Summary - Gianna Lannister is the youngest daughter of Tywin Lannister from his second wife Lynnette Stark. When Gia rushes in to help Sansa Stark, after her nephew humiliates her, the king suddenly has a 'brilliant' idea... or so he says.
A/N - This is only the second time I've done something like this... so bare with me please.
WARNINGS - If you are UNDER 18 then DO NOT read! Forced marriage, loss of virginity, blow job, blood, PIV, maybe breeding kink and size kink, literally has no plot just doing this coz I had an idea! If I've missed anything that should be added as a warning then please let me know!
Gianna watched from the crowd that had gathered in the throne room, as Joffrey terrorised poor Sansa Stark, again.
"You're here to answer for your brother's latest crimes. What do you have to say?" Joffrey aimed his armed crossbow at the Stark girl as she kneeled before him.
"Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part in it!" The poor girl began to sob, "You know this, Your Grace. I beg-" Joffrey had cut her off before she could finish, Ser Lancel, tell her what her brother has done!" Demanded Joffrey.
As Ser Lancel stepped forwards, so did Gianna. She always knew something wasn't right with her eldest nephew. He was evil, one of the evilest beings she's ever come across. Gia was appalled with his actions and about the fact that no one could make him stop, not even his mother.
"Using some vile sorcery your brother fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves." Lancel announced. Gianna couldn't understand how people actually believe this stuff. So she rolled her eyes and mentally face palmed herself, ridiculous fools, she thought to herself.
"Thousands of good men were slaughtered, after the butchering, the Northmen feasted on the meat of the slain." This made the crowd surrounding them gasp and whisper in horror. War was a dreadful thing, Gianna knew that, but she really couldn't see that happening. At least not on Robb Stark's orders or his mothers. When she first met them, when she went with her older sister Cersei and her family to Winterfell, she'd gotten on well with the Starks.
"Killing you would, mayhaps, send your traitor brother a message." Gianna snapped out of her thoughts at that, surely he's not really contemplating that? The poor Stark girl began to weep, "But my mother insists on keeping you alive, unfortunately. Stand." Sansa stood at the king's orders, ever the obedient Lady Stark. Gianna's pity for the girl grew day by day. She didn't deserve this, no one did.
"So, we'll just have to send your brother a message some other way." Gianna took another step forward, just so she stood slightly out of the crowd, as if she might run towards young Lady Stark, she was family after all, distant but still family. "Meryn." The unspoken order was spoken and Joffrey's favoured Kingsguard stepped towards Sansa, "Leave her face, I like her pretty." And with that Sansa was punched to the stomach.
Gianna gasped and tried to step forwards, but before anyone could truly notice, her handmaid Dalia grabbed her arm, "No, my Lady. I do not think it wise to step in." Gia didn't take her eyes off Sansa. Meryn took out his sword and struck the backs of her legs, so she fell to the floor.
"Meryn, my dear lady's over-dressed. Unburden her." The Knight stood behind poor Sansa and ripped the back of her dress open, "If you want Robb Stark to hear us, we're going to have to speak louder!" Ser Meryn took out his sword again, swinging it over his head, "What is the meaning of this?"
The crowd split to allow Gianna's brother, Tyrion Lannister, to make his way through along with his man Bronn. "What kind of Knight beats a helpless girl!" Snaps Tyrion. "The kind who serves his king, Imp!" Meryn Snapped back. Gianna hated that man, he was just as vile and cruel as her nephew. "Careful now, we wouldn't want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak." Bronn, even though he irritated Gia sometimes with his crude words, managed to shut the Knight up.
"Would someone get the girl something to cover herself with." Gianna and Sandor 'The Hound' stepped forward towards Sansa. "It's alright sweet girl, Tyrion will handle Joffrey." Whispered the young Lannister Lady as the Hound grabbed his White Cloak over her shoulders.
"She's to be your queen. Do you have no regard towards her honour?" Questioned Tyrion, "I'm punishing her!" Tyrion gaped, "For what crimes? She's not fighting her brother battles you half wit!" Gianna helped Sansa stand, wrapping the girl in her arms.
"Your behaviour is despicable, Nephew! She's done nothing wrong!" Gia shouted. The Stark girl shook in the Lannister Lady's arms. "Neither of you can speak to me like that! The king can do as he likes!" Again Lady Lannister rolled her eyes, "The Mad King did as he liked! Look where that got him! Killed by his own guard, his people rebelled against him. Is that what you want to be done to you? For people a hundred years from now to remember you as the king who beat helpless Ladies?" Snapped Gianna, turning to her brother, "Perhaps they'll title him 'The Half-wit King', brother?" The people in the room sniggered and gasped. Gia swore she heard The Hound huff amusingly behind her.
"No one threatens his Grace in the presence of the kingsguard!" Meryn rushed towards Gianna, threateningly. "I'm not threatening him, Ser. I'm merely giving my nephew some... advice." Gianna didn't bother to look at Ser Meryn. "Bronn the next time Ser Meryn speaks, kill him." Tyrion said in a bored manner, turing to Ser Meryn, "Now that was a threat... see the difference?!" Gia chuckled at her older brother, they'd always been close, even since she was a little girl.
Tyrion walked towards his little sister and Sansa, leading them away. "I apologise for my nephew's behaviour. Tell me the truth, do you want this wedding to happen?" Spoke Tyrion softly, "We could try to get the engagement broken, if you'd like?" Gia rubbed the girls shoulders and they walked, "I am loyal to king Joffrey-" Stated Sansa, pulling out of Gianna's arms, "He is my one true love." With that she walked ahead of them, her ladies maids following her.
Gianna was summoned back to the throne room, a couple hours later. As she walked in she realised that the crowd had only gotten bigger. At the throne sat her nephew, on both sides of him were his mother, Gianna's only and older sister, and the hand, who was Gianna's father. At the bottom of the stairs to the throne stood the kingsguard.
"You summoned me, Your Grace." Gianna stood before her family. She had changed into a more comfortable dress, since she was planning to go horse riding after. "Yes, I did." Signed Joffrey. "Tell me, Dear Aunt. Do you think the way you spoke to me earlier was appropriate? Especially of a Lady." Questioned the king.
Gianna looked towards her father at that moment, his face was emotionless. So she looked towards her kingsguard brother, he looked nervous for her. "I said what I thought to be true, Your Grace." She wouldn't lie. He needed to be told. Cersei scoffed, "You're king deserves more respect from you." Gianna rolled her eyes, "DO NOT ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME!" Screeched Cersei. "My apologise, sister."
"You know, I'll have to punish you." Gia's heart began to race. Surely her father wouldn't allow that. She was his daughter, and she knew he favoured her out of all his children. Looking towards him again she saw that his face was still, emotionless.
"You see, I've had a few hours to... come up with your punishment. Mother helped me." They both chuckled. "You're young, unmarried, pretty. What better punishment is there than to marry you to a... hound." The crowd gasped at their king's words. Joffrey laughed hysterically. "Mother's always calling you a bitch, so it seems quite fitting! Don't you think?!" I glanced towards 'The Hound' . He stood tall, but you could tell he was angry.
"Your Grace I don't think that's-" Tywin tried to reason with his grandson, he didn't want to drag his house through the mud again. "Silence!'' shouted Joffrey. "Hound stand by your bride to be!" Sandor reluctantly moved to stand beside Gianna. "The Hound and his bitch. He's so massive I'm sure he'll split her open when he takes her maidenhead!" Gianna looked down in shame at being spoken about in such a way.
“Your wedding will be the day after tomorrow.” With that Joffrey excused everyone. Gianna quickly left the throne room, rushing to her chambers. Tears were dripping down her face as threw herself on her bed; her head buried in her arms.
Summary: Four years after Dean disappeared, he comes back to find the life he left behind… waiting for him in the shape of a little girl with his eyes. Now it’s ghosts in the walls, love that never died and a second chance that might heal everything—or break it for good.
-requested-
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language
Word Count: 7496
DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.
When Dean woke up the next morning, for a moment, he looked confused, caught between dream and waking. Then his gaze found you. And God, the way his whole face softened, made your chest ache.
“Hey”, he rasped, voice rough from sleep.
“Hey”, you whispered back, careful not to wake Lilah where she was now tucked in snug between you.
Dean glanced down at her, then back at you, his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “She sneaks in like a damn ninja”.
You smirked, brushing a curl off Lilah’s forehead. “Wonder where she gets it from”.
His smile widened just a little, then faltered when he realized his hand was still resting on your stomach. He stilled, eyes flicking from your belly up to your face, a flicker of awe and fear tangled together.
You swallowed, heart thudding, but you didn’t move his hand. You didn’t want to.
Dean’s thumb brushed once, tentative, as if he couldn’t help it. His eyes locked with yours.
Neither of you spoke. The quiet was heavy but full, threaded with everything you hadn’t figured out how to say yet.
Then Dean leaned the smallest bit closer, his lips brushing your temple in the barest kiss. “Merry Christmas”, he whispered.
Dean’s lips had barely left your temple when Lilah stirred. For a second she just looked between the two of you, like her sleepy brain was trying to put the pieces together. Then her face split into a grin. “Merry Christmas!”, she shouted, way too loud for the hour.
You and Dean both winced, stifling your laughs as she scrambled upright. She tugged at Dean’s arm. “Daddy, Daddy, get up! Santa came, I heard him!”.
Dean groaned, rubbing his face with his free hand while keeping the other protectively curved over your stomach. “Buzz, it’s barely—”. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and groaned louder. “It’s not even six”.
Lilah gasped like he’d just told her the worst lie in history. “Santa doesn’t care about clocks!”.
You bit your lip, laughing into the blanket. Dean gave you a helpless look, eyes crinkled in amusement despite his grumbling. “You did this to me”, he muttered.
Lilah was already half off the bed, tugging at the hem of his sweatpants. “C’mon, Daddy, presents! We gotta go now!”.
Dean sighed like a man doomed, then leaned over to press a quick kiss to your lips, gentle but sure, before letting Lilah drag him toward the living room. “Alright, alright”, he muttered, shuffling after her with his hand in hers. “Let’s go see what the big guy left”.
A little while later, the living room looked like Christmas had exploded. Shreds of wrapping paper everywhere, bows stuck to the carpet, and Lilah buzzing from one pile of toys to the next, holding up each treasure like it was made of gold. You and Dean sat side by side on the couch, shoulders brushing.
When Lilah finally settled on the floor with her new craft set, already trying to glue three different things together, Dean shifted beside you. He reached down, pulled something from under the couch, and set a small, square package in your lap.
Your brows rose. “Dean…”.
He shrugged, trying for casual, but the way his jaw clenched gave him away. “Just open it”.
You peeled the paper back carefully, and your breath caught.
It was a leather-bound journal, the edges worn like it had already been handled with care. On the cover, embossed into the leather, was a simple golden bee.
Inside the front cover, in Dean’s scrawl, were the words:
For Bee’s stories. For ours too. Don’t let me miss a damn thing this time.
Your throat closed up. You ran your fingers over the page, blinking fast. “Dean…”.
He shifted, eyes flicking to you nervously. “I figured… you always keep stuff. Pictures, cards, whatever. Thought maybe you’d… y’know, want a place to put it all. For her… For… the baby”.
You laughed through your tears, clutching the journal to your chest. “This is… perfect”.
Dean exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours, a small, crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”.
You leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Yeah”.
Across the room, Lilah looked up from where she was gluing two plastic ponies together. “What’d Daddy get you?”.
You smiled at her, eyes still wet. “Something really special, baby”.
By late afternoon, the kitchen was humming with voices and laughter. Jodie had arrived with Claire and Alex, arms full of gifts and holiday dishes. Sam and Cas trailed in not long after, shaking the snow from their coats.
It had been over five years since you’d last seen Jodie and the girls. The second you stepped into the entryway, Jodie’s arms were around you, crushing tight, her voice thick in your ear. “God, I missed you”.
Claire and Alex hovered close behind, taller now, older, but both grinning with genuine excitement. Their attention, though, shifted fast to the little whirlwind buzzing around the living room.
Lilah had been shy for all of thirty seconds. Then she proudly announced to the room, “I’m Delilah, but Daddy calls me Buzz, ’cause I’m loud!”.
The three women lit up instantly. Alex dropped to her knees with a grin, Clair bent low with wide eyes, and Jodie’s hand came up to her mouth like she couldn’t hold back the emotion.
“The littlest Winchester”, Alex murmured. “Oh, my God”.
Lilah soaked it up like sunshine, showing off her bee-print pajamas under her Christmas sweater, then dragging them all to the tree to point out her presents.
Sam leaned against the doorway with a smile tugging at his mouth, Cas at his side looking oddly fascinated. “She has your confidence”, Sam said quietly to Dean.
Dean, who hadn’t moved more than a few feet from you since the guests arrived, snorted. “She’s got her mom’s charm too”.
What Sam didn’t point out, though you could feel it in his grin, was how Dean hovered. Always an arm brushing yours, a hand on the small of your back, his eyes finding you across the room whenever you moved too far. And when Jodie’s gaze landed on your hand, on the ring glinting there, her brows lifted high.
“Oh”, she drawled, looking between the two of you, the grin spreading across her face. “Well. Looks like Santa brought more than presents this year”.
Claire snorted into her hand. Alex nudged her with an elbow. Sam laughed outright.
Your face burned, and you ducked your head, but Dean just grinned, unashamed. He slipped his arm fully around your waist and tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The whole room knew, without a word: you and Dean weren’t just back in orbit. You were finding your way back, rings and all.
And Lilah, laughing in the middle of it all, cheeks flushed and curls wild, had never looked happier.
During dinner, the table was full. Plates of food were passed back and forth, laughter layered over laughter, Lilah climbing onto every lap she could until she settled squarely between Dean and Sam, proudly showing Claire her new glitter-glue set.
It was loud and warm and messy, and for a while, you let yourself sink into it.
Dean was at your side, close enough that his knee pressed into yours under the table, his arm draped on the back of your chair like muscle memory. He hadn’t stopped hovering all day, but instead of feeling suffocating, it felt… steady.
Jodie leaned back in her chair, her eyes flicking from Lilah to you. She hadn’t stopped grinning since she walked in, but now her voice softened, threaded with something more personal.
“So”, she said, tilting her head, “how are you doing? I mean, I know you’ve been holding it down all these years, but…”. She glanced at Dean, who was helping Lilah scoop mashed potatoes onto her plate. “This is a lot of change, fast”.
You offered Jodie a small, tired smile, resting your fork down for a moment.
“I’m… okay”, you said honestly. “It is a lot. Having Dean back, sharing the load after doing it alone so long—it’s good, but it’s an adjustment. I’ve been in survival mode for years. Now suddenly, it feels like…”. You hesitated, searching for the right word. “Like there’s space to breathe again”.
Jodie’s expression softened, her hand brushing yours across the table. “You deserve that space”.
Dean glanced over then, catching just enough of the exchange to look guilty and proud all at once. He didn’t say anything, just nudged Lilah’s plate closer and quietly filled your glass of water like it was second nature.
The conversation shifted back into laughter. Sam teasing Claire about her appetite, Alex stealing a roll off Jodie’s plate. Lilah giggled at all of it, swinging her legs happily as she shoveled food into her mouth.
Then, out of nowhere, she piped up in her sing-song little voice: “Mommy, you gotta eat more. Daddy said you have to eat for two now!”.
The whole table froze.
You nearly dropped your fork. Dean’s head snapped toward her so fast you were sure he’d pulled something in his neck.
Lilah blinked innocently, chewing on a green bean like she hadn’t just detonated a bomb. “What? That’s what you said, Daddy”.
You closed your eyes briefly, groaning under your breath. Of course.
Jodie leaned back slowly, her grin blooming wide. Claire and Alex both leaned forward at once, like they were front-row for the best kind of drama. Sam covered his mouth with his hand, trying and failing to smother a laugh. Cas, ever helpful, tilted his head and calmly supplied: “She means because you’re pregnant”.
The silence broke into chaos.
Jodie laughed so loud it startled Lilah, then pulled you into a fierce hug across the table. “Oh, honey. Congratulations!”.
Claire whooped. Alex clapped her hands and Sam finally let his laugh out, shaking his head in disbelief but looking so damn proud.
“Why is everybody laughing?”, Lilah demanded, brows knitting together. “What’s going on? Nobody tells me anything!”.
The table quieted again, all eyes sliding toward you and Dean.
Dean shifted uncomfortably. For all the hunts, all the monsters, all the life-and-death calls he’d made, this, telling a four-year-old her whole world was about to change, made him look nervous.
You reached across the table, laying your hand over his. “Dean”, you said softly.
His eyes flicked to yours. The look you gave him said we do this together.
He exhaled slowly, then turned Lilah on his knee so she was facing him. He tucked a curl behind her ear, his voice gentle. “Buzz”, he started, “you know how you’ve been asking if you could have a little brother or sister?”.
Lilah’s pout deepened. “Yeah. But nobody listens”.
Dean’s lips twitched. “Well… turns out, Mommy’s got a baby growing in her belly right now”.
Her whole face froze. Eyes wide, mouth a perfect O.
“A BABY?”, she shrieked, so loud everyone at the table jumped.
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, Buzz. A baby. You’re gonna be a big sister”.
Lilah gasped. Then she flung her tiny arms around Dean’s neck, nearly knocking his beer over in the process. “BEST! DAY! EVER!”, she yelled.
-
April 24 came in on a blue sky. Five candles waited on a bee-yellow cake inside, but out back the real party was already happening: Dean and Lilah were stress-testing the swing he’d hung from the maple yesterday.
He’d overbuilt the thing, of course, galvanized chain, lag bolts you could hang a truck from, the seat sanded smooth and painted with black-and-gold stripes. “Engineer-approved”, Sam had called across the street when he pulled up earlier to drop paint swatches at the ex-haunted house he’d bought last week. He wanted to be close. That was the whole point.
Now Dean crouched eye-level with Lilah, all serious business despite the birthday crown crooked in her curls. “Hands tight. Belly forward. Toes reach for the sky, Buzz”.
“Toes to the sky”, she echoed, and launched. The chains sang, sunlight sliced through the leaves, and Dean jogged behind her with a hand hovering like a spotter, laughing every time she squealed.
You watched from the porch, one palm curved over the round you’d started carrying without trying to hide. Twenty-three weeks. Five and a half months. It showed now, under the soft knit of your dress, in the way you leaned back without thinking… in how Dean’s hand drifted to your belly even in sleep.
And God, you remembered the first ultrasound.
Dean had paced before you both got called, jitter simmering under his skin like he’d rather be facing down a bunch of ghosts than waiting for a doctor. He’d cracked a joke about cold gel; then the screen bloomed gray and snow, and there was the baby.
“That’s… that’s ours?”, he’d asked, voice already wrecked.
The doc turned the sound on and the room filled with whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh, steady and impossibly fast. Dean’s hand found yours and squeezed so hard it should’ve hurt. He cried without making a sound, blinked them away and pretended he hadn’t. He asked for extra printouts and tucked one in his wallet, one under a bee magnet on the fridge, one—God help him—in Baby’s sun visor.
Last week, at the anatomy scan, he’d been worse. Counting fingers, counting toes, counting tiny ribs on the screen like if he named every part he could make a whole life safe. Lilah had come in a shirt that said PROMOTED TO BIG SISTER and asked the ultrasound tech if the baby liked glitter. The baby hiccuped and kicked; you laughed; Dean had to sit down.
Back in the yard, Lilah yelled: “Did you see me, Mommy? I went sooooo high”.
“So high”, you promised, opening your arms. She barreled into your middle on instinct, then remembered and patted your stomach very carefully with the flat of her hands. “Hi, baby bee”, she whispered.
By ten, the doorbell started a marathon. Little sneakers. Paper crowns. Gift bags. Parents filtering in with polite smiles and casseroles they pretended were “nothing”. You’d slated family for tomorrow. Today was kindergarten land.
Dean had thrown on a gray tee that read BEEKEEPER (you swore you didn’t buy it… maybe Sam did), sleeves clinging to his biceps like a public service. He was thirty-something, tan lines and forearms and that walk—half swagger, half “I’ll fix your cabinet right now”. Every mom over thirty-five short-circuited at least once. You could feel the collective sigh when he lifted the drink cooler like it weighed nothing and said, “Where do you want this, sweetheart?”. (To you. You. Which didn’t stop Mrs. Smith from nearly dropping her hummus).
You stifled a laugh becaue he had no idea. Until it was more obvious.
When a blonde in a very determined athleisure set lingered too long asking about “weekend availability for playdates”, he smiled easy, tipped his chin your way, and added, “My fiancée can text you”. You caught his eye; he winked. The athleisure set melted into apologetic chatter and a fruit cup.
Games helped. Dean herded tiny bees with the authority of a drill sergeant and the patience of a saint. “Alright, workers! Bee Olympics in five! Stations are: Pollen Relay, Nectar Scoop, and Hive Build. No stings, no tears, high fives on demand”. (All his ideas).
You worked the craft table, building bee masks with pipe-cleaner antennae. Every so often Dean dropped a kiss to the top of your head on the flyby because he couldn’t not, because it was muscle memory now. He refilled your water without asking. If anybody hadn’t noticed the ring, they had now.
On late afternoon, a dozen kids sat cross-legged on the blanket, faces shiny with sunscreen and happiness, working their way through greasy slices because Dean had declared, “It’s her birthday, we’re doing pizza. I don’t give a—” (you elbowed him) “—hoot if the kale committee revolts”.
You and Sally—Mia’s mom, your first real friend on the block you met years ago—finally sank into camp chairs by the cooler. She bumped your knee with hers, eyes glinting.
“Okay, two things”, she stage-whispered, glancing toward Dean at the drinks table. “One: I now understand why you never showed me a picture. Criminally hot. Two: I also understand why Lilah is that pretty. Genetics did overtime”.
You snorted into your water. “Shut up”.
Sally grinned softer. “He’s good with them. The way he talks to the meltdown kids? I almost cried during Hive Build”.
You looked across the lawn just as Dean crouched to Mia’s level to help her re-tie her bee mask, voice low and patient. Pride punched right through your ribs.
“And… how are you?”, she asked, flicking a glance at your dress, at the way you’d unconsciously braced a palm against your belly. “How far now?”.
“Twenty-three weeks”, you said, smile tipping. “End of August, if this one’s punctual. Which, considering their father—”.
“Hey now”, Dean appeared like he’d been summoned by name, a paper plate stacked with two heroic slices balanced on one hand and a fistful of napkins in the other. “Their father is extremely punctual when pizza’s involved”. He dropped a kiss to your hair without thinking and offered Sally a napkin like a peace treaty. “You want a slice?".
Sally took the napkin, amusement blooming. “I’m good. I was actually grilling your fiancée”.
Dean’s mouth did that lopsided thing. He slid a palm over the small of your back, then, like gravity, settled it where it’s been settling for months now: gentle over your bump. “Grill away”.
“So… end of August?”, Sally prompted.
“Give or take”, you said. “Besides that, the baby likes pancakes and naps during staff meetings”.
“—and classic rock”, Dean added solemnly. “Kicked me during ‘Fortunate Son’".
Sally bit back a laugh. Around you, the mom cluster tried very hard to keep up a conversation about the Spring Fair volunteer list while not blatantly staring at Dean, who dropped into the chair beside you, knees sprawled wide, jeans stretched indecently tight over thighs and hips.
You’d warned him. He’d ignored you. And now half the kindergarten moms were visibly fighting for composure. Every few seconds, their gazes flicked sideways. To the way the denim clung shamelessly over his thighs. To the curve that made you bite your lip sometimes without meaning to. Dean Winchester was blessed, and there wasn’t a pair of Levi’s in the world built to hide it.
He was oblivious. Mostly. He tipped his chair back, chewing through another slice, his palm resting easy on your knee, and the ring on your hand catching sunlight like a warning bell. Still, you caught one mom drop her phone when he shifted to grab his coke.
You caught him licking pizza sauce off his thumb, casual as anything, while the moms collectively forgot how to spell brownies.
Leaning in, you smirked. “You really have no idea, do you?”.
Dean arched a brow, chewing slow. “About what?”.
You tipped your chin toward the semi-circle of women across the blanket. All of them laughing a little too loudly, eyes darting anywhere but directly at him, like teenagers caught staring at the quarterback.
Dean followed your gaze, blinked once, then turned back to you, smirk curling lazy and wicked. “What, them?”. He leaned closer, and before you could stop him, his teeth grazed your jaw in a playful nip. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath catch.
You swatted at him, hissing, “Dean—”, but it was too late. Half the moms visibly sat up straighter, heat crawling up their necks.
And of course, Dean chose that moment to let his voice drop, low and gravel-warm, not even bothering to keep it discreet. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. You look so damn good carrying my kid. Drives me outta my mind every time I see you”. His hand slid across your thigh, casual but not casual enough.
You froze, cheeks flaming. Sally choked into her soda, covering it with a cough while shooting you the most oh my God look imaginable.
-
You braced one hand on the tiled wall, head tipped under the spray, letting the warmth run down your spine. Dean stood behind you, bigger than the space allowed, arms caging you in without even meaning to. His lips brushed the back of your shoulder, slow, unhurried, tasting water droplets.
You laughed breathlessly, tilting your head just enough to glance back at him. “Thought we were supposed to be showering”.
Dean’s hands skimmed down your sides, pausing to trace the curve of your belly before sliding back to your hips. “We are”, he said, voice low. He pressed himself against you, hard already. “I’m multitasking”.
You rolled your eyes, but it came out shaky when his mouth trailed down the slope of your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Dean…”.
“Shhh”. His hands flattened over your stomach. He nosed at your damp hair, lips brushing your temple as he whispered, almost like a confession, “You have no idea what you do to me like this”.
You huffed a laugh, breath fogging the glass. “Dean Winchester”, you teased, voice low and shaky, “do you have a kink?”.
He groaned, forehead pressing to the back of your neck. “Don’t call it that”, he muttered. “I just—”. His grip on your hips tightened. “You’re carrying us. And you’re so goddamn beautiful I can’t think straight”.
Before you could quip back, he shifted, nudging your legs apart with his knee. One hand braced on your belly, protective even now, the other guiding himself. You gasped as the blunt head of him pressed against you. “Dean—”.
“Easy”, he soothed. With one steady push, he slid inside, burying himself to the hilt. The heat, the stretch, the way his chest pressed flush against your back, it was overwhelming.
You clutched the slick tile, a broken sound leaving your throat.
Dean’s groan rumbled against your skin.
“Fuck—yeah. That’s it”.
The water hammered down, but all you felt was him. Every inch of him, every shift of muscle pressed flush against your back. His hips rolled into you, the motion forcing your palm tighter against the slick tile. Your other hand fumbled for the rail, gripping hard, because these days, damn, you were too sensitive. Every drag of him made your legs shake.
“Hold on for me, sweetheart”, he rasped. He guided you into his rhythm, one arm a steel band across your chest, the other cradling your stomach like he was afraid the world might steal it away.
You whined his name, head dropping forward, water streaming over your face, and his mouth was instantly at your jaw, kissing, biting softly, whispering, “I’ve got you. Always”.
He wasn’t fucking you like it was just about heat. He was inside you like he was memorizing you, claiming you. Every time his hips met your ass, his hand pressed firmer against your belly.
Your thighs trembled with each push, each drag, pleasure curling tight in your spine too fast, too sharp. Dean groaned again, his lips brushing your ear. “Sensitive, huh? Baby, you’re—”. His words broke into another thrust, another groan. “So damn perfect like this. All mine”.
