#(yap)

Nothing made the heir to the heir's blood so hot as a tourney. And nothing made him so angry as Brightflame.

During his intermission, you descended from the lord's box in hopes of an embrace and the opportunity to encourage him further, having enjoyed his displays of talent today, as you always did.

None of those things had the chance to come into fruition, for Valarr had bent you over the small oak table the moment you entered his waiting tent, frustrated after a dry yet heated exchange with his cousin.

"'I will not embarrass you', he says, then shoves his lance through a mare's neck." The prince muttered bitterly, pushing his breeches down just enough to free his cock, armour clacking as he stroked himself to harden fully.

Ringed fingers gripped the edge of the table in anticipation, feeling the breeze on your bare skin when the Targaryen-red skirts were rucked up around your hips in anticipation.

Large, rough hands gripped the globes of your behind. Without warning, patience, or care, your husband thrust into your core all at once.

A loud, breathy moan left you before you could stop it, your cheek pressed against the wood.

"Be quiet!" The prince groaned with a threatening connotation, weaving his fingers into the hair at your nape, making a fist and tugging roughly. His strong hips began to piston against yours, the base of his breastplate slapping your arse as red as your skirts, and your colouring face.

Usually, the prince was a gentle, detail-oriented man who much preferred to take you apart piece by delicate piece than break you. That sweet husband of yours would worship you every night.

But when frustration got to him, you were his only outlet. Gods, you were not complaining.

A strangled whimper left you. The guards were sure to hear this.

"Did I not tell you to shut the fuck up?" He snapped, slapping your arse roughly, making you whine. You had no space to move or jolt away from his touch if you wanted to.

"I'm- I'm sorry-" Shaky words were cut off with another sharp swat to your cheek.

There was no reasoning with him when he was in this state. Valarr needed your body to temper his own; and he knew you loved it.

"You," He began pointedly, voice low and gruff, just like his thrusts. The prince was so good at holding in his sounds of pleasure, but you could hear them tipping his tongue. "are a dirty whore. Allowing me to do this to you."

A childish whimper left you, squeezing your eyes shut, your hot body unable to take his words.

"You enjoy it. I would wager Aerion can hear us, hmm?" That was punctuated with a particularly rough thrust of his hips, his fat cock bullying that spot deep inside of you. He did not even have to angle himself, his length so beautifully made for you that it curved against your tight walls no matter the position.

"That makes you even wetter." Slap.

"Fucking." Slap. "Slut." Slap.

The velvety walls of your cunt tightened and squelched, the cord in your belly tying itself in knots.

Tears began to build in your ears, your voice a shell of itself, whiny and humiliated with a mix of blinding pleasure. "Husband." The table's legs begged for mercy, just as you did. "I cannot."

"You can." He snapped lowly, tugging at your hair with his free hand, his other giving your arse a sharp swat before gripping your hip once again.

"You fucking will." He hissed, only quickening his movement. Any moment now, the announcer would call his name for the next tilt. He would fill you up before that or die trying.

A quick, practiced hand left your hair and reached between your legs, crushed by the slam of his hips against yours, and yours against the table, despite your dangling legs from how he held you in place.

A lone, deft finger rubbed at your pearl, his voice an unbothered grunt.

"Valarr-"

"Cum, wife. Now, or you will not for a week."

The threat made tears dripping down your face fall to varnish the wood, the tight coil of your climax unravelling at his command.

A loud, pained cry left you, body spasming in overwhelm as he used you past your limit, digging his nails into your arse when a final messy thrust left him spilling into your core.

For a long moment it was silent, the room — tent — filled only by the sound of your quick breathing and sniffles.

He pulled out then, eyes glazing guiltily over the blooming red hand prints on your behind. His hands tucked himself back into his breeches before he carefully moved your skirts back down to cover you. They then gripped your waist, helping you to straighten up.

"I am sorry." The prince murmured into your neck, embracing you from behind, pressing a gentle kiss just below your ear, his cheek being tickled by your earring.

Still, your breath was quick. Everything was warm, your breath, your thoughts, his hold, and his sticky cum beginning to drip down your inner thighs.

"Whatever for?" You eventually struggled out, covering his strong hands around your waist with your own fragile ones.

He was silent for a moment, then chuckled, rubbing circles on your stomach. "I shall apologise far more eloquently after my joust."

"Do not. I much enjoy your transgressions." You joked, still exhaling quickly, but your heartbeat began to calm in his arms.

The sound of cheering was heard outside the tent's fabric, that was his cue to leave you. He sighed and let go of you.

"I will send one of your maids in to proper your appearance. I shall return in moments." He said with an almost solemn tone, a hand just about to push the entrance flap open.

The action was stopped by your grip on his wrist, quickly tying a red bow of silken ribbon around his wrist. Your favour.

Your husband smiled, tight-lipped and amused.

"Good luck, my prince."

"Having married you, I am clearly the luckiest man alive." He mused, pressing a rushed kiss to your temple and striding out of the tent, feeling the mulch crunch under his boots. The grip on his reins was unaffected when he mounted: his squire had surely heard people fucking before, and he knew better than to question it.

Inside of the dragon-headed tent, you collapsed into a chair matching the table that you were just split open upon. A lazy laugh left your lips.

The call of your husband's name by the announcer was comforting. He would win this bout, as he always did.

Tonight he would satisfy you and cuddle you as he did each and every eve.

May the Maiden forgive you… but this wickedness was simply unavoidable. If she did not wish you to have such perversions, she should not have graced you with a husband as handsome and perceptive as Valarr.

Valarr Targaryen m.list ♖

my apologies for this utter filth - it also isn't proofread so might be a bit wonky

i do hope you enjoy though my loves! requests open <3

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