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The thought of you suddenly appeared in his mind and he had to wave a knight away just to let a moan out. Everything about you was perfect; the smooth of your skin, the hair on your head, the imperfection you had, Gods—your pussy. Valarr couldn’t stop thinking about it now, it was actually all he thought about. He should have been thinking about the tourney, about fighting his stupid cousin, about his priorities.

But no… All your husband could think about in this moment was how tight and warm your pussy was around his cock when he fucked you.

How you moaned when his tip hit your spot, how wet your cunt always was for him, how you cried and drooled for more. He thought of your hole clenching around his shaft, of how your eyes became all glossy when you sucked him off or even how your thighs clenched around his hand when he fingered you. 

It was torture to think about those things in the middle of a crowd, knights following him everywhere he went to protect him (like he couldn’t do that himself). He wanted to throw his armor off, tear his clothes down, get rid of that hotness inside his belly. Everything felt dazed for a second as he stumbled forward, brushing the palm of his hand against one eye. He panted quietly, his fingers quickly running through his brown hair, brushing the one silver strand away at the same time. “God—” The word escaped him.

His eyes caught the black and red colors of the Targaryen tents in the scenery of the tourney, dragon heads supporting the wood before finding his personal one, interior hidden by the drapes. He knew well that you were inside; tourneys weren’t really your things and you mostly kept to yourself during the days. His feet didn’t want to move for a second and Valarr thought he was going to come on the spot.

His eyebrows furrowed and one of his hands almost moved to his groin before he stopped himself; he was still in the middle of the common people and the knights.

In a flash of clarity, the Targaryen prince moved. He needed you at that moment and only you could help him; his pace fastened as he approached the tent he shared with you. His cock throbbed inside his trousers as he drew the curtain aside violently, entering the tent and making you jump. “Valarr!” You voiced, surprised with seeing him so early in the day. But you were met with pants and whines coming from him, his hands throwing the gloves he wore on the ground, before they moved to undo his armor with precipitated movement. 

“Valarr, my love, are you alright?” You asked him, eyes wide and a bit concerned by how sweaty he seemed to be at that moment. He groaned, his blue eyes lifting to look at your face. “Need you. I—I need you so bad. Need to be inside you right now.” The words made you coo quietly; it wasn’t often that your husband spoke that way (even if, of course, you both were sexually active). You could feel that his need for you was feverroot. 

You stood up from the mattress—the bear fur covers soft under your fingers—and approached your husband with a softer touch than he had on himself. “I got you, my love. Let me help.” You expressed but Valarr had other thoughts and his hands immediately grabbed your waist to pull you against his body. You felt the bulge of his cock against your thigh, the warmth of his body, his fingers buried in the fat of you. Everything became dizzy as Valarr lunged for your mouth; kissing you feverishly. 

His tongue pushed against your lips and your jaw became slack as you gave him permission to kiss you deeper. He moaned against your lips, hands now moving to cup your jaw and tilt your head to the side. His warm tongue ended up rolling around yours, his pace fast and needy. You tasted his saliva mixing with yours, leaking from the corners of your lips but your husband didn’t seem to care at all.

“Valarr—” You moaned finally and he pulled away, the apples of his cheeks red, contrasting his pale skin. “Please, please, I need… I just need you so bad.” He spoke.

You nodded your head at him and he moved his face to nuzzle your neck, smelling you. A groan escaped his throat and you felt your belly warm-up at the noise already.

His hands were everywhere on you now; caressing the fabric of your dress at your waist, down to your hips, your belly and up to your breasts. He groped them in his palms, fondling them but the lack of skin contact was making him all needy and impatient. You, on the other hand, was undoing his armor with a slowness that almost grounded him. The pauldrons hit the ground first, followed by his cuirass and plackart. 

Valarr moved his face to press wet open-mouthed kisses at your neck, trailing down to the valley of your breasts, nuzzling his nose there with a louder whine. “Please, my wife, I need you.” You hummed at his words, one of your hands moving to brush his hair away for a second. “I know, my love, I know.” You then went back to your task and took his rerebraces, his couters and the vambraces at his forearms. 

He wasn’t wearing his gauntlets so you simply moved on, fingers precisely undoing his faulds. Your husband’s lips pressed more firmly onto the skin of your chest, his warm breath hitting the wet trace of his kisses, making you shiver. He seemed to become more needy and hazed with each passing seconds; his hips jerking to rut against your thighs, his hands trying to pull at the fabric of your dress and whimpers leaving him. 

You ignored everything else and the rest of his armor when he finally moved his hands around your waist to undo the corset of your dark red dress. You have been wearing the Targaryen colors ever since you married Valarr, and Gods, if that didn’t do something to him in that moment. His thoughts were so focused on you that he forgot he had been drugged for a second. His fingers moved as he unknotted the satin ribbon of the dress, letting the bone casing get loose around your body.

A moan escaped him as soon as he was able to get the sleeves off of your arms and the entire dress fell down, pooling at your feet. Unfortunately for your husband, you did wear your chemise that day. “Please… Gods…” Valarr whined at you, his hands moved to cup your breasts, one layer off. He could almost feel the warmth of your skin, now.

He needed you now; he needed to bury his hard cock inside your pussy, to fuck you, to feel your wetness coat his shaft. He needed to fill your womb with his cum. 

His hands trembled as the palms shifted against your nipples, fingers shaking as he started to undo the buttons of your chemise. “My cock hurts so bad, I need to be inside you.” You heard your husband say; the words coming out of his mouth made your belly heat up, thighs rubbing one another as you felt your hole clench around nothing. “Oh? It hurts that much?” You couldn’t help but mock him, and his mismatched eyes lifted to look at you—he didn’t say anything, but they sparkled with a begging hint.

His fingers palpitated against your chest as he did his best to undo the buttons there; one, two, three and four until his eyes took the view of your breasts.

He whined, cupping them gently in his warm palms. His whole body was warm; burning hot, aching like his cock in his trousers. You sensed the wetness of his tongue as he lapped at one of your nipples, giving it kitten licks. The touch made you take a step forward to press yourself on him, and Valarr’s hands moved to your shoulders to help you out of the chemise.

It’s only when you were finally in your naked glory that he lifted his head from your chest, traces of saliva decorating your skin pervertedly, and he looked at you. “You’re so beautiful. I’m just—I can’t stop thinking about you. All of my thoughts are burning about you.” He whispered and your skin shivered at the confession.

His hands left your body so he could undo the cuisses and poleyns of his armor. If you weren’t so attentive, you would have missed the way his body seemed to lean toward yours, how his shoulders shook softly, how his breathing was labored.

The quilted and padded gambeson suits he wore under his armor smelled like sweat as Valarr’s hands furiously pushed the pants down; his patience now wearing thin as he moved his head to nuzzle your chest, whining out. “Please, please, please—” You heard him say, your hands moving to run through his hair, trying to comfort him in any way. But that only made him rut his hips toward yours, and you left his bare cock; thick, hard, leaking pre-cum already.

A loud moan escaped him as he hit the tip of his shaft against your thigh. You expected him to rub himself more, but his strong hands moved under your thighs and lifted you up.

A gasp echoed in the tent at his action and you had to wrap your arms around his head so he wouldn’t let you fall by accident. Valarr’s hands were tight as he held you up. You sensed his shaft brush against your ass a few times as he stepped carefully to be closer to the bed. “God, you’re so wet… I can feel it from here.” He whined, his eyes closed tensely for a moment before his heterochromia orbs looked at your face.

You half-expected him to throw you on the bed and do what he wanted, but one of his hands left your thigh, leaving you clenching it around his waist.

Your husband wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, his teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip so he wouldn’t moan so loudly. “Mpfhhph, Gods,” he whimpered, stroking his leaking cock a few times before letting the tip slap against your pussy. He looked at you, like asking for permission and you nodded. Valarr thrusted his hips up toward yours, his shaft rubbing between your folds to gather the wetness of your pussy.

His body was burning up against yours, the tip of his member all hot and sensitive in a way you had never seen before. You wondered what was going on through his mind at that moment; what had happened for him to become all needy. 

The thoughts escaped your mind when you felt the push of his tip against your hole when he teased it just for a second. The hand he still had on your tight gripped it firmly, making sure you wouldn’t escape.