The rhythm didn’t last long. “Shit—”, Dean gritted out, hips grinding deep. “Not gonna—can’t—”.
You grinned breathlessly, even as the pleasure coiled hot and fast in your gut. “What happened to—”, you gasped as he ground harder against that spot inside you, “—iron man stamina, Winchester?”.
Dean huffed a broken laugh, already sliding one hand down to where you needed him, circling you with maddening precision. His favorite trick, the one he always pulled when he knew he was close but refused to leave you behind. “Still got enough”, he rasped, lips dragging down your neck. “Always get you there, don’t I?”.
The words, the hand, the angle, it was too much. Your body clenched hard around him, the orgasm tearing through you so fast you cried out, forehead pressed to the tile, the rail digging into your palm as you shook apart.
Dean groaned, following right after you, his hips driving once, twice more before he buried himself deep and spilled inside with a shudder. He held you tight through it, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as the water roared around you both.
You panted, boneless against him, still twitching from the aftershocks. Then, when you could breathe again, you managed a breathless little laugh. “Guess you’re not twenty anymore”.
Dean chuckled into your damp skin, still catching his breath. “Yeah, well—”, he kissed your shoulder, voice rough but smug, “—didn’t hear you complaining”.
You rolled your eyes, grinning, still trembling. “Not yet”.
“Smartass”, he muttered, pulling you closer under the spray like he never wanted to let go.
When you padded out onto the bathmat, towel knotted under your arms, Dean followed, towel slung low on his hips. Without a word, he grabbed the lotion off the counter, uncapped it, and dropped to his knees in front of you.
It had become his ritual. Every shower, every night—you didn’t even have to ask.
Lotion spread over his palms, and then his hands were on you in gentle circles over your bump.
“You don’t have to do this”, you murmured, watching the way his lashes lowered, how focused he was.
“Yeah, I do”, he said simply. “Keeps your skin soft. Keeps my head straight”. He glanced up at you then, green eyes bright. “Lets me talk to ‘em without you calling me crazy”.
Your heart tugged painfully. You reached down, brushed your fingers through his damp hair as he bent and pressed a kiss to the center of your belly, lingering there like it was holy.
“Got names”, he mumbled into your skin.
You blinked, surprised. “Oh, really?”.
Dean’s lips curved against your stomach. “Mhm. Been makin’ a list”. He smoothed more lotion. “Not sure which fits yet”.
You smiled softly, hand still in his hair. “Let’s hear one”.
Dean looked up at you again, cheeks a little pink despite himself. “Not till I cross off the dumb ones”, he said gruffly. “But… I’ll get there”.
You laughed quietly, brushing a drop of water off his temple. “You’re ridiculous”.
“Yeah”, he muttered, kissing your bump again. “Ridiculous about my girls”.
-
By late May, your body had given up any pretense of hiding. Your belly had rounded fast, the kind of growth spurt that had you tugging at shirts that fit fine last week and didn’t cover you now. Dean called it “perfect”, Sam called it “biology” and you just called it “unfair”.
The house echoed with the sounds of hammers and saws. Sam and Dean had torn half the upstairs apart in their free time, converting what used to be one big room into three. Lilah’s, yours, and now, a nursery. It smelled like sawdust and fresh paint, a Winchester mix of chaos and love.
Downstairs, you’d claimed the couch, a pillow under your back, one hand absently stroking the swell of your stomach. Lilah had crawled up beside you with her cheek pressed firmly to your bump.
“Shhh”, she commanded you, one finger over her lips. “I’m listening”.
You smiled, brushing hair out of her eyes. “And? What do you hear?”.
Her little nose scrunched. She leaned in closer, brow furrowed like she was decoding a secret code. Then, suddenly, she gasped. “The baby said it want a Happy Meal for dinner!”
You laughed, startled and full, your hand automatically cradling her head. “Oh, did they?”.
“Mhm!”, Lilah’s eyes were wide with certainty, her tiny hand splayed across your skin. “With nuggets. And fries. And a toy. It said so”.
“You are so your daddy’s daughter”, you murmured, kissing the crown of her curls.
Lilah tipped her head back to look at you, confused but smiling. “Because of the Happy Meal?”.
“Because of everything”, you said, brushing her cheek with your thumb. “The stubborn, the silly, the way you make up rules no one else knows about…”.
“And because I’m cute?”, she asked, grinning wide, gap-toothed.
You smirked. “That too”.
Upstairs came the muffled sound of Dean cursing when something clattered to the floor, followed immediately by Sam’s long-suffering sigh. Lilah’s giggle mirrored yours perfectly, like you’d both heard this routine a thousand times.
“Daddy says bad words when he thinks I can’t hear”, she whispered conspiratorially, then pressed her ear back against your belly. “Baby probably heard it, though. Daddy better be careful”.
You laughed so hard you had to hold your side. God help Dean—one sass machine in the house was already more than enough, and now you had two.
Just then, Dean’s boots thudded on the stairs. He appeared in the doorway, sawdust in his hair, T-shirt clinging with sweat, and a grin tugging at his mouth. “What’s so funny down here?”.
Lilah sat up, eyes sparkling. “Mommy says I’m just like you”.
Dean wiped his brow with his wrist and smirked. "Damn right you are, Buzz”.
Then he pushed off the doorframe and came right for you. He leaned down, braced one hand on the back of the couch, and kissed you.
Not a quick peck. Not a “hi, honey, I’m home”.
A long, slow, sweaty, ridiculously hot kiss that tasted like sawdust and salt and Dean being Dean.
You melted, one hand curling into his damp T-shirt before you even thought about it, your body giving away every bit of how much you craved him, even like this. Especially like this.
“Ewwwwww!”, Lilah squealed, squirming beside you. She slapped both hands over her eyes and fell dramatically onto the cushion. “Mommy, Daddy! That’s so gross!”.
Dean pulled back just enough to laugh against your mouth, still close enough that his breath was hot on your lips.
“Daddy!”, Lilah sat back up, nose wrinkled, eyes squinting like she couldn’t believe what she’d just seen. “You’re all stinky and sweaty. Don’t kiss Mommy like that!”.
Dean smirked, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “Buzz, Mommy doesn’t seem to mind”.
“Ewwwwwwww!”, She squealed again, rolling into your side and burying her face against your arm like that would erase the sight.
You laughed, cheeks flushed, shoving lightly at Dean’s chest. “She’s not wrong. You do stink”.
Dean just grinned wider, cocky, and pressed another quick, defiant kiss to your temple. “Worth it”.
Then he leaned over, and ruffled Lilah’s curls until she squeaked and tried to bat him away.
“Alright, Buzz”, he said, his tone gentler now, that softness he saved only for her. “Think Mommy’s up for a little field trip?”.
You tilted your head at him. “Field trip?”.
Dean’s grin widened. He bent down, slid a hand carefully under your elbow, and helped you shift upright off the couch. “Nursery’s pretty much finished. Thought maybe you’d wanna check it out”.
Your heart gave a funny little squeeze. “Already?”.
“Mhm”. He pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head like he couldn’t help it. “Furniture’s built, crib’s set, Sam’s still upstairs cleaning up sawdust”.
Lilah bounced off the couch. “Can I come? Can I come see? Pleeeease!”.
Dean laughed, scooped her up with one arm, and offered his free hand to you. “What do you say, sweetheart? Wanna see what we pulled off?”.
Your fingers curled around his instinctively, your belly brushing the edge of his arm as you stood. You nodded, a smile tugging despite the heat in your cheeks. “Yeah. Show me”.
Dean led the way up the stairs, Lilah perched on his hip and bouncing like she had a spring coiled under her. She had both hands gripping his shoulders, whispering loudly in his ear, “Is it pink? Is it blue? Is it bees? Please let it be bees, Daddy”.
Dean just grinned and shot you a look over his shoulder. “Buzz, I told you—you gotta see for yourself”.
When you reached the door at the end of the hall, he stopped, shifting Lilah to the floor. “Okay”, he said, crouching to her level. “This is important, alright? You and Mommy get to be the first to see it finished. You ready?”.
Lilah nodded so hard. She grabbed your hand with both of hers, tugging like she couldn’t wait another second.
Dean opened the door with a small, almost nervous flourish.
And your breath caught.
The room was transformed. The walls were soft cream, not too babyish, but warm, sunlight spilling across them through fresh curtains. The crib was sturdy, wood smooth and polished, a tiny bee mobile dangling overhead, spinning lazily in the breeze from the window. A rocker sat in the corner, draped with the quilt you’d kept folded away for years, and shelves already held storybooks, toys, and jars of glittering glass marbles Lilah had “donated”.
Dean had even stenciled little honeycomb shapes along one wall, uneven but so unmistakably him.
“Oh my God”, you whispered, your hand covering your mouth. Tears pricked instantly, hot and unashamed.
Lilah squealed, breaking free from your hand and running straight to the crib. She peered through the bars, then turned wide-eyed to you. “Mommy! Mommy! The baby’s bed! It’s soooo tiny!”.
Dean stood back a little, watching your face like he was terrified you wouldn’t like it, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “It’s not perfect”, he said, voice rough, “but—”.
You cut him off with a watery laugh. “Dean. It’s beautiful”.
Lilah was bouncing on her toes now, pointing at the mobile. “Look, Daddy! Bees! Baby Bee’s gonna love it!”.
Dean chuckled and scooped her up again, and kissed her cheek as she squealed. "Yeah Buzz".
Sam shuffled past the doorway with a broom in hand, his flannel sleeves shoved up to his elbows. His hair was dusted with sawdust like he’d aged fifty years in an hour. He gave the room a quick glance, then huffed out a dry laugh. “Looks good, right?”, he said, leaning on the broom. “Really good. Can’t wait to start all over again in Lilah’s room tomorrow”.
Dean barked a laugh. “Aw, c’mon, Sammy. You love this domestic crap”.
Sam shot him a look. “I don’t love inhaling half a tree’s worth of sawdust, Dean”. He jabbed the broom toward his brother, smirking. “And you’re buying me beer for this. A lot of it”.
That evening, you stood at the little white dresser, folding tiny onesies.
Tomorrow you’d know. Boy or girl. You’d see another little face on that grainy screen, hear that heartbeat again. And this time, you weren’t walking into that doctor’s office alone.
The thought alone had your throat tight.
The floor creaked. You looked up to see Dean in the doorway, fresh from the shower. Lilah was finally down for the night and the exhaustion around his eyes said bedtime had been a battle. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching you. Not saying anything at first, just… looking.
You set another onesie in the drawer, smoothing it flat with your palm, your chest tightening under the weight of it all. Not doing this alone. Not counting pennies. Not carrying all of it by yourself. Being loved so much it scared you.
“Hey”, you whispered.
“Hey”, Dean echoed, his voice low. He stepped into the room and came to stand behind you. His hands slid around your waist without hesitation, palms warm over the swell of your bump. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his reflection meeting yours in the dresser mirror.
“Didn’t think I’d ever get to do this”, he murmured. “Fold baby clothes. Argue about where the socks go. Build a crib that might actually hold”.
You covered his hands with yours, tears pricking.
He kissed your temple, slow and lingering. “Tomorrow we find out, huh?”.
You nodded, smiling faintly at the reflection of his hand cupped so carefully over your belly. “Tomorrow”.
Dean’s grin crooked, boyish, hopeful. “You got a guess?”.
You smiled faintly, resting your hands over his. “I think girl”.
Dean huffed a soft laugh. “Figures. Winchester women outnumberin’ me for the rest of my life”.
You turned your head just enough to catch the edge of his grin in the mirror. “What do you think?”.
He hesitated, then shrugged a little. “Boy, maybe. Just feels like a… buzz cut and scraped knees kinda deal”. His grin widened. “But I’ll be happy either way. Long as they’ve got your smile”.
The words tightened your chest, but underneath them, something else pressed in. A weight you’d only just started to notice the past few days.
Dean was here. Really here. Cooking, building, folding laundry, reading Lilah to sleep. And he was good at it. But every now and then, when he thought no one was watching, you caught it in his eyes. A restlessness. A muscle twitch. The part of him that had been forged by the hunt and hadn’t stretched in over seven weeks. It was the longest you’d ever known him to stay put. And though he hadn’t said a word, you knew. He missed it.
You placed a folded pair of socks in the drawer, fingers lingering, and said quietly, “You’ve been grounded a long time, Dean”.
His body tensed, just slightly, behind you. “What d’you mean?”.
You turned in his arms, searching his face. “Seven weeks. No hunts. No bunker. Just… here. With us”.
Dean’s mouth opened, closed, his jaw tight. He tried to play it off with a shrug. “Yeah, well. Somebody’s gotta make sure your Happy Meal orders are supervised”.
But you saw the flicker in his eyes. The truth he wouldn’t say.
“You should join Sammy again”, you whispered, your palm smoothing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath.
“Wait—what?”. His brows drew together, his voice low and rough. “No. No way. I’m not leavin’ you and Bee again. Not now”.
You shook your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “I didn’t say leave. I said join him. Just for a case. A short one. You’ve been here seven weeks, Dean. I see it in your eyes—you miss it”.
He scoffed, looking away, but you caught the flicker of guilt before he masked it. “That life almost took me from you once. I’m not risking it again”.
“Dean…”. Your voice cracked a little. You pressed your hand firmer against his chest, grounding both of you. “I don’t want you to resent this. Resent us. If you need to go out there sometimes, then… then go. Come back. But go”.
“Sweetheart—”.
You cut him off softly. “You were a hunter for thirty years. You can’t just switch it off like a light. I know you miss it. And if you don’t let yourself breathe every once in a while, you’re gonna suffocate here. And we’ll all feel it”.
Dean stared at you. The silence stretched, heavy, his thumb brushing unconsciously over the curve of your bump.
“You’d really be okay with that?”, he asked finally, voice raw. “Me takin’ off for a weekend, leaving you here?”.
Your throat tightened, but you nodded. “As long as you come back. Every time. To us”.
-
The next morning, the clinic waiting room felt too small. Dean hadn’t stopped fidgeting since you walked through the door, flipping through outdated magazines without reading a word, cracking his knuckles and tugging his flannel sleeves up and down.
“You’re making me dizzy”, you murmured, sliding your hand onto his thigh to still it.
Dean froze, then huffed out a shaky laugh. “Sorry. Just—”. He shook his head. “I’ve faced down wendigos, demons, hell, even death—and I swear, this is scarier”.
You smiled faintly, leaning toward him. “It’s just an ultrasound”.
He gave you a look. “It’s our kid”. His voice cracked slightly at the last word, and his hand slipped over yours, lacing your fingers tight. “What if I mess this up? What if—”.
“Dean”. You squeezed his hand hard enough to make him stop. “You’re not gonna mess this up. You’re already doing it. Every day”. Before he could argue, the nurse opened the door and called your name. Dean shot up like he’d been drafted. “That’s us”, he said unnecessarily, gripping your hand like he thought you might bolt.
Inside, Dean hovered at your side, one hand braced on your shoulder, the other gripping yours so tight your fingers tingled.
“Healthy heartbeat”, the doc said gently. “And—if you want to know today—we can check the gender”.
Dean looked at you like you were the one holding the whole world. “Do we…? You sure you wanna know?”.
You nodded, your heart hammering as you glanced at Dean.
The doc adjusted the probe, squinting at the screen. “Alright… looks like you’re having…”. She tapped a spot, angled the wand just right, and smiled. “A boy”.
For a second, Dean didn’t react. His eyes flicked from the screen to your belly to the screen again, like he couldn’t make the math work. Then it hit. His lips parted, a shaky laugh escaping. “A boy”, he whispered, his grip on your hand almost bruising now. “Holy shit. A boy”. Dean let out a broken laugh, dragging his free hand down his face, and when he dropped it, there were tears streaking down his cheeks. “I… I got a son?”. His voice cracked hard on the word. He shook his head in disbelief, grinning through the tears. “I got a daughter and a son?”.
You squeezed his hand, your own tears spilling over. “Yeah. You do”.
-
When you walked through the door, Lilah was sprawled on the living room floor, glitter glue and construction paper everywhere. Sam sat on the couch, clearly on babysitting duty, though from the looks of the chaos, “duty” had been stretched thin.
“Mommy! Daddy!”, Lilah scrambled up, eyes wide. “Did you see the baby? Did you? Did the baby say hi?”.
Dean scooped her up mid-run, settling her against his hip. His face was flushed, eyes still rimmed red, but his grin was unstoppable. “We did, Buzz. And guess what—”. He paused dramatically, eyes flicking to you for permission. You nodded, biting your lip.
Dean lowered his voice conspiratorially. “It’s a boy”.
Lilah gasped loud. “A brother?”.
Dean chuckled, kissing her temple. “That’s right”.
She wriggled in his arms, eyes sparkling. “What’s his name? Does he have a name?”.
Dean’s grin softened. “Yeah”, he said quietly, his voice catching just a little. “He does”.
Sam leaned forward, curious. You waited too, your heart thudding. You hadn’t known Dean had settled on one. You’d told him weeks ago: I chose Delilah. This time, it’s yours to give.
“Henry”, he said finally, voice low but certain. “Henry Winchester”.
Your chest clenched.
“Always liked that name. Strong. Simple. Feels like… I dunno. Feels like family, without the baggage”.
“Henry”, Lilah said, testing it out with all the drama of a queen declaring a law. Then her face lit up like Christmas morning. “I love it! Henry is perfect! Hi, Henry!”.
From the couch, Sam’s voice came quiet but warm, that deep rumble that always carried. “Henry Winchester”. He let it sit in the air for a beat, then smiled. “Congratulations. Both of you”.
Your eyes stung as you nodded, meeting Sam’s gaze. There was pride there, and relief, and something heavier, like he was seeing his brother finally get the life he’d been robbed of for too long.
Dean’s grip on you tightened, one arm still holding Lilah, the other hand reaching for yours. “Thanks, Sammy”, he murmured, voice a little rough.
his wife ── michael robinavitch
michael 'robby' robinavitch x wife!reader.
summary: robby doesnt advertise his marriage. so when his wife shows up at ED to discuss their son, safe to say the residents were shocked. now they wonder how the two of you met. this throws him back to when he was a ms3.
content warnings: reader and robby w/ 2 year age gap. thought to be 22 and robby 24 when met, around when he'd be a MS3. fluff. med school robby. lightly flirty young robby. lil mention of mature content so pls mdni 18+. reader is clinical psychologist/completeting masters to be one. lowkey implied fem reader shorter than robby. im short im sorry. he adores his wife like hard. two kids.
authors notes: lowkey med school au and robby who isn't as emotuonally consipated in the show. lowkey wanna do a few bits here and there about their life but not sure lol. inspired by this meme.
word count: 4079
Everyone was aware of the chain that hung around Robby’s neck. It peeked from under his scrubs sometimes. Though, no one knew what might be on the chain. There might be nothing or there could be something. Either way, it was always tucked under his shirt.
Nobody questioned it, never really thought to. He’s a private person. Residents don’t ask about his personal life. But they get curious when he steps out to the ambulance bay sometimes, phone to ear.
Santos thinks that maybe he’s faking to take a break. Whitaker thinks he might be talking to a relative, parent or sibling. Javadi thinks … Well, she isn’t quite sure what to think. But she doesn’t think its what Santos or Whitaker’s thinking.
So when a gorgeous woman strolled into the department, beelining towards the charge nurse with a smile, they were confused to say the least. You seemed to be friendly and familiar with Dana, greeting each other like old friends.
The med student and two residents share subtle looks, watching the interaction.
“Is my husband around?” You asked Dana, glancing around to see if he was nearby. It was never predictable where he might be. It’s not uncommon for him to not answer his phone when he works and you don’t blame him. It’s understandable. But it’s rare for you to show up at the department, that usually means it’s important.
The three watching noticed your eyes wandering, quickly busying themselves. Santos and Javadi looked at the same computer, as if they were reading results together. While Whitaker fumbled with the chart he’d picked up. The two women look at him in disbelief and annoyance. Smooth.
“Trauma one. He’s in a mood.” Dana pre warned you, giving you a knowing look. You weren’t surprised by the fact, very aware how moody Robby can be when he’s stressed.
“Not surprising.” You huffed out a dry laugh. “When isn’t he?”
“True that.” The charge nurse hiffs, knowing you'd understand more than anyone. But you’re able to diffuse him unlike anyone else.
“Alright if I hang around?” You asked, knowing the answer but much preferring to be sure instead of assuming.
“Of course.” Dana assured you, well aware you don’t like to presume but instead hear directly. Everyday is different in the ED. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just Levi.” You explained, not details but enough for her to understand that something had happened. Your son could get into his own mess these days, he’s 22 and at college, figuring out his life. Didn’t mean he didn’t avoid doing dumb shit.
Before Dana could respond, her mouth hanging open before shutting as a painstakingly familiar voice rang out.
“What’re you doing here?” You heard your husband’s gruff voice, head turning as he wandered up beside you. He pressed a kiss to your head before his eyes returned to your face. Concern was etched across his features, worried that something was wrong. You didn’t show up here without a reason.
Javadi tried to not look invested but she was, Robby was married? Santos and Whitaker thinking the same thing. And this woman is his wife? No way. That can’t be right.
“Your son decided that getting drunk and running around campus was a good idea.” You informed him dryly. This is the second time you've talked about this. Not that you were angry but more annoyed. You had to leave work, because Robby couldn’t, to go and get him from the police station by his campus. “Naked.”
“Why is he always my son when he does something stupid?” Robby inquired in disbelief before shaking his head immediately. It was too early for this, barely 8:30am. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
He knew that if either of you had passed the doing something dumb gene, it was him. He had never done something quite like that but he was the more reckless between the two of you. He didn’t need to have his workplace hear about some of the dumb things he’s done in his 20s.
Levi isn't a bad kid. Just tends to do dumb things.
Javadi, Whitaker and Santos all shared glances in utter shock. This man has a son? A kid? No way. They don't believe they’d heard this correctly.
“Anyways. He’s alright. But he called Jack who called me.”
“Fuck.” Your husband signed, hanging his head low before looking back at you. “You going to get him?”
He gave you a look that said you gonna go or… not to rush you out but instead to figure out why you were hanging around with your shared son behind local station bars.
“Yeah.” You nodded, pausing before you explained absentmindedly. “Letting him sweat a bit.”
“You’re evil.” He commented dryly.
“It’s why you married me.” You grinned.
He huffed a soft yet dry laugh. He won’t even deny it. Your nature was one of the many reasons he’d fallen inlove with you in the first place. He knows how incredible of a mother you are. He’s cherished raising children with you. He’d never seen you so soft and loving. He sometimes still found it hard to believe you had married and had kids with him.
But he was aware that you weren’t going to let this stint slide.
“That’s why you’re here?” He quizzed, almost a little amused, though pissed that his son had done something so stupid. This would be something you two would discuss with him later.
“Partially. But thought I'd tell you before Jack blabs at shiftchange.” You answered, not going to have spoken to him later about this. It was too important. And you knew Jack would’ve let him know this evening. Better if it comes from you.
Jack has been a staple in your kids' lives since he’d met Robby years ago. When Robby had started working at PTMC as an attending, you’d been pregnant with your second child. When Jack had joined a few years later, your kids were 8 and 6 at the time. He’d immediately grown attached, loving them like they were his own. They adored him, not having a day without him since (minus when he’d been in the army and deployed).
As much as he loves them, he made it clear he wouldn’t keep things from you and Robby. Especially when it’s important. He loved them. But he loves you both too. All of you are like his family. He wasn’t going to lie.
“Good thinking.” He nodded, appreciative you’d told him instead of letting him be blindsited later.
“I’ll head out.” You said, wanting to get this whole thing sorted and just get back home. Not like you’d go back to the office. Thankfully your appointments were all via zoom today, it helped. “Hopefully won’t take too long but i’ll let you know.”
“Alright, thanks.” Robby replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It was something he always did when you’d separate for the day. “See you after work.”
“I love you.” You said softly, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips.
“I love you, honey.”
You waved goodbye to him and Dana, turning back around and heading back to your car.
“You’re married?” Santos blurted in disbelief, unable to keep it in. Whitaker nudged her with his elbow in panic, she should not have said that.
He looks over at her, pulling the chain out from under his undershirt. The chain dangled with a gold band hanging from it. His wedding ring. “26 years.”
He doesn’t hide he’s married. He just doesn’t find himself needing to share that information unwarranted. He loves his wife and kids but he prefers to keep his family outside of the workplace. So if he’s not prompted, he doesn't talk about them.
“How… when … what?” Santos stammered, in disbelief he’s been married. To you. For 26 years.
“You didn’t know?” Langdon quizzed the three as he wandered to the desk, amused at their shocked expressions.
“Don’t act like you didn’t react the same way when you found out.” Dana mused, shooting Langdon a knowing look.
He can’t even deny it. When he discovered his attending’s long-lasting marriage, he was shocked. The man didn’t seem emotionally capable. But must've been wrong. He’s grown to know that over the last few years when he’d seen you two interact.
Robby is a man inlove.
“How’d you meet?” Javadi mustered up the courage to ask, curious to hear how you’d met. Especially since you’d been married for so long.
Robby huffed a laugh at the memory, recalling the evening you’d met. It was forever seared into his memory.
1995.
Robby was out with a couple of his med school classmates for a rare night out between rotations. Being a MS3 was intense, going from classroom to real direct-contact work with patients.
The four of them were mostly sharing how their recent rotation had been. They’d all been put into different specialties. Paediatrics, orthopaedics, cardiology and gastroenterology.
He was mid laugh when his eyes glanced over the room, eyes locking on you. It felt like his breath had been pulled from his lungs.
You were out with friends for a monthly catch up. Since you’d both graduated and begun your career’s, you rarely get to spend time together. The two of you made it a point to organise a once a month where you’re both free to catch up in person. Talking on the phone can only do so much for a friendship sometimes.
The two of you were chatting, discussing recent events in your lives. She was halfway through telling you about an incident at her new job.
“God, can you believe it?” She said in disbelieving scoff. “I mean, who in their right mind thinks that it’s okay to show up drunk and deny the whole thing, it's just dumb to try and gaslight your boss.”
“That’s so fucked. Please tell me he was fired. Or at least suspended.” You said in disgust, already hating whoever this guy was.
“I wish.” Your friend shook her head in annoyance. She went to take a sip of her drink, to realise it was empty. “But I will say that I need another drink.”
“I’ll get some.” You said as you stood up with a chuckle, grabbing your wallet. Though you gave her a playfully pointed look. “Don’t venture anywhere.”
“No promises.” she teased, though not really planning to go anywhere. She was the type to just wander away without prompt. But honestly, so are you. She’s just worse than you, especially when intoxicated.
You chuckled and rolled your eyes at the tease, but accepted it. It's normal for the two of you, the teasing. But you do hope she won’t venture far if she decides to.
You made your way to the bar, sliding up between a tall man and a woman, there being a gap. They weren’t interacting so you took it as a safe spot to choose. It didn’t take long for the bartender to make it to you, barely 30 seconds.
“What can I get for ya?” He asked, leaning forward slightly to make sure he could hear you. It wasn’t too loud but to be safe.
“Vodka lemonade and a vodka coke please.” You asked kindly, always making sure to be nice to staff. He nodded and got to making the drinks.
Robby glanced down at you when he heard the honeyed voice. Oh shit. It’s you. He made an effort not to stare at you from a distance when he’d noticed you earlier. He’s not shy but he respects you’d been with a friend and he’d been with his. He barely noticed the bartender he’s spoken to before, placing the beers he’d asked for in front of him.
