by that?"

he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. the smell of expensive wine clings to him. his grip on your wrists tightens, pulling you flush against his chest so you can feel the frantic, uneven thrum of his heart.

"you think i would leave you behind in this rotting world?" he asks, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly sweet caress. "to grow old and grey while i move among the clouds? no. i have enough for both of us. i have spent hours calculating the measures."

he pulls back just enough to trail a thumb over your bottom lip, his expression one of haunting devotion.

"first, i will change. i will show you the way through the fire. and then, i will pour the rest down your throat myself. we will shed these useless skins together. you are mine, and you will share in my glory. we will both become the dragons we were born to be."

he looks at you with such pure, terrifying hope that it turns your blood to ice.

you pull your hands away from his, the heat of his skin suddenly feeling like a warning rather than a comfort. you stand up, creating distance between yourself and the glow of that green vial.

"no, aerion," you say, your voice firmer now. "i don't want that. i don't want to be a dragon, and i don't want to watch you turn into one."

he freezes, his expression flickering from ecstasy to a cold, sharp confusion. "you would choose to stay small? to stay mortal and weak when the sun is within your reach?"

"i choose to stay alive," you counter, looking him right in the eye. "and i want you to stay alive, too. if you love me, you’ll put the vial down. we can find another way to be great. one that doesn't involve burning everything we are to the ground."

he looks down at the liquid, then back at you, his jaw tight. the silence in the room feels heavy, stretched thin like a wire about to snap.

aerion’s smile is thin and sharp, like a blade cutting through the dimness of the room. he doesn't seem to hear your pleas. he only hears the phantom roar of wings that do not exist. his fingers twitch against the cool glass of the flagon, obsessed with the liquid inside.

"you say that because you are afraid," he murmurs, his voice airy and distant. "but fear is for the small. once the fire takes us, there will be no room for fear. only power."

you reach out, your fingers trembling as you cover his hand, trying to pull him back from the edge of the abyss.

"aerion, look at me," you whisper, your voice cracking. "this is madness. fire doesn't create life, it consumes it. if you drink that, there will be nothing left of you."

he let out a jagged, airy laugh, his eyes darting to yours. they are unfocused, dancing with the reflection of the emerald liquid. "you speak like a craven," he murmurs, though he doesn't pull away. "you see the flame and fear the burn. i see the flame and see my birthright."

he moves with a sudden, jerky grace, lifting the flagon before you can snatch it from his grip.

"you leave me no choice then." he tilts your head back as you try to pull away from his grasp. he grabs your jaw and forces your mouth open before slipping the potion past your lips.

"just take it, jorrāeliarzy", he whispers into your ear, "it'll be over soon. do you feel anything yet?"

tears begin to stream down your face. his tongue darts out to catch your tears from falling, and he closes his eyes as if to savor the saltiness of your tears.

suddenly, he takes a step back and lets you go.

you reach out, your fingers brushing his silk sleeve, but he is already tilting his own head back and opening his mouth.

he swallows. once. twice.

for a heartbeat, silence hangs heavy in the air. aerion drops the flagon, and it shatters against the stone floor, the remaining dregs hissing like a dying snake. he stands tall, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and searching the ceiling as if waiting for the rafters to part for his ascent.

"i feel it," he gasps, his hands clawing at his throat. "the heat... the transformation... do you feel it too?"

then, the light in his eyes simply goes out. the manic energy vanishes, replaced by a terrifying blankness. his knees buckle, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. you spring forward, catching him before his head cracks against the stone, pulling his limp body into your lap.

he doesn't sprout scales. he doesn't breathe fire. he is just a man, pale and shivering, as the toxins in the draught shut his body down. his breathing is shallow, and his skin, once so hot with fever, turns clammy and cold.

"aerion?" you whisper, shaking his shoulders, but his head only lolls back against your arm. he has fainted, drifting into a dark stupor far away from the golden dream of dragons.

you are left in the flickering candlelight, holding a fallen prince in a room that smells of burnt chemicals on a heap of broken glass.

Your fingers had twisted into the silks of the extravagant dress you had been made to wear in hopes of making a good first impression. Though he has seen you many times before this—at the tourneys, at a few luncheons, at the bigger parties and social gatherings that were in your standing to attend—hardly making this a first impression. But you suppose somewhere in that romantic heart of yours you had wanted to look good. Look good for him.

The walk had been excruciatingly silent and perspiration had bloomed on your brows though you couldn't be sure if it was from the long walk under the blazing sun, your heavy garments that dragged behind you , or from the imposing man that walked just a few steps ahead of you .

