you think that you are sooo good at hiding the fact that you like missionary and prone bone because of the way that john is pressing against you—crushing you with his weight, and rutting the two of you on the bed in a messy tangle of salt and warmth —until john finally croons at you about it. he praises you, says how you are so cute in the way that your body is anticipating the drop of john's weight—cunt clenching around him even tighter, your moans splintering into shattered rasps of john's name.
the denial comes quick. "no- john, i-"
john tells you that you don't have to deny it. that you don't have to lie.
"i love it," john murmurs, a satisfied preen coating his words. he nuzzles his scruff against your shoulder, nipping at his baby's flushed skin because vulnerability is closing in. "i love how you love my body, baby."
you cry, cumming weakly at john's confession and throughout the tremors overtaking you, john holds you tight. he humps into you shallowly, trying to coax one more orgasm, and you do give a weak squirt just as his cum fills you, and it is thick and hot and delicious.
he slides his hand down to cup your gut, fingers dimpling your skin. "there," he rumbles. "now you're full too."
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Summary: Request: Ive seen fic where Jack x reader had cryptic pregnancy but they found out about it later when she was like 6 months in? and I think it would be more interesting if reader would have her normal shift and goes into labor without knowing she is pregnant (babygirl bc jack would be such a great girl dad🥹)
TW: Cryptic pregnancy, birth
You always hated pulling mid-shifts. It was never easy on your sleep schedule. Too early for night shift, too late for day shift. You weren’t surprised when you woke up feeling off. Jack was still very much asleep.
“Call in.” He grumbled, pulling you closer before you could escape.
“I can’t. My boss will kill me.” You chuckled.
“I’m your boss. It’s fine.” He kissed your shoulder.
“Dana and Lena are my boss. They will be pissed. I’m telling them you think you’re the boss, by the way.” You wiggled out of his grasp.
The only good part of working in the middle of two shifts, was getting to see everyone. And the fact that you came in when everyone had claimed patients, so you got to start slow.
“Hey, sweetheart. You look a little pale? You doing okay?” Dana watched you flop into the seat next to her.
“Just tired. And achy. Must be getting my period soon.” You sighed.
“Take it easy if you need to. Don’t run yourself into the ground.” She gave you a stern look over the top of her glasses.
“Yeah, yeah.” You smiled.
The day seemed to crawl by. The cramps were getting worse and worse. You’d always had bad cramps, to the point you thought you might have endometriosis. They never found anything. But it was starting to get out of hand.
You ignored it and kept pushing through the pain. You just had to get through a few more hours. You groaned as you saw Jack walk in. He was going to see right through you.
“Whoa. You look like shit.” He said walking up to you.
“Charming.” You snapped.
“I’m serious. You don’t look good at all. What’s going on?” He put a hand on the small of your back.
“Just cramps. And nausea. But that’s because of the cramps.” You shook your head.
“Honey-”
“Jack, I have a few more hours and then I can go home and relax. Let me get through this.” You sighed.
“Fine. Fine. But if it gets worse, I’m calling it. Understood?” He pointed at you.
“You just get off by being in charge.” You rolled your eyes.
“Bet your sweet ass I do.” He smirked.
“Keep it professional, for god sake.” Dana scoffed.
The shift slowly progressed. It was a glacier pace. You were really starting to feel like shit. Once a patient noted how sweaty and pale you were, you knew you couldn’t fight it anymore.
“Dana, where’s Jack?” You leaned over the counter, the pain too much to stand up and bear.
“Finishing up in trauma one. Sweetheart, you have to sit down.” She rushed over to your sweaty form.
“No, I won’t get back up.” You waved her off. “I just need Jack-”
“Jesus, fuck!” Jack barked as he ran over to you. “Honey! You’re off the floor. Dana what’s open?”
“Room 2. I’ll send Robby your way.” She ushered you toward the room.
“It got so bad I couldn’t move for a second.” You leaned into Jack’s side for support.
“You should have gotten me before it got this bad.” He criticized.
“I know. I thought it was nothing.” You whined as you sat on the bed. “My hips are killing me.”
“Let’s get you in a gown.” Jack said, helping you strip your scrubs off.
“I hate being the patient.” You mumbled as he tied the back of the gown closed.
“No one likes it.” He kissed your cheek.
“Knock, knock.” Robby entered the room with a sympathetic smile. “Oh, yeah. Dana was not exaggerating.”
“Keep your comments on my appearance to yourself, Robinavitch.” You hissed.
“Sorry.” Robby put his hands up. “Tell me what’s going on?” He snapped on his gloves.
“Abdominal pain, nausea, sweating. It comes and goes, but it’s getting worse.” You groan as he presses on your belly.
“Definitely guarding. Ever had your appendix removed?” He asked.
“No. You think it’s my appendix?” You sat up.
“Could be. We’ll get some blood work going and I’d like to do an ultrasound. Any chance you could be pregnant?” Robby looked between you and Jack.
“I doubt it, but you should probably check.” You sighed.
“I appreciate the honesty. I’ll be back once we have results.” Robby nodded.
“Hey, Rockstar, gonna get your blood going.” Perlah came in.
“Full panel, please.” Robby ordered.
“You got it.” Perlah smiled as she set up her station.
“You have patients to look after.” You looked up at Jack.
“They can hold down the fort without me. Shen’s got it.” Jack said, pulling the chair closer to your bed.
“Let us take care of you.” Perlah gave you a stern look.
“Alright, I concede. I don’t have the fight in me anyway.” You gave a half-hearted laugh.
The pain only increased as you waited for blood work. Robby had apologized for the wait on the ultrasound as a trauma had come in. You were curled in a ball, panting and sweating. Jack was getting more and more anxious, more and more angry at the wait.
“That’s it.” He growled as he jumped up and stormed out of the room. “Robinavitch!” He barked.
“Jack. I was just on my way over. I’m sorry.” Robby sighed, seeing the red growing on Jack’s face.
“She’s in a ball, shaking in pain! Get a move on!” Jack stomped back to the room.
“Yelling never makes anything faster.” You grumbled.
“Worth a try.” Jack sighed.
“Sorry for the wait!” Robby came in with the ultrasound machine.
“Get to it, Robby.” Jack snapped.
“Relax.” You shot him a look.
“Hey, Robby!” Perlah came running in with a tablet in hand. “Her blood work just got back. You need to take a look.” She handed him the tablet.
“What’s wrong?” Jack sat up, taking your hand. He knew that if a nurse was worried, it was bad.
“Oh. Okay. Wow.” Robby cleared his throat.
“It’s cancer. I’m dying. I knew it!” You groaned.
“Not cancer. You’re pregnant.” Robby said.
“What!?” You and Jack looked at each other in shock.
“What’s the hcG?” Jack swallowed, trying to get his voice to work.
“Well…117,000. With, it looks like, an increased blood volume.” Robby said.
“What are you saying?” You asked him, getting frustrated by the coy nature of his demeanor.
“By the looks of your blood work, and I have to confirm with an ultrasound, I’d say you’re full term.” Robby watched the color drain from your face.
“Hold on!” Perlah shouted, grabbing an emesis bag and shoving it at your face just in time for you to vomit.
“No way. That’s not possible. She doesn’t even look pregnant!” Jack ran a hand through his curls.
“Everyone breathe. Let’s look at the ultrasound before we panic.” Robby rolled the ultrasound next to the bed.
“I would have known. Right?” You looked up at Jack.
“I mean…cryptic pregnancies happen. I don’t know.” He shook his head.
“Gel is gonna be cold.” Robby warned as he spread the gel on your belly. He pressed the wand into your belly, scanning and typing. His face remained neutral, not even an eyebrow twitch.
“What’s it look like?” You asked.
“Good news, the baby looks healthy. I don’t see any abnormalities. Potentially bad news, I think you’re in active labor.” Robby moved the screen to show you and Jack. “That is a head down, full-term fetus.”
“Holy shit.” You mumbled.
“I don’t…we…um…” Jack fell back into his seat.
“I can’t imagine the shock you two are going through right now. But I’m going to need to call OB down. They’ll want a pelvic exam. I can do it or I can get McKay to. Up to you.” Robby said.
“McKay.” You said, a far-off look in your eye.
“Try to remember to breathe.” Robby said as he got up and left.
“You two are going to be okay. Even the most prepared parents are surprised. Don’t worry.” Perlah gave your hand a squeeze before running out of the room.
“Holy shit.” You mumbled again.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, finally back in his body.
“No. Not even a little. I just found out that I’m about to push a bowling ball out of my body and I didn’t even know it was there! Oh my god! Jack! I drank! I drank so much wine!” You gasped.
“I know, it’s okay. We didn’t know.” Jack tried to get you to calm down.
“Jack, we smoked so much weed! It was so much!” You started to cry.
“Baby! It’s alright! We’ll figure this out! Right now, my priority is keeping you safe. That’s what we’ll worry about first.” Jack squeezed your hand.
“How could I not know? It’s my body. I just…I don’t understand.” You tried to take a deep breath.
“Some women don’t experience any symptoms. It’s not unheard of.” Jack was just as confused as you, but he had decided that didn’t matter.
“I’m so fucking scared.” You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.
“I know. Me too.” He kissed your hand. The knock at the door made you both wince with anticipation.
“Hey, you crazy kids. Robby filled me in.” McKay came in, snapping on gloves.
“No one gets to use me for a research paper.” You huffed.
“Wasn’t even gonna ask.” McKay chuckled. “I’ll do a quick pelvic exam, see how far along you are. When you’re ready, let me know.”
“J-Just a second! Shit!” You groaned.
“Um, remember to breathe.” Jack took your hand, letting you crush it.
“Fucking stupid thing to say!” You growled.
“Sorry.” His voice came out strained as he tried not to wince at the pain in his hand.
“Focus on breathing out. Focus on one breath at a time.” McKay put hand on your thigh.
“Shit. Okay. Okay. It’s over.” You breathed out.
“Ready?” McKay asked.
“Sure.” You sighed.
“Let’s get those knees up, great. Deep breath, lots of pressure.” She said as she started her exam.
“Pressure. They always say pressure.” You squeezed your eyes shut.
“O-kay! You are fully dilated!” She pulled her hand back and snapped off her gloves.
“What!?” You barked. “No way!”
“Yes way. I just felt the head.” She said, jumping up and running to the door.
“This can’t be happening!” You groaned.
“It’s going to be okay.” Jack brushed the sweaty hair from your face.
“I need a BOA kit and some hands!” McKay called out into the hall.
“I can’t do this, Jack! I’m not prepared for this!” You panted.
“Honey, you don’t have a choice.” Jack said.
“Not helpful!” You snapped.
“Honey, you’re going to do this because you have to. I know you and I know you can do this. There isn’t anything you can’t do when you put your mind to it.” Jack kissed your cheek.
“What a show, Rockstar! You are never living this one down.” Perlah came in laughing.
“OB is on their way, not sure they’ll make it.” Robby came in and grabbed a gown from Perlah.
“No! Not you! Absolutely not!” You barked.
“An attending has to be present for births. You know that.” Robby said.
“I have one! Jack!”
“He’s the father, he doesn’t count. I’m a professional. I’m not phased by this.” Robby sighed.
“Super. I am!” You groaned. “Fuck!”
“Baby, let him do it! It’s him or Shen.” Jack told you.
“Fucking fine!” You whined.
“Okay! Let’s get the bed ready. Is the warming station set up?” Robby snapped on his gloves.
“Got it!” Donnie wheeled in the warming station.
“No more boys! No boys!” You hollered.
“Thank you, Donnie. Go ahead and let everyone know this is a female only room.” Robby instructed.
“You got it.” Donnie scurried out of the room.
McKay and Perlah helped set up the bed. Putting your feet into the stirrups. They covered your body in blue drapes.
“Okay, when you feel the next contraction, put your chin to your chest push.” McKay instructed.
“You make it sound so easy.” You whined.
“You can do this.” Jack leaned in close, his hand firmly in yours.
As pain hit you groaned, tucking your chin to your chest and pushing. This was certainly not how you thought the shift would end.
“Good! Really good job! Lots of progress.” McKay cheered.
“Oh my god, I don’t want to do this!” You sobbed.
“Honey, look at me,” Jack cupped your cheek and turned your head so you were forced to make eye contact. “I know this is scary. I know that you’re in pain. I wish I could fix it, I can’t. But I know you are braver than you realize. Just a little more effort and then it’s over. Okay?”
“You’re getting snipped after this!” you cried.
“Anything for you.” Jack smiled. He shot a glare at Robby who failed to muffle his laughter.
“The heads out, just a few more pushes.” McKay told you.
“Oh god!” You cried.
“You’re doing great.” Jack said.
“Stop saying that! Say literally anything else!” You groaned.
“Sorry, I wasn’t really prepared for this either.” Jack sighed.
“Fuck you!”
“Yeah, that’s right, fuck me. Go with that!” Jack cheered.
“What!?” You looked at him confused.
“Curse! Swear! It’s good for you. It doesn’t bother me if you tell me to fuck off.” He smiled.
“Get fucked!” You screamed as you pushed.
“You’re doing great! Keep going!” Jack kissed your cheek.
“Fuck this!!” You screeched.
Out in the treatment area, everyone had turned to face the screaming. The nurses looked at each other with confused faces.
“Should we…tell them to stop?” Shen looked to Dana.
“You want to go in there and tell that woman to keep it down?” Dana cocked an eyebrow.
“Absolutely not. She scares me on a good day.” Shen scoffed.
“Anyway, that’s a valid response. I did that twice and I knew what was coming and I was traumatized. Can’t imagine what she’s feeling.” Dana shook her head.
There was so much noise in the room. From the monitors to the people talking. It was pissing you off.
“One more big push!” McKay told you.
“You said that two pushes ago!” You growled.
“Come on, deep breath. Let’s finish this.” Jack nodded.
You gave one last heaving push, screaming your baby into the world. Her cries made your breath stutter in your chest.
“It’s a baby girl!” McKay cheered.
“She’s okay?” You panted.
“As far as we can tell.” Robby smiled down at the bundle. McKay put the baby on your chest.
“Holy shit.” You couldn’t breathe, you were so stunned. Your arms immediately came up to hold her. “Jack!”
“I know.” He sniffled.
“Hi, little one. What a way to enter the world.” You cooed to the baby.
“That was a hell of a surprise.” Jack cupped the baby’s head.
“I can’t believe I just had a baby.” You laughed, tears streaming down your face.
“You’re amazing. That was…fucking incredible.” Jack beamed down at you and the baby.
“Okay, little one. Let’s get you checked out.” Perlah lifted the baby from your chest, taking her to the warmer.
“Everything looks good.” McKay helped the nurses clean you up and get you comfortable. “Placenta is going down to pathology, just to be safe.”
“Sounds good.” You yawned.
“Tired?” Jack chuckled.
“Beyond.” You nodded.
“We’re going to send her to the nursery for monitoring. You’ll be able to get some rest soon.” Robby said.
“Are you okay for a minute? I just realized I haven’t clocked out.” Jack stood up.
“Yeah, I think the excitement is over for now.” You nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” He kissed you and left the room.
The door closed behind him, and he bent over, hands on his knees, gulping air. His face was red and eyes wide. Dana and Shen watched, unsure what was happening.
“Holy fuck. I have a baby. I have a daughter.” Jack stuttered.
“Uh-oh.” Dana rushed over. “Jack, take a deep breath. Sit down.” She pulled him over to the closest chair.
“I-I don’t know what to do. I don’t have a crib. I don’t even have a car seat! How am I getting her home!?” Jack was panicking. This was a new sight for the staff, used to the steadfast Dr. Abbot.
“Relax. They’re going to be here for a few days. Plenty of time to get the essentials.” Shen put a hand on his shoulder.
“Donnie has agreed to give you guys some hand-me-downs to tide you over. We’re going to get you two sorted. Don’t you worry.” Dana nodded.
“Right. Okay.” Jack cleared his throat.
“You can do this.” Dana could see the panic lingering.
“Ya know the funny thing is, we just started talking about kids. Agreed to start trying soon.” Jack huffed.
“Universe called your bluff.” Shen chuckled.
“I married a superhero.” Jack took a deep breath, looking toward your room.
“Yeah, you did. Get back in there. She’s freaking out still, I’m sure. Go freak out together.” Dana patted his back.
Jack took a deep breath. Stood up and walked back into the room. The sight he was met with almost made him drop to his knees. You were holding your little girl, your gown pulled down so she was skin-to-skin and humming to her.
“Steady on, Jack.” Robby gave his shoulder a pat.
“Wh-when are they going upstairs?” Jack cleared his throat, trying to stay present.
“Soon. They’re getting a room ready. We’re getting her some formula ready.” Robby said.
“Right here.” Perlah came waltzing in with a bottle. “A bottle of PTMC’s finest for the newest member.”
“Thank you.” You chuckled, taking the bottle.
“Donnie is giving us some things to help us out.” Jack sat next to the bed.
“That’s nice of him.” You hummed. The baby latched onto the body like she was angry about it. “Got your dad’s appetite.”
“Poor thing.” Jack huffed. “I’ll go out and get a car seat tomorrow. And a crib.” Jack ran a hand through his curls.
“She’ll have to sleep with us until we get the office converted.” You said.
“Shit, yeah. Didn’t think about that.” He bit his lip. “Once you two are settled, I’ll head home and get some of our things.”
“Make sure you don’t forget my socks. My feet are going to be freezing up there.” You handed the empty bottle to Jack, who set it aside on the table and grabbed a towel from the cabinet and draped it on your shoulder so you could burp the baby.
“Look at you two. Already in sync.” Perlah chuckled.
“We’re always in sync.” You smile.
“Don’t forget to think of a name at some point.” Perlah said. “I’m going to give you three some space. Holler if you need me.” She said, ushering everyone out of the room.
“She deserves a raise.” You chuckled.
“She makes a good point. She needs a name.” Jack leaned against the railing, watching the baby squirm in your arms.
“Got any ideas?” You asked.
“Nope.” He sighed.
“What about…Felicity? She feels like good luck.” You kissed the top of your baby’s head.
“Felicity. Yeah, I like it. Felicity Abbot. Sounds like a badass hero.” Jack smiled, running a finger along the baby’s chubby cheek.
Eventually, you and the baby were transferred to the postpartum recovery ward. The second everyone left the room, you passed out. Jack decided to swing by the nursery before he went back to the house.
“Dr. Abbot, did you want to see your girl?” One of the nurses smiled up at him.
“Yeah, I just wanted a second with her.” Jack nodded. The nurse led him over to the bassinet where the baby lay.
“Technically, I’m not supposed to let you back here. Don’t take too long.” The nurse said s she walked off.
“Hi, Felicity. Hi, baby.” He picked her up, cuddling her close.
The baby squirmed for a minute before settling in his arms. She looked up at him, her little eyebrows furrowed as she tried to understand him.
“We might not have been prepared for you, but you are going to be so loved. We’re going to make sure you are so happy.” He kissed the soft curls on her head.
summary: based on this ask. when Maekar had had enough of having to share you, as he has with every other, a very fussy baby Aegon does not quite like the idea, until he takes it into his own hands.
pairing: maekar targaryen x wife!reader
warning(s): SMUT, mention of pregnancy, slight angsty maekar, mention of childbirth, pinv, lactation kink, oral (fem! receiving) bitter sweetness (maekar being a grump but loving all in one okay)
word count: 2.8k
a/n: this took a while to get out but i’m on a roll now my loves, a holiday and tiredness in the way i don’t want to burn myself out so i can keep creating. and it served me well, i hope you enjoy !! 💗
He was not a selfish man, he was certain of it.
Maekar was perfectly stern, honourable and—
“For Seven sake.”
“Hush you’ll only make him worse.”
The wail shook the chambers, a piercing cry reaching your ears just as you had settled for bed. Much like every child you brought into the world, you had ordered that the cradle should be at your bedside and with you, not in another maid’s solar, both because you wanted them close, and that another wouldn’t have to deal with such noise. Noise that was yours to endure.
Your husband protested of course, he may as well have grumbled in misery every step into your solar as you carried the small bundle in your arms with a proud smile on your face. Though it did not last long, not when you shot him a look.
Aegon. Your final child, you were certain of it this time, but your youngest boy at that. And even Maekar couldn’t resist the tenderness that planted in his chest with every child that you brought into the world. For this one he only prayed to the Seven he would be just, kind, gentler and perhaps less unusual than the others.
You were sure he would be, even with the loud cries he intended on letting out whenever leaving your side, or at times of rest, or when everyone else was determined to bask in the quiet. Rather any time.
Maekar only rolled his eyes, the arm that was curled tightly around you, holding you snug to his chest flexed and eased over and over. You tired to stay quiet, let it pass you by, but it was safe to say, neither of you had slept that night. Waking the next day had been less graceful than you had hoped, with your eyes barely opening, and yawns following one after the other, you had alone exhausted and in a haze.
Even the kiss Maekar left at your lips that morning was sloppy and sharp, a scowl on his lips already prepared for his daily duties, and for whatever poor squire or lord was on the receiving end. Though never for you, so much as he could help it.
He couldn’t entirely complain. The gift of a new child was just that, a blessing, and one he treasured just as much as you did.
And seeing you in the glow with his child, much less after, to him made you impossibly more beautiful than you were already. Ethereal, round and full of him, holding a such grace and a power, it filled his chest with a sense of pride and adoration that no one else managed to fulfil. The knowing of your shared union, and the arrival of a new babe.. all to be loved on and cherished.
And he did, more than anything else.
Though in such moments, he wondered if peace, if a moment with you alone would ever happen at all.
——
The morning had passed by rather unceremoniously in the Red Keep, ladies pandering to you and the children as the day fell into its chaos. ‘Court nonsense’ as your husband had called it, dragging you and your family back into King’s Landing.
It had welcomed you, as did the common folk as well as your kin. Daeron and Myriah, as you had known to call them without title, rushing to your wife’s alongside your brother in law and nephews with a loving embrace.
Even Maekar had cracked a smile at their presence, the distance of Summerhall a distant memory as he was once again, at home.
“Well you’ve had four already, it couldn’t be that awful.” The gentle complacency of Baelor’s voice broke him from his thoughts, the bright gleaming of the sun shining bright and brazen in his face. They had taken their round of the gardens in short break from council, a few paces amid some greenery like they did when they were just boys, with no worries at all it seemed.
A moment passed and his eyes flicked over to his brother, stopping just short in his step. He recollected his words, opening and closing his mouth in a groan.
“Right. Yes, I know.. but.”
“But nothing, it is the way of it is it not.” Baelor turned on his heel, a stern, wanting glance beneath the lighthearted curve of his lips.
He knew he was right. He was anything apart of it if any, the main perpetrator for doing this to you, to you both. The mere thought made him hot under the collar, breezing past swiftly as Baelor followed idly, catching up.
“It is. I just do not see how a child must be so fussy.” He reasoned.
“Well if he is anything like you were brother.” His voice trailed off into a small smirk, meeting a known and expected glare.
“Children are likely to be attached to their mothers, he is a mere few weeks old.” Baelor continued, reasoning just the same.
He did not say anything else, allowing the words sink in. And instead of arguing, he sat with it, no protest, no anger, only guilt. He wasn’t to rush you, or to feel a sense of malice towards his own child, but he wanted you, a moments peace, a moment alone, that’s all he asked for. Even to hold you, to simply sit beside you and fall into you as you once did..
——
Maekar found you in the solar, the silent corridor the furthest away from court and council. Long, tiresome strides, moving their way to the door find an unusual quiet.
So quiet it had put him on edge. The usual clatter of cups and small, playful shouts around the room had grown silent.
The corridor to your chambers, was still guarded, Goldcloaks standing dutifully unaffected, broken only from the heavy patter of his boots, and the swing of the door opening. Anything could have happened, and it was in his mind to worry, especially with the new hearty wails that followed after you. Usually you were with the children in the afternoon, overseeing their lessons.
And you were. In a more compliant and less raucous room.
Instead of wooden swords flying clashing and maids running, they went about their business, gathering parchment and ink for the older children, collecting wooden toys from the floor just for them to be grabbed out again. A sight much different from home.. And Aegon.. He sat on your lap, happy as he could possibly be, a small smile on his face as you patted the silken tufts of silver hairs at his head.
Pairs of little eyes peered up at him as he stepped through the room, a steady hand patting Aerion on the back as he held the quill in his hands, already bored out of his mind, Daeron at the opposite side given a gently glance, near falling asleep at the septa’s words being read to him.
Aemon and Daella played on the floor, chasing one another about at the hands of a rather frazzled chambermaid, he snickered to himself as he started for you. A softer look graced his features one opposing the stark, striking annoyance he normally wore, and did moments earlier.
He breathed deeply, alas.
And the babe had stopped crying.
Maekar showed just behind you on the chaise. Fingers bracing at the back of plush, golden cushions with a deep breath, the sight and odd silence brining his shoulders to sag.
“When are they ever this quiet?”
“Almost never.. especially this one. The septa’s seem to be rather strict.” You turned from where you sat, brushing a finger to tap at Aegon’s nose, meeting his gaze slowly blinking open.
“Mhm. A good thing.”
He leaned over, as you nodded, sinking down toward you a mere few inches, about to press a kiss to your forehead, just enough to breathe you in. And such silence was broken.
It may as well have been on purpose. Though his eyes were closed, Aegon shifted, wincing and curling in your grip, a gummy soft smile turning into an uncomfortable grimace, cries beginning to ring in your ears.
He pressed one to your head carefully, curling an arm around you both as the maids came rushing to your side, as he rubbed a hand over his face, standing just behind. Though it wasn’t just for him, he watched the way your face paled, the way you rocked him encouragingly, urging him to calm, and yet he did not.
It wasn’t just his own selfishness, you deserved a break, a rest from all of this.
And he was determined to grant you it.
——
The feast had gone splendidly. The usual banter and clattering of cups had made itself central to the noise in the Great Hall, a glow of smiling faces settled around the high table and at either of your sides. The Good King Daeron had made his rounds, your mother in law and Queen, Myriah, dutifully at his side with a grin just as wide, winking at you from across the space with little Aegon in your arms. The children had enjoyed themselves also, chasing about their cousins at the stumbling feet of dancing lords and ladies.
Only a few scolds were uttered from you and your husband the whole night. One to Aerion who had pushed Aemon into stealing treats from the feasting table, another to Daeron who tipped over someone’s pitcher of ale, and one more to Aerion who threw insults at his youngest brother. Something about his balding head. ‘Homeless he looks like.’ That one was received by Maekar, sending Aerion firm and head bowed into the chair beside him.
Daella, only just past her second nameday, lay in her fathers arms most of the evening, small fists curling into her fathers beard, and he took it with it flinching. The sight made your heart swell, and with a turn of his head, Maekar could have said the same for you and your youngest. Though every chance he happened to look your way, even with the heartfelt coos of his cousins and guest ladies around him, he still fussed in your arms.
He would have sworn by the seven, he was determined, whenever it were possible, to take it out on whoever was around, if indeed in his father’s presence. You’d have thought him mad, in fact anyone might have, but he couldn’t have cared less, small fists balled before his eyes, even with the sweetest most gentle look on his face.
“A troublemaker hm?” A voice called from beside you, both you and Maekar turning to look.
Baelor.
Ever the graceful presence moved into the empty chair beside you, a small smile appearing at his lips as Aegon babbled in your arms. Maekar only scoffed watching his brother, turning away, the many conversations they’d had already.
“The sixth one it seems.”
Baelor hummed, huffing a chuckle as he looked between you.
“Sixth? This is only— ” Maekar snapped up between you, grimacing in confusion.
“That’s right. All the children follow after you.”
The pair of you may as well have been out to get him together, your words mingling into one as he recalled the conversation he’d had with his brother not long ago.
Followed after him, yeah right.
“Well indeed he takes after you both,” Baelor changed the conversation lightheartedly, feeling the tension build as Maekar’s hands flexed. Harmless really, there was no real offence taken, but he still couldn’t shake the angst that lingered.
“He does indeed have your nose.” He stood beside you, gentle fingers stroking over Aegon’s head as he kissed the crown of yours, back straightening just as his father had called him over, a round of lords meeting his proper gaze. He knew of Maekar’s predicament, a self inflicted one.
The children were taken to bed by their maids, sleepy eyes rubbed by tired hands, flopping into your sides just to melt into you with a soft promise to see them early on the morrow. Aegon followed not long after, wrapped into a bundle of cotton and furs by the wet nurse you had entrusted since he was born.
There was some struggle, the usual fussing and whinging as he was taken from your arms and into another’s, but he soon eased, the maid moving back through the halls and into his nursery out of sight.
——
A steady arm had linked through yours on your walk back through the endless wind of corridors, a tired stumble in your step, not from wine, not that you had drank any, but instead the festivities that caught up to you. The walk to your chambers was relatively quiet, save for the distant rumble of footsteps and laughter down the way, you had bid your good nights as the feast had come to an end, Baelor sending you both on your way with a knowing glance, and a smirk.
There was only one purpose in mind. You felt it, you’d felt his gaze burning into your skull every chance he had, the lingering touch at your skin whenever a screaming child wasn’t to interrupt you both. And you’d have been lying if you didn’t long for it also, to have him, to feel him.. but another part of you was still unsure.
Aegon was a needy babe, perhaps a little more than his siblings, but it didn’t sway you from giving him as such, let alone worrying.
“I must go and check on…” You called out to him, sinking your teeth around the skin of your finger.
“He will be resting.”
“I’am well aware of that but—“ You moved from his hold, standing just before your door as Maekar turned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I have ordered the wet nurses to take care of him for tonight. About time we had some quiet.” He admitted in a grumble, opening the door before you could protest any more. The guards at the outside parted the ways for you as you both stepped inside.You breathed only once before you head it the door clicking shut carefully. Locked.
You smirked at that, though the breath that escaped you was shaky, thoughts wandering. You had scarcely left his side since he was born, not that you had wanted to, and not that he would let you.
And Maekar knew it, saw it, the lowering of your gaze, the unsteadiness in your step.
“He will be alright..” His eyes twinkled as they met yours, pupils blown just with a single look, his chest meeting yours in few large strides.
——
You stood before the mirror, beginning to unpin your hair, unlacing the light skirts in the flickering golden light, your hand loosely curled around his until you’d lost it. But only for a moment, the glow gracing his features, striking and handsome, just behind you, calloused hands sliding their way up and down the curve of your figure.
“Gods..” His fingers replaced your own. moved the gown off of you, slinking down your figure. You went to cover it with crossed arms, though he caught them in time, eyes raking over you gently, taking you in. Your figure fuller now from the babe, your breasts swelled and stomach more curved from carrying him for all those moons. A sight to behold indeed, and it made his breath stutter in his throat, angling down to press a kiss between at your shoulder and neck.
The material cascaded down your body, delicate silks and fabrics of your bodice sliding down your legs into to a pool, utterly discarded leaving you bare before him. He turned you at once, rough hands grasped at your waist to make you face him.
“Cannot wait. I’ve missed this, missed you..” One hand slid up to the nape of your neck, curling and gripping just enough to pull you closer, melding your lips to his. His beard was rough against your chin, a soft giggle slipping free from your lips, his groan only growing louder. Your mouths worked against eachother, his tongue pressing into your mouth as it grew deeper, fonder, every moment of longing sacrificed into one sharp kiss.
He did not move from you as he shrugged the cloak of his doublet off, unclasping it with one rough tug, sending it over the chair. Your bodies moved backward until you were at the bed, your calves pressed into it before he took you into his arms, hooked underneath your thighs. He may as well have backed you onto the mattress right then and there, but he couldn’t, he had to have you in his arms instead, to keep you in them.