“Thanks.” He said to the guy but he made no effort to move. He glanced down at you again, at the same time your eyes had flickered up to him. You gave him a smile before looking back ahead of you, eyes seemingly glancing around behind the bar.
Robby’s attention went back to the bartender as he dug out a few bills and handed them over. He gestured with his head towards you besides him. “Her’s too.”
The bartender nodded, not really having much of a thought as he put the money through, conversing with the other bartender for what you’d asked for to figure out the total cost.
Your head had snapped up towards him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. You’ve had guys offer to buy you drinks, your friend too. Though never had been quite as forward as this.
“That’s awfully nice of you.” You commented dryly, looking up at him. You were a little suspicious. But you can't help but think of how gorgeous he is. It’s not actually fair. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” He said honestly, offering you a grin that made your heart skip a beat. Fuck this guy.
“But it got you talking to me.” He added a beat later, that breathtaking grin widening a smidge.
“Ah, so that was your plan, huh?”
“No, kinda just happened in the moment.” He said with a shrug, grin not faltering. It wasn't a total lie. He had been thinking about ways he could start a conversation with you. He normally can do without ease. But you’d made him throw away the idea of using shitty pickup lines.
“In the moment.” You chuckled, a grin of your own forming. Somehow you could tell it wasn’t a complete lie, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth. For not, you wouldn’t question it. As gorgeous as he is, you didn’t plan on hanging around long. You had your friend to get back to.
“That hard to believe?” He teased, having noted you seemed to be somewhat amused.
“Nope, but you can’t tell me you don’t already have a list of pick-up lines ready to go.” You joked, but half-meaning it. He was unfairly attractive and you’re sure he knew it. No doubt he could easily get a girl’s attention.
The bartender placed your drinks in front of you. Thanking him, you turned back to the man you’d been interacting with.
“You got me.” He chuckled, not going to deny it. “But they don’t seem like something you’d be interested in”
“Now that's a line.” You laughed, grin turning into a genuine smile.
That smile? That nearly stopped his heart.
“Maybe it is.” He said with a light laugh, not denying but not having intended on it being that way. But really, anything to make sure you kept smiling like that. He leant his head slightly forward towards you, speaking in a conspiratorial murmur. “Did it work?”
“I’m not at liberty to answer that.” You chuckled, unwilling to admit that maybe it was. It might just be his pretty face. But you weren’t immune.
“Besides, I have my friend to get back to.” You added, gesturing over to your friend. When your eyes landed on her, she seemed to be occupied with a guy. The two close together as they seemed in deep conversation. Good for her.
“Ah, that's one of mine.” he chuckled, eyes having followed where you’d directed and seeing it was one of his friends with your friend. He hadn’t quite anticipated his friend chatting with yours. But it certainly seemed to work in his favour here so he won’t complain.
“Yeah?” You quizzed but weren’t completely convinced he hadn’t coordinated that.
“Not my doing. Promise." He chuckled, raising his hands in faux-defence, sensing you thought it may have been. He meant it, genuinely not having a single thing to do with the situation. But he thought of it as good luck.
Your eyes drifted back to him, eyebrows raised. You looked at him for a few beats before grabbing your friend's drink and one of his beers. “Don’t move.”
He didn’t say anything as you left him, and your own drink. Not a smart move but it hadn’t even occurred to you in the moment. You made your way back to the table your friend was at, placing the drinks down in front of her and her guest. You subtly winked at her before you turned back and headed towards the drink and man you’d left.
As you slid back besides him, he felt elated. He hadn’t felt this excited to just talk to a woman in well … ever.
“Gonna tell me your name or am i gonna have to guess?”
“Michael. But you can call me Robby.”
“I don’t see how that correlates.” You mused, raising an eyebrow at him. You don't exactly see how those names worked together. Robby? You think Robert.
“Robinavitch.” he explained with a chuckle, eyes dazzling.
“Ah, gotcha.” You nodded with another light chuckle. Last name. You told him your name in return.
He repeated your name, letting it roll off of his tongue. He liked it. It was your name after all.
The two of you converesed. You discussed your lives, work, study, friends, hobbies. You discovered he was a third year med student, just completing a rotation in cardiology. He mentioned he liked the idea of emergency, wanting to help people at the hardest point of their lives. You respected it, understood it even. You were hanging onto every word he spoke, enjoying the words rolling off his lips and interested in what he was saying. That hasn’t happened in a long time.
He discovered you had graduated with a bachelor of psychology last year, now practising as such as you worked on completing your masters of clinical psychology. You explained how you want to conduct cognitive clinical assessments for patients who think they might have ADHD, autism and anything else that might support patients understand what is going on inside their brains. You didn’t go into details but you had admitted you’d had your own struggles with mental health. That being a huge part of wanting to support others with theirs. You wanted to work in a few areas of psychology, he had gathered.
You two spoke for hours. Literally hours. About everything and nothing at the same time. You joked, had serious topics at hand and discussed absolutely anything either of you could think of.
You checked the time on the wall with a glance, realising it was nearing 12am. God, you’d been talking to him since about 9, knowing you’d been here since at least 8 when you and your friend had arrived. Neither of you even touched your drinks, both just sitting there useless.
“Not to cut this short…” You said with a light huff as you got up from the seat you’d been on. Eventually the two of you had drifted to an empty table, finding it more comfortable to be seated as you chatted. But he would’ve happily stood there in discomfort if he got to hear your voice. Not that he’d admit that. “...but I should go, it's nearly 12.”
He looked at the clock as you spoke, eyes widening in surprise. It had been 3 hours? That’s how long he’d been talking to you. It felt like it had been 30 minutes. His eyes drifted back to you, not going to argue. He should probably find out if his friends are still here or not. You’d both noticed yours and his friend leaving earlier, so you didn’t need to worry about her being alone.
“Yeah, it was great talking to you.” He said with a soft smile. He was disappointed you were leaving but he understood. And he wasn’t going to make assumptions. Not with you. Other women he may have made some sort of line, getting them to go home with him or vice versa to never see them again the next day. But he didn’t want to do that with you.
“You too.” You replied with a smile of your own. “Bye, Michael.”
“Bye.” He smiled, his lips tugging wider at the use of his first name. Not his nickname. But his name. He watched as you waved and made your exit, eyes trailing you as you walking out the front door. He let out a small sigh, disappointed you were gone. He realised a moment later that he hadn’t even asked for your number. The thought slipped. Likely to avoid the anxiety. He;d never been anxious to ask a girl for her number before.
Meanwhile, the cold air was a welcomed slap to the face from the heat of inside the bar. It was soothing. But you couldn’t help the disappointment you felt. You had really begun to like him. You’d spoken for hours. Not like you’d spilled your entire life story. But still, you thought something was there. Something you hadn’t felt before. Not with your exes.
You became annoyed. Had he not felt that? Or did he? Either way, he didn’t ask for any form of contact details for you.
With a huff, you turned back inside and marched towards him.
Robby was shocked when he saw your figure storming towards him. He had just stood up to go in search for his friends.
“Okay. We have something. There’s this … this… I don't know … spark. It's there.” You ranted, eyes wide as you looked up at him. You wished you could blame it on the alcohol because this was not something you did. But you couldn’t help but blurt this at him. You can be embarrassed later. “We’ve been talking for hours. Literal hours. And you don’t ask for my number? Seriously? What the fuck?!”
His eyes were wide in shock as you spoke before softening. He hadn't exactly anticipated you running back to tell him off. It was hot. A soft grin tugged at his lips at each word you said.
“What?” You asked him in annoyance, arms now crossed over your chest.
“Is it too late to ask for your number?” He questioned, a hint of tease mixed in the hope in his voice. He had wanted to ask but had been caught off guard by you leaving. He was nervous at the prospect. What if you’d said no? That’d have just about broken his heart.
“You’re asking now?” You asked dryly. “Because I yelled at you?”
“First, you didn't yell. You firmly stated your annoyance.” He corrected genuinely but firmly “second, i wanted to but i got nervous.”
“Nervous?” you quizzed, not quite believing that. He hadn’t been nervous the entire time you’d spoken to him. Not openly anyways.
“Yeah. Nervous.” He admitted without shame. “Beautiful girl I've been talking to all night rejects me? That's nerve-wrecking.”
“Enough with the lines.” You responded dryly. He hadn’t really given you lines but that didn’t automatically exclude him from going to use them.
“Not a line. I'm serious.” Robby said, sincerity seeping through his voice. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He wanted you to know he wasn’t trying to be smooth. Just honest.
You stared at him for a few moments, debating if you could trust it. He sounded painfully sincere. You don’t think you can fake this kind of honestly.
“Still want my number?”
Present.
“I love her.” Javadi rushed out immediately, then flushing with embarrassment as she realised she said that outloud. Her hand covered her mouth in shock at her own words.
Robby just chuckled, which surprised her and the two residents.
“She’s incredible.” He commented fondly. His mind reeled with thoughts of you. Both from recent years and the early times of your relationship.
“Careful, you’re sounding human.” Dana joked, though she had grown fond of the dynamic between you and the attending. He was practically a different person with you. Your kids too.
“Don’t let my daughter hear that, she’ll use it against me.” He joked back, having broken out of his thoughts and preferring the humour based dynamic in the workplace. He didn’t need to be vulnerable here. Not about his family.
Before anyone could respond, he headed off. Intending to see a patient, check in to see how his residents are doing. But he’d instead slowed his moments and pulled out his phone, pulling up your text chain.
Husband <3: if he claims he was dared, you’re going to let me eat you out
Wife: if he says that he’s made a mistake and won’t do it again, you’ll eat me out
Husband <3: deal
“I’m sorry … DAUGHTER?!”
He heard the disbelief of his resident, ignoring the question and instead pocketing his phone continuing on his day. He’s the chief attending here. At home? He’s just a man who’s obsessed with his wife.
summary: when time calls for maekar to leave you, he makes sure you are left with all of him, with his hands, his body, his everything. and when he returns, forever changed, he proves it once more.
pairing: maekar targaryen x wife!reader (pre-rebellion/rebellion)
warning(s): SMUT, pinv, slight breeding kink, biting, soft-rough sex, mention of violence and war, injuries, slight angst (leaving for war), just domestic stuff
word count: 4.9k
a/n: fear not! i have a baelor version coming too, also i know maekar probs would have aged to how he looks in akotsk, and not in a year bur facial hair wise, we can pretend okay 👀
Trumpets had sounded at the first sight of dawn breaking, steel toed footsteps echoing every corner of the halls in their march. Banners had unfolded proud over every wall of the Keep, swords drawn from every belt that made their way to the courtyard, shouts of order to be heard from the furthest distance.
And yet, you had been none the wiser.
The sheets still held the warmth of the previous night, eager touches from skin on skin, the complimentary burning of citrus perfume and incense still decorating the air. And in the bed, your hands braced comfortably on the plush of your pillow, and just tangled behind you, your husband. The pair of you softly snoring as Maekar pressed his bare chest into your back, few scars of combat and training still graced and raised over years of experience. His arm placed over you protectively, fingers dipping just over your belly button. Only the sweetest dreams guarded by the man at your rear, chest rumbling with every breath.
Though such peace did not last long, nor did it ever in the realm’s tendency to break it.
The glinting of armour, polished and shined to perfection had replaced where the sun would peek through the curtains, practiced frames standing rigid and expectant in the doorway.
“My Prince.. your father calls on you. There has been news from The Reach.”
You mumbled, voices murmuring faintly through your dreams, but you did not wake. Maekar stirred however beside you, tugging you closer upon the company, head rising as his eyes squinted in annoyance.
“Why the fuck are you here?” He called out confused, smoothing the sheets over your sleeping form, covering you from wandering eyes. The two Goldcloaks stood there, faces plain and stoic, bowing as their Prince gestured, grumbling and hair perfectly mussed. He was in a different state to how they usually saw him, all properly dressed and stoned-eyes, instead he was taken aback, unguarded and curled into his wife’s side like a tamed house cat.
They remained their gazes on him, not daring to sneak a look to your form, even in your splendour and beauty, the Prince’s vulnerability had not shaken them, his stare still just as, if not more dangerous. They repeated their words at the command, sleep muffling them the first time, and that’s when the dreaded news came.
“Daemon Blackfyre has declared war on the King and your house.” One of them announced, the declaration ringing in his head louder than the horns had shifted him moments earlier.
He shot up, hands bracing the sheets. He had heard every worry of the council, standing at his father and brother’s side as it had been warned, feared to happen for months to come.
Though now couldn’t have been worse time. The kingdom was at last in some kind of peace, though seemingly it was swept beneath the dusty castles of the Keep.
He waved them off, still offended but understanding of their urgency, and he made no mistake of it, sighing as the door closed with a heavy thud. He fought with the idea of going back to bed entirely, cuddling closer to you until he was just above, elbow propped onto the edge of your pillow as he took you in. Still warm, still curled into his side, still blissfully unaware.
And had he had time, he’d have taken all of the time left in the world, but there was none, and his restraint was far weaker than he would ever admit.
Especially with you.
“My love..” He called out to you, and for the first time your body reacted, recognising the voice, deep and ragged from sleep, and something else beneath it.
Though your slumber couldn’t tell.
He moved downward, craning his neck down to yours, fingers patting softly through your hair, taking in the strands that fell across the pillow. He wasted no time, his free hand reaching beneath the blanket and smoothing over your side, tracing up and down the curve of your waist and thighs, inching.
You rocked back against him instinctively, feeling the warmth of the growing heat as you blinked your eyes open. He was already pressing kisses all over. Your shoulder, the nape of your neck, arms wrapping tighter around you as he rolled you to your back, the sheets curling around you both as he rose, caging you in.
“Maekar..” You slurred, wiping your clenched palm over your eyes meaning to clear them, flicking up to him. He gave a small smile, nudging your nose with his, silver hairs falling mussed and swept, replying by pressing another kiss to your jaw. His knees were either side of you, balancing as his arm slowly pulled your hand away, uncovering you.
“Let me see you..” He whispered, sucking a mark onto your neck that made you whine, raising his head just above yours, meeting your quizzical look. Your hands linked around his neck as sleep escaped you, waking fully with the press of his body.
“And what is this..” He contemplated telling you right away, or keeping it secret, his brows furrowing, only looking to you, memorising. He decided against it, knowing how you’ll react, probably scold him, unhappily chasing him away.
“I must go..” You went rigid against him. You were no stranger to that, that one comment that made you freeze. Early rising and leaving with hardly much word to be had until you saw him late into the night. But this was different, his voice was softer, wanting, a farewell not to be taken for granted.
“Go where..?” You quizzed, shifting under him, allowing your body to rise.
His kisses carried, moving along your body, meeting the skin of your breast the sensitive bud grazed by his teeth
“Far enough away that I want to savour you..” You moaned as his lips made there way to your abdomen. “Have to..” The sheets pulled down with every inch he sunk down your body, his teeth grazing over you, testing a bite at your sternum, right over your heart.
You had not known exactly what he was talking about, nor where it had come from, but the haze from the dawn and the touch of his fingers sinking into your folds, and with his mouth delicately across your body, you were torn. His silver strands tickled down your skin, the pads of his hand cupping at your breast.
“Let me have you, wife.” He mumbled through his own haze, driven by desire and longing, the unknown of when or if this would be the last, and how he wasn’t going to waste another moment waiting for another interruption.
His gaze watched over you, waiting as he settled himself at the end of the bed, hunched over as he withdrew the sheets entirely, bearing himself as well as you. The pale plans of his chest, carved down to his abdomen and the sharp trace to his cock. He was hard, aching, hands firming at your hips as you shifted them wide. You responded only with a whine, pressing your fingers to his shoulder.
Take me.
And he did. Sinking down into you as your knees bent up, his palms parting them with a single slide of his fingers. His face pressed into you with no hesitation, tongue dipping into your core with an eager desire. You arched into him, the night’s soreness still aching your cunt, but his mouth a teasing soothing to the pain as he lapped you up, shoving, licking and tasting with all he could.
Your hands moved to his hair, taking the strands between your fingers and pulling impossibly close. He groaned into you, the vibrations sending jolts through your cunt as he rubbed his nose at your clit, steadying himself into your heat further. He loved you like this, these moments, no matter the time or need, there was never a time when he didn’t long for it. You blissfully whining and moaning beneath him, like nothing else could come close, only his touch, taking what you wanted. Titles did not matter, nor even your status, just the two of you, with only the sweet call of your names through the air.
And he did not want it to end. He firmed himself up onto his knees, scooping his one palm around your thigh, sliding it over his shoulder, the other finding its way to the mattress, lifting you by a slight to cup your arse cheek, dragging you into him.
“Maekar..” You whined out at the angle, his nose bumping into you as his tongue thrusted into your entrance, curling into your wetness as your arousal coated him. Your one hand fisted the sheet, giving you more leverage to rock back against him, the coil in your belly tightening.
“That’s it, my love.” He mumbled with his mouth full, never truly knowing manners, not that he cared. You were the only thing he cared for, and right now it was getting you to come undone onto him, driving his tongue in deeper with every movement of your hips. He sucked down, lips latching over your clit as his chin found its way through your folds messily. You fisted his hair tighter, head lolling back onto the end of your pillow, pushed up from your body being tugged down.
You came with a languid cry, whining into the side of silk, body convulsing through your high as he fucked you through it, lapping up your juices in a lewd motion, taking you into his mouth. And he did not rise, even as you hips bucked with overstimulation, only doing so after pressing a kiss to your cunt, right over your pearl, passionate and delicate. He parted from you, a string of his spit and your arousal from his lips, dripping down his chin shamelessly as he smirked, ghosting his way back above you as you chanced to look up through lidded eyes.
“The beauty you are..” He noted, rubbing up into you.
He crawled his way back over you, kissing your hip bone, to your breast, sucking lightly over it as you pulled him up, his hands bracing either side of your head on the bed.
“Must you go..” His eyes met yours, properly for the first time, his face mere inches in front of your own. Violet hues raked over your face, taking in everything, as if to memorise you, burning you into his brain indefinitely as if he hadn’t don’t so many times over. He pressed a sharp kiss to your lips, almost bruising, sharp and adoring as if he knew the words he were about to speak were going to shatter you.
He lets you feel him first instead, the hard length of his cock pressing into your thigh, the taste of yourself on his tongue, your hands finding there way around his forearms biting back a moan, encouraging him on for an answer.
He bit, “My father’s bastard kin has inundated a call to war.“
“How..” Your eyes widened, following his as they dropped to your body.
“Fled arrest, and now he makes means to call himself King.” He mentioned plainly, unimpressed and reasonably agitated, though that was the last thing he had on his mind. His stare fully fixated al over you.
“But that means..” You reasoned, the words sinking in. You weren’t unaware of the battle your father in law had been going through for quite some time, since many years ago his very own father had decided to legitimise his bastard children, the realm had been in a quiet upheaval. One that had been under the heavy lock and key of High Council and lords until now. And the realisation, the final breaking point, now a rebellion.. you felt a pang of panic, your heart beginning to thunder in your chest.
“I know..” His voice snaps you from your racing thoughts, those blown wide pupils searching for yours as tears begin to brim your eyes. Your palms move to the side of his face, mouth falling open for words that don’t come. He only nodded, pressing his forehead to yours, pursing his lip for a short kiss to the bridge of your nose.
“You have me..” A silent assurance that all would be okay, though neither of you knew that. He pressed his body to you once more, the heat and growing need of him a heavy weight over you, and yet the feel of his hands around you felt weightless. You whined, desperate and upset.. all at once, and he felt it, with every bone in his body he felt it to. That want, that pain. His hands reaching down to hook your legs around him, and you let them fall, your calves rested onto his lower back, as his arms found their way under your back, scooping you up. Your back settled between your pillow and his palms, your arse braced firm into the sheets where he held you.
“Just let me have you..” He slid his face against you, near pleading against your ear as his throat tore open, voice straining where it threatened to break. “Please..” He breathed, the sting beneath your skin creeping up around your eyelids with all emotion at once, a sense of overwhelm driving you forward. You nodded, kissing at his jaw as your hands held him in place, your gazes locked together.
You couldn’t find words to speak, the only noise from you were the ones he pulled from you, his cock pushing through your folds as he lined himself up with your entrance, his lengthy curve settling its way inside. You both gasped, his breath stuttering deep against you as he pushed himself in inch by inch, both of you relishing in every second that wasn’t to waste, the weight of him inside of you pulsing with every clench.
“Please.. move.” You moaned, and his hips steadied, rocking into you at your command, breathing deeply with an exhale through his nose. Your fingers gripped at his neck, pulling him back down into yours as he thrusted, every pull of his cock sending you jolting into his palms. And he kept you there, firming you down, fingertips gracing your back as his nose pressed into your hair, grunting with every drag that connected you.
And he did not stop, neither of you did until you were spent and aching, inching you back down to lay properly on the mattress, his knees firming to the plush bed, driving into you harshly, reverently with his forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck, take me..” Your vision blurred, from the tears of pleasure and the pain that crept into your chest, wanting to tug him down with you and never let him leave. And by the Gods he cursed, wanting the same, wanting to stay inside of you, holding you that way as your mouth fell agape, utterly entranced.
“Perhaps I’ll fuck another babe into you for you to keep while I’am gone..” You moaned as he grunted, thrusting with promise, his hips stuttering as his thumb moved to your swollen pearl. Your breath shook, every motion too much, your back arching back into him as your breasts bounced, his palms capturing them roughly.
“Come..” He commanded gruffly, head falling at your side onto the pillow, lips pressing at your collarbone as he felt you tense. “Come for me and I’ll give it to you..” He bunched up against you, angling into your sweet spot, your clit vibrating with the rough of hisfingers, a silent begging that he was close too, and he wasnt going to last with you like this.
And you obeyed, your body faltering before you could. You came undone around him with a harsh clench, whining into the thick skin of his neck, muscle flexing under your touch with your fingers tugging at the loose strands of hair at the back of his head.
He followed not long after, groaning into your skin as he came, spilling inside of you in short, heated bursts, hips rolling into yours, with skin burning hot onto yours.
And as the horns sounded one more time, he grabbed your face, kissing you all over, his tongue sliding over yours like a vow. The sweat of your bodies colliding with where he still sat inside of you, not yet wanting to move.
“I don’t want you to go..” He shushed you with another kiss, passionate and meaning this time, one unhurried, and you knew there was no escaping that, not this time.
His eyes read everything he could not say.
I don’t want to leave.
“I must, I will come back to you.” He pulled from you as the shouting grew louder, men readying armour, distant calls for his presence.
The last chance.
His hands ran over you once more, dragging the sheets up to protect what warmth was left in the bed. You pulled his face back down as he hesitated to rise, fighting himself against all honour and duty, against his love that was so much stronger than it all combined.
More than many knew, but you did.
He groaned into you, his voice breaking without speaking, tears threatening his own eyes as yours did.
“I will come back to you..” He repeated, convincing you both of it, before pushing himself off of the bed, bare and naked, your scent and touch still clinging to him. His clothes were thrown on in a rush, undershirt and the thick of his breeches enough to protect from chainmail and armour to be placed on him by the squires. He gave you one last look then, the way you sat up in the bed, alone and lost, just as he had been. The sternness burned in his eyes, forcing himself away with a bowed head as he slipped out of the door.
——
It had been months since then.
That morning you’d spent tangled up in eachother, touching as if it were the last time, and as months passed, you wondered if it would be. Months of longing, waiting, worrying. Ravens had been sent but they had been lost on you, short words and no promise. You had taken care of the children, Daeron only five and Aerion now passed his second name day, you tended to their every care and need, even as their eyes searched for a certain absence.
Maekar.
Their father, your husband, who had spent far too long fighting, battling god knows whatever was left of a bastard army alongside his brother and their men. You had busied yourself with your ladies, passing the High Council chambers at every called meeting, in order to overhear the King and his court. It would have been frowned upon, punished scene, but the few prying eyes of squires and serving girls had paid no mind, knowing better than to test your fear and agitation.
Even your mother in law, Myriah, anxiously awaited her sons’ return at your side, finding what little comfort there was to be had in the privacy of her solar. In desperate attempt to escape the endless humdrum of reminders.
Death, duty, honour.
That’s all it was, not the fact many lives, amongst the ones you cared for most were put on the line. Though it was necessary, the slight of a King was no appraised declaration, and the realm would be safer this way, it did not help the fact your days were filled with fear. You oft sent reluctant curses to the Gods that had bestowed such a mess onto you all. And yet even despite your disrespect, though unwilling, by prayer and some grace by the hands of the Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar, had led the charge that ended the rebellion as it stood.
Daemon Blackfyre had been killed, his rebel army crushed and ambushed between your husband and his brother as a team, ending their father’s war in a battle what would be known for years to come.
The fanfare of their triumph had come first.
The Hammer and The Anvil they had called them, a thoroughfare of horses and celebration awaiting their return. Whispers had begun in the court of their return, and something had stirred in you. For the days that followed, soon to bring them home again, you had prepared, feeling at a loss. An uncertainty of what to do and how to act in your new present. You were frantic, excited, and nervous.
How would he be..? Has he longed for you as you had him..? Would this be the new norm..?
Those questions were surely answered upon the dawn they arrived, the sun peeking through your curtains, blinding and welcoming, the brightest it had been for some time. Your maids did not have time to wake you before you were up and pacing the room in your small clothes, feet padding the floor as they tenderly dressed you.
A light gown of crimson, adorned as it usually was to fit the house colours, lined in black, though understated, by your own request as not to strangle your aching heart with the tight lace of a bodice. Your children tumbled in soon after, afternoon soon gracing the day, in the hands of their nurse and chambermaid, clambering to your side.
You had smiled for once, not the brave one you put on for them or tight lipped for lords and ladies, but a bright, a true grin as Daeron hugged your skirts. The gaps in his smile shone just as wide in a mess of silver gold curls, raising Aerion onto your hip, as his small fists bunched in a familiar scowl, one he’d inherited from his father.
“Is papa home..?” You cupped Daeron’s chubby cheek, smiling down, your eyes flickered to the maid who had finished combing your hair, the first few to hear the news. Her eyes flashed you a bright agreement, nodding.
“I suppose we shall find out.” You urged him on, sinking down from the stool with babe on your hip, following after your son as he started for the door, through the corridors and into the great hall.
You had rounded the corner in a sharp breath before it escaped you entirely.
There he stood.
In a swarm of people, with nobles greeting, their King welcoming, and an exhaustion of soldiers proudly smiling. He stood tall amongst the rest, clad in dirtied black armour, chipped and broken along the plates of his chest. You paused for a moment, taking in the sight before you.
His distant eyes scanned the crowd much like yours did, your feet absentmindedly moving down the steps and into the expanse of hall.
“Papa..” Daeron called ahead of you, his small frame near tripping on the way to his father, who scooped him into the side of his leg careful of the jagged pieces in one arm, placing a steady hand to his back. He smiled, unabashed for once, gazing down at his eldest son with a unique softness. Baelor stood beside with his family, content and in a small circle as he held his eldest in his arm protectively and proud, accepting the well wishes of their return.
Aerion babbled on your hip, only just beginning to speak, mumbling only syllables that you could make out were coos of excitement, and you wiggled your finger at his chest, nearing the congregation. He was a sight to be seen.
A different one than what you expected.
War and battle had aged him in the soon to be year he had been gone.
It had aged him, not disgracefully, but handsomely. The weak stubble of his jaw had turned white in its growth of hair, thick and rugged. His hair neatly smoothed in preparation but the sternness of his brow furrowed deeper, his features striking prominent.