“Valarr, come on, my love.” You spoke in his ear and he had enough; his hips thrusting up and burying his cock deep inside you in one movement. You gasped at the stretching feeling, a little burning sensation coursing you before it dimmed down. But, Valarr? He cried out; the noise resonating in your ears, it was a mix of a whimper and a moan. It was pathetic and perverted. It reminded you of the first time he had ever fucked you.

“S’so warm… You’re so warm, wife.” He ended up by saying, his breath hitting the skin of your neck as he nuzzled there.

His hands ended up lowering you down on his cock until he was fully inside, his tip almost kissing the gummy spot of your cervix but not enough for it to hurt. You can feel the veins along his shaft pulsating against your fluttering walls, your wetness coating all the way to his base, his bush tickling your cunt. All your thoughts disappear finally when both of Valarr’s hands squeeze the fat of your ass, a groan escaping him when he starts to bounce you on his cock.

“Gods—Yes, just… Like that. Please, please, wife…” He whimpers against your skin, his pathetic little whines echoing inside the tent. You wonder what would happen if someone was to brush the curtain aside, take a peek of what was happening here. You think of your husband being all embarrassed, of the people mocking him for the way he felt; your pussy clench at the thoughts. A low grunt gets past his lips at the feeling of you squeezing him in. 

Your own hands moves to tug on the fabric of his quilted jacket that he still wore while fucking you, your face in his shoulder. Valarr’s hips thrust up to meet yours in uncoordinated pace, jerking as he whines and cries out. “Need your pussy, I just need it so much.” You hear him say, even though he is already inside you, cock buried deep. “Shhh, it’s alright, my love. You have it.” You can’t help but voice back at him in a quiet whisper.

He can feel his legs shaking at the tone of your voice; all praise with the slightest hint of mocking him. His fingers sink into your asscheeks as he manhandles you up and down.

Your body bounces on his shaft, your own quiet moans mixing with Valarr’s whines makes a melody inside the Targaryen’s space. Your gummy walls are molding around his cock to make him more comfortable; you can feel his tip pressing and rubbing the interior of your pussy so deep with the position. Your husband’s mouth trails down from your neck, where he was nuzzled a few seconds before, down to your breasts that are bouncing against his clothing.

He desperately tries to suck a nipple inside his mouth but the thrusting of his hips makes it impossible. He only extends his tongue out to give licks to your bud each time your tit bounces up near his mouth. Valarr’s mismatched eyes are glossy when he looks up at you, seeing the sheen layer of sweat on your forehead or how your eyebrows furrow at the pleasure.

Suddenly, his hands move to your thighs and he throws your body onto the bed. You gasp as his cock is pulled out of your soaked hole, as your back hits the mattress and you bounce on it, or as the bear fur caresses your skin.

“I need to feel you entirely.” You hear him say before he lifts a knee to the bed. His strong hands grab both your legs and he pulls you toward him with force so your ass is on the edge of the bed. Then, he throws your shoulders on his shoulders before the tip of his cock is pushed back inside your cunt. Your back arches from the bed and your hands go to grip at the bear fur, tugging on it.

Valarr jerks his hips, tip hitting your walls as he is balls deep inside your cunt. “Valarr, Gods.” You moan out and his body moves to lean above you, his hands now resting on each side of your face. 

The position he takes you in folds your body in two, making him able to hit deeper inside your warmth. Your lips part in surprise at how needy and impatient he is being, so unlike himself. His cheeks are flushed red, his body is warm to the touch (as much as you can touch). “Your pussy s’good… I just need to stay inside. Please, can I?” He cries out, hips thrusting against yours to slam his cock into your pussy. Your ass is lifted up from the mattress from the position. He doesn’t really wait for an answer for his question, his thoughts still all hazy and full of you. 

His tip hits a certain spot inside your cunt now that he has you laying down, and your legs shakes on his shoulders. One of your hands moves to his hair, brushing that silver strand before you decide to pull on the locks. He hisses at the feeling, one eye closing before he lunges his lips against yours, his pace never faltering.

Valarr’s saliva immediately mixes with yours when your jaw goes slack. His tongue is warm as it plays with your own, and you moan at the same time your husband does. It’s messy, heated; his teeth clash against yours a few times, but not hard enough for it to hurt.

You swear you can feel his hands everywhere on your body now—buried in the fat of your hips, caressing your knees, pinching your nipple. It’s so stimulating that your own thoughts go crazy.

His cock stretches the gummy walls of your pussy so good, your juices sticky against your folds and on the length of his member. It creates squelching noises echoing in the tent, vibrating inside your ears to remind you of the perverted action. Valarr breaks the kiss after a second, his breathing labored and lips red. “I can’t… I can’t get enough of you. I love being inside you. I love how you take me so good.” He praises, making you clench.

His pace fastens just slightly as he angles his hips to bury himself deeper, your walls taking him so snugly. A multitude of whines and whimpers escapes him as he leans back finally, just so one of his hands can sneak between your bodies. He seems to not really think of his actions when the position is suddenly changed again. Valarr grabs your hips firmly, manhandling your body to roll you on your stomach.

You immediately get it and your knees lift before you arch up toward him. 

Your face and chest are almost concealed into the bear fur now, your breathing labored from changing positions again, but all the thoughts disappeared when Valarr slammed his cock back inside the warmth of your pussy. Your body was sent forward but he held you by the hips to keep you where you were, his grip tight. You can hear him moan and whine out behind you, but you’re too focused on your pleasure to look at him. 

The new posture makes his tip hit directly against your g-spot, and so, your lips parted to let loud moans escape. Your arms shifted up against the bear fur bed to make your chest press harder down and your butt arch up. “Like, that… Just like that, Valarr.” You praised him with a trembling voice and his pace fastened to meet your expectations. His balls started to slap against your slick clit, creating slap-slap-slap noises all around the both of you. Even though his body moved with a mind of its own, but felt the shake of his hands on your hips.

“You’re… You’re dripping on me.” He grunted after a few seconds.

One of his hands moved to your shoulder, and he held it for support as he slammed his cock inside you. A cry of his name escaped you before it was muffled by the bear fur as you moved your face into it. Valarr’s second hand sneaked between your thighs just so he could press three of his fingers flat against your slick and sticky clit. He rubbed the bud of nerves with a controlled pace; like he knew you like. The stimulation made you arch against him, and his tip rubbed your gummy walls. 

“My wife… You’re so good. You’re so good to me.” He whimpered pathetically behind you, his balls slapping against your pussy. “I can’t, please, mhpfhhh… I love being inside your cunt.” You wondered what kind of thoughts he was having for saying those types of perverted sentences to you.

He was usually so controlled with his words. His pace became all clumsy, his tip continually hitting your g-spot as Valarr babbled about how good your cunt was for him. You felt your lower belly heat up, your thighs shaking as he kept thrusting inside you.

“Valarr—I’m going to come! Gods, don’t stop!” You cried out at him, hands closing in fist against the bear fur. Your husband whined, and you felt his face rest against the skin of your back, the fabric of his jacket scratching your epiderm. His breathing was labored and warm, making you shiver. His pelvis rutted against your ass, his cock soaked in your juices that coated your folds and his balls. They were sticky each time they slapped your cunt. The tent was filled with perverted noises; squelching, slap-slap-slap, moans and whimpers. It was such a sweet melody of love.

It sufficed of another few circles against your clit and his bulbous tip hitting your gummy spot for you to come. “Valarr, my love! Gods, yes!” Your voice was loud as your orgasm took over all your thoughts and your body shook.

The muscles in your thighs ached, your cunt squeezed his cock inside your warmth as you soaked him in your juices. It was hard to keep your ass up with how much you were squirming around and trembling, but Valarr’s hands were tight on your hips now as he kept thrusting. He grunted at the feeling of your walls clenching around him but that helped him get closer to his own orgasm.

“Coming, fuck, coming!” He grumbled, before adding, “Going to fill you up, precious. I’m going to… fuck, I have to. I have to fill your pussy up.” Valarr’s hips jerked against your ass before a loud gasp escaped him and his hands trembled on your body. He thrusted forward one last time, burying himself so deep inside you that you felt his tip kiss your cervix.