You must have been too busy checking your footing and regathering your skirts as they kept slipping from your sweaty grasp, because you entirely missed him glance back at you and take note of your exhaustion.

So when he abruptly sat down under the shade of one large tree , you mistook it as him suffering similarly under the sun and hot weather. You were grateful to follow his cue nonetheless, settling beside him with a careful distance between him and your skirts.

"You are not mute"

his abrupt words startled you as turned to him hastily, "My prince?"

He hummed as he gazed off into the distance, eyes squinted from the contrasting brightness from under shade and the scorching rays just beyond.

"Tell me about yourself, so that I know it isn't silence that will accompany me for the rest of my life." Your cheeks had flushed from the nakedness of his speech and your first words had stuttered, but when he continued to stare at the gardens before you both, your sentences had flowed more freely.

First you told him about your hobbies—the responses taught to you since you could conjured sentences, answers deemed appropriate for friends and suitors alike. Then you spoke of your interests that were truly yours , not the ones that were expected of a lady—reading. That was when he glanced at you for the first time with something other than disinterest.

And the next time you both were made to cross paths, he hadn't greeted you empty handed. You had stayed up all night that night, as you read every line twice of the 'art of disarming your opponent'. And sure enough, he had successfully managed to disarm you.

Your courtship wasn't labelled nor was it grand. It flowed like a river—naturally, at its own pace and without any external influence. But it wasn't cool to the touch.

He was merciless , arrogant about his skills to a fault. But you couldn't bring yourself to deny him the praise that was due to him. He truly was magnificent when he had the twin swords in his strong grip, feet steady as he swayed to the melody of the clanging of steel and heavy thumps of bodies hitting the ground. The haunting melody that you grew more fond of day by day.

He was fiery, a Targaryen. And this realisation dawned on you the more you watched him train. He breathed fire, true to the blood of the dragon that flowed in his veins.

And that fire consumed you. Yet it never burned you. Because, you realised, his fire always mellowed out when he was with you.

It wasn't hardness that greeted you when his lips met yours. It wasn't bruises that painted your skin when his fingers found your waist.

And it wasn't shame that you felt when he took your innocence on your wedding night.

What overcame you was love and pride. Happiness to belong to someone whose sharp edges never dug into you.

He was mad though—you could attest to it. Absolutely mental .

Because it is only a madman who trains a lady in the art of swords and knives. Not just any lady, his wife.

But Aerion Targaryen personally taught you how to grab the hilt, how to twist the blades just right so that it doesn't face resistance against bone, and which parts of the body to strike so that it pierces right through the flesh and sinew.

He was unforgiving in his training, dressing you up in his own trousers and shirts which hung off your frame. He insisted that the dragon's wife , should be a dragon in her own right. You would curse him in your head , when your muscles protested and sweat made the cotton cling to your back.

But when his sword would clang to the stone floor and his fingers would sneak around your waist pulling you flush against him, you would forget all about your anger and fire. He didn't mind the sweat and the dust and grime. He would bury his nose against your neck and inhale as if he would suffocate without you and your scent was the only air his body would accept.

In those moments he wouldn't be the cruel general or the ruthless prince that the court whispered of , he was just your husband. Your protector and your guide. Your mentor too.

And you were his anchor. Or perhaps the sandstone—smoothening his edges and holding him down so that he didn't lose himself.

He wasn't inhumane. He was angry. Angry at the world that belittled him and looked down on him at every turn. Thought him undeserving of his name and refused to acknowledge his efforts. So he learnt to desensitise himself. He learnt to be secure in himself and his abilities. And you couldn't find fault with a man who was the epitome of confidence and regality.

He wasn't religious, but he would accompany you to your prayers.

He wasn't soft, but he would never hesitate to stop when your body betrayed you, no matter if it was in training or in the bedchamber.

He wasn't romantic , but he would stay seated with his arms wrapped around your waist, nose buried in your neck as you would read to him.

And when you looked at him in the nights—when the candlelight softened the sharper lines of his face and his long hair framed his features in waves of spun gold— you only saw your husband. The man who wasn't afraid to defy norms. The man who knew loyalty. The man who wasn't afraid that his woman might betray him and had willingly put a sword in her hands. The man who had given you his heart.

There was much too many things he wasn't .

But he was yours— bound to you in body, mind and heart. So you accepted him in his entirety.

His cruelty, his madness and his ruthlessness.