Though in your own staring, you were the sight that truly took his breath. He had searched for you the whole ride back from far in the countryside, watching every woman who passed, only seeing your face. Even as they pulled to the gatehouse, Baelor had to stop him from bolting right then and there, having to deal with the welcome party gratefully, as if they hadn’t just fought for them and were entitled to their own needs.
So he remained tight lipped, nodding where necessary, but his mind only belonged one place. There was duty to be done, but the worst had been over, the bastard was dead, and the war had been finished, waiting for another attack to brew no doubt, but right now in front of him stood the only important thing.
You, your family.
He had taken a stride forward with Daeron in his wake, clinging to his father’s steel leg as he held him tightly.
“Maekar..” His head snapped up, taking you in all at once. The most beautiful and only welcoming comfort he had been given since he had left. No proclamation of courage, or the walls of the keep could change it. The lightness of your gown gifted your radiance, your young son in your arms, the other in his grasp, eyes finding his so sweetly, it tugged something deep into his chest.
You closed the distance, giving all you could not to topple over him then and there, but uncaring of the stares, his arms wrapped around you so tightly as if you were to break. Aerion squeezed between you, hitting at the steel plate of Maekar’s chest in small, futile punches. “Careful.” His voice was gruff, gesturing to the point of his armour, resting the words on his lips, gaze lowering only to look at you.
“I do not care..” You managed as you cried a sigh of relief, falling into his frame as his other hand hugged your son to his side, his lips finding their way to the crown of your head.
——
An hour had passed since then, with you and Maekar seated beside eachother at the feast table that had beenextravagantly set up in the Great Hall. All had been well, celebrations were rife, the children gorging and smiling, cousins playing with each other as the adults drank graciously.
You were the most content you had remembered being in far too long, your hand not leaving Maekar’s even as you moved. And your husband had felt the same, resting his back into the height of the wooden chair, now shed of his armour, comfortably dressed in his crimson-black doublet.
Though one thing ailed him; how much he wanted you.
He had for every night spent in the encampment, trapped in the barracks amid dirt, unwashed men and the strong scent of blood and death. And all he could think of, could see, was you. You smiling, laying in the same bed that he left you in, playing with your boys, you in his arms. His stare became overwhelming as he fell into thought, so much so you attempted to do your best to ignore it, distracting yourself through your own want, though it burned into your skull. Every glance, every fleeting look that met yours, the tightening of his fingers around your knuckles, it grew too much.
And with the grown look of him, you wouldn’t have cared if he’d have taken you right then and there, on the table, for anyone and everyone to see. He hadn’t been against it himself, though he preferred you to himself. And instead rose, the chair scraping behind him, muffled by the cacophonous joy in the room, his hand tugging yours firmly.
He hadn’t looked at you, only sighting your children once who were already giving hell to their maids who attempted to feed them, blissfully oblivious. He had led you both through the wind of hallways to the very door of your chambers before he was on you, kissing you with a tender harshness.
“I wont bear any more of this..” He managed to breathe with his mouth against yours, turning the lock behind you as his hand braced around the small of your back, catching you as the door opened and closed with a rapid movement. You moaned into the kiss as he slid his tongue inside, groaning.
“I have waited far too long.” He admitted.
“You have kept me waiting..” He shrugged his doublet off, tossing it to where it landed on the armchair, the dim light catching his shadow as it met yours.
“A surprise our Prince did not take another while he was away and in need.” It was harmless, a useless jest meant to tease, though it would be a lie if the thought had not crossed your mind. He was loyal beyond belief, even as the women that attempted to compare to you in court had tried, his eyes had never nor wanted to stray. Though even you knew, war made men driven to do mad things, kill, take, lust.
“What?” Maekar snapped, pulling from your mouth only by an inch, still breathing in your space, like yours was the air he needed. His eyes squinted at you, dark and dangerous, but his hands did not move, only tightening around your waist, pinching just enough to make you gasp.
“You think I would dare?” He continued, backing you into the bed, step by step until the backs of your knees knocked onto the oak bedframe. He braced you from falling, his undershirt peeking the lining of his chest, deep, fresh scars etching the skin. “When you are the only one, when this body is the one I have thought of.” He leaned down, lips ghosting yours with an offended reverence, taking the words as a personal insult he sought to deny, and he had reason to.
For it was the only truth, you were the only one.
“You are what I came back for, what I fought for, and you think I mean to fuck a whore..?” He shook you firmly in his hold, breath stuttering with anger and desire. “Maekar I..” You reasoned but he did not relent, kissing you harshly as he laid you down onto the bed, your back falling as he followed, collapsing over you. “Enough. I have been without you for far too long, denied you.. and I wont take another fucking moment of it, not like this.”
His hands roamed your body, his fingers making quick work of the lace at the back of your gown, the lack of boning making it easy to tug off, stitching close to ripping with how he folded it over your head, your chemise bunching with its removal.
“I need you..” He whispered against your lips, purely vulnerable, more than he wanted to allow himself, but it slipped free anyway in a shaky breath, his breeches tightening with restraint he could no longer hold back.
“You have me..” You called back, palm raising to slide against his face, rubbing your fingers through the length of his beard, the feeling unusual, but you smiled through glazed eyes. His eyes flashed with recognition, anger dissipating in your hold, with intent bright in them.
It was not of telling, it was of showing, of proving you were his, as he was yours.
His palms moved the silk of your garment, revealing your breasts and body to him, the curve of your hips complimented in the soft candlelight, for once feeling the comfort of home. You. The tough callouses of his skin ran up yours, smoothing over your body as he cupped your breast.
“Mine.. my heart.” His lips dipped to yours, passionate and remembering, savouring you on his tongue, with the reverence of a man left longing could allow. He worked his way down then, sucking marks at your jaw and into your neck, licking a stripe along your collarbone as his fingers traced along your body. Moving across the stroke of your stomach, touching with the most tenderness he was able to give in months, finding their way to your core.
The heat was unbearable, a tingling etching your spine enough to make your toes curl, you too had been denied far too long, and the first touch of him had sent wetness pooling to your heat, his fingers collecting your arousal on his fingers, he groaned at the feeling, humming at your shoulder.
“Please..” You called out, wanting no more time to wait as your core ached.
“Where..” He paused at your skin, thumbing over your clit in languid strokes working you up further.
“Inside of me.. all of you.” He looked up at you then, gaze lingering on you as if to check, to make sure, and you only nodded, whining as you rocked back into his hand. And he could not deny you any longer, straining against you through the rough material of his trouser.
He found his way back to your neck, casting over your pulse as if to ground himself there, unsheathing himself with one hand and caressing your cheek with the other. A softness he had not let out until that moment, though eager to prove.
He eased into you, sinking in like he did the last time, worshipping and finding, filling you inch by inch as both of you panted. You stretched around him, cunt pulsing with the pleasurable burn his length gave, hips bumping into yours.
“Do not cease to know how I want you, no fucking other, only you, do you understand..?” He gave one last snap, eyes boring deadly into yours accepting no other protest, beginning to rock his hips. And you understood, you understood it well, his body reclaiming yours, as yours did his.
His breeches were shoved to his thighs, scraping the insides of your legs with every thrust as he set the rhythm, unyielding and merciless, snapping into you with a fervor not meant to remember, only to remind. To find what was and to stay there. His fingers teased along your throat, curling around the nape of your neck, holding you up to him as his chest shoved into yours, braced so tightly you could mould.
His cock thrust inside of you deeply, barely inching out of you as he rolled, hitting the spot that kissed your sweetest spot, and you moaned, gutturally and carnal, one that had your thigh curling around him and dragging him into you.
“Fuck, my girl..” He grunted, beard scratching across your face as he captured you once more, dominating your mouth with tongue as he took you.
There was no telling how much time had passed, the sheets tangled and pillows casted to the floor as the bed rocked, creaking with every movement you two remembered just how it was. Never once did you leave each other’s arms, even as your face shoved into the mattress as he rutted into you from behind, grasping your ass tightly with firm smacks. Or as you rode him, rising and falling down onto his cock as he gripped you in place, your clit teased with the light hairs at his base.
Even as you slowly fell into a lulled sleep, pleasured and blissed out, he kept himself inside of you, pressed right into your back as he moved slowly, languidly until you were left warming his cock, swallowing him with unconscious pulses that were leaving promise for the morrow.
His hand splayed over your lower stomach, draping his whole arm over you, as it reached for your fingers, curling them and intertwining them with his own. You hummed, whispering ‘I love you’s’ into the night and into each other, letting it to hang above you and into the air.
“I trust you’ll keep the beard..” You chuckled as he grunted back, pressing a final kiss to your neck that contrasted his hidden eye roll.
The Andals came from Essos and conquered five of the seven kingdoms, and founded The Great Republic of the Andals and has them under its yolk, they took every tribe, culture and town that oppose them and subdued it, they took their men, and their women, and slaved them, only the greatest, strongest, better men, became gladiators under the sun of the mighty Republic
Pairings: Slave/Gladiator!Cregan Stark x Domina!Reader, Gladiator!Harwin x Domina!Reader, Slave/Gladiator!Aemond x Slave!Reader, Slave/Gladiator!Aegon x Patrician!Reader, Gladiator Trainer!Daemon x Empress!Reader.
Warnings: Ancient Rome AU, Cursing, slavery (and everything that comes with it, technically rape, forced labour, punishments), blood, guts, gladiator battles, lude language, nudity, sex and evrything related is no biggie here, we’re a ‘sex positive’ Republic, mentions of sex, same sex couples, orgies, and more. Assassinations, assassinations attempts, pagan rituals, slaughter of animals for ritualistic purposes, crimes of war, more might be added by chapter.
The trilogy, Smut, Angst & Fluff (some)
Since it's heavily inspired by “Spartacus”, “Domina” and “Gladiator”, you can expect similar events to be depicted here. If you are an Historian, you are clearly going to want to kick my ass, since I’m not, expect inaccuracies in rituals, cultures descriptions and religions.
Notes: Alright… of course I’ll be adapting the ancient Roman empire to the Westerosi world… so here are some guidelines
“Romans” will be referred as “Andals”, and after those they are two other types of natives of Westeros, the “Northmen” or rather The first men, and the Rhoynar from the South.
I’ll be using ancient roman terms that due to context should be easy to decipher jeje, and I’ll be using much of their rituals and customs.
This will be considered “short”, as each gladiator will have three chapters. All the stories happen at the same time, though they won't cross much against each other, you can read them either the I's of each and then the II's and III's or read the characters separately, the ones that interest you.
Please remember, I am not an historian, just relax and have fun! that's what we are here for.
EVERY READER IS DIFFERENT FROM THE OTHER! each character has a different reader! and they do not meet each other!
CHAPTERS SOON
CREGAN: CHAPTER I.
Cregan is a man that got enslaved when the Andals conquered the wild tribes of the North, he ends up being trained as a gladiator in the villa of a prominent family; a respectable man, and his daughter who is impressionable, and young, and as a young woman, she starts hearing tales of her friends about men, about their own gladiators and stories of orgies and sex… and she gets curious when she sees this beautiful man, a slave no less, training in his father’s villa.
HARWIN: CHAPTER I.
Reader and Robin knew that they were never going to find better than each other, best friends since childhood, so they got married. Robin prefers the company of men, he and reader have an agreement.
They came to the capital to get out of the scrutiny of the Vale, they want an heir, and embark in the politics of the capital. The answer to both their desired might be incarnated in the champion of the Arena Robin just purchased
AEGON: CHAPER I.
It was not uncommon for patrician families to… copulate… with their slaves and gladiators specially, a particular group of women decided to bed specially gladiators because of their strength and physiques. Domina Alys starts to sell one of her gladiators in particular to her best friend.
Aegon takes a liking to this, rather than fights, specially with reader, who only wants to escape her old husband Borros
AEMOND:
Aemond is a gladiator in the same villa as his brother Aegon. He dreams about victories in the arena, and it's focused on his training and bringing honor to his Ludus.
His determination and skill makes him the favorite of his domina, Alys, who had inherited the Ludus from her father, the only problem they are both going to face is you, a young sweet slave, purchase to tend and serve your domina, who does not take kindly that you are “stealing” away her favorite gladiator
DAEMON:
Daemon is a legendary gladiator, but his days of glory are past him, now he trains his own Ludus in the outskirts of King’s Landing, finally he has recovered some of the power he once had, now a free man.
But the emperor is frail and weak, he’s got no heirs but a girl, in the dangerous political climate, he has been hired to protect you, next in line to the throne and the first woman to ever ascent as empress of the republic
Can you write a soft dom Harwin Strong fic, pleasee?🧎🏻♀️
Harwin Strong*Take Care of You
Pairing: Harwin x Princess!reader
Summary: Harwin Strong is in charge of making sure the princess is taking care of and he takes his job very seriously
Word count: 2212
Warnings: soft dom, finger, p in v sex, praise, secret relationship smut 18+
Masterlist Here
“You must eat your grace,” his low voice whispered in your ear. The day had indeed been long, starting with a dragon ride before being whisked to meet with various lords and even attending the council with your father.
Harwin was currently escorting you to the other side of the castle as you attempted to track down a particularly troublesome lords’ wife to see if she can talk sense into the man, “I shall eat later,” you said back quietly.
“You have yet to have eaten since breakfast,” he pointed out, keeping his voice low and his eyes straight ahead.
“I will tell you when I am hungry- “
“I’m not asking princess,” Harwin said cutting off your voice and making you stop in your steps to look up at him, “You will eat, and you will do so before you find Lady Beesbury. Understood?”
You glanced to where you noticed Larys Strong watching you before looking back to Harwin with a soft smile, “I suppose a quick supper is in order,” without Harwin you wondered if you would walk till your feet worn down to stubs or forget to eat till you wasted away. you were grateful for his instance as soon as you smelled the kitchens soup, but it did not mean all your tasks for the day were over.
Finally, the sky was dark, and you had been able to excuse yourself to go rest from a long day at court. After escorting you to your chambers, leaving you with a swift kiss to your cheek, Harwin had to go finish his watch for the night with the promise to visit after. However, despite promising to rest you were sat at your desk penning a letter to Dorne that your father had asked you to. You were so wrapped up in your writings you did not hear Harwin enter the room.
When his strong hand gently grabbed your shoulder, the feeling made you jump, your hand jerking and ink splattered on the parchment. “You frightened me!” you scolded him, swatting at his hand with your ink free one before trying to get the ink off of your other hand with a spare cloth.
“You’re supposed to be resting princess,” Harwin said, his voice firmer than usual.
“Its just a letter,” you murmured as you tried to clean up the ink.
Harwin’s hand moved to cover yours, stopping your frivolous attempt to save the letter, “I told you to rest,”
You chuckled lightly before looking up at him with an incredulous look, “I am a princess Harwin, I have responsibilities and duties and- “
“You are my duty, your grace,” Harwin said as he moved to kneel in front of you, taking your hands into his, ignoring how the ink stained his skin, “It is my responsibility to take care of you. I cannot do this if you don’t listen,”
“But- “you tried to protest but Harwin did not listen.
“No buts,” he said, shuffling closer, and moving his hands to rest on your hips. You sighed, your arms moving to dangle over his shoulders as he knelt before you, his head level with your chest and his eyes gazing up at you, “You will listen to me princess. Understood?” you nodded but Harwin just shook his head, “I need to hear you princess. To make sure you know how to listen,”
“Understood,” you whispered, suddenly everything else fading out of importance as you leaned down to kiss his lips softly.
One of his hands moved from your hip to your jaw, holding your face in his large hand. His other squeezed your hip, pulling you forward in your chair to be closer. Your hands slipping into his hair, tugging on the soft locks by the nape of his neck. “Wont you take off your armour ser Harwin? So, we can relax together,” you said breaking the kiss and batting your lashes at your lover.
Harwin nodded silently before standing, never taking his eyes off you. as he stared down at you, his hand still holding your face, you noticed how close he was and if not for his armour you would have reached for his skin already. Harwin only removed his hand to begin stripping off his armour, something he had done so many times it only took minutes for the metal to be laid on the floor beside your chair. Soon he was down to his undershirt and thin undergarments, a sight you had seen many times. “You’re staring,” he said, breaking you from your thoughts as he lifted your chin with two fingers to face him.
“Am I allowed to?” you asked, your eyes flickering from his broad chest to his eyes.
“As long as you behave, princess,” he said before crouching down, his face just an inch from yours, “Are you going to do as you are told?” he whispered, his lips bumping your own.
“Yes,” you whispered, desperate to lean in to close the gap but knowing better.
Harwin chuckled lowly, “Good girl,” he mumbled, butterflies twirling in your stomach, before he closed the gap. The kiss was deeper than before as his hand moved to the back of your neck, the other to your waist to suddenly pull you up from the chair and press you into his body. Your hands moved to the neckline of his shirt, tugging at it desperately as you felt his broad shoulders and firm chest.
When the kiss broke you were breathless as Harwin moved to sit in the chair you had once occupied. “Take off the dress for me,” he said, his voice deeper than before as he watched your cheeks flush. Your hands worked the strings of your dress, desperately trying to get it off. Soon it pooled around your ankle, your shift falling with it, “So pretty,” he murmured as he reached forward to touch your thighs, pulling you closer by the back of them.
Harwin opened his legs, pulling you to stand in the gap so he could gaze up and down your body. His hands went up the back of your thighs to your ass, moving teasingly slow and soft enough to make your skin shiver. He squeezed the soft flesh of your ass before grabbing your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap. You could feel his hard cock through his under garments and almost whimpered when Harwin moved your hips with his hands to grind on it.
He kissed your cheek, then jaw, then down your neck with soft scattered kisses. “Let me take care of you princess,” he whispered as he began to kiss along your collar bones. You found yourself grinding your hips down, desperate for some friction, “That’s it,” Harwin murmured, “Does it feel good?”
“Yes,” you breathed out, “More,” you begged softly.
“Be patience princess,” he said, his hands running up your sides before squeezing your breasts softly, “Good things come to those who wait and only good girls get to come,”
“Okay,” you said, your eyes closing as his fingertips began to trace your nipples making them harden under his touch. You could feel the longing in your stomach as you rubbed your slit along his clothed cock, desperate to feel it inside you already.
Harwin gently squeezed your sensitive buds while his lips worked back up your neck, kissing your jaw before lightly sucking your earlobe, “Do you want me?” his voice was husky as his breath fanned your ear.
“Yes,” you whispered, your hips almost bucking at the idea, “I need you Harwin,” was all you needed to say. His hands suddenly moved to your ass again, but you had no time to complain as he stood, holding you against his chest as he did. You yelped slightly, your hands instinctively going around his neck.
Harwin carried you the short distance to the bed, gently laying you down on the soft fabric. Harwin lay over you, kissing your lips softly and one of his hands trailed down your body, exploring it slowly before moving over to hold your cunt. your breath caught as his fingers slowly trailed up your slit. “So wet for me,” he praised, kissing your lips softly.
He continued running his fingers between your folds, fingers ghosting over your clit only making you want him more. Your hands moved to tangle in his hair as your lips moulded together which acted to muffle the moan as his fingers began to tease your entrance. Slowly he pushed two of his fingers in, stretching you out perfectly.
Your hips bucked, desperate for him to speed up, but Harwin wanted to do this right, “Patience,” he chastised again, “If you don’t start listening, I’ll leave,” he warned while his fingers began to curl inside you making you whimper.
This time he moved to kiss around your chest, squeezing one breast with his spare hand. You moaned when you felt his lips secure around your nipple, sucking it softly and teasing the bud with his teeth while he began to trace the other with his finger. You could feel a knot bubbling in your stomach, and it tightened when he moved his thumb to rest over your clit, rubbing slow circles into the sensitive bud. It was hard to keep your moans quiet as he did this.
You could feel your body start to twitch as he continued his painfully slow assault on your cunt. “Please,” you whimpered softly, “I need you,”
“What do you need princess?” Harwin’s voice was hoarse as he pulled away to look in your eyes, “You can tell me,” he said, his fingers still moving inside you. “Use your words,”
“I need your cock,” you said, your voice almost a whine.
Harwin said nothing as he softly kissed your lips, only for a moment, however. You whined when you felt his fingers leave you but gasped as he moved to hover over you, gripping your hips tightly, “You want me?” he asked, his eyes scanning over your body beneath him.
“Yes,” you whined as he pulled down his undergarments, his cock looking painfully hard as it sprung free, “Please,” you whined as he held his cock, running its tip up and down your slit, “I’ll be good I promise,”
Despite already being stretched with his fingers you still gasped when he started to ease his cock into you, his tip already stretching you out. “Shh,” Harwin whispered, his eyes closing tight when he heard your soft moans, “You must be quiet princess, understand?” he asked, opening his eyes as he sunk his cock in deeper. He chuckled slightly when he saw you nod, “So good for me,” he praised, his cock sinking all the way in, “You take me so well,” he said, as he began to pull out only to thrust back in, “So fucking well,” he muttered as he began his repeated thrusts.
He started slowing at first with deliberate deep thrusts. When he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock, he almost lost control as he leaned down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss, his hips speeding up as he began to mercilessly fuck your hole.
“Feel so good,” he mumbled against your lips, his hand slipping between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing quick circles into the sensitive bud. He covered your moans with his lips, but it did not stop the tightening in your stomach.
Your hands gripped his shoulders, before starting to scratch down his back as he fucked you into the bed, the headboard beginning to bang into the wall, but Harwin no longer cared. His hands moved suddenly to grab your legs, hoisting them around his waist so he could fuck you deeper, his hand moving back to your clit as soon as he had done so.
You could feel your cunt start to squeeze around him again and the knot threatened to burst. Harwin’s head fell to the crook of your shoulder, nuzzling into your skin. You bit your lip to stop the moans, but you couldn’t stop the loud moan that came from your lips as your orgasm crashed over your body. Harwin’s hand quickly clamped over your mouth to stifle the sounds, but he did not stop his thrusts.
You felt his body tighten above you and heard the stream of obscenities that fell from his lips like a prayer, “Fuck princess I think im gonna- “he groaned as your legs tightened around his hips, pulling him in deeper. Harwin gasped, his eyes squeezing shut, as his body stiffened. You felt his seed fill you up as his movements stopped. For a moment he laid above you before almost collapsing on top of you.
Your legs moved from his waist back to the bed, your hands moving up to stroke his hair softly. Harwin’s breathing was heavy as he regained his sense before moving to lay beside you. “Are you alright princess?” he asked, scanning over your face with concern in his eyes.
“Better than alright,” you grinned, moving to curl into his side. Harwin wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you tight into your side as your head lay on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. He certainly did take care of you.
Summary: You see your father’s latest acquisition in a closer way, a wild man from the North who had become one of his gladiators.
Pairing: Slave!Gladiator!Cregan x Domina!Reader
Warnings: Ancient Rome AU, Cursing, slavery (and everything that comes with it, technically rape, forced labour, punishments), blood, guts, gladiator battles, lude language, nudity, sex and everything related is no biggie here, we’re a ‘sex positive’ Republic, mentions of sex, same sex couples, orgies, and more.
MINORS DNI + 18
Wordcount: 6,7 k
Notes: This reader is young perhaps… like 18? 20? but so is Cregan!
“Dad, he is old!”, you whined. You heard your older brother snicker by your side, as their silly wives snickered like the silly girls they were. You sighed as you popped a grape into your mouth followed closely by a piece of cheese and bread and a sip of wine.
“He’s got money… and he is in the senate!”, he said then, signaling one of the slaves to start lighting up the oil lamps along the Triclinium, the night had fallen over King’s Landing and it was getting dark.
“I bet you could find someone who’s in the senate who’s got a wife he is willing to divorce, and he won’t die of old age before the wedding”, mocked your eldest brother, but soon got quiet as your father looked at him with severity
“Nobody should divorce their wives on my account”, you said, the notion made your stomach turn. Even though divorce was a common thing, if a man desired another, or another union would ensure more privileges, or if his woman was unfaithful or not able to give in heirs to the family, they could divorce. A woman could divorce her husband too if she had her own reasons.
You knew the dowry of your middle brother’s bride was quickly being spent on the training of the gladiators in the Ludus underneath the house, so he needed to come into some money quickly, even though he would have to pay for your dowry.
One of the greatest events of the year was coming quickly, and his Gladiators needed to be in top shape.
“Tomorrow I want you all there, at the games of Senator Tywin”
“Have we’ve been invited to the pulvinus father?”, asked your eldest brother
“Close enough, right by it”, he said, he seemed pleased, but you had learned to read him better, there was something lurking in his eyes that betrayed a darker desire… for more power perhaps.
“I've heard that Larys Strong and therefore Alys Rivers got an invitation this year to the pulvinus, and her gladiators in the primus at sundown”, whispered Martyn
You had two oldest brothers, Alton and Martyn.
“That Ludus stands as such because of that whore Alys Rivers”, mumbled your father
“A woman Lanista?”, you asked, “how could that be?”
“She is not, but she whispers in her half-brother's ear while he aspires to be in higher positions”, explains your father. “While his brother, first born son and heir goes around playing gladiator”
“He is a slave?”, you asked
“He volunteer himself into that life”, murmured Alton, “you had seen him fight sister, Harwin”
“Oh wow!”, you said, not really knowing what to say, but rather, sipping your wine, you did remember seeing the biggest person you had seen upon the arenas of King’s Landing’s Coliseum.
“Anyways, Alys stands as such because she was advised many years by Daemon himself the demon of the arenas”, mumbled Martyn
“Yes, fine Daemon/Demon”, your father would repeatedly, while on his cups, tell the tale of his biggest regret, and that was not purchasing a young Daemon while he was still in training, he grew to be the greatest gladiator at the arena, so much so he won his own freedom at the games of the Vulcanalia some years ago. Daemon, as many other gladiators, came from the shadowlands of Essos, as he sported beautiful white/silver hair and violet eyes.
You would never say this outloud, but the gladiator battles were never a thing of your interest, not really. You did not liked the bloodshed, the gutting, you had no taste for violence, and yet, there was something to admire as you saw those men fighting
They looked like they were carved from the finest artist, they stood like they were gods above the sands. They stood as fierce representations of the god of war himself.
“Well, her reign of depravity will not last long, I heard the Northman shows great promise”, mumbled Martyn’s wife Adella
“What about the Northman?”, Martyn asked then, you raised your head in question. Oh the Northman.
The man had your father in a lockdown, taking most of his time, money and patience. He was ‘caught wild’ in one of the last incursions of the armies of the emperor to the wild tribes of the North, hence his nickname. Purchased by your father at the slave market, and trained for the last months. With the purchase, your father was hoping to impress Tywin Lannister himself, a senator and a very wealthy man, it did not work, so far, as the man planned to visit your father’s villa upon invitation to see the Northman’s training and hopeful subjugation. So far, no luck.
He was caught fighting, he wasn’t a stranger to it, but there was a long way from being a soldier to being a gladiator. From being… whatever he was up there, to obey command from a man that subdued you into slavery.
But again, your father’s temper has closely returned to normal, so, you could only assume the training was becoming fruitful, even so slowly.
“He will never be tamed”, he said curtly, “but… if we keep managing him properly, we can turn that hate of his into the arena, he shows great promise”
“Forgive me father”, you said, raising from your place in the triclinium, “I take my leave to bed”, you said with a soft smile, nodding at everyone present
“Good, I won’t have you all tired tomorrow”, he said approvingly, and you nodded, thinking for which old bat he would have you presentable tomorrow.
He was determined to get you wed before the autumn plantings at the end of the year, and he didn’t seem to care to whom as long as it brought privileges upon his house.
It was hot, so hot, you could barely stand, you were eternally grateful to your personal slave, Anya, who stood by your side, fanning you with a soft paper fan. She leaned into you as you allowed her, to also enjoy the soft waves.