A flood of warm cum filled your cunt up; thick creamy-white semen painting your walls. It was so much that his come had to leak out of your sloppy hole, drip between your folds due to the position of your body. Globs of it coated his balls and as he pulled away slowly from your warmth, he realized you had left a creamy ring at the base of his cock—his bush was also coated in your juices.

Valarr’s breathing was labored as he let his body fall besides yours on the bed, bear fur caressing the skin of his ass. Suddenly, all was clear and back to normal. His body wasn’t burning up any more, his thoughts were clear (as clear as they could be after sex). The fabric of his padded jacket was sticky to his back and arms, sweat against the clothing while the pants were still pooling at his ankles. He couldn’t care about anything else but you, though. He felt the weight shift on the mattress as you moved to lay beside him in a better position. 

His hands moved immediately and he covered your bare body and his lower-half with the bear fur covers, mismatched eyes looking up at your face. “Was it good? I haven’t hurt you, have I?” He ended up by asking, his voice low like it was a secret only you were allowed to hear. You shook your head. “No, you haven’t. It was quite pleasurable, actually, my love.” His cheeks flushed at the petname, even if he was used to hearing you say it.

He rolled on his side to look at your face, blue and brown meeting your orbs. You had always loved that particular feature of his. Like the sea and the forest meeting.

His left hand moved, his fingers gently creating random patterns on the slight-sweat covered skin of your upper arm. “Should I tell you about how all this started?” And then, he started his story about the fortune teller, the drug in the wine, the sudden warmth of his body.

But through all that, all you could think about was; the fortune teller had a vision of Valarr fucking you? Oh, Gods.

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Aerion had been a thorn in Valarr's side ever since they were young, a boy who could only find happiness in the suffering of others. The prince was a sore loser and a glutton for praise, but he was also a man grown, and with that came a dangerous mix of pride and entitlement.

Your husband tried his best to ignore his cousin's constant boasting, and shield you from the brunt of his taunting, but today the man was particularly persistent.

You had an uneasy feeling about Aerion the moment you spotted him trotting towards where you sat with Valarr, helping adjust the straps on his armor. The morning sun glinted off the hilt of his sword, but there was nothing warm in the smile he wore.

"Cousin!" Aerion bellowed, pulling the reins of his horse to halt in front of the two of you.

Valarr sighed, turning his head towards the man with a grimace, "Aerion," he greeted, a hint of irritation lacing his tone.

"Care to face me?" The sneer on the prince's lips was clear, and your stomach churned at the sight.

"I would not risk your health for a tourney," Valarr quipped, earning a laugh from you and a scowl from Aerion.

"We'll see how you fair once the horns blow," Aerion threatened, his gaze flicking down to your seated form, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

For a heartbeat, you thought he might simply ride away. You should have known better.

"Lady y/n," he yelled, loud enough for everyone to hear, his tone sickeningly sweet. "Might I have the honor of your favor before the match begins?"

Valarr's hands tensed around his sword, but his face remained stoic. His eyes, however, told a different story. He was seething. You could almost feel the heat radiating off of him, a silent fury that threatened to boil over.

You could also feel the eyes of Baelor, your goodfather, on the three of you. When you risked a glance toward the royal box, you found him watching with an unreadable expression. His expectations for this tourney were clear, and you knew your decision would be scrutinized by everyone watching. Your family, as repugnant as some members could be... Could show no cracks.

And Aerion knew that just as well as you did. He was deliberately trying to humiliate your husband in front of everyone. He wanted to get under Valarr's skin, to make him falter in front of the crowd. The way he held your gaze now, all false warmth and waiting challenge, made it clear he was enjoying every moment of your discomfort.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Beside you, Valarr had gone very still, you wanted to reach for him. You wanted to tell Aerion exactly what he could do with his request.

But everyone was watching. And Aerion knew that you couldn't refuse without making Valarr seem weak by association. A wife who wouldn't honor her own husband's cousin? The whispers would be merciless.

So you made your choice.

Slowly, you reached up and untied the ribbon from your sleeve. It was a small thing made of red silk, with a little stitch of a dragon you had woven in. It was nothing of real value. But the weight of it in your fingers felt enormous.

Aerion's smile widened.

You laid the ribbon across his palm, careful not to let your fingers touch his skin. "Good fortune in the joust, Prince Aerion," you heard yourself say. The words came out steady and bright. You couldn't look at Valarr.

Aerion brought the ribbon to his lips and kissed it while holding your gaze. "I shall treasure it."

He snapped the rains of his horse with a laugh, and turned away. Over his shoulder, he called out, "I won't embarrass you today, cousin! I've chosen another opponent!" And then he was gone, trotting toward the other tents, your red ribbon streaming from his gauntlet like a victory flag.

You turned back to face your husband, his face carefully blank, but you knew him well enough to know he was angry. His mouth was a flat line, and his shoulders were tight, like he was holding back the urge to storm after his cousin.

"It's only a ribbon," you whispered as you approached him, knowing it would sound like a paltry excuse.

Valarr shook his head, not meeting your gaze. "I know," he said, but there was no reassurance in his voice.

He was upset, and the worst part was, you couldn't even blame him.

"It will be over soon," you said softly, "and then we will be free of him."

Valarr gave a short, humorless laugh. "I fear we will only be free of him when he is dead."

You flinched at the venom in his words, but you couldn't argue with the sentiment. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to soothe the anger you could feel coiled beneath the surface. "Go show him what you're made of, husband."

For a moment, you thought he might pull away, but then he leaned into your touch. He looked at you, and the anger in his eyes was gone, replaced by something else. Something raw and hungry.

"For you," he said, and then he kissed you, hard and quick, a brand against your lips.

Then he mounted his horse and rode out into the field, a stark figure in black steel armor, and you watched him go, your heart a nervous flutter in your chest.

The day was a blur of pounding hooves and splintering lances. You watched as Aerion unseated rider after rider, your red ribbon prominently displayed through every round.

Valarr won his own matches, but his victories were far less showy. He took his time, calculating and patient. You knew none of these knights would dare harm the crown prince. He had to save his strength for the only true danger… his very own cousin with a talent for violence.

You made your way to the royal box just as the final match was announced. Valarr and Aerion would face each other.

The air in the tent was tense, everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see who would win. Baelor sat leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, watching his son and nephew, his face an unreadable mask.

You sat down next to him, trying to keep your own expression calm, but your palms were sweating.

Baelor glanced at you, his brow furrowed. "I see my son has been easily baited," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

"Yes," you agreed, your voice quiet.

Baelor let out a long breath, shaking his head. "I suppose if he wins, it will be good for him."

"And if he loses?" You asked.

Baelor's eyes met yours, his mouth a thin line. "Then it will be a lesson learned."

The herald's voice thundered across the lists: "FINAL CHALLENGE! PRINCE VALARR OF HOUSE TARGARYEN! PRINCE AERION OF HOUSE TARGARYEN! THE KING'S OWN GRANDSONS, TWO YOUNG DRAGONS! WHO SHALL CLAIM THE VICTORY?"

The crowd's cheers grew louder, and you and Baelor fell silent, leaning forward in your seats, anticipation thick in the air.

Valarr rode out onto the field, his armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Aerion was a dark shadow, his black plate and the flames etched into his breastplate lending him an ominous air.

"Begin!"

The horses surged forward, their powerful muscles rippling beneath the riders' legs. They moved as one, charging down the length of the field, lances poised and ready.

The crowd roared.

You gripped the edge of your seat, watching as they drew closer and closer, their speed increasing the sudden collision of their lances shattering the air.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart pounding as you watched Valarr sway in the saddle, struggling to regain his balance. Aerion was grinning, his teeth bared.

"One point for Prince Aerion!"

Valarr shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness. He righted himself, gripping his lance tighter.

The horses galloped forward again, racing toward each other. This time, Valarr was the first to hit. His lance struck Aerion's shield with a resounding crack.

Aerion grunted, but stayed upright.

"A point for the Crown Prince!"

"Well done," Baelor said quietly, clapping his hands together.

You couldn't speak, your throat was too dry. You swallowed, forcing yourself to breathe. Time seemed to slow as you watched Valarr's squires rush to replace his broken lance. His eyes met yours across the distance, and even from this far away, you could see the fire burning in his gaze.

You were not a religious person, but in that moment, you sent a prayer to whatever god would listen. Please, let him win.