The scratch of his beard trailed after his mouth, moving down your body everywhere he could reach. Sucking a redness from your collarbone to your the centre of your breasts, grasping one tightly to cup into his mouth. You shrieked at the feeling, and the realisation, the swell of them rippling beneath between his fingertips.
“Maekar they’re still..” It wasn’t protest, only warning.
“I know.” Was all he managed to utter, cutting you off before you found finish. He’d watched you closely, been with you enough to know what had happened by now. And he found it in him not to care, if anything, it spurred him on, tugged at a hunger deep inside of him.
They were more sensitive than usual, soft moans escaping your lips faster than you’d caught them. And he sucked down on them harshly, laying you down carefully, a rough grip gently placing you before he rose over you, tongue swirling over the sensitive bud languidly. Droplet beads of white fell from the nipple, caught by his mouth without another thought. His groans rippled through your flesh, moving between each one and catching your taste, the sweet ambrosia that spilled from you.
His gaze flickered up between you, a hand snaking its way through his hair making them flutter, telling all he could not manage to speak. A gift, that’s what you were, to the children, to the world, the realm.. to him. Everything you gave. Maekar licked up the excess, pulling each nipple between his lips as he meandered his way back to your face, capturing your lips once more.
A finger found its way between you, sinking in between your folds, his nose bumped yours.. “Later. I’ll make it up to you..” And you knew what he meant, how he always vowed between your legs with his tongue as a promise. But he couldn’t wait, not with the gentle, eager writhe of your hips, the needy pout of your lips. Weeks pent up, weeks waiting, and patiently, for what he could muster at least. It was not forceful or angered, only restless, awaiting left untouched but burning. For you.
“Husband..” You breathed.
The growl that left his throat was nothing short of unrestrained, two fingers plunging into you without warning, dipping into your wetness, another holding around the arching of your hips.
He worked you open, your hand wrapping around his wrist as he fucked you onto his fingers, curling tortuously with every ruthless thrust. His thumb circled around your clit, the dual friction making you cry out. He quickened his movement, mouthing a kiss to your sternum, licking his tongue along the sticky sweetness of your chest. Your climax ripped through you in a sharp wave from the sensations, your body alight as the arousal pooled at your cunt and onto his hand.
He shed his breeches, tugging them down and ridding himself of his shirt, the warm muscle meeting your fingertips as he lined himself up with your entrance. Maekar pressed his forehead to yours with soft, silver hairs falling ragged over the crown of your head, more than he’d have liked, more than he’d allowed anyone else to see. But here, with your leg braced at his hip, heels pressed into his flesh pulling him closer, a touch of your heartbeat thundering underneath his own, he was entirely undone.
“Mine.. all mine. My love before anything else..”
A lowly sound escaped your throat, muffled into the crook of his shoulder as he sheathed himself, sinking into you inch by inch, a shape exhale breathed at your nose. The stretch was sharp, an aching burn around him as your body took him the way it remembered. A mere month was all, and yet you fit together again like nothing had changed, into finding one another again.
And you did.
Violet eyes flashed to yours, raking over you, moving a hand to hold at your thigh, the other brushing away at your hair. It was unhurried and loving, his body adoring yours with every moment and movement from the inside out.
The pace he set was merciless, careful at first, working you open just like his fingers did, long strokes of his cock into you until neither of you could take it any longer. Your nails raked down his back, trailing over the scars and blemishes as his fingers dug into the skin of your thighs and waist, driving himself deeper.
“Fuck.. will not wait this long. Ever again..” He mumbled into your lips with a a grunt, every thrust nursing moan after moan from your lips, your sounds and scent filling the chambers around you into a carnal haze.
He curled your thighs around him with one heavy tug, angling his hips deeper as they snapped into yours, teeth grazing the line of your jaw with a heavy snarl.
“My wife.. so beautiful.” If you’d have been in the right mind you’d have thought him mumbling, whimpering at your very touch, the feel of your cunt squeezing him and sucking him in greedily. “Take all of me my girl.” Your fingers gripped his shoulders, pulling porcelain flesh taut between them, a growl ripping from his throat.
His thrusts were relentless, a fire burning deep in your belly, tightening with everything he gave you, kissing you deeply inside, and he did not stop, not until you were screaming, until you could no longer speak, only a string of begs and wants. He came with a curse after you, drawing you to your edge until you fell into him, your head fallen back to the layered covers as he collapsed atop of you, holding his weight from crumbling completely.
Maekar stilled, breathing deeply as he peppered kisses along your throat, your legs boneless falling at his sides, his thumb circling over your thighs soothingly.
The pair of you calmed, heavy breaths falling into a delicate free fall of limbs, pardoned from any distraction or noise to break you away from one another. You were once again together, melting into each other’s embrace, a sticky sheep’s coating your bodies in warmth.
And he kept his promise. Just when you had eased enough, the aching between your thighs settling, he kissed back down your body as you lay propped up against the pillows, bare body spread open and needy. You watched him through lidded eyes as he made his way down to where you, he, longed to be most.
He spent the rest of the night there until you both collapsed into one another. His mouth pressed into you, devouring, and tasting you like the starved man he had been, your arousal coating his tongue and filling his senses all over again. Your legs curled over his shoulders until they shook, his nose bumped tightly in a swipe over your clit, with fingers clasped around your hips, tugging you down onto his face with every orgasm he urged out of you.
Maekar did not stop until you’d pushed his head away, inching him with a grin back to you to where you moved to lay onto his chest. Fingers soothed over your body, legs tangled together as his hand combed through your hair, the pair of you a puddle of soft snores within minutes of holding eachother.
Blissed, fulfilled, and utterly exhausted.
——
“I cannot believe you are jealous of a babe.. ours no less.”
“I’am not jealous. Wanting my wife is not a crime.”
“No it is not.. learning to share perhaps.”
“Mhm. Perhaps.”
Strong arms wrapped around you once more, the hard planes of his chest meeting your back through the thin nightgown, the warmth encompassing you all over again.
That and the sight that lay before you.
He was asleep, Aegon, so soundly and soft. Something that even as Maekar’s gaze followed you through the darkened room, he softened. A body that was so often tense and stoic, eased around you, a slow exhale coming from his nose just past your shoulder.
“He is bearable like this..”
“You mean beautiful.”
A moment passed between you both, a slow pause, only broken by the soft snores of the maid leaning to her elbow from the rocking chair in the corner.
“Indeed. The gentlest one it seems..”
And as much grief as the lot of them had given you in their chaos, as would Aegon, nothing compared to the closeness you’d created, or being able to relearn it together. Even if tensions had to be released first.. neither of you were to complain, not when you had it all.
Summary: You and Baelor were happy, with a life that felt full and secure. Then something happens, and the future you thought you had slips quietly out of reach.
Pairing: Husband! Baelor x Wife! reader
WC: 5.1k
Warnings: 18+, grief, smut, pregnancy, non-cannon, depression, dragons exist, talks of loss (not baelor), angst, council drama, targaryen family drama, slapping, arguments, small mention of targcest, hurt/ a smidge of comfort.
one-shot.
Your family was different in many ways, not just because of the dragons or because you were royals— but because it was unpredictable. There was always something unexpected going on, something that kept you on your toes.
At first you thought the craziest thing was being pregnant again, even though your oldest was married and trying for his own babe— but it wasn’t.
It was everything that had happened at Ashford Meadow. It was supposed to be a simple trip with the royal family visiting for a nameday celebration, instead it turned into a nightmare. A nightmare that ended with your brother and husband on opposing sides of each other in the trial of seven.
You’ve never been more stressed than when you watched what happened on that field, you couldn’t wait for it to be over and to scold your husband.
Your family departed from Ashford in a state of disarray. Your husband battered with severe bruising, your brother bruised and needing stitches, your two nephews wounded in multiple ways.
A complete embarrassment to the crown and to your father. You were not looking forward to the conversation that would take place once he heard the news.
You rode your horse as your family left, your horse riding alongside Maekar’s.
Maekar looked over at you a few times, his lips wanting to move and say something— but he couldn’t. He knew that you were furious with both of them, putting themselves at risk for nonsense.
You rode in silence for most of the trip as you were still angry, but you also had a headache that would not leave you be.
Baelor checked on you as you looked out of it.
“Are you okay?”
You absentmindedly nodded. “I just want to get home.”
He watched you through most of the trip, keeping his horse near yours and wanting to make sure that you were safe.
You felt tired and weak, you figured that it was the baby just draining you. Maybe you’d stressed yourself too much while at Ashford.
Once everyone had stopped for a small rest break, you found yourself bent over by a tree— vomiting.
“Is she alright?” Maekar asked, staring at you.
Baelor glanced back at Maekar. “She said that she was fine, that it was just the babe.”
You wished that you would’ve just flown your dragons, it would’ve made this trip ten times easier. However, the king said no dragons and six would’ve been too many to feed.
As the trip back to King’s Landing continued, you had to get on Baelor’s horse as you felt just that unwell. He had begun to worry about you, but you assured him that you just needed rest.
When you arrived back at home, Baelor helped you off of his horse and you could barely stand. Your eyes half- lidded as you leaned against him for support, when he was barely able to stand himself.
“I don’t feel good.” You mumbled.
Baker grabbed you. “I know, my love. We’re going to get you to your chambers, so that you can rest.”
Your feet stumbled and dragged as if it were your first time walking.
Baelor stared at you and you glanced at him, looking as if you couldn’t tell who he was or where you were.
Your nose began to bleed and within seconds you fainted. When you fainted Meley’s roar from the dragonpit could be heard throughout the streets.
They rushed you to your chambers and got you out of your gown, examining you to make sure that it wasn’t the babe. The babe was fine, but your onset sickness perplexed them.
You were extremely sick and no one understood why. At first they considered the food, but everyone had eaten the same thing. The babe was fine and no one else was sick, they just concluded that it was a mild cold.
“Just rest and drink water, she’ll be fine — then it’ll be out of her system shortly.” That’s what they suggested at first.
Then you continued to get nose bleeds, more than you’d ever had in your life. You also had become feverish, however at the same time you claimed that you were cold.
Baelor had blankets brought to you as you shivered in the bed.
“I don’t.. know what’s going on.” You stammered.
Baelor looked at you with worry, but he didn’t want you to know how worried he was.
“This will pass soon, my love.” He spoke, holding your hand.
You had never felt so sick in your entire life, it felt as if you were dying and only continued to get worse.
The next day you struggled to breathe, your chest felt like someone was sitting on it and it was obvious how bad it was when you slept. How audibly it sounded like every breath was a chore.
Maekar and Baelor both sat in your room, keeping you company and each other company.
“What do you think this is?” Maekar questioned.
Baelor’s finger circled the rim of his goblet as he sat in the chair.
“I’m unsure, I just hope that she heals from it.”
“Meleys has become restless since she got sick as well, not eating, burning things, not allowing the dragon keepers near her.”
Maekar didn’t respond, he just made a face.
Baelor would sit in his chair, moving it directly by your bed and he only left if duty called him— but that was rare. Nothing was more important than his wife and babe.
Most of the time while you were sick, you slept. You didn’t even notice when Baelor would move his chair or when Maekar would come in. You barely remembered when Valarr and Matarys came to visit, only small pieces and even then it’s still difficult to remember. It could’ve been the milk of the poppy or just simply the fever.
Against the wishes of the Maester, Baelor would rub your belly and whisper to the babe— telling them how they had a fighter for a mother and how he knew they’d be equally strong. He worried for you and the babe, but he couldn’t let it overwhelm him.
He needed to still be strong and sensible.
It took time, but you began to recover— your fever broke and you didn’t feel as exhausted. The Maester still ordered that you take it easy.
“You worried us.” Baelor spoke, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I didn’t mean to.” You replied, taking a sip of water from the goblet.
He rubbed your leg. “I know.”
The Maester knocked at your door and entered, interrupting the conversation.
“My prince, princess— there is some news that I must relay to you.”
Both of you sat there, your eyes locked on him and waiting for the words to leave his mouth.
“We have now had numerous reports of people falling sick within the capital.”
Baelor’s head tilted slightly, “falling sick in what way?”
The Maester stood there, hesitant about his next choice of words— as he needed to present the situation perfectly.
“They have the same exact symptoms that the Princess had and it is spreading rapidly.”
No one knew where this sickness had come from or how it came to be, but it took the realm by storm. So many people were getting sick and nothing could stop it. The capital was a disaster as the sickness spread, fear of catching it did too.
The king ordered the royal family to stay within the keep with no exceptions and he shut the gates to the city. They did not need the sickness spreading any further.
You had made mostly a full recovery as you stayed in your chambers with very little interaction with others.
Baelor walked into your chambers as the night had continued. You sat in front of the mirror and brushed your hair, your mind deep in thought.
“I figured that you would be asleep.” He spoke
You sat there in the bed— your hair down and framing your face, your fingers in your lap.
“I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been restless as of late.”
Baelor got undressed, placing his clothes in the chair that was near the fireplace.
“I could tell.” He responded.
Before getting into bed, he put out the fire in the fireplace. He adjusted the covers on his side of the bed, before getting in with a low groan.
“How is the babe?” He questioned, moving closer to you— his fingers instinctively reaching for your belly.
“They are fine, extremely active today.” You chuckled.
He pressed a kiss to your lips, “I missed you today.. these council matters have kept me far too busy.”
“I missed you too, more than you know.” You mumbled.
His hand traveled up from your stomach over the swell of your breast and hardened nipple, his fingers teasing it through the fabric as your kiss deepened.
“Baelor.” You whined
You could feel his cock as it stiffened in his trousers.
His tongue made its way into your mouth, which you happily welcomed with a moan escaping yours.
He pulled your shift up, his hands lowering to your already wet cunt. Your lips parted as his fingers teased your folds.
He pulled away from your lips, his mouth pressed against your face.
“So wet for me already? Hmm?”
“I want you.” You moaned.
He slid his fingers in between your folds, swiping against your sensitive clit.
“I bet you do.” He smirked.
His fingers dipped down lower and he pressed kisses to your face as he pushed two inside you.
You gasped completely losing your train of thought, your body caving to his touch.
“There you go—“
“Just like that.” Baelor coached, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you.
Your lips found his again, your mouths crashing into eachother— kissing each other with such hunger.
You clenched around him, your moans filling the air.
“Fuck, Baelor.”
“I love when you sing for me, dove.” He groaned.
He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more. Your slick coated his fingers, causing them to glisten in the moonlight.
He watched you as he brought his fingers to your lips, your mouth opening and taking them without command.
You sucked his fingers, bringing them to the back of your throat while your tongue glided around them.
The sight of you made his cock throb, the tip of it already glistening with precum.
“You drive me mad, wife.” He groaned.
His fingers left your mouth with a pop, your tongue swiping your bottom lip.
Baelor adjusted on the bed, pulling his trousers off and sitting against the headboard. His cock was hard, aching to be inside you— the veins on it prominent with his arousal.
You pulled your shift off, exposing your body and belly to him. A sight that he could never get tired of.
You climbed into his lap straddling him.
“I love you.” He spoke.
“I love you too.” You moaned, throwing your head back in bliss as you sank down onto his cock.
A hiss escaped his mouth as you stretched around him, your cunt squeezing him like never before.
He pulled you into him as you rode him, his arms wrapped around you and his face buried into your chest.
“You are so beautiful—“
“Just as you’ve always been, but even more so as you carry another child of mine.” He grunted.
The feeling of his cock being so deep inside you, made you feel so weak.
His mouth found your nipple— the warmth and gentle sucking of it bringing you closer to your peak.
“This feels so good.” You rasped.
The sound of your cunt taking his cock filled the room, the noise that always drove him crazy.
“You are going to make me fill you, sweet dove.”
You kept your pace, kissing him with your fingers curled at his nape.
The tightness that felt in your belly was building, your peak getting closer.
“Ride me just like that. Take all of me, sweet girl.” He coached.
“Baelor.. I’m so—“
His name spilled from your lips over and over, loud enough for anyone to hear as you reached your peak.
Baelor grabbed your face, kissing you— groans leaving his mouth while you ride out your orgasm.
“I’m going to fill you full of me.” He muttered.
His breaths ragged and uneven as he filled you full of his seed, painting your walls white.
Both of you stayed in that position, still kissing each other and reeling from the orgasm.
“I could not imagine my life without you.” He admitted.
You smiled, staring into his mismatched eyes.
“God’s willing, you’ll never have to.”
After a few minutes, you stood up and cleaned up— before returning to bed with him. You fell asleep with your head on his chest as he talked to you about the council matters.
He couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard your faint snoring as he talked, even though you swore that you weren’t tired.
The following days, you sat in your chambers— reading and keeping your mind occupied while the city was burning with a spreading sickness.
Due to your pregnancy, Baelor did not want you wandering the keep unless it was an absolute necessity. He would try not to be gone long after his council meetings as he didn’t want you to be lonely.
You weren’t lonely most days, because Maekar would come by and visit— but if he didn’t then he’d bring Egg and Rhae by. They had enough energy to wear you out by the time that he came to get them.
You sat in the window seat in your chambers, a book in your lap— but you found yourself unable to focus on the book. You mostly stared outside at the sky, listening to how quiet it was below.
King’s Landing was never quiet, so it felt odd not hearing the noises that you were used to.
You hoped that things would go back to normal quickly as you missed flying with Meleys and you just wanted to see her.
Your thoughts were interrupted by Baelor coming into the room. The way that he came into the room was different this time, he didn’t speak or even stop to take a break. He entered the room with a purpose and he had a look on his face, one that you had never seen before.
“My love.” He spoke as he walked over to you.
You looked at him and felt a sense of worry, a feeling you couldn’t explain— but you felt it and it was intense.
He came to the window seat as you adjusted and he knelt beside it, taking your hand into his.
“Baelor?” You spoke, your heartbeat quickening.
“There is something that I must tell you.” He acknowledged.
You started to pull your hand back, “what is it?”
“Mother and Valarr have developed the sickness that has been spreading.”
Your blood ran cold, your fingers curling around your belly as you pulled them away.
“What?—“
Your eyes started to water. “Are.. are they okay?”
“The Maesters are hoping that they should make a quick recovery.” He replied.
Those words were all that you could hear, hoping that they would, no guarantee that your son or mother would be okay— just hope.
You stood up from your seat, Baelor standing in front of you to stop you.
“I will go see them.”
“My love, you should not leave the chambers. I do not want you risking the babe or yourself.” He pleaded.
“That is my son, Baelor and our mother. I will not just sit here.”
He sighed, also worried for you and everyone in the family.
“Mother knew that you would want to come, she has asked that you do not. She does not want to risk you again.”
A tear fell down your cheek, Baelor rubbed it away.
“Everything will be okay. They will recover as you did.” He assured you.
You hesitantly nodded, pressing your head against his.
You visited Valarr and you felt like an afraid child as you approached his bed, looking at him lay there. Your baby, your son that you carried in your belly for nine moons.
You were terrified, absolutely terrified.
“Mother.” He spoke, his voice raspy.
You grabbed his hand, holding it. “I’m here, sweet boy.”
He was very weak and tired, mostly in and out of sleep as you sat in the chair by his side. Baelor would come in after checking on your mother, giving you updates to her condition.
Everyday when the Maesters came in to check on him, part of you would hold your breath. His condition was neither improving or declining, just stagnant.
You’d read books out loud to him like you did when he was a small child, it was his favorite and even then he still loved to read.
“I don’t like this book.” He frowned, adjusting in bed.
The servants would bring broth and bread for him to eat, but it was impossible to make him interested. He was so tired that he was only awake a few minutes at a time and that was all. You begged for him to eat, but he’d tell you that he wasn’t hungry.
“You need your strength. You have a sibling who’s going to want to be strong like you one day, I need you to get better.” You mumbled.
He dryly chuckled.
“I am trying, mother.”
That night he developed a fever, a fever that was far too high. The Maesters were extremely concerned, especially given his lack of food and water from the days prior.
Baelor stood by your side and assured you to let the Maesters do their jobs, that Valarr was in good hands. You trusted him, even with your fears.
Your mother had begun to improve, but Valarr did not seem as lucky.
It was almost as if his fever could not be broken, he was just feverish and completely unconscious. You held his hand, never letting it go as you encouraged him that he could overcome this.
He was blood of the dragon and this sickness was nothing, he was strong like his father.
You prayed over him, prayed that the God’s would spare your family. You’d kiss him on the forehead like you did when he was small and tuck him in. Baelor held your hand throughout it all, but he always looked at you with pity— like he knew a truth that you did not.
One day as they prepared to change his sweat riddled sheets— you, Baelor, and the Maester noticed that he had urinated on himself. Only his urine was bloody.
Valarr’s breathing became ragged shortly after, his breaths short and irregular— a terrifying sound.
Panic steeped into your bones as you felt so helpless. You wrote the ArchMaester to see if he could come and help heal your son, hoping for a positive response.
Baelor came into the chambers as you held the Valarr’s hand, he had that same look on his face.
You stood up from your chair, approaching him— wiping your hands on your gown.
“My love.” He spoke, his tone steady and unwavering.
“Husband—“
“I wrote to the Archmaester to see if he could help Valarr.”
Baelor took your hands into his with a firm grip, staring into your eyes.
“My love..”
“What, Baelor?” You questioned.
“Most of the cases that the Maesters have seen at this stage, they do not have much longer.” He pointed out softly.
Your breath hitched and optimism faltered slightly.
“But, he’s strong. He’s blood of the dragon..”
Baelor’s lip twitched, his shield of strength starting to fall.
“The Maesters have not had a person survive at this stage.”
Tears fell from your eyes, wetting your cheeks.
“He’s strong.. he’s my son.” You breathed.
“And he is my son. He is very strong.. he’s the greatest gift that you have given me—“
“But he’s going to die.” He spoke, his chest heavy with remorse at the words.
You gasped, pulling your hands from his. You slapped him across the face as more tears fell from your eyes.
“How fucking dare you?—“
“How dare you speak about my son that way? I will not lose a child, I cannot!”
He pulled you close to him, his eyes glassy.
“He’s going to die, my love—“
“And it’s going to cut us in half..”
“But you cannot keep focusing on healing him, instead of accepting it. You will miss out on your last moments with him.” He choked out, a tear falling from his eyes.
Your chest rose and fell fast as you held back the sob that stuck in your throat.
You leaned your head against his chest, your fingers gripping his doublet as you sobbed.
The room felt so empty, your chest heavy with grief. You wanted Baelor to be wrong so badly.
As the time went on, you held Valarr’s hand and told him how much you loved him. How he was one of the best gifts that the God’s had given you.
Maekar came into the room to support both of you as he heard the news.
You rubbed his forehead, smiling at the sight of his silver streak. Reminiscing on how he was the best parts of you and Baelor.
Then you heard it, all of you did. He stopped breathing.
You rubbed his hand, “Valarr?”
Baelor grabbed you as he realized what had happened.
You rubbed his face, tears streaming down your face— trying to remain calm.
“Valarr, please wake up.” You panicked.
Maekar felt hopeless seeing this happen to the two of you.
“My love.” Baelor spoke, trying to grab your attention.
The reality finally set in. Your son was gone.
The wail that tore from your lungs was like nothing that had ever been heard before.
“Oh, God’s.. please give me my son back.” You sobbed.
Baelor grabbed your face.
“My love it will be okay, we will be okay.”
You felt as if you couldn’t breathe, as if everything was closing in on you.
You sat in the chair and watched as the silent sisters took him away, watched as they carried your lifeless first born out of his chambers. The pain was unbearable and you couldn’t avoid it. It lived in you, in his room, in the family, in your marriage.
They rang the bell three times to signal his death and they put out the black banners on the windows.
Your mother came to see you, but there was nothing that she could say— nothing anyone could say. You just wanted to be alone.
Your time alone did not last long as Baelor came to inform you that Matarys had contracted it.
The way that you felt hearing those words was indescribable, all you knew was that you needed to be with him.
Matarys had deteriorated faster than Valarr, at an alarming rate— but you were still hopeful. You were hopeful that he would survive this, that he would be okay.
Even though the Maester and your husband forbid you from doing it— you climbed into bed with him. You held him in your arms like you did when he was a babe.
You cried as you sang his favorite songs and ran your fingers through his hair.
He was going to pull through, he had to. The God’s would not punish you twice.
You had fallen asleep, holding him in your arms and when you woke up— you felt it.
His skin was cold to the touch. He had slipped away while you were asleep.
You screamed trying to wake him, which startled Baelor awake. Your youngest had succumbed to the sickness.
This fate was undeniably cruel and unfair. Just a few days prior, you had two healthy sons and now you had none.
The silent sisters came to take him and you begged for them to leave him as you could not bear it, Baelor had to talk you through it.
They rang the bell three times to signal his death, a sound that haunted you.
This reality felt like a nightmare, one that you’d never wake up from.
He was not wrong when he said that this would cut the two of you in half, you didn’t even feel like a person anymore. You didn’t feel connected to your baby anymore either, you just felt empty.
The first few days were unbearable.
You couldn’t sleep and if you did, it was terrible dreams where both of your children survived— dreams worse than a nightmare.
Five days after you had lost both of your children, you and Baelor laid asleep in the bed— accepting what little sleep that you could get.
Maekar barged into the room without notice, startling both of you. He had an odd look on his face.
“What is it, Maekar?” You questioned, rubbing your eyes.
Baelor sat up. “Spit out, brother.”
He sighed.
“Father has died.”
Your eyes widened in disbelief, “what?”
Baelor got out of the bed, just as confused as you were.
“What do you mean he’s dead? What happened?”
Maekar hesitated for a moment that felt like an eternity.
“He had contracted the sickness as well and mother had kept it a secret.”
Baelor sighed, rubbing his head and you just sat there in disbelief.
This sickness tore through your family like a plague and destroyed it. Not only were you going to have a funeral for your two sons, but for your father as well.
They rang the bells to signal his death and immediately conversations about Baelor’s ascension were starting. It was too much for you and you wanted to leave— just leave it all behind.
How could your family be ripped apart by this sickness? How was this fair?
Given how many members of the royal family had passed, the council and your mother agreed that a public funeral procession was necessary. The family needed to show strength after such immeasurable losses.
The day of the funeral, you sat in Valarr’s room— smelling his and Matarys cloaks. They still smelled like them, a smell that you knew would fade.
They felt so close and yet so far away.
Baelor came into his chambers looking to see if you were in there.
“My love.. we have to go. They’re waiting on us.”
You looked at him, teary eyed and holding their cloaks.
“I don’t want to go.”
He walked over to you, his expression softening.
“We must.”
“I don’t care about looking strong for them! I am not strong.” You yelled.
He kneeled down beside you, rubbing your hand and their cloaks.
“You are, you are so very strong. You have gone through this and you get up everyday, all while growing a babe.”
The two of you spent a few minutes alone, mourning your sons and father together privately. You could barely face him, how could the two of you navigate this? Your boys were gone forever and never coming back. The memories of them would fade, their voices would fade, and they’d only be remembered as people who died during the sickness. Nothing else.
For the funeral procession— Baelor and Maekar sat on the first cart that followed your fathers body. You and your mother were on the next cart that followed your sons.
You sat on the cart with her waiting on the gates to open, your breath caught in your chest.
“Mother, I don’t want to.” You spoke softly.
She grabbed your hand, squeezing it softly as her eyes watered.
“We will get through this, daughter.”
You took a deep breath and pulled your veil over your head. Words could not describe how badly that you did not want to do this.
The doors opened and the men beat on the drums in unison.
“Make way! Make way for the King!” they rang out, steady and unwavering as the procession moved through the streets.
“Honor King Daeron of House Targaryen! Honor the princes—Valarr and Matarys!” The words spoke over the watchful crowd, repeated again and again— leaving little room for anything else.
“Stand and bear witness!”
People watched you and your family, throwing flowers, and shouting things— pretending that your grief was their grief.
You wanted to yell at them and tell them to fuck off. The noise, the people, the smell all became overwhelming.
You grabbed your mothers hand as you felt like you were being suffocated, tears welling in your eyes.
She looked at you, holding you through your panic.
“Take deep breaths, nice and slow. It is almost over, just breathe with me.”
You took her advice and tried to steady your breaths, but it still felt impossible.
Once the procession was over, everything felt like a blur. You barely remembered any of it.
Your family stood near the pyres watching as they prepared for Silverwing to burn them. You walked up to the pyre, taking a deep breath as you stood near three people whom you loved the most. It was a gut wrenching feeling.
Silverwing leaned down and nudged Valarr’s body in confusion as she could smell him, but she couldn’t understand why he was there.
Baelor walked up to you, his hand on the small of your back.
“He loved his dragon.”
You sniffled, wiping your tears. “He did.”
There was a moment of silence between the two of you, knowing that it would have to be done. You held his hand tightly, just as tight as you did when you had Valarr and Matarys.
“It’s okay. You can do it.” Baelor whispered into your ear.
You cried, trying to power through your tears.
“Dra..”
“Dracarys, Silverwing.”
She inched closer to the pyre, kneeling down in confusion.
“Dracarys.” You choked.
She finally did it and you watched as both of your boys burned alongside your father.
You watched as the two boys that you brought into this world burned together.
Given the tragedy and level of grief within the royal family. They waited a month before crowing Baelor, allowing your family time.
The time was necessary, but even then— in front of everyone you felt so empty.
Your pregnancy had continued on without any issues thankfully, but you were not happy. You honestly wished that the stranger had come to visit you instead of having to feel this pain. Instead of having to go on without them.
It seemed like everyone moved on and you were still stuck there, mourning them.
You hoped that one day you would be whole again, like everyone said— but that probably wasn’t possible.
Two moons later, you gave birth to a healthy baby boy. A bittersweet moment.
He looked just like Baelor, eyes like him but silver hair like you.
You named him Gaemond.
Despite still being heavy in your grief, you were happy to have him and hold him.
He made you feel hopeful. He made you feel like there was something good waiting for you in all of this.
contents: smut! twitter was asking for an erectile dysfunction fic so i started drafting and well, this might have been my calling. ED, a little blue pill, drug talk (jack’s on depression meds), some wine consumption, a whole host of second-hand embarrassment for jack, world’s best wife in the reader, and of course ED wasn’t enough… loosely inspired by 02x02.
[jack abbot x fem!reader. wc: 7.2k ]
masterlist | other jack abbot fics
He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?
Right?
God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls, and your chest pressed against his own.
Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.
It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.
“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.
“Yeah?” He barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Oh, goddamnit. Shit.
Everything was really not fucking fine.
Jack hated when his shifts never lined up with your schedule. Summer’s were easier, so were those few breaks you’d get during the year, but most weeks it felt like you were ships passing in the night.
You were his wife, not a “sometimes companion” depending on the day. So, when he had off, there was nothing he loved more than being at your side. Watching mindless television, going to the grocery store, listening to you complain about your job, and everything in between. He loved it. Jack never thought that chance would come again and when it did, he promised himself that the time he gave to you would be nothing short of devotion.
And, when the time to “love” became a little more intimate, Jack gave you everything you could ask for. You’d never had a more generous lover, in all sense of the word.
He cared so deeply about you that he was too easily forgetful about his own needs. Jack never liked when you tried to make it all about him—he’d had enough attention in the last twenty years to last him a lifetime in solitude. In return, Jack’s altar was beside you, on top of you, under you, and anywhere near you.
Therefore, when he sacrificed his time away from you to save the lives of strangers, it was only right for him to recompense through the most natural form of intimacy.
But it had been five days. Five days of back to back night shifts where he left you sleeping in bed and you left him walking out the door with your work bag in hand. There had been a light in the distance, Saturday, when his schedule finally broke and you were both off to enjoy each other’s company.
He cooked, you cleaned, and then you’d both retired to the sofa where your feet landed in his lap and a movie you’d seen a thousand times played quietly as days-long lodged conversations started to flow.
Then, you shuffled into his lap and Jack knew something was wrong before even started.