Although, they brought some stench from all the people around you.
King’s Landing, although the capital of the great republic, stood famous for its stench, having grown rapidly and unprepared for it.
The sun cooking the viewers of the spectacle didn’t help either.
The people cheered, bringing a new wave of hodor that made you dizzy and poor Anya almost faint
“Did you see that?”, asked your elder brother to the youngest, as two gladiators fought to the death, one cutting the other’s arm. HIs screams could be heard all the way up where you stood, near the pulvinus.
You rather stare into the sun, which you did. Soon, after midday, it was going to hide behind the wooden beams supporting the canvas on top of the Arena, there you truly were going to enjoy it. being able to relish in the shadow.
“Tywin demanded only the best this city has to offer present themselves in his games”, the comment alone made you turned your gaze upon the Arena, as people cheered again, some even pushed you in their ecstasy, to see the gladiator in shining white armor decapitate the one missing his arm
“And Cole does it again”, said Martyn. The one who had an armor so polished it was blinding was known as Cole, he stood from the Rhoynar in the south, from Dorne itself, plucked from the desert to fight in another kind of arena.
“See her gloat”, demanded Alton, you all looked towards the Lanista herself, Alys Rivers in the pulvinus, with a smug look upon her face, she of course was the one holding the wip that trained the man in the arena.
She was of extraordinary beauty, long lustrous black hair, long to her hips, wearing a deep green stola, beautifully decorated atop a black tunic, you wondered how she did not bake wearing such dark colors.
She was stuck to the side of her rumored half-brother, he was a.. interesting man, thin and a bit twisted, unruly hair but fine clothing adorned his weak frame.
“People of King’s Landing…!”, presented Otto HIghtower from the pulvinus, a small but central box, where the most prominent people attending the games would sit at. He was a Senator, friend to Tywin Lannister and apparently presenter to today’s games. Maybe he was the patron of the entire occasion, your father had been paid by a HIghtower man.
But this… was far from over.
It was odd to see such a gladiator so early in the day, the sundown was reserved for the very best part of the games, the primus, between the two best and more known gladiators.
You found yourself thinking about like four names at the time.
Harwin, Cole, Aemond, and… the Northman.
Although Harwin was disapparating from latest presentations… he still held name, but he had lost his prowess as the last time he found himself in the Arena he asked for mercy as he found himself losing, he raised his hand in the air with both index and middle finger pointing to the skies begging for mercy, and it was granted.
Against Cole himself. He got terribly injured almost a year ago, thereafter only presenting himself in fights long before midday sun.
Yes, everything you knew about gladiators and fights was learnt unwillingly.
But the primus did not belong to your father, so the Northman was fighting early, thankfully. You might have a chance to survive this heat, by retiring back to your father’s villa early.
Although, these occasions were like the market for older unmarried men. And your father would have you giving everything to sell…
“... I give to you, from one of the greatest Ludus of the Republic, a man, from the wild tribes North of the neck…”, your father smiled proudly as the name of the family was spoken loudly for everyone to hear. “trained to wet the sands with the blood of his enemies… I give you… CREGAN!”, people booed at his entrance, as the wild tribes of the North had been villainized by the Republic, as relentless, violent and above all, uncultured and barbaric, but you had learned to read between the lines, they were described as such because they refused to bend the knee.
The gates of the Arena opened on the west side, revealing the men ready for battle. He stood tall and broad despite his young age, his dark brown hair tied back, although hidden by a thick helmet in the shape of a wolf’s head.
He wore nothing protecting his torso, yet a thick metal belt putting together the lower part of a tunic. He wore forearm and shin protectors, and thick leather sandals
He had a huge sword in hand, and a shield on his other.
The sight alone took your breath away.
You had seen him only practicing, briefly, as your father did not approve of you gazing from your balcony down to the men. As they would, “get distracted”, and you didn't enjoy their eyes filled with lust either. So you refrained from doing so, but…
The mere glimpses you had gotten of the men were nothing when putting in comparison to the men upon the sand today.
In all glory, in strength, as a gladiator was the mightiest representation of a man, or that is what your father always said.
This was a rare sighting though, as he had barely been making a name for himself, this time might be the first he presents himself alone. Your father was right, taiming him was proving to be incredibly difficult, but nobody could deny that even if he presented himself a gladiator today under your father’s ludus, he was still as unruly as the first time you laid eyes upon him, as the first time you gaze down upon him, entering through the gates, kicking and screaming, hair longer than you had seen in a men, even longer than he had now.
He fought your father’s guards and even the ones who he would call his brothers this present day.
Tywin himself called for the start of the fight, his opponent was someone of the Ludus of Larys himself, one with lesser note, his name left your ears as soon as you heard it.
But you couldn't care less, as when he started to move upon the sands, the rest of the world could crumble around you and it would not matter in the slightest.
“He stands superior in all aspects”, mumbled one of your brothers and you couldn't tell which as you were so hypnotized.
Cregan attacked first, and that was very frowned upon in the Lanistas, as the first to strike tended to have disadvantage, his opponent met him half way and the clash of gladious responded all over the coliseum.
There were some gladiators that favored other weapons, like the spear and short shield, or the Retiarius, that were gladiators trained with a net and a trident, in a fisherman fashion.
It sounded laughable in paper, but they were quite impressive in the arena, not this time though, both gladiators stood with a gladious, meaning a sword, and a long squared concave shield.
The fight wasn’t lengthy, the superiority of the Northman was clear since the very first movement.
Although it wasn’t less breathtaking, as each of their movements, attacks, the way they moved, and deflected, its like they were dancing, dancing in a mortal rhythm
The crowd cheered for them, and even though they were not on the Northman’s side, suddenly, they shifted as it became clear that he was the better fighter.
Although you did not enjoy the games, there was this moment, this exact moment in which you felt like your heart was in your throat and you could tear your eyes apart from the fight. The moment where you really cared about who won, about who survived. The Northman, even thought it was the
But it was brief, first Cregan drew blood on the arm of his opponent, and then, after a quick movement, the man was dead, dropped in a growing pool of blood on the floor.
The magic was gone, and the crowd erupted in cheers, applauding, screaming his name, although there were those disappointed because of the outcome.
“He will be the champion of our house!”, said Alton, “mark my words!”, he said, as your two brothers hugged each other in happiness. you turned to Anya, who had a soft smile on her face, but kept fanning the both of you
The rest of the fights happened quickly after that, the sun hiding behind the podium of the magistrates and people of importance in the city, which gave you relief as the day turned quickly, the sun moved above the sky until it hid behind the outer walls of the coliseum.
The last fight ended quickly as well, Aemond killing his opponent in an impressive showing of strength and blood.
Your father was called upon another man near the pulvinus, as you tried to stand your ground as people around you were quickly to leave the arena, but you managed to stand your ground, as your siblings found friends of their own to talk to.
Your father came back to you, rubbing his hands amongst each other with a pleased look on his face
“I must attend a meeting in the magistrate’s house”, he said happily, “He spotted me in the crowd and invited me”, you smiled at him
“I’m pleased, father”, you said with a soft smile
“See yourself to the villa, with our guards and slaves, don’t wait up”, he commanded the lot of you.
“We have been invited to the Lannisters”, mumbled Martyn, your father’s eyes again shone with interest. So he nodded towards your brother.
“I trust you’ll be well taken care of”, he said then, turning to you, he then signaled to one of his most trusted guards and even to the Doctore himself, the trainer of the gladiators.
“Yes father”, you nodded at Anya and the both of you exited the arena, followed closely by a guard.
You turned quickly as you heard your name being called by a familiar voice, as you were int he shade of the hallways, as you turned you found yourself with your old friend from your childhood, Alysanne Blackwood
“How long haven’t we gaze upon one another?”, she said, grabbing your forearms as you did hers, she leaned in a made attempt to kiss both your cheeks as it was accustomed
“Too long”, you said with a long sigh
“We shall remedy that immediately!”, she said then, “you didn’t mind telling me your father’s Ludus was the one who owns the Northman himself?”, she tried
“Oh well, much has happened in the last couple of years”, you said shyly, smiling softly at her.
This was hardly the time, all the people were leaving the coliseum, and pushed you who were trying to stand on the sidelines. She looked at you with those deep green eyes of hers, she was so beautiful, lean and tall, with thick black hair fixed beautifully and big green eyes, her smile was contagious.
“Well it's been too long”, she said then, as you failed to meet what she desired, “and I will wait no longer, to get reacquainted with dear friend”, she said, grabbing your hands
“My villa, its mine for the night, as my father meets with important men”, you offered, her smile was as beautiful as the rest of her
“Perfect, Jeyne Frey is also here”, she said, “we’ll go together”.
To say you were nervous was an understatement
The night found you and your friends in the safety of the triclinium in your family’s villa, where the soft wine flowed freely and also the dining.
“And his cock was huge!”, she said, making you gasp
“Alyssane!”, you chided, “don’t say that!”, you said, feeling your cheeks heated
“What? Cock?”, she teased, “Cock! Cock! Cock! COCK!”
“Stop it!”, you slapped her arm playfully
“I see them all the time!”, Jeyne said then, looking sheepishly, hiding her smirk in her cup of wine.
“Only because you like to peek as your brothers have sex with slaves!”, mocked Alyssane
“No I don’t!”, she said, but you knew she was lying.
“I bet that Northman’s cock is huge too”, teased Alyssane, finally revealing her true intentions behind her and Jeyne’s visit to your father’s villa. You got quiet, so did Jeyne, but the expression on her face said it all, she was as intrigued as Alyssane
“I wouldn’t know, even if I saw it”, you said
“You had never seen a man naked?”, asked Alyssane, raising one of her perfect eyebrows
“No”, you said then, well… you sort of had, men, male slaves on sale on the streets, but you had refused to look long enough to draw a complete image in your mind. What you saw in a couple of seconds did not please you at all, rather… you disliked.. something so… small and wobbly. You shaked at the very memory of it.
“You had never seen any of your gladiators in such fashion?”, asked Jeyne, ready to tease and follow Alyssane’s lead.
“No I have not!”, you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Aren’t you at least a bit curious?”, asked Jeyne
“Well, of course I am”, you defended
“You are to be married before the darkest of the winter months, you should at least know what you are up against”, Alyssane said simply, “and I would not deny the sight… of such a man”
“You are here just to gaze upon naked men?”, you said playfully, although, a bitter taste in your mouth, as you were feeling clearly used, and pressured.
“No, I am here to gaze upon naked gladiators”, Jeyne said then.
But another flavor joined the others, the need deep within you impress your friends, your friends from rich houses of the capital
“Bring me the Northman”, you said to the guard that stood in the corner watching the whole reunion, he seemed terribly nervous, but nodded and left you. You shaked with the resolution in your command, and felt a pit in your stomach in anticipation.
You knew he was going to take a while, so you turned back at your friends and smiled nervously, and they seemed terribly motivated.
“I must say”, began Jeyne, as she saw your face filled with trepidation, “that my tongue will not be kept from wagging about your hospitality to my father”, she wanted to make sure you knew there was going to be recompense for this, and good recompense. His father, as old as time, sat in the senate, she stood the daughter of a senator.
“Thank you Jeyne”, you said with a soft smile, you took a long gulp of your cup, to try and soothe your nerves. Alyssane did the same, but with a smirk on her lips, she said nothing as she studied your form.
Finally, they both took sit position in their triclinium as you heard movement behind you. You looked back to see their trainer Roose Bolton, following closely behind the man himself. The wildling from the tribes of the North, whose name was Cregan Stark, although everyone called him… ‘The Northman’
He stood with thick shackles around both wrists. in front of him. He was wearing nothing but a clean subligaria, and his body was like one of a god, well defined and gleamed under the light of the torches, he had recently been cleaned. The sight made your mouth dry, so you took another long sip of the mulsum in your cup. He had thick brown hair that he used tied in the back of his head, and he had sharp eyes, cold as ice and the same colour. The features of his face were soft, declaring his young age, your own, perhaps.
“Leave us”, you demanded, but the trainer Roose Bolton looked conflicted
“Domina, I don’t think…”
“I said leave us”, you said, about to lose your courage, your friends behind you giggled, weirdly giving you confidence to commit to your own command. With a grunt, the doctore nodded and left you, with only your friends, a couple of guards standing silently in the corners of the room behind veils, and him.
The Northman
He was deadly still, looking forwards, beyond you and your friends, beyond this room, his jaw was tense, you could tell that being here, summoned by you like this… for him was humiliating, but there he stood, tense like a bow. He said nothing, he didn’t move an inch.
“Is this what all northmen look like?”, Jeyne teased, “he is more beast than man”, you didn’t know if that was a real question, but your eyes never left his form, even if it wasn’t he didn’t answer.
“You can answer”, you encouraged
“All northmen do not look like me”, he said finally, the dark tone in his voice made the three of you gasp. “some make me look like an Andal”, Jeyne and Alyssane giggled at the prospect of finding even gruffer men than him.
“Oh he speaks the common tongue”, Alyssane was on fire, making you more uncomfortable. His eyes finally found yours, and you couldn’t take your own out of his.
“Yes he does”, you whispered, he indeed had a beautiful set of eyes. You then looked down at his chest, there was a red line, his injury from the battle in the Arena, it was still fresh, but you could tell it was healing properly
“I think he is handsome”, mumbled Alyssane, taking foot to walk towards him, you feared his reaction, as the guard standing in the corner of the room clenched his hand around the pommel of his sword.
But the gladiator still didn't move as Alysanne walked around him, teasing him with a single finger, touching his skin as she walked. His eyes were still on you.
“He stands as Mars, ready for war”, she whispered
“Alyssane seems taken by the man”, teased Jeyne in your ear
It was a curious thing, this what you were feeling, like somebody wanted to take something that belonged to you, but again, he wasn’t a thing, and you didn’t own him. Not technically at least, your father did.
“Their day starts early tomorrow”, you mumbled, making Alysane stop and look back at you with a teasing smile on her face. “his training I mean”, you said then
“Of course”, she said, you signaled the poor shaking guard and he grabbed Cregan, and took him from your side. You could swear you saw lingering eyes from him to you, but you must have imagined it.
“You should… enjoy him while you can”, said Jeyne finally, once you found yourselves alone again
“What do you mean?”, you asked her, her and Alyssane shared complicit looks
“Well, obviously, before you take an old bat as a husband, you should enjoy one of his gladiators, like that Northman for example”
“No…”, you said quickly, “I couldn’t possibly do something like that”
“Why not?”, asked Alyssane
“He is a man trained as a gladiator!”, you said, “he is a bit dirty…”, you tried, not quite convinced
“You have him bathed and oiled before you”, said Alyssane like it was no issue
“What if he doesn't want to?”, you tried then
“He is a slave, under your command…”, said Jeyne, “...and a man”
“What if he decided to kill me instead?”, you said then, “wrap his hands around my neck”
“I will not shame you is that is to your pleasure”, giggled Alyssane
“Aly!”, you whined, “the point is I really couldn’t, I mean, he is big and thick… and wild looking”
“Delicious then”, she offered
“Dangerous…”, you continued, although you felt your cheeks heated.
“Well if you don't have him, maybe I could!”, she teased
“What are you talking about?!”, you asked, scandalized, “when have you heard that proper Andal women lay with their gladiators?”
“Oh I’ve heard a ludus where such things happen quite frequently”, she teased
“Where?”, you asked
“In Alys Rivers’ ludus!”, your eyes opened wide in shock
“Really?”, you asked, “the bastard sister of the Lanista Larys Strong?”, you asked
“They say she offers her gladiators in… other manners”, she said, winking at you, “perhaps we should find ourselves at her door?”, she asked Jeyne
“Perhaps we shall”, she said back.
“Don’t be mean!”, you teased back, she laughed, as she was clearly jesting, you hoped.
“The hour is late”, said Jeyne with a soft smile, “I should start my journey back to my villa before my father starts a search party”, she said, raising from her chair
“Yes! me as well!”, said Alyssane, “I hope I can meet you tomorrow at the market?”, she asked you, you smiled and nodded profusely, as you accompanied them to the atrium, and therefore the door
As you watched them leave, nervousness started to take a hold on you, as did the warmth of the wine consumed to hide your embarrassment
It was not common to find yourself alone in your villa, your father had allowed it because you were in company of friends -who had influential fathers-, but now there you stood, no brothers, or sisters in law, father or friends to loom over you.
Your lower belly burned with necessity, with something you have never felt before, a longing, your body burned with anticipation and excitement. You didn’t know if it was the mulsum you had drank, or the power you just discovered, all the whole thing combined.
“Bring the Northman up here”, you said to the first guard you saw, he nodded and went to comply with your command. Your body was tingly because of the alcohol and you were excited to say the least, you didn’t even care that you had already sent the poor man down mere minutes ago, tonight, you had the power.
You shakily served yourself some more wine, back in the safety of the triclinium, the room where you ate, met with friends and family, where you were most comfortable. The man was standing right in front of you in minutes, the guards nodded at you and then left you as they had done before.
The gladiator stood there, now he seemed more surprised than before, as he found you alone, and he also seemed to be showing more of his emotions on his face.
“Northman”, you called, he turned to you quickly, anger in his eyes
“That’s not my name!”, it took you by surprise, you couldn’t deny it, the anger in his eyes, the sharpness in his tone.
“What is your name?”, it was of no consequence to you, his domina, and you should express so, that it did not matter anymore what his real name was, but, there you were, asking him nonetheless
“My parents named me Cregan”, he said, “of House Stark”, he said sharply, “as many leaders of my house before me”
There was so much more you wanted to ask, as his words truly shocked you, but as you gazed down the street you came to your senses, realizing that you should not allow such things. As your father tended to say, “who were you before this Ludus does not matter, the only thing in your mind should be sand, and the blood of your enemies”
“That is not what you are here for”, you finally find your voice, minimizing his anger at hand, turning his attention somewhere else.
“Remove your subligaria”, you whispered the command as if you did not wish it, and his sharp eyes were trained on you
“Look at you, a little domina in the making”, he teased, his tone much changed since he let you know of his true name. The very words made your cheeks heated, and you found yourself averting his gaze, his did not stray from your face as he released himself from the only item of clothing he was wearing. Your eyes followed the trail of his perfect skin, down his toned chest to his belly and…
The sight alone made you gasp.
This looked nothing like the ones of the male slaves in the market, if anything, those were… flacid and small, that sight brought you disgust and uneasiness, this one however, made your mouth dry and your skin tingle with desire. Desire that was pooling in your lower belly.
“You can touch me”, he said, he was being amused at your expense, only making you even more nervous, “I will not bite… much”, your hand was placed on his belly, muscles showing in beautiful shapes, you couldn't believe something could be hard but soft at the same time.
As your hand lowered, you found thick dark hairs there, making you shudder
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen”, he whispered, so close to your face your hand stopped right before getting to his base and you looked up at him.
“I’m the daughter of your dominus”, you said, as you believed he was forced to praise you.
“Do you think that’s got something to do with what I just said?”, he asked. Your hand stopped right as the base of his cock, you shuddered, his manhood was terribly hot.
You had never spoken to this man before today, you had barely glanced at him, and now, here he stood, under your command, looking at you with his sharp eyes, not missing a thing.
“I’m sorry, this was a bad idea…”, you whined retrieving your hands like his skin burned you. Cregan grunted when your soft hands left his cock, and that only made you burn more heatedly
“And you are going to leave me hanging like this?”, he asked, amused, mocking you, but inside he was suffering, he was enjoying it too much, it has been so long without a woman’s touch, “you can’t do that!”
“My apologies”, you said quickly, leaving him there standing
His doctore came to collect him, he retrieved his cloth from the ground, putting it in place
“A little tease that one”, he mumbled to the serious man
“Do not speak of domina in that way”, he growled as he pushed him
“There is not much domina in her”, he chuckled
“That’s it, five lashes in the courtyard”, he said
“I’d think better of it doctore”, he said defiantly, taking advantage of the fact that only the two of them were present in the narrow passage that separated the villa from the training grounds of the Slaves, “the Vulcanalia is merely a fortnight away from now, and they have high hopes for me”
“Keep walking boy”, Roose Bolton threatened.
He led him downstairs and then through the big gate that separated the villa from the ludus, where the gladiators lived and trained. A guard locked it tight after they passed through it
“I advise you to keep what happened to yourself”, he said gloomly, Cregan looked back at his doctore, but nodded.
He was directed straight to a long open room, where the gladiators ate lunch and dinner. He directed himself to the cook, who gave him a clay pot with a white mush in it, just like the day before, and the night before that.
“Here comes the whore!”, someone shouted at him, as his “brothers” started mocking him and winking at him.
It didn’t take much to guess what happened in the villa, there was only one reason you get called upon at such hours, and wearing so little
“Shut the hell up Ben”, he mumbled to his only friend he had in the Ludus, he haden’t say anything, but he was grinning at him like an idiot.
“Was it her?”, he asked him, “the daughter? the domina?”
“Yes”, he said, his friend pushed him playfully
“Did you fuck her?”, Cregan just looked at him angrily
“No”
“Was she not pleased with you then?”. he asked, frowning
“She is young, she doesn’t know what she wants”, he said simply, really not wanting to share what had happened upstairs.
It was humiliating, to say the least, to be treated like that. To be called upon to be gazed at by women who looked at him like a piece of meat, and then again to be touched.
Oh but he meant every word
You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, since the first time he saw you, standing on that balcony, looking down at him. He did not blame you for your father, for the blood that ran through your veins, for the republic that created you. You had nothing to do with any of it.
Just by looking at you he could tell the kind soul that moved your body and warmed your heart
But you were the daughter of the man who purchased him, he wasn’t the one who enslaved him, but it was the man that had condemned him to the life of a gladiator.
“Well, maybe you can change her mind”, he teased
The only reason he was playing along with the Andals was to see how to escape them, so far, it had been easy to stay alive, he had been trained since he could pick up a sword on how to hunt, how to fight, how to survive, the North was not a place for the weak
“Father?”, you called out loud, the servants all dropped their eyes as you passed them by looking for him, but you couldn’t find him in his study, so you were on your way to his room at the other side of the villa
“What’s this ruckus?”, he asked, looking at you with sharp eyes as he went to encounter you in the atrium
“My good friend Alyssane has summoned me to go to the market at noon”, you knew he wouldn’t refuse you, not if Alyssane was involved, so he just sighed and motioned for you to follow him. You went back to his study, passing all the statues decorating the atrium. A normal Andal family would display in honor effigies of their most prominent family members, but yours displayed the most prominent gladiators and fighters that had come from this ludus.
“Here”, he passed you a small punch filled with gold coins
“Thank you father”, you said, offering a complacent smile
“Take one of my men with you”, he said then, “one of the gladiators”
“I hardly think that’s necessary, a servant and a guard would do just fine”, you said quickly, always as you were in the market you wanted to pass by as inconspicuous as you could.
“I insist, after the games, and before the Vulcanalia, I want the people to see them, to get excited, take the Northman”, you hid your face before your father could see the embarrassment in it.
One of the guards of the villa went to fulfill his request, and you sighed in exasperation.
You came back to your rooms to get ready to go out, and once you were, you returned to the entrance of the house, where Cregan himself was waiting for you with a severe look on his face, this was not to his liking, he was standing right by a guard, and by Roose Bolton.
The sight alone made you tremble
Had he told anybody what happened the day before? that you had touched him and presumed to have him?
Once his eyes found yours, he smirked.
“If something befalls the daughter of your dominus, fate worse than death awaits you boy”, he said in his ear
“Rest assured, that I will look after her with my life”, he said with a silly little smile.
You took a long sigh, and nodded to the guards and started walking out of the villa.
The villa stood on top of a hill, you had a pretty nice view upon the city of King’s Landing, but the rest of it wasn't quite impressive, the road was made of dirt and the houses around it were less impressive than the one your father had inherited from his father. It had been in your family since the very creation of the city.
You led a small comitive, all on foot, as you bluntly refused to be carried in a cot. You, your faithful slave Anya, Cregan himself, being flanked by two guards.
The center of the city started right at the foot of the hill, so it was a short minute walk.
You reach a street made of cobblestone, one adjacent to the one that led to the main street, as it was time before you had to meet Alyssane, you started to look the small stores
“Did your father hear of the way you handled me last night?”, Cregan whispered as Anya was tending elsewhere, you look back sharply at the Northman.
“No, and he shall not!”, you said sharply
“Oh well, I guess if he had, he’d have me castrated”, he whispered for your ears only, “and I guess you don’t want that as it seems you like what you saw”, he teased
“Stop it”, you said back. Your father was a practical man, and if he had heard of what occurred last night, you would be the one at fault, as everyone involved was just following your command. “My father will never know of this”, you sentenced
“You wanted to lay with me? A gladiator? a slave?”, he asked then
“I was mistaken”, you said, trying to gaze upon what a man was cooking on his store towards the street, it smelled delicious
“You are mistaken”, you heard him claim, his thick accent made your thighs, “for seeking bedding before connecting, to seek sex, instead of love, to want lust before you even began to feel the fondness”, he said sincerely.
“Thinking love is something within the grasp of someone in my position is foolish, and I learned not to be blinded and distracted by foolish things”, you whispered sadly. You nodded at the man and exchanged a couple of aerus for a plate of lamb soup. “I’ll be married before the year is over”, you whispered.
Warnings: making out, dom!Cregan, talks of death and ptsd, etc
A/n: This is short and sweet and a cliffhanger but- there will be a part 3, don't you fret
Part 1
Masterlist
..............................................
Cregan entered his solar. And the moment the door closed, his hands rubbed over his face and into his hair. His fingers tugged at the long strands as he forced himself to take a deep breath.
"Is everything alright?" Her soft voice called.
He'd almost forgotten about the small settee he had moved in here specifically for her. After doing so, she hardly ever left it. Especially on days she knew he'd be here.
He stretched his shoulders back as his eyes took her in. He loved her in this relaxed state. It had taken a few weeks to get her there, but this was bliss. She was blissful. No need to keep up with the royal looks of tight dresses and intricate hair- not when she was with him. She was comfortable with him, trading it all for more relaxed dresses and hair loose from braids. He loved her just like this.
But the current concerned wrinkle in her brow as she looked at him ruined it. "'M fine. Just a disagreement at petitions today."
She abandoned the Stark History book to give him her full attention. "A disagreement?"
He sighed again at the thought of it, interlocking his fingers over his head. "There is a lord that simply does not know his place."
She hummed, choosing to say nothing to make him fill the space.
"He's j-" Cregan bit back his words, the anger turning into crude amusement. "He's both vial and vain and… much too blunt for my standards." He aimed his words at her, "I appreciate a disagreement. I will not tolerate disrespect." He wanted to make a point. But more than that, he just wanted her to agree with him.
"You do not deserve disrespect," she breathed. She was beginning to find her voice with him. Though, it was still soft.
"No, I do not."
"Nor should you have to tolerate it-"
"-I shouldn't!" He huffed, throwing his hands up. "I shouldn't. Perhaps a public example must be made of him." His voice quieted as he thought. "What would your mother do, hm? What did she do with disrespect? Or your father?"
They didn't speak much of her parents. Rhaenyra was long gone, her remains stuck in King's Landing. It loomed over the silver-headed few that survived like a dark storm cloud.
What would Rhaenyra have done?
"I'm unsure," she finally answered. "I was… kept from those parts of the kingdom."
A small chuckle left Cregan as his angered gaze turned admiring. "I know that, doe. But surely your brother talked."
Jace did. He was the finest gossiper she knew. That's how she always got her information during the war.
