vivid/vivi/vi, kpop stan (nct, ateez...), anime watcher, manga reader, music enthusiast, queer, gamer, rock/metal music enthusiast (gnr, anthrax, rainbow, type o negative...), japanese student etc.
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hiiii <3 i love ur writing! could i request married life w kaiser if ur not too busy ❤️
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 MARRIED LIFE WITH KAISER ⋆˚࿔
.☘︎ ݁˖ synopsis : life with your husband
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ content + warnings : timeskip! au, domestic fluff, fem! reader | ft. michael kaiser
𓏲ּ𝄢 author note .ᐟ hellooo i hope i didn't take too long for ur request. thank u so much for the suggestion and the support (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶). i made it much longer than the previous one so i hope you enjoy it! the topics are kinda of all over the place as i was writing every idea that came to my head in the moment.
MICHAEL KAISER ─ life with him feels dramatic, intoxicating, undeniably his.
married life with kaiser is never subtle. he doesn't do subtle
he kisses you like he's claiming victory after a last-minute goal. it's slow, confident, a little smug of course. especially in public. especially when he knows people are watching
his ego doesn't shrink after marriage. if anything, it expands
"of course they're staring," he murmurs once at an event, blue eyes glinting, fingers tilting your chin up. "you're married to me."
but it's not just arrogance, it's pride.
he loves beautiful things. tailored suits, polished boots, the sharp scent of his cologne. and you? you're his favourite luxury
he absolutely insists on dressing you for formal events. not in a controlling way, just dramatic
he'll stand behind you in the mirror, long fingers adjusting the fabric at your waist, platinum-blonde hair falling into his eyes.
"perfect," he hums. "stand next to me. let them see what perfection looks like."
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
at home though? he's surprisingly clingy.
not in an obvious way though. kaiser would never admit that
you'll be walking past him and suddenly there's an arm hooked loosely around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.
"where are you going?"
"the kitchen."
"hm. unnecessary. stay."
he loves resting his chin on top of your head, or on your shoulder if you're sitting
his presence is heavy, warm and intentional
when you two are home together, he always wants to be touched. not even in a desperate way. just constant and grounding
he’ll be sitting on the couch, scrolling through match replays, and without looking up he’ll tug at your wrist until you’re standing between his knees.
“stay.”
that’s it. no elaboration.
his hands slide to your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles through the fabric of your shirt and he exhales like you’re the only place he can actually rest.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
after late training sessions, he comes home quieter
he'll shower, towel dry his hair, then slide into bed behind you without a word. his body is warm and solid, like an anchor.
he doesn't just wrap an arm around you. he pulls you flush against him.
nose brushing the back of your neck. fingers clutching your waist. slow inhales.
"don't move," he murmurs, voice low and rough from exhaustion.
you tease him once. "clingy."
he clicks his tongue. "strategic positioning."
but his grips tightens slightly.
he loves when you sit on his lap. partly because he likes feeling you against him, but also because it puts you close enough that he can tilt your chin up and look at you properly
kaiser is obsessed with eye contact
when you kiss him, he pulls back just enough to watch your expression before leaning in again, slower this time
he kisses you like he's savouring something rare.
one evening, you're straddling him absentmindedly while talking about your day. your hands are playing with the chain around his neck, tracing over the cool metal.
his hands are on your thighs. firm and steady.
he's listening, he really is, but his eyes darken just slightly when you laugh and lean closer.
"you have no idea what you do to me," he mutters.
it's not lewd, but instead almost reverent.
he likes that you make him feel something that isn't competition.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
and when he's feeling truly vulnerable, he goes hushed
there's one night after a frustrating match where he feels he didn't score enough.
he doesn't rant. nor does he brag.
he just sits at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees.
you walk over, standing between his legs like he does with you sometimes. your fingers comb through his damp hair.
he looks up at you, blue eyes sharp but tired.
".. if i stop being the best," he says slowly, "you won't look at me differently, right?"
and there it is. not ego but fear.
you cup his face. kiss the corner of his mouth first, and then kiss him properly.
he exhales against you, hands sliding to your waist and pulling you closer until you're nearly in his lap again.
and later that night, he's hovering over you, hair falling into his eyes, gaze intense but softer than the world ever sees.
he presses his forehead to yours.
"you're the only thing i refuse to compete for," he breathes.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
after matches, when the stadium lights dim and the crowd fades, he looks untouchable. confident smirk, hands on hips, soaking in applause.
but the second he spots you?
that smirk softens. just a fraction. only for you.
he walks over like he owns the field because in his mind, he does. he presses his forehead to yours through the railing.
"did you see that goal?"
you nod.
"good," he says quietly. "it was for you."
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
arguments with kaiser are intense
he hates losing in anything, even disagreements, but he hates distance more
if you go silent, he notices immediately. the teasing drops, and the sharp edges dull
one night you try to sleep facing away from him after a fight. there is a pause then an arm snakes around your waist.
".. don't do that."
"do what?"
"turn away like i'm not worth facing."
it's not anger. it's insecurity buried under his pride.
he doesn't say "i need you." he says, "you're mine." and somehow, it means the same thing
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
he absolutely spoils you
jewellery. weekend trips. seats at exclusive matches. if it's expensive, he buys it without blinking.
when you protest, he scoffs.
"what's the point in being the best if i can't give you the best?"
he loves when you wear his jersey number
he loves when commentators mention you
he loves when people associate your name with his
late a night, when the world is silent and there's no audience, he traces idle patterns along your arm.
his blue rose tattoo peeking beneath his sleeve. his breathing steadies against your neck.
"you chose me," he whispers once, almost like he's testing the words.
you did.
and despite the ego, the theatrics, and the constant need to shine, kaiser would choose you also. you're irreplaceable to him.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
to the public, michael kaiser doesn't get jealous
he's well himself. the adored striker. the walking headline. ego the size of a stadium. why would he be insecure? but he is possessive. there's a difference
you're at a sponsor event. soft lights, champagne glasses, expensive laughter.
someone lingers too long at your side. smiles too wide. stands a little too close.
kaiser notices instantly.
his strategist brain tracks movement the way he tracks defenders on the field.
he doesn't interrupt at first. he just watches.
and when the stranger's hand almost brushes your lower back? that's when he moves.
one smooth step and his arm slides around your waist. firm and claiming.
"is there a problem?" he asks, voice calm. pleasant even.
the other person laughs nervously and hovers back by the tiniest amount.
kaiser smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes.
when you're alone later, you raise a brow at him.
"jealous?"
he scoffs. "please, i don't like people touching what's mine."
and his hand stays on you the entire ride home.
when he's truly jealous though? it's not explosive, just controlled
one evening after practice, he sees a clip online. you laughing with another player in the background of an interview.
it's innocent. completely harmless. yet he comes home quieter than usual.
you notice.
you approach him while he's leaning against the kitchen counter. your hands slide up his chest, fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt.
"what's wrong?"
he studies you then his hands move to your waist, pulling you against him in one smooth motion.
"i don't like imagining someone else making you laugh like that," he admits softly.
honest and rare.
you cup his face and reassure him.
he exhales against your lips.
"good," he mutters. "because i'd rather be the only one who gets to see that."
his kiss turns deeper, slower. his grip firmer at your hips, not to control but to feel.
to confirm you're here. with him. and nowhere else.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
he’s subtle and calculated about his jealousy in public
in private? less so
if you mention someone complimented you, his jaw tightens just a fraction.
"what exactly did they say?"
you tease him. call him dramatic.
he steps closer until your back hits the wall, hands braced on either side of you. not trapping, just surrounding.
his eyes search yours, intense and bright.
"say it again," he murmurs. "tell me what they said."
you repeat the compliment.
he leans down slowly, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.
"cute," he whispers. "they have good taste."
then he kisses you. slow deliberate and possessive.
not to prove anything to you, but to remind you.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
protective kaiser shows up in quieter moments too
one night you're overwhelmed. media comments, online noise, people dissecting your life because you're married to him.
you try to brush it off. he doesn't.
he takes your phone from your hand, locks it and sets it face down.
then he kneels in front of you ─ actually kneels ─ resting his hands on your thighs.
"look at me."
you do.
his expression is serious now. stripped of his usual tone.
"they talk because they can't reach us," he says evenly. "they don't matter. i chose you. that's the only headline that counts."
his thumb traces slow circles against your skin.
"if anyone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me. i don't care who they are."
and he means it.
kaiser loves being admired but he loves protecting what's his even more.
requests/asks are open! also feel free to chat or message me.
cw: 18+ smut, oral fem!receiving, loss of virginity, piv, riding, slight cock warming, arranged marriage, Aerion hate, princess, my prince, CONSENT, first kiss, kinda insta love but not really, you brake a bed not having sex, Maekar being to old for this shit, my boy is subby argue with the wall, wine obviously it’s Daeron. I’m dyslexic be nice and I’ve never written smut before.
“No.” You say like you have a choice. Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean back in your chair in front of your parents. “I refuse.”
“You cannot refuse.” Your father says fed up with your attitude already. “This is a brilliant opportunity for our house, prince Maekar himself offered this union, you will accept.”
“Darling.” Your mother interjects before you can respond to your father. “You have to think of the bigger picture, yes the prince is rather…. unique.” Is the word your mother settles on, you think crazy is more appropriate. “But think off your siblings, as the oldest your marriage will affect the marriage offers your sisters get.”
“You’re marrying me off to that-.” At the look your father gives you chance what you were about to say. “Prince, so Alyssa can marry a lord with lots of land.” You argue filing your glass. “So I’m a sacrifice.”
“You are not a sacrifice.” Your father responds also filling his glass. “It’s for the greater good of our house.”
“Do I have to marry prince Aerion though?” You whine accepting that you will have to marry. Just praying it doesn’t have to be to that prince. “He has multiple sons, can’t I just marry one of the others?” You ask trying to look at sweet at possible. “I’ll even marry prince Maekar if I have to, just please not Areion.”
“He has four sons, yes.” You father say after a moment of silence. Finally putting his drink down before continuing. “His two youngest are too young for you and his eldest is a drunken fool, Areion is the best option.”
“I’ll marry a drunken fool.” You offer with enthusiasm that you had never offered when talking of marriage before. “I will happily marry a drunk fool.”
“Why would you choose a drunken fool over the respectable prince who has won multiple tourneys?” Your mother asks in shock as she’s been trying to marry you off for years. Who knew all she needed was to offer a drunk.
“Because he’s a monster!” You argue not understanding how your parents haven’t noticed. “I’d rather drink wildfire than marry him.”
“Enough.” Your father says holding up his hand, before your mother can argue. “Both sons were offered, I did not think you would pick the drunk fool who fell off his own horse.” At that your mother gave you a look. “But if you are willing to marry him I truly do not care, if anything you marrying prince Maekar’s oldest will benefit the family more.”
“My love, you can not be ok with marrying our daughter off to the man who thew up on his horse.” Your mother says in outrage. How she knew so much about Daeron but nothing of Areion you didn’t know. “He may be the eldest but-.”
Your father intrupts your mother’s complaints by raising from his chair. Clearly done with the conversation. “It has been decided, I will write to prince Maekar immediately.”
At that you down the rest of you drink and leave before anyone can stop you.
Two weeks later you and your family arrive in Westeros. Your sisters are excited, giggling to each other about who knows what as you all meet the king and his sons. After getting shown to the chambers you will be living in till the wedding, you only have an hour to process before getting called to dinner.
Awkward. That’s what you’d use to describe the hell that is this dinner. Daeron hadn’t arrived yet so you were put in between your mother and Aerion only a chair separating you from the insufferable prince. “I’m thankful I don’t have to marry you, you’re better looking in your portraits.”
“Charming.” You mumble into your drink trying to hide the eye roll. Clearing not doing a good job as your mother lightly kicks you giving you a look.
“I forget how beautiful Westeros is this time of year.” Your mothers says trying to start a new conversation. “This is the girls first time visiting.”
After a few more moments of your mother trying to make small talk. The doors open and your future husband stumbles in clearly drunk. You were jealous. “Sorry I’m late.” He says flopping in the chair next to you. “I was preoccupied.”
“With what, wine?” Maekar hisses at his son annoyed that he has shown up so drunk he couldn’t even walk straight.
“I wish I was preoccupied with wine right now.” You mumble clearly louder than intended. Given the looks you were given and the laughter off your betrothed. After getting another kick off your mother you decide it’s best not to speak.
Your youngest sister, clearly not picking up on the tension. Decided to try and comfort your mother in the worst way possible. “See mummy you had nothing to worry about, y/n likes being drunk too.”
“Thank you Evelyn that is enough.” Your father says in embarrassment at the fact his younger daughter just called his eldest and her betrothed drunks.
“She’s not wrong.” Alyssa defends. “You both say for a marriage to work you need things in common, you both love watching tourneys y/n and prince Daeron have wine.”
“Have you heard about who the Stark boy has been betrothed to.” Your mother says changing the subject.
The next day you are exploring one of the libraries hoping no one would disturb you. When you notice blond man passed out half his body on the sofa the rest slowing falling. You consider waking him when he fully falls of landing with a thud.
“Fuck, that hurt.” He whines into the floor before rolling over. Staring at the ceiling as if it was to blame for being woken.
“You did fall head first.” You say making the prince jump not realising you were there. You skim the books on the shelf next to you, not caring that you scared a prince or that you were both unsupervised.
“You’re my wife, correct?” Daeron asks ungracefully moving to the sofa. Resting his arm on the back of it looking at you. “Why did you pick me? Clearly your family don’t agree with the decision of marrying a drunk.”
“I am not your wife yet.” You say picking a book and moving to sit with him. “And I would pick being married to a drunk over a tyrant any day.”
“Do you not like my brother?” He asks with a small grin, scratching his stubble. “But he’s ever so charming.”
“The first thing he said to me was I looked better in portrait.” You respond turning so you could fully look at him. “I’ve also heard he loves tourney’s and I hate them, I like the drinking part but the actual event I hate.”
“So you picked me because you think I don’t like tourneys, and I haven’t insulted you?” He asks confused scratching his head.
“No.” You laugh just now noticing how handsome he is in a wet cat kind of way. “Honestly, your brother scares me.” You say looking away slightly. “I’ve heard rumours of how he treats people and I do not want to be married to that.”
“What of the rumours of me?” He remarks softly hoping you will look at him again. “I am not exactly a dream man.”
“I would like to think I can handle being married to a man, who’s worst public offence was being sick on his horse. Then falling off.” You tease briefly looking at him as he tries to hide his blush. “I know of the rumours and I don’t care what my family think. But father likes I picked the eldest son. He would rather it not be you but as your the eldest he will let it slide. My sisters clearly think we’re a brilliant match both liking wine.” You both laugh at that and you see he has a gorgeous smile, you hope he will smile more. “Mother on the other hand has a strong dislike for you as she thinks wining tourneys are the most important.”
“What is your family’s obsession with tourney’s?”
“They met at my mother’s name day celebration. Grandfather held a tourney in her honour and father asked for her favour, then won the whole event.” You explain knowing that your mother’s love for tourneys was her way of showing love for your father. “She believes that if he will not win for you he’s not worthy.”
“Why didn’t you have a name day tourney then?” He asks hoping you two can talk forever. He’d never loved waking but if you were there that might change. “If your mother thinks that’s the only way to find a suitable husband?”
“I did, you were there actually.” You say playing with your hair in embarrassment. “I did not attend the final thought. Father said I came down with the flu but I actually got very drunk the night before and was too hungover to get out of bed. That was also the tourney you fell off your horse and your brother won.”
“Shit.” He whispers looking down briefly knowing he shouldn’t have forgotten he attended his future wife’s name day. “I take it that’s why your parents hate me?”
“Most definitely.” You say with a smile loving the awkward smile he gave you. “But if anything that made me want to pick you more.”
“To disappointing our parents.” He mock cheers an invisible glass. Loving that he made you giggle. “I’m sorry I don’t remember meeting you.”
“It’s fine I don’t really remember meeting you either.” You confess having been drunk the entire time as well. “I best get back to my chambers before my mother notices.”
“Of course, it was nice seeing you princess y/n.” He says kissing your hand lightly. “I hope to see you soon.”
“I’m not a princess yet, my prince.” You say looking at the book you picked out hoping he doesn’t notice how him calling you a princess made you feel.
“I just want you to be used to it.” He remarks with a smirk. He’d never been one for flirting, but with you it felt different. It was different.
It was the night before the wedding and you were sitting in the window looking out at the moonlight. Lost in thought you didn’t notice a portrait move and Daeron appear from it.
“It’s a beautiful night isn’t it.” He says smiling as you jump in shock at his sudden appearance. “Before you ask there are secret passages all throughout the castle, I just happen to be one of the few who know all of them.”
“What are you doing here?” You ask happy to see him but also embarrassed as you are only wearing a night dress. “I’m glad to see you. But we wed in the morning so why see me now?”