The horn sounded, and the horses raced forward again. This time, the crash was so loud, it seemed to shake the ground.

Aerion was knocked off his horse, landing hard on the dirt. He lay there, unmoving. The crowd cheered, a deafening cacophony of screams and shouts.

Valarr reined his horse to a halt, his shoulders heaving with exertion, then he looked up. Not at the cheering masses, not at his fallen cousin, but directly at you. Even from this distance, you could see him reach for his chest, where his heart would be beneath the steel, and then extend that same hand toward you. Just for you.

"Prince Aerion is down! Prince Valarr wins the final joust!"

Baelor clapped again, louder this time, a small smile curving his lips.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, relief washing over you in waves.

Valarr had won.

You made your way down to the field, smiling at the people who nodded and bowed in your direction. The crowd was still cheering for their new champion, and their excitement was contagious.

You found Valarr talking to his squires, his helmet tucked under his arm. He looked sweaty and tired, but his face was alight with pride.

You waited for him to finish giving his instructions, not wanting to interrupt.

As soon as he was alone, you approached, trying to keep the grin from your face. You schooled your features into an expression of careful neutrality.

"Well fought," you said, your voice a low purr.

Valarr looked at you, his eyes darkening. "Thank you, wife."

You reached out, taking the helmet from his hand and setting it aside. "Do you need assistance removing your armor?"

"Yes," he said, his tone matching yours.

"Yes, well fought cousin," Aerion's voice cut through the moment like a blade.

You turned to see him standing behind you, his face a mask of calm. But you could see the rage burning in his eyes, and you felt a twinge of fear.

Valarr stepped forward, blocking Aerion's view of you. "Thank you," he said, his voice icy.

Aerion removed the red ribbon from his gauntlet, holding it up to show the both of you. "Keep the joust, cousin. I kept something better." His eyes flick to you, then back to Valarr. "She gave it so sweetly. Practically on her knees for me."

You held on to Valarr's arm, keeping him from lunging at his cousin. For a second you thought he was going to snap, to attack Aerion with his bare hands. But then his body went still, and he looked at Aerion with a cold smile.

"You should get that head checked, cousin," Valarr said, his voice dangerously quiet. "It seems you are confused on who kneels for who."

You saw Aerion's hand twitch towards the hilt of his sword, but before he could respond, a group of kingsguard arrived, leading his horse by the reins. Aerion let out a sigh, the tension in his body easing as his anger faded. He mounted the horse, a sour expression on his face.

"Another time," he said, looking at the two of you. "Enjoy your victory, Valarr. It won't last." And then he rode away, leaving the two of you standing alone in the arena.

Valarr said nothing. His hands had gone slack at his sides, and when you finally dared to look at him, you found him staring at the space where Aerion had been. His expression a little angry, but mostly just sad. He looked younger in that moment, like the boy you'd married who still feared he'd never be enough.

"Valarr." You reached for him.

He flinched away, then caught himself, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It's fine. You're right. It's only a ribbon."

But his voice cracked on ‘ribbon’ and you knew it had never been about the ribbon at all. He turned on his heel and began striding back towards the keep, not looking back.

You hurried after him, following him into the cool shade of the castle. The halls were blessedly empty, save for a few servants who ducked out of sight.

You caught up to him in your chambers, already halfway out of his armor, tossing the pieces aside with careless abandon.

"Are you alright?" You asked, stepping closer.

"No," he snapped, pulling off his gambeson and throwing it to the floor.

"Val," you said, your voice softening.

"He had no right," Valarr said, his hands clenching into fists. "No right to ask for your favor. No right to touch you."

"He didn't," you reminded him. "I barely touched his hand, that was all."

"He wanted to humiliate me," Valarr said, turning to face you, his eyes blazing.

"And you showed him, you won. He didn't."

Valarr didn't say anything, he simply looked at you, his jaw tight and his breathing labored.

"Why did you give him your favor?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his question. You could tell he was hurt, but his tone was more curious than accusatory. "I had to," you said, taking a step toward him.

Valarr snorted, shaking his head. "You didn't."

"I did." You took another step closer, until you were close enough to touch him, to soothe the tension from his shoulders. "Remember what your father said, these are delicate times, we cannot look divided."

Valarr sighed, reaching out and pulling you flush against him. "I know," he murmured. "But it still felt like a slap to the face."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, winding your arms around his neck.

Valarr rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "He'll never have you," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

"And I'll never want him," you replied, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His hands tightened on your hips, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He kissed you again, harder this time, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

You moaned, tangling your fingers in his hair. He lifted you easily, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you toward the bed.

He sat down on the edge, placing you in his lap, your skirts bunched around your waist. His mouth found your neck, biting and sucking at the tender skin.

"Mine," he groaned, his mouth hot against your skin. "My pretty little wife."

"Yes," you gasped, tilting your head back as he trailed kisses down the column of your throat. "All yours."

Valarr tugged at the ties on your dress, slowly pulling until the fabric loosened.

His warm hands slipped beneath the fabric, pushing it aside, and skimming over your breasts. Your nipples pebbled at his touch, and he groaned, brushing his thumb over one of them.

You shivered, arching into his touch. His other hand drifted down, fingers tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your dress.

"I should have ran him through after I knocked him from his horse," Valarr muttered against your skin, his voice muffled where his face was pressed to your neck. "For looking at you. For trying to claim what is mine."

"Yes," you murmured, your fingers working at the lacings of his tunic.

He groaned when you finally tugged the garment off, revealing the hard planes of his chest. His muscles flexed beneath your fingers, and he shivered at your touch.

His hands slipped beneath your dress, cupping your ass and squeezing it and pulling you closer against him, grinding you against the growing hardness in his breeches.

"I'll keep you safe from him, little wife," Valarr murmured, pressing his lips to yours, swallowing your answering moan. "Always."

He kissed you again, slower this time, but no less passionate. His hands continued their exploration, pushing your dress down your shoulders until it pooled around your waist where you sat in his lap. The air was cool against your skin, but Valarr ran hot, his palms warm where they settled on your bare hips.

You helped him push the rest of your dress aside, and he lifted you briefly to tug it free completely. When you settled back in his lap, you could feel exactly how much he wanted you, hard and insistent beneath his breeches.

"He said you were on your knees for him," Valarr murmured, the words tight. "But I know better, don't I? I know who you kneel for."

"Only you," you breathed, and to prove it, you shifted in his lap, grinding down against him. He let out a sharp breath, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs.

"Only me," he echoed, his voice strained. "Say it. Say that you kneel only for me."

You leaned forward, kissing his throat, teasing the skin with your teeth. "I kneel for no one," you purred, and then you pushed him backwards on the bed, his eyes going wide. "But my husband," you finished, straddling his hips and smirking down at him.

You reached down and tugged at the laces on his breeches, making quick work of them, before hooking your fingers in his waistband and pulling them down over his hips.

You trailed your fingers along his length, watching the way he trembled beneath you, the way he gripped the sheets beneath his hands. He was beautiful, stretched out beneath you like this. His mismatched eyes were dark, his hair tousled. You would never tire of seeing him like this.

"What does my prince need from his princess?" You teased, wrapping your fingers around him and giving him a few languid strokes.

Valarr groaned, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut. "Everything."

You leaned over him and kissed his jaw, then down his neck. "Say the words, Val," you breathed, kissing the hollow of his throat. "What do you need from your princess?"

His eyes snapped open, staring at you with those beautiful mismatched eyes that still made your stomach flutter even after all these months of marriage. His hands came up to grip your thighs, thumbs tracing circles against your skin.

"I need you to ride me," he said, his voice low and rough. "I need to watch you take what's yours. Need to see you move on my cock like you belong there. Because you do. You belong right here."

The raw honesty in his words sent heat pooling low in your belly. You lifted yourself up, positioning him at your entrance, and slowly, deliberately, sank down onto him.

Valarr's head fell back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. His fingers tightened on your hips, guiding you as you began to move. The stretch of him inside you was perfect, familiar and new all at once.

"Gods," he breathed, his eyes fixed on where your bodies joined. "Look at you. Taking all of me like the perfect little wife you are."

You set a rhythm, slow at first, rolling your hips in lazy circles that made him shudder beneath you. His hands roamed your body, palming your breasts, tracing down your stomach, settling back on your hips to help guide your movements.