And Cregan knew that. He knew the two eldest Velaryons better than he knew himself at this point.
She dared to think that Cregan missed Jace.
As for her father dealing with disrespect? Which one?
Harwin would fulfill his name of 'Breakbones'. Laenor would have a strong talking to. Daemon… well. He fought a war for his wife's name, didn't he?
"Perhaps he spoke a few times," she spoke, deeply in thought, seemingly lost in the memories of Dragonstone. Those warm days in the sun. Jace letting her ride with him on Vermax. Teaching Joffrey how to swim.
The death of Luke.
The death of Jace.
She physically blinked as the thoughts turned more and more sinister. "I try not to think of those things anymore."
He watched her face turn more convoluted and lost. He wanted to hit himself with how easily he'd brought back the horrid remembrance. She had been so comfortable and he had to come in and ruin the little peace she had.
"Don't tire yourself over it, sweet girl. Was only curious." He sat next to her on the settee, almost comedically with how large Cregan's body was on the small sofa. His shoulders slumped as the weight of his life set it- like it did every time he was comfortable. "I never quite know what to do," he admitted softly, keeping his eyes glued to his hands. "When your actions affect all of the North, they have to be right."
She shimmied into his side, resting her head against his shoulder. "What does a Stark wolf do?"
His lips quirked up. His sweet doe is telling him to give into his wolfish instincts. "Suppose I should banish him then?"
She wrapped her hand around his bicep, heaving a soft sigh and shrugging.
"Can I kiss you, doe?" He asked softly.
He'd asked it before. That first time. And he'd been denied.
He said he could be patient. But that was proving itself to be a lot harder than he originally thought.
He was her husband already. A man of his stature wouldn't have waited this long. He didn't care. It just made the rewards sweeter.
So he looked at her to gauge her reaction.
She had set her chin against his bicep now, looking through her lashes. Her big does eyes gaze up at him.
She slowly nods.
He has take a deep breath. He can't get too carried away with the small liberty she's given him.
His hand slowly reaches into her hair, pulling her away from his arm so he can turn and lean down to her level. "Your words," he reminds her, but his eyes are only on her lips. He wants to capture her voice perfectly for what she'll say now.
She hesitates, the words capturing in her throat. Until finally, a small plea makes its way through in a hoarse whisper. "Please, kiss me."
Cregan closes the gap with no hesitation, cupping her face in his large paw of a hand.
His kiss was heavy. It felt weighted with both intensity and words unspoken. But he made it feel light.
With careful movements, he trails his other hand from her hair to her lower back and begins to lay her down on the settee. His lips never disconnect from hers, slipping his tongue past her lips with an expertise that made her gasp.
Her mother had once had a brief talk about sex with her. It was broad and strange. Something about feeling something bolden within your lower stomach- like adrenaline shooting up your spine.
She thought she was beginning to feel it.
She braved bringing a hand up his chest and back down again. It was frightening to not know exactly what to do. But exhilarating all the same.
He groaned and began to tug up her thin dress as he climbed comfortably over her. He swears he's not felt more beautiful skin in his life as his fingers brush over her legs.
But as his calloused hand runs up her thigh, she lets out a small sound of surprise that breaks his train of thought. He pulls his face from hers worriedly, though he's still holding back the feeling of ravaging her.
He takes in the sight of the small pants that break through her parted, swollen lips. She's a sight to behold.
He pulls her dress back down, relishing in the fact that his wife truly is beautiful. Even if he has yet to see all of her.
She pushes herself up to try to catch his lips again. But as their lips brush, he turns his head. And when she tried again, he muttered, "Don't."
Her face fell a bit. "Cregan-"
"Don't ask what a Stark wolf would do. Ever again," he warned lowly. "Don't encourage it."
She realized just how much he was holding back. Like he was hungry and had yet to eat in days.
But he tried to lighten his sudden harshness, tucking his face into her neck and nipping. "Might bite you, doe."
She gasped at the surprise of it, but flushed when it came out as a small groan.
"Oh," he muttered against her skin. "You liked that? You want me to give in? Mark you?" He traded his nipping for soft kisses, trailing them up her jaw until he hit a spot that pulled a noise out of her. He kissed and left kitten licks against it until her hands pulled at his hair. He admired the way she was putty in his hands. "Let all of the North know how the doe controls the wolf, hm? How he worships her? You want that?"
Cregan pulled away to get a look at her. Her glazed eyes set on him. Words tried to come from her lips but failed to make it through. Her mouth opened and shut with hazy intention. If that's how she responded to a kiss, he couldn't help but let his mind wander.
He grinned, gripping her chin. "Hm?" He asked again. "Cause I promised not to touch you until you let me, little doe."
Cin {sin} | 25 | she/her - writing blog for the depraved, multifandom. minors and ageless blogs are not welcomed.
CAUTION
SOME FICS MAY INCLUDE DARK CONTENT. THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR MINORS. 18+. Please read all warnings on each fic before proceeding. I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.
Any hate will be deleted. I tag all work appropriately so if you don't like something, no one is asking you to be here and you can just block me.
NAVIGATION
archive of our own here
fic recs by month - august / september / 4 month sabbatical / february / march
likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. while i do have my comments set to moderated, after a week you can reply to me so please if you like any of my work interact with it
Pairing: Baelor Breakspear Targaryen x female!reader
Status: On going
Content: Canon divergent / non-canon, pregnant reader, second wife reader, fluff, angst, injustice, mention of other characters, Baelor wanting to be a girl dad, injuries, brief descriptions of fighting, Trial of the Seven, pregnancy, mentions of violence and gore, family drama, targaryen family stress, Aerion being Aerion, takes place on the events of AKOTSK. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions mentioned. SPOILERS
Disclaimer: English is NOT my first language so this may as well be written with my eyes closed and half delusional brain. Hope you enjoy it!
Main Masterlist
Sounds Joyful | 1
Your husband informs you about a Tournament that is set to take place on a moon's time, you are definitely going with him.
A refreshing man | 2
Your adventure in Ashford Meadow starts on a rather interesting way, children lost and new introductions.
Utter Chaos | 3
A new day of celebration ensures a tournament filled with chaos.
The Gods Listen | 4
Accusations are made, conversations take place and your heart cannot help but feel for the innocent.
Misdeeds | 5
Justice is to be made, in the eyes of some. In the eyes of others, it is simple injustice towards those with lesser knowledge. Unfortunately for you, your husband is bound by duty and honor.
A Trial of Madness | 6
Baelor breaks his promise to wake you and let you accompany him, though you do not stay put.
Something to hold on to | 7
Baelor lays fighting death while you stand stubbornly by his side.
Up to the Gods | 8
Your husband finally wakes up from his slumber, though it is brief as he keeps in and out of it.
Not one life but two | 9
The aftermath of learning that your husband doesn't remember you.
A childless mother | 10
A few days ago you had everything; your husband and your baby in your womb, now you have to face a great loss with many eyes on you.
A terrible idea | 11
You refuse to see Baelor, he refuses to see you even when he is starting to remember pieces.
See reason | 12
While they keep you drugged to avoid another incident like the one on the balcony, Valarr and Matarys worry for you. Valarr tries for his father to see reason, Baelor remembers your life together.
Feedback and ideas are always appreciated! I'd love requests for fics and I write (try to) for the characters that are listed in my masterlist!!! Feel free to let me know of any typos and something that I might have missed.
Unwanted attention: Much to your dismay, you attract the attention of a Targaryen prince.
A new addition in the family: Scenes from your first pregnancy.
Papa: Their daughter calls Aerion by his name instead of Papa.
Did you think the same?: After a comment from Daella, Aerion wonders if you ever thought the same as her.
Walk: Baela still doesn't walk, much to your dismay, and it's Aerion's fault.
Victory
A Worried Husband: Aerion notices how different your second pregnancy is from your first.
Jealousy: Fossoway!reader would lowkey get jealous when a lady tries a little too hard when talking to Aerion.
Baela’s Fifth Name Day: Ronnal Baratheon gives Baela a gift; Aerion is not happy about this new friendship.
A conversation with your daughter reveals something that Aerion doesn't like
Asks and headcanons
The original concept
Jacaerys Velaryon as the son of Aerion
How did Maegor end up with his name
How do Raymun and Steffon react when they meet your children with Aerion
Aerion doesn't want Egg to hold Baby Baela
Daeron as Baby Baela's favorite uncle
The soft side of Fossoway!Reader
Fossoway! Reader trying to convince Raymun that she can't stand Aerion
What would happen to Fossoway!Reader if one of her children turned out to be evil?
Are any of the children evil?
Fossoway!Reader would be so pissed when she remembers that Aerion named her baby boy Maegor
Grandfather Maekar and Baela
What color hair Fossoway!readers kids would has + What about length? + Would any of Fossoway!Readers kids have a strip of hair that was a diff color than the rest like their uncle Valarr?
Fossoway! Reader does not tolerate anyone speaking ill of Aerion
Grandfather-Granddaughter Days
Aerion would be trying so hard go prove one of his babies looks just like him
Maekar would be soft with his grandkids
Some random lord would try to put a wedge between Fossoway!Reader and Aerion
Baela would be the most outgoing toddler ever
If Valarr were still alive
Maegor would eventually grow up and be like “dad wtf you named me after someone that was Cruel and that everyone hated?"
Would Reader and Aerion be scared knowing of the alleged curse over the dark haired Targaryens?
Fossoway!Reader would confuse Aerion
Maekar learning Reader and Aerion named their daughter Dyanna and tearing up
Aerion and Reader's reaction when the kids don't want to play with Maegor + The silbings as protective siblings of baby Maegor
Reader and Aerion's reactions when their daughters begin to be courted
Maekar would milk the “old granddad” card so much
Aerion and Reader's reaction when they discover that Dyanna is with a Lannister boy
Maekar and Jacaerys <3
Aerion is miserable and pathetic when Reader goes to visit her homeland
Do Aerion and reader have a favorite child or do they try their best to not show favoritism?
Grandpa Maekar takes a nap and the children are worried that he is dead
More Jealous!Reader
Steffon vs Aerion
The kids are not interested in playing Cyvasse
Baela and uncle Daeron
Imagine Aerion drink the wildfire but "somehow" survive
AU:Aerion becomes mad with grief after Reader's death
I'm evil and want you to have a visual image of Aerion looking like a madman in front of the court
Aerion was like, "a dragon doesn't burn, but if I die, at least I'll be with my wife again."
How would everyone react when Brynden is exposed for nearly killing Fossoway wife and do you think Aerion would kill him?
AU Aerion and Reader in Lys
Fossoway Widow!Reader: Raymun's mother, aka Fossoway!Reader's aunt, ends up having an affair with Maekar.
Fossoway!Reader catching Maekar and Fossoway Widow!Reader doing yk
Modern AU
Modern Baby Daddy!Aerion Headcanons
The relationship between Aerion and Fossoway!Reader would evolve into something romantic
Can I ask how Aerion is in the modern au?
Modern fossoway! reader and aerion having a mini ailent crashout everytime they wait for a pregnancy test result
Will Reader get pregnant again before finishing college?
Modern Aerea loves to ragebait Aerion
Modern Aerea and Baela would rage bait Aerion by saying “wow I’m so hungry, I could eat that tall guy Duncan that mom had a crush on back in the day”
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x pregnant!reader
Warnings: pregnancy, fluff, comfort
Summary: Being thirty four weeks pregnant and working a shift isn’t exactly the taking it easy your doctor ordered. Between heavy charts and a snack delivery, Jack makes it clear that he’s the most overprotective father-to-be.
✨ Based on this request ✨
ED was at its usual chaotic energy. You were tucked behind the nurse's station with a warm cup of tea and trying to ignore the dull ache in your lower back.
You were thirty four weeks along and the "taking it easy" memo from your OB-GYN had apparently been replaced with a high volume shift.
"I can take the chart for Bed 4, Jack," you said, reaching for the tablet as Dr. Abbot, your precious husband, rounded the corner.
He didn't hand it over. Instead, he held it just out of your reach, his eyes sweeping over you with a precision that usually preceded a lecture. "Bed 4 is a suspected spinal precaution. Which means a log roll. Which means lifting."
"I can assist," you countered, putting on your best I'm fine face. "I’m pregnant, love, not made of glass."
Jack stepped into your space, his hand dropping to the small of your back, his thumb tracing a soothing circle over the scrubs. His expression softened but his resolve didn't waver. "You’re thirty four weeks. Yesterday was a long shift. Today, you’re staying behind the desk."
"Jack—"
"No," he said, his voice dropping to a protective tone that made you huff. "I need you, and the little one, to stay out of risk until labor. Take it easy. ED will survive if you just handle the coordination for a few hours."
You opened your mouth to argue but a sharp kick to your ribs from the inside made you winced. Jack’s eyes widened, his hand immediately moving to the front of your bump.
"See?" he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Even she agree with me. Sit. Drink your tea. If I see you trying to move a patient, I'm calling Lena to personally escort you to the breakroom."
"You wouldn't dare," you gasped.
"Try me," he winked, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before turning back toward the trauma bays. "I’ll bring you a snack in twenty minutes. Don't move!"
You watched him go. You leaned back into your chair with a sigh, resting your hands over the spot where he’d just been touching.
"Your father is a menace," you whispered to your stomach. "He’s very bossy and currently treating me like a high risk intake. But I suppose we can give him a pass this time, right babygirl? Just for the extra snacks."
As if on cue, yoyr baby gave a solid thump against your palm, a clear vote in favor of the snack plan.
True to his word, Jack reappeared twenty minutes later. He wasn't empty-handed; he had a plastic container of sliced green apples with honey and a cold bottle of juice.
"Delivery for my girls," he announced, setting everything down in front of you.
"You actually found the good apples," you noted, reaching for one. As soon as the first bit of sugar hit your system, the baby went into overdrive, performing a series of enthusiastic somersaults.
"Whoa," you gasped. "Okay, someone is very excited about the apple with honey thing."
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. He walked around the side of the desk and kneeled. You reached out, taking his hand and guiding it to the right side of your bump where the movement was most frantic.
The moment Jack’s palm made contact, a sharp kick connected right with his thumb. Jack’s entire face transformed. He let out a soft laugh, leaning his forehead against the side of your stomach.
"Hi, babygirl" Jack murmured, his voice vibrating against your bump. "You like the sweet snacks, huh? Just like your mom. Keep growing big and strong, but maybe stop using her body as a punching bag for a few hours, okay? Give mama a break."
He looked up at you, his eyes bright with a mixture of emotions. "She's really active today."
"She’s definitely a fan of your catering," you teased, running your fingers through his hair.
Jack pressed a firm kiss to the center of your bump. He stayed there for a long moment, grounded and unbothered, making it very clear to the entire ED that his most important patient needed his attention.
Summary: You and Baelor are given a second chance—one neither of you expected, and neither of you were meant to have. The first time, duty kept you apart. This time, you choose each other despite it.
But when he is drawn into defending a hedge knight, you’re forced to confront how fragile that chance is—and how much you’re willing to give to keep him safe.
Pairing: Husband! Baelor x Wife! reader
WC: 8.9k
Warning: 18+, smut, pregnancy, mentions of violence and gore, family drama, complicated relationship with maekar, second chance, betrayal, mentions of sacrifice, non-canon,mentions of being a young widow (before meeting baelor again), targaryen family stress.
part 1/2| part two
Growing up, you always kept yourself busy. Your fingers were never idle as you didn’t much care for the feeling of not doing anything. Your ladies in waiting always wanted to talk about men and betrothal prospects, but you cared not about those things. You always focused on studying your histories, family lineage, learning about old valyria, and anything else that mattered.
Your cousins were the only two people who could keep you distracted and make you forget your studies. Baelor and Maekar, two different sides of a coin and two people that you loved dearly. They were who you could always confide in and run to when you needed anyone.
No one batted an eye at your relationship with them over the years, despite the obvious deep connection that had been building. You did not just love them as cousins and they did not just love you that way either. You loved them both in different ways and even kissed both of them, but your connection with Baelor was always deeper.
He was what you needed and what you wanted.
The two of you would often sit about and discuss your family and certain histories, it would always feel like the conversation would never end. With Maekar, he was not interested in those kinds of conversations— he craved intimacy and quietness. He did not truly understand you and your mind.
While learning, you got hands-on experience helping wounded knights after tourneys and on the battlefield. You learned what herb did what, how to neatly stitch the skin, what pastes worked on wounds, and how to be of use. You found another way to keep your hands from being idle and your from mind thinking of Baelor. Both you and Baelor knew that eventually things between the two of you would come to a head, but it did not stop either of you.
You loved him and he loved you.
You lost your maiden hood to him, you fell deeper with him as the days passed.
It wasn’t until he approached you in the courtyard that things changed.
“Baelor, what’s wrong?” You asked, your eyes looking at his somber facial expression.
He gave a half convincing smile, fidgeting with the ring on his finger.
“My father has proposed a marriage alliance between me and a woman from House Dondarrion.”
“Oh.. that is great news then. Congratulations, Baelor.” You spoke, your voice shaky.
He grabbed your hand, his mismatched eyes scanning yours.
“Do not pretend with me, my love. I do not want this anymore than you do.”
You took a deep breath as you did not want to cry in front of him.
“I am happy for you, cousin.”
His brows furrowed and his feelings were clearly hurt.
“Cousin?—“
“I will have the betrothal stopped. I will marry you in secret, if I must.”
You gave an insincere smile and held his hand.
“It is your duty, Baelor.. I am happy for you and I hope that she is wonderful.”
You pulled your hand from his and cried on the steps of the keep. You did not want to let him go, you wanted to be selfish and marry him or escape to Lys. Unfortunately, he needed to do what was asked of him.
You avoided him for a bit, but he did not let go of the idea— so you left. It broke your heart to leave him, but his betrothed deserved a chance at his love.
Baelor would often send you ravens, but you would ignore them— you had to. You spoke to Maekar on rare occasions, but not often.
Years had passed by and your feelings had dulled, but never truly left. You sent Baelor ravens congratulating him on the births of his sons and condolences when Jena died. Your heart broke for him, as you knew that this would change him.
Several years had passed with yourself becoming a widow, before you and Baelor would see each other again. It was as if no time had passed between the two of you, the warmth was still there. You both talked about your experiences being married and then being alone for sometime after their death. Baelor mentioned his children and Maekar’s, how they drove him mad. You were unlucky in marriage and did not conceive due to your husband’s death early on. It was no secret that it upset you for a bit, but you did learn to live with it.
What started as small conversations and walks in the garden together, led to dinner in his chambers, and then letting him make love to you the way he had been dreaming of.
You loved your late husband, he was a good man— but you never loved him the way that you did Baelor. A feeling that made you feel guilty constantly during your time together. Everytime you laughed too hard, kissed him, let his hands curl around your body at night—you felt guilty.
Guilty because you knew deep down inside that your late husband never stood a chance with you, not in the way he deserved.
You had no intention of getting married again, or even seeing Baelor again— but he was determined to not let you slip through his fingers. The two of you had a second chance and he was going to take it. It took a little amount of convincing, but the two of you got married. A chance at love again with the person you should’ve married to begin with.
You were the happiest that you had been in a long time. He loved you in a way that was hard to put into words, a way that made you look forward to every morning and night with him. Your marriage was easily accepted by the realm and the family, which was your biggest worry. Maekar was distant with you and did not speak much on his feelings, he just said that he was happy for you and his brother. He wanted you to be happy and cared for, in whatever way that took hold.
Three years later..
The sun had begun to peek through the closed shutters, the slits of light shining onto the floor. The birds were singing and you could hear the soft thuds of footsteps in the hall.
Baelor’s arm was draped over your stomach, his head against the back of your neck.
It was the day that your family had to start your travels to Ashford and you wanted him to get as much sleep as he could— he would need it. You slowly pulled the silk sheets from around you, trying to be as slow and unnoticeable as possible. You began to slowly move his arm and slip from under his grasp, until he pulled you back close to him.
“Where do you think that you’re going?” He grumbled under his breath.
You let out a sigh of defeat, “I was trying to let you rest. I did not mean to wake you.”
He kissed the back of your neck, his fingers holding your belly.
“You did not wake me, my love. It’s time for me to get up anyhow, we have quite a busy day.”
He took in the scent of your skin, the honey and lavender soap still strong against it.
“I will have the staff bring you some Elderberry tea with your breakfast today.”
Your fingers rubbed against his, your brow raised.
“I did not ask for tea?”
“No, you did not. However, you were restless last night and you need rest. I want you to rest as much as you can on our way to Ashford.” He replied.
“I will be fine.” You protested.
He moved in the bed, bringing his head to your round baby bump.
“You’re growing our daughter. She needs a healthy mother and a well rested one.”
He placed kisses to your belly, his hand rubbing against it.
“You have no idea if it’s a girl.” You laugh.
He moves back up to your face and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.
“Yes, it is. I can feel it.”
He moves the sheets and begins to climb out of the bed as you grab his hand.
“Wait, stay in bed with me a moment longer.” You asked.
“As you wish.” He smirks.
It was moments like these where you couldn’t believe that there were years where he wasn’t in your life.
Your nightgown showed more of your chest than it should’ve and Baelor took notice, his mismatched eyes roaming your chest. Since the beginning of your pregnancy, your breasts had swelled and your hips had widened. It was impossible for any of your gowns to hide your figure and for him to not notice.
Your skin was smooth and glistening in the faint sunlight.
He pressed a small peck against your collarbone, his beard prickling your skin. His hands wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer to him.
He placed another kiss against your skin, this kiss right atop of your breasts.
“Baelor.” You spoke softly.
“Yes, my love?” He replied, still placing kisses against your skin.
You pulled away from him, pulling the sheet over your exposed skin and feeling insecure.
He stared at you with a confused look, his hand reaching out to touch yours.
“My love, you don’t have to hide from me.”
“My body doesn’t look the same, Baelor.. it’s changed.” You spoke, your voice coming out small.
He crawled closer to you and pulled you into a kiss, his kiss soft and slow.
“I know, my darling. You have grown more beautiful by the day as you flourish growing our child. I love every bit of it and you.”
Your eyes water, his sweet words were exactly what you needed to hear.
You continue kissing him and helping pull your nightgown up for easy access.
“My beautiful wife.” He mumbled.
The heat between your legs began to build as you kissed him. It’d be a while before you’d get more time alone and you needed him.
His cock was already hard when he pulled his trousers off.
“I’ve been thinking of you and your sweet cunt for the last few nights.” He whispered into your ear as he climbed over you.
Without ripping your nightgown, he pulled down the top and exposed your breasts.
He dipped his head down and swirled his tongue around your nipple, the sensation making your back arch.
“Baelor.. please.” You moaned.
He loved when you’d whine and beg for him. He also loved how sensitive your body has been to his touch since you got pregnant.
His tongue and lips trailed back up to your mouth as he adjusted your legs.
“You want me to fill you?” He asked, his eyes watching you unravel.
You nodded.
He chuckled, “be good for me and use your words.”
“Please, Baelor—“
“Don’t tease.” You whined.
With one slow thrust, he pushed into you— making both of you gasp.
“God’s.” He groaned.
He loved to take his time with you, fucking you with long and deep strokes.
Your breath mingled as you took every inch of him.
“I love you.” You moaned.
His kiss with you deepened. “I love you too, my sweet dove.”
Your nails dug into his back and his name spilled from your lips. He was so deep inside you, the head of his cock was hitting the right spot.
“This.. feels so good.” You whimpered.
You could feel your peak coming faster than it normally did.
“I can feel you clenching around me, cum for me my love.”
The sound of your wet cunt being fucked filled the room.
You got closer and closer with each thrust, you legs wrapped around his waist and your toes curled.
His name came from your mouth on repeat and tears formed in your eyes as you reached your peak.
He kissed you, grunting in between. “That’s right, sweet dove. Just like that.”
“I’m so close.” He groaned.
He kept his pace and fucked you to the point of crying his name from pleasure.
His deep and guttural groan filled the air as his ropes of cum filled you. He continued to kiss you as he rode out his climax and fucked his cum deep inside you.
“You mean the world to me. I don’t know how I’d ever live without you.” He spoke.
After catching his breath, he gently pulled out and climbed out of bed. You no longer needed Elderberry tea as you were beginning to get sleepy now. He helped you clean yourself up as you could no longer see over your belly.
He kissed your belly with a chuckle, “I hope you’re okay in there.”
You smacked his arm.
Shortly after, the two of you began to bathe and get ready to leave in a bit.
The travel to Ashford was miserable for you as you could not get comfortable in the carriage or outside of it. You could not wait for it to be over and dreaded the way back before you had even gotten there. Baelor would sit in the carriage with you sometimes, but he mostly worried about you and the babe not getting rest.
To add to the tiresome situation, Daeron and Egg were not present at Ashford with everyone else. Another thing to worry everyone about.
“Spring rains have swollen many of our streams, perhaps the young princes have just been delayed?” Lord Ashford spoke as the four of you walked in.
You held your belly, wincing as you felt a sharp pain.
“Fuck me.. delayed? They’re not delayed.” Maekar complained.
You took off your cloak and handed it to the staff.
“Do not curse our gracious host.” Baelor sighed.
“Maekar!” You scolded.
“I said fuck me, not fuck him.” Maekar added.
You rolled your eyes and took a seat at the table, your feet hurt and you felt pressure in your belly.
Baelor stared at you and the grimace on your face, “are you okay?” He mouthed.
You nodded.
“Daeron belongs on a tourney field no more than Aerys or Rhaegal.” Baelor pointed out.
You giggled from your seat, grabbing Maekar’s attention.
“You find that amusing?” He asked.
“Not amusing, but true. A tourney will not fix his drinking.” You mentioned.
Maekar grabbed a few of the nuts from the bowl and sat down with a loud grunt.
“By which you mean, he’d sooner ride a whore than a horse?”
“She did not say that.” Baelor interjected.
A member of the staff brought you water as you sat there at the table.
“Thank you.” You spoke.
“You!—“
“Who are you and what do you mean by spying on us?” Maekar spoke loudly, getting up from his chair.
You glanced over the brim of your cup, trying to see who the man was.
It was a very tall man, broad shoulders, pale skin and short red hair. He said that his name was Duncan. He meant no harm, only wanted to bother your husband about being added to the list for the tourney. Once you realized the conversation was not of importance, you zoned out— trying to relax in your chair.
You absentmindedly laughed along with Maekar when Ser Duncan corrected Baelor on how many lances had been broken.
Baelor confirms that he would add him to the games, making him speechless.
“I wish you the best of luck, Ser Duncan. I can’t wait to see you out there.” You spoke with a smile.
He bowed. “Thank you, my lady and my prince.”
Maekar rolled his eyes.
“We get it, you’re grateful—now fuck off.”
You sighed, sipping more of your water.
“You must forgive my brother, ser. His sons went astray on the way here and he fears for them.”
Duncan is shocked. “Oh, my lord. I trust that they shall not be found dead.”
You audibly laugh, “wow.”
Maekar sits up in his seat, a scowl on his face.
Ser Duncan leaves the room promptly afterwards and does not seem to see his statement as anything other than harmless.
“Why the fuck would he say that?” Maekar questioned.
“He meant nothing by it, clearly.” You replied.
Maekar grumbled something under his breath that you couldn’t make out.
Baelor reached out, placing his hand on your thigh. “My love, are you sure that you’re okay?”
You took a deep breath, your fingers curled around your belly.
“The babe is upset with me. They are kicking to their hearts desire.”
He grinned, placing his hand overtop of yours.
“Strong like her mother.”
“I want to lay down. I am exhausted.” You mentioned.