“Can’t I just want to see my wife.” Daeron teases but you can tell his heart isn’t in it.
“What’s wrong Daeron?” You ask softly knowing something was up with the prince. Who clearly hadn’t been sleeping well.
“I have these dreams.” He begins sitting with you in the window. “They always come true in some way. They aren’t always clear but tonight I saw you. I can’t remember the last good dream I had. But in this I was happy, we were happy. But then I heard a dragon raw and woke up. I know this is dumb but I just got so scared I had lost you. I just had to see you were ok.”
“I’m fine Daeron.” You reassure gently grabbing his hands to hold in yours. “If we are being honest tonight I am scared for tomorrow.”
“Why?” He asks softly loving the feel of your hands on his. “Is it because of the bedding ceremony? I’ve already said we will be alone in the room.”
“Really?” You ask in shock not expecting him to do that for you. “I didn’t even think of the bedding. What I’ve actually been thinking about seems dumb in comparison.”
“Nothing you could think is dumb princess.” He reply’s rubbing your hand with his finger helping ground you.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I don’t want my first kiss to be in front of hundreds of people.” You finally admit trying to hide your face in embarrassment.
“That’s an easy fix.” He whispers moving his hand to under your chin making you look at him. “Can I kiss you princess?”
You don’t respond verbally moving forward to kiss your prince, moving your hands to his hair. It starts as a light peak but before he can pull away you pull him in closer. As you deepen the kiss he slides his tongue over your bottom lip. You let him enter loving the taste of him. When he moans into your mouth, you think if you died right now it would be worth it to hear him make that noise.
As you climb in this lap still playing with his hair, he reluctantly pulls away. Resting his forehead on yours. Both of you breathing heavily. “Was that an adequate first kiss my lady?”
“I don’t know I have nothing to compare it to.” You tease with a smile lightly biting your lip. “I think we should kiss again to be sure.”
“As you wish.” He whispers looking at you with his sweet eyes full of adoration. This kiss is even better than the first if that’s even possible. You never thought the taste of wine on someone’s lips could be so addictive. When you pull away a few moments later so you both can breathe. You hear him whine at the feeling of your lips leaving his. If you could inject that sound into your vain you would in an instant.
“I don’t think I will ever tire of kissing you.” He mumbles against you pulling you closer as he kisses you again, trying to saver the moment. Pulling away again he gives you a quick peak before speaking. “As much as I want to spend eternity on your lips, we are getting married in the morning and you need to sleep.”
“Are you trying to torture me?” You whisper against him, kissing down his throat as he moans.
“Only as much as you torture me.” He whines as you find his sweet spot licking and sucking on his neck as your hips grind against him feeling his dick hardening through his pants, never wanting you to stop he whimpers. “Please.”
“Please what my prince?” You ask pulling away from him with a smirk loving how quickly he broke. “You’re right, we’d better stop we have a long day ahead.” You say going to move off his lap but before you can he pulls you back to him.
“One more kiss.” He practically begs, and who are you to deny the desires of a prince? Only is future wife of course.
“After we’re married.” You whisper against his lips leaning back as he tries to let your lip meet. He whines as you climb of his lap walking away from him. Getting into bed and under the covers ignoring his shocked look not thinking you would actually stop. “Good night Daeron.”
“Good night.” You hear him whisper before finally leaving.
“Ready?” Your father asks before walking you down the aisle. As your mother fixes your dress you close your eyes to try calm your breathing.
“She’s fine.” Your mother responds for you. Lifting your head so you looked straight forward. “Fix your posture.”
“My lady, it’s time for you to take your place.” A servant tells your mother unknowingly helping you calm down.
“Don’t embarrass us.” She demands walking off. What loving parting words from your mother on your wedding day.
When walking down the aisle you think you might faint from nerves, but when your eyes meet Daeron’s you feel a sense of calm wash over you. He looks incredible he’s shaved and had actually styled his hair. You never thought someone could look so good in black and red. You feel a rush of shock as he turns his neck and a mark is visible. The mark you gave him. That little shit.
“Hello.” He mouths to you with a smirk seeing that you noticed the mark on his neck. At the look you gave him he just winked in response.
After the ceremony it’s time for the reception, also known as the best part. After making the obligatory rounds thanking people for coming and saying how happy you are. You could finally sit with Daeron who passes you a drink ignoring that his father had just been scolding him.
“You look gorgeous.” Daeron says filling his drink, not drunk just lightly buzzed. “I must be the luckiest man in the seven kingdoms.”
“Then I must be the luckiest woman.” You reply hiding your smile behind your glass. “Is that my sister?” You ask seeing your youngest sister drinking wine out of the bottle. Your mother none the wiser.
“It is.” Daeron confirms with a laugh leaning into you. “It’s not just us who like wine.” At your giggles he pulls you into a kiss, not caring that you were both in public. “Do you want to dance?”
After dancing till your feet hurt and drinking even more wine. It’s time for the bedding ceremony. Luckily Daeron stops people from entering his chambers saying they can listen all they want but he didn’t want an audience. Closing and locking the door without a care at the protests.
“I thought you’d already spoken to your father about us being alone?” You ask filling your wine glasses and passing him his.
“I did, but I didn’t listen to the response.” He confesses before coming up with an idea lowering his voice as he tells you. “They are going to be listening through the door to see if we consummate, do you want to do something fun?”
“What do you have in mind?” You whisper moving closer to him. Loving the look of mischief on his face.
“We pretend.” At your confused look he elaborates. “Let’s jump on the bed and pretend we are having the wildest sex ever. But if you don’t want to-.”
“Let’s do it.” You say with a laugh moving to stand on the bed. “Mother tells me it will hurt.” You ask loud enough that the people listening could hear.
“It will but I’ll try make it quick.” He says standing on the bed with you. “Take it off for me.”
“Is it meant to look like that?” You ask loudly, hiding your laughter into his chest at his offend look slightly spilling your wine.
“Yes, it is perfectly normal!” He says stressing the normal. “Well that’s a lie I’ve been told I’m much larger than average.” At your giggling he starts jumping on the bed trying to cover the sound of laughter by fake moaning.
“Oh Daeron!” You fake moan gasping dramatically. Also jumping on the bed you both keep making sex noises. “Fuck!” At your whine the bed starts creaking which you both ignore.
“Shit!” Daeron shouts as he falls on the bed. Or more accurately the bed falls under Daeron. Before you can realise the bed broke you fall into him both of you in the middle of a broken bed laughing at the weirdness of it all. “We broke the bed.” He whisper shouts to you.
“Is everything ok in there?” You hear Maeker shout through the door.
“Darling what happened.” Your mother added.
Realising both of your parents were outside listening to you two pretend to have sex you can’t stop laughing so Daeron decides to respond for the both of you. “Everything’s fine! Go away!”
“What was that noise Daeron? And don’t tell me it was nothing!” His father shouts making sure you can hear him.
“We may have kinda. Accidentally. Broken the bed.” Daeron tells them laughing knowing the rumours that will start because of this.
“You what!”
“We broke the bed.” You shout back to your mother. “Do you want us to continue?” You ask innocently, covering Daerons mouth with your hand to muffle his laughter.
“Both of you! out now!” Your mother demands never thinking this is what would happen at your bedding.
“Can we get dressed first?” You ask climbing over Daeron going to loosen your dress.
“Quickly!”
“Can you undo my dress?” You whisper to your husband. “And take off your shirt.”
“Should I just cut you out of it? Then you can wear my shirt.” He offers also whispering picking up a dagger as you turn so he can cut you out of the dress not thinking he’d be able to undo it. Once you’re out of the dress you quickly throw on his shirt as he turns around to give you some privacy. Messing up your hair you both make your way to the door. “Wait.”
If you were expecting him to say something you would be wrong. He pulls you into a rough kiss lightly moaning as you bite his lip before pulling away remembering who was behind the door.
“Father.” Daeron says unlocking the door and opening it. “Shall I call you mother?”
“No.” Your mother responds barging past the prince to look at you. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine mother we just broke the bed, Daeron took the brunt of the fall.” You respond confused she about why she cares so much. What you didn’t notice was Maekar looking at the bed then giving Daeron a look.
“Were you jumping on the bed?” His father asks clearly already knowing the answer. “How many times have I told you to stop jumping on beds, you’re a gown man!”
“At least five.” Daeron responds walking behind you to wrap in arms around your waist and rest his on yours. “It’s late can we go to bed?”
“Where?” Your mother demanded gesturing to the broken bed. “On the floor?”