His lips met yours and you melted. You’d been so quick to fall into him, wrapping your arms around him, and pressing down into his lap that it felt needy. Tilting his head back, your fingers pulled at his curls to open him up to you. His kiss deepened and you couldn’t fight the smile on your face.
You laughed, breaking apart.
“What?” Jack asked incredulously. His eyes darted between yours as your hand brushed back his hair.
“Nothing.” You shook your head. “I just love you.”
Jack’s hands ran up and down your sides gently. “Well now it’s cheesy if I say it back.”
“No.” Your nose bumped into his. “You could never make it cheesy.”
“I’m pretty sure I could,” Jack admitted with a peck. He let his hands wander down your sides, feeling the skin of your ass before smoothing down your legs and holding them down on himself. “I love you.”
“How much?”
“Eh. ” He shrugged causing you leaned back and swat at his chest immediately before pressing into his pecs with your palms.
“Cruel,” you gasped. “You’re just evil.”
“I don’t know about that.” He removed his hands from you and placed his on top of yours. “But I don’t think a measurement exists for how much I really do.”
Not cruel. Just utterly adoring beyond comprehension.
You leaned in, kissing him again and again and each one ended longer than the last. He brought your hands back to his hair and encouraged a rougher grip. Jack’s tongue was the first to ask for silent permission to which you welcomed it with your own.
You couldn’t remember the last time you made out like teenagers on the couch.
And for ten minutes, you did only that.
Lips swollen and blood rushing in your body, there was something exhilarating about having waited so long to have sex this week. Five days wasn’t a world record for either of you but it felt like a necessary end to it.
Only you were expecting to feel something after ten minutes.
One of your hands slipped from his shoulders and entered the few inches of space between your bodies to grope him above his sweats. You had felt that simply being on top wasn’t enough—you would have felt his erection if you did—but this was the second time in three weeks that grinding on him didn’t work in getting him aroused.
Jack’s attention broke away from your lips and to your neck. His stubble grazed your skin with a roughness you’d only accept from his face. He lathered and sucked, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you feel his desire through his lips.
As you met his groin, you felt the outline of his cock still limp between his spread legs. Gently trailing to the head, you molded your hand around it and rubbed to the base. Jack’s forehead fell to your shoulder and you couldn’t help but be satisfied, leaning your own into him.
Jack. Your Jack.
Your hand never stopped going. Slowly, you felt the minutes pass and you put more pressure in your grip and the air around Jack began to change. His kisses stopped, your fingers intertwined with his curls at the base of his head weren’t met with the same sighs, and his own hands loosened their grasp.
On the inside, Jack was having an existential crisis.
He knew it was going to happen.
It was the same goddamn thing from three weeks ago and he’d wrote it off as some kind of fluke. He was tired. He’d worn himself thin from a bad night and three weeks ago, sex wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. But now? Again?
Jack dug his forehead further into your shoulder to think—which was practically impossible for him to do in this state. Yet he tried. He thought back on any changes to his body and any signs he might have missed but the only possibilities he could think about were his age and his meds.
If it was his age, he was just about ready to croak off now. 50. Jack was only 50 fucking years old and he never imagined what the hell life would be like with erectile dysfunction at this age. He’d take it to his grave, he swore to God, but there was one other problem that he just couldn’t shake.
Those meds.
A switch from his therapist a few appointments ago to Zoloft, which was what he was supposed to be taking for years. But just like good medicine, sometimes finding the right balance was hard and it took time.
His therapist had warned him, right?
He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?
Right?
God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls and your chest pressed against his own.
Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.
It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.
“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.
“Yeah?” He barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Oh, goddamnit. Shit.
Everything was really not fucking fine.
He was falling apart. Jack couldn’t even look you in the eye because now he couldn’t have sex with his beautiful fucking wife and the world was basically ending.
“Yeah,” he barely squeaked out.
You saw through him and he could feel the pity in the way your thumbs rubbed softly on his cheeks.
“I think I need to use the bathroom,” he blurted out and discarded you to the side of the couch.
In his first attempt to stand, Jack struggled to gain momentum off the couch and the redness of embarrassment from another one of his problems inched up the back of his neck like a rash.
Holy shit, he thought. This is the worst day of my life.
He tried harder the second time to avoid your helping hands and rushed off to the bedroom, shutting the door so hard it reverberated throughout the house. Beelining for the sink, Jack’s hands strained the edges of it until his knuckles were white.
“What the fuck!” He scolded himself in a brash whisper. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
This wasn’t happening to him. This was all a dream. A really, god awful, terrible, no good dream that would be over in a matter of minutes. He’d wake up, sun shining, and never deal with this again.
He slapped a hand across his face. It was not a fucking dream.
“Holy shit,” Jack’s words were now nothing but saddened, pathetic whimpering. “This is not fucking happening to me right now.”
From outside the door, you leaned against the frame and let him wallow. Those little blue pills in the back of the cabinet had been pushed away out of spite and this time, you knew he just needed to face the reality of his situation. But that reality was hard to fathom after a lifetime of one activity never having been a problem. He couldn’t have just this one thing?
Jack opened the cabinet and pulled out his Zoloft bottle. Unraveling the prescription label, his eyes raced down to side effects and right there “Erectile Dysfunction” laughed at him. He tossed the bottle in the sink.
“Jack?” You knuckles rapped against the door. “Are you alright in there?”
“Fine!” He replied too quickly.
“Can I come in?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’d rather you not.”
“You’re not gonna dump your meds are you?”
“No,” his tone was still sad. “That’s probably a bad idea.”
Jack could hear your hum. He imagined the look on your face and how you’d probably kick him to the curb now that he was completely defective.
“Jack, I think you need to talk to me about this.”
“No,” he drug out the word. “I don’t think so.”
“Honey.”
He said your name firmly in return.
“I’m coming in.” You didn’t give him any time because as soon as he got a syllable out, the door was open.
Jack’s eyes caught yours in the mirror.
“It’s okay, Jack.”
He shook his head. “It’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well that’s easy for you to say,” he couldn’t help the attitude that slipped out. “You don’t have a broken fucking dick.”
“I don’t have a dick but I do have a libido.”
“It’s not that, baby,” Jack sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I do. Very badly, might I add. But it’s like this—” he pointed to his brain “—just doesn’t want to work and tell the other parts of my body to do their jobs.”
Your brows furrowed in concern. “Is it the nightmares again?”
“No.” He shook his head and realized that you didn’t fully grasp it because of two things: you weren’t in healthcare and you didn’t have PTSD like he did. “They’re fine. They’ve been fine.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Jack.”
You approached him, settling for resting your hand along his back and feeling his tense muscles underneath the fabric of his tee.
“A side effect of the meds,” he gestured weakly to the bottle in the sink. “I can’t get it up.”
“That’s one way to put it,” you mumbled and picked up the bottle.
“My doctor gave me—“ Jack didn’t want the words to form.
Your rubbed soothingly on his back. He loved you so much.
“What did he give you?”
Jack reopened the cabinet and shuffled items to the side before landing on a small white bottle with VIAGRA plastered in blue on the front. His stomach lurched at the thought of needing to take one. Jack held it tightly in his fist in a refusal to show you.
You saw the bottle immediately when he brought it home. Jack was never as sly as he thought he was. He tried hiding your engagement ring for six weeks before proposing but you found it the day after the purchase because he stuffed it the garage where he kept all the spare keys.
He just hadn’t thought that maybe you’d lock your keys inside of the house one day.
Still, he clutched onto the white bottle as though if he dropped it, his problem wasn’t real. He could keep trying. Maybe it would just take a little bit longer than normal but eventually, he’d get hard and you could sail smoothly into the night.
“Are you gonna show me?” You asked patiently.
“I don’t really want to.”
“I’m not embarrassed if you need to use one, you know?”
His eyes pinched closed. “I feel like a fucking failure.”
You exhaled deeply, placing your hand over his fist, and dipping your head to better look at him.
“Look at me, Jack.”
He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Jack,” you pressed once more. “Look at me.”
“This has never been a problem,” he said lowly. Jack’s tone lingered on disappointment but aired a frustration that sounded sexier than he meant it. “I don’t know why I can’t be normal in this one fucking way but of course not! Of course not. No… the goddamn leg just wasn’t enough. The stupid fucking depression and the nightmares and my joint pain isn’t enough!”
Jack rarely yelled. He bottled everything inside until it was ready to explode and it was just leaking out of him like a dam bursting.
“None of that is your fault,” you assured.
“What does it matter if it was?” He loosened the grip on the bottle and it rolled into the sink beside the Zoloft.
“Jack. I don’t care if we have sex tonight, okay? It’s not the end of the world for me.”
“It sure fucking feels like it for me.”
“I know it does,” you empathized. “But if you’re not ready to try the pills, then we don’t have to do anything. I can wait for you.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Jack whispered. “This is so inconvenient.”
“What would life be without them?”
He breathed in as your hand continued to rub his back and calm him down. Jack glanced down at the bottle, cursing the elephant in the room. He mumbled underneath his breath and even though you were standing beside him, you didn’t catch it.
“What?”
“It takes…” his words were muffled again.
“Are you having a stroke?” You asked honestly.
“No,” he heaved. “If I take one… it would take around an hour to work.”
“Okay,” you replied cautiously. It was his choice, you made that clear.
“And it’s not like… magical. Plus we had a whole bottle of wine with dinner and that might make it worse.”
“Trying to get hard or the erection?”
“Both?” He said like it was a question. He’s the doctor. He should know.
“If you wanted to try it, and it doesn’t work out, then you never have to use one again.”
Jack hummed. “I might have to eat you out for awhile.”
“Jesus,” you laughed. “Don’t try to be sly about it.”
His lips quirked into a small smile, one you’d missed seeing in his despair. Jack picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap.
“I swear to God that if anything goes wrong, I will jump off the fucking roof.”
“You can’t say that,” you lamented. “You’re literally the last person who should joke about that.”
“I’m kidding.” He popped a pill into his mouth. “I can’t let you fall in love with someone else.”
“How kind of you to think about me.”
Jack flipped on the sink, cupped his hands under the faucet, and swallowed the pill in one gulp. There was no turning back now.
“Well?” You asked him as he wiped his mouth dry.
“Well what?”
“You want to finish what you started?”
He locked eyes with you in the mirror and opened his mouth to object to the statement. You climbed into his lap. You kissed him first. But he saw a glimmer of hope that maybe the little blue pill would be a good thing for the both of you tonight and forgot about it. Jack nodded instead.
“Get on the bed.”
Whatever the little blue pill did, it gave Jack an ounce of courage back and fuck, could you feel it.
Jack had been on you from the moment you laid down on the bed. In silence, he stripped off your clothes one by one and settled between your thighs ready to give. And for the past thirty minutes, you’d been close twice before he drew back and smiled at you as his cheek rested against your leg.
Every time he did, you had to look away.
He was so sweet. Jack, the man who does anything for anyone, looked at you like you held the moon.
You fought a grin by biting down on your lip and had your arm flying over your eyes to shield his own impenetrable stare from reaching you. And then his mouth was on you again, tongue lightly flicking your clit as he slipped two fingers inside.
You writhed, body shaking lightly in pleasure as his hands grew more firm around your thighs and minimized any distance between you. Jack figured if he could lay atop the mattress and grind into it that it would replace the need for you to jerk him off for five minutes, and he was right.
The combination of periodically rutting against the mattress, listening to your sweet sounds, and feeling you squeeze his fingers was sheer poison.
He curled his fingers up inside of you, sliding them in and out in the same direction until your moans turned into a whine that spelled out his name.
“Jack,” you breathed in heavily.
Your hand fell from your eyes and trailed over one of your breasts, squeezing it, pinching the nipple just hard enough before fanning out on the comforter. Jack removed his fingers to let his tongue sink lower, pushing into you softer and wetter than before. His mouth devoured you; a sickening slurp of his saliva and your wetness had your mouth falling open, silent in disbelief that not an hour ago, you didn’t think this was going to happen.
“S-shit, Jack.”
He slowed down, sparing a glance at your face before deciding to back off. His pointer finger replaced where his nose was grazing your clit. Jack pressed down there, moving in small circles as your hips moved with him.
“That feel good?” He asked softly.
“I think that fucking pill gave you superpowers,” you spat out fast. “Holy shit.”
“Magical” his ass. It was certifiably otherworldly.
“Might just have been a long time since we’ve done this.”
You agreed, moaning a “yeah” in reply.
“Sweetheart,” Jack said like a question. “I hate to do this to you…”
“What?” You sat up so quickly that you got a little dizzy. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jack couldn’t hide his blush. There was no easy way to say “I’m hard now, let me fuck you” after having a meltdown.
His throat bobbed and you caught it.
“You ready?”
Jack nodded and you retuned it with a nod of your own. “Okay, yeah. Alright—”
“Why does this feel like I’m losing my virginity again?” He joked. His laugh barely sounded like one because the second he sat up on his knees, his erection was all he could look at.
Jack had never been embarrassed by his cock before.
“If this is how you lost your virginity, I’d be a little nervous,” you scoffed. “Sit back against the headboard.”
He didn’t argue with you which was a rarity it terms of control. Nothing was really in his control right now and it was making his anxiety shoot through the roof.
Jack shuffled back to the headboard and slipped off his shirt. He helped you pull down his sweats carefully and even though he didn’t feel like you had to be, he was grateful for your gentleness. At the sight of his prosthetic, you tipped your head knowingly at him.
“Why didn’t you take this off yet?”
“I forgot,” he feigned innocence.
“Mhm,” you judged and took it off for him. “Sure you did.”
With his prosthetic resting on the floor against the bedside table, you resumed your position in his lap and wrapped an arm around his shoulder while your free hand wrapped around him. You’d never been with someone who needed to take a Viagra before. Jack felt different and you knew how he felt in your hands.
His dick felt firmer—less like his own and more like one that was being controlled.
Your hand went from tip to base and back and he jolted.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s like my nerves are on fire.”
“Does it feel bad?”
His nose brushed yours as he shook his head. Jack didn’t tell you to stop so you kept pumping him mildly.
“It feels really fucking good, actually.”
“Yeah?” You smiled.
“Yeah.”
Jack kissed you with everything he could muster. He gripped your bare hips tightly, sinking his fingers into your skin until he felt like you weren’t going to disappear. You put more tension in your fist and he groaned, precum escaping him and making your job easier.
“Do you feel like you’re ready?” You kissed him lazily, pulling on his bottom lip enough for it to bounce back.
He chased your lips. “What if—”
“Honey,” you soothed. “We’ll get there, okay?”
“Okay,” he accepted. He nodded, looking you in the eye and giving you the reassurance he also needed.
Lifting up in his lap, you guided him to your entrance and sunk down slowly. The feeling was overwhelming and you both needed time to adjust. Jack’s head fell back against the bed frame as far as he could go, clenching his jaw enough where the muscles strained on his face.
“You’re fine, Jack,” you cooed in his ear. Soft pants met his cheek as his hardness was unlike anything you’d experienced. “Breathe, baby.”
Your nails raked the base of his skull.
“Keep going,” he bit out. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”
“I guess we’ve both been ‘rejuvenated,’ huh?”
Jack wasn’t overly appreciative of your humor but you moved anyway, testing the waters of your bounces and grinds before settling into a rhythm that suited you. His cock stretched you wide and every time you sank back down, it was as though he never filled you in the first place. A spark of exhilaration bloomed. This was so different, so minutely different, that it felt new.
Jack’s hands groped your ass to help ease the strain on your thighs the longer you went. His lips swapped duties between connecting with yours and finding the skin of your neck, collarbone, and chest peppered with affection. Jack listened to your soft mewls. He soaked in the whispers of sweet nothings and the shaky gasps you couldn’t help.
He wanted you close.
Jack needed you to mold into him like he was showered in rain. He pulled you close; arms wrapped up around you so tight there was no escaping his embrace.
He nipped at your chin. Low and rough, Jack spoke to you. “I love you so much.”
Jack’s nose trailed up your cheek, bumping into yours and seeking your lips again.
“You have no idea how much I love you.”
“Jack,” you whined with a grin. A shake in your legs had him running his hands over your back, soothing you now instead.
“I know you’re ready, baby.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m close.”
“What do you need from me?” He asked willingly.
You shook your head. “I-fuck, nothing. I just—”
Jack bent his knees the best he could and the angle his cock was hitting changed on a thrust. Deep and unforgiving, your fingernails dug into his skin hard. Jack murmured appreciation, egging you on to the finish line and neglecting himself.
You were too wrapped up in the feeling. The building of a week, the racing of your heart, to think for a second that he was nowhere near close to his orgasm.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
He felt the falter in your hips.
Your orgasm shook you from Heaven to Hell and back—even if believing it was hard to fathom. Jack’s hand flew to the back of your head, holding you into him as the aftershocks of muscle spasms lingered seconds after your breathing began to settle. You returned his kisses with your own against his neck and shoulder. The freckles on his body were reminders of all the places he had ever been kissed and you were adding to that—on top of ones that already existed, beside them, and in the spaces that laid empty of any.
He wouldn’t remember them in every lifetime but you liked to imagine that all of his freckles were kisses from you.
As your brain recovered from the fuzzy glow and you realized that Jack was still rock hard inside of you.
“Do you want me to—”
“No,” Jack cut you off. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… I think it takes time.”
“But now you haven’t even…” you trailed your response with a flick of your eyes downwards. “I can’t leave you like that.”
“Baby, it could take an hour.”
You glanced at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. The time read 11:47.
“We’ve got time.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not gonna let you give me a handy for an hour.”
“Hey,” you tugged on his earlobe lightly. “I’ve got a mouth too.”
“It’s fine,” he reassured but you weren’t buying it. His mouth quirked to the side in thought. “Would you hate me if I asked you to clean up alone?”
You ran your thumb along his jawline.
“I could never hate you, Jack. I’ve lived this long, I think I can handle one less aftercare shower.”
“It makes me feel like an asshole.”
“You’re not. I promise you.”
Carefully, you lifted up from his lap and let him slip out. You avoided looking at him so he didn’t find another reason to be embarrassed about something that impacted millions of men—especially those who were on medication for concerns far more important than simply erectile dysfunction.
He watched you disappear into the bathroom and shut the door with a click before he put his pillow to his face and yelled into it.
The prescription tag read as follows:
Prolonged erection greater than 4 hours and priapism (painful erections greater than 6 hours in duration) have been reported infrequently since market approval of VIAGRA. In the event of an erection that persists longer than 4 hours, the patient should seek immediate medical assistance. If priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss of potency could result.
Jack had to put his readers on to even see the label.
“… if priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss…” he repeated the label back to himself to make sure he read it correctly.
His eyes flitted to his phone, touching the screen to light up a big 7:30 AM and a picture of both of your smiling faces beaming back at him.
This might not have been the actual worst day of his life but it was second.
His crutches clicked against the floor as he approached your side of the bed. He hated waking you up when you were clearly dead to the world. Laid face first into your pillow, he rested a hand on your back and shook you gently.
“Baby?”
You barely bristled. He repeated the action, calling out your name louder.
“Hm?” You grumbled in slight annoyance.
Jack shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wincing as he turned wrong and made his sweatpants tighter than they already were.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he started and realized how quickly those were the wrong words. You sat up abruptly, face twisted in concern as he tried not to cry from the pain his fucking dick won’t stop causing.
“What!?” You searched his face for an answer. “What happened!?”
“You gotta calm down.” Jack moved his arm to block your view.
“About what? What’s wrong?”
“I seem to be having a little… complication.”
Your brows furrowed. “A complication?”
Jack clicked his tongue with a nod. Your eyes darted down too obviously to his pants and back to his face. His erection was blatant. It practically waved at you from behind his arm.
“Does it have anything to do with that?” You said above a whisper. “Why do you have such bad morning wood?”
Jack groaned, again, completely at odds with himself.
“Remember when we had that bottle of red with dinner?” You nodded. “Well it turns out that sometimes while meds can cause the problem, mixing alcohol with the little blue pill causes… other problems.”
“And this can’t be solved with an orgasm?”
“Not after more than six hours.”
Your eyes bugged out of your head. “Six hours!? Jack, what the fuck!”
“I thought it was going to go away!”
You swiftly moved out of bed and shrugged on a sweatshirt. Jack watched you pilfer the room for socks and shoes and leggings and just sat there helplessly on the edge of the bed with his crutches one inch from sliding off of it. You didn’t say anything and that made it worse for him.
“I’m sorry,” Jack spoke up.
“What are you sorry for?” You opened his drawer and pulled out a fresh tee. “It’s not your fault.”
“It feels like it is.”
“Well it’s not, Jack. So stop apologizing and get your leg on.”
“I can’t bend over.”
You tossed the shirt to him. “We’re going in.”
“Where?”
“The ED.”
“No,” he said with a nervous laugh. “No the fuck we are not.”
“You say that like you have a choice, Mr. Abbot.” Oh. He didn’t like that. “Turns out that doctors are truly the worst patients. Your night shift is gone, Robby’s gotta be—”
“I am not letting Robby see me like this.” The thought repulsed him so badly that it made his skin crawl.
“Then someone else will help us,” you clarified. “The longer we wait the worse I’ll assume it will be for you. I’m not driving you to Presby or Mercy when I know the ones that can help you the best.”
“I’ll never live this down.” His eyes filled with ashamed tears and every now and then, you’d seen Jack down on his luck.
A terrible shift, a long week, anniversaries he’d rather not have… but he stared at you from the bed and he looked so small. His salt and pepper hair was flat from restless sleep and the scruff on his face couldn’t hide the jumble of thoughts pouring out of him. You moved to stand in front of him, grasping his face between two hands, and forcing him to look you in the eye.
“You are the strongest, most resilient man I have ever met. You’ve taken care of me more times than I can count and now, it’s my turn to help you the best way I know how. This is bad now, yeah… it is,” you nodded in agreement, “but it’s not forever. After this, you’ll call your therapist and tell him what happened and we will try again when things are better.”
A tear steamed down his cheek and you wiped it away with your finger.
“It’s okay to be embarrassed, honey.”
“I’m gonna make this up to you,” Jack settled. “I promise.”
“Okay.” You didn’t need him to. However, if it made him feel better, sure. Your hands tapped his face twice before letting go. “Let’s go, Soldier.”
The PTMC Emergency Room wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it wasn’t one you frequented.
It bustled with far too much chaos and while your own career had its fair share, there was something about Jack’s place of work that made you feel ill just looking at it. Death, hurt, pain, and suffering wrapped up in four walls, some windows, and doors.
And now Jack sat outside of it in a wheelchair because he refused to go in on his crutches.
“Just go in and tell Dana I’m out here.”
“Someone is going to have to come and get you anyway, so just come with me.”
Jack begged, “please.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Luckily, Dana was talking with a young nurse at the hub when the ambulance bay doors opened wide. You kept in a straight line to her, not distracted by the sounds and the yelling coming from one of the many rooms. Dana was halfway through a sentence when she glanced over her shoulder and did a double take.
“Hey stranger,” she beamed. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
The young nurse beside her, Emma, smiled at you in the awkward way you did when you didn’t know someone’s friend.
“Hi Dana,” you greeted.
“Jack’s not here,” her eyes questioned you. Jack had been scheduled off for the next couple days so there was no telling where he’d be other than at his house.
“Well,” you let out a loose, barely amused chuckle, “funny you should say that.”
“Is he okay?”
“Not really… I just—we just—need this on the down low, alright? He really doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.”
She nodded understandingly and grabbed an iPad from the counter. “Where is he?”
“Out in the ambulance bay. I put him in a wheelchair.”
“Should I get Robb—”
“No!” You said loudly and shook your head. “God, no. Sorry.”
Emma jumped at the sound and her eyes darted to the bay. “Can I help?”
Your face scrunched. Jack would rather not traumatize a new nurse so early in the shift.
“Is Donnie around? Or Dr. Al-Hashimi?”
“Yeah.” Dana patted Emma on the shoulder. “Go get ‘em and we’ll put Dr. Abbot in Room 7.”
Dana rounded the hub and put a hand on your shoulder. As she stepped further away, she pressed about the situation.
“You know, you two aren’t getting any younger. You can’t go at it like rabbits.”
“Dana,” you scolded with a smile. “That’s—that’s not it.”
“What happened?”
All that was needed to be said were three little words:
“Little blue pill.”
Jack heard the hiss of the ambulance bay open and Dana walked up to him with a laugh buried in her throat. Jack was wearing a hat and glasses like a superhero in disguise and his backpack flipped over so no one could see the name angled in his lap.
“Don’t fucking say it, Evans. Don’t.”
“I’m not!” She held up her hands in defense.
“Dana said she’s gonna help. No one needs to know.”
You grabbed his crutches off the wall and followed closely as Dana wheeled him into Room 7 and pulled the curtains. She left still fighting amusement as Donnie entered with Baran.
“Dr. Abbot,” she said fondly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“I think we both had different ideas about how today would go.”
Jack took off his glasses and hat, passing them off to you. The bag stayed lumped in his lap.
“So, what brings you in today?”
There was a second of silence and then:
“I seem to have a bit of a… priapism problem.”
Baran’s eyes widened and Donnie hesitated putting on his second glove.
“And how long has the erection lasted?” Jack hated how she pronounced the word loud and clear. He looked at you, shrugging for a loose approximation of time.
“Maybe around… since 11 or so?” You informed.
“So somewhere around 8 hours?” She asked and motioned for Donnie to put the bed rails down. “Does that seem accurate?”
You both nodded. Donnie wheeled Jack over to the bed and he hesitated, looking at you to help him instead. You handed Jack his crutches and as he stood, both Donnie and Baran tried to be respectful and looked away from Jack’s body.
“Dr. Abbot, I’m going to have to ask you some questions about your medical history, medications, and so forth. Is that okay with you?”
“I think you can just call me Jack now,” he grunted as he shuffled onto the bed.
“Can you tell me what medications you take?”
“I-uh, take um, 100 mg of Zofolt, 3 mg of Prazosin for sleeping, and Cyclobenzaprine as needed, 5 mg three times a day, but I haven’t needed it lately.”
“And for the priapism problem?” She slipped on her own gloves.
“I took one Viagra.”
“Have you taken one before?”
“No,” Jack admitted. “My therapist changed one of my medications to Zoloft two months ago and ordered it as a precaution.”
Baran nodded in understanding and as she sat down on a stool and rolled closer, Jack’s hand shot out to yours and squeezed tightly.
“Did he explain the side effects of taking those medications together?”
“Yes,” Jack recalled. “But we must have had… three glasses of wine last night and I’m pretty certain that’s the reason it won’t go away. A reaction, if you will.”
“You’re not wrong.” She smiled at him kindly, then to you.
“How long have you been married? I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“Six years,” you told her. “And it seems we’re always finding something new to experience together.”
“It’s a good thing,” Baran assured. “Imagine living a life where it’s normal and boring all the time. At least you’ll be able to laugh about it later.”
Her eyes found Jack’s and he knew she needed to look at him more closely.
“What happens in this room, Dr. Abbot, stays in this room. Got it?”
He nodded and focused on a spot across the wall as Donnie hovered behind Baran. Your hand covered his, rubbing gentle circles to ease the discomfort.
“Was this a special occasion or something?” Donnie asked Jack. “Or just a regular Saturday night for you two?”
“Just a Saturday night,” he said shyly. Jack, being bashful? You relished it.
“I gotta say Doc, your wife’s a lucky woman. Who knew Dr. Abbot hit the genetic lottery.”
The blush that overtook his body was a deeper red than his penis. Your hand flew to your mouth, covering the choked laugh before it could escape but Donnie was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and keeping it in was practically impossible. Baran bit down on her tongue.
But Jack knew how to bite back too. “If your idea of the genetic lottery is a guy with 1.75 legs, then sure. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Okay.” Baran finished her inspection.
“I have a feeling this isn’t a cold compress kind of procedure,” Jack wished.
Baran shook her head.
“We’re going to need to aspirate.”
Jack was back on his crutches after an hour with a soreness that would last hours.
“I don’t think I need to tell you what you can and cannot do in the next 24 hours,” Baran opened up the curtain and immediately Jack locked eyes with Dana.
“No, you don’t.”
“Maybe also speak to your therapist about the prescription the next time you go?”
Jack gave you a closed mouth smile. “I already heard that from this one.”
“She knows what she’s talking about it seems,” Baran nodded in approval.
The door opened up and Donnie held it for Jack to escape from. The RN held out his fist, asking Jack wordlessly to bump it.
Jack obliged.
“My man,” Donnie grinned. He slapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before walking to a computer.
“I’m never filling in for day shift again, ever,” Jack told you over his shoulder.
“All good, Jack?” Dana asked from the hub as you both passed by.
“Never better.” Jack kept going towards the door.
“Thanks Dana for your help,” you said appreciatively. “If he never tells you, he’s thankful too. And I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
The doors to Trauma Bay 2 opened with a whoosh. Jack, still on the slow run on his crutches out of the ED never looked back, but Robby caught sight of him as he sanitized his hands.
“Woah!” He exaggerated. “What’s Jack doing here?”
“He’s going home,” Dana informed and you gave a small wave to Jack’s work wife. He hated when you called Robby that but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Just a little accident.”
“Jack!” Robby called after him but Jack didn’t care.
“Adios! Goodbye!” He said your name loudly followed by a “hurry up!”
You tapped the counter. “Sorry. The princess needs a ride home.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to call him that,” Robby laughed.
“It’s the least of his problems right now.”
They watched you trail behind your husband who, once through the second door, turned and waited for you patiently. You kissed him gently before walking out of view and inside of the PTMC, the world continued to turn.
Robby looked at Dana with a question and Baran walked away before he could ask her anything remotely related to Jack. But Donnie… Donnie just can’t keep anything to himself.
He turned to Robby in his swivel chair.
“Did you know Abbot’s packin’ heat down there?”
A/N: i wrote this straight over three days after not writing for about a year. crazy how that works, huh?
i hope the twitter divas find this.
comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! it keeps us writing!
a loose sequel has been posted: the heart skips a beat
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Quiet mornings don't come round often. There's always something, forgotten homework, arguments over the TV remote, spilt cereal.
But when your eyes flutter open, dust dancing in the light through the blinds, all you hear is silence. Silence and the sound of Dean breathing softly next to you. His arms are wrapped around you, his body pressed against your own.
You shift closer to him, your body still exhausted, desperate for a few more minutes under the warm sheets. He feels you moving, dragging you into him, his lips immediately on your shoulder.
"Morning, darlin'-" he murmurs, kissing you lightly.
You let out a soft sigh, relaxing back against the mattress.
"Look so pretty in the morning-"
You turn your head, catching his lips for a moment- he leans into you, then you turn away again, head back against the pillow, "You think we've got time?"
You feel him grin, but he plays coy, "Time?"
"You know-" you grind against him, he's already hard, "-time."
"Oh sweetheart, I've always got time for you." He chuckles, kissing you again.
You feel his hand on your hip immediately, moving quickly over your stomach and down between your legs. It's like a dance, after all these years, he knows you better than yourself, it's just about how he chooses to get there. This morning is clearly about efficiency, both of you keeping an eye on the inevitable count down before a crisis.
His fingers find your clit, circling slowly as you arch into him, grinding against his cock. He lets out a hungry groan against your ear, nipping at the skin on your neck, hoping he can get a small mark to appear without anyone else noticing.
"Fuck- I've missed morning sex-" he laughs, moving his hand lower, pushing two fingers into you quickly. You feel his wedding ring against your entrance, a familiar but welcome feeling. His palm rests against your clit, still moving against it, working you up.
You let out a quiet gasp, still grinding against him, his fingers filling you, his cock against your ass. You move one hand behind your head, tugging at his hair, pulling him into you, his face buried into the crook of your neck.
