WOUNDED DRAGON | Aerion Targaryen
Summary: After Ser Duncan bruised the face and ego of your husband Aerion, it is your duty to pick up the pieces. As always, your duty ends between the sheets.
Pairing: Husband!Aerion Targaryen x Wife!Tyrell Reader
Warning: sexual content, smut, sexual tension, dub-con, knive, rough treatment, derogatory comments, violence, mentions of death, insults, blood, misogyny (It's Aerion), mention of injury, dirty talk, bite, slap.
Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
Author's Notes: This is not corrected, I wrote it in one day and published it.
Divider credits: @cafekitsune | Gif credits: @elena-gilbert
“How dare that bastard touch a dragon?! He should be skinned alive for this.” Aerion is furious, his brows furrowed and his tone thick with hatred.
“I don't think your uncle would allow it; it wouldn't be fair.” You hum.
You continue gently wiping the blood from his split lip. He snorts, his eyes darkening with anger and offense.
“Fair? Justice would be to kill that— Ugh, be more careful, woman!” He groans and grips your hand tightly, the one holding the cloth.
“If you don't like how I do things, I can leave and call the maester, husband.”
You look at him seriously, your expression doesn't change despite the sharp pain that spreads through your hand, you remain firm.
He holds your gaze, narrows his eyes in annoyance before letting go with a dismissive gesture.
“You're so useless you can't even do something as simple as treat a small wound?” He mocks. “What was my father thinking when he married me off to a Tyrell?”
He settles back, and you ignore the throbbing pain in your wrist; you'll have to apply ointment later.
You dip the linen cloth back into the hot water, wait a few seconds before wringing it out and gently wiping it over his bruised lip.
“He dared to strike a prince, a dragon, just to defend a whore?” Disgust drips like honey. “Die for a cunt? How foolish and pathetic.”
“Maybe he loved her.” I shrug.
I pressed the rag to the cut to stop the bleeding; although the cut is small, quite a bit of blood is coming out.
“Love? For her? That whore will forget about him in a few days.” He affirms with a mocking laugh. “Right now she's probably opening her legs for some pathetic man with two coins in his pocket.”
“Wouldn't you hit someone for me?” You ask playfully.
“I'd kill anyone for you.” He says it firmly, before frowning at your slight smile. “If someone offends you, they'd be offending me. Don't get your hopes up.”
“Yes, husband, I'm sure you'd do it for that reason.” You laugh, looking at him with sly eyes; he rolls his eyes in annoyance.
“You have too much faith in yourself.”
“No. You're just a Tyrell.”
You become serious, look at him with sharp eyes, press the rag tightly to his lip making him frown, and speak in a calm but firm voice.
“This is the second time you've offended my house. One more time and I'll leave you here alone to see what you can do without me.” Your threats him.
He holds your wrist firmly, his eyes seem to shine with anger and something more... at your words.
“You think you can leave here? You can't take a single step without my permission, wife.” He smiles cruelly, squeezing your wrist tighter. “But you can try and see what happens.”
“I don't need your permission.”
You drop the bloody rag, it falls to the floor, you try to pull your wrist away from his grip, without success, his hand feels like an iron shackle.
“No? Of course you do. Stupid woman.” He pulls you closer, forcing you to sit on his lap. You're not surprised to feel his rock-hard manhood beneath you.
He always seemed to get excited by your pain... well, by everyone's pain in general.
“Stupid? Me? I didn't get beaten up in front of the whole kingdom.” You say mockingly, provocatively.
You can't deny that you liked it when he acted like that with you.
There's something wrong with you too, maybe he's not the only crazy one.
Because it's not normal how your body heats up and trembles when his hand moves up to your neck, squeezing so hard you know you'll have to wear a high-necked dress tomorrow.
“Yeah? I should drag you out by your hair right now and beat you so everyone can see how a woman should be disciplined.”
He smiles, his hand closes around the soft skin of your neck, your breath catches in your throat, and your hand rises, your nails scratching his hand at your neck.
“Or maybe I should break this fragile neck?” He asks with an evil smile on his lips. “I don't think anyone will mourn your death or miss you.”
Your eyes darken, his face blurs before you faint. He releases his grip on your neck and you gasp for air, your lungs burning.
“I think it would be a waste of a tight cunt.” He laughs sadistically as you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing heavily. “The dragon isn't going to kill his sheep just yet.”
His hand goes into your hair, you whimper as he pulls hard on the strands, your scalp burns, he pulls your head off his shoulder forcing you to look at his beautiful face.
“Now just close your mouth and open your legs.” His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your lips to his.
He kisses you roughly, the kiss is all teeth and lust, it's almost painful like everything with him, you separate your lips letting his skillful tongue slide into your mouth.
Your arms encircle his neck, you cling to him letting yourself be consumed by his lust, his fire, his tongue explores your mouth before sliding against your tongue.
The kiss tastes of wine and blood, you find it intoxicating... the kiss lasts what seems like an eternity when he pulls away, both are breathless.
“Time to ride the dragon, don't you think?” He smiles and pushes you face up onto the mattress. “Or maybe next time.”
He settles over you, gripping his dagger; the edge gleams mockingly in the candlelight. He brings the blade close to your neck; the sharp edge is cold as it runs across your warm skin and lifts your necklace with the seven-pointed star.
“You know, I've always hated the faith of the seven.” He hisses and grasps the gold chain, holding it mockingly between his fingers. “They're responsible for my house's misfortune.”