“My new chambers are next door right?” You ask leaning against your husband. “We can just sleep there.”
“I’m too old for this.” Maekar says shaking his head going to leave. “Inform me when she’s with child otherwise I don’t want to know.”
“We will talk in the morning.” Your mother says giving you a look of disappointment. “Please actually consummate the marriage don’t just brake another bed.”
“Yes mother.” You say looking down at the floor happy that she immediately leaves. Once you know your alone you turn to face your husband moving your arms to rest over his shoulders. “How many times have you broken beds by jumping on them?”
“This is my third.” He says before explaining. “The first time I was a child and I couldn’t sleep so… but the second was more recent it was last year Areion was being a dick to egg, so I thought it would cheer him up. It did.”
“You are so odd.” You say looking at him. “I love it.”
Once you enter your new chambers you see it’s basically the same as Daerons even the bed is the same just unbroken. As you look around seeing where the servants put your things Daeron gets comfortable on the bed. “This bed is more comfortable than mine.”
“Oh you poor boy how ever will you cope.” You tease walking over to join him on the bed. “Is that the real reason you broke the bed?”
“That was joint accomplishment, thank you.” He says pulling you into his arms to kiss you. “What do you want to do?”
“You.” You mumble against his lips using his shocked gasp to slip your tongue in his mouth addicted to the taste of him. “All I want is you.”
“Are you sure?” He asks pulling back to look at you. “I don’t what you to think this is an obligation.”
“It’s not.” You say looking him in the eyes. “I want you Daeron Targaryen. Do you want me?”
“Yes ob-.” You don’t give him the chance to finish what he was saying immediately putting your lips back on his. Deepening the kiss you put your hands in his hair lightly tugging at it loving the little sounds he makes. As you kiss he moves one of his hands so it’s under the shirt you’re wearing moving it up your waist hoping you take it off. Pulling himself away from your lips he starts kissing down your neck stopping at your sweet spot running his tongue over it. “Please.” He whispers against you tugging the shirt. At his request you remove the stupid bit of fabric that was hidden you from him.
You thought you would be uncomfortable being naked in bed with a man looking at you. But the way Daeron is looking at you like you’re the most beautiful person in the world all you feel is desire.
“Thank you.” He mumbles against your neck moving down to your breasts catching a nipple in his mouth giving it a light suck and grazing his teeth making you moan. Not wanting the other nipple to be left out he starts rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Kissing further down your abdomen he stops just before your vagina looking up at you with is eyes he asks. “Can I?”
“Yes.” As soon as the work leaves your lips he’s lightly kissing your clit taking a finger to run over your slit to collect the wetness. When he rubs it against your clit you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. Correction when he attaches his lips to your clit and slides a finger in you. That’s when you die.
“Am I making you feel good?” He asks releasing your clit but adding another finger into you pumping them in and out.
“Yes.” You pant moving you hand his hair. “You make me feel so good Daeron, you’re so good.” You praise not realising the effect your words are having on him as he whines against your clit. Bringing you closer and closer to climax. “More.” At your demand he sets a good pace with his tongue and fingers working in tandem. Moaning as you pull his hair as you come against him. Watching as he sucks his fingers before moving back up on the bed with you.
“Was that good enough for you princess?” He asks moving back on top of you cupping your head in his hands. “Or should I continue?”
“I want to ride you.” You say without thinking. Pulling him in for a kiss as you swap who’s on top.
“Yes.” He responds immediately. “But it can hurt more with you on top for your first time.” He tells you before he can get to court up in the thought of you riding him.
“I don’t care.” You say pulling his breaches down despite for more of him. As you release his dick you take a moment to just look at it before leaning down to give the tip a quick suck tasing the pre cum. Hearing him choke out a moan you give him a light suck before pulling away. “I’ll suck you off another time, but I need you in me.”
“Do what ever you want to me.” He whimpers watching you straddle him. Rubbing his hard dick against your clit before putting the tip in. At your gasp he offers to switch.
“I’m fine.” You moan out leaning down to kiss him to distract yourself from the slight burning sensation. “You feel so good.” That time you noticed the effect your words have on him as his hips buck without him realising. Moving down more letting more of him in you. You decide to have to fun. “Daeron, you’re mine aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He whimpers bucking his hips involuntarily again. “Kiss me please.”
“I don’t know.” You say as you bottom out letting yourself adjust to him feeling the tip of his dick hitting your g spot. “Do you deserve it?”
“Please.” He begs tears staring to show in his eyes as you start slowly rolling your hips against him. “Just a kiss.”
“Are you ok?” You ask when you see the tears stopping for a moment making his whine more.
“Yes.” He reassures holding your face in his hands. “This is the best moment of my life but please kiss me.” At that you lightly peck him lips as you start bouncing on him. Turning him into a moaning mess who doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “More. Please.”
At his begging you give him what he wants and give him a proper kiss moving one of his hands to your breasts so he can play with your nipples and his other to your face so he can keep kissing you as you put your hands on his chest so you can keep riding him. “You feel so good Daeron.” You gasp as you adjudge feeling him even deeper.
“You’re incredibly.” He whines as you move a hand to his hair to tug at it. “If you keep that up I’m going to cum.” He warns as you wipe a tear from his face.
“That’s kinda the plan baby.” You say with a laugh getting interrupted by a moan as he starts playing with your clit again. “I’m going to cum.”
“That’s kinda the plan baby.” He try’s to mock but given he can’t say a word without moaning, feeling you clench around him getting closer and closer to orgasm. It doesn’t sound the way he planned. “Fuck!” He says cuming in you with a whimper. Feeling you cum around him moments later his release setting of yours.
As you rest on his chest too tired to move he wraps his arms around you pulling you into another kiss. “Can we stay like this for a while?” He asks loving the feeling of being in you.
“A few more minutes.” You agree loving how close you both are falling asleep to his heart beat.
Tags ✦ semi-graphic depiction of childbirth, protective Maekar, hurt and comfort, fluffy ending
Wordcount ✦ 2,160
Despite having experienced fatherhood several times, nothing could have prepared Maekar to be called into your chambers to assist you in giving birth to his seventh babe.
HotD & AKOTSK Masterlist
Maekar had been pacing the hallway in front of your chambers much like an animal in a cage, reaching the wall at the end and turning on his heels, walking again until he reached the staircase and once again, taking a ragged breath each time. He had always had a nervous disposition, quick to anger and just as quick to worry—at least when his family was concerned.
He would have thought that after six children he would have been used to the bone-deep fear that came with it, hearing his wife scream her pain on the other side of the door, but he felt it as keenly as he had the first time when Aerion had been born. After the passing of his first wife, Lady Dayne, he had never thought he would remarry and yet, the Gods had blessed him with a second marriage, one he firmly believed he did not deserve—you were often a balm on his nerves, unminding of his rough edges and bitter temper, and he thanked the Gods every day for your presence at his side.
Now, another blessing had been bestowed upon him, that of a seventh child. The Maesters had thought it a good omen, for the figure seven was meant to bring fortune, but he did not believe the ludicrous beliefs of men of knowledge, even less men of faith. No faith could soothe his nerves as he heard you wail and sob, and though it had only been hours, it felt as though it had been eternity, and he loathed how powerless he was, faced with your pain.
Battle pain was different, he knew, and the aches he still felt from his old wounds were nothing compared to what you were going through. He would have gladly felt his flesh reopen under blades if it could have spared you the burning agony that childbirth could be.
Muttering prayers he only half-heartedly believed in, Maekar rested the flats of his palms against the wall opposite your chambers, hanging his head between his shoulders and attempting to ground himself, but it was in vain. “Fuck me,” he groaned, and as though the curse had summoned an answer, the door slammed open behind him.
“She’s asking for you, my prince,” a young midwife called, and he made his own head spin with how quickly he complied, shoving the veiled woman aside and rushing inside the room.
The smell hit him first, and it made him as nauseous as the sight of you in pain—the Maester was burning herbs he did not recognize, and the smoke was permeating the whole room. In a similar position he had been in a second ago, you were leaning against a wall, your fingers curled until your nails were digging into the stone. All in the room fell silent as a deep, broken groan came from you, pulled out of your chest and tearing past your lips, a sound he had never heard from you.
“The baby is in the right position but she is struggling,” the Maester said. “I have tried to persuade her to be calmer, as it would help the delivery, but she is not keen on listening.”
“Fuck off,” came the instant reply, and Maekar would have laughed if he had not be so sick with worry.
“This is most peculiar, as is your presence, my prince,” the Maester continued. “The husband should not see this part of the birthing process.”
“Yes, well, fuck off, as my wife so eloquently said,” Maekar admonished.
Uncaring for the man’s opinion, he rushed to your side under the concerned gazes of the midwives, but daren’t touch you. His hands hovered over your quivering frame for a moment before he reached for your temple and pulled your hair aside, uncovering your face. Flushed and wet with exertion, you glanced up at him with a wild look that took his breath away.
“I need air,” you gasped, and he sprung into action.
“The cold will not help—” the Maester called, to which Maekar replied by a dismissive wave of his hand.
Once the windows had been opened and the smoke dissipated, it seemed your labored breathing calmed somewhat, but only for an instant, and soon you were toppling over once more, your lovely face contorting in pain. Maekar did not hesitate this time and you fell into his arms gladly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
Another roar of agony was heard, slightly muffled as you pressed your face into his chest, and he said nothing, holding onto you with all his might, hoping his presence would be enough to sustain you.
“Gods be good, do something instead of standing there!” Maekar called over the top of your head.
“She will not let any of us touch her,” another of the midwives explained, rather pained. “She has been calling only for you.”
“Then tell me what the fuck to do,” he replied behind gritted teeth. “And tell him to get out!” he added with a sharp nod towards the Maester, who gave a small bow and left despite the visibly displeased look on his face.
Once the door had closed again and the wave of agony had seemingly passed, Maekar guided you to your knees when you felt heavier in his grip. Your hands unclenched from his arms and you reached for your shift, which was soaked with sweat and something thicker that smelled like copper, and reminded him of the aftermath of battle.
Without needing a word, Maekar reached for the soiled garment and helped you pull it over your head, baring your entire body to his gaze and that of the midwives. He supposed modesty did not matter when such a matter as the birth of a new life was concerned. He threw the linen aside, caught by one of the nurses and quickly whisked away.
“Do you wish to lay down?” he asked, pressing a hesitant kiss to your forehead. The glare you gave him told him his suggestion had been ludicrous, but he was relieved to know your wits and spirit had not abandoned you.
Kneeling on the patterned rug you knew would likely be ruined, your husband’s hovering hands over your finally bare skin, you felt as though you could breathe for the first time in hours. “It hurts,” you moaned pitifully to your husband, who was looking down at you with worry.
“I know, my love,” he answered, then turned to the older midwife. “Tell me, what the fuck do I do?”
The woman hesitated, then reached for a glass bottle sitting on a nearby table. “Your hands,” she ordered, and he did not mind her directness. He presented his palms for her to pour the liquid—some sort of strong brandy, clear and acidic—and after coating his skin in it, wiped the wetness with a clean cloth she handed him. “Feel, between her—” the woman started, then cut herself off, and Maekar rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“I am quite familiar,” he retorted, to which you laughed, a broken, nearly ugly sound.
Worry tended to make your husband vulgar and you had often found it endearing. It was a breath of fresh air much as the one coming from the open windows, and to your surprise, it grounded you. In-between the waves that tore your whole abdomen apart, only an ache subsided, and an intense pressure where Maekar was now pressing. His fingers were rough and his touch less gentle than the midwife’s, but the bewildered expression on his face was enough to distract you.
His wrinkles smoothed over, his eyes growing wide and darker in shock. A stand of stark white hair fell into his face, his mouth dropping open. “Is that the head?” he stammered, and this time it was you who wanted to roll your eyes. “Is that hair?” he continued, looking almost disgusted and you would have pushed him away in frustration if another wave wasn’t suddenly mounting.
“Fuck,” you groaned, stretching the vowel, your head dropping back, and this time you allowed the young midwife to support it with a firm hand. “You are never touching me again!” you threatened, and it was clear to all what you meant. Maekar, in other circumstances, would have laughed.
“Give in to it, my lady,” the older woman instructed. “You must push or the babe will remain stuck.”
“I can’t,” you cried out, your fingers digging into your husband’s shoulder. “I can’t, Maekar, I can’t—”
No words came from him and you were grateful that he did not try to contradict you or encourage you with mindless praises. Instead he remained on his knees in front of you, one of his hands at the apex of your thighs, the other holding your shoulder with enough pressure for you to push back against. His touch grounded you, and as the burning wave crashed into you again, taking your senses and your words with it, some of your mind remained tethered to him.
Maekar swallowed the bile rising in his throat when the hot mass he was holding in his hand shifted, and soon it seemed to slip forward, his palm suddenly filled with the familiar weight of a babe’s head. You cursed again and he welcomed it, muttering his own curses and encouragements under his breath, unaware of what he was saying, mesmerized by the sight of you and the feel of his child being born from your body.
All of a sudden your jerked forward, your head colliding with his upper arm and he felt the pinch of your teeth through the fabric of his sleeve. A howl, much like he imagined that of the dragons must have been, erupted from your chest, and he reached with his second hand, catching the small body that came from yours.
Sobs tore through you as you felt yourself tear open, and you were surprised, looking down, to see that you were indeed not split into two—instead, your husband’s large, strong hands were holding a babe, its face scrunched and its eyes shut.
Silence fell over the two of you and you held your breaths, only gasping together when finally, the babe’s mouth dropped open and a piercing wail erupted in the room. Tears still streaming down your face, you laughed, your chest feeling lighter than it had in hours, at the sight of your child and the amazed look on Maekar’s face. It was as though he was seeing the Gods themselves, his own eyes glazed over with tears.
You could feel hands on your shoulders, wrapping something around you, perhaps a sheet, and words were being said in your ear, but you did not hear them. Instead the babe’s cries and your husband’s quiet gasps of joy filled your head. With a gentleness you had never seen or felt from him he pressed your child into your chest, your four hands cradling it to your skin.
“What a marvel you are,” Maekar laughed, pressing a kiss to your brow, his beard uncomfortable against your sensitive skin.
One of the settees was pushed closed and with the help of your husband and a nurse, you were hoisted onto it, your babe resting between your breasts, the first cries of life soon quieting.
Maekar thought it was the most marvellous sight a man could get to see in his entire life—forgotten were the glories of battle or the deferent bows of the realm, instead the meaning of life itself rested, curled and flushed, against his wife’s chest.
“Congratulations, my prince,” the midwife announced. “You have a son.”
More laughter erupted from you, and you felt utterly ridiculous for how far from your mind the thought had been, pushed to the side by the sight of your husband welcoming your babe to the world into his own hands, and the dazed look on his face was almost enough to make you recant your earlier threat.
Pressing a kiss to your son’s head, you closed your eyes, feeling as though for once all was right with the world and the answers to everything you had ever wondered was right there, contained into soft skin and lovely coos. The midwife wiped him clean, and he flushed an even brighter pink under the gentle press of the wet linen—then and only then did you notice the pure white of his brows and of his thin hair.
Your laughter turned to a sob again, one of utter joy.
“He looks like you,” you wept, and Maekar’s lips quivered at your temple. “I meant what I said, however, you shall never sleep in my bed again.”
Maekar’s laugh was quieted by the press of your lips, tilting your head to find his mouth. His large hand came to cover his son’s body, the small back fitting perfectly into the crook of his palm, and he thought that it would be fine, were this his last experience with fatherhood. Seven was an auspicious number indeed.
Dividers by @/saradika. Not beta read.
A/N: I wrote this entire oneshot in one go, in less than an hour and a half, and I honestly have no idea where it came from. The idea just took hold of me and did not let go until the words were all on the page.
daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird (dad!Aerion Targaryen x mom!Reader)
if the mockingbird don’t sing, or the ring don’t shine, i’mma break that little birdie’s neck.
warnings: fluff drabble, brief violence mention, brief smut, pregnancy/birth, children unnamed except for Maegor for your imaginative pleasure
a/n: everyone on this app is depressed after Baelor’s oopsie so here’s this. haunting daeron in his dreams angst will make up for this
When you gave Aerion his first son, he tried to be indifferent.
He took the boy from you, awkwardly, and just…looked.
When saw his son’s tiny hands, his little delicate feet, how he cooed so softly, Aerion couldn’t fight the smile that happened upon him.
You think it was the only time you’ve seen him smile, outside of fucking and fighting. It could’ve just been the exhaustion of childbearing and the sweat in your eyes making you see things, though.
Aerion’s hand lightly stroked the few silver streaks on his son’s head—who he had already named Maegor. He had a streak of your hair. Faint, but at the front of his head.
Maegor’s eyes were a dark, grayish purple. Your own eye color washing out the bright violet any Valyrian should have.
A few freckled dotted Maegor’s face. Placed irregularly, and obviously inherited from you. One on his chin. One above his brow. Another by his ear.