His grip tightened as you picked up speed, your thighs burning with the effort. You leaned forward, bracing your hands against his chest as you began to bounce up and down, taking him as deep as you could.

Valarr grinned up at you, watching as your eyelashes fluttered and your breasts bounced in time with your movements. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting off the mattress. He knew what you liked, how to angle himself inside you to make your legs shake, make you tighten around him like a vice.

You leaned forward, your hair falling around both your faces as you pressed your lips to his. "Val," you breathed, the sound catching in your throat.

Valarr wrapped an arm around your back and rolled the both of you, pressing you into the mattress, your leg up over his hips. His lips never left yours as he started thrusting, his strokes slow and deep and aching.

Your hands wandered down his chest, fingers splaying out against his skin, feeling every hard line and ripple of muscle as he moved above you. His eyes were bright, watching your face as you both neared your end, the pressure building inside you both.

"You feel so perfect," he murmured against your mouth, "I could spend all night inside you. Could make you come around me again and again and again."

The thought made your walls clench, and Valarr let out a sharp breath. You both knew he wasn't lying, that he would make good on those words if you let him.

You could feel the tension in your core coiling tighter, your breath coming in sharp gasps, the sound punctuated by the soft slap of skin against skin as he pushed you towards the edge.

He must've sensed it too, because he picked up speed, thrusting faster and deeper, making you arch off the bed. His mouth was hot against your throat, leaving kisses and bites that would mark you later.

"You're mine," he growled, "and I'm yours."

You nodded, too caught up in the pleasure to do more than babble out your agreement. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, your bodies tangled together, sweat-slick skin against skin.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his hips stuttering against you, and he let out a strangled groan, his thrusts turning into long, deep grinding motions, like he wanted to be as close to you as humanly possible.

You held on to him, clinging to his shoulders as you followed him over the edge, squeezing around him as your climax washed over you in waves of bliss. His mouth crashed down on yours, swallowing the sounds you made. He kissed you as you shook through your release, his hips moving in slow circles to draw out every ounce of pleasure he could.

When he finally pulled away, you both were gasping for air, your chests heaving as you stared at each other, a thousand words and emotions passing silently between you. You didn't have to say it out loud for him to hear your I love yous, and you could read it clearly on his face.

Valarr eased himself out of you, collapsing next to you on the bed.

You curled into his side, resting your head on his chest, his heartbeat thudding against your cheek.

"How do you feel, my prince?"

Valarr turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Better," he murmured.

You smiled, kissing his chest.

"I suppose I should go apologize to my cousin," Valarr sighed, his fingers trailing lazily down your spine.

"What? Why?" You asked, propping yourself up on an elbow.

Valarr grinned at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "So I can rub my victory in his face."

"Well, in that case," you laughed, sitting up and swinging a leg over his hips.

Valarr's hands slid up your thighs, his eyes darkening.

You bent down, brushing your lips against his, teasing and light. "I have an idea."

You found Aerion on the way to dinner, his mood no better than earlier. He was limping slightly, his expression sour.

"Good evening, cousin," Valarr said cheerfully, his arm looped around your waist.

Aerion looked up, his gaze going to Valarr's arm around you, before flicking to the state of disarray the both of you were in, hair a mess, clothes rumpled, cheeks flushed.

It didn't take much to figure out what the two of you had been doing, and his expression darkened further.

"Cousin," Aerion replied, his voice icy.

"How is your head?" Valarr asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Fine," Aerion muttered, his jaw tight.

The two of you strolled in front of him, walking a little too close, letting the air hang heavy with your shared secrets.

Valarr's hand slipped lower, cupping your ass and giving it a light squeeze. You giggled, swatting at his hand and he pulled you closer, bending his head down and nipping at the skin of your neck.

Aerion stopped walking, watching the two of you. "Do you not have any shame?" He hissed, his fists clenched at his sides.

Valarr laughed, his breath hot against your ear. "None at all."

"See you at dinner," you said sweetly, linking your arm with Valarr's and pulling him away.

You found a quiet corner and fixed each other's clothes, making yourselves presentable. Valarr was grinning the whole time, letting you comb through his hair with your fingers

"Your laces are crooked," he teased, his hand sliding down to brush against the ties on your dress.

You laughed, batting his hand away. "Stop that."

He grinned, stealing a quick kiss and properly smoothing down your skirts. "Ready, my princess?"

"I am, my prince," you replied, taking his arm.

The two of you were still chuckling when the two of you entered the hall, taking your seats at the high table.

Valarr shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He deserves it."

"Perhaps we were a bit mean to Aerion," you whispered, though you couldn't keep the grin from your face.

"Don't get cocky now," you teased, elbowing him in the ribs. . "Arrogance is a slippery slope for a prince, you know. Better not let it get out of control."

"But I have you to keep me in line, don't I? My clever little wife." Valarr smiled, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

"You do," you said, lacing your fingers with his under the table.

He brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "I would be lost without you," he murmured.

"I will keep you on track for your destiny, my prince. But you have to remember to take the time to enjoy your victories along the way." You looked up at him, squeezing his hand.

Valarr looked at you, the love shining in his eyes, and he grinned, his eyes twinkling. "And what a victory it is."

Even at age 17, where magazines covering the latest gossip share about how Aerion Targaryen—second son to one of the most terrifying defense lawyers in the entirety of Westeros—has been caught at another late night party he had no business attending or seen in another fight with some lesser rich kid who will pointedly avoid any question regarding the rumors for the rest of their life.

Paparazzi snap pictures of Aerion with a new girl hanging off his arm every week by age 18, spreading it to every source that will share it publicly. At some point near age nineteen it stops becoming a huge scandal and more of a routine that impresses nobody.

Unless it’s photos of you. Although the average mom won’t bat an eye at yet another photo of you two together, the internet is a different story.

Nobody asks “how do you know one another?” anymore. They haven’t for a very, very long time. Instead, the questions have turned into “do you think they’re secretly together?” and “if they don’t get together true love is DEAD. why aren’t they MARRIED yet?”.

Everyone with a set of eyes can see it. The chemistry between you two is hotter than a dragon’s fire and more than once has something been said about how you’re both attached at the hip. Literally and figuratively, depending on the time.

Mixers were somewhat common for those with more money than they knew what to do with. Three hours of people flaunting the amount of zeros in their bank accounts while draped in finery, plastering smiles onto their lips that were akin to a predator’s looking for weak points to later use. Nobody sane truly enjoyed them, but they all went anyway. Being absent from such an event was its own sort of poor decision, one of which would be gossiped about for a week until something juicier came to light.

You attended, because of course you did. Your parents were there, siblings too. Certain statuses were meant to be upheld and you played your part, no matter how bored you might be.

The Targaryens were expected to make their appearance roughly five minutes from now, which meant that Aerion would be here in thirty. Just enough time for his family to mingle with the crowd, earn some questions of “oh, and where is your second boy?” that would have Maekar scowling and Baelor easily guiding the conversation into something new, and then be considered “fashionably late”. He wouldn’t have showed up at all, if not for you.

Strutting into the expensive event space with some new, pretty thing hanging off his arm and looking far too bright for a man as dark as he, Aerion made his entrance. Nobody directly approached him, but they all greeted him with forced politeness that he replied to with a sharp glance or nothing at all. Everyone had learned early on that he was not a kind man and to try initiating with him directly always wound up in sharp words tearing into their hearts.

Of course, there was some leeway with you. By no means were you an exception to this wordless understanding that everyone had.

However.

When you two made eye contact across the room, the smallest tilt of your head was offered in greeting and something flashed behind Aerion’s eyes. It was nothing that someone could spot, if not for you. You were in the midst of a conversation with some young man who was interested in what your family could offer if he were to capture your heart, so he was attempting to do just that. Charming smiles, warm words that were hollow at the end of it all, and the occasional brush of fingers against yours, all of which you permitted. Not forced yourself into, but allowed because you knew how much playing along was required of you.

Seven Minutes.

Seven minutes passed before you were being interrupted in your conversation with this man you barely remembered the name of. That was exactly how long it took for Aerion to discard the girl on his arm, lazily placating her with a “get yourself a drink n’ have fun”, and then shut down the conversation with this audacious man. He doesn’t even say anything, he just looks at the man with a glare that would make someone drop dead if he had the ability to, and watches as he scrambles off.

“Only one cherry? How disappointing.” There is no formal greeting between you two. Instead, Aerion is pressing a drink into one of your hands and you take it, glass clinking against the rings you chose to adorn your fingers with this evening. You comment on the fact that there’s only one cherry instead of the usual two or three in your drink and it makes an almost-laugh come from the Targaryen. It’s breathy, coming through his nose and one corner of his lips turning upward into something that could be a smile if he tried a little more.

“You’ll survive.” Aerion’s voice is almost flat, save for the undertone of amusement in the back of his throat that most would overlook. You don’t. You kick his expensive loafer with an equally pricey high heel adorning your own. He grins properly, silver hoops littering his ear shining under the dim lighting of the event space, “Ouch.”

The one word of acknowledgment is full of amusement now. You click your tongue in faux annoyance and then shift your stance a little.

Both of you settle into the familiar rhythm of going back and forth, speaking on the conversations you overheard and Aerion listening with a bored expression that conceals the way he’s not taken his eyes off of you since he walked into the room. Your bodies are close enough that most would suspect a relationship if either of you were not who you were. Instead, they do not bat an eye.

One arm is draped on the railing behind you two, thumb just barely touching your upper arm and his whole body is angled toward you, just like that photograph when you were seven. He’s occasionally sipping his own drink with the other hand, right leg pressing into your left as you almost tuck yourself into his side. It’s a familiar stance you two have partaken in so many times before that it’s natural.

“It’s been well over an hour. Shouldn’t you go find your little model?” You inquire about the woman out of politeness more than actual care for her. This isn’t the first time he’s brought someone to a mixer for show, just to abandon them in exchange for you.

“She’s fine. I saw her batting those fake lashes of hers at Baratheon fifteen minutes ago.” Aerion says it as if that means the entirety of the girl he’d brought to this mixer is a problem already solved. It is, in a way. He doesn’t bring people of any real importance to his life here. He selects those that he can get away with ditching if they bore him or, more likely, if you want to leave earlier than the rest of your family.

The rest of the Targaryen household approaches you both slowly, making their rounds through the room and finding you two last. They already know where you guys are going to be and do not rush to greet you.

Aerion watches his family greet you with a mild sneer that stays on his face until they’re gone again. It’s the only way that he can cover up the way it warms him, digging up some traitorous part of his heart which beats only for you. Truthfully, it has been beating for you alone for longer than he has known it not to. He will not address it.

It takes forty-five minutes for everyone to say their “hello”s and “how are you?”s like you weren’t over at their house two days ago, helping the youngest do homework like it was your job to. Daella had texted you her assignment, asking for help on a specific question, and you stopped by. You said you were in the area when she asked why you came over. You were not, but she didn’t have to know that.

Nobody else gets to interact with Aerion’s family, not the way you do. Whatever pick of poison he makes each night will never get a greeting from his family, all of whom actually intend on coming to at least acknowledge your presence. You are part of the family in a way that the others can only dream of.

Free from everyone but Aerion in your immediate vicinity once again, you finish your drink. You set it down on the nearby table, twisting your upper torso to do it without moving away from the short haired Targaryen.

“My car’s parked out front.” No question of “are you ready to go?” or “do you want to leave soon?”, just the statement that spoke a near lifetime together. Aerion chugged the last of his drink and began to walk with you three steps ahead of him. Close enough that nobody would engage with you because that meant engaging with him, but far enough that he wasn’t breathing down your neck.

Exhaling heavily only once you two were outside and the cold air nipped at your face, tension was visibly draining from your form. You two slid into his sleek sports car, wrapped in red and gold with a dragon running along the side of it because of course Aerion Targaryen had to put a dragon on everything he could. It’s what he was, after all.

Aerion drives you both to your penthouse in the city that’s twenty minutes away and neither of you say anything during the car ride. Comfort was found in silence whenever it settled between you, nearly two decades of time spent learning each other and when being quiet was or wasn’t the right choice. He leads the way through the parking garage and up to your living space as if he owns it, flashing his personal key FOB into the correct spots.

Jackets are shrugged off in the foyer, Aeroin’s blazer draped over the living room couch while you neatly put yours on the coatrack. He’s toeing his shoes off at the backside of the couch and leaving them there. Each thing is intentional. It’s how he’s leaving a quiet claim, each article of clothing serving as a piece of himself that is meant to mark.

Everything settles in its place like it belongs there. You can’t tell if you hate it or love it.

Loud shhck’s fill the living room as Aerion slides open your backdoor, glass overlapping with glass. He fishes a cigarette from his pocket and a lighter accompanies it, thumb swiping in a quick movement that has a flame flickering to life.

“You should lock your doors before you leave the house. Someone could break in.” Aerion’s leaning against the balcony railing, metal and glass that stops a person from accidentally falling over forty stories to their death.

“If someone climbs up this high to get to me, I would be more impressed than scared.” You hum, sliding your heels off and joining him. His head tilts toward you and those violet eyes of his are on you again.

“Get taken hostage by an intruder, then. I’ll say ‘I told you so’.” Both of you know that Aerion would tear the very world apart to find you if such a thing occurred. Neither of you say it.

City life makes noise down below, but it’s somewhat quiet so high up, filling the lack of words between you both. You’re looking at each other in this pocket of time where everything ceases to exist save for the cigarette smoke curling between your faces and each other.

One of you moves toward the other, although you’re unsure who does it first. Fingers curl into the side of your hip, cigarette still slotted between two deft fingers and you’ve got your hand on his nape. You’re drawing one another in until your bodies are flush, lips parted and breaths mingling together. The small gap between you both doesn’t close.

“Aerion.” You break the silence first, breathing out the Targaryen’s name in a question of something you’re unsure you want the answer to. He says nothing, but his fingers press harder and so does yours.

Years. Years of this moment playing through your minds and it went nothing like how you thought it would be, but also exactly how you two expected. No huge fight—although it definitely crossed your mind a few times—nor some fit of jealousy. It was a moment of quietness that settled between you both like it had a million times before. Lips press together before anything can break the moment, soft for a whole one second and then you’re trying to devour each other.

Teeth catch lip and bite, certain to bruise the flesh for days. Spit pushes between your mouths, tongues tangling and then separating. You push him against the wall of your balcony and he lets you. Aerion lets you and thinks that he would have nothing else. When you pull away with the need to breathe his eyes are several shades darker than they had been, pupils swallowing the violet.

“Do not,” Aerion is dropping his cigarette onto the concrete ground of the balcony, foot stomping it out without taking his eyes off of you, “kiss me like that if you’re going to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Aerion brings his free hand up to your face and slides his fingers into your hair, gripping the strands tightly so that you cannot back away. You do not want to, either.

“I know.” It’s the only response you give. It does not seem like an adequate response to the demand given, but somehow it is. The demand spoke for deeper feelings than just what was offered. Both of them had orbited one another for so long in one specific way that this kiss was fundamentally tilting the axis in which they sat.

Your name was murmured, blunt nails pressing into one another, and you do not push away. You draw Aerion in again and lick into his mouth, drowning any lingering uncertainty between you two.

The internet explodes when a photo of you kissing at a dinner party gets published a few months later and the Targaryen family is very, very relieved that they don’t have to send some poor girl home in a taxi after being ditched by the second son of Maekar Targaryen.

“I will cut off your head for this fucking insolence.” Aerion spits, sharp teeth bared as his adams apple bobs under the pressure of your blade, a wicked little thing you pulled from his vast collection. “H-holding a knife to the throat of a son of the blood like some common criminal.” he grits out as your heat flutters around him, hips rolling roughly to meet yours despite all his empty threats.

“Oh, my prince,” you coo, emphasising the my with a harsh press into the delicate skin of Aerion’s neck, “you’d sooner fill my cunt than have my head.” 

Much to your chagrin, Aerion hisses like some feral animal, baring his neck for you like a challenge. You flatten the knife against angry, bitten flesh and watch a bead of blood collect around the edge. His signet ring digs into the flesh of your hips as he chases his own release. “I can do both, can I not?”

The feeling of his tip bullying its further into your cervix forces a surprised yelp leave your lips and you plant a hand on Aerion’s shoulder to steady yourself. His palm comes up to meet yours, fingers intertwining in a sickly sweet gesture despite the knife digging into his threat.

A thousand jests about his affection flood your mind and then halt at the sight of your prince before you.

Bright amethyst and violets knock back into his head, chest shuddering and head lolling as his pleasure pools in his rigid abdomen. Swollen, kiss-bitten lips hang open and if you listen very carefully over the sound of skin against skin and your own moans, you can almost hear Aerion pleading with you. Begging for you to hurt him further. You don’t even realise you’ve pressed the knife even harder against his flesh until you can feel the vibration of Aerion’s groan under your hand as your hips twitch.

Your lips narrowly miss the knife's edge as you lean forward to press your lips against Aerion’s wound. A messy smear of blood and spit covers your mouth and your cunt throbs at the sound of Aerion calling your name beneath you. You lick his wound and drag your hot mouth up past the column of his neck, the hard lines of his jaw and the side of his scowl until your lips meet his. It’s less of a kiss and more like he’s trying to swallow you whole. Aerion licks over the blood on your chin, saliva and copper mixing until all you can taste and all you can smell is him.

“Gevie.” he rasps into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip and gasping when you bite back, “Ñuhon.”

Beautiful. Mine.

Your thighs ache with your effort and the brewing of your orgasm. Aerion brands crescent-shaped marks into the back of your hand, his voice teetering between a gasp and a moan. “Shit,” he hisses, “I should fuck you like this with a knife in your heart.”

Press harder. Hurt me harder, he means. Show me how fearless you are, show me how you could gut me in my own chambers and how you won’t because you fucking love me.

“Don’t give me ideas.” you moan, hands shuddering around the hilt of the blade as Aerion tilts his hips upwards. You play at carving your initials into his collarbone, hips still rocking as you chase your own release. Aerion shudders when you nick a spot near his clavicle. “Fuck - I’m already close.”

Warmth spreads throughout your stomach and the sight of Aerion flushed and beautiful flickers in and out of your vision as your eyes roll back. Your voice turns pitchy, keening and less like a sound used for empty threats. 

Aerion calls your name as his hand bites into your sides, his breath almost whining as his own pleasure builds. “Cum for me,” Aerion groans, dragging you closer to his chest until you're almost nose to nose, commanding you in a silky soft tone of voice like you couldn’t split his throat open right then and there. 

Your hips snap down to meet his, still steadying yourself with your hand in his. The blade shifts dangerously close to his carotid and Aerion’s hand leaves your waist to hold your wrist, holding his knife to his own throat in a shaky grip.

Aerion plants his heels into the bed, fucking into you at a gruelling place. Hot and cold explodes all over your body at once and you cum with a shout. Not a pretty, honeyed moan but a real sound as visceral as a knife to a neck. He holds you close to him, jaw going slack as you grind him through his orgasm, your ear pressed to his lips so you can drink in all his sweet sounds. “I love you,” he murmurs, easy to miss over the sound of your heavy breathing.

As quick as his confession came, Aerion cradles you to his chest and pushes forward, your shaky legs still wrapped around his waist as your head meets the sheets. Your ankles lock around each other, holding him close to you.

You can’t recall when the blade left your hand, but Aerion holds it up in the flickering candlelight, your fucked-out reflection looking back down at you. He makes a show of blowing cool air on the warm steel, eyes never leaving yours before dragging the cold tip down the valley of your breasts. Aerion hums a sound of delight when your pulse quickens. 

The sharp edge circles your left nipple as Aerion nudges closer and closer to your beating heart. “Will you keep to your word, my love?” you hiss, arching your back to press harder into his blade.

A quick cut to your flesh has you crying out, a mix of pleasure and pain as Aerion licks your blood from his own dagger. He leans down to kiss you soft and sweet, feeding you your own taste of copper and metal and him. You smile against his lips.

Aerion pecks the side of your mouth and then your un-touched neck. “Īlon kessa ūndegon” he says into your flesh.

We shall see.

You looked up at him with big doe eyes. “Like… anal?” You asked quietly, not sure what to expect of him. Aerion was hard to read, but one thing was for sure—it wasn’t going to be anything sweet or vanilla.

That dark, mocking laugh from before escaped him again, his eyes darkening in such a way that it sent a shiver up your spine as he leaned in closer, mouth so close to your ear now that you could feel his breath on your skin.

"Worse," he whispered, his tongue flicking out to teasingly lick at the shell of your ear before nipping at it lightly.

"A lot worse."

A shudder ran through you at his words. What did he mean by a lot worse? Anal was already considered taboo by many, was that already too take for him?

“Like what?” You managed to croak out.

He let out a slow, delighted exhale—like he couldn’t believe you were really asking.

His fingers pressed down on your clit just to feel the way your body jumped in response before his voice dropped into something dark and conspiratorial.

"Want to tie you up with my belt." A pause. "Force-feed you milk from the kitchen like some helpless little pet. Make you kneel on the floor and eat from the bowl."

Another sharp pinch of his fingers on your little clit as he watched for every tiny reaction.

You made a choked noise as he said that, not knowing he was into that. “Wh-what?”

You sounded stupid to his ears. Clearly, you had heard him. Why were you acting like a dumb pet already? He had barely even done anything yet.

"You heard me," he retorted, his voice low and mocking. "I want to tie you up with my belt before forcing you to lap up milk, just so you’re forced to be little helpless, milk-drunk baby all evening."

His free hand slid up again—not this time toward your throat but rather just beneath it where he pressed two fingers hard into the base of your jaw like a warning:

"You really are an idiot."

By now you were starting to be a little off put, not thinking he’d have this kind of fantasy. Why this?

“Um… that’s your fantasy?” You trailed off, your thighs closing around his hand. Getting shy.

It was an unconventional fantasy to most but you couldn’t help but get wetter as he looked down on you with a feral glint in his eyes.

“And I’m not an idiot,” you added with a whine, only solidifying his insult.

He let out a sharp, mocking laugh at your attempt to defend yourself.

"That's my fantasy?" he repeated with a cruel tilt of his head, fingers tightening beneath your jaw just enough for you to feel the pressure. "You think this is where I stop?"

His other hand pressed harder between your thighs, not giving an inch of space despite how much you tried to squirm away.

"Sweet little idiot," he cooed darkly. "Milk-drunk brats don’t get opinions."

A sharp, hungry sound escaped him as he watched you. Your cheeks flushing, your lips parting in that needy little whimper.

His grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make breathing a struggle while his other hand finally—finally—slid two fingers inside you with brutal efficiency. Making you squeal and whine like a little brat.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath at the feel of how wet and tight you were for him. "You're dripping, princess."

You squirmed as he fingered you, lewd squelching noises filling his room and making you blush.

A ragged groan tore from his throat as he scissored his fingers inside you, twisting them just to hear that wet noise again.

"Fucking nasty," he muttered darkly—but the way his hips jerked forward against nothing betrayed him entirely.

His thumb pressed down on your clit with rough circles as he watched your face twist in pleasure. "I should gag you. Or tape your mouth shut."

You could only prove his point by letting out another high-pitched moan, eyes rolling back as he curled his fingers against the spongy spot in your cunny.

A sharp, mocking huff escaped him, but he continued in that same, darkly condescending tone as if you didn't even get a say in the matter.

"Keep whining, princess. It just means big brother is going to find fun new ways to keep you quiet. And you know your little baby brain gets all mushy when I take control."

"Or…"

He leaned in closer until his lips brushed against your ear.

"I could just shove my cock so deep down that throat of yours that you choke on it."

By now you were barely able to form a thought. His mean words were making your head fuzzy.

He laughed as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

"Look at you," he cooed mockingly, twisting his fingers just to hear the lewd squelch of your cunt and your pretty cries. "Can't even think straight anymore."

"What's that, baby?" he cooed, the tone so condescending you'd think he was talking to a child. "You're making some cute little sounds, but I can't understand what you're trying to say... Is my baby sister all brain dead already?"

"Should I stuff your mouth with a pacifier?"

You mewled like a kitten under him, hips bucking up against his hand as your wetness slid down your slit and made a mess of your inner thighs.

He was breaking you in and he had no intention of stopping. He was going to mould you into the perfect pet for him.

“Wh-wha?” Gosh, you even sounded stupid by now. Not able to speak without stuttering or mumbling.