“You know... I'm not a believer... it's just to keep up appearances.” You remind him.
“I don't care. I don't want any of that near me.” He smiles.
Without hesitation, he yanks the necklace hard. The chain gives way and snaps with a crack, your skin burning from the sudden pull.
He looks at the pendant with disgust before tossing it carelessly somewhere in the room, then guides the dagger to the bodice of your dress.
“Much better. Now we can continue.”
He wastes no time; pressing the dagger against the bodice, the luxurious fabric tears easily under the pressure of the sharp blade. After making the cut, he indifferently leaves the dagger on the mattress.
He tears the rest of the fabric with his own hands, leaving your round breasts exposed, his hands quickly finding their way towards them, squeezing them and feeling their weight.
He drinks you in, examining your body as if he hadn't done so a thousand times before, his eyes sharp and attentive, piercing.
“You plan to admire my beauty all night?” you ask with a soft gasp, a mocking smile on your lips. “Or perhaps the great Aerion Targaryen "The Monstrous" is softening?”
“I don't admire. I'm just amazed. You have whore's tits.”
“Oh! You dare call your wife a whore—” Your reprimand is abruptly cut short when...
He pinches your nipples, holds them between his index and ring fingers, and firmly pulls on the sensitive protrusions. You let out a muffled moan; pain and pleasure mingle deliciously.
“I can call you whatever I want. The dragon is always right.” He says it with a seriousness that would frighten anyone.
You roll your eyes. He notices and slaps you hard across the cheek. Your face tilts to the side. It's a warning, one that leaves your cheek red and throbbing.
You place your hand on your cheek in an attempt to soothe the slight burning sensation. He hisses something that sounds like a reprimand as he settles between your legs, impatiently lifting the hem of your dress. The fabric bunches up around your belly, and you feel his hands tracing the smooth skin of your thighs.
“Soft.” he murmurs reluctantly, with a hint of acknowledgment.
You close your eyes as you feel his warm, ghostly breath on your skin. He leaves wet kisses, and you gasp as his warm tongue licks your thigh, leaving a damp trail.
Everything was too sweet coming from your husband. You don't finish the thought; you scream as a sharp pain spreads through your thigh.
His teeth sink mercilessly into your soft skin, he bites hard, when he finally pulls away his lips are stained with your blood, he smiles like a snake, tears slide down your cheeks because of the sharp pain.
“Hush... don't cry. It wasn't that bad.”
He tries to comfort you, but he sounds cruel and condescending; it's obvious he enjoys your anguish and pain.
“When you have my manhood inside you, you won't think about anything else, you'll forget about the pain as always.”
He starts to undo the drawstring of his pants, working quickly, slipping his hand inside and pulling out his rock-hard manhood. It's pale, like the rest of him, not excessively thick but long, with a furious pink tip that overwhelms you. Its base is adorned with fine, almost imperceptible silver hair.
He pulls his pants down to his thighs and places one of your legs over his shoulders. He pumps his member a few times before guiding the head against your wet folds.
“You're so wet... and you say you're not a whore?”
You don't say anything, you just look at him with wet eyes, your hands gripping your skirts. You gasp as he slides his member inside you with a single thrust. He squeezes your thigh as your walls contract, trying to adapt to him.
“So tight.” He murmurs to himself.
Only a few seconds pass before he starts to move, pulling his member almost completely out only to thrust it back in forcefully, giving deep strokes that make you gasp and see stars.
You gasp and moan from the rough treatment, pleasure and pain fight inside you until pleasure wins, you feel a tingling in your lower belly, your breasts bounce rhythmically and blood seems to flow into your ears.
He, for his part, lets out gasps here and there. He's not very vocal; in his own words, 'dragons don't whimper.' Even so, there's a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead from the exertion.
His nails dig into your thigh, leaving crescent-shaped marks. Your hand awkwardly seeks his, resting on your stomach. You want to intertwine your fingers with his, but he swatts your hand away, making you let out a pitiful groan. He breathes heavily and looks at you, continuing to move his hips.
Exasperated by your dejected expression, he takes your hand and tightly intertwines his fingers with yours. Your bones ache, but you smile triumphantly despite your agitation, as if to say:
He moves his hips faster, his round testicles smacking against the curve of your ass again and again, his cock hitting all the right places, his thrusts bringing you closer and closer to orgasm, your free leg wraps around his waist and you arch your back, a particularly hard blow to your cervix makes you come.
“Gods!” You moan softly and bite your lip hard.
Your pussy shudders and contracts in spasms, your juices soaking his cock and dripping onto the sheet beneath you, leaving a dark stain. Your pleasure turns painful as he continues moving inside you, overstimulating your aching pussy.
He groans as he feels your walls strangling him, trying to drain him dry. His intertwined fingers tighten painfully, and his thrusts become erratic. It only takes a few more thrusts for him to come, his cock completely inside you, his hot seed filling your womb, flooding your entire being, marking you as his.
He stays in that position for a long moment, until his cock stops writhing inside you and his breathing calms. He releases your hand and lowers your trembling leg from his shoulder. You lift yourself slightly to grasp his luxurious doublet and pull him closer.
He allows it, letting you bring him closer. You gently move the damp fringe that's stuck to his forehead, kissing him softly, but he quickly takes control and deepens the kiss. At least the cut has stopped bleeding. When you break the kiss, he speaks in a curious voice, but not as disdainful as before, more like... impatient?
“Are you going to be good for something for once and finally give me a son?”