Baelor stood up from his seat, grabbing your hand and helping you up.
“Lord Ashford, if you’d be so kind— can you show me and my wife to our chambers?”
Lord Ashford basically started running to the front of the room, “of course.”
He brought you to the room you’d be staying in and your trunks were already inside.
“Where do you think Daeron and Egg are?” You asked as Baelor shut the door.
“I’m unsure, but I know they’re not far away from here.”
You slid your boots off, a sigh of relief leaving your mouth.
“I want to take a bath and go to sleep.”
He twisted his rings as you stood there scanning the room.
“I can have a bath arranged.”
You looked back at him, “Will you join me?”
He walked to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and belly.
“Unfortunately, I have a few things to take care of. I can join you some other time.”
You turned around facing him, a frown on your face.
“Okay.” You mumbled.
“If you are awake before supper, I will have time when you take another one.” Baelor mentioned.
You nodded as he placed a kiss onto your forehead.
“I will have a bath set up for you, but I have to leave.”
You gave him a kiss as he walked out of the room.
The room was smaller than you were used to, but it had a better view of the outside and a better fireplace. You were grateful for it and going to enjoy it, nonetheless.
Over the next few days, you had begun to get annoyed as you were hardly seeing your husband. By the time he’d crawl into bed with you, you were already asleep.
You missed him and his touch. You had decided to make it your mission to find him and have time with him.
Once you had gotten dressed, it felt as if you’d walked all over Ashford and there was no sign of your husband.
You decided to try the library before you’d go find Maekar and ask.
You opened the door to the library, the door shutting softly behind you. The smell of paper, ink, and something earthy overwhelms your nose— it almost makes you feel sick.
You walk, peeking through the long aisles and hoping to see your husband. Just as you were about to give up, you find him standing near a table and reading a scroll.
“Husband?” You whisper, catching his attention.
“My dear, is something wrong?” He asks, staring at you.
You slightly tilt your head in confusion. “No, I just wanted to see you.”
“I’m just reading over these scrolls, looking for a bit of information.” He mentioned, looking back down at the scroll.
You nod, biting your lip and running your hands along his chest.
“I missed you, husband.”
He nodded absentmindedly. “Oh, is that so?”
You smirked with a slight nod.
“Yes, you’re always getting into bed so late and then you’re needed again early in the morning.”
“The perks of being a prince, my love.” He replied.
He was so invested in reading the scroll and not even looking up at you.
“Baelor?”
He glances up from the scroll and sees your needy puppy dog eyes, the eyes that make him weak.
He sets the scroll down and looks at you. “What’s the matter?”
You kiss him, your kiss shocking him as he glances around with one eye to make sure that you’re alone.
“I told you that I’ve missed you.” You muttered.
He pulled away with a chuckle. “I understand, I do— however we cannot have that kind of affection here.”
You began to pout.
“You haven’t touched me since we’ve been here.. I want you to fuck me.”
He rubs your arm. “I will.”
you begin kissing him again, feral and needy. Seemingly, catching him off guard — but he welcomes it.
“You want me to take you in here?” He questioned.
You moaned, your lips not leaving his.
“What would someone think if they walked in and saw that?” He asked.
You pulled away from him.
“They’ll think that you love your wife even still as she’s heavily pregnant. Unless, you do not want to?”
He kissed you, beginning to undo his laces.
“I want to, I just don’t ever want you in a compromising position should someone come in.”
He turns you around, bending you over the table. He pulls your gown up and tears your tights.
“Baelor.” You whispered, shocked he tore your tights.
“Shh.” He commanded.
He spit into his hand and rubbed it onto your already soaked cunt. His read rubbed against your entrance, making your legs weak.
He pushed his cock inside of you, your fingers gripping the table as pushes in every inch.
Your eyes roll back into your head from the pleasure.
His hands grip your hips as he pounds into you, leaving you speechless.
“You are so tight.” He growled.
Soft moans spilled from your mouth as he fucked you, turning you into a blubbering mess.
“Oh, Baelor.” You cried.
He covered your mouth to keep you from being loud.
“My sweet wife, you cannot be loud.”
It felt so good, better than it normally does. It could’ve been because of the thrill of it all, but it was pure ecstasy.
The way his cock filled you, the way that you gripped it as if you were made for it. Your knuckles were turning colors from how hard you gripped the edges.
“Fuck.” You whimpered.
“I’m going to cum, sweet dove.”
Your breaths ragged as he pounds into you, your pussy stinging from the stretch.
He groaned, his moan being caught in his mouth as he slammed into you one last time.
You could feel his cum fill your cunt, the warm sensation bringing a smile to your face. You did not mind that you did not orgasm, you just wanted to feel him inside you.
He pulled out of you and pulled your gown down while he tucked himself back into his trousers.
His chest rising and falling fast. “I was not too rough, was I?”
You shook your head with a smile,” not at all.”
Baelor glanced around to make sure that you were still alone. He pulled you into him and pressed a kiss to your lips.
“You are a naughty thing, completely irresistible.” He chuckled.
He pulled away and grabbed his scrolls, preparing to leave.
“I will see you for supper.”
You smiled, feeling satisfied and confident. “Okay.”
As he walked out, you decided to find your own scrolls and books to look at. You’ve found yourself to be very bored as Baelor has been busy.
The baby kicks hard, taking your breath and making you hunch over.
“Your kicks are fierce.” You mumble to yourself.
You walk around the library, rubbing your belly with one hand and holding things in the other. The library was one of your favorite places to be, there’s always an abundance of chances to extend your knowledge. Once you grabbed everything that you wanted, you made your way to your chambers — happier than ever.
You took a quick bath to clean up and began reading a scroll that mentioned the medicine options for the people in Tyrosh. They were a bit different than what was offered in Kings landing. It made you want to talk to Baelor about it.
Once supper was over, the high that you once rode on earlier was gone. You sat at the table with your husband, Maekar, Aerion, and Lord Ashbury as Ser Duncan requested an audience. All four of you sat at the table and listened to him recount the events as Aerion had assaulted a woman for a puppet show, and broke her fingers.
“You broke the fingers of a puppeteer? An innocent?” You questioned.
Aerion continued to crack nuts with his knife as all of you awaited his answer.
The servant came around the table with a pitcher of wine, pouring in each one of the goblets. You politely held your hand over yours, your eyes still lingering on Ser Duncan.
“A trial by combat. I request a trial by combat.” Dunk spoke confidently.
Your husband sighed, his fingers toying with his rings.
“I refuse.” Aerion spoke.
“You cannot refuse.” Maekar gritted.
“Any knight accused of a crime has the right to demand as such.” Baelor added.
Aerion sat there in thought as he loudly chewed the nuts.
“A trial of seven, that is my right I do believe.” He spoke.
You glanced at him, a lump in your throat at the idea.
“A trial of seven, Aerion? Are you mad?” You asked, your anger detectable in the question.
Baelor glanced at you and placed his hand over yours on the chair, trying to calm you.
Maekar looked around in confusion. “What the fuck is a trial of seven?”
The table went silent as all of you glanced looks of disbelief. Ser Duncan stood in the middle of the room and was confused as well, waiting for a response to Maekar’s question.
Your husband explains what it is and how it works, undoubtedly with more patience than you’d ever have.
Maekar shrugged. “Well, if it was the Andals.”
“I’m sorry, your grace.. the old man wasn’t much for praying. What is a trial of seven?” Ser Duncan asks, still confused.
“The Andals believed that if seven champions fought, the gods being honored would be more likely to intervene and see the guilty party punished.” You spoke.
Maekar silently questions Aerion and his motives for asking for a trial of seven— something seldom invoked and a six thousand year old belief.
You look at Baelor and he can see the panic all over your face. His fingers rub yours, “it will be okay.” He whispered.
“Ser Duncan must pay for each of his crimes against us, or would we live a matter of Targaryen of honour in doubt?” Aerion questioned.
Your hand smacked the table in annoyance, startling Lord Ashbury.
“Do not speak to any of us about Honor, Aerion. You are asking to risk fourteen lives over your nonsense, cowering behind an ancient tradition.” You remind him.
“Possibly so, but he has to pay.” Aerion doubles down.
“This is fucking nonsense.” Maekar cursed.
“Is it? I don’t believe so.” Aerion answered.
He brought down his knife on a nut and sent the nut flying across the table. With no remorse, he pointed below and signaled for Lord Ashby to get it.
Your husband and Maekar sighed in unison.
Maekar stood up with a scowl on his face and yanked Aerion from his seat.
“Come here, idiot.” He grumbled, pushing Aerion into the hall.
“Aerion is well within his rights. A trial of seven must be held at dawn.” Baelor mentioned.
Ser Duncan’s brows raised.
“What does that mean?—“
“I must fight seven men?” He questioned.
“Don’t be a fool, Ser Duncan. It is seven against seven.” You assured him.
“You must find six other knights to fight beside you.” Baelor noted.
“But I have no one else!” Ser Duncan stressed.
“If the cause is just, then men will fight for it. If not, it will be because you are guilty.” Lord Ashbury spoke.
You held you belly and slowly began to get up from your seat, Baelor standing with you and holding your hand.
The two of you walked to your chambers, you just a step ahead of him.
You flung open the door to the room, Baelor gently shutting it behind you as you paced.
“A trial of seven? He’s going to get people killed!” You fumed.
Baelor stood there, his lips pursed and his mind elsewhere.
“Unfortunately, that is his right.”
“You know that your brother will defend him and that he will also drag Daeron into it as well.” You pointed out.
Baelor walked to you, placing his hands on your arms and stopping you in your place.
“My love, do not overwork yourself over this. I don’t want you to upset the babe.”
You scoffed. “She’s already upset.”
His lips curved in a half smirk. “Ah. A she, is it? Earlier you told me that you were unsure.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to not allow him to change the subject.
“I am not amused.”
He pulled you into a hug, placing a kiss on your head.
“I know—“
“Everything will be okay. I’m sure my brother will be able to hold his own.”
You took a deep breath, looking up into his eyes and giving him a kiss.
“Please, do not join.”
“I won’t.” He promised.
He helped you get undressed and watched as you crawled into bed. As you laid there, he got undressed and laid beside you.
His fingers found you farther from him on the opposite side of the bed.
“Come closer.” He asked softly.
You moved closer to him, your back against his chest as his fingers curled around your belly.
“I do not want you to continue worrying about the trial. It is something out of our control, but keeping you and our child safe with no stress is in my control.”
You put your hand over his, allowing yourself to relax. You gasp as the baby kicks.
“Someone is awake.” Baelor jokes.
A flicker of happiness takes over you and your worries for a moment.
“She’s normally not too active around this time.”
He kisses your shoulder.
“I cannot wait until her arrival.”
Both of you had given up on considering a boy, as Baelor is adamant that it’s a girl.
“I want to name her Baela.” You admit.
His fingers stiffen around your belly in surprise. “Oh?”
You slightly turn your head, your brow raised.
“If that is alright with you?”
He kisses your cheek with a smile on his face.
“That is quite alright—“
“Baela Targaryen, a name fit for a princess.”
You turned to face him, your belly pressed against his.
“I love you, Baelor.”
He kissed you, his hands on your face— pulling you in deeper.
“I love you so much, my sweet dove. I had not known true love until I got a second chance with you and for that, I’m grateful.”
You pressed your forehead into his chest, snuggling into him and his warmth. Within a few moments of laying like that, you had fallen asleep.
The morning sun had not risen, in fact it had rained during the night— leaving everything damp and muddy. Not even the clouds could be seen due to the mist that had surrounded the area. The cold front had settled in like a cough in your lungs.
As you started to wake up, you could feel the warmth in the room from the fireplace.
Your hand instinctively moved around the silk sheets in search of Baelor’s warmth, but instead you found his side of the bed cool and empty.
Your eyes opened, the sound of bustling outside of the door as people prepared for the trial of seven. You got up from the bed and got dressed, preparing to leave your chambers.
“I guess, we shall go find your father.” You spoke looking down at your belly.
As you walked out of your chambers, stationed outside of the door was your sworn protector— Ser Lyle.
Your brow raised as he had no need to be stationed there.
“Oh. Goodmorning, Ser Lyle.”
He bowed. “Good morning, my lady.”
“Why are you standing here?” You asked nicely.
“It was Prince Baelor's orders.” He admitted.
You could not mask the confusion on your face. “Alright. Have you seen my husband?”
He shook his head.
“Not since earlier, my lady.”
You began to walk away.
“Well, I guess that you will be walking with me as I try to find him.”
You and Ser Lyle walk down the busy halls in search of Baelor, but there still is no sign of him. No sign of him, Aerion, Maekar, or any of your family— which worries you.
You finally find him in the dining hall, talking to the servants — but instead of a feeling of relief, your blood runs cold.
He notices you out of the corner of his eye and watches as your hand holds your belly.
You stared blankly as your husband finishes his conversation with the servant, standing in front of you in armor.
“Baelor—“
“What are you doing?”
He walks towards with calculated steps.
“Ser Duncan needs another knight.”
You brows furrow, “how is that your responsibility?”
He grabs your hands into his.
“They will kill him, if I do not help. It is my duty to protect the innocent the same way that he protected the puppeteer.”
You scoffed, pulling your hands away from his.
“Do not risk yourself for this foolishness, please.”
He brought his hand up to your cheek, rubbing away the tear that fell.
“It will be alright, my love. I’m just merely helping keep Ser Duncan alive and my brother away from him.”
“I do not want you out there at all. You should be with me in the stands—“
“Your brother has something to prove, you do not.”
He puts his hands on your belly, rubbing it and looking at your glassy eyes.
“I will be back and unscathed for both you and her.”
Your tears begin to fall, your nerves now getting the best of you.
“Please, Baelor.” You beg.
He places a kiss on your lips, your tears wetting his face.
“I must go, my love.”
He walks out of the room, leaving you standing there. You wince in pain as you feel a sharp pain in your stomach.
“Ah!”
Ser Lyle runs to your side. “Are you alright?”
You took a deep breath and nodded.
Baelor had decided to join the stupid trial of seven after he swore that he wouldn’t, which upset and angered you beyond belief. You loved him dearly, but you just wanted him to be a coward this once.
You and Ser Lyle made your way outside, waking through the dewy grass and mud. You mounted your horse, confusing Ser Lyle.
“My lady?”
You held your stomach, the pain continuing. “I need to speak with my husband.”
Ser Lyle mounted his horse and followed you.
The mist was thick, covering everything the eye could see and wetting your clothes like steam. The crowd in the box above cheered with excitement still as your husband said that he’d take Ser Duncan’s side.
The more pain that you felt in your belly, the more that your horse Maggie got upset. It was as if she could feel what you felt.
“Easy, girl.” You spoke.
When you reached the doors to the field, Ser Lyle got off his horse and climbed the stairs to the stands. He spoke to Lord Ashbury, who agreed to allow you on the field for a few minutes.
He came back down and got onto his horse, your anger written on your face.
The heavy doors in front of you opened, catching people’s attention. Baelor’s sentence is interrupted when he sees you riding across the field towards Maekar with Ser Lyle.
Maekar is in formation with his men as you ride up to him, his brows beginning to furrow.
“Woman are you mad? What are you doing out here?”
“I need to talk to you.” You spoke.
You and him move away from the group.
“Did you know that he was going to do this?” You questioned sternly.
He looked at you, a scowl on his face but his inevitable softness towards you being apparent.
“No, I would’ve told you.”
“You should’ve had Aerion withdraw his ludicrous accusations.” You mentioned.
He pulls his shoulders back in offense.
“That low level hedge knight beat my son.”
You scoffed. “After he broke the fingers of an innocent woman, would you have not done the same thing if you saw that?”
Baelor watches the interaction between you two, it doesn’t look heated— but it seems as if it’s getting there.
“Someone’s in trouble.” Lyonel teases.
Maekar rolled his eyes at your question, “it doesn’t matter. We are the blood of the dragon, he cannot do that.”
You nodded, trying to maintain your composure.
“You even dragged Daeron out here?—“
“You’re willing to allow your son to risk the safety of this family when you know he’s wrong?”
Maekar held the reins to his horse, gritting his teeth.
“You know what Aerion is, you know that this is wrong— but I presume that he matters over everyone else. Consequences be damned, we’re all expendable for your precious Aerion.” You spat.
Maggie is neighing and becoming more upset as the moments go by.
“Don’t be stupid, woman.” He replied.
“I’m not stupid. I have a child on the way and my husband is out here risking his life for this nonsense.” You remind him.
“He doesn’t have to be out here, but even then— I will not allow anyone to hurt him. I’d never do that to you or him.” He confessed.
Baelor rode over to you and Maekar, approaching closer as the conversation ended.
“If he gets hurt, because of this chip on your shoulder and needing to prove yourself— I will never forgive you.”
You rode away from Maekar and met Baelor at the center of the field.
“Wife, what are you doing here?”
You hold your belly, a frown on your face as you experience more sharp pain.
His expression softened. “Are you okay? Do we need to get the Maester?”
You grit your teeth, “I’m fine.”
You grabbed his hand as your horses stood beside each other.
“Please.. please be safe.” Your eyes water.
He nodded, giving you a rather affectionate kiss in front of everyone.
“I will. This will be over and we’ll be in bed laughing about it later.”
“I love you.” You reply.
He kisses your hand. “I love you most.”
You take a second and begin to ride off the field with Ser Lyonel.
Your stomach is knots and nothing about this situation feels good or right.
The wind blew as you and Ser Lyonel made your way off the field and back through the gates. The men begin lining up for the first charge and you cannot stop crying. This entire thing feels strange to you and you cannot calm your nerves about it.
You and Ser Lyonel dismount your horses and walked up the stairs to the stands. You wipe your eyes and take a seat beside Egg.
Egg grabbed your hand as he can see that you’re nervous and have been crying. All you can do is pray to the God’s that your family walks away unscathed from this nonsense.
It feels as if everything around you has begun to move slow, like time itself is stopping.
The sound of the horn blew and their horses started charging.
You saw that Ser Duncan had immediately been wounded by Aerion and knocked off his horse. The sight of the immediate brutality made your stomach churn.
Baelor saved him from being tag teamed by Maekar, thank the gods. You couldn’t and wouldn’t watch this knight be killed without a chance.
Daeron was hit in the helm and knocked off his horse, laying unconscious on the field.
Raymun and Steffon Fossaway began to fight and it did not look good at all. Eggs small hands gripped yours as he sees Ser Duncan clearly losing to Aerion.
You prayed for this to be over, it was such foolishness.
Everyone in the stand held their breath as they saw Ser Duncan cut Aerion’s thigh and heard him scream in agony. Maekar rushes to save him and even kills Lyonel Baratheon’s horse— but he’s still held back.
You let go of Egg’s hand as the pain in your belly continued..
You were too busy wincing in pain to pay attention to Ser Duncan collapsing on the ground.
“Get up—“
“Get up, Ser Duncan!” Egg pleaded.
The wind blew harder than it had, blowing some of your stray hairs into your eyes.
You couldn’t stand to watch anymore of the trial and got up from your seat, making your way onto the stairs. Your body swayed on the stairs with the wind as if you were dizzy, Ser Lyle grabbed you out of instinct.
“Princess, are you okay?”
You nodded, grabbing the rail. “I am alright, it’s just the babe being stubborn today.”
“You should go see the Maester.” He mentioned.
“I will once this is over, I just want Baelor with me.”
He let go of you as you steadied yourself. “Very well, princess.”
Your nerves increased as you stood there, because you couldn’t see what was going on. The longer it went on the more unwell you felt.
A few minutes later the horn blared and you felt like you could finally breathe again. You didn’t care about anything else, you just wanted your husband and Maekar safe.
The walk down the stairs felt like an eternity, but you made it to the bottom and waited for the doors to open.
As you waited, there was so much commotion and so many people walking about that you moved to the side to get out of the way. Once it cleared up, you walked around with Ser Lyle and looked for your husband.
He was nowhere to be found until you looked in one of the tents. He stood in front of you with Maekar, Egg, Ser Duncan, and Raymun Fossaway.
When you walked in, Raymun stiffly and painfully bowed.
The tent smelled of sweat, mud, and copper— an awful combination.
Baelor smiled at the sight of you, his bloodied helm and armor.
“My sweet wife, what are you doing here?”
You hugged him despite his dirtied armor. “I’m so mad at you. I was scared for you.”
You looked up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“I am fine, it was nothing that I couldn’t handle.”
You pulled back from him and wiped the tears that pooled in the corner of your eyes.
“Where are Aerion and Daeron?” You asked Maekar as he pulled his helm off.
“They are being seen by the Maester. They will need rest to heal, but they will be fine.”
“That’s good news.” You replied, rubbing your sweaty palms on your hand.
You held your belly. “I need to go see the Maester as well, I’ve been having pain.”
“Okay, I will get my helm off and follow you.” Baelor spoke.
“Maekar, will you help me get my helm off? the visor is cracked.”
Maekar looked at him with his head tilted.
“What are you talking about? You don’t have a visor.”
You watched as you were confused as well, because he never had a visor on that helm.
“Ah.” He mumbled.
Baelor glanced at his hands. “My fingers feel like wood.”
Maekar rolled his eyes, “it sounds like you need a nap.”
Baelor grinned.
“My helm is on pretty good due to his mace.”
Your brows furrowed, “you hit him with your fucking mace?”
“It was an accident.” Maekar spoke plainly.
Baelor looked at you as if he was in a distant place and not in the room with you.
“Baelor?”
He struggled to look at you and seemed confused.
“Maekar, don’t take his helm off.”
Something was wrong, very wrong and you felt it in your bones. You walked around his helm to see if there was any blood or anything wrong. You had seen plenty of accidents before in battles and didn’t want to take it off, if you weren’t sure.
There wasn’t anything obvious to the eye at first, until you saw it. Bright red blood dripped down his neck from his helm.
“Oh, God’s.” You mumbled.
“Baelor, my love— are you okay?” You questioned, scanning his face.
“I.. I am.” He struggled.
“What is going on?” Maekar asked, a frown on his face.
“How hard did you hit him with that fucking mace, you idiot?”
He just stared at you, reluctant to answer.
“I’m not sure.”
Your eyes began to water from sheer panic and worry.
“Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?” You fretted.
Baelor stared blankly. “Three, my dove.”
Your face dropped in horror and so did Maekar’s, you were holding up five fingers.
“Get him to our chambers now!” You yelled.
“Do not let him lie down and please do not take his helm off as it might kill him.” You mention, your words filled with anger.
Maekar looked at you with more fear than you’ve ever seen.
“What?”
“I have seen so many head injuries on the battlefield. Him not knowing how many fingers I’m holding up is a bad sign. A bad fucking sign, Maekar.” You choked.
You pointed your finger in his face. “I warned you. I fucking warned you!”
Ser Lyle and Raymun get him into your chambers.
You follow them and have Maekar fetch a blacksmith along with the Maester.
Baelor’s eyes are open, but he’s pretty much out of it. His eyes don’t even seem like his and he’s not saying anything.
You shut the door and along with Ser Lyle’s help, you strip him out of the rest of his armor— examining his body.
There’s some decent bruising and few cuts, but nothing that is dangerous.
“How do you want me to lay him on the bed, Princess?”
You sigh, wiping the sweat from your forehead and stripping the bed down to its sheets. Your mind racing to think of an answer and the correct approach.
“I don’t know where he hit him.. but the blood was coming down the back of his neck—“
“Lay him on his stomach.”
Getting him onto the bed was difficult as he had gone unconscious. The pain in your belly had gotten worse as the time passed by, it was radiating up your back and down your legs.
The room felt small, you felt like it was crumbling.
Maekar rushed in with the Maester and the Blacksmith.
“What can I do to help, my lady?” The Maester asked.
You paced, holding your belly.
“I need warm water, needle, thread, and towels—“
“We’re going to cut his helm off strip by strip until we understand the damage.”
The Maester is shocked, but brings the supplies to the bed.
“Have you done this before, my lady?”
You shook your head no.
You went into the corner and prayed— asking the seven for their guidance, steady hands, and quick thinking.
Maekar and Ser Lyle stood to the side watching as you prepared everything. Once your hands were rinsed off and your sleeves were pushed up, you sat on the bed to begin.
You held your breath as each strip was cut, scared of what you’d see. You put your ear closer to his mouth to hear him breathing, making sure that everything was okay.
The blacksmith had cut all of the pieces off except one and the fear had settled deep inside your veins.
You paused for a minute and took a deep breath. The windows were open to provide full sunlight and it still didn’t feel like enough.
Your hands shook some as you gently and just barely raised the last piece of his helm to get a good look.
A gasp left your throat as you gently placed it back down and ran to the window to throw up.
Out of all the things that you could’ve imagined, that was the worst case scenario.
Tears fell from your eyes as you wiped your mouth.
“Is it bad?” Maekar asked, his voice small like a child.
“The spike on the helm is embedded inside—“
You could see his heart drop in his facial expression.
“I have to gently pull it out, without pulling his skull and brain out of place..”
“I can see his brain, Maekar.” You sobbed.
You gave yourself a few minutes to cry, getting it all out so that you could be focused and do this as efficiently as possible.
A few deep breaths and remembering that you want to save your husband.
You slowly pull the helm out, blood flowing out as you do. You place the towel onto the back of his head and lay the piece of helm on the table. Luckily enough, there was no brain matter present on it.
The blood does slow down after a minute or so and you begin sewing his skull into place, your hands shaking as you pull the thread.
It takes you twenty minutes, but you finish. Once you finish the Maester cleans around his wound and bandages his head up.
Your husband is the best part of you and this family. If he dies then everyone falls apart. Your family will not survive without him
Maekar tried talking to you, but you avoided him at all costs. His unruly son is the cause for all of this and you couldn’t bear to look at him.
The Maester applauded you for your thinking and skill as things could’ve been totally different. He reminds you that it is a waiting game as of right now and we won’t know until he wakes up, if he does.
That was the part that made it unbearable, he could be crippled in every mental capacity after this along with other things.
You didn’t leave his side at all and after a few hours, you safely flipped him onto his back. You spoke to him and told him how much you loved him and laid your head on his chest.
By day five, his heart rate had slowed tremendously and his breathing was shallow. The Maester confirmed your worst fear, he was dying and it could be any moment.
You grabbed your wrapped book from your trunk, placing it beside him.
“I won’t let you die. I cannot.” You mumbled.
You had made your peace with the situation and accepted what you were going to do. You summoned Maekar and had him come to your chambers.
“Has something changed?” He asked, a scared look on his face.
You shook your head.
“No, but it can at any moment.”
You grabbed a towel and opened the mason jar in your hand.
“Let me see your hand.”
He absentmindedly gave you his hand as he stared at Baelor lying in the bed.
You rubbed his palm and cut it with your knife, startling him.
“What the fuck?”
You held his hand over the jar and watched as the blood dripped in.
“Don’t be a baby.” You scolded him.
“Why the fuck did you cut me?” He questioned.
Once you had enough blood, you pressed the cloth into his hand and repeated the same thing with your own hand.
His brows furrowed seeing you do these things.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Saving your brother, my husband.” You spoke plainly.
“Are you a witch?”
You glanced at him, pulling the cloth from his hand and placing it on your own.
“I am not, but would it matter if I was? I am fixing your mistake at a heavy cost, might I add.”
He had so many questions and judgments, but he kept them to himself. He had already done enough and did not want to get in your way nor stop you from saving his brother. He could live with a lot, but not the idea of having killed his own brother.
“I need some blood from Aerion.” You mentioned.
He took you to get what you needed and you returned to the chambers.