"That's it, pretty girl-" he groans, his voice strained.
"De- honey- stop teasing-"
"I'll tease my wife as much as I want." He chuckles, kissing your neck.
"We don't-" you pull in a shaky breath, "-we don't have time for teasing-"
He smiles against you, pulling his fingers out, and dragging them back up your body. You hear as he sucks them into his mouth, tasting you, "God- this pussy's still just as sweet as when I married it-"
He shifts slightly, spreading your legs as he moves up against you. You finally feel his cock at your entrance, the tip pressing against you, so close-
"Mommm!" The sound comes from across the house, followed by the clatter of falling furniture.
You both sigh, rolling away from each other, sinking back against the mattress. You glance over at him and he lets out a small laugh, rolling his eyes.
You go to move and he shifts, pushing you back against the bed and planting a kiss on your cheek.
"It's fine- daddy's got it-" he pulls away, moving to stand as he pulls on a pair of boxers and grabs his ancient robe off the floor, "Just wait there- I'll be right back-"
☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓
Part of the tarot series - 22 unrelated short stories exploring different Dean x Reader archetypes.
Just comment/message to let me know if you'd like a tag. Asked to tag: @pieolsen @bitchinwallaby
☀️ As always- I'd love to know your thoughts ❤️ Comments are very much appreciated ☀️
domesticated!soldier boy x wife!reader, HEADCANONS
★ much to everyone’s surprise, Ben is a total wife guy– maybe it’s his old fashioned ways, maybe it’s because it’s what he always wanted, but this man is down bad for his wife.
★ he’s the type of man to refer to y’alls kids as “rug-rats” though he is a complete sucker for them.
★ who gave you hour-long rants about how “Sweetheart, there’s no way n’ Hell you’re bringing a goddamn mutt into my house” only for you to find him sprawled out, asleep on the couch with the dog thrown over his chest.
★ who always thought weddings were kinda stupid and only good for booze until he saw you walking down the aisle to him.
★ always said that if he ever had a kid it’d be a boy so he could have a mini-him soldier but once your little girl came along she had him on his knees in an instant.
★ who proudly claims your daughter’s feistiness, “comes from her ma” and has absolutely nothing to do with his smug personality.
★ Ben is the kind of husband which always takes his wife’s side– no questions asked.
★ the kind of dad that makes sure the kids have a “kickass lawn” to lay around and play with at your house.
★ denies having a dad voice despite absolutely having one.
★ who always made fun of “picket fence, apple pie lives” until he finally had one of his own.
Based on this request. I have been putting this poor man through the wringer on this blog. He deserves some peace. Thank you always for your comments, likes, reblogs, and requests. 🤍
The dust of the Kingsroad clung to the air in the courtyard of the Red Keep, a fine, gritty haze that turned the early evening light into something thick and amber. It had been a month. Weeks of an empty side of the bed, of silence in the solar, of holding a daughter who asked for her father every morning and a son who was growing faster than the weeds in the garden.
The party rode in in a disordered clatter of hooves and harness. The banners of House Targaryen and the men of your husband's personal guard were stained with the gray mud of the road, the horses lathered and heads low. The air smelled of sweat, horsehair, and the metallic tang of travel. You scanned the faces, looking for the one that mattered.
You found him near the back of the column, riding his black destrier. The sight of him hit you with a sudden release of tension in your chest that made your knees weak. He was upright. He was alive. The relief was immediate and overwhelming, washing over you in a cold wave. You started to step forward, a smile already tugging at the corners of your mouth, but then you looked at him properly.
You stopped.
He was slumped slightly in the saddle, a posture so uncharacteristic for a man who sat a horse as if he had been born upon one that it seemed wrong, a distortion of nature. As he drew closer, you saw the way his right arm hung stiff at his side, the way he favored his left stirrup. The light caught his face, and you saw the mottled purple and green bruising spreading across his cheekbone, the angry split in his lower lip.
The relief evaporated, replaced instantly by a cold, heavy stone of dread in your stomach.
He pulled the horse to a halt a few feet away, groaning slightly as he swung his leg over the saddle. He hit the ground harder than a man of his skill should, his boots sending up a small puff of dust. He caught himself on the pommel, his knuckles white, before he straightened up. He smoothed his tunic, lifted his chin, and looked across the yard.
His eyes found yours immediately. They were vivid against the bruising. Before you could move to him, Maester Yormwell hurried across the cobblestones, his chain clinking softly, a small bag of supplies in his hand. The old man intercepted Baelor before he could take more than two steps toward you.
"Your Highness," Yormwell said, his voice low but carrying an edge of scolding. "I told you to ride in the wagon."
"And I told you I prefer to ride my own horse," Baelor replied. His voice was rougher than usual, gravelly with exhaustion.
You moved to his side, close enough that your shoulder brushed his arm. He radiated heat, a feverish warmth that worried you more than the bruises. You looked at the maester, waiting.
Yormwell sighed, shaking his head. "A blow to the back of the head," the maester listed, ticking the injuries off on his fingers. "He must rest, Your Grace. No reading, no straining his eyes, and he must be woken every few hours to ensure he has not slipped into a stupor. Bruising at the rib, likely from being thrown or the impact of the fall. It is not displaced, but it will require rest."
Yormwell reached up, tilting Baelor's head back to inspect the face. "Bruising on the cheek where the visor of his helm shattered. And the cut on the lip, which required three stitches on the road."
Baelor stood still through the inspection, his face a mask of stoicism. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, but you saw the flicker of discomfort in his eyes as Yormwell prodded his side.
"I am fine," Baelor said, the moment the maester lowered his hands. He said it with total composure, his shoulders squaring, his voice steady. He was performing for you, standing straight despite the pain you knew he was feeling, trying to be the unbreakable Prince for the benefit of his young wife.
You looked at him. You let your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the swelling on his cheek, the way his breathing was too shallow. You scowled, the corners of your mouth turning down, your brow furrowing. You did not try to hide it. You wanted him to see exactly how furious you were.
He looked back at you, his mismatched eyes were calm. He didn't flinch under your glare. He just accepted it, as he accepted most things from you.
"The maester will prepare a poultice for the rib," Baelor said, as if concluding a council meeting. "And a sleeping draught."
"You will take the draught," Yormwell said firmly.
"Of course," Baelor lied smoothly.
You barely heard the rest of the exchange. The fear had burned off completely in the heat of your anger, leaving only a sharp, brittle resentment. He had done this. He had chosen to put himself in harm's way, and now he stood before you broken because of what? A display of valor?
The walk to your chambers was a blur of torchlight. The corridors of the Red Keep were busy, servants and courtiers bowing as you passed, but you saw none of them. You felt the heavy thud of Baelor's boots on the stone floor beside you, slightly uneven. You felt the tension radiating off him. He knew. He knew he was in trouble.
The guards opened the heavy oak doors to your chambers. You walked inside, the familiar scent of candle wax and roses washing over you, usually a comfort, now doing nothing to settle your nerves. Baelor followed, and the guards closed the doors with a thud that echoed.
The silence descended, immediate and suffocating. He stood by the hearth, his hand resting on the mantel, his back to you for a moment before he turned.
"You are angry with me," he said. It wasn't a question. His voice was quiet, gentle, but it carried the weight of a man who had been married long enough to know the terrain.
"Of course I am," you said. Your voice didn't shake. You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest, a barrier between you. "You were reckless."
Baelor sighed, a long exhale that seemed to deflate him slightly. He walked toward you, stopping just outside your reach. "It was the right thing to do. The hedge knight — he would have died. Aerion was wrong."
"It was not your problem," you snapped. The words came out fast, sharp as a whip crack. "Surely someone else would have done it."
"This was my duty. It is not something I can set aside because it is dangerous, or because you might worry."
You were his wife. And you were tired of heroism if it came in a box with a cracked rib and a head injury.
You looked at him, feeling the sting of tears that you refused to let fall. You took a step closer, invading his space, forcing him to look down at you.
"I genuinely believed that one of the advantages of choosing a husband of your age and experience was that your days of senseless violence were behind you. That I would not spend my marriage frightened of losing you to a tourney field, or a brawl, or some misplaced sense of honor. I was apparently wrong about that."
Baelor blinked, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. He looked at the floor, then back at you. "There is a knight still competing at six and fifty—"
"Do not," you said, cutting him off, "finish that sentence."
He didn't.
"You find this amusing?" you asked, your voice rising.
"No," he said. "I only meant to say that—"
"I care not what you meant," you interrupted. "Your young children are innocent too, Baelor. Or have you forgotten them in your quest to save every hedge knight in Westeros?"
He flinched. It was a small movement, a twitch of the muscle in his jaw, but you saw it.
"Your daughter asks for you every single day," you said, the image of your little girl's face flashing in your mind; her eyes, so like his, filling with tears when you told her he wasn't home yet. "She draws pictures of you on the floor with chalk. She waits by the window. And your son..." Your voice broke. "Your son will not remember you if you are not there. He is changing every day. He is growing, and you are out there getting your head bashed in."
You took a breath, the air in the room feeling too thin. "Who would protect them if something had happened to you? Who would protect me?"
Baelor was quiet. He didn't look away. He didn't try to defend himself with chivalry or duty. He stood there, taking it in properly. He let your anger wash over him, accepting it as his due. Finally, he spoke. "You are right."
He reached out a hand, hesitating, then letting it fall back to his side. "I did not mean to make light of your fear. I only... I acted."
You looked at him. The bruise on his face was darkening by the hour, the gray streaks in his black hair seemed more prominent than they had weeks ago. At nine and thirty, he was not old, but he was not twenty.
You let out a long breath, your shoulders slumping. The anger was still there, a hot coal in your chest, but it was banked now, smothered by exhaustion and the overwhelming sight of him, alive and sorry.
"Sit," you said.
He obeyed immediately, moving to a seat near the large hearth. He sat heavily, a grimace crossing his face as his ribs protested the movement.
You turned to the table where the basin and cloths were already laid out, prepared by the maids who knew the routine of a returning lord. You poured water from the pitcher into the ceramic bowl, the sound loud in the quiet room. You picked up a linen cloth, dipping it into the water. It was warm, but not hot.
When you turned back to him, he was watching you, his hands resting on his knees, his posture relaxed despite the discomfort. He watched you the way he always did when you were concentrating on something. It wasn't just love; it was fascination, as if you were a complex map he was learning to read.
You stepped between his legs and brought the cloth to his face.
"I missed this," he said softly.
You moved the cloth to the bruise on his cheekbone. It was spectacular, a bloom of blue and green against his tan skin. "You missed having your wife clean your battered face?"
"I missed you," he said.
You rolled your eyes, but the gesture lacked any bite. You kept working, wiping away the grime of the road from his forehead, his temples, the line of his jaw.
"How were they?" he asked. "The children."
You paused, the cloth hovering near his ear. "Our daughter is exactly as hardheaded as you are. She decides what she wants to do and won't listen to anyone." Your voice softened. "She will be so happy to see you when she wakes."
A small smile touched his lips. "And the boy?"
"While you were gone, our son started crawling."
Baelor went still. The air in the room seemed to stop. He looked at you, his eyes widening slightly. "Crawling?"
"He pulled himself across the rugs this morning," you said. "He is determined to catch the cat."
Baelor looked down at his hands, then back up at you. The realization of time passing, of moments missed.
"They get their strength from their mother," he said quietly.
The corner of your mouth moved, almost imperceptibly, a traitorous twitch of amusement. You pulled it back immediately, to maintain your resolve. "I haven't forgiven you yet," you said.
"I know."
He reached up and caught your wrist as you reached past him to wet the cloth again. His grip was firm, his fingers warm and calloused. He turned your hand over, exposing your palm.
He pressed his lips to your palm. It was a soft, lingering kiss, his breath warm against your skin. Then he moved his lips to your wrist, feeling the frantic pulse of your blood beneath the skin.
"Baelor," you whispered.
He ignored you, pulling you carefully, slowly, into his lap. Then he kissed you. His lips were soft, despite the cut, tasting faintly of the iron tang of blood and the mint of the tea he must have had on the road.
You were stiff for a moment, your hands on his shoulders, ready to push him away and remind him of his injuries. But then you weren't. Your body betrayed you, melting into the hardness of his chest, the familiarity of his embrace. You had missed him. Your skin remembered him even when your mind was still furious at him.
He shifted his hips against you deliberately, a slow, grinding movement that made you gasp against his mouth. He made sure you felt what your presence did to him, the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, undeniable and insistent.
His mouth moved from yours to your neck, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I missed you," he whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Every day. Every night."
You pulled back, your hands moving to cradle his face, thumbs brushing the uninjured side of his jaw. You looked him in the eye, seeing the desire there, mixed with the pain and the exhaustion.
"I do not think you are in any state for this right now."
He raised an eyebrow, a familiar, arrogant look returning to his face. "Because I am injured," he said, "or because I am old?"
"Both," you said without hesitation.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he winced slightly. "Oh really?" he said.
"Really," though you made no move to slide off his lap. Your fingers tangled in the black hair at the nape of his neck. "You are a concussed old man who should be sleeping."
"And yet," he said, his eyes darkening as he looked at your mouth, "here I am."
Before you could draw another breath to scold him, the world tilted. Baelor's hands clamped around your waist, grip firm and unyielding, and suddenly the floor was gone. A sharp, startled yelp tore from your throat, half-laugh, half-gasped protest, as he hoisted you into the air.
"Baelor! Put me down!" you cried, but your hands betrayed you, wrapping around his neck.
"As you wish."
He crossed the room quickly and dropped you unceremoniously, letting you bounce slightly against the mattress, the breath leaving you in a rush. Before you could scramble up, he planted a knee on the edge of the bed, looming over you, a cage of muscle and intent.
"I am up for it," he declared, his voice dropping to that low, rumbling register that never failed to make your thighs clench. "And I am not that old."
He leaned down, bracing his weight on his hands beside your head, his nose brushing yours.
"I have been thinking about coming home to you since before Ashford was finished." He paused, his gaze searching yours, intense and unblinking. "And I would very much like to give you another child, if you have no objections."
The raw honesty of it, the way he stated his desire so plainly, stripped the air from your lungs. You reached up, threading your fingers into his hair, and pulled him down to you, crushing your mouth against his. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a collision, a desperate meeting of lips and teeth and tongues after weeks of starvation.
"None," you breathed against his mouth, your hands already tugging at the laces of his doublet. "None at all."
Clothes became an impediment, a nuisance to be discarded with reckless haste. You fumbled with the fastenings of his tunic, your fingers trembling with impatience, while he worked on your gown with practiced efficiency. Fabric tore in his haste, the distinct sound of silk giving way to his strength, but neither of you cared. He shoved the layers down, baring your skin to the cool air of the room and the scorching heat of his gaze.
When the last barrier fell away, he settled between your thighs, the heavy weight of his cock resting hot and hard against your belly. He didn't enter you immediately. Instead, he braced himself on one arm, using the other to guide himself to your entrance, teasing your folds with the velvet head of his length. He watched your face, his expression unreadable save for the intensity in his eyes.
He pushed forward, sinking into you inch by inch. It was a slow, deliberate invasion, a stretch that burned in the best possible way. He filled you completely, burying himself to the hilt before stopping, his hips flush against yours. You gasped, back arching off the mattress as your internal walls fluttered around him.
He began to move, withdrawing almost entirely before sliding back in, a slow, gentle glide that stoked the fire in your blood. "I am sorry I frightened you."
He thrust again, deep and measured, his pubic bone grinding against your clit.
Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the damp heat of his skin and the tense bunch of his muscles. "Baelor..."
"I love you," he said, his voice cracking slightly on the words. He punctuated the declaration with a roll of his hips that sent a jolt of pleasure racing up your spine. "I love you so much."
His pace picked up, the slow, torturous rhythm giving way to something more urgent. The gentle apology in his touch shifted into a desperate need to reclaim. The wet, rhythmic slapping that filled the room echoed the pounding of your heart.
"Harder," you begged, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Baelor, please... fuck me harder."
He groaned, a sound torn from deep in his chest, and obliged. He withdrew until just the tip remained inside you, then slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt. The force of it knocked the breath out of you, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. He did it again, and again, setting a punishing pace that had the bedframe rattling against the wall.
He drove into you. His strokes were long and deep, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Is this what you need?"
"Yes... gods, yes," you sobbed, head thrown back against the pillows.
But as the pleasure built to a crescendo, a spark of lingering anger flared within you. It was hot and bright.
You planted your feet against the mattress and pushed.
Taken by surprise, Baelor allowed himself to be rolled. Suddenly, you were on top, straddling his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you. You looked down at him, seeing the shock in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks, the sweat beading on his brow. He looked wrecked, but he was yours.
You didn't give him time to adjust. You planted your hands on his chest and began to ride him, hard. You rose up until he almost slipped out of you, then slammed down, taking him to the root. You used your thighs to drive the movement, setting a steady pace. This wasn't about making love; this was about taking what you needed, about exorcising the fear of the last three weeks with the friction of his body against yours.
You rode him fiercely, your movements demanding. You let your nails rake lightly down his chest, leaving red trails on his skin. You wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to feel every ounce of the terror he had put you through.
Baelor didn't fight it. He simply lay back as his hands came to rest on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he watched you, his heavy-lidded gaze filled with a mix of awe and lust. He moaned, a broken, needy sound, as you clenched your walls around him.
He gasped, his head pressing back into the pillows. "Take what you need, love. Gods... you are beautiful."
His encouragement only fueled your fire. You moved faster, feeling the tension coiling in your belly, the pressure building to a breaking point. Baelor's breathing became ragged, his chest heaving beneath your palms. His hips began to jerk upward, meeting your downward strokes, a desperate, instinctual bid for more friction.
You bore down on him, grinding against his pelvis as you took him deep. With a hoarse shout, Baelor found his release. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsing as he spilled himself. You felt the hot rush of his seed coating your insides, triggering your own release. Your cunt clenched hard around him, rippling and spasming as the pleasure washed over you in waves. Your vision went white, your body trembling as you rode out the aftershocks.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was your combined panting, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. But Baelor wasn't done. Before you could collapse against him, he rolled you again, flipping you onto your back without pulling out.
He was still hard, a testament to his vigor and his determination. He hooked his arms under your knees, lifting your legs and pushing them up until they rested against his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The position left you completely open, completely vulnerable to him.
"Baelor, wait, I—" you started, but he cut you off with a sharp thrust.
He picked up the pace immediately, his hips snapping forward with relentless precision. You were oversensitive, every nerve ending raw, but the friction was intoxicating. He pounded into you, the wet sounds of his cock driving into your cum-filled flesh obscene and loud. The bed shook, the headboard slamming against the stone wall.
"You feel so good," he groaned, his eyes locked on your face. "So fucking tight. So wet."
"It's too much," you whimpered, your hands clutching at his forearms. "Baelor, I can't..."
"You can," he commanded, his voice rough with exertion. "You will." He bent his head, sucking a bruise onto your neck as he continued to hammer into you.
"I'm going to fill you," he growled against your skin. You clenched involuntarily at the words.
He felt it and he laughed, a dark, breathless sound.
"You like that?" pulling back to look at you, his hips never ceasing their rhythm.
"Yes," you sobbed. "Please... I want it."
"Good girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm in the face of his impending climax. "Such a good girl for me."
He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly the head of his cock was battering against your cervix with every thrust. It was a sharp, intense pleasure that bordered on pain, pushing you higher and higher.
You couldn't form words. You were babbling, incoherent noises falling from your lips as your brain short-circuited. All that existed was the feeling of him; the thick, hard length stretching you, the weight of his body pinning you down, the friction of his coarse pubic hair against your sensitive clit. Your legs were spread impossibly wide, opening you up completely to his onslaught.
He groaned, a sound of pure satisfaction. He released your legs, letting them fall loosely, and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the mattress above your head.
He reached between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen, sensitive nub. He rubbed it in tight, harsh circles, the added stimulation pushing you past the point of no return. You let out a high-pitched keen as your body arched off the bed, the orgasm crashing over you.
"Yes... just like that," he encouraged, his own rhythm faltering.
Your walls clamped down around him, rippling and fluttering as the pleasure tore through you. The sensation was too much for him. With a guttural moan, he buried himself deep inside you and ground his hips against yours, his cock pulsing as he found his release again. He pulled away and collapsed next to you.
You lay there for a long time, tangled together, your heartbeats slowly synchronizing. You could feel the evidence of his passion slowly beginning to seep out. He rolled onto his uninjured side and pressed soft, lazy kisses to your temple, your cheek, and your neck, his breathing gradually returning to normal.
"I missed you so much," you whispered. "Every moment was an eternity."
It felt good, releasing the last of the tension in your shoulders. Baelor smiled, a genuine, crinkling-around-the-eyes smile that made your heart skip a beat, and carefully reached out to pull you closer against his side.
You traced idle patterns on his chest, your fingers drifting over the bruises that mottled his skin, careful to avoid the worst of them. The silence was comfortable, filled with the sounds of the night outside the window and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"I cannot believe the boy started crawling while I was gone," Baelor murmured into the quiet, his hand stroking your hair.
You smiled, continuing your exploration of his skin. "You will be the first thing he crawls to tomorrow."
"Good," Baelor huffed, a note of pride in his voice.
✧ summary. After weeks of pent up frustration, your sister-in-law Dyanna suggests you and your husband, Baelor, have a brief escapade, and what better place to blow some steam off than in Dorne?
✧ word count. 6.5k
✧ warnings. MDNI/NSFW established relationship. no use of yn. reader is described as non dornish, but aside from that no other physical description. for the sake of the fic maekar and dyanna live in king’s landing. probably slightly weird timeline and maybe not-canon asoiaf? reader is described as having female genitalia. oral f receiving. piv.
✧ author note. in a nutshell everyone is trying to get them to fuck except baelor is cockblocking himself for some unknown reason lol 🤕 the end is kind of rushed i’m so sorry i was just really wanting to wrap it up but breakspear in dorne you will always be special to me.
Truth be told, the entirety of your and Baelor's trip to Dorne had been Dyanna's idea.
The gardens of the Red Keep were in full bloom. The smell of fresh flowers and pastries wafted through the air. The lemon cakes were arranged on a plate in front of you as a servant brought out the scorching hot tea.
Shrieks of children's laughter rang in the air. Daella and Rhae were playing in the open sun, close enough so their mother could keep an eye on them.
Dyanna sat across from you, her youngest son, Aegon, cradled in her lap. She rocked the babe gently, as he cooed up at her. His little finger twisted and clung to the sleeve of her dress.
This had become your little routine. You and Dyanna would sit in the gardens, at least once a week. You discussed your difficulties, household duties, and court gossip while sipping tea. You exchanged advice and listened to each other. In a sense, you had become each other's rock.
In a court full of snakes and vipers, wandering eyes and listening ears, it was a comfort to have someone like her. Someone real. Someone you could speak to without having to measure every single word before it leaves your tongue.
Over the course of time, you and your sister-in-law built a familiar and honest relationship. It was a great comfort to know you could always rely on her.
A servant poured you a cup of herbal tea as you straightened your back. "Thank you." You replied curtly. The servant nodded and quickly scurried off.
Dyanna cleared her throat, adjusting Aegon in her hold. "Would you like to hold him?" She offered. The babe was drooling and shoving his fingers into his mouth.
"No." Your reply came out sharper than you had intended. It was not the child's behavior that repulsed you — you had gone through your fair share of drool and spit and other bodily fluids while raising Valarr and Matarys. It was something else that unsettled you—a turmoil furrowing deep in the pit of your stomach.
Dyanna seemed taken aback by your response. She knew how much you loved to play with her children, especially Aegon, since he was still a small babe, only a few moons old. Alas, she did not push the matter.
She eyed you carefully, noting the tension in your spine and the rigidness of your posture. Your brows were slightly pinched, and you were mindlessly fiddling with the rings on your fingers.
"What is the matter?" She questioned gently. "It is unlike you to be in such a state."
You sighed, leaning back against the plush pillows. You bit your lip before answering her. "It is Valarr's nameday celebration," you started. "There is so much to organize and prepare, I do not even know where to begin…" Your mind ached at the thought.
Dyanna cocked her head to the side; her motherly instincts kicked in, telling her this was not the whole truth. "And?" She pressed on, fairly certain a feast was not the main cause of your agitation.
Your cheeks flushed red, debating if you should tell her.
"Dear, I cannot help or advise you if I do not know what it is that troubles you." She looked at you expectantly.
You let out a breath, and concluded there was no reason to hide such things from her. She had been there when you gave birth to Matarys for the sake of the Seven; she had seen you in much worse states.
"I just…" Your words were failing you. "Baelor and I barely have time to see each other anymore. I mean, do not misunderstand, we still pass each other and share a bed, but…" Dyanna hummed at your words, a knowing smile spreading on her lips.
"He is so overwhelmed with duties and grain taxes and managing the Realm, which I understand…" You felt guilty for saying such things, but…
"But sometimes you wish he were your husband and not only the Hand of the king." Dyanna finished for you.
"Yes…" You breathed, an invisible weight lifting from your shoulders.
She moved the babe to her chest and swayed him, as he was becoming fussy. "I know. Familiar conditions have befallen me before." She revealed with a curious glint in her eye.
"Have they?" Your voice was more skeptical than it should have been. Maekar was a prince of the Realm, yes — he had many duties even if he was not the heir apparent and Hand. But then again him and Dyanna had six children. And having lived in Summerhall for almost ten years, before returning to King's Landing, meant they had more freedom and luxury than you and Baelor could likely ever afford.
"Yes." She laughed at your disbelieving expression. "Believe it or not, even my lord husband sometimes forgets he has a wife to tend to…" She admitted.
"Hard to believe." The words slipped from you. Nonetheless, there was truth to them — six babes did not simply come from a husband neglecting his wife.
"Oh, hush." She waved a hand at you, suppressing a smile. "You know what I mean." She reasoned.
You hummed in response, a playful smirk on your lips.
"What I am trying to say is you should… speak to him or better yet…" she shrugged. "Try to show him." She suggested in a hushed tone.
You huffed a little laugh. "I have tried… believe me, I have." You complained, brows squinting at the thought.
"And?" Dyanna leaned forward expectantly.
You recalled your exchange with Baelor vividly, from a few nights ago. You had purposely put on his favorite night gown, expecting him to falter, expecting him to finally pay some attention to you. But still, he would not drag his eyes away from that stupid report from the Vale.
You had whined like a child and begged him to leave the rest of it for the morrow and return to bed with you. He gave you an infuriatingly apologetic smile and kissed the top of your head, promising he would make it up to you.
It had been days, and still nothing.
At times, you wondered what invisible force willed your husband to be so dutiful and devoted to the Crown. He was certainly above average in that respect. But then again, he was the future King; he carried a duty only a few men ever come to know.
Most of the time, you admired him for it, but on occasions such as these, you despised it more than anything.
"Nothing." You did not try to mask the disappointment in your voice.
"Oh…" Dyanna bit her lip, unsure how to respond. "Well, I suppose Baelor has always been more… strong-willed than Maekar." She reasoned.
"You do not have to introduce me to my own husband ." You countered, bringing a lemon cake up to your lips and biting into it.
"You know what I think?" She suddenly perked up.
"What?" You asked, covering your full mouth with a hand.
"I think you and Baelor ought to take a break." She announced.
Your eyes immediately squinted at the suggestion. "But Valarr's nameday…" You began to protest, swallowing the bite of sweet cake.
"After." She cut in, not accepting the excuses.
"I am certain a trip to Summerhall or Dorne would do both of you well." She proclaimed, clearly very pleased with her solution.
"Dorne?" You wondered aloud. You had never been to your husband's motherland. Alas, he had spoken of it fondly to you many times, and you had heard various stories of the beauties and wonders of the South.
Dyanna nodded. "Yes, you have never been, correct?" Dyanna herself was from Starfall, of course. She was Dornish through and through.
You shook your head.
"Well, you ought to go. You will see, it is a… completely different land. Different people and different ways of life." She spoke fondly of her homeland, and you suddenly wondered if she missed it often. The Crownlands must be so very different.
"I am sure you will like it." Her tone was sincere."And let me tell you one more thing, the warmer days are always better for letting loose." She explained.
Aegon stirred in her hold, babbling and kicking his feet. "Oh, hush you." She chided softly.
"Now, not to say that Summerhall is exactly warm, but it is a great place for, when the storms roll in—" A mischievous smile tugged at her lips.
You had a feeling this was going somewhere incredibly personal, which you did not want to know about. Such an explicit matter would only concern Maekar and his lady wife.
"Alright." You cut in. "I take your meaning." You assured her.
She laughed at your flustered reaction. "All I'm saying is… none of our children were conceived in this suffocating red fortress…" Her voice lingered.
You gave her a look. "Fine. I will ask him." You relented, and Dyanna gave you a triumphant smirk.
"Mark my words. Upon your return, you will be thanking me." She seemed dangerously sure of herself, and your stomach flipped at the thought.
---
A few weeks later a warm welcome greeted you after your long journey from King's Landing to Sunspear.
The seat of House Martell was decorated with the most beautiful exotic flowers. The court had been carefully prepared to host your royal arrival. The visit, this time strictly one of comfort and not duty, had been anticipated for weeks by the Dornish nobles.
Everything in the South was different, from the very air to the landscape and the people who inhabited it. The breeze carried the smell of unfamiliar spices and vegetation. Trees bloomed with nectarines and fruits you had never seen before, and the wines tasted sweeter than it did in King's Landing.
Sunspear was filled with colorful markets and people who moved through it with a leisure that the smallfolk of King's Landing did not possess. They did not hurry; they did not rush; not to say that they lacked passion — it was merely that they did everything in their life with a certain rhythm.
Perhaps the most unbearable thing in the entire place was the scorching hot sun, which you still couldn't come to terms with. Alas, you decided not to let it irk you too much.
Your first few days in Sunspear were spent exploring Spear Tower with Baelor and being shown around the vast castle. It felt more like a labyrinth than a holdfast.
The gardens were beautiful in an other-worldly sense, incomparable to the ones in the Red Keep. The ones here in Dorne were much larger, filled with lush greenery and hidden hot springs. At every corner, there was a tray with various fruits. There were oranges, figs, lemons, nectarines, and almost always a bowl of glistening honey carefully placed beside them.
That is how, on the fourth day of your journey, you found yourself sitting in the Water Gardens with your husband's lady aunt and the princess of Dorne, Daenerys Targaryen.
The Gardens were located on a beach next to the Summer Sea; Maron Martell had built them for his bride, and they remained a symbol of the union of Dorne with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.
Pale pink marble paved the gardens and courtyard, and you were seated on one of the terraces overlooking the numerous pools and fountains. Blood orange trees offered a comforting shade as you observed the naked children playing and swimming in the waters. Their laughter and shrieks easily carrying on the afternoon air.
"How fare your days in Dorne, princess?" Daenerys' gentle violet gaze found yours. "I trust the spirit of Sunspear is to your liking." She offered a gentle smile.
Her snow-white locks cascaded down her back, the full embodiment of her Valyrian ancestry. She was clad in a light purple dress, and the silver bangles on her arms jangled as she moved about.
"I know it is very different from King's Landing…" Her tone was quieter now. "I must admit, it also took me a while to get used to it."
You eyed her carefully; it must have been very hard for her. To be wed off in such a different land, a different culture, so far away from home. From everything she had ever known.
"But I have learnt to love it." Her voice was sincere. "It has become a part of my soul, and when you have children…" The corners of her lips turned up in a soft smile at the thought of her babes.
"Yes, I understand, everything is very different then." You nodded, thinking of your own boys back in King's Landing. "I know, it is a great luck to be married to an honorable man."
"Indeed." She hummed.
She was very beautiful you noted. And sitting like this in front of you she did not look one bit out of place in the Dornish scenery. It was hard to imagine she was king Daeron's sister; fore they did not resemble one another much, except for their shared Valyrian features.