Somehow, Aerion found those…discrepancies endearing.
“The Maester said he is small,” you breathed, still sitting and exhausted, “But, he is healthy.”
Aerion looked to you—sweat covering the freckle that marked the skin above your eyebrow—and said nothing. Only a firm, stiff nod of approval.
Instead he spoke to the wet nurses, “Get my wife a bath. She has done good work, and must recover to give me another.”
When the second son came, Aerion didn’t even try to mask his feelings.
Even though the babe had your hair and little to no Valyrian features, it was still his.
“He favors you, my Y/N,” he whispered quietly.
“Does that displease you?” you asked, weakly and croaking.
“Strangely, it does not.”
This birth was particularly hard on you, had the boy not come out when he did, Aerion thought it would end with your death.
He couldn’t have it. Never. You were the bearer of life. Of rebirth. Of fire made flesh. Aerion only planted the seed in you. The thought made him feel strange. It mad him feel like he did when Ser Duncan slammed his shield on his face.
Fear.
He still felt it, in the weeks to follow.
Noticing how your face was sullen, walks in the garden growing shorter, attitude becoming more reclusive and despairing.
He also noticed how you gazed towards his brother and his wife—and their daughter.
Aerion thought he may not mind a daughter. But, only if she looked like you. Actually, no.
No. She couldn’t look like you. You had bewitched him already, he couldn’t bear to look into the same eyes on another person. It would kill him, he thought.
He also thought getting you with child now would hurt you. It could kill you. You must get better, you must. The dragon has three heads.
Surely, if your mood improved your next pregnancy would go better.
So, begrudgingly, Aerion became kind. Well—as kind as he could be.
Helping you down the steps. Hand brushing the small of your back whist walking. Appointing you a sworn protector. Yelling and screaming at servants and maids to run your baths as you liked. Kissing softly.
He hated every moment. At first. He hated being kind. To be perceived as weak. Dragons are not weak. Love is weakness.
Tragically, however, Aerion eventually found himself enjoying treating you nicely. He felt like the knights in old stories, protecting you. Through taking care of you post-partum, and tending to your shared small children, Aerion learned to be gentle.
Gentleness was foreign to him. So was patience.
Being patient was much harder than being gentle. He had been so used to every one of needs met then and there, he never expected the days where Maegor wouldn’t do as told or you took too long getting out of bed.
Aerion learned to close his eyes, imagine giving the beating they deserved, opening them again—and sulking over to help.
Patience paid off, however.
Aerion never had to make his desires known to you. You came to him.
“Y/N?” he asked, early in the morning, “Fuck are you doing?”
His cock hardened under your touch, hidden by the covers.
“Waking you up,” you smiled, “I wish for the dragon to claim me on this morning.”
He hummed, “Since you look so pretty…”
That was the morning Aerion found out gentle sex could be just as good as his* normal sex.
He took his time with you, each touch on the edge of roughness, but still sweet enough to stay there. His cock entered slowly, and his thrusts were slower. Aerion shamelessly took more pleasure in watching your face twist in ecstasy than he did physically fucking you.
The dragon’s seed was strong. You had become with child again. This time, a girl. This time, no complications.
The girl looked more like him than she did you. Thank the Gods.
The gentleness did not stay in its entirety. His words went back to being sharp, his jests became cruel once more, and his cock never fucked you slow again.
But.
A hand still guided you down the stairs. Servants were screamed at—harsher than before—to run you a bath, and his touch was tender more often. His gaze softened when he saw you, and even more so when he saw your children playing.
He spoiled them rotten.
A cat. A new gown. A Valyrian Steel sword. Baked goods. Desserts. A new bracelet. Anything they wanted, they had it. Aerion would conquer all of Westeros for his children if they asked.
For you? He’d never conquer all of Westeros for you.
He’d conquer the entirety of the Known World. He’d sail west of Westeros. Go farther North than any man had before. Swim until the sea ended. Climb mountains so high, the peak ascended the clouds.
All you had to do was ask.
“Aerion…?”
“Yes?”
“May I have a kiss?”
“Just hold on a moment, I’m sharpening my blade.”
Aerion set it down a moment later. His lips were on yours before you could blink.
“All you have to do, is ask,” he told you. “Somehow, I find myself wanting to give you all you’ve ever desired—and more.”
-you and the children pay a visit to a healing bruised aerion, angst with a bit of fluff to mend the heartbreak! sorry if there are any spelling mistakes ᥫ᭡
the heavy oak door of your chambers closed with a soft thud, shutting out the murmurs of the red keep and the lingering scent of rain from the trial grounds. inside, the air was thick with the cloying sent of myrrh and the coppery tang of blood that no amount of scrubbing could quite erase. it was a scent you knew too well, one that sometimes clung to aerion after a fight, but this time it was different. it was deeper, it was the scent of a near-fatal wound.
he was in your bed, laying shirtless with his head on a pillow, that did little to comfort him. his silver hair was damp and plastered to his forehead, stark against his skin. a couple of cleaned off dried blood marks scatter hear and there on the muscle of his chest and shoulder.
he was staring at the canopy, his jaw set in a rigid line that you knew was less about pain and more about fury. fury at his own weakness, at the indignity of being bested, even for a moment. he did not turn as you approached, but you felt his awareness of you, a subtle shift in the atmosphere of the room.
you placed the tray you carried on the bedside table. on it was a small pitcher of water, a bowl of mugwort, and clean cloths. you said nothing at first, simply taking in the extent of him. the bruising that painted his beautiful face mottled in shades of purple and blue. the shallow, uneven rise and fall of his chest.
the sound of the door being opened just slight caused you to turn and through the crack, you could see two small figures hovering in the antechamber, their presence a silent, anxious weight.
your son, his small hand clutching the doorframe, and your daughter, peering around her brother with wide, worried eyes. they had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, told only that their father had been hurt but would be well.
aerion’s gaze finally slid from the canopy to you. his eyes were clouded with pain, but there was something else there too. a flicker of the familiar coldness, a wall thrown up against the world, but it was cracked. he looked at you not as the world looked at him, as a prince, a thing of fire and fury, but as a man. broken, and letting only you see it.
"they should not be here," he rasped, his voice a low, rough timber, strained from the effort. he didn't look toward the door, but you knew he meant the children. "i do not want them to see me like this. a shattered thing."
"shattered?" you repeated, your voice low, "you are not shattered," you countered softly, as dipped a cloth into the cool water and wrung it out.
you sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping with your weight. he flinched, a barely perceptible tightening of his muscles, as you reached for his face. gently, you began to dab at the scrape on his jaw. the water was cool against his heated skin.
for a long moment, the only sound was the soft drip of water back into the bowl and his ragged breathing. he endured your ministrations in silence, a statue of a man carved from marble and pain.
then, as you moved to put some mugwort on his bruised cheek his hand shot out, not with violence, but with a startling swiftness. his fingers wrapped around your wrist.
"i should not even allow you to see me so. leave it-" his grip was firm, but not enough to hurt. it was a plea. you stopped moving, your hand frozen in mid-air.
"are you shattered, aerion? for what? for some imagined insult to your honor? was it worth this?"
his eyes narrowed, the vulnerability instantly shuttered by a flash of his usual arrogance. "i do not allow such disrespect of my name. i am a prince of the blood-"
"you stand there in the yard, demanding a trial of seven as if it were a mummer’s show! you bait them and you bleed them until one of them is good enough to land a blow, and you call it honor? i call it madness husband!" you take a pause, your own chest heaving with anger and fear.
"did you think of us? of the children, waiting to hear if their father would share the same fate as your uncle?" you shook your head and tried to keep your voice calm but the tears springing in your eyes a clear sign that you were not in fact calm.
"did you think of me, standing there and having to watch you play at being a god? though you are my dragon you must know dragons too are not immortal."
the words hung in the air between you, brutal and raw. he stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a harsher rhythm now, his breath catching. he looked away, his jaw working, and for a moment you thought you had pushed him too far, that he would retreat behind a wall of icy silence.
but then his shoulders slumped, just slightly. the fight went out of him, leaving only the exhaustion and the pain. he looked back at you, and the anger in his eyes had been replaced by a deep, weary ache.
"i am…sorry dear wife, that i’ve placed this fear in you and the children, not for anything else." he ground out, the words sounding foreign and painful on his tongue. it was the closest he could come to an admission of fault.
the fight drained out of you just as quickly, replaced by a wave of overwhelming relief. you let out a shaky breath and closed the distance between you and him on the bed and press a gentle kiss to his temple.
"i only care that you are alive."
his gaze locked on yours again as he whispered "just…stay."
you turned your hand in his grasp until your fingers could lace with his. his hand was cold, the knuckles scraped raw. he held on with a desperation that belied his stoic posture. it was in the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles, a repetitive, almost unconscious gesture of reassurance. it was in the way his eyes, usually so hard and assessing, now begged you to understand the words he could not bring himself to say. i was afraid. i do need you.
a soft, muffled sob came from the doorway. your daughter, unable to bear the silence and the sight of her father so still, had let out a small cry.
aerion’s head snapped toward the sound, and the coldness rushed back into his eyes, a shield being hastily raised. "i told you to send them away," he bit out, his voice regaining its edge.
"no," you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. you squeezed his hand. "they are your children. they need to see you. and you need to see them."
you stood and walked to the door, kneeling before the two small, trembling figures. you wiped the tears from your daughter’s cheek with your thumb. "he is hurt, but he is going to be fine," you promised, your voice steady and sure. "he just needs to see his brave son and his strong daughter, yes?"
your son nodded, his little chin set with a determination that was so purely his father’s. he took your daughter’s hand and together, they followed you back to the bed.
aerion watched them approach, his expression unreadable. he looked as if he wanted to order them from the room, to retreat back into his solitary shell of pride. but he didn’t. he held your gaze, and you gave him a small, encouraging nod.
your son came to his side of the bed first, his small hand reaching out to tentatively touch the blanket covering his father’s uninjured leg. "father?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
aerion looked down at the boy, and something in his face shifted. the hardness in his eyes softened, melting like snow in a spring thaw. he did not smile, that was not his way, but the tension in his jaw eased. he lifted his hand and laid it on top of his son’s head. it was a clumsy, heavy gesture, but it was full of a protective love of blood.
"i am here," aerion said, the words for his son, but his eyes were on you.
your daughter, emboldened, scrambled onto the bed, her movements careful and deliberate. she crawled to his other side and laid her head gently on his shoulder, the one that wasn’t too badly injuerd, as if she could anchor him to the world with her own warmth.
aerion went rigid for a second, unused to such tenderness. then, slowly, he relaxed. he looked from his son’s earnest face to his daughter’s silver head, and then back to you with a look of almost aching gratitude.
he was still the prince of the realm, still the dragon who had faced fire and blood. but here, in the quiet of your chambers, with his children clinging to him and his wife’s hand finding his again, he was simply a husband and a father.
𐔌 ⠀⠀𓂃 ࣪ ִ⠀⠀aerion targaryen x spoiled princess reader !
contains ᦸ smut? finger sucking he cums in his pants sub! aerion he’s all bloody & pathetic he’s actively bleeding out but doesn’t care could be targcest? he cries mean reader? ٫٫ 1.9k
ᦸ dedicated to @maekarpilled from our comments that gave me the inspo for this!
❛❛ if I shall die tonight…I want to die with the taste of you on my lips
You scrunch your nose up in disgust at the thick stench of Aerion’s metallic blood and the rotten smell of mud and whatever else he was covered in, filling the room as he weakly hobbled closer to you. His first demand wasn’t for a healer, no, it was to see you.
The sight of you looking away from him with such disgust and disappointment pulled a weak and desperate whimper from the back of his throat. He tried to move closer, but the look you gave him had him falling to his knees, the sound of his armor clanking, and his sounds of pain filled the silence.
“Please,” he begged, voice cracking and hoarse as he tried to hold his head up. Please, look at me. Please, tell me I did well. Please, let me touch you.
“And have you ruin my dress?” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. It was beneath you to even be in the presence of such a weak-minded and bodied man. He couldn’t defeat a fucking hedge knight, and yet he dared to be on his knees before you, begging.
“If I shall die tonight…” he trailed off into a pained mixture of a gasp and wheeze as he fully lifted his head to look up at you. His breathing was labored, but the pain he felt was nothing compared to the desire and yearning he felt for you. “I want to die with the taste of you on my lips.”
“The same lips you used to yield?” you dramatically pouted with a tilt of your head, looking down at him with faux sympathy. And for a very brief moment aerion believed the gods answered his prayers and you’d give him what he’s always desired, even if that meant his death.
But the gods were cruel, as were you.
You slammed your goblet down on the table, the sound echoing loudly through the chamber. He couldn’t help but flinch, pain surging all through his body. Tears well in his eyes at the look of pure disgust you give him, your tone cruel and mocking, “you’re filth aerion, you don’t deserve to taste me.”
“Maybe I should go to see Ser Duncan, tend to his wounds,” you taunted, a sickly sweet smile on your lips as you took a slow step closer to him. Your fingers played with your rings, a feeling of pride washing over you at the sight of tears in his eyes.
Another sound of pain left the Prince's mouth as he shook his head weakly at your words. Hearing such things coming from you made him feel even more sick. That Hedge Knight didn’t deserve to have his eyes blessed at the sight of you, let alone be in the same presence as you, breathe the same air as you.
He’d rather take another touch of a blade than have that cunt ever feel yours.
“I deserve a man that doesn’t yield, don’t I?” You whispered with a click of your tongue. Your eyes were sparkling with amusement at the pained cries leaving Aerion’s bloody and busted lips. His body shook with helpless sobs.
All of his pride thrown away as he bowed his head, his shoulders sagged, and his gloved hands brushed against the stone before he placed them flat, willing to crawl towards you. He cared very little for the blood loss or his reputation as he knelt there in front of you.
“please princess,” he got out between his sobs, more blood pooling from his mouth and down his neck. He looked so pretty when he cried, so pathetic and small. He looked like how he liked to make people feel.
You took a step closer, scrunching your nose in annoyance at the cries and pleading leaving his lips. You’d enjoy it much more if he weren’t making such a mess and smelled so badly. You licked your wine-stained lips as you looked down at him, stopping in front of him. Far enough that his blood wouldn’t touch your dress.
You wouldn’t give him what he truly desired, not after that embarrassing performance he gave for all of Ashford to see. By nightfall, the truth of the weakness of the prince would spread across the realm, no doubt. And like you said, you weren’t going to let his filth ruin your pretty dress.
He looked like he was dying, and he smelt of it too, you weren’t that cruel (you truly were) to not answer the ‘dying' prince's plea.
“Two, and that is all.” Your tone gave him no room for discussion or disagreement. You outstretched your hand in front of his bloodied face; your fingers would have to do.
Dark spots clouded his vision, and he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he quickly lifted his head. A desperate whimper left his lips as he eagerly opened his mouth, his bloody tongue slipping past his lips.
Your fingers softly grazed his bottom lip, pressing hard into the cut on his lip, causing him to let out a strangled moan. The pad of your index and middle finger pressed against his tongue.
The corner of your mouth twitched into a pleased smirk as the prince looked up at you with dazed eyes, waiting for your permission. When he does get the small nod of permission, he’s quick to close his mouth around them.
A loud moan filled the room as he immediately started lapping at your soft fingers. His eyes never left yours as he sucked them deeper into his mouth, coating them in his spit and blood.
He could taste the lavish oils you would get from Dorne and have your body covered in them with the help of your handmaidens. To many nights he spent imagining himself rubbing the oil into your body himself.
You sigh boredly, clicking your tongue in disappointment, “can’t you do better than that?”
Aerion whined around your fingers, more tears rolling down his face and mixing beautifully with his blood. The pain his body felt was nothing compared to the pain he felt when he disappointed you.
You lean down a little, his eyes nearly rolling back as he gets a better whiff of your addictive scent. You pouted dramatically as you watched him drool around your fingers, such a bloody mess. “and to think you thought I’d let you taste my cunt”
He shook his head weakly, nearly gagging on your fingers as he tried to do better. He wasn’t going to fail you too, not again, but you never gave second chances.
You pulled your wet fingers from his mouth, a string of his mixed saliva and blood following. A desperate whine left him at the loss of your fingers. He’d chase after your fingers, but he wouldn’t be able to handle the sting of your slap, no matter how much he craved it in his current state.
You looked down at your fingers that were covered in his blood and spit, and then back to him. He looked up at you with those pathetic eyes. If you really focused, you could hear his blood drip into the stone. You grip his face, spreading the blood and spit all over his mouth, scoffing at the pathetic noises he lets out.
“You deserve nothing but to lick the bottom of my boots,” you hissed as you pressed into the cut on his cheek. Aerion moans and leans into your touch, pitiful cries filling the room. And that’s when you noticed the way his hips subtly jerked forward.
A big and twisted grin spreads across your face at the realization that he was turned on. Your laugh was amused and airy. “You’re such a nasty whore.”
You slipped your fingers back into his mouth, knuckles deep as he sucks and swirls his tongue around them. Your words were sharp and cruel as you belittled him, tearing him down word by word, but all he did was moan around your fingers, his hips jerking desperately.
The fatigue from the blood loss, mixed with the pain and the pleasure he felt from you, was sickening. He felt like he was drunk. His body didn’t feel like his, your voice sounded distant, his heartbeat getting too loud to hear your beautifully twisted words.
His jaw was going slack, too exhausted to do any more. But you didn’t care, thrusting your fingers into his mouth as he gagged and whined. Blood and drool making lewd wet noises.
“Such filthy, pathetic lips, only good for one thing, aren’t they?” You cooed tauntingly, your eyes never leaving his. He nodded weakly around your fingers, the movement causing him to gag. You watched him closely, how his tears pooled out of his eyes. You wanted to watch him fall apart.
And fall apart he did…
“Nngh!” He let out a choked and pained moan around your fingers, his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering as he filled his breeches with his seed, mixing with the blood.
You kept your fingers in his throat until he tried to pull away, desperate for air as he felt his body slowly and uncontrollably jerk. For a split second, you thought of what your life would be if he were dead…but there was a sick part of you that wanted to keep him around. To see him look at you with those pitiful eyes full of tears. You did enjoy how he sounded when he begged…
You pull away your fingers, a thick string of blood and saliva connecting the two of you. Aerion’s chest burned as he tried to catch his breath, barely able to keep his eyes fully open. A cough leaves his throat, blood splattering all over the front of your dress.
You shrieked and took a step back, nearly tripping over the skirt of your dress. The sound of your shriek snaps him back from fully surrendering to the pain, his half-lidded eyes looking up at you. Your face was twisted in a look of pure anger.
Panic surged through his beaten body; the tears were quick to come back as he realized what he had done; he failed you. “Princess, I’m sorry—“
“You truly are pathetic,” you were quick to cut off his pathetic attempt at an apology. Your tone was scarily calm as you turned your lip up in disgust. Your jaw clenched as you looked down at the kneeling prince, a disgrace, “And a waste of Valyrian blood.”
A broken and agonized sob left his body from your words. Watching as you lifted the skirt of your dress with your clean hand as you turned away from him and moved towards the wooden doors. He tried to move his body, but all he could do was helplessly watch as you opened the chamber doors.
He fell from his knees and forward onto his hands, begging between his cries, “Please don’t leave me.”
You paused, looking over your shoulder at him. There was no emotion in your eyes, no anger, nothing for him. Your words were sharp and effective at breaking everything in him, “I bet that Hedge Knight would have listened.”
You stepped out of the room and out of his sight. The last of his strength going with you. He felt his body sway before crumpling down onto the stone floor with a pained gasp. He lay there on the cold and blood-stained stone floor.
The last thing he tasted was your body oil mixed with the metallic taste of his blood, and the last thing he heard was you shouting at your handmaiden to bring you a new dress, before his eyes fluttered closed as he succumbed to the darkness.
┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜
Ი𐑼 I’m sorry if none of that made sense I wrote most of it in a delirious state at 4 am in the morning. I rlly don’t know what this is , but I hoped you enjoyed it !! pls tell me all of your thoughts ,, naughty and good !! 😁
LOL bunny iglesias fucking us and we're his kid's babysitterrrr (hes a single father ok!)
ᰔ₊ ⊹ he knows he shouldn’t feel this way—especially not towards the woman taking care of his precious daughter—but bunny iglesias really, really likes the new babysitter. his little girl means the world to him—even if her mother is out of the picture and all the love he had for her replaced itself with utter hatred.
he has a little condo in barcelona where he lives with his kid, just the two of them since his little girl’s been less than a year old. but with that, comes issues regarding her mother. sometimes, he doesn’t know how to really answer her questions about her mom.
questions like: “why did mami leave? does she not love me? does mami have another kid she loves more than me?” got him, and it hurt him to say anything, so he just said that hopefully another better and prettier ‘mami’ will come, and not another elderly nanny that he’s always gotten for her.
truth be told, he’s grateful for the nannies he’s hired as they help with his daughter, but he can’t help but wish for someone to stick around with more commitment—for his daughter and for him.
but fuck, the moment you entered their lives, it was like the world turned a little brighter. you were just so… amazing.
you had been recommended to him by the previous nanny, who had to take a leave to take care of her husband in hospice, and introduced you as one of her nieces. you barely graduated college—babysitting to pay off loans and have a little boost on your resume for experience in ‘hospitality and communications’.
and the moment you showed up, bunny felt his mouth go dry. you had the cutest little summer dress; puffy little sleeves, nicely fitting, long, flowy skirt—and that damn cleavage… bunny was no pervert by any means, but jesus you looked good as hell. you always did—wearing similar dresses in that fashion. even his daughter referred to you as “la señora que se ve como princesa”. [the lady who looks like a princess]z
but he hired you because of your kindness. his daughter was spoiled…a bit too much. and you were able to handle her attitude and behavior without even raising your voice—something he himself can’t do.
he even caught his daughter call you ‘mami’ by accident, and he swore he almost lost it.
you baked treats occasionally, sang little lullabies to her that knocked her out, treated his little girl with such gentleness and kindness. you even showed up to parent events if he couldn’t make it—and his daughter never complained once.
but he can notice things. he isn’t dumb. you’re kind to his daughter…but to bunny, you seemed different.
he can notice the way you purposely began wearing slightly provocative clothing the moment he dropped that he had no wife. you still looked modest, sure, but when you bent down or crossed your arms…jesus, your tits looked amazing.
how whenever you were given any food that required sucking and licking like a lolly or a cupcake, you’d do it with direct eye contact with him. then how you’d have a habit of staring at…his crotch when he’d wear sweatpants or tight fitting pants. and that was all the time.
then you’d avoid eye contact when he did look back.
he’s bunny iglesias; he was literally named ‘sexiest man alive’ last year; of course he can tell you’re into him.
and the final straws? you just had to suck on the ice lolly he gave you with such intensity while staring straight at him and making some crude joke about being a virgin. then “oh! i’m so sorry, sir!”
and then before his little daughter fell asleep to his bedtime story, she stopped him from leaving, asking if you were going to be her new ‘mami’… fuck. you really have such a damn effect on him.
“s-sir—! not s-so rough!” he laid you on the couch, immediately going down on you the moment his daughter went to sleep upstairs.
bunny smiled, placing his index on your quivering lips. “shhh, wouldn’t wanna wake her up. keep quiet, okay?”
oh he was torturous—absolutely mean and slow with it. he had you in some type of missionary prone-bone, putting his weight against you while you took his cock with your legs wrapped around his waist. you were so fucking tight, wrapping around his fat cock like a vice.
“mmm—f-fuck!” you were so fucking loud too—and not even your voice rather your damn cunt. all bunny had to do was talk and you were instantly soaking wet down there. your panties were clinging onto your labia by the time he even got to attempt foreplay.
but it was worth it; it was better than anything you could’ve even imagined. you yourself knew bunny iglesias—one of the most famous people in spain—hell, the whole world. never in your dreams did you think you were gonna be fucked by him.
then when he switched positions? jesus, it felt like he went deeper; he kneeled, angling your hips upward on him. you had to bite your lower lip from stopping yourself from whining. he had you in such an embarrassing manner: your tits spilling out of your dress, skirt lifted all the way to your ribs and face insanely hot.
“awh, no llores, preciosa. c’mon, honey. come for me, please?” [don’t cry, dear] he pinched your clit, rubbing it and causing your legs to squeeze his waist.
oh, he was so domineering, it was insane. he was insane. he kept fucking you like that in that position for some time—
only bunny iglesias could fuck you in that damn position for various amount of time, still jackhammering into you and bringing you to tears without it getting boring.
oh he knew it was over the moment you pulled him down, adjusting yourself so that you’d be straddling him on the couch, and aligning his cock to your overflowing hole.
“why don’t we give her a cute little sibling, yeah?”
.
.
.
nth time posting for this guy (bunny iglesias x reader tag enjoyers HATE seeing me ik it) ! this was done in like 20 mins so if the spanish seems off, i literally dk ya déjame 😭
also atp im making a whole oneshot of bunny using all the tropes from the requests i’ve been getting; ex: shower sex, submissive bunny, shibari, breeding (again), etc. but i’m considering having it a ddne fic hmmmmm…