He let out a slow exhale, eyes narrowing as he watched you, almost like he had to exercise self restraint so he didn't just lose it at the mere sight of you.

He mocked, adding a third finger just to see how easily your drooling hole stretched for him. "You want a pacifier, baby?"

That same cruel mockery lacing his voice. "You're really just gone now, aren't you? Completely braindead and helpless under big brother."

"You're just a mindless little doll, aren't you? All I have to do is put something in your mouth, and you'd suck it without a second thought. "

You were trying to focus on his words, but it was getting increasingly difficult from the uncomfortable position you were in. The lower half of your body was hanging off of the bed while he had your upper body pinned down to the edge of the bed. Basically sitting on top of you, making the wooden edge of the bed dig into your back.

You squirmed and whined as you tried to get away, your back hurting by now. Along with being stretched by three of his fingers. It was all too much and you could feel tears starting to sting your eyes.

A dark, almost delighted sound escaped him as he watched you—watched the way your back arched in discomfort, the way your eyes teared up.

"Aw," he cooed mockingly, twisting his fingers just to hear that wet squelch again. "Hurts? Poor little brat can't handle it."

He leaned in closer until his breath was hot against your ear.

"You should've thought about that before you into my room like a dirty whore."

His free hand grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of your neck and yanked hard—forcing eye contact despite how much it stung.

"Say thank you."

In a small act of defiance, you shook your head. “No.” Knowing damn well the consequences would be serious. Aerion didn’t take lightly to being told no.

A soiled prick.

You managed to shove him away and get onto the bed even with his fist tangled in your hair. The moment his grip loosened you made your move.

Crawling on all fours like a cat, bare pussy peeking out from under your short skirt that had been flipped up. Panties somewhere on the floor.

A sharp laugh ripped from his throat as he watched you scramble away like some feral little kitten.

"You think crawling is going to save you?"

He hauled you back by the roots of your scalp until your spine bowed under the force of it. "Say thank you. Or I'll tie that pretty belt around this throat and let it choke while I fuck my fingers deeper."

You shuddered, eyes rolling back as he tugged harder on your hair and making your scalp sting. A bead of drool spilling from your lips.

You opened my mouth to say a hesitant ‘thank you’ but the words caught in your throat. His threat made your cunt clench and drool, shameful arousal running through you. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to fight through the lust haze, panting like a cat.

He let out a low, rough hum of approval as he watched drool spill from your parted lips.

He saw the shiver, and he watched how you squeezed your eyes shut. He was just so tempted to reach forward and pinch your nose so you'd have no choice but to gasp for air.

"Aww, that's a cute little look for you. I should take a picture, maybe send it to a few people."

"So helpless and desperate. You really are just a mindless little toy, aren't you?"

"Or maybe that's too generous. See, toys don’t speak and make stupid comments."

You let out a whiny grumble as he kept pulling your hair, yanking your head back and forth and side to side. Treating you like an inanimate object.

With great force, you turned your head to look at him with a pointed look, lips turned downward in a small pout. But you were still getting wetter, pussy aching to be toyed with.

“I’m not a toy,” you mumbled, knowing you couldn’t just keep making noises like an animal and had to form words in response.

“Not a toy?” Aerion almost laughed.

Without warning, he shoved two fingers into your mouth alongside the hand in your hair—gagging you on them as if to test just how far that pretty little throat could stretch.

You gagged immediately, throat constricting around his digits. More drool spilled from your lips and cunt.

"There you go. That's a little bit better, now you just look stupid and pretty. Not that you didn't look stupid to begin with. But at least no nonsense is coming out of your mouth.”

He shoved his fingers deeper into your pretty mouth, trying to test your gag reflexes.

"You just love being a slobbery little mess, don't you?"

"Maybe I should record this too. You all messy and helpless like this. I'm sure some people would get a kick out of watching you like this—helpless. Pathetic."

You tried to say no, but how could you? His fingers were thrusting and out of your mouth. So all you could do was let out a muffled ‘nuhuh’, only able to make Aerion more amused.

Despite the mean words, you couldn’t help but let your eyes roll back. Your body betraying your mind by burning hotter. Pussy pulsing without any stimulation, making soft whines spill from your stretched lips.

He watched in almost sadistic fascination as your eyes rolled back like that. He could see how your mind got so fuzzy on him. How the brat disappeared and all you were left with was a dirty little thing that craved this treatment.

He let out a long, mocking hum in approval before speaking in a patronizing tone:

"It's a good thing your baby brain is so stupid, isn't it? I doubt you even understand how humiliating you look right now."

He watched the drool roll down your chin, and he was almost impressed by the fact that you didn't bother to even try and hold it in. Like you couldn't help the fact that he was making you a little drooling mess.

"Such a slobbering little idiot... but I have to ask..."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a mocking whisper.

"Do you really think you're smart enough to have an option in this matter?"

It felt so wrong. It was wrong. But you couldn’t help it, each time he called you baby in that mocking voice, it made your clit pulse and ache for his mean touch.

It was as if he had reached to the back of your throat and turned your brain off.

He had you trained. You couldn't help the way you reacted. You loved it, and he loved it as well. He loved that he could make you all messy and stupid with just a few words.

"There we go," he murmured, voice a dark hum. "Perfect little idiot just for me."

He pulled his fingers from your throat just so he could grab you by the chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"Open your mouth, baby."

You coughed as he pulled his fingers from your throat, swallowing the amounts of spit that had gathered in your mouth.

Without even thinking, you opened your mouth for him, sticking out your tongue.

He let out a low, rough exhale as he watched you stick your tongue out so mindlessly. A bead of spit dribbling from your tongue.

"Good baby," he crooned mockingly, gripping a fistful of your hair while his eyes darkened in hunger at the sight.

He pulled his phone from his pocket before unlocking it, thumb tapping a few times before a camera app opened.

"Say cheese," he said teasingly, aiming the lens right at your face and your tongue stuck out like a mindless little pet.

The flash went off, capturing your flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, and that pathetic, open-mouthed expression.

It was as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over you, the realisation of what he had done sobered you up real quick.

“What? No, stop,” you shoved his phone away from your face. But judging by his smirk. The damage had been done.

He let out an annoyed huff at that, his grip on your hair tightening with force as he used that grip to whip your head back in place.

"Stay," he commanded, voice a low hiss.

He aimed the camera at your face again, his hand in your hair keeping you in place.

"Smile, baby. This picture is going to live on my phone forever. I'll even set it as my screensaver so your dumb pretty face is the first thing I see in the morning. "

“Delete it,” you demanded weakly, but your voice wavered, because part of you wanted him to keep it. Wanted proof that you were his like this.

A sharp, mocking laugh escaped him at your weak demand, your wavering voice betraying you entirely.

"Delete it?" he repeated, tilting his head in mock confusion. "But why?"

His thumb swiped to the gallery, enlarging the photo to show you, to let you see yourself.

"You look so pretty like this," he mused, almost like he was admiring art. "So perfectly ruined."

His fingers tightened in your hair again as he leaned in closer.

"Shh. I’d never let anyone else see you like this. My sweet little sister."

The thought of someone else watching you in this state was enough to make him furious with envy.

“Only for my eyes.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear before his teeth grazed against your skin.

He felt you shiver beneath him, felt the way your back arched just a little bit—so responsive and sensitive. It made him want to be cruel to you.

He whispered against your ear, the camera still aimed at you: "Now, open that pretty mouth and I'll give you something to suck on instead of my fingers. Show me how well you listen, baby."

He wanted to watch the way you obeyed, watch you drool for him like a stupid pet. He wanted to see the way he made you so dependent on him.

A shaky whimper escaped you as his words registered, a familiar heat curling in your belly at the command. You wanted to resist, to be stubborn just to spite him…

But your lips parted anyway.

Your tongue peeked out pathetically, waiting. Just like the obedient little pet he’d molded you into.

The flash went off again, capturing the moment perfectly.

"Perfect," he murmured, smirking as he admired the photo. "Now let's see if you can take more than just my fingers."

He slid off the bed only to return seconds later with his belt, the same one he'd threatened to tie around your throat earlier, now dangling loosely from his grip.

His pretty, pale cock sitting heavy in his hand. A bead of pearly precum oozing from the pinkish tip. He’d been waiting for this.

He tapped it against your parted lips mockingly.

"Open wider, baby."