"Oh Gods, I almost forgot." Her voice perked up, suddenly remembering something. "I have a gift for you."
Your eyes widened at her words but you quickly masked it with a polite cough. "That is very thoughtful of you princess." You bowed your head slightly, offering her a smile. You had come to sincerely enjoy her company in the last few days.
Daenerys instructed a servant to bring out the present, and the man immedieately obeyed, scurrying off to find the item in question.
Curiosity suddenly bloomed in your chest. What could it be? Perhaps a porcelain tea set or a specially binded Dornish book? Whatever it was, you were certain it would be to your liking.
"Ah, here it is." One of the servants placed the unopened box on the table between you. It was decorated with sun emblems and a silken bow was tied to it.
"Open it." Daenerys urged eagerly.
You leaned forward, taking the offering into your arms, and carefully untied the bow decorating it.
As you removed the lid — your eyes fell upon a gorgeous piece of, what you could only assume was Myrish silk. It was the color of sunset and it glimmered under your gaze. You moved to touch the material with your fingers and the softness of it took you by surprise.
"It is beautiful…" your voice was stunned as you carefully appreciated the cloth.
"Take it out. The entirety of it." Daenerys leaned forward, eyeing your reaction.
You followed her order and removed the piece of garment from the box. Your eyes widened when it fell to its full length; you realized just how sheer and see-through the material truly was.
Looking at it now, in the clear sunlight, it resembled less a dress and more something a whore from the Street of Silk might wear. You felt a heat creep up your cheeks.
Daenerys gauged your reaction. "You don't like it." She stated, observing your startled gaze.
"No! No! It's beautiful… it is a very generous thought." You immediately countered, afraid not to turn out offensive. Alas, you could not hide your flustered expression.
Daenerys coked her head to the side, clearly amused by your reply.
"I understand it is not something one would traditionally wear in the Crownlands." That was to say the least — you thought. It looked like something straight out of a brothel.
One thing you had particularly taken note of, in the past few days, was the open manner in which people here dressed. Of course the warm climate called for much lighter and breathable clothing. Yet observing how see through and skin showing their garments were, both for men and women, it never ceased to startle you.
Another thing the Dornish were very different in you thought; and much less strict about.
"It is a nightgown." She explained, testing the material between her own fingers. "It is incredibly breathable and good to sleep in."
"Oh..." Well this made much more sense — to wear such a garment publicly would be utterly scandalous.
She chuckled at your expression. Clearly you were not used to the Dornish being so straighforward.
"Forgive me for saying this…" she began, a glint of mischief in her purple irises. "But I am sure if you do not come to appreciate it, prince Baelor certainly will."
You felt the heat spread from your face to your entire body at her words, the afternoon sun doing nothing to aid you. In the last fifteen minutes you had managed to transform from the composed crown princess into a flustered teenage girl. How wonderful.
You took a deep breath, cleared your throat, and attempted to compose yourself. "I… sincerely thank you for this sentiment, princess." The grace finally returned to your tone. "I am certain your present will be highly appreciated…"
She grinned at your words. "Oh, certainly. Of that I have absolutely no doubt."
---
The candles cast a dim light in yours and Baelor's temporary quarters. The shadows cascaded down the walls, creating a serene glow in the room. One of the curtains had been left open, letting a fresh sea breeze into the dhqmber. It filled the space with an unfamiliar salty smell.
Your things were strewn about the place. The servants had not yet come to organize them.
The room was as grand as your own bedchamber back in King's Landing, with high ceilings and wide corners. Prince Martell had made sure his guests got only the finest treatment. You were the future rulers of the Seven Kingdoms after all.
You were just returning from supper with the Dornish prince and his wife, feeling content and full. Alas, you looked forward to finally spending alone time with your husband.
Baelor entered the chamber behind you, the guards shutting the doors closed with a soft click. You were left encapsulated in your own little world.
"The princess and his wife are very pleasant company." You stated, walking over to the vanity, which stood on the opposite side of the chamber. You were keen on finally undoing the braids in your hair; as the strands had begun to pull at your scalp.
"Indeed." Baelor hummed, entering the room after you.
He was clad in a gorgeous gold-white robe; intricate twists and coils of gold decorated the pattern of it. There was a tiny sunspear under the column of his neck, holding his undershirt together.
Like this, clad in the colors of his mother's house, he looked nothing like a Targaryen prince. He looked Dornish thoroughly from head to toe. One might have mistaken him for the Prince of Sunspear, were it not for the three-headed dragon emblem stitched into the belt of his garment.
The material flowed naturally and freely behind him, creating a strangely free-spirited feel to his otherwise composed and controlled movement. He, for the first time, you concluded, resembled more a Martell than a Targaryen.
And you found that you liked him very much in this state; you could sense the dread and worry of appearing too Dornish, leave him while inhabiting the South. Here, he did not have to hide the love and pride he harbored for his heritage.Here, he did not have to worry about the whispers behind his back. Those doubting his claim to the iron throne. Here, he could be free from all the prejudices of the Crownlanders.
And you couldn't help but admit, you loved how the silver-gold colors suited him. It was a sharp contrast to his usual crimson and black attire. You loved how the warm shades brought out the little white streaks in his beard. It filled your belly with a familiar warmth.
"They are most gracious hosts." He added, falling into the chair that was set in front of a large wooden desk. The woodtop was scattered with scrolls, papers, and quills. The ink sat in a little bottle beside all of it.
Even now, Baelor couldn't bring himself to abandon his duties of being the Hand, as he had insisted on bringing along his workload. He promised you it wouldn't occupy too much of his time, since this was meant to be your shared break. But clearly, he had forgotten his promise.
You pulled at the strands of your hair, undoing the work of the Dornish handmaidens. You carefully eyed your husband through the mirror in front of you.
Baelor took a parchment into his hand and the quill in his other.
You tugged the last piece of hair with a little bit more force than necessary and let your hair fall from its neat, styled look into a more comfortable and free manner.
You returned your gaze to your husband, who still seemed not to be paying you the least bit of attention. An ugly, irritating beast curled its way into your chest, and your nostrils flared in discontent.
What must you do to get this man to pay attention to you?
"Baelor dear," you called for him. "Don't you think it is too late for you to be going over those scrolls now?" You didn't want to call him outright, but your patience was wearing thin.
"Just a few moments, my heart." He did not even bother to move his gaze from the parchment. Which infuriated you even more. "I must finish this, and then I promise I will join you." His voice was so annoyingly calm.
There you were, seething with pent-up frustration, waiting for him, and all he could do was read stupid Realm reports.
"Fine." Your words came out sharper than you had intended. Alas, Baelor was not moved by the anger in your tone.
You decided you were going to play your game. With your rules. If that's what it took for your husband to pay attention to you.
You shuffled through the chamber, moving towards the space divider you used for changing. Baelor remained seated in his place, muttering something under his breath.
Your silhouette disappeared behind the tall screen, and you quickly worked to undo the simple laces of your dress. Thank the Gods, it was an easy garment. Otherwise, you could have never gotten out of it without the help of handmaidens.
Once they came undone, you let it pool at your feet.
In front of you, sitting on a hanger, stood Princess Daenerys' gift. The pale silken material was calling to you, both a promise and a risk. You moved to take it off the hoist and cover yourself with it.
As you took it over your head, the material felt impossibly gentle and soft against your skin. The expensive fabric clung to your curves. It was almost like a lover's caress, stroking your skin, and not a piece of clothing lying against it.
You silently thanked the princess for such a thoughtful gift. It will be highly appreciated. Your own words rang in your ears. Oh certainly. Of that I have absolutely no doubt. Her reply had carried a mix of mischief and intrigue.
You looked down at your frame through the fabric and noted how your entire chest was visible. Gods, this really did not cover anything.
You took a sharp inhale of breath before daring to step out from the changing place.
Baelor was still lost in his texts, and he did not move his gaze to notice you had changed.
You cleared your throat, hoping to gain his attention. You leaned a hand against the column of the bedframe, steadying yourself against the wood.
You felt your heartbeat slowly pick up.
Baelor sighed. "What is it, wife? I told you—" He began, but he was cut short when his eyes landed on your frame standing beside the bed. His mouth parted, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. His eyes drank in your form, which by all accounts was on full display. Not covered one bit by the dress.
You took a nervous gulp, doubting yourself for a fraction of a moment. Had this been a bad idea? Would he be cross with you?
"What is this?" He quickly regained his composure, snapping out of the brief trance. He slowly rose from the chair, finally discarding those stupid papers and scrolls behind him.
You straightened your spine as he approached you, a surge of confidence ccoursed through you.
He tilted his head, standing fully in front of you now. His mismatched gaze shamelessly wandered over your body, and you swore you could see his pupils widen.
"It is a gift," your voice came out breathlessly. "From the princess Daenerys."
Baelor huffed in response. Eyes still raking over the sheer material, how it hugged the curve of your body. How it brought out all your most beautiful features. How it accentuated all those little details he loved about you so much.
He knew your body like the back of his own hand. He could trace it blind, and he would still know all the spots that made you moan and sigh and squirm in his hold.
"A gift," he parroted, moving to touch the nightgown with his fingers. You flinched as his large palm traced the curve of your waist. "You call this piece of…cloth, a nightgown?" There was a hint of amusement in his tone.
You chewed on your bottom lip, pausing before offering a reply. But he cut you off before you could get a word out.
"You look like a whore from the Streets of Silk." His eyes darkened and his words caught you off guard.
You stiffened under his gaze, both ashamed and exhilirated by the remark.
"What would they say, hm?" His large hands encaged your frame and pulled you flush against his body. His metal rings felt cool against your skin.
"If they saw you like this." He tutted, as if berating a child. "The future queen of the Seven Kingdoms dressed like a broodmare."
Something had overcome your Baelor; your sweet, kind, gentle Baelor. Who had always treated you with such care and tenderness, handling you as if you were made of the finest porcelain. Both outside and inside the bedchamber. And now, you could barely register the words leaving his lips.
"All for me…" he croaked at last.
You felt your blood race impossibly warm in your veins, and you could not hold yourself back any longer. You crashed your lips against his own, catching him by surprise, and you felt him groan into your mouth as you caged his face between your hands.
You felt your hardened nipples rub against the white material on his chest as he pulled you closer to himself, not leaving an inch of space between the two of you.
His hands explored your body over the lace, twisting and gripping the fabric.
"Baelor," you let out as he maneuvered you and pushed you towards the bed. You fell onto the crisp sheets with a soft thud. He immediately leaned down toward you, caging your body with his own.
His hands were on either side of you. He resumed his ministrations, fingers tracing and kissing your body. Worshipping every inch of you.
He was gripping the front of your gown when all of a sudden — the sound of cloth ripping broke the air.
You felt it before you saw it.
"Baelor!" You shrieked as you looked down at the ruined front of your dress. It was torn in two, the delicate material ripped at the seams. "What have you—"
He cut your protests off by tugging the entire thing off your body, leaving you in nothing. Completely bare and naked under his hungry gaze.
"I will buy you a thousand more nightgowns, and I will tear every single one of them if I must. If that means I get to have you." He silenced your objections, and you quickly closed your parted mouth.
You let out an impatient huff at his words as your hips buckled to meet the growing bugle under his robes.
"Impatient are we?" He teased. "Have I been neglecting you, sweet girl?"
You shied away from his gaze, feeling the heat creep back to your cheeks.
"Look at me." He commanded. "Hm is that it? Has your husband not been paying enough attention to you?" He clicked his tongue softly, as if scolding you.
"All you had to do was say so. The next time my sweet wife feels unattended, you will come to me. You will open your mouth, and you will use your words."
He was pressing soft kisses to the place just above your chest. "No, instead you dress like a whore and beg for my attention." There was no true malice behind his words, but you still felt the arousal pool in your lower half.
"Baelor—" you attempted to sit back on your elbows, but he pushed you down.
"Hush, let me take care of you." He whispered against the skin of your neck, his fingers finding your breasts and caressing them softly. Pinching and twirling your nipples in his hold.
You sighed at the sensation and felt shivers of pleasure run straight to your core.
He resumed placing kisses and pecks all over your body, his beard scratching the soft skin. He worked all the way from the column of your neck, to the valley of your breast, to your bellybutton and all the way down to your thighs.
When he finally leaned between your legs, he resumed pressing soft kisses to the insides of your thighs. The scratch of his beard a familiar and welcome sensation.
Your hands clutched at the cold sheets beneath you, attempting to brace yourself somehow.
He kept placing teasing pecks dangerously close to where you needed him the most. His teeth softly nipping and biting the skin of your thighs as he smelled the glistening arousal seeping out of your hole.
"Please…" you whined, strained and desperate for him to finally press his lips against where you needed it the most. For him to finally do something with you.
He chuckled from his place between your legs, and you felt the vibrations through your own body.
"Alright, sweet wife, I will not keep torturing you any longer." And with that, before you could get a single word out, he dove between your legs like a man starved. You let out a violent moan as his tongue plunged into your core.
Your back curved and arched off the bed as you felt one of his fingers come to rub soothing circles into your clit.
"Gods Baelor!" You moaned, fisting the sheets beneath as your legs trembled.
He placed his other hand over your hips, keeping you locked in place.
His tongue explored your insides, and you felt his nose rub against your clit. You were mewling and melting from that sensation alone.
"Please…" Your words came out strained.
You were begging for what? You weren't sure, for something, for anything, for him to do something more.
"Don't stop." You finally turned your gaze to where he was placed beneath you, and a groan almost ripped from you.
He was lapping up every single drop of juice that fell out of your sweet cunt. Swallowing and savouring it as if it were the sweetest nectarine.
You felt the familiar tight coil beginning to strain in your belly.
Baelor could sense it too. The way you started to writhe and how your breaths became shorter, your moans whinier. His tongue found that delicious spongy spot inside of you, fingers still rubbing circles into your clit, and you almost screamed at the overstimulation.
You felt tears of pleasure well in your eyes. "Baelor!" You could not hold your release — the pleasure took over you entirely, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You swore you could see stars as the white-hot relief flooded you. Your toes curled at the sensation, and a few tears escaped your eyes.
Through all of it, Baelor did not pause for a single moment. He merely adjusted his pace.
He kept his nose pressed against your cunt, lapping up everything and not wasting a single drop of your release. He guided you through the entirety of your climax.
And still he would not stop — you could not tell how long he spent between your thighs. Pleasing you and making you forget everything apart from his name on your lips and the feel of his mouth against your mound.
By the time he was done with you, your skin was slick with sweat and your brain mushed from pleasure.
He raised his head from between your cunt, his face glistening in the dim light, covered in your arousal. His eyes were gleaming with lust as he panted.
Somewhere along the way, between your second and third climax, he had come up to kiss you. You had torn at his robes, and that was how he was left bare-chested.
His upper body on full display as he dove down once more, to seal your lips with his own. Your legs instinctively locked around his hips, his breath mingling with your own as you tasted yourself on his tongue.
He quickly worked to remove his breeches, discarding them somewhere beside the bed. Presumably, in the pile with your destroyed nightgown and his white robes.
Now; the both of you were fully naked, fully bare as the day you were born.
Baelor gazed down at you sprawled beneath him. The pleasure coursing through his veins fogged all else; the sole thing he could focus on was your breathing, the lines of your face, the halo of messy hair, the sheen of sweat on your brow, the way you trembled from pleasure.
Pleasure which he had bestowed upon you. He suppressed a groan at the thought. He lived to please you, and he would set his own needs aside any day if it meant he got to see you like this.
"Gevie." He rasped, the ancient words seeping like honey from his tongue.
Your cunt clenched around nothing; the term of endearment filling both your heart and insatiable body.
Baelor moved to line himself with your entrance, but you caught his arm.
"No." You firmly replied.
"No?" A flicker of confusion in his eyes, perhaps even fear. But before he could question it, you moved your entire body, flipping the two of you and switching positions.
Truth be told, you had no idea where the strength had come from, but nonetheless, you were positioned above him.
He began to protest, but you placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. You shook your head softly. "No, Baelor. Tonight you are the one who lets loose."
He was clearly not exhilarated by the idea. "Wife—"
But before he could get you to switch your mind, in one swift motion you began to sink onto his rigid length. You both moaned in unison, his hands found your hips, steadying himself. You clawed at his chest, feeling as if you were on your wedding night once more, being split open on his cock. The stretch was painfully delicious.
Your cunt squeezing him as if you never wanted to let go. When he was finally sheathed inside you, his manhood pressed against your cervix, filling you to the brim, you thought you could feel him in your very throat. Your head dizzied from the pleasure.
Baelor tentatively leaned back against the pillows, digits leaving indents from how hard he was gripping the flesh of your hips. Containing himself; willing himself to not just flip the two of you around and have his way with you.
Before he could entertain such a thought you carefully moved up his length before sinking down once more, mouth parting in a barely contained moan. You quickly found a steady rhythm as his hands helped guide you.
"Gods, how long has it been?" He wondered through a shaky breath.
You both felt it, the familiar stretch you had grown so accustomed to in the many years of marriage. You laced your fingers through his own, guiding them away from your hips and settling them somewhere beside you as you found your balance.
"Too long," you huffed, and he managed a tiny smile at that, silently agreeing with you.
With Baelor, everything was passionate; he did everything with careful intent and precision. So to be the one sprawled beneath you this time, barely doing anything, both irked him and brought him a strange sense of gratification.
And that is how you spent your entire evening: exploring each other's bodies in the way that you had come to love so much.
He rubbed gentle but firm circles into your clit before you came crying on his cock; he could only last two rounds before taking over the situation. He took you in each and every position one could think of, worshipping your body as if it were the holiest shrine. And to him it was; his sole temple; his damnation and his salvation.
By the end of the night, you were utterly spent; his milky release dripping from your ruined cunt. It was too warm to think of draping even the thinnest sheet over your naked, glistening bodies.
Instead, you placed yourself on his chest, laying your head against his ribcage, where his heart beat steadily. You sighed in contentment, mewling like a tired, well-fed cat.
"I hope we didn't disturb the castle too much…" you joked, alas, there was a hint of embarrassment to your words. You pressed a small kiss to the corner of Baelor's lips.
Your limbs were still tangled as he softly caressed your bare back. "Well… I would be slightly worried if we weren't in Dorne." He let out with a small chuckle.
You giggled at his words. "Am I hearing this correctly? Is Prince Baelor admitting to enjoying the freedom of the South?" You teased him.
He shook his head playfully, leaning up to silence you with a kiss. "If it's with you — yes. Always yes." He breathed as you pulled apart.
And in that singular moment, you felt the happiest and fullest you had in a long time. You could spend the rest of your life happy and content like this; in his arms. Nothing but the breeze from the outside sea intruding on you and the moonlight witnessing your shared passion.
You sighed quietly. This is what heaven or paradise, or whatever they call it, must feel like. You could not imagine anything greater.
After a brief silence, Baelor thought you had drifted off to sleep, exhausted and spent from your coupling. But all of a sudden your voice sounded up.
"Remind me to thank Dyanna when we get back…" You muttered against his skin, a part of your mind already shadowed by sleep.
"Hm?" Baelor paused his touch on your back, for a moment he was certain you were speaking nonsesnse.
"Oh… all I mean is… she said Dornish nights tend to be quite… short… or long… or I'm not quite sure which it was…" You murmured, your eyes already droopy and glazed over with tiredness.
"What…" Baelor huffed a laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing…" Those were the last words that managed to leave your lips, before you drifted off to the land of dreams, utterly content and pliant in the hands of your lover.
SE JORRĀELAGON HEN ZOKLA; baelor targaryen x stark!reader
marriage for targaryens is pure politics and purity, so much so when the breakspear weds the descendant of the great house of stark, it sends a controversial message about the house of the dragon.
warnings: canon divergence (reader is valarr & matarys’s mother and baelor’s only wife + replaces asra stark & maekar is irish twins with aerys), unrequited love triangle (maekar and baelor pine over the reader *mentioned*), smut smut smut, premarital sex (the horror), canon typical violence, time period related misogyny, hinted eugenics (targcest talk & superiority), direwolves are domesticated with the starks pre-got.
word count: 5.2k
notes: i’ve been craving to make a targ x stark fic for AGES. oh how i missed writing for asoiaf.
“They say he is stronger than the Kingsguard” Jeyne whispered to you in the hallowed halls of Winterfell, the maidens and cooks prancing aimlessly as they prepared for a day bigger than accounted for in the histories, Targaryen princes and royalty were to be hosted by the Starks of Winterfell. “That he is more Martell than Targaryen… you can’t help but wonder what his bastard un—“.
“Daemon Wat— Daemon Blackfyre, is a great… bastard” you whispered curtly, making sure no one heard the words uttered from the mouth of Jeyne, “My grandsire would have struck you if he heard those words” you warned, breathing in deeply. Your nerves were shot to say the least, running on a pure high the past week as the Targaryen’s were set to arrive via carriage within a few aggravating hours, King Daeron, his wife, Myriah, and his children, most notably his heir, Baelor. You looked back at Jeyne, as she sensed your nerves, there was no feasible reason for your general worry, there’s never been a Stark to be betrothed to a Targaryen— despite your grandsire Cregan’s pact to then Prince and heir, Jacaerys Velaryon, and the whispers of your bastard-born great-aunt’s relations with the Prince. “Do you believe he can speak Valryian?”.
A crude smile grew on Jeyne’s face, “Let us hope he can roll his R’s, those men know how to please women” she laughed as you smacked her arm playfully, praying to every God, old and new, that Jeyne’s words fell upon deaf ears. “If he is anything like his grandsire, you may just never leave your bedchambers” she remarked after the silence grew, earning a pinch on her arm.
Baelor Targaryen was a handsome man, with a crooked nose from past breaks, he looked closer to common folk than God like the Targaryen’s have been esteemed to be. Baelor, by all accounts, was an outlier of his family just as his father, seemingly as heir, the realm looked up to him to be just as great as Aegon the Dragon. As he stood in front of you as your father treated Daeron and Myriah to introductions, both Baelor and his younger brother Maekar stared endlessly at you and your own brothers, with Aerys seemingly lost in thought and Rhaegel picking the skin off his fingers. There was an unspoken potentiality that loomed over you, one of them may just be your husband one day.
“And this is my daughter, Y/n” your father introduced, his hand finding its way to your shoulder to signal you forward, a curtsy donning the court as you showed dutiful respect to the King and his Queen. “She is six and ten” he told the King, who met his gaze knowingly, perfect for either of his four sons for betrothal. It was written in pact a generation past for your house, a Targaryen daughter is to be wed to Stark son, preferably the heir to Winterfell, your grandsire never explained the semantics of it.
“A woman grown,” Myriah smiled, signalling you upward from your knees, “Quite an example of Stark beauty as well my Lord, you and your wife should be proud”.
Your father, bashful as can be, snickered, nodding in response to the Queen’s compliment. “We shall prepare the hall, I hope your sons are fond of dancing” he showed them away as the court dispersed, leaving you, your brothers and Jeyne to entertain the sons. You looked to your brothers, long gone to interact with their own friends leaving you and Jeyne to bear witness to the Targaryen boys unabashed side, their neutral state.
Aerys was easy to please, set off to the maesters to learn more about the histories of your great house. As for Maekar, Rhaegel, and Baelor, pleasing them seemed trivial. What were two northerner girls to do with boys with dragon blood? Your eyes met hers as you both settled on treating the boys to the crypt, grim yet somewhat entertaining for any notion of intrigue. A torch was braced in both yours and Jeyne’s hands, a source of light yet the flame raged, nearly burning your hair.
“Is it true that Starks were once able to become beastlings?” Maekar asked beneath his breath as your ancestors’s graves stood inches away.
You shrugged, “Were Targaryen’s true dragon riders or is that just a tall tale?” you challenged, “Starks are wargs, able to bond with their direwolf. Same as how Targaryen’s were once bonded to their dragon” you told, licking your lips to look at Jeyne, “My brothers are bonded to their wolves, as I am bonded to Lynara”. It wasn’t custom
to reveal house secrets, especially your wolves. Yet you felt no harm in telling them about your own. “She’s not keen on strangers, or even our own constituents”.
“Who is she keen on?” Baelor spoke up, his voice was new to you, having not spoken once. You looked back, sparing Jeyne yet another glance, biting your lip before responding.
“Spouses… family, Jeyne of course” you answered, your eyes holding his gaze. “Even then she needs proof of loyalty, direwolves can sense farces, lies, and deception. Eventually, she’ll warm up, yet she still is protective at all times”.
Dancing was an art form within itself, the way your feet stomped told stories of culture, whether your hips swayed or remained stiff told everyone around you how you perceived the arts, whether it was your bawdy brothers and their betrothed, Jeyne shamelessly dancing with the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, your parents fancying a dance alongside their vassals, or you and Baelor challenging each other to see who will stomp on one’s foot first.
“I thought Starks were known for their cunning tactics” he breathed out, labored and humorous as sweat beaded on his forehead from the sheer amount of body heat. A smug smile grew on his face as his foot stepped on yours, the pain wasn’t too great, feeling the Prince control the pressure to be gentle. “Gotcha” he teased, earning a playful shove from you as you immediately stepped on his foot with your pointed heel. The pain was radiating from his toe to the entirety of his nerves, you would not hold back to spare him, there he felt intrigued, eyes meeting yours. Could it be? Baelor Targaryen, heir to his father’s throne, Prince of Dragonstone, set to be just a great leader than that of The Conqueror, a man more Martell than Targaryen, his mother’s favorite, falling in love with a Stark?
“Your daughter seems to be taking a liking to my son” Myriah spoke to your mother as they sat down, their breaths catching their own, a fond smile grew on her face.
“Maekar seems like a good gentleman, quite timid he is however” your mother responded, struck for surprise as her head lifted to see you treating with Baelor.
“Not that son” she said, “If she chooses, she’d be a great Queen”. Your mother studied the smile on your face, exuberant, it marked a bountiful moment in both senses of her soul, the political, and the mothering. She bit her lip, apprehension riddling her body within second thought, you could leave with the Targaryens by the end of their treatment.
“The stables are empty at night” you whispered in Baelor’s ear, your breath tickling his ear, “No guards… or lords or ladies…” the hint was obvious to the young prince, his lip being gnawed between his teeth. Your heart beating against your chest,
Targaryens hate the cold, the blood of the dragon makes their stagnant state of temperature warmer than the average Stark beneath their cloaks, layers, and by the fire. Yet as the hay scratched the back of your body, your skin burned from the touch of Baelor. Naked beneath him, the cold pricked your skin as his body warmed yours, his lips capturing yours sloppily and feverishly. Your nipples hardened beneath his skin, tiny whimpers escaping your mouth each breath as your hand went to the man in front of you’s trousers, palming his hardened cock, leading a breath to be sucked in.
“I can’t besmirch you” he groaned, kissing you yet again, “Your husband deserves your honor”.
You licked your lips before chasing his again, grabbing his hand and leading the palm to your breast, “A prince could never sully a lady” you whispered, “Dishonor me, my prince”.
“Let us hope he can roll his R’s, those men know how to please women”.
Baelor’s tongue was assaulting your clit, two fingers in your hole, one of your hands was flayed out, gripping the pointy hay, the other being gnawed by your teeth in order to keep silent. A squeal left the gap between your hand and mouth, Baelor’s spare hand gripped onto your thigh. Sinful. Purely sinful, as if a heart tree wasn’t a walk away. He rose from your mound, a glistening chin and mouth, you nodded as your eyes met as he aligned his cock with your hole, teasing your clit with his tip. The girthy head made you ache, wondering if the prince would hurt you.
The entrance led you to moan louder than you would’ve anticipated, leading your head to lull away, to see a body move, white hair leaving your field of vision. Not a care in the world led you to warning Baelor as he pumped into you, your eyes rolling back, blacking out from the pleasure. Defiled. You, one of Brandon and Alys’s prized heirs to the name of House Stark of Winterfell, and Baelor, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone, were defiled before marriage, before betrothal.
Maekar avoided your gaze the morning that followed, the Targaryen treatment lasted as quick as it started, only to be the solidifier of the Pact of Ice and Fire. Myriah and Alys saw a liking in the match between you and Baelor, your father begrudgingly obliged to your mother’s proposal, as Daeron was happy to see his heir marry a kind young lady, especially one so responsible and poised in his eyes. The ride back to King’s Landing went in two factions, you with your father and brother, Rodwell as an escort as well as support for Lady Daenerys’s wedding tourney. Baelor gained the title of Breakspear, Daemon’s predilections against his brother’s line grew as a Stark carried a quarter-Targaryen in her belly.
“The blood of the Dragon runs thin through your line brother” Daemon spoke in court, the young prince is to be born today as your groans and yelps littered the halls of the Red Keep, “A Stark is birthing your heir’s heir.”.
Daeron sighed, looking at Brynden to the left of him before responding to Daemon, “It is a blessed day today, yet you speak of disrespect to my heir, his wife, and my grandchild”.
“We’ve lost our dragons, now you wish to both dilute and poison our great house with… northern blood”.
Daeron stopped in his tracks and your screams echoed in the halls, groaning louder than imaginable. He flinched from the noise as did Brynden, nurses scouring back and forth for cloth, blankets, hell, even another maester. Daeron looked at his bastard brother, biting his tongue and walking off to the quarters, seeing his firstborn son in the hall, blood staining his hands, he looked defeated.
“How is she faring?”.
“Nurses say well, they do not wish to sedate her but it seems he’s stuck in her canal” he sighed, his father saw the look in his eyes, exhausted since this earliest hours of the morning, flinching yet again as a scream erupted from your bedchambers, one so violent he nearly charged in the room.
“A dragon would’ve barely groaned” Daemon whispered, insultingly, Daeron stared daggers into his half-born, bastard brother.
“Hold your tongue. Even Targaryens have met the Stranger in birth” Daeron squinted, pushing his brother away.
Then came a cry, a sigh of relief dawned on Baelor as he saw a child in the maester’s hand, immediately going to your aide as the workers taught to take care of Valarr. Sweat beaded your forehead, relief, beyond relief, words of a feeling you could not quite name. Baelor’s lips came to your forehead, congratulating you as your babe was cleaned. Valarr was a fierce yet gentle child at birth, he only took your breast for milk, unknown as a custom of the highborn as noble children had wet nurses.
Valarr’s first night grew colder by the hour, the babe asleep in his cot as you and Baelor snuggled up next to each other, Baelor’s nails grazing your skin as you two were enamored at your creation.
“There’s talk of a rebellion” he breathed out, looking off distantly. “Daemon did not take lightly of the tourney… or our match and of course our child”.
Your brows knitted together, “Then fuck him” you cursed, your babe cooed gently. “Did not know there was such a sanctity of purity amongst your family still”.
“Daemon has had his issues with the standing of our house since I was born” he sighed, raising his empty hand to teasing Valarr in his cot, the babe cooed, near formed a smile, “It’ll die down as it always does, father usually mitigates these issues with Brynden”.
You lift your body up by your arms, straining just a tad, a jolt of pain went through you. “Maekar wanted to see Valarr up close” you diverted the conversation, “Told him on the morrow, poor babe cried from the sight of his hair” you smiled, looking at your child in his cot, “Wonder how he’ll fair with Aerion”.
Baelor ticked his tongue humorously, “May the Seven be so kind to them both”. Baelor was enamored by you, to him, it was as if a halo was around you, you were glowing in his eyes, holding up half the sky. “I am proud of you, ñuha jorrāelagon”.
You smiled, “Ah! The Young Prince speaks his mother tongue”, the slight change of your babe’s coos that became cries led your nipples to harden and lactate. You cringed, your teeth grinded each other as Baelor reached over to grab Valarr from his cot, even more enamored by you as you fed your son from your own breast.
Valarr and Aerion were odd cousins, due to Valarr’s mere rank leaning over his presence, it led formidable opposition during playtime and training. The cousins were stark differences from one another, Aerion favored his father, Valarr favored his father. Yet the two brothers the cousins were mirrors of each other to held love and respect for one another, as brothers do, traditionally speaking, the cousins… not so much. Yet Valarr got along just well with Daeron, Daeron was always a timid yet friendly lad who had no qualms with challenging him in the Keep.
There was a gloom in the air, something felt off as the year was just supposed to end. Your belly was swole, pregnant with yet another babe, it felt as if you needed to catch up with Dyanna, for every one babe of yours, she had two. As you watched over your sons sparing with wooden swords, your suspicions were confirmed. Lynara’s growl grew ever present in the Keep, catching the attention of the young boys and Dyanna aside you.
“I thought she was fine with the boys?” Dyanna asked, protectively, believing the direwolf to be hostile to her sons for playing with her bonded warg’s son.
“No it’s not that,” you clarified, the hairs behind your neck stood up, there was commotion coming from the inside. “Lynara, yield” you warned as your suspicions grew, you held a hand up to Dyanna who wanted to advance through the doors as Lynara snarled. “Ser Quentyn, I believe you may be needed inside the Keep” you apprehensively spoke up, trying your hardest to not alert the boys who have ceased their training, you gave a cold look to Dyanna, one only a worried mother would give.
“There’s a passageway from the side, it’ll direct us to several tunnels to Maegor’s Holdfast” Dyanna spoke up as you both quickly led yourself down the steps to your boys. Your hand encased Valarr’s shoulder to guide him as Dyanna opened a door you never knew existed, allowing Lynara to lead the way, you swiftly put Valarr on her to mount, knowing she would protect your boy valiantly.
You walked in the back, Daeron just in front of you, the boy was shaking with fear. Halted, you stood there confused, concerned even, “What do you see my love?” you shouted ahead and Valarr held a torch, your hands went to Daeron’s shoulders to ease his worry.
“There’s two passageways,” he squeaked out in reply.
Dyanna thought for a moment, she knew these tunnels from when her and Maekar were children, yet the recall was horrid. One way could lead to the council another to the Holdfast, “Take the left route child”.
The council room’s air was thin, as Lynara snarled slightly from the erratic atmosphere, relief dawned upon Valarr as his father stood in the room alongside his grandsire and uncles. Quentyn was nowhere to be found, sending a sour taste in your mouth. Lynara refused to let anyone get near Valarr, except his father who she hardly became accustomed to. Once you entered the room, pieces started to come together. Ser Quentyn Ball just aided in the most heinous act upon the crown— upon the realm itself— he committed treason, to release Daemon Blackfyre.
“It’s best we all stay here, who knows who else could defect and rally for Daemon’s banner” Baelor reasoned, petting Lynara as a means to communicate gratitude before dismounting Valarr, the boy hugged his father tightly as you met the two in a group hug.
“He was training with the boys, I was the one who told him—“ you began to whisper as a confession to Baelor.
Baelor interrupted, refusing to let you cast blame on yourself, “You did not make the traitor to defect, he had every intention to do so, he only needed the time and place” he reassured, one hand resting on your belly, the other combing through Valarr’s hair.
“What of supporters?” you spoke up, the King directing his attention to you, “Surely they are organizing with the houses, bannermen with the utmost contempt for Dornishmen”.
“I believe it won’t be needed Lady Stark” Daeron assured, “My brother is a prideful man who believes himself to be pure, he never agreed with my marriage or my children, he certainly never agreed with my children’s own marriages…” he sighed, heavy is the head that wears the crown, “But assuredly, I could barely even find the words or reason to actually care for my brother, need it be his madness, his namesake, or the fact that no amount of purity will make him true born”.
Brynden nodded beside his brother, “We are strong on own Lady Stark, the realm mustn't face another infighting turn war over our family especially something so trivial as a fucking title”.
“You have the support of my house regardless, even if they pledge outright. My children are Stark by blood, you will always find our allegiance”.
Daeron nodded earnestly, the room was shaken, waiting for the signal that Daemon and Quentyn had fully fled, only then was there a semblance of peace that only lasted as short as it encountered.
Your family made their place to their quarters later, only for Valarr refusing to sleep in his own individual room. He rested on yours and Baelor’s marital bed as Baelor changed into his nighttime clothes, you were restless, staring at your son intently, his face was serene, calm, yours concerned and riddled with apprehension.
Baelor let out a breath, looking back at you, in a daze. He smiled, a proud man who looked at his love, the mother of his children. Yet it felt bittersweet, fleeting. He stepped towards you, reaching to embrace your body, his hand snaking his hand around your belly, you went slack from his embrace.
“They’re going to send you to war” you muttered, biting your lip in an attempt to ease your nerves. “Fighting another fucking succession claim a near two generations later”. Your head instinctively shook itself, you were angry, at the realm, at Daemon, at even your husband and his family. Part of you cursed the Conqueror, the “traditions” that began to breed the system, the fact that your son was seen as unworthy of his last name and place at court due to be part of you, one that bled from his father, as he was seen more of his mother than his father, and that to Daemon and one of the worst kings to reign, was enough to disavow him.
“It’s a duty to serve” he whispered, you could only let out a simple tsk. Your body left his embrace, as much as you burned for your great husband, you knew war loomed, and you were not a fool to worry that your children’s father may perish as collateral.
“It is the duty of a father to be present,” you replied with grit teeth, a slight venom lingered, not for your husband, for the situation at hand. “You don’t think Daemon wants you dead? Your father? Your brothers— your son?” Arguing for the sake of being heard, “I carry your child, his hatred extends to me”. The room witnessed a pregnant silence, your husband ate his words yet, you couldn’t be mad at him, if he rejects his call, people will perish.
It had been several moons since you spoke via raven to the garrison for Baelor, your belly swelled up more and more night by night, the grand maester spoke of a harsh birth to your second son, leaving you bedridden for the time being. The air grew thin as sweat beaded on your face, your body ached, Valarr stood by your bed as you vehemently pressed against him being there.
“Take my son to his grandsire” you breathed, your chest burned, heaving with agony, “Please,” you pleaded once more with your ladies, “Take him.”.
Valarr was escorted out of your chamber, his hand gripped on your garments, pleading on his own to stay. His ears flooded with your screams as your labor began. Just enough time to hear the trumpets, bannermen flooded through the gates. Your groans went through the stones of the walls, the trumpets fell upon deaf ears in your chamber.
“The Prince is back!” a servant spoke up, opening your door to reveal the sight of blood. Erupting in a gritted groan as a contraction hit your body.
“Bring him,” you told the young lad, your teeth gritted together from the soreness, “Now!” you shouted just before a contraction took your breath away.
Baelor brushed through the halls despite the pain that radiated through his body, aching bones and all, he nearly ran through the halls just to get to your chambers, your screams echoing through the halls only made him sprint. It was a sight for sore eyes almost, despite the pain, you still radiated beauty and the Prince could not be more in love.
You chuckled under your breath as Baelor’s body odor evaded your nose, “You reek of sweat” you first spoke, the smell took your mind off the pain. Baelor let out a laugh just before taking your hand, kissing your knuckles. There was blood on his hands, blood soaked in his breeches that nearly stained his clothes over. “You’re injured” you breathed out, your eyes widening from the appearance of the stains, riddled with anxiety for your husband. “You should go… have a maester attend to you and stay with Valarr…”.
Baelor shook his head, groaning with exhaustion and pain as he went to his knees, his eyes not leaving yours. “I’m not leaving you,” he affirmed, shaking his head whilst speaking, he was not about to be challenged by your stubbornness, he would not allow it.
Matarys came quicker than Valarr had in childbirth. As the brothers met each other for the first time just as you were being cleaned up, Baelor took the liberties of excusing the maesters and ladies, dealing the sponge bath to clean you, every crevice and part of your skin. Matarys was a quiet babe, taking after your appearance as Valarr looked identical to Baelor.
“Perhaps we could take the boys north… have Lyanara return home with her brothers for a bit, my father would love to see the boys… home” you proposed to Baelor, your voice was small and riddled with exhaustion. Baelor looked to Valarr who held Matarys in his arms, careful and attentive to the babes' every move.
“Valarr, take your brother to see your grandsire, I am sure he would love to meet him” Baelor told the boy who was more delighted and honored, “Take Lynara with you as well”.
Valarr happily obliged, holding the babe with utmost care, calling Lynara who was waiting just outside the chamber to familiarize herself with her family’s newest member. As Baelor stood you up to guide you towards a chair, you felt a weight pull you down nearly, whether it was exhaustion or your afterbirth, you truly did not want Baelor to witness what felt shameful to bear.
“My love you cannot be here for this” you told Baelor feel a light sting leading you to grip his hand for leverage as your body constricts within itself just for relief to soon follow. “I’m bleeding,” you whispered, feeling warmth cascade down your legs.
Baelor was a prideful but humble man, the antithesis of men in his family, of even the average Westerosi man. He cleaned his brother's blood, he felt offended when you nearly didn’t want him to clean yours. Yet he did anyways, your body spent and beyond the realm of tiredness, swiftly fell asleep in Baelor’s arms as you situated on the couch thereafter the cleaning.
“The Targaryen’s lost their dragons now we… attend tourneys of little girls’ namedays” Maekar joked, falling as sarcasm due to his monotone voice yet you laughed still.
“I have spent a few in the Reach, my grandsire Cregan always believed in being cultured and familiarized with the regions of Westeros” you told Maekar beside him on your own horse as Lynara stood with Matarys.
“I am sure the Old Wolf of the North was keen on his descendants experiencing culture as he did,” Maekar joked yet again.
You snickered before you caught a glimpse of Baelor in front of you. He knew you felt a pang in your chest upon the even shy of a mention of your grandsire, who had perished before you were able to take Matarys to meet him. Valarr knew distantly of your grandsire, with sparing memories of when he was only three of age, being able to touch your house’s most prized sword, Ice, with the supervision of your grandsire. Yet something was different about Baelor’s tenseness.
Tourneys were always a gander, your sons enjoyed the absurdity as you held your breath whilst Valarr mounted his horse with all his glory and armor. Matarys kindled with the smallfolk, he always was a gregarious spirit. Baelor and his sons were truly anomalies of his house.
As the night roared over with celebrations, you and Baelor made your way to rest your head, onto the next day celebrations will continue. Your husband in all his glory, beneath your body as you mounted him. Sexual chemistry was what birthed your relationship and love, it is what made your sons, and now, it is what satiates your hunger for your husband.
Baelor’s hand forged its way between your clit and his stomach, pudgy from age but toned from battles fought. Your husband was part-Dornish, a fact he made certain whenever you took him to bed. It was the northern fierceness in you and the southern warmth of him that made you and him a formidable match, equally riding your highs out— over and over.
Spent and subdued, you panted as you rested on your husband’s chest, your sweat sticking you both together. One of your hands sprawled on his hairy chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding against your palm, as the other decided to toy with his cock, you made the Prince whimper beneath his breath.
“You and Maekar seemed at odds today” you spoke up beneath the chambers that reeked of sex between you and your husband. Baelor rolled his eyes; you nearly killed the mood.
“You speak of my brother as my cock is in your hands” he responded, letting out an animalistic groan as your hand pumped quicker. “Fuck” he breathed out, as you became fixated, deciding to mount your husband again just before he finished, allowing his warm seed to spill into you. His hands held a bruising grip on your hips, forcing you further down on his cock as he came, you littered kisses all over his face as he rolled his eyes back again but this time out of pure ecstasy.
Again, you found yourself resting on your lover's chest, his seed spilling out of you as your thighs clenched shut. “I only spoke of him because… I know you’re not telling me something”.
Baelor sighed, his hand resting on your arm, scratching your skin gently to soothe you. “You and his bonding reminded me of something…” he waited to continue, your curiosity being evident on your face, “During the rebellion, just before our own accomplishments and fears in battle, Maekar decided it would be best to confess his… intentions on marrying you before we were betrothed”.
“And?”.
“And?” he quipped, quirking a brow as your impassive response made him feel as if he was overreacting, “My brother confessed he once held love for my wife… the mother of my children—“.
“My love, he and Dyanna had several kids, a bountiful amount akin to a pack. I doubt the confession was genuine rather than a means of telling you a guilt he held on to his conscience” you reassured him, “I take comfort in knowing I got the hung brother” you levied a joke as Baelor gruffly chuckled. As the silence occupied the room all you could speak into the abyss was, “I love you…”.
“Nyke rāelagon ao” he repeated to you, his R’s smoothly being rolled off his tongue.
And for that night, filled with pleasure and laughter, was the contentment enough to compensate for the grief that followed as the Stranger breathed upon your family and suffocated you in all its might.
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summary: Eddie is way too distracting, even while doing the most mundane things. 3.2k words
warnings: rough sex, crying, slight anal play, oral, spanking, dom!eddie, sub!reader, smoking. girl dad!eddie. overuse of "doll" and "sweetheart" once again! notes: i spent more than a month writing this. pls comment, i love to hear opinions
“Can you run the cables behind the drums? Jeff almost ate shit on stage last week”
With hours until the show, Eddie was busy, supervising and calling the shots as the crew set up the stage — and he looked great.
You were watching, resting back against some boxes by the stage. He had his hair in a bun, just a few strands adorning his face, black tee, sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, thigh jeans that hugged his ass, chains hanging from his hips. And, most importantly, draped across his forearm, your daughter, Scarlett. Quite literally, the sight of your dreams.
Your eyes kept scanning him entirely, running up and down. They stopped at the baby in his arm, chubby legs hanging from each side as he pressed her to his body, keeping her in place. She was agitated, grabbing at his hand, trying to shove his fingers into her mouth to use them as teethers.
He adjusted her without even looking away from the stage. “Can’t eat that, angel” he pressed a kiss to her hair, brushing it back with his free hand.
She protested as his fingers pulled away from her mouth, letting out an angry noise and scrunching her nose in frustration.
You were unable to stop admiring him, so in his element — rockstar and dad, what an uniquely perfect combination. You couldn’t help but notice how he was in control, focused, sharp, giving instructions with such certainty. And his fingers when he pointed, or when he pressed them to his lips, thinking and observing if the stage felt right.
“Right” he called out, lifting Scarlett to sit up straight on his arm, “that’s better, just finish the rest like that”
Eddie made his way to you as the crew finished setting up the stage, unhooking a pacifier from one of the chains on his hip and handing you the baby. “Need a smoke”
You just nodded, still hypnotized by the scene you had witnessed. Your eyes followed him, landing on his ass as he walked to the back door of the venue. Then up, where the thin shirt was clinging to his back, highlighting his shoulders.
When you finally came to your senses, you adjusted Scarlett in your arms and looked at her, tiny arm reaching out for Eddie. “You wanna see daddy? Me too”
You walked to the door, only peeking through the crack he left open. He was leaning on the brick wall, foot up against it, bringing the cigarette up to his lips and lighting it. His head tilted back at the first drag. He was truly mesmerizing and you couldn’t keep yourself from watching. You tried to be quiet, not make him notice, but when Scarlett squealed, he caught you.
A smirk formed on his face before blowing out the smoke. What?, he mouthed, without making a sound.
Nothing, you mouthed back, shaking your head. If you weren’t inside the dark venue, Eddie would’ve caught how you blushed.
He took a couple more drags, but didn’t finish the cigarette, just crushed it under his boot and made his way back in. Scarlett immediately leaned toward him and he grinned, taking her from you.
“Missed me, pretty girl?” he whispered into her hair. “Looks like you’re not the only one” he teased.Your hand sneaked around his waist, reaching his back pocket to discreetly feel his ass. “You okay? Seem a bit agitated” he smirked.
“You mean horny?” you whispered, almost laughing at yourself.
He rolled his eyes, “after the show, yeah?”
You bit back a smile, nodding and reaching for a quick kiss. “After the show” you agreed.
You had divergent views on L.A. show nights. Eddie seemed to not enjoy them as much because to him, waking up in his own bed didn’t feel like a concert day. On the other hand, you loved them, getting to feel at least a bit normal, coming back to your own home after work like other families.
But that night, you were both happy to be home.
Eddie walked in with Scarlett’s carrier, holding the door for you as you took her bag. You walked in quietly, following him into the baby’s room.
“You wanna transfer her?” he whispered.
You nodded, already dreading what would happen if you accidentally woke her up that late. After a deep breath, you reached into the carrier, carefully lifting her out, both you and Eddie making ‘shhshh’ noises with your mouths. You managed to lower her down into the crib, adjust her pacifier and finally breathe again.
Eddie almost chuckled when you both sighed at the same time. He made sure to turn off the lights and check the room temperature before you walked out and carefully shut the door.
“Can I blow you?”
Eddie looked down at you, hand brushing your hair behind your ear, not even fazed by the bluntness of your words, just a smirk on his lips. “Yeah”
You moved to your room, leather jackets being dropped by the door. Eddie lay back immediately, on the edge of the bed, watching as you took off each item of clothing.
First the tight black skirt, revealing that your stockings were being held up by a garter belt that sat around your waist. Then the t-shirt of his band, off and on the floor, now revealing the matching black set you had underneath.
“Help me with my boot, baby?” you asked innocently, lifting one leg to step right between his thighs, if you pressed down, you’d step on his crotch.
He moved silently, one hand reaching for your calf as the other undid the laces and his lips pressed a kiss to your knee, over the sheer fabric of your stockings. Once he slipped off the boot you did the same with the other leg as you unhooked the latches of the garter.
“So you did this on purpose”
“You should’ve known” you smirked, freeing your foot from his hold.
Eddie nodded once, “yes, I should’ve known.” He reached out for your hips — thumb running against the bat tattoo on your hipbone, the one you got just days before your wedding, to match his — pulling you closer. “Gonna get down on your knees for me?”
You nodded, kneeling in front of him, hands running up and down his thighs. His hand immediately met the back of your head, guiding you down to nuzzle at his crotch. Just from having your face pressed against it, you could feel he was already hard — you hadn’t even touched him yet.
You were too desperate to tease, so your hands reached to unbutton and unzip his jeans,tugging them down with his boxers when he lifted his hips. His cock sprung out, red and pretty, begging to be touched — and you wasted no time.
Your hand reached for his base, angling him toward your mouth. Your lips pressed a gentle kiss to his tip before spitting down on it. Your tongue darted out to spread the saliva all over him before you took him in.
You dipped lower, taking everything just for a second, the inevitable gag making more spit spill over his cock, just the way you wanted. Your hand slipped up and down his shaft, smearing it around to make your mouth glide down easily.
You felt his hand on the back of your head again, fingers between strands of hair, as he looked down at you, just as a warning before pushing you down. His head fell back with a groan as held you down just to your limit.
“Perfect doll. Been waiting all day for this, huh? Will do everything I want.”
You nodded and he let go of you, tears in your eyes, threatening to spill out and smear your eyeliner. But you don’t care, you just wanted to feel the weight of his cock in your mouth. So you took him back in, this time bobbing your head, your lips dragging against the sensitive skin of his cock while your tongue worked the underside.
You could feel the back of his rings on your scalp as he pressed you down. Your eyes fluttered shut every time his tip hit the back of your throat and he loved watching it. You sucked harder around him, hallowing your cheeks to make him feel every inch of your mouth.
Eddie groaned, falling back to his elbows and letting you work freely on him. You worked faster, enjoying the feeling of being full. Your hands gripped his thighs and your nails dug into the skin, and Eddie absolutely loved it — especially after you were done when the marks were still burning.
“Ah” he hissed. “That’s enough sweetheart, fuck” His fingers tangled in your hair and yanked you off his cock.
The view in front of Eddie was better than anything he had ever seen — his wife on her knees, eyes red and teary, lips swollen and used, a string of thick saliva connecting them to his cock.
“You are the prettiest little thing I've ever seen” he spoke, slowly, swiping his thumb on your lips and pressing it past them. “Just love having your mouth full, don’t ya?”
You nodded up at him, sucking his thumb and running your tongue around it. He pulled out his finger, smearing saliva all over your lips and your chin.
“Come up here”
Eddie helped you up from the ground and guided you to sit across his lap. His hand moved to your cunt immediately, fingers pressing the wet fabric to your skin as you pulled him into a kiss. When you started moving your hips, his hand dipped inside your panties, fingers diving and running between your folds.
You moaned into the kiss, feeling him gather your wetness to circle your clit. Your hands dived into his hair, fingers and nails running up the nape of his neck to get a reaction out of him. He grunted into your mouth and you smiled — but your pride was quickly cut off when his fingers slipped inside.
“Fuck- Eds” you whimpered, the anticipation of the day making you extra sensitive.
His lips met your neck, nose pressed against the weak spot under your ear. “Wanna tell me what got you so worked up, doll?”
You shook your head, actually embarrassed to admit that everything about him had been turning you on — from the moment he woke up in the early morning to grab the baby, to the way he performed on stage that night.
His hand came down on your bare thigh with a strike, making you jolt. “Not gonna tell me?”
“Can’t” you spoke, concentrated on the feeling of his fingers inside you. Eddie hummed, as if to say why not? “T’s embarrassing”
“Embarrassing? You seemed so confident just minutes ago, how are you embarrassed now?” he teased, whispering to your neck.
“Eddie” you whined, letting your hand dive under his shirt, fingers running against the warm skin.
“Let’s make a deal, then. I’ll fuck you really hard into the mattress, make you cum real nice, cry a little and then, later, when you’re too fucked out to care, you tell me. How about that?”
You nodded, but only because you didn’t want him to stop touching you. His thumb was pressing on your clit as his fingers curled up inside you, every twitch of your hips being almost too much as you approached the edge of pleasure. Your eyes fell shut as Eddie worked your neck, thighs closing around his wrist as you came.
He waited a couple seconds, watching you ride every last wave of pleasure, before pushing you off his lap. “Bed. On your knees, face on the pillows. Want you arched pretty for me, yeah?”
You nodded, watching him stand too, before taking your spot on the bed. You could hear his clothes hit the floor as you waited impatiently for his touch back on you. But Eddie loved to tease you, prove that he had much more control than you.
“Don’t move” was all he said before you heard the door open.
You blindly obeyed, only hearing shuffling and footsteps coming from outside the room as you waited. By the time Eddie came back you could already smell the smoke of his cigarette.
You felt his body behind yours, hand running up your calves and your thighs before his finger tugged on your thong and snapped the band against your skin. A cloud of smoke formed in the room as his hands kept exploring your body, pulling your underwear down, fingers running through the wet folds, teasing your asshole, your clit — everything to make you squirm.
He walked over to the nightstand, stubbing his half smoked cigarette down on the ashtray. You watched as he moved, body completely bare. Eddie looked right back at you, hand reached out to brush your hair.
“Prettiest doll” he whispered before taking back his spot behind you.
His fingers swiped between your lips one last time before bending over to do the same with his tongue. His warm mouth touched your cunt, hands spreading your cheeks apart to lick into you, lapping all the way from your clit to your asshole. Your hand reached back for his hair, pressing him closer — but Eddie quickly grabbed for your wrist, reaching for the other to join them behind your back.
Eddie only pulled away when he couldn’t take neglecting his cock anymore. His hand came down on your ass again, just as his tip pressed against your hole. Your hands reached back, searching for his, he grabbed your wrists again, wrapping a single hand around them.
“Eds” you sighed, pushing back on him.
“ ‘M right here, sweetheart” he whispered, free hand caressing your thigh as he pushed in.
You sighed at the feeling of being full again, breath shaking. Eddie was slow, careful at first, like always, he liked to ease you into it, feel you take his cock. He folded his body over yours, free hand moving your hair out of your neck before resting right beside your head.
“Ready, pretty girl?”
You nodded against the pillow and felt Eddie pull away from you. His hand spread your cheeks to watch as you took him in. Then he was merciless, fucking into you, hips snapping hard and making you jolt forward.
You melted further into the mattress as Eddie pressed you down, making your back arch even more. His thrusts were deep, almost overwhelming, peering into pain every time his tip met your cervix, but the tears in your eyes were from pleasure.
Your legs started to give out, your hips swaying slightly. Eddie noticed and pushed you flat on the bed. His hand moved from your wrists to your upper back, still pressing you down onto the mattress. His hips seemed to snap even harder, his heavy weight on top of you only adding to the feeling of being used.
“Eds” you moaned against the bed, hands reaching down to feel his thighs.
He knew you were getting closer — your pants, moans and desperate hands giving you away. His hand held on to the head board so he could lower himself down, mouth pressing against your hair, “feel good, doll? Gonna come for me?”
You could only nod, any attempt of speaking was cut off by whiny moans. You could feel the build coming way too fast, suddenly the rhythmic thrusts turned into a perfectly sharp feeling that had you gripping Eddie’s tattooed thighs.
Eddie didn’t let up, he kept fucking into you, pressing you into the mattress until he felt your cunt clenching around him. Your legs kicked in the air behind him, your mouth parted with a moan before you bit down on the pillow.
If you weren’t so fucked out, you would’ve noticed how your husband’s moves shifted, getting deeper and more deliberate, his breath coming in short pants. But you only came back down when he pulled out, quickly moving off you and flipping your body on your back.
“Fuck, baby, gonna make a mess on you. Wanna see you covered in my cum”
You watched, hazy minded, as he fisted his cock above you, aiming on your stomach. But when he came, the white ropes reached all the way up to your face. You looked up at him, barely a thought in your mind as he grunted, milking his cock until the last drop met your skin.
Your eyes were shut, and your mind distant, but you felt his hands roughly running down your body as he admired his work — your painted skin and the stained garter.
“You look so perfect, sweetheart. Look at you, all fucked out.” His hand gripped your face, turning it to him, “open your eyes, baby. Let me see you.” It took every last drop of energy in your body, but you opened them, looking up at him. “Perfect. Feel good?”
You nodded, eyes already closing again as a soft smile took over your face. Eddie wiped your tears away, smudging black all over your cheeks.
As much as he hated to leave you even for a second when you were like that, you needed to be taken care of. So Eddie pulled away, reached for a tissue on your nightstand to wipe the drying cum off your skin before whispering lowly ‘ll be right back.
You were still drifting in and out of the hazy, sleepy state when he came back with a glass of water.
“Doll” he called gently, kissing your face, “need you to have some water, yeah? Sit up for me”
He helped you sit up, but all you wanted to do was be as close as possible, so he sat against the headboard, letting you rest on him. You took the water, drinking as he watched every move.
“Stop staring” you mumbled, but he shook his head, “You look like a creep”
“Can’t look at my fucked out wife anymore?”
“No. Maybe. If you get me something to eat” you teased but you really didn’t want him to leave.
“I can do that. If you answer my question.” You looked up at him, confused for a second before you remembered.
“No”
“No? Do I need to fuck you again to get my answer? What got you so worked up, huh?”
You hid your face in his neck, impulsively kissing the skin there. His arm wrapped around you to caress your bare thigh.
“Nothing much” you admitted, whispering to his skin. “Just… the way you were holding Scarlett, and ordering people around. And your jeans were way too tight”
He hummed, still caressing your skin. “Next time I’ll fuck you on your back then, so you can grab my ass all you want”.
“Eddie!”
“You’re acting like that’s not what you wanted to do earlier” he teased. His hand dived into your hair, pulling you away from your hiding spot. “I love you, doll. You know that, yeah?”
You nodded as he pressed a kiss to your hairline, whispering a quiet love you, too.
Gosh I need more of your thoughts on like goofy Eddie x reader during sex like all the weird shit he’d do and they just put up with it because they love him lol
He slips one time while hitting it from the back—you, bent over the bed, his feet not-so-firmly planted on the floor—and the very next time, he's coming over with grippy socks on, ready to give it to you good.
Something he does to get a giggle out of you is he'll give his cock a mini pep-talk. "Be good," he murmurs sternly, an accusing finger pointed at his twitching length. "Remember: You're a guest in there." The first time he did it was in earnest, led by nerves and the belief that you wouldn't hear him through the bathroom door. Every time after that was just to hear your laugh.
When changing positions, from your elbows and knees to your back, he calls out, "Flip!" like he's alerting someone to flip a pancake before the bottom burns. It's not sexy or gruff. It's lighthearted, said with a smirk and a twinkle in his eyes, like he gets a kick out of his own tone.
Sitting in his lap, you try not to grind your hips too much as you make out. But the further your tongue dives into his mouth, the harder he gets, cock waking up, beginning to strain beneath the weight of you. He tells you he's ready to take it further by pulling away, putting on the worst, most nasally cockney accent you've ever heard and saying, "Miss, your ride is 'ere."
summary: no one at the pitt knows you and jack are separated when you show up to the emergency room during a particularly chaotic shift, with a number of dubious symptoms that force you and jack to reconcile. (4k)
characters: jack abbot / wife!reader, jack abbot, dana evans, the pittlings
contents: established relationship, grumpy!jack, protective!jack, angst, hurt/comfort, not proofread cw for mentions of divorce, medical procedures, and pregnancy
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
You make a reluctant trip to the PTMC with a two-week-old headache and the remnants of last night’s argument with Jack.
You don’t see the man when you first walk in, which you’re slightly grateful for, even though you know that a crowded E.R. is hardly ever a good sign. You feel the swelling noise and bustling bodies pressing hard on either side of you as you freeze in place by the entrance, trapped within a sea of rushing doctors and transporting patients. Dana, who had spotted you the second you walked in, rushes to your side to keep you from drowning in it entirely.
“Hey, hun,” the older woman greets in her usual gritty deadpan, wearing the weight of the long day all over her face as she rounds the work station to meet you.
“Hey, D— Lupe sent me through,” you murmur, just barely audible over the noisy emergency department. You point behind you to the double doors towards the waiting room, but don’t take your eyes off the surrounding chaos as Dana ushers you the short distance to the front desk. “Jeez, you guys are busy today, huh?”
“You don’t know the half of it, honey,” Santos huffs distantly, from where she stands before the overhead monitor with a few other residents. It takes her a second too long to realize her slip-up, and her half-up ponytail sways behind her as she flashes you an apologetic grimace. “Shit. Sorry. I just— I hear Jack calling you that all the time, and it just slipped.”
You burn at the mention of his name. You hope it doesn’t show on your face.
“It’s okay,” you assure her with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Trust me— I’m used to it.”
“We’re never too busy for you, hun. C’mon. Let’s find you a room,” Dana assures with a gentle pat on your arm. She cranes her neck and shouts across the work station, “We got anything open, Princess?”
The woman bends at the waist to check her computer, then calls over her shoulder, “Psych 1 should be.”
“One of you find Abbot, will ya?” Dana asks the younger residents, peering at them over the top of the glasses sitting low on her nose as she escorts you down the hall. “Tell him his wife is here.”
You tense instinctively under her touch at the turn of phrase — a bitter reminder of the stack of divorce papers on the coffee table back home, which says that pretty soon you won’t be Jack’s wife anymore, or his honey. You dread telling his coworkers almost as much as you dread signing the wretched thing.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” you assure her with a wavering grin. “It’s nothing, D, really.”
“That’s what they all say, hun,” the woman rolls her eyes.
The remaining residents share weary looks once the two of you have disappeared into the crowd — because telling Abbot his wife is in is one thing, but telling him in the middle of the unforgiving chaos of a rather brutal shift is entirely another.
“Well, I have a patient to check on, so…” Santos trails off, ambling backward with her thumb cocked over her shoulder. She spins on her sneaker and dismisses herself with a curt wave. “Later, losers.”
“Look at this place, we all have patients to check on,” Whitaker scoffs, then cowers at the expectant looks he gets from the two women at his side. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “But, yeah, I… I have to go, too…”
Samira laughs as she watches the blonde scurry off behind Santos.
“What’s his deal?” she scoffs and turns over her shoulder to look at Mel. Her dark brows furrow when she finds the girl backing slowly away. “Dr. King?”
“Oh, I’ve already completed all my rounds, I just… don’t wanna do it,” Mel confesses, forgetting to lie. She grimaces and turns away. “Sorry…”
Samira watches them go with a confused look twisting her features. She doesn’t understand their apprehension, or their subtle looks of sympathy — as if she’d just gotten stuck diffusing a ticking time bomb.
“O-kay, I guess I’ll do it then…” she mumbles under her breath and turns on the heel of her sneaker, starting the hunt for Dr. Abbot.
Dana stashes you in a small room on the farthest end of the E.R., away from all the chaos on the opposite side, which has since been reduced to a muted droning behind the shut door. She leaves the curtains drawn and the lights dim to ease the unwavering migraine she knows you’ve been sporting for some days now — which inevitably means it’s been plaguing you for at least a week or more before you told anyone about it.
You lie back against the angled exam table with your knees bent and your arms crossed over your eyes, feeling the pounding in your skull down into your bones. You struggle to even out your breathing and harder to relax — you tense on instinct when the door clicks open, and not just because every noise feels like a knife right to your temple.
Your stomach twists with the anticipation of seeing Jack, a sick sort of feeling at potentially having to confront the night before and the uncertain future ahead. You exhale a breath of relief when Robby slides in instead, letting in a sliver of white-blue light and a trickle of noise.
“Dana told me you were in,” he says in lieu of any real greeting, shutting the door behind him with his elbow as he reaches for the hand sanitizer on the wall at his side. He rubs it between his palms and wonders aloud, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assure him despite the faint grimace that twists your features when you struggle to sit up straighter on the bed. “Don’t worry about me— What the hell’s going on out there?”
Robby exhales hard through his mouth, bearded cheeks puffing. “Huge wreck, right off the highway— You didn’t see it on the way here?”
“No,” you shake your head.
“Good…” he nods. “I damn near had a heart attack when Dana told me you were in— I’m sure Abbot’s head is gonna cave in when he finds out.”
He exhales a quiet laugh and waits for you to make another stupid joke in response, just like you always do. But you avert your gaze instead and shift uncomfortably on the thin mattress, like the mention of Jack’s name is enough to make you nervous.
“What’s going on?” the man wonders with furrowed brows. You give him a shocked sort of look in response, half-confused that he’d even know you and Jack were on the outs in the first place. He elaborates soon after, “Dana said you’ve been having headaches for a while now— so that means it’s been a week, at most.”
“You guys know me so well…” you deadpan with a pair of squinted eyes. “It’s nothing, Robby. Really. I just… Had another fainting spell. And usually I wouldn’t even come in for them, but Jack said if it happened again that he’d drag me down here himself, so… I figured I’d save him the trip.”
Robby’s dark eyes narrow at the cynical smile you give him.
“Well, I’m gonna save you the lecture about waiting this long to come in… Since I’m pretty sure you’re gonna hear it from Abbot anyway, so…”
“Thank you,” you sigh.
“You sure you don’t want me to tell him you’re in?” Robby presses tentatively. “He’s with another patient right now, but he’d drop it in a second if you—”
“No,” you shake your heavy head almost instantly, ‘cause you’re not so sure how true that is anymore — Jack hasn’t exactly been too keen on dropping his work these days, which is essentially the entire reason you’re in this mess to begin with. “I don’t wanna… worry him over nothing, you know?”
Robby has a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t nothing, and that there’s something you and Abbot aren’t exactly telling him, but he doesn’t press the issue now.
“Yes, ma’am…” he nods with a huff and drops down in the cushioned stool at your bedside, silently preparing himself for the hell Abbot’s gonna raise when he inevitably finds out you’re here.
Samira finds Dr. Abbot in Trauma 2, performing an emergency surgery on a patient whose pelvis was crushed in the crash, with Dr. Garcia and a crowd of other residents at his side. The younger girl slinks through the glass door into the windowless room, and doesn’t flinch at the overwhelming scent of blood and bitter antiseptic heavying the air inside.
She plucks a surgical mask from the dispenser beside the door and holds it over her mouth as she calls out a hesitant, “Dr. Abbot?”
“Little busy here, Mohan,” Jack answers without looking at her, elbows deep in the unconscious man’s open pelvis as he readjusts the metal clamps there. Bright crimson blood stains his gloves and the stomach of his blue PPE gown as he works with expert hands.
“It’s sort of important, sir…”
Jack says nothing in response; just gives the girl a silent, expectant look from behind the safety glasses sitting low on his nose.
“Your wife is here,” she tells him, dark eyes wild from behind the mask she holds over her mouth. “She’s totally fine, she’s in psych 1 with Dana, but she—”
“Since when?” Jack snaps before she can properly get the words out, flaring red-hot with an immediate worry and a suffocating tinge of regret despite Samira’s reassurances.
Flashes of the crash plague his anxious mind. He can’t help but picture you lying as limp and as bloody as the man before him now. The brutal image hits him as hard as the memory of the last thing he said to you the night before, right before you slept in separate bedrooms.
“Well, if my work schedule makes you so damn miserable, then why don’t you just sign the goddamn papers—?”
“Um… I’m not sure,” Samira answers with a waver in her voice. “About ten minutes ago, I think? I did a few rounds before I came in here, so—”
Jack stills suddenly in place. His head snaps in the younger girl’s direction, and Samira cowers at the hardened glare in his eyes.
“Is there a reason you didn’t come to me directly?”
Samira flinches at his unusually harsh tone. Her wide eyes flit between his stern ones and the anxious looks from the residents just behind him. “Well, she said not to… But then Dana said that I should, so I wasn’t exactly sure who to listen to—”
“Me,” Jack snaps. “You listen to the attending, who told everyone to come get him if his wife came in—”
He doesn’t have time to notice his slip-up, or otherwise correct it, when Garcia steps in.
“I’ll take over here,” the older woman says in her usual deadpan. “If you guys wanna argue like children somewhere else.”
Jack doesn’t argue as he steps back from the patient, peeling off his bloodied gown and gloves with suddenly anxious hands. He chucks the PPE in the biohazard bin with an obvious fire in his touch. The sudden shift in his usually calm disposition makes Samira’s chest ache, while Garcia grins behind her mask.
“Tell your wife I said hi, Dr. Rabbit,” the woman croons with a teasing lilt and a mischievous look behind her glasses.
“She’s still not interested, Garcia,” Abbot calls over his shoulder as he storms towards the door.
“Dammit…”
Samira cowers when Jack slides past her in the doorway, not looking at her once, like he barely recognizes that she’s there at all. She watches through the glass door as he disappears into the bustling crowd outside, hands balled into trembling fists at his sides.
“Don’t worry about him, kid,” Garcia sighs, half-distracted, as she fishes her bloodied hands in the unconscious man’s open pelvis. “He’s been on his period for about a week now, and we’re all paying the price for it…”
Samira’s chest deflates with a huff. “So, that’s why no one else wanted to do it…”
The two-minute trek across the E.R. feels nothing short of two years.
The entire walk there, Jack’s anxious mind struggles to discern what Mohan could’ve meant by totally fine. Were you just a little scraped up? Were you terribly injured, but at the very least alive? Was Samira trying to soften the blow, or did she truly mean totally fine?
Jack can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario, and he expects to find you hurt.
“No, I just kinda have this headache that comes and goes, you know?” he hears you say, right before he storms inside.
“Oh— And there it is,” Jack jokes when Abbot appears suddenly in the doorway, bringing in a wave of light and noise and unadulterated panic in with him.
Jack’s tight chest relaxes slightly when he finds you totally fine — lounging in a dim room with Robby at your side, laughing at his stupid joke as he draws dark red blood from the inside of your arm.
He’s relieved that you’re okay, of course, but the sight of you smiling — when Jack hasn’t quite been able to keep food down for days with the worry that you might be leaving him — hurts him in a completely different (and only slightly jealous) way.
“Oh, fuck…” you hear yourself say when Jack storms in like a white-hot flame. Because, sure, you’ve sort of made it a point to avoid the man at every turn, but you didn’t want him finding you like this.
You know what this looks like. You know it looks like you’re going behind his back and purposefully taunting him by going to his friends instead of straight to him. You know it hurts his feelings. And you may not like him so much right now, but you never want to see him sad.
“Yeah, 'oh fuck' is right,” Jack nods as he closes the door behind him, muffling the noise as the room goes dim again.
Robby inhales sharply through his nose. He can feel the sudden tension between the two of you pressing hard on either side of him. “Little pinch,” he murmurs to you, right before sliding the needle from your vein.
“Why didn’t you come get me?” Jack asks.
“Because you were busy,” you sigh, then mumble more quietly under your breath. “Go figure…”
“Why didn’t you call before you came—”
You fight the urge to rehash the fight from the night before and roll your eyes instead. “Because it’s not a big deal, Jack—”
“Yeah, I think I’ll be the judge of that,” the man concludes with narrowed eyes and biceps that strain against his scrubs when he crosses his arms over his chest.
Robby’s dark eyes flit between the two of you behind the glasses perched on his broad nose. When he’s sure the arguing has ceased, he looks over his shoulder at Abbot and begins to explain. “I’m doing an electrolyte panel to check for any imbalances— It’ll also help us rule out anemia and hypoglycemia.”
Jack nods, brows lowered in concentration. “Okay… What about—?”
“I was gonna do an ECG when the results came back,” Robby finishes for him. “Her heart sounds fine, but I’ll have to wait for a room to open up if the bloodwork comes back abnormal, and… Who knows how long that’s gonna be?”
“Alright,” Jack nods again. “Sounds good.”
Robby turns to you, brows raised expectantly. “Sound good?”
“You’re the boss, Robinavitch,” you shrug.
“Hear that, brother?” Robby scoffs as he rises from his stool, taking the vials of blood work with him as he heads for the door. He elbows Jack on the arm when he walks by and flashes the frowning man a smug grin. “I’m the boss.”
Robby opens and shuts the door behind him, and all the playful energy leaves with him. The subsequent silence feels borderline suffocating. You and Jack, barely breathing, try to break it at the same time.
“I’m fine, Jack—”
“I can’t believe this—”
You huff and tip your aching head back. “I’m fine. So you can go back and do whatever it is you were doing before. I’m sure it’s more important.”
Jack’s light eyes narrow into thin slits. His firm stature never wavers — arms crossed tight, sneakers spread shoulder-length apart — like he’s interrogating an enemy on the battlefield.
“What happened? Did you faint again?”
“Yeah…” you answer suddenly sheepishly, averting your gaze to a faded stain on the knee of your jeans. “It was in your shower chair this time. I think I had the water too hot.”
“I told you about the hot water—”
“I know,” you huff like a stubborn child. “And you also told me that if I passed out again that I needed to come in so… I came in.”
“I still wish you would’ve called me first,” he tells you — not angry this time, not truly, but still obviously hurt. “When Mohan told me you were here, I thought something bad happened to you.”
“Well, considering you told me to leave last night, I honestly didn’t think you really gave a shit anymore, Jack...” you confess with a smile you hardly mean.
“I told you to leave because you said you wanted to,” Jack argues through gritted teeth. “You act like I pulled that shit out of thin air— Like you haven’t been looking for an out for weeks.”
“An out?” you echo, a little louder than you mean to, as your face screws in offense. “You’re the one who’s never home, Jack. So if anyone’s been looking for a fucking out, it’s you— Fuck…”
You whimper when a white-hot flare surges suddenly across your skull, from temple to temple and down the base of your neck. You wince and close your eyes, tentatively tipping your head back against the bed once more.
Jack forgets to be angry in an instant. His chest stings at the pained look that etches across your features. His legs carry him to you before his brain has decided whether or not he should.
“What?” he presses, eyes wild. “What’s wrong?”
“My head…” you squeak out.
Jack huffs. “Here…”
You know he’s towering over you without having to open your eyes. You can feel him there, warm like a heater, and smelling of cologne and a long shift at the E.R. He braces himself with one hand on the mattress beside your head and covers your eyes with his free one. You don’t flinch when his gently calloused palm splays suddenly over the length of your forehead, pinky curving in the bend of your closed eyelids.
He couldn’t possibly count the number of times he’s done this over the years — hundreds, at least. It’s the only way he knew how to soothe your headaches when the medicine was taking its sweet time kicking in. It’s the pressure that helps, though you’ve always argued that Jack must have some secret healing superpowers that he isn’t telling you about.
You’re only able take your first good breath in two weeks when he’s finally touching you so gently.
“Better?” he wonders, half-detached but still strikingly soft.
You nod once beneath his palm and fight back the urge to cry when his thumb rubs softly over your temple.
“Contrary to popular belief, honey,” the older man murmurs. “I didn’t come in here to fight with you.”
“It always ends in a fight with us, Jack,” you sigh. “You know that.”
“I thought you were hurt,” he confesses, in a voice so soft it makes you feel like crying. “Bad hurt. When Mohan came and got me, I thought for sure you were involved with all the shit going on out there.”
“Well, I’m not… So you can go now…” you tell him in a trembling voice, which you’d rather blame on the lingering ache in your skull and not the fact that you don’t truly want him to leave — that you never really wanted him to leave.
You miss the quiet smile Jack gives you in response, because he can see right through you.
“Yeah, I’m not going anywhere, honey…” he says on a gentle exhale. “And I’m not signing those stupid papers.”
Your heart drops at the mention of them, at the bitter reminder of their existence, even though it’s been plaguing your every waking thought for some weeks now.
Your trembling hands reach for the one he holds over your eyes. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and knuckles, peeling his palm away to peer up at him with a glassy gaze.
“What do you mean?” you ask on bated breath.
Jack meets your weary look with a softer, sadder smile.
“Well, I just got about a… three-minute glimpse of what my life was gonna look like without you,” Jack sighs, in lieu of confessing all the gory worst-case scenarios he couldn’t quite get out of his head. “And, turns out, I’m not strong enough for that, so… I’m officially declining your divorce, honey.”
“Jack…” you protest feebly, features crumpling at his poor excuse for a joke, while his calloused palm slips from your forehead and cups gently over your warm cheek.
He ducks down to meet your gaze when you try to turn away, bending slightly at the waist and bracing himself with his free hand curled around the top of the mattress. His nose is mere inches from yours — you can feel each of his exhales fan across your chin. You couldn’t shy away from him if you tried.
“I’m serious, honey,” he says with a stern but no less sincere look swimming in his light eyes. “You were right— I’m working too much—”
“No, don’t…” you protest with a shake of your head, because the affirmation doesn’t feel as rewarding as you’d expected it to. Instead, it makes you feel a little sick. Your gaze falls to the dog tags slipping from the inside of his scrubs, glimmering in the darkness as they sway just ahead of you. Your fingers reach to fidget with the chain on muscle memory. “It’s your job, Jack. I shouldn’t dictate how much you work—”
“You’re my wife, honey. You shouldn’t feel second to my job, because you’re not,” he tells you, brows raised to his hairline. “So, I’ll— cut down on my hours, I’ll stop picking up so many shifts, I’ll… I’ll do whatever the hell you want me to do, baby, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere, alright?”
You feel his words physically, like a white-hot knife lodged in the center of your sternum and twisting.
You struggle to find the words to respond, just as you struggle to find the air in the room to breathe. Because you’ve spent weeks thinking you’d failed at your marriage, and now you’ve failed at failing your marriage. It’s a stupid tug of war that makes you hate yourself all the more.
“Well, maybe we should wait for Robby to get back…” you murmur quietly, shifting on the mattress beneath him. “You know, before we have this conversation or whatever…”
Jack ducks his head to chase your averted gaze, brows furrowing in confusion. “What the hell does Robby have to do with this?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I might have, like, a super rare blood cancer or something—”
“Jesus,” Jack grimaces before you can properly get the words out, flinching away from you when you shatter the sincere moment. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I might only have a week left to live or something,” you retort with wide eyes, only partially playful. “So we might not even have to worry about any of this, you know? …Who knows?”
Jack meets your sparkling, half-crazed look with a firm scowl. “You’re real morbid, honey. You know that?”
“Well, what can I say?” you shrug and fight the urge to smile. “Your cynicism’s rubbing off on me, Abbot.”
Robby returns about a half hour later, to a room considerably less tense than it was when he left. He forgets to comment or otherwise pry about it when he slips inside, gaze averted to the glowing iPad resting on his palm. His free hand scratches at the grey patch in his beard — an anxious tic you’ve come to know well.
“Hey, uh—” he clears his throat behind his fist when the words get stuck there.
“Oh, shit…” you waver when the door clicks shuts behind him. “I was just kidding about the whole blood cancer thing, I swear—”
Robby’s brows lower in confusion. “…What?”
“Don’t listen to her,” Jack huffs, rising from the stool at your side for the first time in thirty minutes as he rushes to Robby in long strides — ‘cause he can feel the man’s trepidation like heat off a bonfire. “What did the blood work say?”
Robby inhales sharply through his nose as he passes the man the tablet. He crosses his arms over his chest and splays his right hand over the lower half of his bearded face. His wide eyes dart between the lit-up iPad and the edge of Jack’s profile, eagerly awaiting the man’s reaction.
You watch with your heart in your throat as Jack’s eyes flit wildly back and forth across the screen. His scruffy jaw slackens slightly in shock, and Robby nods slowly in a quiet concurrence.
“Okay, what the hell?” You shatter the heavy silence. “Are you guys just gonna communicate telepathically the whole time, or is someone gonna tell me what’s going on with me?”
“You’re fine— You’re totally fine,” Robby reassures you, gesturing wildly with his right hand. “Your bloodwork came back normal, but… There’s a high level of hCG in your bloodstream. And I think that’s what’s been causing your dizziness and fainting spells.”
“HCG?” you echo, eyes darting wildly between the two men in front of you. “What the hell is hCG?”
“Human chorionic gonadotropin,” Jack answers on instinct, half-strangled, and never once taking his eyes off the screen in his hands. “Means you’re pregnant, honey…”
You feel the world fall out from under you for the second or third or hundredth time that day. You hide your crumpling features behind your hands as your head falls back against the exam table. Your following words come out muffled.
I was thinking about the reader being Egg‘s mom/step-mom after she realises Egg was gone as well as the relief she would feel when he turned up again unharmed but his head clean shaven. And Dunk being his usual awkward self when she makes clear she does not want her boy harmed if he is to squire for him in the future.
i was thinking more mother!reader with this because it’s so sweet and you bet that dragon mommy is keeping the best on of her youngest as she can, and i love this we need more of egg!! i have more of him to come.. i hope you like it💗
life goes on
summary: time away form your youngest, missing his adventures had proven harder than you’d expected it to be, but you lived for the moments he did return home.. and this time with a friend. and no hair?
pairing: egg x mother!reader (platonic ofc), ser duncan the tall x reader (platonic), maekar targaryen x wife!reader
a/n: this is cute bitter sweetness help me i’m going to sleep now
The youngest prince was known to vanish like a spark in the wind. Some said he’d may as well be a commoner by now, that he looked and smelled like one at least. It wasn’t unknown for a boy of his age let alone status to go about the realm as he wanted to, much less furthest in line from the throne.
One moment tucked safely in the Red Keep, the next— gone again, chasing freedom, laughter, and trouble all in equal measure.
And every time he slipped away, your heart went with him.
You would stand by the windows long after sunset, fingers worrying the edge of your sleeves, eyes scanning the road below as far as you could see.
“He’ll be alright,” Maekar would say gently, though worry lived in his own voice too, worn from endless night guessing where any one of your children may end up next.
“But he is small,” you’d argue, as his arms urge you into the bed, and all you think of are all the endless possibilities of what could happen. “The world is not.”
But Egg was stubborn. Curious and brave and intelligent in that reckless way only children are. And you loved him for it— even as it terrified you.
—
The days would pass, sometimes even weeks. And that’s when it would get particularly worrisome.
The castle would feel wrong without his laugh echoing down the halls, chasing the lords and ladies about as unusual looks passed your way.
You’d leave his chamber untouched all the while, setting aside little treats he liked, saying quiet prayers before bed, spending more and more time at the window overlooking the stream of endless lights and people.
And then one afternoon, as it normally happened, hooves thundered into the courtyard. Shouts ringing out as guards hurried to the gates of an arrival and you felt it before you heard it.
Aegon, your Egg, was home.
You rushed down the steps from the hall, your skirts gathered in your hands as you turned the corner to the outdoors. The voices from your ladies and nearby squires sounding out his return, but you couldn’t hardly listen.
And there he was.
Dusty.
Thin.
And smiling from ear to ear like nothing had ever been wrong.
“Mother!” he cried, his face lighting up when he saw you, rushing to your side. You swept him into your arms so tightly he squeaked, a growing boy and yet he still felt weightless.
“You frightened me half to death,” you scolded through threatened tears.
“I’m sorry,” he laughed, wrapping his arms tighter around you as you set him down to the ground, “but I had adventures. Quests even.”
You pulled back just enough to cup his face, ready to cry, ready to lecture and ready to never let him go again.
And that’s when you saw it, your hand running over his hair— his head.
Shaven smooth.
Your breath caught with your mouth agape.
“Egg…” you whispered, shock and warning in your voice. .
He only grinned at that.
“I know, but Dunk said it would be easier to travel this way.”
“Dunk?” you repeated.
A tall shadow shifted behind him then from across the courtyard and you looked up, and up.
And there stood the biggest knight you’d ever seen.
Broad as a doorway, and awkward as a colt. No armour at his chest and his face red with nerves.
When you turned, he bowed so fast he nearly toppled.
“Your grace,” he blurted. “I mean— your majesty— I mean—”
Egg nearly burst out laughing beside you, as you hugged him tight to your waist.
“That’s Dunk, Ser Duncan the Tall!”
Dunk straightened, his fidgeting at his sides not knowing whether to meet yours or not.
“Well I can certainly see that..” You smiled softly, studying him with your eyes flicking back and forth between the two.
“I brought him back safe,” he said quickly. “didn’t let nothin’ hurt him. I swear it.”
You looked him over, not with disgust or concern, just looking. This giant boy of a knight, with mud on his boots, he had honesty written plain on his face. There was no arrogance or polish, no hidden intention, just sincerity. And perhaps it was instinct or not, but your voice softened.
“You did me a great kindness bringing my son home.”
Dunk flushed at your words, meeting your eyes for once, and he nodded.
“Was my honor, truly.”
You turned, kneeling in front of Egg and brushed his cheek.
“You must never frighten me like that again.”
He recoiled but planted into your palm, “But Mother—”
“I will hear no buts.” You scolded lightly as you stood, the clouded sun catching the rays of your jewels.
Your face turned to the knight, your kindness didn’t leave— but something firm settled beneath it.
“Ser Duncan,” you said calmly, testing the new name, “I thank you for protecting him.”
He nodded eagerly.
“I’d do it again, your grace.”
“I know, so I see,” you replied.
“And I see you mean him no harm.”
His shoulders relaxed at that, but your eyes squinted just enough, drawing closer to him than most nobles would allow.
“But if my son is to wander with you… I expect him returned safe every time.”
Dunk swallowed thinly, his throat bobbing with agreement.
“Yes, your grace.”
“No reckless battles, no foolish dares.. and no getting into trouble where you don’t belong.”
Egg groaned from just behind but you ignored him, your words laced with every bit of warranted concern.
“Mother!”
You hushed him that time, your voice low at Ser Duncan’s frame, “I’ve already lost enough in this family to fate,” your voice was soft, but not quite a whisper. “I won’t lose him to it.”
Dunk nodded fiercely, “I’ll guard him like my own blood, promise.”
You studied him a moment longer, before breaking into a smile, warm again as it once was.
“I believe you.”
Your son beamed, mischief and pride already on his face as you urged them both inside.
“See? I told you she’d like you!”
Dunk nearly tripped over himself bowing again before tumbling after you both up the steps.
—
That night was filled with a dainty feast, for as many times as he’d come and gone, the need for a reunion wasn’t necessary, but it was in the small things. And this time with his companion, you had reason to make it an ordeal.
Ser Duncan was invited to the feast upon the return of your baby boy, your sons and girls sat around the same table. Maekar bid his own thanks to the knight with a stern and flat smile, but the way he hand pressed at his shoulder bore more than just light weight.
He ate well that night, they both did— better than they had in weeks since they first met. And you were content, happy even, beaming as you sipped on wine, squeezing at your husbands hand, your eyes not leaving Egg.
You were last to leave him that night too, the festivities worn off, and he tucked up into the same bed you’d watched over every night.
“I hope you’ll dream as well here as you do out there.” Your voice was edged, knowing he was to go again even if you couldn’t stop him, his curiosity was far too much to be confined, but your finger lay at his cheek, your eyes warm in the soft candlelight. And though his courage allowed him to survive, he couldn’t deny the comfort of the soft sheets and linens, or the way you held him.
He was still a boy at heart, one who would miss his mother, his family anywhere.
“But mother I do anywhere..”
His voice shook from tiredness, and you traced the lines of his face, softly at his nose over and over until his eyes closed before you pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Then you better had keep at it sweet boy..”
—
You’d slept better than you had all month that night, stalling outside of his door every few minutes before returning to Maekar, to make sure he was really there.. and he’d stay, at least for a while.
The morning after his return, came quicker than you’d hoped, and you were already awake before the castle truly was, padding quietly into the kitchens.
The cooks startled as they saw you, barely dressed and yet a glint in your eye, determined.
“Your grace?”
“Hush,” you whispered with a smile as you filled a small satchel on your own.
A helping of warm bread wrapped in cloth, skated meats an apple you’d seen on the table polished on your sleeve and the little honey cakes you knew he loved.
It was more than he’d ever admit he needed but you knew better. Just as he was needed food and fuel for each day, you knew he’d be getting up by now to leave again. And you made sure you beat him to it.
—
By the time you’d reached the far corners of the Keep, in the corridor outside your chambers, Egg was already bouncing on his heels.
Dunk stood nearby, rubbing at his tired but well rested eyes, pretending very hard not to listen.
You knelt agains as you spun him to face you, a smile on your features as you pressed the satchel into Egg’s hands.
“For the road.”
“Mother, Dunk says we can buy food—” His voice was without protest, he already knew you knew, this dance had gone on long enough. And perhaps this curiosity did indeed come from you.. you knew it a little too well.
“You can do so,” you agreed gently, “and you will eat this too.”
He giggled, smiling as he reached into the pack.
“Yes, of course.”
You watched him mess with the bag, touching his smooth head again and sighed. Defeated.
“Oh Egg,” you murmured. “your beautiful silver hair…”
He only grinned more.
“It will grow back.”
“It was perfect,” you insisted, poking him lightly, “soft as clouds.”
“Ser Duncan said it was itchy.”
You shot Dunk a look, not angry, just wounded.
And the poor man went bright red.
“I— I didn’t mean— it was just easier, your grace.. I thought at least.”
You softened instantly, waving your hand as a jest.
“I know, Ser Duncan.”
You cradled his face just before he bounced away like you used to when he was little. Even smaller than he was now, even without the hair, he was still your youngest babe.
Still just as precious as he would ever be. You kissed the top of his head.
“Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.”
“Promise me you’ll listen to Ser Duncan.”
“I promise.”
“Promise me you won’t—”
You couldn’t help the way you had so much to say at once, even if he was in better hands than he could ever be and you felt it.
“Mother,” he laughed, hugging you tightly once more. “I promise everything.”
“Come back to me,” you whispered, standing straight as you watched him back into Dunk’s arms.
“Always,” he said.
“And one more.” They both turned to face you as they angled down the hall and out into the world, faces promising and gentle despite the difference.
“Promise me you’ll look after each other.”
Both boys looked to you, soft in their nods as they looked at each other and agreed.
summary: “she will die because of you.” he heard it once and he has been trying to outrun it ever since. but fate has a way of reaching for what the dragon loves most.
a/n: finally back after the nastiest writer’s block. i started and deleted so many fics but this one stuck. also still in mourning over the akotsk finale.
There you were, holding onto your husband’s arm, smiling and waving as you rode through the streets of King’s Landing.
The morning sun bathed the city in pale gold, catching on the red-tiled roofs and the steel of raised helms. The streets were lined with smallfolk, pressed shoulder to shoulder despite the guards attempting to hold them back. Children perched on barrels. Women called blessings. Men lifted their caps and shouted praise for their future king and queen.
You were returning home after months spent on a royal tour with Valarr.
If you were honest, you had hoped to return quietly, in a closed carriage, unseen, unbothered, allowed at least a few weeks of peace before the next performance began.
But the gods and the small council had decided otherwise.
They had insisted on an open carriage. They had insisted on spectacle.
They believed that arriving publicly, side by side, displaying a marriage stronger than when you left, would leave a lasting impression on the smallfolk. A love match. A united future. A dynasty built not on fear, but devotion.
You had heard the whispers.
They called your marriage a blessing. A rarity. An unbreakable bond. They spoke of you and Valarr as though the realm itself had chosen you for each other.
If they only knew the performance you and Valarr have been putting on for months on end now.
Your marriage had not begun cold. It had not begun as a love match either. It began as duty, clear-eyed and understood. You both knew what was expected of you. You both knew what the crown demanded.
But somewhere in the early months, something real had grown between you.
You had walked the gardens together beneath the ancient oak tree, speaking of fears neither of you shared with anyone else. You had listened to him speak of the weight he carried, the burden placed upon his shoulders before he was old enough to understand it. He had never been allowed to be simply a boy. He had always been the heir’s heir.
You had learned each other slowly. You had shared chambers not out of obligation, but out of comfort.
When you lay together, it had been gentle. Passionate. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with heirs or succession. It had been about you. About him. About something fragile and warm in a world that was neither.
Until one night, he did not appear for your walk. Valarr was always there first. Always waiting.
But that night, he was not.
Or so you believed.
Valarr had arrived early, as he always did.
The gardens were washed in silver moonlight, lanterns flickering low along the hedges. He stood beneath the oak tree, twisting the ring on his finger, a habit he had not been able to rid himself of since boyhood.
Your nightly walks brought him peace.
Your laughter brought him peace.
In a world of expectation and scrutiny, you were the one place he could soften.
He heard footsteps approaching and allowed himself a small breath of relief, expecting to turn and see you emerging from the path.
But when he turned, it was not you.
A woman stood at the edge of the walkway.
The moonlight did not seem to reach her fully. Though nothing obstructed the light, she remained half in shadow. Her gown was dark and unadorned, the fabric heavy against her thin frame. Pale-threaded strands of hair clung unmoving to her temples despite the faint breeze that stirred the leaves.
Her eyes swallowed the lantern light whole.
A faint scent reached him then, smoke. Not fresh flame. Something older. Something long burned.
Even the roses near her seemed to wilt slightly, their petals curling inward as though bruised by unseen frost.
The garden felt smaller. Quieter.
“Dragon prince,” she said.
He did not answer.
“You wait for your wife.”
It was not a question.
“She shares your bed,” the woman continued softly. “She carries your name. She believes herself safe in it.”
His jaw tightened. “Speak plainly.”
She stepped closer.
“The woman you love will not survive you.”
The words settled between them like ash.
“She will die because of you. Not by a stranger’s blade. Not by poison in her cup. By you.”
His pulse thundered.
“You will be the reason the light leaves her. Your crown will be the weight upon her chest. Your love the chain around her throat.”
The air felt thinner.
“When it happens,” she whispered, “she will still be breathing.”
Silence pressed in around him.
“You will watch her fade,” she finished, “and you will know it was loving you that killed her.”
The breeze stirred.
He blinked and she was gone.
And then he heard footsteps.
Yours.
He almost stayed.
Almost told himself it was madness. A trick. A cruel woman with a cruel tongue.
But the words would not leave him.
She will die because of you.
When it happens… she will still be breathing.
He saw it too clearly, you pale in his arms. Still breathing. Dying because you loved him.
No.
If fate fed on devotion, then devotion must be measured. If love was the chain, he would loosen it. If the crown was the weight, he would carry it alone.
Better you resent him.
Better you wonder.
Better distance now than burial later.
He turned away and he did not look back.
That was when it all changed.
You watched as the smallfolk gathered along the road, pressing closer as the open carriage rolled through the gates. Children waved frantically, women reached out with trembling hands as if blessing you both might bless them in return.
You smiled, lifting your hand in graceful acknowledgment.
The castle loomed ahead. Just a few more minutes.
The carriage jolted violently when the wheel struck broken stone, tilting just enough to send a ripple of alarm through the crowd. The horses stamped and tossed their heads as knights leapt down to free the trapped wheel.
The press of bodies tightened.
You steadied yourself with one hand on the rail and kept your smile gentle, reassuring.
“It is only the road,” you called lightly. “There is no cause for worry.”
A few nervous laughs answered you.
Then you saw her.
She did not shove forward like the others. She moved carefully, almost patiently, slipping between bodies with quiet persistence. Her garments were plain and dark despite the brightness of morning. The fabric hung loose from her narrow shoulders. Strands of pale-threaded hair clung to her temples.
There was nothing outwardly remarkable about her and yet something in you stilled.
She drew closer to the carriage than the others were permitted. A guard reached to push her back, firm but not cruel.
“Enough,” he muttered. “Stand away.”
You leaned forward slightly.
“Do not harm her,” you said at once, your voice calm but carrying. “She is only trying to see.”
The guard hesitated, then loosened his hold.
The woman lifted her gaze to you.
Up close, her eyes were darker than they should have been in morning light. Not clouded. Not blind. Just… depthless.
“Thank you, my lady,” she said.
Her voice was low, steady.
She stepped nearer to the carriage, close enough that you could see the faint tremor in her fingers, though whether from age or something else, you could not tell.
She lifted both of her hands toward you.
“May I?” she asked softly.
The request was simple. Harmless.
You smiled faintly and extended your hands down to her, palms open in kindness.
Her fingers closed around yours.
They were colder than the morning air.
Her grip was not weak. It tightened around your fingers with surprising strength.
And then she leaned closer.
“So kind,” she murmured.
Her thumb pressed lightly against your pulse.
“You are still breathing.”
The words slid into your ear as if meant only for you. A strange chill traced the line of your spine.
Her gaze lifted over your shoulder. Past you.
To him.
Valarr had not seen her approach.
Not until her hand closed around yours.
When he did, the world seemed to narrow.
His breath left him in a sharp, quiet rush.
The sound of the crowd faded beneath the roaring in his ears.
He knew that face. He knew that voice.
He knew those words.
The woman did not look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked satisfied.
“He has not told you,” she said softly, still holding your hand. “But he remembers.”
Valarr moved then, too quickly for grace. His hand clamped around your wrist, pulling you back from her with more force than necessary.
“Release her,” he ordered, his voice low but vibrating with something dangerously close to fear.
The guards surged forward at last, prying the woman’s fingers from yours.
She did not resist. She let her hand fall away slowly.
And as she was drawn back into the crowd, she spoke one final time, her eyes never leaving Valarr’s.
“When it comes, she will still be breathing.”
The wheel broke free with a crack of wood and stone.
The carriage jolted forward. The crowd swallowed her and she was gone.
You turned to your husband, unsettled.
“Valarr,” you said quietly, staring at him. “Who is she?”
He did not answer.
He was staring at your hands as if expecting them to fade.
As if waiting for something unseen to tighten around your throat.
You followed his gaze, unsettled now in a way you could not explain. Your pulse still beat steadily beneath your skin. Your fingers were steady. Warm.
Yet the place where she had touched you felt colder than the rest.
“Valarr,” you said again, more firmly this time. “Who is she?”
The castle gates swallowed the road behind you. The noise of the smallfolk dimmed as the carriage passed beneath stone archways and into the inner courtyard. Guards fell into formation again. Order returned. But he had not.
His jaw was set too tightly. A vein pulsed at his temple. The hand that still gripped your wrist had not loosened.
“A madwoman,” he said at last.
It was too quick, Too rehearsed.
Your brows drew together.
“She knew you,” you said quietly. “And she spoke as though she knew me.”
He did not meet your eyes.
“That is how such women speak,” he replied. “In riddles. In nonsense.”
But his thumb brushed once over the inside of your wrist, counting.
Measuring.
As if reassured by the steady beat there.
You pulled your hand gently from his grasp.
“I am quite alive, Valarr,” you said, attempting lightness. “You look as though I am not.”
His gaze snapped to yours at that.
For a fraction of a second, just a second, something raw broke through the careful control he had worn for a year.
Fear. Not for himself. For you.
And it unsettled you far more than the woman ever could.
The carriage slowed to a halt at last. A knight stepped forward to lower the small stair.
Valarr descended first, as he always did, then turned to offer you his hand.
To anyone watching, it was perfect.
You placed your hand in his.
His grip was steady again. Controlled.
But when your feet touched the stone of the courtyard, he did not release you immediately.
As though letting go might allow something else to take hold.
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summary: eddie talks excitedly about his nerdy interest and it turns you on…
w: mdni! this story contains smut; fem|dom (ish? i feel like it is) she’s needy!; eddie being the cutest hottest nerd there is!
You loved your nerdy boyfriend. That was probably one of your favorite things about dating Eddie. Of course, his looks could give many things to interpretation. The way he’d dressed, the songs he’d listened to. People thought he was mean and bold and careless. Which he really adopted as part of his identity. But that was not the real Eddie, just a facade he put up to the trashy people in Hawkins.
But he wasn’t that ‘top of the class, teachers pet’ kind of nerd. He was smarter than he’d give himself credit though, he just didn’t care about academic validation. He was a nerd when music came up, obviously. He liked to explain every little detail to you, history behind the bands, best instruments and who played with them.
He was also a nerd in DnD, teaching you for the 100th time the rules and how he prepared the campaigns he put on so much work. Not only DnD but other board games, movies, books, cars even. He was the best kind of nerd, he didn’t mock you for not knowing, he wanted you to understand, to enter his world and get as excited as he got about the things that matter so much to him.
He captivated you even if you didn’t understand. It was hypnotizing to watch him get riled up about something he loved so much. But sometimes that got in the way of things. You’d stare too long without blinking, thinking “how come you’re even hotter now? keep talking…”
That was the case for a casual evening, he invited you to his place to spend the night. You didn’t think anything would happen, just wanting to spend some quality time with your boyfriend. But then Eddie started to explain the book he was reading and how some details were very much alike the campaign he put up a month ago.
“I’m telling you, even the wizard had the same looks as mine. I imagined him in a dream once, that’s where the idea came from. But he’s narrated just like i pictured my wizard” He was excited as he sat in front of you, showing you the notebook with all the details of last campaign. “But I don’t care, the book is really good so far. Not better than Lord of the Rings though, that’s probably something that will never happen…”
He didn’t even realize he was talking nonstop and you didn’t say a word. Not interrupting him once, mesmerized by his charming smile, his pretty eyes the same color of his hair. His perfume was intoxicating and called for you. You were so hot for him and, before you could stop yourself, you were straddling his lap, running your fingers through his hair. He stopped, smiling nervously, not realizing what was happening yet.
“W-What are you doing?” He shivered when you caressed his back and freed the path to his neck.
“Don’t stop.” You murmured, leaning towards his neck and kissing him slowly. “Keep talking Eds…”
So he did. Stuttering every now and then but kept talking about the characters that inspired him. You were getting more excited with every word, grinding on him. He realized what was happening and guided your hips, encouraging you to keep moving, growing hard on his tight jeans.
“Fuck… I don’t think I understand what’s got you turned on, but god I’m loving it!” He was rooting upwards meeting your own grinding. The friction was so good you let out a moan.
“Take your pants off. I need you” You gave him space while you worked on your own pants. “Why did you stop? Keep talking!” You encouraged him.
You got on his lap again and you didn’t waist another second and bottom out. You were so wet, it slipped easily without any trouble. Eddie could barely concentrate anymore, just talking rubbish about DnD while you bounced on his dick. Your moans made his head spin.
“Fuck Fuck Fuck” He said with every bounce, looking at the way your bodies connected. You squeezed him tight, probably getting tired of bouncing so fast, and he lost his shit, dropping his head on the pillow. He concentrated not to come just yet but it felt so good, so he continued to talk about an elf that was just like you. “Her hair was just like yours and- and she was pretty good w-with the arrow and bow. I always pictured her as you… Jesus-”
The picture before your eyes was hypnotizing. His eyes were shut, his hair forming a halo around his head. You leaned on his chest, changing the position to improve your movements so you could move better. You placed your hand on his chest while your hips moved fast again and god, he was so deep inside you. He opened his eyes to see the change and he rolled them to the back of his head. You leaned even closer if that was possible and now, inches from his face, feeling his hot breath against your lips, you replied.
“Really? And did you picture her like this?” You felt his hands, both squeezing your ass and guiding you the way he wanted. You moaned again as he hits the right spot over and over.
“… Now I will.” He replied and smirked. You looked into his eyes and they were filled with desire and lust. He couldn’t think of anything else now, just how good and tight you were wrapping your pussy around his dick. “I’m so fucking close, I’m sorry sweetheart, but you feel so good!” He moaned your name, cursing on how good he felt. You were close to, one slip away from pure bliss.
“Then come for me, Eddie. Please, I need you so bad.” You kissed his lips fervently, your words were it for him and he came, grabbing you and keeping you in place as he rooted up on you, releasing himself. You couldn’t take it anymore, his deep grunts, his strong arms wrapping around your body, his perfume, everything messing up with your head. You came right after, squeezing him again and again.
You both stayed in place for a moment, absorbing all that happened. You move and lay down beside him, still panting. Eddie, also breathing heavily, looked at you in awe.
“I don’t think that ever happened…” He said barely above a whisper, afraid to let go of that moment.
“What?” You said in the same tone “Me being on top? Because I have.”
“No… You being this… needy.” He muttered, not sure of what to say or think. You messed with his head in just a few minutes. Maybe it was that sex sent in the air.
“What can i say?” Leaning on his chest, you looked at him. “I love when you nerd out…” And you gave him a deep and passionate kiss. He never thought being a nerd could be a quality, he always thought otherwise, but now he changed his mind.
He only really got convinced when, a week later, in your room where you restlessly talked about this book and how badly comprehended it was. He felt shivers in his spine as you talked and then he understood. You definitely got a return… maybe even twice as hard the loving you gave him.
──── Valarr Targaryen┆The Young Prince's Lady
author’s note: Since it won in the survey here it is! This work contains: an argument if you'll squint an eye, jousting, worried wife, fluff, Baelon being supportive father-in-law, Ashford tourney, p in v, unprotected sex, missionary, Valarr whimpers 😌
Valarr Targaryen x wife!reader
mdni
“It’s so weird.” you mumbled staring at the ceiling of Ashford's castle. “Be away from children for so long.” you added and looked up, your cheek still pressed against his collarbone as you met his eyes.
Valarr’s own mismatched gaze met yours as he pulled his arm tighter around your waist. “It’s only been a few days.” he said “they are doing just fine, there is no need for your worry.” he said and huffed amused as you nudged him in the ribs.
“I should not come here.” you said and inhaled “leaving a babe…” you added ran your hand over your face in a tired manner.
You were tired – he could clearly see that. On your face, in your moves, in your eyes. Perhaps it was the way here to Ashford, perhaps you were not accustomed to riding a horse, perhaps you were still hurting after birth.
“They are fine.” he groaned and turned to lay on his side to face you. “Both Alyssa and Aelyx.” he added before his hand went up to cup your cheek. “You deserve to get out of this damned Keep from time to time, do you not?” he asked.
“We still left them there… alone and–”
“For Seven’s sake, my love they have nurse maids.” he huffed and a small smile sprang on his lips. “You truly worry too much.” he added before planting a kiss on her forehead.
“He’s only three months old.” you tried to argue. “You know how feeble winter children are.” you added and looked at him.
There was playfulness in his gaze – this boyish joy that still showed in his eyes, despite the fact that he was a man now, a husband, a father to two beautiful children you gave him. Alyssa with her curious gaze and clingy nature, a beautiful girl that calmed down immediately under a single brush on her back and Aelyx – a boy. His son.
Valarr couldn’t be prouder when he saw him. A small yet strong bundle, wrapped in silks from the earliest moment. A little boy whose head had more silver than brown – it seemed like he was so eager to follow his father, yet Gods had other plans.
Aelyx was born with a head full of silver-white hair like your husband’s ancestors, only this one stubborn streak of brown hair – his father’s hair – decided to bloom on his head. And the same mismatched gaze that stared now at you full of adoration and love, you saw in your son when he was looking up at you with this curious gaze of his.
As if the boy wanted to be so much like his father but had to face Gods and they blessed him with the reversed colors of hair.
Valarr didn’t complain – barging into the chamber the moment he heard the babes' cries. ‘A sight not for men’ his father said once more when your husband tried to push his way through the maesters and midwives to your side. But the moment he was allowed again to be by your side? When the whimpering boy was placed in your arms, small and wriggling? He swore it was exhaustion that made you see things there weren't – tears he meant, a few spilled in his cheeks when the maester’s words reached his ears.
"Congratulations, my prince, your wife has given you a healthy boy.’
You saw the wet marks on his cheeks as your boy gurgled and curled, seeking warmth. He swore that there were not any. That you were tired, confused after a strenuous birth and in desperate need for rest.
He cried just like he did holding Alyssa for the first time.
A sweet sight really – a man that tried to appear stern and serious in the eyes of the court cried holding both of your children. Even if he swore that he hasn’t.
“They shall be fine for a few weeks” I said “and we should be having fun. It’s a celebration after all” I said and smiled before pecking your lips as if you were still courting — as if it was still too early for a proper kiss.
“You entered the lists, didn’t you?” you asked, looking at him with a mix of resignation and worry. “That is not fun.” you said and sighed. “That is stupidity.”
“Your worry is adorable… but completely uncalled for.” he said and looked at you. “You do realize that my father changed my opponents?” he scoffed as sat up a bit, resting his head against the headboard. “I am competing against some old men, well past their pride just for sake of the image.” he said bitterly and sighed. “Like he doesn’t believe I would succeed in a fight against a knight my age.”
“He only worries for you,” you said and reached for his cheek. “You know the image must be held, you are the heir, you can’t go and be unhorsed in a joust so trivial like this one.”
“You think I would?” he asked and his mismatched eyes snapped to you – not in anger, in quiet, reluctant insecurity, like he himself wasn’t fully sure of his skill. “get unhorsed, I mean.” He cleared his throat and you could see how he tried to pull this stoic mask of the prince again.
“I know you will ride bravely.” you said and kissed the corner of his cheek “Like you always do.” you added. “Your father only wishes to shelter you, you’re his greatest pride after all.”
“I do not wish to be sheltered, my love” he said and stroked your back with his thumb.
“...Would you not do the same for Aelyx?” you asked, nudging his jaw with your nose to lighten the atmosphere.
“Aelyx is a babe–”
“Valarr.” you said and shook your head slightly. “You know what I am speaking of.”
“Not if he wished to prove himself.” he said and inhaled. “Is it more important what the realm thinks than me wanting to win a joust without help from my father? That I wish to be treated like every other knight entering the lists and not like a prince that is in a more favorable position due to his birth?”
“Perhaps one day you’ll understand.” you said and pushed his hair away from his face with a gentle move. “That fathers cannot help but wish to keep their sons safe even if it means that they don’t get to do what they desire.”
He was silent for a moment – thinking your words through as the small frown formed between his eyebrows. “I want to win by myself.” he said and inhaled “not because I’m a Prince, I am no child, he has to understand it.”
“Don’t act as if you’re not sheltering our children also.” you said sitting up and leaning on your hand to look at him. “Alyssa, for example?”
“That is different.” he said and his eyes flickered to you in annoyance before his gaze dropped back on his lap.
“How so?”
“Because Alyssa is a girl, a child” he said, sending you a pointed look.
“Does that mean she should not be allowed to do what she wishes to?” you asked. “If she wants to wander through the garden on her own why not let her?”
“Because it’s dangerous!” he said, straightening and leaning slightly to you. “You think I would allow my little girl to roam all by herself with no one to keep an eye on her?”
“If that’s what she wants.” you said and shrugged.
“You are maddening!” he said and leaned back against the headboard frustrated. “Alyssa is a girl! A slight, lovely girl who sneaks sweets after dinner and names all her toys, I would never allow it.”
“Do you see your father’s point then?” you asked and could hear a sharp inhale as he clenched his jaw.
“It is not the same.” he said and you couldn’t help but huff and shake your head.
You sat like that in silence with heads full of thought and annoyances. You did not come to Ashford to argue – you rarely did anyway – it was meant to be a journey that would bring you two closer, maybe remind you of the times where duties as parents weren’t pressing like they are now. Instead you were trying to make him see the point and your husband was too headstrong to get it – like always after all.
“I shall get ready for the joust.” he said and inhaled before leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.
His lips were warm, comforting even when your face did not turn towards him. “...I will ride dauntlessly for you.” he mumbled next to your ear before you could hear his steps on the cold, stone floor – a confident stride that left you alone in the chambers.
The candles burned brightly as you sat on the bed. The sheets were tousled from where you laid – resting after the long travel from Kings Landing to Ashford. You only wished for a moment of relaxation after being so uncomfortable in the horse’s saddle. The whole journey seemed like a big joke and a complete inconvenience – the weather was not the best, the horse did not listen to the point when Valarr had to take your reins and lead it after him. And Aerion – this spoiled, mad cunt that pretended to not look in your way each time you whispered to Valarr as if he still thought you a stranger in your own family – an inconvenience they had to drag along due to Valarr’s demand.
And now the joust – where you had to sit and watch and worry as your husband wielded the lance and rode into another knight – even if bravely and unyieldingly still idiotic in your mind.
The maids got you ready — slipping the dark, crimson dress over your shoulders and black cloak onto it as the nights still grew colder as if carrying the winter’s breeze. Your hair remained braided — only fixed slightly and as the right made some strands slip out from it. Jewels glimmer in the candle light as you wore them on your neck as you ambled through the corridors of the castle.
The night glimmered with stars that sometimes were hard to see in the sky of the Capitol when you made your way to the royal box. The men were already sitting there — Lord of Ashford, surprisingly without the birthday girl, Aerion, thankfully on the other side of the seats, Maekar that despite his sons’ absence looked quite relaxed, playing with his fingers while waiting for the joust to start. And there was Baelor, your father-in-law that while chatting politely with your gracious host, sent you a soft glare after spotting how your fingers played with the fabric of your cloak nervously.
You sat there – unmoving and with heard beating so hard against your ribs you swore it’s a moment away from making its way out of your chest. You could see the small folk gathering, the torches burning and they were brighter than those in the castle, making it easier to see the muddy arena. The horses gathered, squires yelled to bring more lances, armors clattered as the crowd cheered.
The bells rang and the horses rode around, the sound of their hooves making steady thuds on the ground. It was a celebration – people were happy, joyous even – looking at the brave men riding in lists as if they were riding to battle. Only your stomach tied in knots. Because you knew how Valarr always got when frustrated – relentless, reckless. And those were not the traits that brought luck to young men wanting to prove themselves.
Lord Tully appeared by the crowd – wielding a dead fish as if it was his sword, biting into its head moments after and throwing the rest into the small folk reaching hands. A riverlands’ custom – you heard, disgusting even if a tradition.
Then yelling – not of the crown but of those fighting in the lists. For a lance or shield as they sat there on their horses and the animals trashed hastily.
And there he was – Valarr with his white streak glistening in the light of the fire and horse black as night that’s color matched his cape. He rode pridefully, stopping by the box with the lance in his hand and smirk on his lips.
“I know that this is not a tourney held in your name, my lady, but even though I humbly ask for your favor so I might win it for you” he said as his head was tilted up, enough to see you sitting by his father.
The lance rested against the railing as your gaze softened. Despite your earlier argument, your hand reached for the wreath handing from your armrest – you almost didn’t spot it, too nervous to focus on anything till the moment the fresh, spring flower fell down his lance and rested on the hilt. “I wish you the best of luck, brave knight.” you smiled softly at the sight of his cheeky smile.
He rode off then – with his chin high and a proud expression on his face as you sat down again, more relaxed now but with worry still deeply rooted in your heart.
“You shall not worry.” Baelor said by your side before nodding his head calmly, pretending as if it did not affect him. “He will return to you unhurt… maybe slightly bruised at best.” he added and squeezed your hand gently.
“Doesn’t make me worry any less.” you mumbled and turned your head towards the Prince as you spoke.
“...He has more than one person to come back to.” he said. “Valarr would not even dream to leave you and children in his worst nightmares.” Baelor sounded so confident, he had to really believe it with all his might. “He will not make you a widow tonight, my daughter.” he said with a slight smile that slid its way on his face.
Silence occurred as they all stood there waiting for command. A resigned smile bloomed on your face as on the simpleton yelled out loud “Lord Ashford fucks his sheep!” and laughter erupted before the horn blew.
They set off, five against five and their lances crashed against the opponents’ shield. Some fell off, the others remained as the crown cheered and the squires yelled for lances. You saw how Valarr gripped it, how he took a turn and rode just for his lances to meet with Hightower’s shield.
You gasped and covered your mouth when the men fell down, his horse landing in mud from the blow. Yet Valarr remained seated, proud and invincible for the rest of the joust.
You saw this smugness on his mouth when you entered your chamber again and found him already there, waiting for your return.
“Did you enjoy yourself, my love?” he asked with this boyish smile on his lips as if he had won a grant prize – he definitely won but not a prize.
“I worried.” you said, shrugging off your cape and moving to stand between his legs as Valarr sat on the edge of bed. “Mostly.” you added before your hand moved to run through his brown strands – now wet from the sweat.
His skin glistened in the candlelight and eyes glimmered with satisfaction, this mismatched gaze making him look once again like a Prince that was only courting you and not like your husband whom you have given two beautiful children to. “I told you I will win.” he said and his hands landed on your waist to pull you closer. “I would never lie to you.”
“You’re maddening.” you said repeating his words from before. “Truly.”
“You still gave me your favor.” he said “showed everyone that you believe in my victory." he added and grinned.
“Should’ve refused.” you said brushing the white streak away from his temple. “embarrass you in front of Lords and lowborns” you added and gasped quietly as he tugged you to land on his lap.
“Won it in your name.” he said and planted a peck on your lips as his fingers wandered to undo your braid. “I shall win the whole tourney.” he said and kissed you again, harder with more urgency than before. “Name you a Queen of Love and Beauty.” he added as his breath was already ragged just from a few kisses. “My Queen.”
You could only smile, stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs as you looked into his eyes – it was clear that he still had adrenaline buzzing in his veins, messing with his better reason and loosening his tongue. “It would be unfair to the birthday girl.” you said but never stopped smiling.
Valarr groaned, rolling his eyes like a petulant brat with a quiet scoff you watched as he leaned back, falling against the mattress with a quiet sigh and his muscles finally relaxed.
“You’re tired.” you mumbled looking at him. It was not a question, more like a statement coming from your watchful eye. His fingers were steady but breath was uneven as if he was still trying to catch it. “You ought to rest, my dear.” you said and your fingers went to the fastenings of his doublet. “Or have a bath.” you added under your breath.
“Would you join me?”
“Absolutely not.”
He pouted at that, letting you undo his clothing without fuss as he kept his gaze on the ceiling. You frowned as you spotted the white fabric tucked in the inside pocket of his doublet –your handkerchief it was, the same one you’ve given him when you were only betrothed and he was seeking you day and night. “Though you lost it…” you said, taking the soft fabric in your hands.
“Lost it?” he said, taking the embroidered fabric from you. “That’s my most prized possession, I shall die with it against my chest."
“Do not even dare to say that.” you said, frowning at him as you leaned to hover over your husband. “You absolute fool.” you added as your hair fell from your shoulders like a curtain that shielded you from surroundings.
“I keep it for luck.” he said and moved to grip your thigh and move you closer. “I’ve won every joust since you gifted it to me.” he added.
You shook your head resigned as you rested your hands upon his bare chest. Valarr hissed and wrapped his hand against your wrist and then you spotted it in the dim light – a purple bruise that managed to bloom on his chest already. Your eyes met his in a second and a grimace appeared on his face. “It’s nothing… should’ve worn more fabric under my chest plate.” he said and inhaled “It will fade.” he added and pressed his lips against your hand.
“Insufferable, like always.” you said. “I’ve told you–”
“And I once again will repeat, do not worry about something you cannot stop.” he said and drew another gasp from you as he flipped you over making you land on the mattress with a soft thud. “You’ll drive yourself mad.”
“You are driving me mad.” you said and shook your head again at his smug expression.
“That… that is good.” he nodded, pushing his hips further between your legs until he was pressed against your core. “Can I have you tonight?” he whispered, his tone was soft.
So soft as he leaned on his forearms and his breath stroked your skin. His eyes were needy, despite the tiredness that finally made its way into them as he was stroking your side. You laid there like that – chest against chest, breath against breath with your hair splayed on the mattress and eyes only at his.
“And if I say no?” you asked gently and ran your fingers through his damp hair once more.
“Then I will assist you to bed and go to sleep.” he said and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Even if I need you like air like now.” he added. “But if you don’t wish to have me tonight or if you’re still hurting—”
“Valarr for Seven’s sake.” you said but couldn’t help but smile softly. “It has been three moons since Aelyx was born, I stopped hurting after weeks, you do not have to ask that over again.” you added looking at him.
“... I want to be absolutely sure.” he said and inhaled. “I will not have you hurting simply due to my need.” he said and went upwards with his kisses, now that his lips were grazing your neck.
“I want you.” you said it so surely, so confidently just like Baelor did when he promised you Valarr will return unhurt. “I want my husband” you added quieter.
Valarr moved. Fingers hooking over the laces of your dress as he loosened them gently – eyes glimmering like a child’s after being handed a treat when it loosened, exposing your chest. His lips connected with your nipple immediately, drawing a breathy gasp from your lips as his tongue circled the bud. You could only whine when his other hand moved to knead your breast, hips started to rock slowly and steadily against your as if to remind you how he always took you.
Your own fingers tangled in his strands – messing and tugging as he was taking his time.
You can see it in his eyes as they haven’t left yours for even a moment – the hunger, the unmistakable need that you were more and more sure was not the result of today’s tiredness but of his restraint.
He had not touched you in three moons – not in this way, not since your boy was born and worry settled not only in you but in him too. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you after you’ve blessed him with such a gift.
“Valarr please–” you mumbled, squeezing your thighs tighter against his hips as his tongue worked relentlessly. “I need you.” wetness tainted your small clothes as heat pooled in your belly, yet again, after so long.
He pulled away, hips still rocking against you to make himself harden. It worked almost perfectly as you felt his clothed manhood rubbing against where you needed him the most desperately.
“Please–” you mumbled again, pulling the fabric of his doublet down his shoulders, leaving it on the floor where soon the rest of your clothes will join it.
He huffed only, moving his skilled fingers to pull the rest of the dress off of you – leaving your bare with ragged breath, flush on your cheeks and thighs glistening from your arousal.
“Gods look at you.” he said, planting small kisses all the way down to your core. “I missed you so much.” he breathed kissing your mound before leaving a lick that dragged over the whole length of your womanhood.
You could only shudder and ache when he pulled himself up again to brush your hair away from your face. “Misssed having you close, bare… blushing for me like a maiden… like you did on our wedding night.” he said and loosened his breeches, letting the fall on the floor.
You hooked your leg over his hip, swallowing, needing him just as much as he was needing you. Valarr inhaled sharply, wrapping his hand around himself to pump his cock few times. Your arms wrapped around him as your eyes drummed against your ribs just like it did while you were sitting in that damned box.
But now instead of gasps of worry and fear a moan left your lips when he dragged the head of his dick through your fold – teasing perhaps? Or just getting used again to the feeling of you? It was easy to tell – by the way he tensed and how his jaw clenched when he pushed into you – only so slightly so you could feel it.
The stretch burned – it was natural after all. You’ve given birth, healed perfectly but remained untouched out of your husband’s fear. Your fingers tightened around him and you could feel his breath against your neck – grounding you.
“Tell me if I have to stop.” he said, still pushing in slowly, watching your reaction like a hawk.
“I missed you.” you mumbled only, pulling him into a kiss. “Missed it.” you added.
He pushed all the way in as your lips danced in a steady rhythm, his fingers wandering to circle at your clit slowly, to relax the muscles that remained coiled around him.
“You’re taking me so well.” he breathed, pressing his lips against your temple next. “Gods, my love–” he grunted softly as his hips started to rock. “Keep squeezing me so deliciously and I might not last.” he huffed a laugh before a whimper escaped him when you buckled your hips under him.
Gods it felt amazing, Gods it felt so right to have him again. So close to you, to feel his heart beat against yours, to have your breaths mix together just like limbs were tangled with each other.
“Valarr–” a breathy moan that was, something that was driving him absolutely mad. “My love, it feels so good.” you assured seeing his needy yet worried gaze. “You feel so good” you nodded against the sheets.
His pace fastened at that – only so slightly but you could feel it as well enough. How his head was hitting that one spot inside you – this one sweet spot faster with slightly more urgency than before. He was long – deliciously so, he was as long and he was thick leaving you to wish for no more. With a tip of pretty rose pink color that curved just to hit just right – just like you needed him to.
“You’ll make me lose myself.” he mumbled as another whimper left him. “You’re doing this on purpose, every little clench just to make me go mad for you.” he added and kissed you again.
He moved both his lips and his hips. In almost the same pace it seemed, both of them with need and urgency like as if he was chasing after something. Perhaps he was, perhaps you both were with how your hips buckled to meet his – uncontrolled – or how tightly his hands gripped you as if he was trying to golf back despite it all. Perhaps heat coiled in his gut too – like a serpent, ready to strike when you least expect it. Perhaps he was teetering on edge just like you were.
You tried to hold back – you really did but after moons of holding back pleasure crashed against you like a wave against a boat in the Blackwater Bay. Your toes curled, eyes closed and eyebrows knitted as you came with a moan on your lips and heartbeat so fast you heard it ring in your ears.
Valarr groaned at the sight, groaned at the feeling of you clenching on him so desperately. He pulled out suddenly, leaving you confused and with questions in your mind and eyes as he came on your stomach – with a moan and fingers digging into your skin. With half lidded gaze and blush on his cheeks he let his body go limp, resting against you as he placed his head upon your chest as if to listen to that wild heart beat.
You let your fingers thread through the messy hair, to smooth over his back were droplets of sweat formed from both joust and making love. You let him rest, fed his need to stay close to you, pressed against your skin and enveloped by your comfort.
You cleared your throat, brushing your hand over the apple of his cheek “Why… why did you–”
His head snapped up – mismatched eyes staring at you with sudden seriousness. “You’ve just been with child.” he said as if it was an answer to your troubles. “Your body needs rest, you need rest, I would not…” he said and inhaled, sliding off of you and resting by your side and pulling you close. “I would not risk you getting pregnant with another simply because I want to satisfy myself.” he said, pressing the last kiss to your forehead.
“Valarr–” your tone was soft as a small, tired smile bloomed on your lips.
“Don’t argue about it with me, my love.” he said against your skin. “I’ve set my mind.” he said only.
“You’re maddening.” you said only and the smile hasn't left your lips.
“If you wish for another though” he said and you could almost hear his smirk as his sweaty body pressed against yours. “You shall have it in time…”
Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! Please interact with this post, it means the wooorld to me. Another one for my king Valarr cuz he's so easy to write for 🫶