You cut some of his hair and wrapped it into the towel you had, stuffing it into the mason jar. You added some herbs and some of your own hair.
After that, you closed the lid and stood by the bed, taking a deep breath and reciting the High Valyrian on the page. Once you completed it, you tossed the mason jar into the lit fireplace.
It was as if the wind in the room immediately shifted, everything below the surface changing.
Now, you just had to wait and hope that it took. You only could hope that the God’s and Baelor would forgive you for what you did.
A few hours later, you noticed that you were spotting and it was a deep red color.
˗ˏˋ 💭 When the maesters announced that you were carrying his child, Aerion only nodded coldly, but that very night he doubled the guards outside your chambers. By evening, the castle knew — you were not to be disturbed, you must eat and rest, a servant would always stay nearby, and anyone who disobeyed would answer to him.
He himself appeared more often at your side, standing silently, watching, sometimes touching your hand, as if to make sure you were truly there.
For days he spoke of the future heir, lying beside you. “My son will be a true dragon,” he said, pacing the room with a feverish gleam in his eyes. “I will teach him to wield a sword and command fear, he will make men bow.” But when you quietly asked what if it were a daughter, Aerion fell silent, his lips pressing tight in annoyance. He said sharply, “The blood of the dragon does not fail. We will have an heir.”
˗ˏˋ 💭 On the day of the birth, the prince could not stay still, pacing the corridors and startling the servants with his presence. When the maesters, trembling, told him a girl had been born, Aerion froze. For a moment, he seemed not to understand, frowning as if it were impossible.
Later, he came to your chambers. It was quiet, the only sound the soft breathing of the child. He passed by the cradle without even glancing inside and went straight to you. His eyes swept over your face, pausing on your pale lips. He gently touched your cheek and leaned forward to press his lips to your forehead.
“She is our daughter, my love,” you whispered.
He said nothing. The pause stretched. He did not turn to the child. “You are her mother,” he finally said, flatly, without cruelty, but without warmth. As if that alone said everything.
˗ˏˋ 💭 From then on, he behaved as if the child were not his concern. He did not approach the cradle, did not take the girl in his arms, did not ask about her. If she cried, he did not turn his head. He seemed deeply offended that such a tiny creature had dared to defy the dragons’ will and be born a girl.
Yet he remained attentive to you. He made sure you recovered, that no one disturbed you, that your chambers were warm.
You understood that Aerion needed time. His pride was as vast as his madness, and it was not that he was not fond of daughters — in his world, the firstborn heir alone could continue the dragon’s blood. You did not argue with him or reproach him, but waited patiently.
˗ˏˋ 💭 Then one day, after a long training session, he entered your chambers while you slept and approached the cradle. Your daughter had already woken — her silver hair was slightly tousled, and her bright eyes were fixed on him. She reached toward him with tiny fingers and smiled. Aerion watched her for a moment, as if measuring her, then slowly extended a finger. She immediately grasped it with her whole hand.
In that moment, something changed. He remained close, though too proud to admit it. Sometimes he simply watched her, sitting quietly in a corner of the room, sometimes he smiled faintly when she imitated his gestures. Aerion allowed neither Daella nor Egg near her, preferring that she stay with you — or with no one else.
˗ˏˋ 💭 At first, he only sat in the corner, watching her study a toy or mimic his movements. Then he began to reach out cautiously, adjusting her blanket or gently stroking her head when she gazed up at him with wide eyes.
He still did not pick her up without reason, but his presence had grown gentler. Occasionally, he smiled casually when she giggled or did something unexpected.
˗ˏˋ 💭 Overtime, Aerion began to spoil her quietly. At first, it was small things — allowing her to rest on his shoulder, bringing sweets his wife had forbidden. Later, he gave her a dragon-shaped toy and watched as she played with it, turning its wings and tail, inventing stories.
In the evenings, when she was settling to sleep in her own chambers, he would quietly tell tales of dragons, of ancient battles, and the deeds of his lineage. She would watch him with wide eyes and nod, as if she understood every word.
˗ˏˋ 💭 Sometimes he let her teach him something: showing new moves with the toy, inventing new names for dragons. Aerion listened patiently and sometimes even stayed to play with her.
He brought his daughter a small toy sword. It was no ordinary sword — carefully carved from wood, with a leather hilt and the Targaryen sigil. He taught her little movements, showing the gestures he had once used himself.
He would never admit it, but sometimes, when he played a duel with his daughter, he let her win, then allowed himself the faintest smile at the sound of her giggles.
˗ˏˋ 💭 Once, when she fell ill with a fever, Aerion met the news coldly. He said nothing, merely thinning his lips and commanding that the best maesters be brought at once.
But that night, when he thought you were asleep, he went to her chambers, and you saw him sitting by her bed, watching her. He held her tiny hand in his, stroking it with his thumb, checking her pulse.
˗ˏˋ 💭 When she was frightened by thunder outside the castle, Aerion would click his tongue and say that true dragons feared nothing. Yet the moment she threw herself into his arms, her small body trembling as she cried, “Father!” he held her close, pressing her against his chest and stroking her back with quiet reassurance.
˗ˏˋ 💭 On one such night, you sat together in your chambers — your head rested upon his chest, and his hands felt the curve of your belly. He watched his daughter playing nearby, his voice low and firm. "Soon enough, these men will start coming for my blessing."
You smiled, pressing closer to him. "There is time enough and more before that day comes."
But one thing was certain: she was her father’s little princess, and no man could earn her favor with ease.
Summary: in which Baelor's second wife is pregnant with a little girl because he deserves a daughter ok don't argue with me. He's the perfect girl dad.
Warnings: birth, pregnancy, age gap but it's not mentioned heh, reader's one sided beef with the maester and the servants and basically everyone who isn't Baelor, Valarr or Matarys, reader is not Valarr and Matarys' mother!
Enjoy!
Your husband was many things, a leader, a knight, a shoulder to lean on, the heir to the iron throne. But as you saw him now, he was none of those things. He was simply Baelor.
Your Baelor.
He cradled you as if you were made of the most delicate crystal glass, his most prized possession. Dressed in the softest silks and sipping from the finest wines in all of Westeros.
Now he lounged beside you, gazing upon the fountain in the midst of the rose gardens of Summerhall. You watched the water drip and splash, small droplets landing on the skin of your hand.
"This is utterly dull." You announced eventually, casting a sideway glance at your husband.
"I feel I must agree," he spoke, his fingers tangling with yours. "But you make it bearable, my sweet."
You scoffed, lightly squeezing his hand. "The maester wants me chained to the bed, I believe." You muttered, your free hand running over your swollen stomach beneath the fabrics of your gown, too hot, too suffocating. "I'd see myself dead before I let that happen."
Baelor barked an unexpected laugh at that, sheepishly clearing his throat. "That would be quite the inconvenience." He agreed, rising from his seat and extending a helping hand towards you, pulling you into him. "I prefer you unchained."
The days dragged by, bleeding into one another agonisingly slow. The red of sunrise and the dark hues of sunset seemed weeks apart on their own, every day seeming to taunt you with its snail-paced hours.
You sat in the library one afternoon, flipping through letters and invitations to feasts long overdue whilst Baelor and Valarr sat opposite you, busy with their own affairs.
"This is dull." You said.
"As you've said before." Baelor hummed, feathered quill dancing over the parchment laid out before him.
Valarr peeked over the edge of his book, mismatched eyes catching onto yours.
"Will you not accept the invitations?" He asked.
"The maester would not allow it, I've barely managed to convince the slug to let me out of bed this morning." You said, flicking another letter onto a neatly sorted pile.
"Mind your manners, my sweet." Baelor's correction came immediately, an instinctive response to your antics and sharp tongue.
You ignored him, sliding down further into your chair. "I'm exhausted." You sighed, patting the swell of your stomach gently.
Valarr and Baelor merely hummed simultaneously, pens scratching and pages flipping.
You were already nodding off, head dipping lower with every flutter of your lashes.
The summer sun was hot and bright, its rays burning into the back of your neck from where you stood next to your husband, watching one of the white cloaks school Matarys in shooting his bow.
You picked at the skin of your fingers, a frown plastered on your face when Matarys missed his mark yet again, the armoured man correcting his stance carefully.
"Whatever would this prissy missy know? He's missed his own marks twenty bloody times already." You tutted, kicking aside a pebble at your feet.
"Don't be too quick to judge, my sweet." Baelor said softly, though he let out a short sigh himself when the knight shot an arrow of his own and fanatically failed in hitting his target.
Matarys' brow quirked up, his eyes flicking over to where the two of you stood.
You shot him a knowing look, shaking your head solemnly. "Aim just a tad higher, my prince." You called out.
And so Matarys did, and the arrow hit its mark at once, leaving the knight flustered and ashamed at his side.
"Ah, my ever observant lady wife." Baelor nodded, resting his hand over your lower back with a quick squeeze. You leaned into him just a little more, the heat of the sun forgotten in the warmth of your husband.
The weeks grew tiresome, exhaustion claiming your body until there was no escaping the bed. The day you'd been dreading had arrived at last, and you stood swaying at your bedside, hands braced on the mattress as you worked through your contractions.
Baelor was right at your side, offering whatever support you needed in the moment. A wet cloth at your brow, a steadying hand on your back, or simply his presence. The maester scurried about the room, midwives hot on his trail, watching his every move and obeying his every command.
You let them panic, allowed them to touch and tug and whisper in your ear, urge you to lie down, plead with you to comply. You allowed it up until one of them touched your face, attempting to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
"Get out." You bit out through clenched teeth, your hands fisting the furs draped over the bed. "I've had enough of your wailing, I'm the one pushing this babe out, not you."
The servant flinched as if you'd kicked her directly in the gut, taking a few steps back. Baelor guided the stunned girl to a corner of the room, the rest of the group following with bowed heads.
"I'm glad to see you've not lost your temper, nor your tongue." He whispered to you once he returned, brushing his knuckles over your cheek ever so lightly.
In the hours that followed you brought- according to Baelor- the most perfect little girl into the world. He cradled her gently now whilst the maester handed you a cup of warm medicine with shaking hands, afraid of yet another outburst.
"She won't disappear if you take your eyes off her for one second." You noted, sipping the strange brew as you watched your husband stare into your daughter's mismatched eyes.
He said nothing, his thumb tracing the outline of her cheek instead, brushing over the downy hair at her brow.
"She's beautiful," he murmured to no one in particular, "just like her mother." He added with a smile your way.
You couldn't help a smile of your own, watching your ever so professional husband fawn over his little girl. His first and only daughter.
"I pray she grows up to be just like you." Baelor said, seating himself on the edge of the bed right beside you and pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
You ignored the anxious looks from the servants and the maester at your husband's words.
So cute I love how alive and well he is!
I kid you not I had to rewrite this 3 times bc it would not save ahaha no I'm fine haha xxxx
I love the banner I used because they're holding hands but she's also holding her stomach symbolising reader's pregnancy and bla bla bla bla
Summary: Eris Vanserra has perfected the art of being hated — sharp, cruel, untouchable — and you’re the noble he’s always publicly despised. But when Beron discovers the mating bond between you and moves to have you killed, Eris doesn’t beg. He doesn’t break. He calls in his debt with the Night Court—and decides Beron won’t just die—he’ll be dismantled for daring to touch what’s his.
Warnings: brief allusions to abuse
A/N: based on this lovely ask, my first Eris fic y'all, i really hope i did him justice! gonna get lotsss of cunning, politicky (future high lord) Eris :) , let me know if y'all want a taglist, as always ty for reading <3
Part 2 | masterlist
⸻
The first rule of surviving Beron Vanserra’s court was simple.
Never let him see what you want.
The second rule was harder.
Never let him see what you love.
Tonight, she broke neither rule.
At least, not on purpose.
The long dining hall of the Forest House burned with gilded light and careful cruelty. Candle flames swayed in draftless air. Gold leaf glinted on carved oak. Autumn’s wealth was always a performance—warm wine, warmer smiles, and the quiet certainty that if you slipped, the floor would swallow you whole.
She sat among the minor bloodlines—not low enough to be irrelevant, not high enough to be safe. The kind Beron tolerated at his table to remind everyone that proximity was not power.
Eris Vanserra sat at his father’s right, dressing arrogance as if it were a birthright and precision as if it were a weapon. Scarlet jacket. Gold cufflinks. That lazy, lethal ease that made other nobles misjudge him as a simple sadist rather than something far more dangerous:
a patient one.
His brothers lounged farther down the table like a row of sharpened teeth made dull by arrogance. Too loud in their laughs, too eager in their loyalty, too smug in the way they watched others flinch. They had always been Beron’s chorus—obedient, brutal when they were told to be, and pleased with themselves for it.
Eris didn’t look at them often.
He didn’t need to.
The memory of their cruelty lived in him like a scar that wouldn’t stop aching.
He watched his brothers tonight with the same detached contempt he gave any weapon he didn’t control.
Then he turned that contempt on her.
“Well,” he said, loud enough for half the table to hear, “if it isn’t the last surviving pride of House—what was it again?”
A pause, as if he truly couldn’t remember.
“I’d hate to mistake you for someone important.”
Laughter rippled. Controlled. Nervous. The kind that carried a warning: laugh or be noticed.
She didn’t smile.
She only inclined her head a fraction, gracious and unbothered.
“Don’t strain yourself,” she said lightly. “I wouldn’t want you to pull something reaching for relevance.”
A softer laugh this time. Safer.
One of Eris’s brothers— smug and bored—leaned forward with a grin too wide to be friendly.
“Careful,” he said to her, as if offering advice. “Eris likes a woman with a spine. Our father prefers them without.”
A ripple of laughter that skittered and died.
She turned to the brother with a smooth, court-pleasant smile.
“How reassuring,” she said. “I was worried your family only collected opinions no one asked for.”
Another brother snorted into his cup.
Eris didn’t react.
Not outwardly.
But something in the air sharpened around him, a quiet flare of heat that had nothing to do with the candles.
He addressed her again instead, as if she were the only problem worth carving into smaller pieces.
“Oh, darling,” he drawled. “You give me far too much credit. I don’t have a conscience. I have excellent taste and a strong stomach.”
She leaned back slightly, composed elegance.
“Ah.” A beat, mild and airy. “So that’s why you’re so devoted to your own company.”
A few amused murmurs. Nothing that sounded like treason. Nothing that sounded like challenge.
Eris set his goblet down with infuriating care.
Across the table, Beron’s expression did not change.
If anything, he looked faintly amused, like a man watching two hounds snap over a bone he already owned.
Eris’s smile sharpened.
“You keep saying brave things in rooms full of witnesses,” he murmured. “One day you’ll say them in a room with no one to impress.”
Her smile was bright and empty.
“I would hate to disappoint you by being predictable.”
“Not a threat,” he said sweet as poison. “A prediction.”
She tilted her head, polite interest.
“And you are very practiced at predictions.”
“Only because you give me excellent material.”
They looked, to any observer, like enemies who had turned mutual loathing into an art form.
They had made it easy for the court.
Eris had always been sharp in public—never warm, never unguarded. She had learned to mirror that cruelty with her own kind of frost. Beron preferred his women quiet and compliant; she gave him just enough softness elsewhere to avoid his direct ire.
But with Eris?
With Eris, her barbs were permitted.
Even expected.
A tidy little story the court could believe: the sidelined noble girl and the High Lord’s hellion heir, fighting because that’s all hatred ever allowed them.
The performance was almost flawless.
Almost.
Because while the rest of the table watched the words, Eris watched the way she held her spine.
Because she had learned to make dignity look effortless.
Because the bond between them hummed in the blood like a secret star—steady, silent, treacherously alive.
She kept her face composed.
Kept her power buried.
She was not stupid.
She was not dead.
⸻
The dinner loosened after the first course.
Courtiers drifted to form smaller currents of conversation. Old alliances tested their footing. New ones were built with smiles that never reached the eyes.
She excused herself at the first socially acceptable opening and moved to a side salon with three minor lords who had once belonged to her family’s orbit—and still, quietly, did.
Lord Hallen of the East Ridge bowed. So did Lady Soryn of Ashford. Lord Ralwyn of the old western toll roads offered a tight smile.
“We heard your estates reopened the winter storehouses early,” Lady Soryn said softly.
“I heard your villages were taxed twice for the same shipment,” she replied.
Hallen's eyes narrowed.
“Beron grows impatient.”
“Beron grows bored,” she corrected. “And bored men with power become inventive.”
There it was—the legacy that lived beneath her polite smile.
Her family had not been destroyed by an official sentence. There had been no clean declaration of guilt. Beron didn’t waste honorable violence on Houses he wanted to make an example of.
He ruined hers with paper and patience.
A tax here.
A confiscation there.
A drought year with no relief.
He had watched her House wither until the court learned its lesson: do not become beloved without his permission.
The minor lords had watched that unraveling and remembered it.
They remembered her, too.
The granddaughter who had returned not with grief, but with a measured composure that felt like a blade kept in velvet.
Beron had dismissed her as a grief-struck girl at first.
Then as a stubborn young female with a romantic sense of duty.
Then as a political nuisance.
He had never quite promoted her in his mind to what she was becoming:
a quiet center of gravity for every lord who was tired of being treated like kindling.
“He still thinks you’re decorative defiance,” Lord Ralwyn murmured.
“Let him,” she said lightly.
Lady Soryn hesitated. “The farmers along Ashford's edge are starving for coin. Your shipments helped them survive last month.”
“That will be remembered,” Hallen added, voice low. “Especially with the way Beron pays them.”
It was said carefully, the way you mentioned rot in a foundation you still lived on.
Beron’s wages for the farmers were notoriously meager. So meager that a single extra coin, a small favor from a minor house, could tip a family from hunger into survival. Desperation made loyalty cheap—and unstable.
She nodded once.
“Desperate people don’t forget who feeds them,” she said. “Or who bleeds them.”
Hallen's eyes sharpened.
“His cruelty is growing impatient.”
“Cruelty does that,” she murmured. “It’s never satisfied. Only hungry.”
⸻
Across the room, Eris held court with the effortless danger of a male who knew everyone was listening.
He was laughing at something a visiting dignitary had said.
The sound was low and unhurried.
He did not look in her direction often.
He never should.
A glance too warm could become a sentence.
A smile too honest could become a noose.
Yet when he did look—
It was with a careful indifference, as if he found her mildly distasteful and mildly entertaining.
The perfect mask.
She had just turned to answer Lady Soryn when a servant passed too close, brushing her sleeve.
The motion tugged the cuff higher on her wrist and exposed the faint pale scar there, an old mark from the year Beron’s men seized the last of her family’s eastern ledgers.
She didn’t flinch.
But the memory rose anyway.
A flash of cold stone.
A guard’s bored cruelty.
Her grandfather’s quiet rage.
The kind of pain that didn’t soften you.
It sharpened you.
Her control wavered.
A flicker of heat stirred beneath her skin.
Not wild.
Not visible.
But enough that the bond responded.
Enough that Eris felt it.
His gaze snapped to her before he could stop himself.
She lifted her chin, calm as a blade.
And then, without thinking—
without allowing herself the time to think—
she offered him the smallest, most private curve of acknowledgment.
Not a smile.
Not affection.
Just a silent message threaded through the bond:
I’m steady. I’m here. I’m not breakable.
Eris’s expression shifted.
A fractional softening.
A warmth that had no place in this hall.
The moment was so brief she didn’t notice it as more than a harmless flicker.
The minor lords around her certainly didn’t.
But Beron had been watching the room like a man who owned not just the land, but the air.
He followed the trajectory of Eris’s attention.
Saw exactly where it landed.
Saw the break in his son’s mask.
The softness.
The instinct.
The affection too swift to be controlled.
Beron’s gaze moved to her.
And stayed there for a beat too long.
She didn’t feel it.
Didn’t see it.
She was already turning back to her allies, already returning to the role she needed to play.
What she did feel, faintly, was the air in the room cooling by degrees.
As if the season had shifted without warning.
⸻
That morning, she had slipped into Eris’s quarters just before dawn.
The servants didn’t begin their rounds until sunrise. The eastern corridors were quiet. Tradition was an excellent hiding place.
Eris had been at the window, half-dressed, lighting the room with the soft ember glow of a male who rarely allowed himself to be still.
“You’re early,” he said without turning.
“You’re unbearable,” she answered, stepping closer.
He glanced over his shoulder.
“Only to people who deserve it.”
She huffed a laugh and moved to the table where a decanter of spiced tea waited.
He crossed the room with the easy grace of danger made elegant.
Not a hurry.
Not a claim.
Just a quiet gravity that drew her to him.
He stopped an inch away and studied her face like she was a battlefield he’d sworn to memorize.
“You slept?” he asked softly.
“Enough.”
“Did you eat?”
She arched a brow.
“What a scandal. You pretending to be a male who worries.”
His mouth curved.
“I worry in private. In public, I’m insufferable.”
“You’re insufferable in private too.”
“Lies,” he said, and brushed a knuckle along her jaw in a touch so light it was almost a thought.
She stilled.
Because that was Eris’s love.
Not speeches.
Not softness that could be overheard.
But these controlled, precise gestures that said I am here and I am yours and I will not let this world take you.
The bond had snapped into place weeks ago in a corridor filled with arguing courtiers.
She had been furious about a border policy Beron had pushed through under the guise of “efficiency,” when it was really a way to impoverish dissenting estates.
Eris had stepped into her path with that lazy arrogance that made her want to push him down a staircase.
“Careful,” he’d said. “You’re starting to sound like someone who wants to be heard.”
“And you’re starting to sound like someone who knows he’s wrong.”
He had smiled.
Then the bond had struck like a blade of heat through her chest.
White flame. Impossible certainty.
Eris had gone shock-still.
Then said, very softly, very dryly, “Well. That explains the headache.”
She had glared up at him.
“You’re my mate and your first response is an insult?”
“Darling.” His smile had been lethal and strangely tender. “My first response is survival.”
Later, in the privacy of his rooms, he had pressed his forehead to hers and said the closest thing Eris Vanserra ever offered as a vow:
“I will not let him break you.”
She believed him.
She believed him now.
He brushed her pulse with his thumb.
“Today,” he murmured, voice low, “you’ll be as graceful as you are lethal.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an order.”
“Consider it a suggestion for staying alive.”
She leaned closer.
“You think your father is watching me that closely?”
Eris’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
“He watches women the way a male watches fire he can’t control. He prefers them small and obedient.”
She grimaced.
“So I should vanish.”
“No,” he said softly. “You should be perfectly harmless… except when you’re with me.”
Their public hatred was a shield.
Their private truth was everything.
She set her cup down gently and said, “I can manage harmless.”
“I know you can.”
“And you?”
His smile angled.
“I’m excellent at being cruel where it’s useful.”
She kissed him then.
Brief.
Controlled.
Warm enough to feed a starving part of him.
When she pulled back, his voice was almost a whisper.
“I like you best when you pretend you don’t need anyone.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I trust you with my life.”
She left his rooms shortly after.
Carrying his warning like armor.
⸻
Now, hours later, she did exactly as promised.
She was charming.
Measured.
A carefully curated threat.
She let the minor lords speak first. Let them believe they were shepherding her rather than rallying behind her.
When someone praised her family’s resilience, she deflected with a light laugh.
When someone praised Beron's newest taxes, she smiled without agreement.
Her blade remained out of sight.
And because she had mastered the elegant art of understatement, she never noticed the moment the hall subtly reoriented around a new center of attention.
Never noticed Beron’s gaze tracking Eris.
Never noticed the way Beron’s interest in her wasn’t the lazy misogynistic dismissal he usually offered.
It was something colder.
Something appraising.
As if he had found a loose thread in a tapestry he intended to rip apart.
She also did not notice one of Eris’s brothers watching her from across the hall with a smirk—like a male who enjoyed the idea of a woman being punished for daring to stand tall.
Eris did.
And the quiet contempt in him hardened.
He had no illusions about how quickly his brothers would become Beron’s willing hands if her name was ever placed on a legal parchment with the word traitor printed above it.
He didn’t trust them.
Not with power.
Not with truth.
Certainly not with her.
⸻
The dinner finally ended.
The court spilled into galleries and arcades and the open-air terraces that smelled of dry leaves and distant rain.
Eris didn’t sense danger immediately.
He was too used to existing with it.
Beron’s cruelty was not sudden—it was a season.
It changed slowly.
And it killed you if you didn’t learn the weather.
Eris reached the corridor outside the High Lord’s study when his father’s hand closed around his arm.
Not a gentle grip.
A proprietary one.
A reminder.
“You’re leaving early,” Beron observed.
Eris smiled.
“I’m bored.”
“You were entertaining.”
“Even a dog can learn a trick.”
Heat flared in Beron’s palm.
Not enough to injure.
Just enough to humiliate.
A controlled burn that singed the edge of Eris’s cuff.
Eris didn’t flinch.
He looked down at the scorch mark as if assessing a minor tailoring flaw.
“How wasteful,” he remarked lightly. “That coat was expensive.”
Beron leaned in, voice mild as a blade slid from a sheath.
“You’ve been diligent,” he said. “Since Hybern.”
Eris’s smile didn’t move.
“I try to be a disappointment with purpose.”
“I wonder,” Beron said softly, “if loyalty can be proven.”
The word was ordinary.
The tone was not.
Beron’s gaze drifted past him.
Not to the table.
Not to the generals.
To the direction she’d disappeared.
And though Eris did not follow that gaze—
did not make that mistake—
he felt the shift in the air.
The old language surfaced in Beron’s voice.
The vocabulary of purges disguised as justice.
“There are… influences,” Beron murmured, almost conversational. “Infections that make men forget who they are.”
Eris’s blood cooled.
He’d heard those words before.
He’d heard them the year a minor lord was accused of treason and executed without trial.
He’d heard them the year Beron dismantled a dissenting estate not with swords, but with law.
“I’m sure you’ll handle them with your usual subtlety,” Eris said.
Beron smiled.
“Soon, I will announce a loyalty initiative. A small cleansing.”
A cleansing.
Eris kept breathing.
Kept his expression refined into indifference.
“You want a spectacle.”
Beron’s hand tightened once more.
“I want my heir uncompromised.” A pause. “I expect you to set an example.”
Eris tilted his head.
“An example of what?”
Beron’s voice lowered.
“Of choosing the court.”
He released Eris’s arm.
The heat receded.
The corridor seemed suddenly too quiet.
As if the house itself had leaned in to listen.
Beron turned away, then paused.
“Your mother has been… delicate lately,” he added mildly, as if remarking on the weather. “The healers say stress is dangerous for women of her temperament.”
Eris did not move.
Did not blink.
Beron’s smile was thin as a paper cut.
“It would be unfortunate,” he continued, “if the court’s… current turbulence reached her door.”
The words were silk.
The meaning was a blade at her throat.
Eris let out a soft, almost amused breath.
“You worry about her now?”
“I worry about order,” Beron replied. “And women are so easily shaken by disorder.”
Eris’s smile stayed in place like a lock sealing over a scream.
Beron walked into his study and closed the door.
Leaving Eris alone with the echo of that sentence.
Eris stood still.
Let the night settle into his bones.
Beron was many things, misogynistic, brutal, petty, vain.
But never stupid.
And when Beron fixated on something, he didn’t strike it head-on.
He used law.
He used spectacle.
He used obedient sons who mistook violence for virtue.
He used the weakest throats in the room to keep the strongest obedient.
Eris swallowed.
Kept his face blank.
Kept his breathing even.
Because panic was useless.
Because fear was a luxury he hadn’t been raised to afford.
Because if Beron had seen a crack—
Eris would not give him another.
But inside, the thought landed like a blade driven hilt-deep:
