#hot dorne summer

[sepherinaspoppies]

after hours - modern! aemond targaryen x reader

summary: she receives a late night call from her needy boyfriend, aemond.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, f and m masturbation, phone sex, use of sex toys for reader, and I think that's it?

wc: 2,387

masterlist

notes: this was supposed to be a very small drabble lmao. anyways this is kind of unedited. oops

She sits on her bed, a plate of yesterday’s reheated pepperoni pizza laid across her lap while the television played rerun episodes of Gilmore Girls when her phone rang unexpectedly.

At such late hours she decided to let her phone ring, for if she answered whoever it was calling on the other end would know she was awake and she did not want that. It was probably one of those scam calls that were going around tricking people to give out their credit card information for their own benefit.

Though, she wondered if they knew that she had only ten dollars currently sitting in her bank account after she had spent the last of her savings on pizza. 

She sighed happily once her ringtone slowly faltered down but it wasn’t long before it started ringing again and again. And on the fourth ring she sadly set down her pizza to the side before snatching off her phone from the power socket. 

Her eyes widen in horror as she views the bold letters of the caller ID. She immediately accepts the call, rushing to turn off the television to give her full attention to her caller. 

“Angel.” Aemond greeted in a low hum, sounds of metal clanking could be heard from the background. 

She appreciates that he doesn’t sound angry for her lack of response. In the past few months she had the pleasure of knowing Aemond, she had come to learn very quickly that he was not a very patient man. If Aemond wanted something, whether it’d be something materialistic or sexual, he wanted it now in any way possible. 

“Hey Aem, sorry I thought you’d be asleep.” She apologizes, setting a few pieces of loose hair behind her ear.  

In the other line, she hears Aemond acknowledge her by singing another low hum, something Aemond regularly did that frustrated her. At first she thought Aegon was just joking around when he first set them up on a blind date, that Aemond was a man of a few words and only humming out his responses. But as she got to know him more throughout their dating phase, she realized that Aegon was in fact not joking. It took her months to break him out of his shell. 

“So, how are things down south?” She asks, quickly changing the subject to that of his work status. 

Aemond worked in the field he always wanted to be in; as a high school history and philosophy teacher. Aemond loved his job even if they were students who made it tough for him to educate those who did take their studies seriously. He loved the challenge. He loved being up on his feet teaching the histories of how Westeros came to be or educating the famous ideologies of the greatest philosophers that made Aemond fall in love with the subject. 

You could say Aemond was a workaholic. There was no denying that. What some teachers considered the best part of teaching was the summer vacations, Aemond absolutely despised it. However that problem would soon resolve after she had called up her uncle Oberyn, who taught gender and sexuality studies at Sunspear University, if there were any positions available for Aemond’s area of degree during the summer. To her delight, her uncle informed her that the university was looking for someone who was fluent in High Valyrian to teach a beginner course. 

Aemond immediately emailed his resume in and within a few days after his students left for summer break Aemond got on a plane to Dorne and began to work in his new position in a new city. 

Which was about a month ago. 

“Hard,” Aemond breathes as he licks his lips. 

“Aw, my love—” She tried to comfort him before she was cut off. “Hot,” Aemond corrects himself, standing up from his own bed to retrieve his laptop. 

“Well Dorne is known to be quite hot. Especially during the summer.” She informs in a matter of fact tone as she toys with the thin strap of her nightgown. “Besides, I thought dragons prefer the heat.” 

A low chuckle came from the other end. She can practically imagine the corners of his lips curving up to a smirk. “We do prefer heat but we are not immune to it as you think. I even purchased three fans to keep myself cool. Though, they do not work for shit which leaves me, as of right now bare.” 

She paused, straightening up from the bed. “When you say bare—”

“I mean bare as when I came into this world” 

A long silence came afterward, and she could hear the beat of her own heart thumping against the screen of her phone. She looked at her Charlie Brown calendar hung above her nightstand. Once she confirmed that today was in fact the weekend, it became evident why Aemond was calling at such a late hour. 

Heat began to seep into her lower belly down between her thighs at what she could surmise would happen next. 

It had been some time since they were last intimate. Forty-two days to be exact; the day before his departure to Dorne.

Aemond and her spent the whole morning, afternoon and night tangled within each other going round after round in different positions and different rooms of their shared cottage saying their goodbyes until she passed out from the many orgasms Aemond gave her. The following morning Aemond threw himself into fits of giggles when she could no longer stand up from their bed to drive him to the airport, feeling sore and bruised from the intensity of the night before. 

“Angel? Have I lost you?” Aemond asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. She replied with a shaky no before Aemond began to speak again. “Hmm then accept my facetime call.” Her eyes locked with her laptop which she did not realize it had been ringing and nervously pressed the green button. 

Through the low lighted room she could see the silhouette of Aemond. His laptop perched on top of his stomach, his bare and freckled chest full on display. She so desperately wished she was there to roam her hands all over him. And she stifled a moan when she noticed Aemond’s silver hair was pulled back into a braid just as how she liked it. 

“There you are my beautiful angel,” Aemond purrs, giving his hardened cock a good squeeze from the base. His eye roams over her clothed figure, taking in her sheer white nightgown that leaves nothing to his imagination. 

Heats spread to her cheeks, his compliments never tiring her. 

“You don’t know how much I miss you, angel. Your hands—” On cue her hand slowly waves itself down between her thighs, pushing her lacy panties to the side as her fingers come into contact with her arousal on the way to her clit. 

“Stroking my cock while your lovely mouth sucks me off.” Aemond imagines it all like it was yesterday and his cock pulsed so hard it ached. It wasn’t any better when he saw her chest rise and fall with wanton little pants escaping her lips. 

She was touching herself. Something Aemond warned her not to do in his absence. He wanted to reprimand her for such an act but instead Aemond let her continue as he wanted to watch her unfold and peak especially for what he had in mind. 

“Oh, Aemond, I miss you too.” She whines, throwing her head back into the pillows, struggling to keep her laptop perched ontop her knees. Waves of pleasure move throughout her body, his words going straight to her core. 

She hears Aemond groan. 

“Your tongue on my cunt and- and—” Her words stammer and she feels the tips of her ears flush with embarrassment for her next confession. “Go on, angel.” Aemond encourages as he gazes at her reddened state. He finds it endearing and if he was there right now, he would pull away her hand until she confessed. 

“Your nose.”  

“And what about my nose?” He hums using his thumb to circle the tip of cock. 

“I-I love your nose on my clit.” 

Aemond’s one good eye widened and felt the intense pressure in his lower stomach increase. It was no wonder why whenever he went down on her she screamed the loudest when his nose brushed against her sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Aemond continued watching her touch and lose herself in pleasure. Intensely watching as her fingers vigorously circled her clit with sweat above her brow. He moaned sweet nothings through his laptop and just as he sensed she was about to peak, Aemond stopped her. 

She did as she was told and she couldn’t help to let out a few tears of frustration.

“Get your buzzy out, angel.” Aemond instructed. Instantly her mood shifts into an excited and eager one. 

“Which one?” 

“Oh you know which one.” 

She definitely knows which one. Her hand reaches for the drawer of her nightstand where inside lay rows of different forms of vibrators as well as different sizes and shapes of dildos Aemond purchased within their relationship. Their favorite being a dual pink vibrator that was made to stimulate her g-spot along with her clit. It was also remote and app controlled with multiple levels of speed and vibrations that made her come in less than five minutes. Which was good since it took her a while to come. 

“Good. Now be a good girl and undress in front of me, angel” She eagerly nods at his words and sets her laptop in front of her. “Look at me while you bare yourself to me.” Her eyes snap up meeting his darkened violet eye that was full of passion and concentration as her fingers lift the hem of her nightgown. 

She sees him bite his lower lip once her breasts are revealed. Aemond nods for her to proceed to take off the next piece of clothing and she does so, tossing it somewhere across the room not caring where it lands. 

Having laid together multiple times, she swallows the need to cover herself and spreads her legs apart just enough for Aemond to gaze through the camera at how wet she was for him. Aemond inhales the desire to stroke his cock into completion. He wanted to see her fall apart first. 

“Now place the buzzy in your cunt, slowly.” 

She rubs the silicone against her slick gathering some of her juices before sliding the thicker part of the vibrator inside. She sighs in relief at the sensation, it wasn’t as big and delicious of a stretch like Aemond’s cock but it was just right to feel some satisfaction. 

She then bends the longest part of the silicone gently against her pulsating clit with needy whines and pants waiting for further instructions. 

Seven fucking Hells. Aemond curses to himself wishing nothing more than to book a flight back to King’s Landing and have her sit on his face licking away her juices. Aemond remembers that in a month that will happen soon. 

Aemond’s fingers swipe through the different kinds of vibrational settings through the blue hearted app and settle for one with the lowest speed to get her started. 

Once Aemond hears a series of surprised cries and gasps, he gives up on trying not to touch himself. He starts stroking his cock at a languid pace as he watches his lovely little angel struggle to keep her legs still and open through the camera. 

“You’re doing so well baby,” She hears Aemond praise. “Tell me does that feel good? Are you close? Answer me, sweet angel.” 

She fervently nods her head. 

“Use your words, angel.” 

“Y-yes.” She says, barely being able to control words out through the pleasure. “Yes, what?” Aemond taunts before he lets out a hiss when the fat head of cock starts to ache more. He knew he wasn’t going to last long as he hadn’t touched himself so intimately in forty-two days, wanting to also keep good on his promise. 

“Yes, Aemond, it feels so good. I need more please.” While vibrations felt so indescribably good it wasn’t sufficient to send her over the edge. She knew Aemond set the vibrator in level one. And in their lovemaking, Aemond usually set the speed at level five which was neither too fast nor too slow. Just right to see stars followed by another round. 

When Aemond set his laptop to the side, giving her a full view of his proud length standing straight against his stomach, she nearly lost it, clenching the silicone tightly inside her walls. Gods she really did miss him. All of him. 

She groans loudly when Aemond sets the speed she likes, making her eyes roll at the back of her head, pinching both of her nipples for some extra stimulation but what Aemond says makes her halt and glance at his disheveled state. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m coming!” He moans as she watches his hand stroke his cock vigorously while long ropes of his seed spurt all across his chest and hand. Series of whines and growls leave his lips all while his hips buck upwards at the intense pleasure that makes Aemond cry. Literally cry. 

She watches all in awe.  

Saying he looked beautiful was an understatement. No, Aemond looked so godly and ethereal and she understood now the reference that Targaryens were closer to gods than men. 

Once Aemond steadied himself, the words left her lips without thinking. 

“That was quick.” 

And before she had time to explain, the air in her lungs left quickly like her words as she felt the most intense and deep sensation between her legs. She let out incoherent noises to which she could not describe. Were they moans? Groans? Cries? She did not know. 

All she did know was the tightness in her lower belly finally snapped and her orgasm washes all over her like a tide. 

After a few minutes, she heard Aemond laugh through the screen. “You were saying?” He teases as he waves his phone around the camera. 

She feels too tired to reply. Her body automatically feels relaxed and stress-free. 

“Oh, angel, don’t get too comfortable. I’m not done with you yet. I’m still very hard.” 

Oh shit….

im gonna go hide under my bed now lol

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#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #modern! Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #modern aemond x reader #modern aemond x you #aemond fanfiction

[wardenparker]

The Viper’s Bride - ch 1

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst​

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 9.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol* A slap! Mentions of menstruation, fleeting mention of a suicidal thought, threats of violence, bathing, so much foreplay, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, fingering (anal), MM coupling, MMF threesome, anal sex, oral sex (f giving and receiving), FF coupling, technically this is an orgy. Summary: Upon receiving news of your arranged betrothal, both you and Prince Oberyn of Dorne make your ways to the Red Keep for King Joffrey’s impending nuptials. However, his arrival to the city is significantly more playful than yours. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number seven! This summer we are getting hot and heavy in Westeros with everybody’s favourite promiscuous prince. Buckle up, my darlings, because this one gets spicy right off the bat 👑💖

Oberyn frowns slightly as the oil slicked hands of the servant press into the arches and joints of Doran’s feet, making his older brother hiss in pain. It must be a harsh day for him, his wheeled chair a near constant as it is now too painful for him to walk even short distances. A far cry from the hale and hearty brother he had grown up with as the youngest of the Martell princes. He knows the oil is warmed, the scent of eucalyptus and mint filling the air as it is worked into the skin, hopefully providing some relief. “I can come back, brother. Let you rest.”

“This is important.” Doran insists, not dismissing either man from his presence. His own discomfort is a stark reminder of the sacrifices that must be made for the throne of Dorne. “You know the Baratheon boy is to marry.” The fact that King Joffrey’s mother is a Lannister makes him an unsavory topic between the Martell brothers, even as Marcella Baratheon plays in the water gardens a mere thirty yards away.

Stiffening instantaneously for a moment before he forces his body to relax, Oberyn despised the mention of anything to do with the Lannisters, including that bastard on the throne. Everyone knows the rumors and with the golden mane of the boy and the tales of evils he has done, he’s inclined to believe it. “Gods be praised.” He murmurs sarcastically, reaching for the carafe of wine and the spare goblet that had obviously been left in anticipation of his visit with the elder prince. “What poor girl is marrying that…king?”

“Margaery Tyrell.” The elder prince huffs derisively before leveling his younger brother with a serious gaze. “You are to attend the wedding in my stead.”

Rolling his eyes, Oberyn sighs heavily. It will be two weeks of hard traveling to reach King’s Landing. All for a wedding he does not wish to attend. “I will extend the Martell family’s feelings.”

"You will be gracious and accommodating." Doran warns, knowing that the Martell family's true feelings are not appropriate in any way to be expressed at a wedding. "There will be some other business for you to attend to in King's Landing which is far more important."

“Yes, there is that wonderful brothel down in Flea Bottom.” Oberyn muses, grinning at the idea of bringing Ellaria there. The last time he had come, it had been two years before he had met her.

"Oberyn." His brother's voice has a warning tone to it. "I beg you not to waste your time in brothels on this trip no matter how enjoyable a pastime it may be. There is someone you need to meet."

He snorts and shakes his head. “I have no interest in meeting boring nobles with their equally boring wives.” He tells him. “I’ll be with Ellaria anyway.”

"No, you won't." Doran jerks away from his servant in frustration and turns to fully face Oberyn. "I will not have that woman jeopardize the contract I have signed when the ink is barely dry. Leave her home, Oberyn. She will be here with open legs when you return."

Oberyn’s brow arches up dramatically. Doran has never had issue with Ellaria, even counting her as a confidant in his absence. She is the mother of four of his children and a member of the family despite there being no vows between them. His soulmate. “What contract?” He growls.

"Leave." He hisses at the young man who was tending to him and he backs off immediately, taking the pot of oil back into the interior of the palace as fast as his feet can carry him. "It was time, Oberyn," he intones seriously. "Far past time, but I have let you have your freedom as long as I was able."

“Let me have my freedom?” His hackles rise and his eyes narrow. “I have my freedom because I wish it.” He reminds his brother. “I am not the head of the Martells like you, and you have your heir.”

"I have one heir." Doran bristles, but the raised tension between the brothers is his own fault. A product of the tension and pain he was already feeling today. "If anything should happen to Trystane, it will be you on the throne. And though I have great love for my nieces, none of them can be a princess."

“Our house will endure like it always has.” Oberyn snorts, dismissing Doran’s concern. “If the time comes, I will marry Ellaria and claim my Sand Snakes as legitimate.” He takes a long sip of his wine, humming at the delightfully floral note.

"The chance for that has passed." It is Doran's turn to be dismissive, sitting back again in his wheeled chair and adjusting a cushion under his arm. "Your objections to marriage have been noted, brother, but it is time to make a respectable husband of you. Ellaria will understand. She is an intelligent woman, and I'm sure would not abandon you as your mistress." Oberyn prefers the term paramour, and though it is accurate now, it will be more complicated once things are settled.

“Brother, what have you done?” Oberyn demands, slamming his goblet down onto the table.

"You know exactly what I have done." There is no chance, in his mind, that Oberyn has not deduced that a marriage contract has been signed, but Doran still sighs heavily. "She is the only daughter of a noble family. The father let her go without a match for some time while her brothers all married, but her portrait is beautiful and he assures me that she is accomplished." Reaching for the wine glass that Oberyn has rejected, Doran takes a gulp rather than a sip. "And she has no marks, blessedly."

“The agreement was my soulmate or no one.” Oberyn hisses, his gaze turning withering. “I will not marry some cow faced northerner.”

"Every place is northern to Dorne," Doran waves one hand dismissively and sets the wine glass back down on the table between them. "The contract is signed, Oberyn. You will not make a liar or a fool of your brother by denying it, and I am not going to try to force you to spend time with the girl or even like her. But you will marry her and produce a legitimate heir." The contract is full of terms to be adhered to, and the fairly enormous size of the girl's dowry includes access to trade routes that will greatly benefit the people of Dorne. There is no downside to this arrangement in Doran's mind, aside from having to have this discussion with his brother.

Oberyn’s lips press together in a firm line and his chair scrapes back as he stands. “Then you fuck the girl.” He hisses. “For I will not be gracing her bed.” Turning on his heel, the prince storms away before he loses his infamous temper.

Doran breathes a sigh, reaching for the goblet again to drown his frustrations in the wine that his maester has instructed him to avoid when he is in pain. "Fuck it," he grumbles harshly. Oberyn is going to make his life a living hell anyway, he may as well be drunk for it.

******

“Marriage!” Oberyn scoffs angrily, pacing in front of the lounge where his paramour is currently sprawled. “As if I am some fresh-faced maiden. How dare he sign a contract on my behalf!”

"I smell Mellario behind it," Ellaria admits, watching him pace back and forth like a caged beast. Oberyn had come careening back into his chamber like a sandstorm and now he was seething. "Doran has never had issue with your arrangement before now, and suddenly he is concerned about heirs? I would not be surprised if her change has come."

“Or he cannot get his cock to rise.” Oberyn winces at the idea of his own cock not working, but with his brother’s declining health, he would not rule it out. “I will not do it.” He decides. “We will leave for Braavos if he decides to push the issue.”

"My love," Ellaria sits up, shaking her head. "If you leave here, I would follow. You know this. But you would still have four daughters you would not be able to see and we both know that would break your heart." His children are the most important thing in the world to Oberyn – everyone knows this – and Doran would certainly use them as a punishment for insubordination. "Exile is no choice, Oberyn. Even self-imposed."

Pausing mid-stride, his robes swish around his legs as he turns to stare at the woman who had been with him and by his side for nearly twenty years. “You would have me entertain this idea?” He demands, surprised she would consider this.

“I would not have you be less of a man than you are.” For all her complexities, Ellaria Sand is not the temptress or the snake that some make her out to be. Her genuine love for Oberyn is rooted in as much respect as it is passion, and their four daughters currently have a father that they can look up to as a good and wise man. “What is the worst this girl could be?” She poses the question carefully as he shifts his weight anxiously in front of her, and she folds her hands in her lap. “Ugly? That is not her fault. The sun and good company can make anyone more beautiful. Cruel? Doran has already said you do not have to spend much time with her. Or perhaps childish? Spoiled? Then you treat her like a child and send her to her chamber without a treat if she misbehaves.” There is anger in his face, which Ellaria hates to see, but she tries to be encouraging. Motherhood has taught her that encouragement can be a balm on almost any wound. “So you would be married. What does that signify? Nothing in so far as you and I are concerned. You are still my soulmate, my love. And the father of my children. She cannot change that.”

“You are my sun.” Oberyn reaches down and takes his lover’s hand to draw her to her feet. Pulling her against his body, his broad hand covers the small scar on her side, a knife wound that he had earned in the fighting pits. “My world.” He promises, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, trying to rid himself of the idea of tying himself to another. Ellaria is his soulmate, which is why he had said that he would only marry the woman who bears his marks.

"And no one will ever change that." She vows just as solemnly, giving herself over to the kiss without restraint. There are parts of his world that she does not stray into, or they would have fought with Doran for the right to marry years ago. The elder Martell brother may not mind her as Prince Oberyn's paramour, but she is not what he would envision for a princess of Dorne, nor does Ellaria particularly want such a title. For Oberyn she might have borne the duty of it all, but he never asked that of her and she was grateful. Now, whoever this girl is that is being thrust into their life will bear that burden instead. Ellaria does not envy her the responsibility.

******

“My love, you must calm yourself.” Within the walls of your chambers, Raeden Stone knows that the two of you are safe. Your maid will not interrupt unless necessary and she is sworn to protect your happiness and well-being above everything else, including your parents. “Stop.” Striding across the room, the sword at his side clanks as he grabs your hands filled with dresses, and takes them from you. “We cannot flee under the cover of darkness like we are thieves escaping the sword.” He knows that if he is caught, he will be killed or sent to the Wall as well.

"I won't do it." The very idea is offensive, leaving the taste of burnt crumbs in your mouth and the feeling of insects crawling on your skin, so that even with Raeden clutching your hand all you can think of is being rid of the horrible sensation. This whole horrible situation. Your eyes are already red from tears, their dried tracks left on your cheeks and down your neck, yet still more threaten to spill over as he holds you still. "I won't marry a stranger and move halfway across the world. I won't leave you behind!"

“You will not need to leave me.” Setting the clothes down on the trunk that is meant to be packed for your journey to King’s Landing and then to Dorne, he cups your cheeks. “I will pledge to accompany you.” He promises, his dark eyes boring into yours. His heart aches but he had known this day would eventually come. “I will ride into all seven hells if need be to stay beside you.”

"Why can we not just tell them?" Your smaller hands wrap around his long fingers, holding tight to him as though he might disappear if you let go. "To marry my soulmate should not be such a shocking thing to do, surely?" Having gone over and over it in their time together, you know why. Status. For a young noble woman to marry a bastard of no consequence, soulmate or otherwise, would be unacceptable in any part of Westeros.

“I have no name to offer you, other than Stone.” Raeden reminds you, aware of his station. He had only become a trusted member of your guard when he had risked his life for you nearly three winters ago. No one knew of the shared marks on your skin. No one could know. “No coin, no land, no future.”

"I could be your future." The argument is an old one. Aged and worn like the stones in your floor. The fact that you would abandon your station and your family for him is moot now that your father has sold you. "Three brothers married wealthy wives and yet I am the sacrificial lamb to be offered up to the lecherous second prince of Dorne." The stories of the man's temperament and deeds preceded him, of course. Lusty and vengeful, the second son of House Martell was to be feared never spoken of above a whisper in polite company. And now you have to marry him?

“I have heard he is handsome.” Despite his own heart aching at the thought of another touching you, he has to make this seem like a good thing. “They say he will treat any in his bed respectfully.”

"He could be the most handsome man in all of Dorne and he would still not be as handsome as you." Soulful eyes the color of chestnut shells, plush lips, and a perpetually mischievous smile when he’s pleased, there is no one more handsome than Ser Raeden Stone. Firm muscles and an impressive strength make him as formidable on the battlefield as they do in the bedroom - a fact which you have kept mum about for years now. Raeden's broad frame and towering height envelope you fully when you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his chest to muffle a sob. "I will never lay with him. Or love him. Not as long as I live."

“You will be his wife.” He swallows as he says those words. “You will bear his children, love or not. And I will protect you.” It will be his own special kind of hell, watching you grow with a child that is not his, marry a man who is not him. “You must not tell him, love.”

"How can you be so calm?" You demand, looking up at him with fear and hurt swimming in your eyes. "My father is sentencing me to stand at the side of another man and you...my love, I cannot believe you are accepting of this?"

“I have no choice but to accept it.” His voice hardens slightly. “If we try to run away together, we will be caught. I will be killed or sent to the Wall.” It rankles, but he had known that one day you would be married off. “I cannot protect you if I am dead or taken the oath.” He growls, shaking his head and leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I cannot risk leaving you alone.”

"Only cruel gods would have given us to each other as soulmates without ever intending to allow our love." It is an unfairness of life that you have lamented more than once, but right now it feels as though a dagger has been plunged through your heart and twisted violently.

“The gods know of our love.” Raeden knows it, sighing softly. “We are together and we will still be together.” He kisses you softly. “I spend more nights in your bed than my own. It will be the same in Dorne.”

"I will not allow it to be any other way." Despite the fear of the unknown, the thing that you can cling to is the strength of your feelings for Raeden Stone. Since the day he arrived rather triumphantly in your life, he has been a constant and welcome presence and you will not allow any power to steal your soulmate from your side. "No prince from Dorne will ever keep you from my arms."

“There is my girl.” Raeden smiles, happy that you are calm again and he presses closer to you. “Now…do you wish that I take your mind off your worries?” He coos softly.

“I always wish for you.” Though time is precious now, as you leave for King’s Landing in just three days and the road is no place for a romantic interlude. Raeden will not even be allowed to ride in your carriage during the journey. His place as your guard demands that he protect you, not indulge in you. Although he is fully capable of doing both.

The grin that you have said melts you flashes across his face and he pulls back so he can remove his belt and sword. “Then let me make you forget about Dorne, forget about marriage and only think of me.”

******

The painstaking journey feels ludicrous, and your weary mother certainly has not made it any easier with her complaining. The decision for your parents to accompany you was entirely your father’s and even then it was only so that he could brag to his small group of friends that he attended the king’s wedding. If this were only about delivering you to your groom, he would have sent you with your guard and your maid and thought no further on it. As it is, you have spent every day sitting beside your mother’s lady’s maid in the cramped and uncomfortable carriage praying that you might get even ten minutes alone with Raeden before the end of the day. It has hardly happened, and you have found yourself near tears rather constantly. Ignorant man that your father is, he imagines you so delirious with joy that you are weeping for your good fortune. The truth could not be further away.

“Do not fret.” Your mother assures you softly. “We have long had daughters marry in Dorne or Dornish brides sent to us.” She reminds you. “While most will look their noses down at a Dornish man, we know he will treat you well.”

“I still do not see why this marriage is even necessary.” And since no one has offered you any sort of explanation, you’re inclined to just ask. “My brothers married wealthy women. We do not need the favour of House Martell. So I am forced to wonder again why I am being offered to them in sacrifice.”

“Change is coming to Westeros.” Your mother leans in, her words quiet and fervent. “Dorne is the last kingdom that still has royalty. You will not just be a lady, you will a princess.”

"I do not want to be a princess." You inform her flatly, ignoring the way her lady's laid looks aghast at your ingratitude. "My own maid had more freedom than I do. At least someone asked her if she wanted to be shipped south like chattel. And she was even able to say no!" Though Clarey had served you since you came of age, your own maid had been able to marry her soulmate and had recently discovered she was with child. Your father had considered himself quite magnanimous for not breaking up that family to send her to Dorne with you.

“You would have your father break his contract with Dorne?” Your mother asks, appalled at the mere idea. “You were born into a noble house. You have grown up knowing your father would arrange a marriage for you. Most are married at seventeen.” She clicks her tongue in disappointment that you are forever ungrateful for the time your father had allowed you to remain unwed. If you only knew the rumors that had swirled.

"If you always planned to marry me against my will then I wonder that you waited so long." Staring out of the carriage window, you can see Raeden up ahead, face drawn in concentration as he keeps constant vigilance over the route you are traveling. "Why not have signed me away to the Starks when I was born?" The bitterness in your voice is obvious. "Then I would have been a queen."

“You will watch your sharp tongue, or you shall be sent to your room without dinner.” Your mother hisses, sitting back and shaking her head. “Your father wanted to hold out hope for a soulmate.”

"I am not a child, as you so love to point out when it is convenient to you." The threat of no dinner is nothing when you have no appetite to begin with. It would be a blessing not to be stared at over a meager meal. "And you can hardly send me to my room when I haven't one. We will not even arrive in King's Landing before first light tomorrow."

Your mother’s hand strikes out, slapping your cheek with a sharp crack. “You will not shame your father and house.” She hisses. “I have long begged your father to marry you off, to stop giving into your childish notions, but no more. You will marry Oberyn Martell.”

If the impulse to cup your own cheek was present, you don’t give in to it, not wanting to show the satisfaction of acknowledging that she has caused you pain of any kind. At the moment all you can really think is that it is good Raeden did not witness your mother striking you, or he may have given himself away with his reaction. “At least in Dorne I will never again be forced to breathe the same odious air you have exhaled.” No one in all of Westeros could ever have mistaken your mother for your ally if they saw you interact in private – it is only her sickly sweet countenance in public that made others think that she had babied or favoured you in any way. More than once in your life you’ve wondered how such a hateful woman could even grow a babe let alone birth four of them.

“You will learn your place soon enough.” She promises you. “You are a woman, not a man.” Her disappointment in you pours off of her in waves. “Be thankful your father did not choose a fat, aging lord.”

“Fat and aging means he would die faster.” At least antagonizing your mother is passing the time, you decide, staring straight ahead at the pompous boil of a woman who has lorded herself over you for the last twenty-five years. “I think I would do very well as a widow.”

“I wonder if your bravery would falter learning that your guard will not be staying with you.” The sly, evil menace in your mother’s voice is clear.

“Of course he will.” Brazen confidence is the tone which drowns out your panicked fear, and you tell yourself not to look outside and give yourself away. That could ruin everything in less than one heartbeat. “He swore to Father to protect me and Father accepted.” If something had changed, surely Raeden would have told you.

“Hmmmm.” Her smile is acidic, her fingers twisting around her handkerchief. “You think you are soooo clever. That I did not know.”

“Honestly?” Honestly you really did not think for a second that anyone besides your former maid knew anything, but you swallow down the boiling acid in your throat and keep your chin poised to stare your own mother down. “I do not know what you could possibly mean.”

“I birthed you.” She snorts, a very unladylike sound. “You think I do not know when my daughter had decided to spread her legs and become a Stone’s whore?”

Of course the thing that bothers her most is that Raeden is a bastard – Stone, as they are named in the Vale – and not an actual concern of safety or care. “I can assure you, that is not the case.” Though saying it would be a waste of breath, nothing you have done with Raeden could mark you as a whore. Just a woman very much in love with her soulmate.

“At least you just bled.” She scoffs. “Not carrying a bastard in your belly.” She leans in, her eyes flashing with malice. “Behave. Or I will allow your father into my bed for the night and he will do as I say. Including making sure your precious Raeden rides home to the Vale with his lord, your father.” She threatens.

Though you have serious doubts that your mother’s cunt is magical enough to control your father’s thoughts, it isn’t a chance you’re willing to take. If Raeden is ordered to return to the Vale and you are forced to ride for Dorne without him, you are more likely to see the bottom of the seas than your marriage bed. “My Lord Father loves me and wishes to protect me,” is all you say in response.

“Your Lord Father will do what makes me happy.” She promises you with a self-assured smirk. “Especially now that I have convinced him to marry you off.”

“It was you?” You should not be so shocked. Her hatred for you has been obvious from the time you were a child and had never seemed to waver. Your father, on the other hand? Doting and indulgent, always picking flowers for you and bringing you books instead of suitors. Your brothers are strong men with discipline instilled in them. You had been allowed to read and dream and sing and ride at your leisure. Of course his sudden change of heart was down to your bitter, angry mother.

“Who else?” She sneers. “Your father would be content to keep you around until you are nothing but a spinster. You are already past your prime. Luckily enough, the Prince of Dorne already has eight bastards.”

The way her utter dismissal of you makes your blood boil is beyond explanation, but as you squeeze your hands together in the pockets of your robe, only one precious thought floats to the surface. “My only solace is that if I should ever see you again after this week, Mother, you shall have to curtsy to the person you despise most in the world.”

“I will not.” She hisses, glaring at you. “I will never bow to a little whore like you.”

“Oh, but you will.” A victory, even a small one, is enough to grasp at as you square your shoulders again. “When I am Princess of Dorne it will be required of everyone save King Joffrey himself. You included.”

“Bitch.” She hisses, glaring at you. “I should have drowned you the moment you slipped from my womb.”

“A regret you will live with forever.” If Knocking her from her wicked confidence is the best you can do in this conversation, you will not take that for granted, for your mother has always been a formidable enemy. “Now leave me to read, Mother. Lest you earn yourself another wrinkle and find your hair a shade greater than it was when we left home.”

“I will be overjoyed to not see your face every day.” She spits, hating that you don’t seem cowed by her threats. “Dorne will be eye opening for you. And everything you deserve:”

“As you say, Mother.” Without another word, you take the small book of histories from your reticule and open it to the place where you left off last night, too distracted by Raeden’s handsome face to give any more thought to words. False confidence is a thing you learned very well in the face of your mother’s vitriol, and apparently on this one occasion it has actually yielded a victory. You may still be terrified of your future in Dorne, but she never needs to know that.

******

“This city still smells like shit.” Two weeks of travel has left Oberyn irritable, grumbling as he pulls his horse up to the gates of the city. “Let us go find comfort and a bath.” He tells Ellaria, unable to stay in the carriage and deciding to ride ahead of the contingent of troops Doran had sent with him.

“At the brothel, my love?” She smirks at the suggestion, far less uncomfortable from travel than he is. “A bath, fresh food, and a good fuck will restore your mood.”

“Of course.” Oberyn scoffs. “I will not accept chambers in that keep.” He hates even being here and seeing it. Wanting to burn it down, considering his sister, niece and nephew died in that keep.

“Nor should you.” As a prince he should have the most resplendent rooms available, but they both know what would happen if Oberyn ever set foot in the Red Keep beyond the wedding in two days. “We will visit this Littlefinger you have spoken of?”

“I had sent word that we were arriving.” He chuckles, smirking at Ellaria because she knows him so well. “Tell me you don’t want a hot bath and an even hotter cunt?”

“If I am honest, I am ravenous for a cunt to bury my tongue in.” There is never any judgment between them, or jealousy, and Ellaria sighs indulgently at the idea of a slick cunt and perky tits to indulge in. “Will you share with me, lover?”

“Always.” Oberyn waggles his brows. “We will pick out a whore together.”

“A favorite pastime.” Ellaria laughs softly. She has not spoken a word about Oberyn’s intended bride since they left Dorne and she won’t until it’s necessary. His mood is volatile here in the northern capital and she does not relish his moments of anger.

“Silk sheets.” Oberyn groans, not willing to admit that he is weary of travel, but he needs to recover. Especially if he is to be meeting this bride. He had decided that the poor girl deserves to be told in person that he will have nothing to do with her.

“Silk sheets. Roasted meats. Wine. Berries and nuts fresh from their trees.” She giggles when his hand slips inside her dress to caress her skin. “And a pert ass for you to bury yourself in.”

“We could get two. A man and a woman.” He reasons, smirking at the idea. “Perhaps we will have Littlefinger line them all up for us to choose from.”

“As many as you like, my love.” After all, it is not as if the coffers of Dorne lack for funds. They have brought a fortune with them under Doran’s insistence that Oberyn shower his intended with gifts – and a second fortune to pay for the bills his natural extravagance will no doubt incur. “We will have whatever you desire. And when you have had your fill we will rest and then begin all over again.”

“Wine.” Oberyn decides, frowning despite thinking of nicer things as the two of them enter the walls of King’s Landing. “I will need a lot of wine.”

Their destination is not far, but the duo of Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand attract attention by virtue of their combined beauty and the onlookers who cluster to gaze at them make their journey last longer. Oberyn sends their driver off with the carriage to find stables nearby and Ellaria wraps her arms around him when he returns to her side in the steps of the building. “Do you hear the false moans, my prince?” She pouts in sympathy for the unsatisfied women inside as they cross the threshold together. “We will make them scream so they never forget us.”

Oberyn smirks, holding her hand with no shame. He does not hide Ellaria, she is his paramour. Much more than that, although that is something that is kept between the two of them, private at her insistence so she does not become a liability to him. “We will, my love. Every whore in this brothel will pout when you leave.”

“Very pretty pouts, I hope.” Ellaria loves a very pretty pout when the time is right. To be begged to come back to bed. To have a lover cry her name with such passion that their heart aches for more. She saunters into the brothel beside Oberyn with her head high and looks around as the prettily dressed woman at the entrance fawns over Oberyn. Everyone fawns over Oberyn, that is of little interest to her.

Oberyn eyes the cunts and tits on display, lifting a brow when he sees earrings through one woman’s nipples. “I see we are in the right place.” He smirks, watching as Littlefinger rushes over to the pair.

“Prince Oberyn.” Though he does not ever bow deeply, he does bow, eyes tracking over to Ellaria with an oily smile. “My lady. What an honour to be graced with your presence. What can we provide for you this morning?”

“My lady?” Ellaria scoffs, making Oberyn smirk and squeeze her hand. “We will be needing accommodations for the duration of our stay in King’s Landing.” Most brothels do not rent rooms and he is sure that Littlefinger’s establishment is no different but Oberyn has learned that his title and the gold of his coin makes things possible when they previously weren’t. “For now, until it is ready, we need baths and whores to join us.”

“The duration of your stay?” The man does not bother to hide his surprise, but smiles broadly like the showman that he is. “I will send someone to ready your accommodations,” he promises, hand on heart. “Our baths are this way,” Littlefinger motions deeper into the building. “Do you have a preference for who should join you or shall I send you a variety to choose from?” There is enough gold dripping from the Prince of Dorne that Littlefinger will unfold the world of pleasure at his feet if that is what he wishes, without worry for his ability to pay what is owed.

“Your choicest men and women.” Oberyn looks over to Ellaria for her approval. “Clean.” He insists, although Littlefinger’s whores are always of a higher caliber than most. “We will send the others away once we have chosen.”

“Leyth.” Littlefinger waves to a tall, buxom girl with orange curls down to her waist. “Tend to the prince and his lady for me,” he instructs her, obviously trusting that she can do the job. “Anything they need, you will acquire for as long as they are here, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The girl called Leyth nods and smooths her thin skirt, looking between the beautiful prince and his stunning lady. “I will be happy to serve them.”

“Good.” The chuckle that bubbles out of Littlefinger is full of approval. “Take them to the baths and then fetch them food and wine.” He smiles at Oberyn, a thing dripping with false charm. “I will send you a selection of company to choose from.”

“Berries.” Oberyn adds, the need for fresh fruit after weeks on the road is great. Ellaria chuckles, well aware of his fondness for snacking, especially when he is fucking.

“Berries.” Leyth bats her eyelashes prettily as she leads the pair down the hall. “Do you prefer sweet things, your Grace?”

“Hmmmm.” He doesn’t answer one way or the other, although his gaze is sliding up and down her form and he reaches out to caress her ass through the sheer robe she is wearing.

She hums right back at him, playful but bidding, and slows her pace slightly to let him touch as they turn the corner to the bathing room. The deep bath in the floor sits full and waiting for paying customers, beautifully tiled with trays of soap and sponges for gently scrubbing skin. The oiled waters smell of flower petals, and two baths are even littered with the things. Leyth walks toward the bath of floral water with a sultry smile and a swing in her hips. “I will wash you with my own hands if that is your wish, after I fetch you food to break your fast.”

“What do you say my love?” Oberyn asks Ellaria. “Leyth and whoever catches our eyes?” He would love to see his paramour’s thighs spread for the orange haired beauty. “Or would you prefer to choose the woman?”

“You are lovely, Leyth.” Ellaria praises, already having decided that she likes this woman’s spirit as well as her figure. “We will see who else catches our eye when they arrive.”

“Show me your tits.” Oberyn commands the woman. Eager to see if they are as perky as they seem or if it is an illusion of the gown she is wearing.

Obedience is necessary to work for Littlefinger, but Leyth is lucky to have been given to this couple she finds so attractive. She slips the ties from her shoulders and lets her silken dress fall to the stone floor with pride. Her body is well worth selling and has given her a good living, so she proudly bares her large tits and curved waist to this prince when he demands it.

“Very nice.” Oberyn groans with a smirk. “They will look lovely bouncing when you ride my cock.” He predicts. “We can undress ourselves.” He promises, turning to Ellaria and pushing aside her own gown so he can cup her bare breast, tweaking an already hard nipple.

Ellaria moans happily when the girl excuses herself to fetch their food, and drops the traveling robe she was wearing to the ground immediately. “Lover…” she sighs, her body arching to seek Oberyn’s touch instinctively. “You were right about this place.”

“Of course I am right.” He teases playfully, leaning in and dragging his nose along her throat. “Now, we need to wash so we can be ready to play when the whores are brought in. I want to feed you fruit while a tongue is buried in your cunt.”

“Leyth is a beauty.” Ellaria disrobes easily and quickly, leaving her things scattered as she steps into the bath built deep into the floor. It is warm and smells sweet, like summer in the Water Gardens. “Pale, but I like her freckles.” She looks up at Oberyn with admiration as he shrugs off his own robes. “I like your freckles better, though.” Especially the one on the inside of his right thigh, high on his muscled leg where she can kiss it before swallowing his cock.

“Just like her tits are gorgeous, but yours have suckled four of my children.” His cock twitches and he kicks off his boots, throwing the loose, pale yellow shirt off and reaching for his leather breeches.

“Hers are bigger than mine.” Ellaria chuckles at the way he loves tits. “Enjoy them, lover. I know I shall.”

“You always do.” He chuckles, thanking the gods that his soulmate is just as adventurous as he is. “Maybe she will be the only one we choose for now.”

“Perhaps.” Sighing as she lays back in the water, Ellaria tilts her head and soaks her hair, enjoying the way she feels cleaner already. “Perhaps we will develop a taste for sun-red hair while we are here.”

“Whatever we develop a taste for, we will indulge in.” Oberyn does not mind sharing her, doesn’t get jealous because she is his sun and world. No one could break their bond.

“Come to me, lover.” She beckons him with both hands, pouting for him prettily. Now that travel is behind them, Oberyn is already cheerier and it lightens her heart. “Soak with me. It has been weeks since we had a bath.”

“With pleasure.” Stripped down, Oberyn strides over to the bath and starts to descend the stairs to join her in the deep tub.

Ellaria moves to him immediately, arms welcoming him home and lips finding his with a deeply satisfied moan. Her legs are around his waist as quickly as his hands find her ass, and his growing cock twitches against her soft skin.

Oberyn turns around, letting his paramour cling to him as he drops down onto the seat under the water. “I love you.” He murmurs quietly against his lips.

“As I love you.” Since the day they first spoke the words to each other they have not wavered, and Ellaria runs her hands across Oberyn’s skin reverently. “My warrior.”

“My sun.” Oberyn squeezes her ass and rocks her onto his hardening cock. “My world.” The passion between the pair has not wavered over the years, growing stronger in a way that could only be because of their soulmate bond.

“Oberyn.” No matter how many times she takes him, the stretch of his cock inside her takes her breath away. Her hands find his shoulders to cling to him as they find their pace, with his grip guiding her as she begins to bounce on his length in earnest.

“Too soon, my love?” He teases, knowing she is far more than adequately wet. She is dripping.

“Never.” She shakes her head before throwing it back, letting her moan ring out through the echoey chamber. “Never. I am always yours.”

Multi-tasking is a gift that Oberyn has. Results of a wandering spirit and a restless mind. It was one of the reasons he had joined the maesters and eventually left after forging eight links. He reaches for the perfumed soap and a rag to wash his lover.

They are fully enraptured with each other when Leyth returns, and she sets the tray down beside them before seeing about pouring two goblets of wine. It’s rare to have pairs of lovers visit the establishment but not unheard of, and she smiles indulgently, watching the passion they share for a moment before making herself known. “I can do that for you, your Grace,” she offers, knowing her employer will be upset if she neglects them.

Even with Ellaria impaled on his cock, Oberyn tears his mouth away from her lips and looks over at the woman. “Join us and bring the wine.” He orders. “Are the others coming?”

“They are right here.” Leyth slips into the water easily, taking the sponge from him and resumes the work of bathing his lady without missing a beat. Four women and two men all of varying ages and looks pour into the room behind her clad in next to nothing looking apprehensive.

“Do not be shy.” Oberyn turns Ellaria’s head and groans when she clenches down around him. “Any who wish to not join us may leave now.” He does not want someone who is timid.

The most tired looking of the women takes the youngest girl by the hand and leads her from the room with a respectful nod of her head, and one of the men bows before stepping out behind them. "Leaving us with five supple bodies to learn," Ellaria groans appreciatively. Between Oberyn's cock and Leyth's hands massaging her back as she washes her, this is surely already one of the seven heavens. One of the girls is the first to step forward, beautiful dark skin on display and bright eyes full of mischief as she easily discards her meager dress and slips into the water right away. She has heard legends of the second prince of Dorne and intends to find out for herself if they are true.

“Eager.” Oberyn chuckles and beckons her forward. “I like that.” His eyes slide past her towards the remaining man, tall and broad. His tawny skin clear and it’s obvious that his cock is starting to harden as he watches. “You—” he motions towards him. “Do you suck cock or like cock in your ass?”

"I like whatever you like, my lord." After all, is that not what he is here for? Being a man with a voracious appetite for pleasure makes him an asset in a place like this.

Oberyn growls, eyeing his cock tenting the loose trousers he is wearing. “Strip and join us if you are going to.”

Spacious as it is, there is not enough room for everyone in the bath, and the last remaining girl lays down bare on the edge after everyone has climbed in and patiently plays with herself while she waits her turn. There is plenty to feast her eyes on until one of them decides to bury their face in her pussy.

Twitching inside his lover, he kisses her gently and pulls her off his cock. “Go play, my love.” He urges her, knowing she wants to do more than just be touched.

"We may learn to enjoy King's Landing after all." Ellaria laughs, happily letting hands explore her skin. Leyth and the man gravitate toward Oberyn, and she is happy to drown herself in a sea of pussy until she is drunk on the sound of women's pleasure.

When he is close enough, Oberyn reaches down and cups the man’s cock firmly. “What is your name?” He demands, squeezing him gently and jerking him slowly.

"Cal, my lord." His eyelids flutter slightly at the firm touch, eager for more. "Or whatever you want it to be."

“Cal….” He smirks and presses his thumb against the head of the man’s cock. “Have you ever been fucked by a Prince?”

The way Cal shudders and his breath hitches is reverent, and he shakes his head as he tries to remember to breathe. "No, your Grace. But I would like to be."

He turns to Leyth, jerking his chin up. “Kiss me.” he orders, stretching his neck out and lets go of the man’s cock so he can slide his hand around him to press between the cheeks of his ass.

The room fills with moans as Leyth eagerly complies, licking into the prince's mouth with surety. She knows her skill and she hopes to impress, even pressing closer to him to wrap her own hand around his cock.

Oberyn hisses, his tongue sliding against hers happily as he finds Cal’s puckered hole quickly and starts to rub around the opening.Hands are everywhere as Cal lowers his head to lay kisses along the taut muscles of the prince's neck, one hand caressing his skin and the other groping for Leyth's breast to squeeze the supple flesh and play with her nipple. They are paired together often, when clients wish for a show, so he knows her body as well as any instrument.

“You are lovers.” Oberyn groans, pushing a finger inside the man’s quivering hole. On the other side of the bath, Ellaria and the ebony skinned beauty are tangled together in a passionate embrace.

"Sometimes." Leyth agrees, leaning over to give Cal a kiss without missing a single stroke of the prince's cock.

The sounds of heavy breathing and pleasure are filling the bathing room and he can feel the way Cal’s body squeezes his finger as he pumps it into him to stretch him out. “So do you want his cock or his tongue while I fuck him?”

"If I have his cock, I will feel every time you fuck into him." She moans at the idea, chest heaving with just the thought. "You will be driving us both wild with pleasure."

He chuckles and nods, pulling his fingers out of the other man. “Then get on your knees and let him slide inside your cunt.”

Kneeling on the bench where he had been sitting, Leyth presents herself easily for both men to appreciate and sighs out loud when the familiar stretch of Cal's cock presses inside of her wet heat. She knows that Cal is truly the one getting spoiled today and hopes the prince lives up to every rumour for his sake.

Oberyn can’t help but reach out and slap her ass and groans when her generous skin jiggles. “I will fuck you after I have had my fill of your lover.”

"He is insatiable," Ellaria offers, chuckling deeply before burying her face in the cunt nearest her talented mouth. Oberyn is not the only one with an endless appetite. It is one of the reasons that they have so much fun together.

“It has been two weeks.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. There hadn’t been any place to stop and fuck while on the road. He was pent up.

"No one here will complain, my lord." Cal promises, burying himself again in Leyth's cunt and groaning at her heat. "The stories of you are legend, and most of us are eager to know if they are true."

“They are true.” Ellaria pulls his tongue out of the cunt to purr her vote of confidence.

“Thank you, my love.” Oberyn chuckles and reaches for the oils that are kept on the edge of the bath for things such as this.

"Then we will add our praise to the stories that already exist." Soon Leyth will be able to do nothing but take the thrusts from the two men above her, but for now she meets each movement with a roll of her plush hips.

"We are yours for as long as you wish to stay." It is only half of a promise from Cal himself, having been instructed by Littlefinger himself to give Prince Oberyn whatever he wants, but at least now Cal can make the vow with pleasure.

Oberyn has no doubt that these people have been told to do whatever he or his paramour likes but he will only take what he deems right. “Only if I bring you both pleasure.”

"I cannot imagine you have trouble giving pleasure." Cal moans, bending over Leyth's back to present himself to the prince for the taking.

Coating his cock in enough oil to wash his entrance, the water in the bath sloshes as he shuffles closer and takes himself in hand. Pressing closer and pushing the head of his cock against the other man’s hole and slowly rolls his hips forward to break him open.

Cal curses, eyes rolling back into his head as the prince's girth fills him, and in turn pushes his cock further into Leyth's fluttering pussy. The bathing room may as well be their own private party in this moment, because of the large handful of people indulging in each other no one notices Littlefinger lurking by the doorway. True pleasure is rare in a whorehouse, so this is sure to be a lucrative visit for the proprietor.

Oberyn lets out a lusty groan when his hips are flush against the other man’s ass. “You do not flinch away.” He praises, wrapping his long arms around the man so he can cup Leyth’s generous breasts while he waits for the man’s muscles to relax around him.

“Pleasure is a gift.” Cal’s body shudders as he takes Oberyn fully, the stretch of him making the man pant and reach back to grasp the prince’s hip. “You have a very large gift, my lord.”

Oberyn chuckles quietly, pleased with Cal’s words and leans in to nibble on his ear. Enjoying the way he shudders again. “Let me show you what I can do with that gift.”

******

The Red Keep looms above you when you finally step out of your carriage, trying with all your might to block out your mother’s voice muttering indignities that your party was not greeted by a royal retinue at the city line. What utter nonsense. Your house is ancient and wealthy, yes, but certainly not royal and there is no reason for the royal Baratheons or Lannisters to pay you any heed. At least, outside the carriage, you can finally be more than a foot and a half away from your mother again.

“Alright, pumpkin?” Your father beams down at you before swinging off of his horse.

“Of course, Papa.” Of course not is the truth, but after days of spitting venom you are too tired to put up much of a fight. Besides, now that you know this is your mother’s doing, it is hard to be upset with your father for simply being a fool.

Your father beams at you as he steps beside you and offers you his arm. Not having an opportunity to talk much on the road, he wants to assure you. “I understand you are nervous because you have not been to Dorne, but your grandmother and her mother are from Dorne.” He reminds you. “And there is family in Braavos and across the Narrow Sea.” The long tradition of finding love outside the Vale is common, your father finding the free-spirited prince to be a far worthier match for you than some sniveling little lord grasping for favor. The idea that his daughter will be princess is also a factor.

“I shall visit them all at my earliest ability.” The idea of traveling to see family you have never met sounds infinitely preferable to spending even a minute in the presence of the prince you never agreed to wed, and for a moment you almost relax at the idea.

“I doubt your husband will allow anything other than you spitting out his heirs for the next few years.” Your mother scoffs. “You will be visiting his bed.”

“That is not for you to know or to decide.” You tell her, though the fact that she may be right makes you sick to your stomach. Two steps behind the three of you, Raeden could not have missed the comment but you cannot exactly turn to look at him.

Raeden keeps his gaze down, your mother’s words in his mind as he tries to decide if he had made the right choice. Perhaps he should have run away with you. He’s noticed the captain of your father’s guard eyeing him so he had tried to be as impassive as possible. His heart aches at the idea of you in the Prince’s bed, despite the rumors of his prowess and propensity for men and women, something that he shamefully shares with the Prince of Dorne. He had fought his attraction to the other men around him. Not even sharing it with you.

“My lord. My ladies.” A steward in the hallway bows to you dutifully and opens his mouth to welcome you to the Red Keep, but a swish of skirts and a silky smooth voice cuts him off from behind. “Lollard, I will greet my guests,” she instructs, sounding nearly severe before her voice pitches up to something delighted and seemingly terribly excited. “I was so pleased to see your banner approach that I could not help myself.” The woman declares, and you cannot tell if she means it or not. “Lady Margaery Tyrell,” she introduces herself with a broad smile. “It was I who sent your invitation. Welcome to King’s Landing, and to the Red Keep.”

“You are even more beautiful than your portrait, Lady Margaery,” your mother gushes, simpering to the woman who appeared to be several years younger than even you. “And how thoughtful of you to include our House in your nuptial feast. We are honoured.”

“It is I who am honoured.” She steps toward you with a smile. “To have the future princess of Dorne amongst my guests, and of course the ancient connection between our Houses makes us loving cousins, does it not?” The marriage of a Tyrell daughter into your House was four generations ago, but Margaery has never been one to overlook a string that might be pulled in her favour. At least not after her grandmother pointed it out.

Future princess of Dorne. Raeden’s fists clench at his sides as he tries to ignore the fury in his heart at that simple phrase. You will be a princess, and the gap between your stations will be more vast than before.

“We are flattered by such a personal welcome.” Beside you, your father is talking and patting your hand on his arm, but you barely hear him. Each time another person calls you princess or refers to the man who bought you, you feel closer and closer to being sick all over the floor. Or perhaps sinking in a wasting depression. If both are possible simultaneously, that may be the answer.

“Forgive me.” When you find your voice it almost cracks, but you put one hand to your stomach delicately. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Margaery, but I am afraid I feel quite ill from weeks of travel. Would it be possible to be escorted to our chamber so that I might be well enough for a turn around the gardens later?” An ally – any ally – may be worth grasping, and you enjoy the way this young woman made your mother frown by not paying attention to her. For right now, though, you would do anything to be alone so that Raeden could visit you.

“Forgive me.” Margaery bows her head respectfully and gives a small, sincere smile. “My manners have forsaken me.” She gestures towards the keep. “Allow me to show you personally to your rooms. A light repast has been laid out for your pleasure as well.”

“How very kind of you,” you murmur, knowing you won’t touch a thing. The reality of your situation has stolen your normally healthy appetite.

Clever blue eyes catch the subtle grimace when she mentions food and yet she doesn’t comment on it. Sensing that you will have much to talk about, Margaery had invited you to stay in the keep as her guest after learning of your betrothal to Oberyn Martell. “This way.” She smiles and motions towards the left corridor.

Though you might not be fond of the games of society, you were raised in them, and you have sense enough that when the future queen offers you her arm you take it. That is how the first glimpse many guests to court ever have of you is strolling arm-in-arm with the woman who will become queen in two days time. It does not matter that you just met. It does not matter that she is chattering away politely while you simply smile your polite smile and nod. The future queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the future princess of Dorne paint a very pretty picture on their way through the halls of the Red Keep with your family trailing behind. If you weren’t so desperate to be alone with Raeden again and attempt to forget all this is happening, you might more fully enjoy the way your mother is green with envy.

______

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #reader x m!OC #male OC #female reader #male original character #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #arranged marriage

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Twentytwo

Washing hair - Oberyn Martell/F!Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Oberyn begin to try conceiving and days before he leaves for Kings Landing, he finds you cooling down in the baths during a hot day.

Relationships: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

WC: 1700

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mild Smut, Bathing/Washing, Hair Washing, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Kissing, Female Reader, Oberyn Martell Lives, this turned into a fix it fic along the way

AO3 LINK

notes: this is a direct continuation of kinktober day eight - breeding. highly recommend reading that one first! :)

_________________________________________

It had been a few weeks since that night, since she had first tasted the red tea leaves that were supposedly going to help her conceive, that Oberyn had had shipped to Dorne for that sole reason. It hadn't been until the next day that he had admitted to her that he had ordered a large quantity of them and that, if she chose to, there would be enough for several months.

So, every night, next to her dinner, a steaming mug sat waiting for her.

Most nights, it was followed by Oberyn waiting for her in their chambers afterwards. Though there had been several occasions where he hadn't waited on their bed or balcony or even the baths. He had waited at the table in the dining quarters, sitting next to her, his hand on her thigh and his gaze fixed on her movements. He watched, ready to pounce, just like a viper. And he did.

As soon as she would get up, he would be there, by her side, leading her out of the dining room. She felt his gaze on him in those moments and they were both thinking the same way, causing them, more than once, to not even make it back to their chambers before giving it another try.

He had taken their conversation to heart, the way she had mentioned that it was a lot of pressure to “ be his ” and so he had made a point to not bring it up too much, never asking if it had taken or if she felt any different.

Still, the man had noticed that she hadn't mentioned bleeding in a while and maybe, just maybe, he hoped it could mean something had shifted.

Oberyn found himself wandering the palace on a hot summer midday. The sun had been shining relentlessly on Dorne for days now and despite the Southerners being used to heat, even they had started hiding from the sun in the afternoon, not wanting to get burned. While nothing compared to the water gardens with its many chances for one to cool down and wade through the shallow pools, there was a small, closed-in pool at the palace in Sunspear as well. The outer wall was missing, replaced by thick columns and a beautifully crafted balustrade. One could bathe while overlooking the sea but without being burned by the sun. Over the years, plants had grown up the walls and columns and spread over the once open beams of the ceiling. Now, the greenery served as protection from the heat, only occasionally letting one or two rays of direct sunshine filter into the small pool.

Oberyn could smell the spices that hung in the air, the scent mixing with that of the salty sea as he stepped into the shade around the pool. And there she was.

He smiled as he watched her. Her back towards him, her hair tied up on her head, her naked body glistening under the water that was completely still around her. He stood for a moment, simply admiring the scene before he approached, silently letting his shawl and pants fall to the floor. The prince let himself glide into the water and reached out to touch her. Just then, feeling the ripple from him moving behind her, she turned her head towards him. A small smile formed on her face, matching his own.

“Greetings.” She mumbled as he closed the distance between them, ”What is my little sun doing out here, all by herself?”

“Hiding from the big sun.” That earned her a small laughter from Oberyn, ”I see.” His arms came to lay around her waist, his lips quickly finding that spot on her neck that made her whimper softly.

“Tell me, are you teasing your prince?” It was her turn to smirk, ”I would not dream of it, your highness. I am quite sure that would be a rather … unhonorary offense in Dorne.”

“That is right.” Teeth scratched over her neck lightly and she let out a surprised gasp as Oberyn continued, ”I should have them lock you up for such an offense. Or at the very least, I should tie you up.”

She smiled again but this time, it didn't quite reach her eyes. Oberyn sighed at that, stopping the assault on her neck and he let her head fall back against his broad chest. She watched the sea they were facing, the waves far below them building and crashing in a never ending circle. How powerless the water must feel, she thought.

Oberyn's gaze was trained on her, watching the slight crease between her eyebrows that told him something was off.

“What is it, my love?” He asked quietly. He did not care for small talk or for sneakily trying to get something out of her. He wanted her trust. And if something was wrong, he expected to know.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, ”I would rather not speak about it.” Her voice was quiet and soft and Oberyn felt like there was a small tremor in it.

One of his hands came up to her face, caressing her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, ”And I would rather you did. Please tell me, my love.”

She opened her eyes again at that, slowly turning so that she was facing Oberyn. Almost automatically, he brought one strong arm under her to support her in the water, her legs wrapping around his hips. Their sexes were touching and at any other moment, the red viper would have made his move, slipped a hand onto her bundle of nerves or squeezed her round behind- but not now. He could feel that this was important to her and therefore, by extension, to him.

The woman took a deep breath, working up the nerve to say what she had not wanted to yet reveal, ”You're leaving for Kings Landing tomorrow.”

He gave a small nod, ”I am. It will be a rather boring trip, truly. A few council meetings, a wedding. Two events where every minute spent with the Lannisters will feel like one minute too much.”

Her gaze shifted slightly at that and he fell silent, sensing that this was not what she was referring to. She opened her mouth to speak but he was faster, ”You do not wish for me to leave.”

Oberyn's gaze softened slightly, ”Do you?”

Her mouth closed again as her gaze fell and she gave a small shake of her head, confirming his guess, ”No. I wish you would stay here.”

The viper took her face in for a moment, his free hand still gently caressing her cheek, ”I asked you a while back. You said it was alright with you if I left for a few weeks.”

He had had doubts too, never having been separated from her for so long. Even knowing that he left her in a safe place like Sunspear could not cancel out all the doubts he carried about leaving her alone.

“I thought-” He started once more but she cut him off.

“I think I'm pregnant.”

Oberyn stared at her, his eyes softening as a smile played around his lips, ”My sun, you-”

The legends that would speak of the Red Viper, of the prince of Dorne, of Oberyn Martell years and years later, would claim that he had never been speechless. They were wrong.

He was speechless now.

It took him a few moments to gather the words, his own voice now shaking slightly as he spoke, ”Are you certain?”

“I think so. I mean, I have never been before but- I have not bled in two moons,” she said quietly. His expression changed slightly, his smile faltering, ”Why do you not sound happy about it?”

“I am,” she quickly reassured him, ”I am, it is just-” Finally, she let the strong facade fall and as her shoulders slumped, tears sprang into her eyes, ”I am just so scared, Oberyn.”

His heart broke at the sight in front of him, her round eyes looking up at him with so much uncertainty in them, “Is that why you did not tell me before?”

Her look was confirmation enough and he quickly pulled her closer, hugging her naked body. “Oh, my sun,” he whispered, ”You do not have to be afraid. I will take care of you. Of both of you. You are not alone in this nor will you ever be.”

She hiccuped softly, ”But you said-”

Oberyn shook his head softly, ”I will not go. I will stay here. With you.” His hand left her cheek and wandered to her stomach, gently caressing the curve of it, ” And with our little Martell. ”

She looked at him, her lip quivering slightly, ”Oberyn, you said it was important that you go to King's Landing. You said that because of Elia-”

“Shhhh,” he mumbled, his hand rubbing small circles into her skin, ”That was before. Besides, Elia would want me to stay. To take care of you.”

It became clear to her then, that Oberyn had lost a child before- two, in fact. Despite them not having been his own, they had been his sisters and that had meant they had been as good as his. He was never going to let the same thing happen to his little sun.

She nodded softly, raising her head to get a better look at him and Oberyn kissed her gently, using his hand to push a strand of dark hair behind her ears as he smiled at her, “Come here. Let me take care of you.”

He reached for the soap bar that was resting on a small plate at the side of the pool, rubbing it over her hair for a moment before he placed it back in its spot and brought both hands to her head, massaging it gently.

Oberyn washed her hair and told her about his plans for the future. The things he would buy for the baby before it even saw the light of day, the things he had already ordered to hopefully lessen her discomfort during the pregnancy, the things he wanted to teach their child, the books he wanted to read to them to put them to sleep.

She smiled, listening to his plans for their future as he rinsed her hair.

It didn't seem so scary anymore.

#kinktober #fanfic #pedro pascal #light smut #oberyn martell x you #prince oberyn #oberyn martell / you #oberyn martell / reader #oberyn martell x reader #game of thrones #pregnancy #hurt/comfort

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

GRRM, on the question of the agriculture in the North of Westeros

SJ: From what we’ve seen in the books so far, it looks like even in summer the snow covers most of the lands in the North, and it surely does cover all in winter, doesn’t it? GRRM: I wouldn’t say that snow “covers most of the lands” in summer. Rather than they have occasional summer snows. It never gets really hot in the north, even in summer, but it’s not icy and snowing all the time either. Winter is a different tale. SJ: But quite a lot of people are living there. What do they eat? GRRM: A lot of food is stored. Smoked, salted, packed away in granaries, and so on. The populations along the coast depend on fishing a great deal, and even inland, there is ice fishing on the rivers and on Long Lake. And some of the great lords try and maintain greenhouses to provide for their own castles… the “glass gardens” of Winterfell are referred to several times. But the short answer is… if the winter lasts too long, the food runs out… and then people move south, or starve… SJ: Are there some areas without snow, which are suitable for agriculture, or are there significant temperature changes inside the “bigger seasons”? To grow a harvest, at least a couple of months’ time of warm temperature (15-20 degrees by Celsius) is needed. Is it available in the North? GRRM: Sometimes. It is not something that can be relied on, given the random nature of the seasons, but there are “false springs” and “spirit summers.” The maesters try and monitor temperature grand closely, to advise on when to plant and when to harvest and how much food to store. SJ: And what happens when a winter comes - five, six years long? GRRM: Famine happens. The north is cruel. SJ: Surely, the import of grain from the South alone can’t cover the North’s needs. And, by the way, does it snow in the South during the winter? GRRM: Yes, some times, in some places. The Mountains of the Moon get quite a lot of snow, the Vale and the riverlands and the west rather less, but some. King’s Landing gets snow infrequently, the Storm Lands and the Reach rarely, Oldtown and Dorne almost never.

–June 21, 2001

For more on the seasons and the world of ASOIAF, please see this post.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf worldbuilding #the north #westeros #asoiaf seasons #winter #agriculture #grrm #asoiaf food #so spake martin #winter is coming #if you get pedantic on winter in the worldbuilding please be aware that the question was asked and grrm answered it well before you ever did #and of course y'know suspension of disbelief is also a thing but that's probably asking for too much from nerds isn't it lol

[francesminos-tt]

Victorian era, Daeron is engaged to Lady Baratheon, thus ensuring a strong alliance for his family, but on his return to Kings Lading, he finally meets his nephew Joffrey, a knight so interesting and handsome that he makes Daeron question everything... angst, Interlized homophobia, denying feelings... pls 🥹🫶

I’m not sure if this is angst enough for you, but it’s the best I can do. Enjoy.

Daeron regretted returning to King’s Landing by ship the moment the ship left Old Town Harbor. The weather was unforgiving this time of the year, strong gust sweeping across the sea, with occasional rain, or even hail. Daeron couldn't sleep in his cold chamber, with howling wind and loud noises of rain drops pouring on the deck. The captain kept the ship carefully near the coast, sailing south first and then traced the shoreline of Dorne. However, the ship still almost got wrecked when sailing through the Stepstones in a storm. Daeron was struck by the severest seasickness of his life. He kept vomiting and vomiting, unable to even hold down a glass of wine. He was about to vomit his guts out when the ship finally sailed past the treacherous water of the Stepstones. Three days later, the ship sailed into the Blackwater Bay.

King’s Landing was a strange place for Daeron. He had left the capital at the young age of four, so his memory of the city was unreliable, to say the least. He was more used to the sunny days of Old Town, when the golden sun met the white wall of the Citadel and the black marble of the Starry Sept. Old Town smelled of flowery delicacy, melons, moonbloom, nightshade, peaches and pomegranates. The long summer days were stiflingly hot, but when the night fell, the city came alive with markets, taverns and pleasure houses open well into the night. Old Town was a place where knowledge met religion, where tradition met foreign values, where restriction met decadence. One could find the holiest place as well as the most extravagant pleasure houses in the Southern part of the realm. Daeron was brought up in such a place of conflict. That was why he considered himself a man with strong beliefs in the Seven, but also a sinner of the most unspeakable crime.

Daeron could tell King’s Landing was different before he even set foot on its soil. For start, the smell was different. No flowery delicacy, only the pungent mix of fish, iron, foreign spices and human filth. He could see the Red Keep in the distance, its red walls half veiled by a thick fog, like an ominous eye of the evil. The harbor was even busier than that of Old Town. Workers were unloading the cargo from the trading ships, merchants rushing to the harbor office to get their paperwork gone, oyster girls sliding skillfully in the crowd with their salty snacks, and armed soldiers patrolling the area. This place was bustling with life.

Daeron gathered his suitcase and walked carefully down the deck. He tried his best to make himself presentable, but the result was not so satisfactory. Days of seasickness and sleep deprivation left him exhausted and weak, his skin so dull and his cheeks so sunken that he looked more like a skeleton than a man. He stink, too. Daeron wondered who would be so unlucky to welcome him back to King’s Landing.

Probably some servant. Or maybe Hel, if she insisted. Daeron’s sister was always the most adventurous one among his siblings, though she didn't look the part.

“Excuse me, sir, are you Daeron Targaryen by any chance?” A young man stopped him on his way to the harbor office.

“Yes.” Daeron replied, “And you are?”

“Uncle!” The young man laughed and gave Daeron a big hug before the blonde could realize what was happening, “It’s been so long since we last met! So nice to see you again!”

Daeron was taken aback by the young man’s sudden intimacy. For a second, he worried that the fishy smell on his clothes might disgust the young man. Then his attention was drawn to the word uncle. Was this young man one of his nephews? He was too old to be Jaehaerys or Maelor, obviously, so who did that leave? Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey. Which one could he be?

“I am terribly sorry,” Daeron found his voice again after a long while, but he was still too shocked to hug the man back, “forgive me not for not recognizing you. It seems my memory isn’t as good as I think it is.”

The young man laughed and took half a step back. His arms were still loosely wrapped around Daeron’s torso, their face so close that Daeron could make out the small freckles adorning the man’s cheek. The man was slightly shorter than Daeron, with dark fluffy curls and darker eyes. Unlike Daeron, who was dressed in a formal suit even after a long journey at sea, the young man was wearing only a shirt and matching pants, with the top buttons undone to expose his beautiful collar bone and sun-kissed skin. Daeron’s eyes landed on the man’s lips, rosy and soft like the freshest petals, now curling up into a bright smile.

“No need to apologize, uncle. I won't blame you for not recognizing me. The last time we met, I was still a toddler.” The man chuckled, “Welcome back, uncle Daeron. I am Joffrey.”

Daeron barely reacted to the name because he was too caught up by how close Joffrey was. He could feel the heat from his dark-haired nephew, smell the faint cologne from Joffrey’s neck, and see the small beads of sweat hanging on Joffrey’s smooth forehead. Daeron went stiff all of a sudden, his palms began to sweat and his breathing quickened by nervousness. Joffrey was too close, too close for Daeron to remain sane.

“Uncle?” Joffrey tilted his head and called Daeron’s name again, “Uncle Daeron?”

“Oh! Sorry.” Daeron lowered his gaze immediately and struggled out of Joffrey’s arms, as if burned by the brunette’s skin, “Thank you for seeing me here, nephew. Forgive my rudeness. The sea journey must have messed up my head.”

“No problem.” Joffrey’s smile resumed, “I volunteered to pick you up, since I work at the harbor office, you know.”

Daeron wanted to ask what Joffrey’s job was, because he didn't believe the brunette’s outfit was appropriate for any job, let alone an office one. But he kept his mouth shut eventually. Maybe things were different here in King’s Landing.

“Besides,” Joffrey spoke, reaching out wrap his arm around Daeron’s shoulder again, “I am curious about you, uncle Daeron. I wonder what kind of a man you have become.”

Not as honorable as you might expect, Daeron thought. He let himself be led to the office to process his paperwork, while keeping his eyes on Joffrey’s snatched waist and cute butt.

“When will your betrothed join us, my dear?” Lady Alicent asked after Daeron had followed her into her private parlor for tea.

“Ellyn will stay with her family for the holiday, mother.” Daeron replied, his voice perfectly flat.

“She can join us for the holiday. I am sure King’s Landing has more to offer than Storm’s End.” Alicent said, stirring her tea after putting one scoop of sugar in it. She sat elegantly in her chair, back straight and shoulder squared, as if she was having tea with the royalty rather than her own son. Daeron couldn’t remember a time when his mother broke her perfect posture. No, Lady Alicent was the epitome of self-discipline.

“Her family is at Storm’s End, mother.” Daeron reminded her as gently as possible. Lady Alicent was a proper woman, but sometimes she just lacked the ability to empathize with others.

“I don’t see any sense for her to stay at that gloomy place any longer, since the wedding will take place in spring.” Alicent took a small bite of the jam filled sponge cake and then her tea, “Perhaps you should send her a letter and ask her to come here. I can't wait to meet my daughter-in-law.”

Daeron’s betrothal with Ellyn Baratheon was made solely by his mother. It was somewhat of a compensation for the failed betrothal of Daeron’s brother Aemond and Ellyn’s sister Floris. Lord Baratheon was furious when Aemond broke the marriage pact, but fortunately, Lady Alicent was able to persuade the old lord that their family still had the chance to form an alliance by the marriage of her youngest son and his lordship’s youngest daughter. Daeron only found out about his betrothal by a letter from the capital. He hadn't even met Ellyn Baratheon yet, only exchanged letters with the young lady. Daeron still felt detached to the matter, as if his mother was talking about someone else. He had to detach himself, or the fate would be too cruel to accept.

He always knew he would marry for the benefit of the family. His own feelings did not matter. Daeron had to spend the rest of his life with Ellyn Baratheon, whether he loved her or not.

No. Daeron was sure he would not love her, not in a romantic way, at least. He was incapable of loving a woman. His interest and affection always ended up on the same sex. He liked the angular features of men, the hard feeling of muscle under his hand, the musky breath, the smell of cologne and sweat, the beautiful body sculptured by the God.

Daeron couldn’t help but think of his nephew. Joffrey. Wild, handsome, and so full of life. Joffrey had occupied his dream ever since their meeting at the harbor. Daeron couldn’t stop thinking about how Joffrey’s smile seemed to brighten up the day, how warm Joffrey’s arm felt around his shoulder, and how beautiful Joffrey was.

Seven. He had sinned for having inappropriate thoughts about his nephew.

“Daeron? Are you listening, my dear?” Alicent’s voice snapped Daeron out of his train of thoughts.

“I am sorry, mother.” Daeron smiled awkwardly, “What were you saying?”

“I said, you should send a letter to invite your betrothed to King’s Landing.” Alicent put down her cup and leaned in to take Daeron’s hand into hers, “Are you okay, dear? You seem a little out of it today.”

“Thank you, mother. I am fine.” Daeron squeezed her hand gently, “Just tired.”

“Perhaps you should retire to your room early. I will tell the servants to prepare something for your sleep.” Alicent suggested, reaching her free hand for the bell.

Daeron nodded. He didn’t think some random concoction would help calm his mind, but he was desperate to be alone right now. He would agree to anything if it meant he could get away from his mother. He loved his mother, and he was sure she loved him back, to an acceptable extent at least, but sometimes her attitude was just suffocating. Lady Alicent would go extreme length to make sure all her children live a proper life, which meant accomplish things at appropriate age. Start studying no later than six, get involved in holy practices from eight, secure a proper marriage pact at eighteen, and marry before twenty. Such were the general rules of the society, and Lady Alicent believed an honorable member of the society needed to follow these rules.

Daeron went to the Sept frequently even though he never really understood the core of the Seven. He didn't object when his mother informed him in the letter that she had arranged a desirable marriage pact for him. Daeron guessed it was a show of love from his mother that she ever bothered to send a letter to him. All Daeron did was writing back to tell her that he trusted her wise judgment and thank her for the trouble.

It never mattered what Daeron wanted. He had lived his whole life like a puppet, doing everything his mother considered proper and beneficial to their family, so why stop now?

“Get some rest, my son.” Alicent planted a soft kiss on Daeron’s forehead before resuming her upright position, “Hopefully I will see you tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

“I will. Thank you, mother.” Daeron said, a strained smile on his face. He didn't know if his mother sensed his melancholy, but even if she did, she wouldn't ask about it anyway.

Daeron went straight back to his room located on the other wing of the mansion. The Red Keep was a magcificent place, having more than a dozen of bedrooms, a large ballroom, three lounges, two libraries, and numerous rooms for various entertainment purposes. There was a large kitchen on the ground floor, with spaces for servants and helpers. The Targaryen family had estates in other parts of the realm too, such as the Dragonstone mansion that Daeron’s half-sister and her family currently resided.

Not Joffrey though. Joffrey lived in Red Keep, in one of the guestrooms, since his work required him to stay in the capital. Lady Alicent begrudgingly invited the young man to live under her roof, because, again, it was considered a properly thing for a step grandmother to do.

Daeron was thinking about Joffrey’s bright smile when he bumped into the brunette right in front of his own room.

“Nephew?” Daeron gasped, his light violet eyes widened in surprise, “What are you doing outside my room?”

“Waiting for you, of course.” Joffrey flashed a smile, as bright as how Daeron remembered it, “You disappeared after dinner. I reckon I’d better wait here so I don’t miss you.”

“Do you need to discuss anything with me? Is it important?” Daeron took a step back, trying to stay a safe distance away from the brunette. Joffrey was like a house on fire; Daeron would be engulfed in flame if he stayed too close.

“I do have something I want to ask you.” Joffrey said, eyeing the closed door, “But it is best to discuss in private. Why don’t you ask me in, uncle?”

Daeron bit his lower lip and stayed silent for a long while. He was torn. On one hand, he was thrilled to invite Joffrey into his room, but on the other hand, he was scared to let others invade in his private space. Daeron had always been a private person. He had to, because he had so much to hide. He had to stay behind closed door, because he couldn't afford to expose his dirtiest secret to anyone. He risked losing everything.

Joffrey leaned against the wall and waited patiently for Daeron to give his answer. He still had a faint smile on his face, but his dark eyes contained something Daeron could not decipher. Was it guilt? What was Joffrey guilty of?

“We don't have all night, uncle.” Joffrey reminded him in a whisper.

A maid appeared around the corner with a tray in her hands, interrupting the heavy silence.

“Oh! Good evening, Sirs.” She bowed her head at two young gentlemen, “Lady Alicent sent me to bring you the sleep drop, Lord Daeron.”

“Right.” Daeron murmured under his breath, taking the tray from her, “You can go. I will take it from here.”

“But sir-”

“I said go.” Daeron’s voice came out harsher than he intended, “Please, I can take care of myself.”

The maid curtseyed and fled the scene. Even she could feel the tension between the two young lords, so instinct told her to leave before she witnessed anything she shouldn’t.

“Have trouble sleeping, uncle?” Joffrey asked after making sure the maid had already gone, “Perhaps I should go. Sorry to bother you.”

“NO!” Daeron balanced the tray on his left forearm and used his right hand to grab Joffrey’s shoulder, “Don't go. Don't you have things to discuss with me? Come inside.”

Joffrey half turned and lifted his eyes to observe Daeron closely. Joffrey’s eyes were like a bottomless pool of pure darkness, so glassy and so beautiful that Daeron could see his own reflection on them. Daeron didn't know what Joffrey was looking for, but apparently the brunette found the result he needed.

“Okay.” Joffrey whispered, blinking, “If you insist.”

“I do.” Daeron confirmed. For some reason, he had never been more confident of his decisions like he was now. He had no idea what would happen next, but he was damn sure if he let Joffrey go now, he would regret for the rest of his life.

Daeron’s bedroom was a comfortable suite with a four-post bed and a study desk. The hearth was burning quietly, providing much needed warmth. There were a pair of armchairs and a small table in front of the fire. Daeron put the tray down on the table before gesturing Joffrey to take a seat in one of the armchairs.

“What is that you want to discuss?” Daeron asked after sitting down on the oppose chair.

“How do you find King’s Landing so far, uncle?” Joffrey asked, turning his head from the hearth to look at Daeron, his face painted a lovely yellow by the fire.

“Pleasant. I am glad to be back.” Daeron replied before he could really understand the question. He had practiced the answer in his mind for so many times in case someone asked him about it.

“Honestly, I don't believe you, uncle.” Joffrey said, “If it’s truly the case, you won't need sleep drops to help you rest. So I am going to ask you again. How do you find King’s Landing?”

Daeron’s heart skipped a beat. No one had ever seen through his practiced lie before, not in his face, anyway. How could Joffrey expose his lie to his face so easily?

“…Tolerable.” Daeron answered with a helpless sigh. He hadn’t really thought about his feelings towards the city he was supposed to call home, so tolerable was the best he could come up with right now.

“I won't blame you. According to my knowledge, King’s Landing is quite different from anywhere else in the realm. I feel like an outsider when I am visiting Dragonstone, too, you know. Like, everything is quieter there.” Joffrey shrugged, “The sky is clearer and people are, let’s say, more content with their lives.”

“But you like it more here.” Daeron said.

“Yes.” Joffrey nodded, never one to hide his thoughts, “Hard to believe, isn't it? King’s Landing is like a melting pot of all sorts of people having their own agendas. I am used to reaching for my pocket whenever someone bumps into me on the street. Besides, the city smells like shit too.”

Daeron chuckled. What Joffrey had just described was absolutely true. He was intrigued by how eloquent Joffrey could be, and the way the brunette vividly described the city genuinely impressed him. Joffrey Velaryon was truly an interesting character. His very presence was the reason why the capital was tolerable to Daeron. If not for Joffrey, King’s Landing would just be a filthy place drowned by shit and industrial waste.

“Again, despite all the things you say, you like King’s Landing.” Daeron pointed out, finally relaxing in his chair. He had grown the habit of staying upright like his mother all the time, to keep the family’s honor, but here, in the privacy of his room and with Joffrey, Daeron slowly let his guard down. It was impossible not to be influenced by Joffrey’s easygoing demeanor.

“I do. I find the people interesting. All the different values, ambitions, desires, and culture. Just fascinating.” Joffrey rested his chin in his hand, “I have learned a lot here, but there is so much more to explore still. Currently, my biggest interest is you, uncle.”

Daeron almost choked on his own spit. No, he told himself, Joffrey didn't mean it like that. His nephew was probably curious about his sudden return to the capital. Nothing more. Stop acting like an awkward boy.

“I am afraid you will be disappointed, nephew. I am a simple man, you see. I don't have much to interest you.” Daeron said, clasping his hands together to stop them from fidgeting.

“I understand that you are coming back to get married.” Joffrey spoke, his voice almost drowned out by the crackling fire, “Lady Ellyn from House Baratheon, right? I have met her in a ball once. Pretty lady, the most agreeable among her sisters, I would say.”

“I haven’t met her yet.” Daeron admitted. He probably shouldn't reveal this to Joffrey, but somehow, Joffrey had the ability to dig the honest side out from people.

“Oh,” Joffrey said, a bit surprised, “I see.”

“My mother arranged the marriage for me. Lord Baratheon is a longtime business partner of the family, so marrying will strengthen the bond between our house and House Baratheon.” Daeron said, clasping his hands so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“How can you know your feelings for Lady Ellyn if you haven't met her yet?” Joffrey asked, genuinely confused, “What if you don't like her? What if she doesn't like you? How are you supposed to spend the rest of your lives together if you don't having feelings for each other?”

“Marriage isn't about feelings.” Daeron said, more like a reminder to himself than to Joffrey.

“Fuck that.” Joffrey hissed, “Who makes you believe in such nonsense? Feelings are the foundation of a happy marriage.”

“Is that why you haven't been betrothed yet?” Daeron blurted out before he could stop himself, “Haven’t found anyone you like?”

Joffrey pursed his lips together and went silent. Daeron’s question might sound a bit intruding, but it was not an offensive one. Why did Joffrey choose to stay silent now?

“Joffrey?” Daeron called the brunette’s name, “It’s okay if you don't want to answer. I am sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

“There is someone I like.” Joffrey interrupted Daeron’s babbling, “But that person is not marriage material.”

“Why? You never know unless you try. Is the lady of low birth?”

Joffrey laughed, before whispering eventually.

“There is no lady to begin with.”

“What do you mean? You did say you have feelings for someone.” Daeron frowned, not quite sure where this conversation was going, “How come there is no lady...”

Daeron trailed off, as realization struck him like lightening. Could it be? But how? What was the odds of Joffrey sharing the same sinful thoughts with him?

“I’ve never liked women, not in a romantic way.” Joffrey spoke, his voice low but firm, “My feelings are always towards the same sex.”

“Stop it,” Daeron hissed, looking down, his voice trembling, “stop it, Joffrey.”

Daeron saw a pair of boots stopping before him, as Joffrey had gotten up from the armchair and walked to Daeron’s side. Joffrey stood so close that their knees almost touched.

“Why?” Joffrey’s voice came from above, “I am just being honest. Honesty is a virtue, uncle.”

Now Daeron could smell Joffrey’s cologne, and the faint trace of brandy.

“You are drunk, nephew. You are not thinking straight.” Daeron said, trying his best to keep his voice flat, “I will let your words slip this time.”

“I can't be more sober than I am now.” Joffrey put his hands on Daeron’s shoulder and pushed gently, forcing the blonde to lean on the chair as he straddled his uncle, “I like men. I’ve always liked men, and I like you.”

“You don't know what you are talking about.” Daeron murmured, but he didn't push Joffrey away. He couldn't. He was paralyzed by the brunette’s closeness.

“You are interested in me as well, aren’t you?” Joffrey grabbed Daeron’s hand and led it to his own chest, “You couldn’t stop checking me out as soon as we met at the harbor.”

Joffrey’s skin was scorching hot against Daeron’s own, and Daeron could feel the other man’s racing heart against his palm.

“You can feel me if you like.” Joffrey whispered, guiding Daeron’s hand down from his chest to his stomach, then further down to his navel, his lower abdomen, and finally his groin.

Daeron shivered as his hand touched something hard and twitching over Joffrey’s pants. He had never touched another man’s cock before, but he could tell Joffrey was already well aroused from the wetness of the fabric. Daeron swallowed, too fascinated to pull his hand back.

“Admit it, uncle,” Joffrey began to grind on Daeron’s lap, “you want me. Stop lying to yourself.”

“I am getting married,” Daeron managed lamely, “I can't-”

“Then push me away.” Joffrey wrapped his arms around Daeron’s neck to balance himself as he kept grinding, “Push me away and say you don't want me. I will never bother you again.”

Daeron should push him away. He really should, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The Seven always taught him to be tough in face of temptation, but Daeron was weak. Years of attending sept did nothing to help him now, as he was easily led astray by this beautiful young man, who happened to be his nephew.

This was so wrong. Wrong in every level.

“Stop lying to yourself, uncle.” Joffrey whispered in Daeron’s ear before taking the blonde’s earlobe between his teeth and nibbled gently.

Daeron squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He was the one who couldn't think straight now. He had always been standing on the edge of the abyss, and Joffrey was the push he needed to throw himself off the cliff.

“Call my name.” Daeron said, burying his face into Joffrey’s neck and bit down hard.

“Daeron.”

Daeron’s whole body sang at Joffrey’s words. He didn't know what ecstasy was, but this was close enough.

#house of the dragon #hotd #joffron #my asks #joffrey velaryon #daeron x joffrey #daeron the daring #light angst

[ethereallocs]

We’re Just Friends-Modern Au! Rhaenyra x Dornish Male Reader

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Dornish Male Reader (House of Blackmont)

Content/Warning: !!🔞 PLUS ONLY!!, age-gap, sexual tension, lots of jealousy, toxic relationship, strap-on penetration, femme-dom, angst, swearing.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You and Rhaenyra have been inseparable since you were kids. She accepted you when you could express who you really were to anyone else and overtime you’ve grown to love her in ways a bestfriend shouldn’t. Should you tell her or is it worth possibly losing a friendship?

Author’s Notes: The content/warning section is something I put on all my stories because it will come up eventually and I like to let everyone know it’s for adults and adults only. Also I’ve somewhat changed the ages of Rhaenyra and her brother Aegon so Jace and everyone else aren’t involved in the story.

Chapter One

You and Rhaenyra first met in secondary school for your first year. You had just moved from Dorne over the summer, being the hot topic of discussion when you arrived Y/N Blackmont. One of the most prestigious families of Westoros in King’s Landing. You were walking down the hall dressed in the normal outfit set out for yourself everyday a preppy button up, a skirt, and some platformed boots.

As everyone knew Dorne was a more accepting culture. Women were sexually liberated and men were allowed to take on the lovers that suited them men or women. But in King’s Landing it was foreign to them and of course ignorance came along with it. The bullying was relentless on your first day only stopping when Rhaenyra Targaryen spoke up for you. She was a few years ahead of you and seemed to be an all around tomboy.

Aegon and his group of dick wads had been the ones making thing difficult for you, following you around nonstop projecting no doubt. “Hey…are you a boy or a girl?” It was a good thing you had thick skin an even sharper tongue. “Why Aegon? Do you think I’m pretty?” He grimaced and cocked a fist back before his older sister grabbed onto his shoulder pulling him aside. “What the fuck are you doing?” She scolded him like a mother.

She was thin and a little taller than an average girl. Her skin pale like snow and eyes the color of lavender. Her silver locks were cut short and her style well let’s just say the both of you were very androgynous. “I’m sorry about my brother he can be a cunt…and you are?” You were a bit shocked that she even bothered to acknowledge you. “Oh yeah it’s okay…I prepared myself for someone to come fucking with me today. I’m Y/N…Y/N Blackmont.”

“Well, Y/N I think you and I are going to great friends…don’t you think?” She wrapped her arm into yours and dragged you away like you were her new prized pet and you two have been inseparable ever since. The years had passed and Rhaenyra had graduated from King’s Landing Prep and went to uni and two years later you soon followed. The two of you had become roommates and every professor and student knew if they saw one of you the other was not too far behind.

It seemed like it took forever for Friday to come, but finally it was here. You had exams to do and Rhaenyra had no classes today so she was at home waiting for you. You decided with how well you did it was time to celebrate so you went to the liquor store and bought a bottle of Dorne’s best tequila. Coming through the door your smile quickly turned into a frown seeing who was on your couch. What the fuck was she doing here?

Rhaenyra’s “girlfriend” Lydia Tyrell, now in the beginning you actually wanted to like her, but it was clear that Ms. Tyrell wanted to be the only important person in Rhaenyra’s life. She made it a point to always make the plan you two made fall through. She often threw snarky jabs at you that Rhaenyra was to cunt drunk to pick up on, but you endured for the happiness of your friend.

“Oh..Lydia…you’re here…” You tried to seem happy about her being there, but you failed horribly. “Y/N..” She responded coldly, soon you were interrupted and your smile returned seeing her come out of her room just as excited to see you. Running to you, Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around you picking you up in the air, were you really that light? You blush. “Rhae…put me down please..” you laughed like giddy child before she placed you back on the ground. “So how’d my baby do?” You pulled out the bottle of tequila and squealed. “I passed bitch!!!!” The two of you jumped up and down like highschool girls and Lydia cleared her throat causing the both of you to look her way.

“Umm..congratulations and everything, butttt we have a party to go to tonight. So sorry to cut your celebration so short, love.” A smug smile curled upon her lips. That condescending little cunt. You gritted your teeth into a cheerful grin. “Oh no it’s fine you made plans before this so it’s no biggy.” Rhaenyra pulled you in to whisper something to you. “We can get fucked up when I get back I promise.” She pulled away smiling at you with that smile that gave you butterflies sometimes. Lydia looked like she could’ve puked and you relished how annoyed you made her. “But while you wait Aegon said he was coming by he wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me about what?” She shrugged. “I think he likes you honestly.” You scoffed and gagged. “You’re not trying to hook me up with your brother. The same brother that bullied me, because of how I dress and identify? I think the fuck not..” She winced, remembering just how bad he treated you. “Yes you are right. You know he actually came out last year. And he’s been talking about you nonstop for some reason.”

“I’m not the least bit attracted to him so no.” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and playfully popped the back of your thigh. “Well, you should find someone you like…you’ve never had a boyfriend or girlfriend since I’ve known you.” She was right you weren’t too good at dating. You were a bit awkward with affection and girls didn’t actually gravitate to you since you were on the feminine side yourself. “Rhae…you know I would like my own person…but people don’t stick around long enough to get past all of this.” You sighed

“But, I’ll be fine my toys are my lovers.” You chuckled and Rhae gave you this look that you couldn’t quite read, but it made you nervous. “Well, I’m going to take a shower and start getting drunk in my room. You two have fun at your party. Love ya.” You said sweetly before disappearing in the back of the apartment. “Love you too.” She yelled in your direction.

You sighed after your shower taking two shots of the harsh but smooth spirit. You blasted your music hearing your best friend and her bitch of a girlfriend going at it in the next room…gross. Soon you heard a knock on the door and you got up to answer. You were in some spandex shorts and a crop top. Your dark locks still wet from the shower were pinned up with a hair clip. Opening the door it was her brother. “Hey, Y/N. Can I come in? I brought party favors.” He held up two bottles of tequila and you smiled somewhat. “Oh yeah come in, let me go get my bottle from my room.” You noticed his wandering eyes and gave him a cheeky smile. “Yeah I know I look good.” you teased.

Once you were back you sat on the couch next to him and turned on the tv, the silence between the two of you was deafening. “So I heard you passed your exam.” This was how he was going to start the conversation? “Oh yeah. I kinda psyched myself out, but I got a perfect score.” He smiled giving you a friendly push, “That’s good. You’re pretty damn smart any way.” You smile, “Thanks.” He cleared his throat again you could sense him getting a tad nervous. “So…Y/N first and foremost I want to apologize for the way I treated you when we were kids. I’m was an idiot, trying to deal with my own shit and I don’t know if Nyra has told you, but I’m gay…” You listened intently knowing where this was probably headed. “When did you figure that out?”

He smiled and looked down to his shoes before his lavender gaze found your sweet pools of honey. “If I’m being honest around the time I saw you..” That was a shocker you basically despised one another or so you thought. “Oh so you were taking your insecurities out on me?” He looked away from you and sighed. “Look, I’ve been thinking about how I was going to say this all day, but I like you a lot..and I was hoping we could start over and I could take you out?”

You smiled a bit and thought about it honestly what could it hurt a date could only either go great or not like they plan but forgiving him wouldn’t hurt you either. “Okay, well I forgive you and sure you can take me out on a date.” He smiled and hugged you kissing your cheek. Your cheeks flushed and you opened your mouth to speak, but you were interrupted by Lydia barging out of Rhaenyra’s room. “I’m fucking sick of this! You always take him everywhere we go. On dates, movies, parties…when can I ever have you to myself.”

Rhaenyra was seething her face red with anger. “I’ve noticed you don’t like him and I want to know why? He’s done nothing, but be nice to you and you insist on being a cold bitch!” Lydia was in shock, you and Aegon were meer bystanders. “I wouldn’t be so bothered by Y/N if you weren’t so clearly in love with him.”Lydia stormed out and Rhaenyra turned to you. Aegon hopped up going into the kitchen to grab some shot glasses. “Time to get fucked up!” He yelled and you laughed nervously, grabbing Rhaenyra’s hand.

“Let me talk to her for a second..we will be back.” He nodded and you pulled her into your room. “What the fuck just happened?” You asked and Rhaenyra bursted into tears. “I mentioned that I wanted you to come with us I know how nervous you were about being alone with my brother and I said it would be a good idea for you to maybe meet someone there…and that’s when she stormed out…I know I’ve been oblivious to how she’s treated you the last two years, but she’s brought you up so much lately. Starting arguments about you specifically asking why do you have to live here as if I’d kick you out for her.”

You pulled her into your chest for a hug and sighed rocking her slowly. “It’s alright she was a bitch anyway I only tolerated her, because I wanted you to be happy.” She held onto your slender waist tightly and sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve broken it off with her as soon as you told me.” You sigh humming. “I just wanted you to be happy Rhae.” She could hear your heart beating..oh how it pounded with her laying on you this way. “Maybe we should go take some shots.” You picked her up and led her to the kitchen.

Later that night you all were drunk off your asses and you and Aegon were getting rather acquainted with each other dancing and laughing together. Rhaenyra watched them closely and sulked the green with jealousy. Then you favorite song came on and she stood up to take you away from her little brother and held you from behind swaying you. You melted into her, her brother long passed out once he hit the couch. She sang to you and you smiled shivers going down your spine as she place a sweet kiss against your shoulder.

“She was right…” you look out of the corner of your eye. “What?” Her voice a soft whisper, “Lydia…she was right..I love you.” You laughed nervously “Of course I love you too, you’re my bestfriend, Rhae.” She shook her head and pulled you away into her room locking the door behind you. She called you by the nick name she had given and seemed to be fighting with herself. “No…I want you, Y/N. You don’t understand how badly I want you.” You were still dizzy from the tequila, but she said it. “But, I thought you only liked girls…what about Lydia…what about Aegon?”

She chuckled, “Fuck her and he can always find someone else. And I do mostly…but I like you too.” Her hands soft cupped you delicately chiseled face and pulled you in for a kiss. The taste of the tequila on her tongue excited you. Her hands quickly finding their way on your body. Your slender yet toned frame was surprisingly soft like that of the women she’s had before.

“Rhaenyra…” You whimpered her name and she cooed inhaling your scent. You smelled sweet like vanilla and she groaned reaching into you shorts grabbing onto your tones buttocks your hands reaching up her tank top to cup her breasts. Catching your lips again she moaned into them and bit at the soft supple flesh of your bottom lip. Your cock twitching within your shorts.

She of course had the upper hand dominating you with just a kiss. She a hand to the front of your short cupping your cock squeezing slightly you gasped causing you to leak into her hand. “You’re pathetic you know that…” She looked at you and smiled leaning in to kiss you again when you both heard a loud crash and Aegon yelling something inaudible… “Fuck..” you both hiss. “Rhaenyra opened the door and walked out first. “What the fuck have you broken now?” She groaned “Aegon, my fucking coffee table?!?!”

You laughed soon following behind her. He tried getting up to piss, in his words and fell in the coffee table. She sighed holding two fingers to the bridge of her nose and you were seeing if he was okay. The two of you carried him to her bed and then went back to clean up the mess in the living room. “Would you like to come sleep with me tonight?” By the time you two were finished you were far to exhausted to continue with what had just so instead she wrapped her arms about you and laid on your chest while you fingers slid up and down her back. She fell asleep, but you stayed awake wondering what was to happen now..

To be continued…

#hotd fanfic #queen rhaenyra #princess rhaenyra #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra smut #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x y/n #house of the dragon series rhaenyra x male reader #read it #fic rec #highly recommend #10/10 reccomend

[xxpeppermintxx109]

The Prince of Dorne had been felled by a wingless dragon.

- qoren, chapter xiv, glbh

He gathered her into his arms, a burning sun embracing a weeping dragon, and though her grief was like water to fire, he held her ever tighter.

(Once, he had thought her to be the fire of them both—a dragon.

“We can stay here a while,” Qoren whispered into her hair. “Even if you catch fire, I’ll still hold you as long as you need. I may not be a dragon, but I’ll endure it. For you, Shaera, I’ll burn.”

But now…now her tears drowned him like the hot summer sea. How could he ever forget that first and foremost, she was of the sea. And the sea always did well to absorb the sun’s heat.)

- qoren, chapter xxxii, glbh

“But I will certainly strive to make you as happy as I can, even if it’s not half as much as you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve as much as you seem to think, my prince,” Shaera whispered with burning shame.

“Unfortunately for you, Shaera Velaryon, I believe you deserve the world and more.”

- shaera, chapter xxiv, glbh

qoren and shaera from green lies, black hearts

#greenliesblackheartswip #xxpeppermintxx109 #house of the dragon #green lies black hearts #ao3 #fanfic #ao3fic #fanfiction #qoren martell #qoren x oc #shaera x qoren #aemond x oc #shaera velaryon #aemond targaryen #oc #house martell #house targaryen #ship edit #fanfic edit #hotd aesthetic

[dtyfp2]

Prologue

The Great War

“…they say she is a great beauty,” Theon tells Robb as they walk just outside the walls of Winterfell, watching Bran and Rickon ride their horses near by. Jon is with them, he walked alongside his brother as their four direwolves play nearby, yipping and growling as they fight over a large stick.

“Who?” Robb asks, looking away from little Rickon to glance at his friend, his brother really, Robb can’t remember a life without Theon, nor can he with Jon.

“The Princess Helen, they say she is a great beauty,” Jon repeats.

“When have you ever seen the princess?” Robb chortles, a little surprised at the turn of Theon’s questioning.

“The Realm’s delight, the face that launched a 1000 ships, isn’t that what she’s called?” Jon asks out loud.

“Well, she must be delightful if they call her that, even this far up North,” Theon says off handedly, glancing down at Greywind who had fallen into dutiful step beside his master. Robb shoos him off, encouraging him to go play and he runs off with ghost after a squirrel.

“Well, you’ve met her before, haven’t you?” Theon asks Robb, shoving his shoulder in a teasing way after he notices the future Lord of Winterfell’s silence.

“Once, we were children. I hardly remember it,” Robb laughs as he shoves Theon back.

“Why do you think the King has decided to come all the way to Winterfell? He could have just as easily ordered Father to Kingslanding,” Jon wonders. Robb has admittedly wondered the same, but his parents didn’t seem worried so he couldn’t be either.

“The King hasn’t stepped North in over 10 years at least, perhaps he wants to visit his kingdom,” Robb answers, peeking back at Bran who was riding circles around Summer.

“We should get back inside before it gets dark, mother will be furious if we keep these two out any longer,” Robb decides, whistling for the remaining direwolves to follow as he promptly turns around.

”…where do you think that ship is going Helen?” Myrcella asks, pointing far off into the distance as she shakes her elder sisters arm. Helen had brought her two youngest siblings out, they sat at the boating dock to watch all the ships leave. The castle has too somber, having been that way since the Lord Jon Arryn’s death a few days ago.

“That one with the big sail? I think it’s going to Dorne, I think it’ll face ferocious pirates but will return home victorious, with barrels of delicious Dornish wine for us to drink,” Helen answers after thinking a while. The three royal riblings sit right at the edge on the stone pathway, their feet dangling over the edge. Ser Barristan Selmy and your uncle, Ser Jaime Lannister stand behind you, keeping watch as the people of Kingslanding scurry around. But they wouldn’t hurt you, no, you’ve been visiting for years now and they’ve never been anything but kind.

“What about you, Tommen? Where do you think that little one is going?” You ask your youngest brother, raising a hand to smooth out his pretty golden hair.

“I think it’s gone fishing! Perhaps we’ll eat it later tonight,” Tommen perks up.

“Perhaps we will,” you laugh, leaning back on your hands to allow the warmth of the sun to heat your face.

“Helen, I’m hungry,” Myrcella complains, the talk of fish reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since that morning.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Let’s go back home,” you nod, picking yourself up first before offering a hand to each of your younger siblings. Myrcella is quick to accept and get up, but Tommen crosses his arms and remains sitting.

“But I want to stay,” Tommen complains as you kneel down beside him.

“Come on, dear Tommen. We’ve had enough sun, and besides, I think our uncle and Ser Selmy must be feeling very hot having been standing in the sun with all that armour on, don’t you think?” You ask him, quietly whispering as if you were sharing a secret with him as you both peek back at the two members of the esteemed Kingsguard.

“I think our uncle Jaime is looking a little red, don’t you think?” You whisper as Tommen giggles and allows you to help him up.

Tommen runs to catch up with Myrcella, and the two are followed closely by Jaime as Ser Barristan waits for you.

“Have you enjoyed your time in the sun, princess?” A sweet older lady asks as you walk back.

“I have, thank you for allowing us to sit in the silence,” you smile at her as you pull out a few gold dragons.

“Oh, no, please, there is no need, Princess,” the lady shakes her head, refusing your gift sincerely.

“You ensured we wouldn’t be interrupted, I’m sure we’ve inconvienced you today. Please, I will not feel right unless you accept,” you insist, reaching out for her hands so you could place the few golden coins into her hands. You think Ser Selmy flinches a little at your action, but he doesn’t do anything.

“To serve you, princess, is never an inconvience. I was happy to do it,” she smiles as you continue to hold her hands in your own. You pay no mind to dirt on her fingers, was she handling fish before this?

“I will not forget this, thank you,” you smile as you offer her a polite curtesy, allowing for Ser Selmy to lead you back to the castle, after your little brother and sister.

He offers you a tissue as you walk, and you accept it with thanks, quickly wiping the smell of fish from your hands.

As you walk the path back to the Red Keep, the common men and women bow politely as you pass. It never ceases to amaze Ser Selmy, how beloved you were by the people. It almost reminds him of the times he walked with Rhaegar Targaryen all those years ago, but it was different. Rhaegar was beloved because he was meant to be King after his father, he was a beacon of hope amongst his fathers horrid reign. You, on the otherhand, were not meant to be Queen. The people loved you because you were kind, because you walked amongst them as an equal. Ser Selmy wholeheartedly believes that if you could walk through Kingslanding naked, with a basket of gold upon your head, and you’d remain unharmed. The people would rally around you and ensure your safety, delivering you home with all the gold and your maidenhood intact.

“Does my father still sit with the Lord Jon Arryn?” You ask Ser Borros Blount as you pass him outside the room Jon Arryn’s body rests. You frown as you glance at the door, he’s been inside all day, since before you woke until now, even after the sun begins to set.

“He has asked for no one to bother him, princess,” Ser Borros warns you. Your father had been in a foul mood since the death of his greatest mentor. Your father was known to have a temper, but never towards you. Never ever towards you.

“No worries, Ser Borros, it is only I,” you smile at him before entering.

“Leave me alone!” Your father bellows, so loudly it was a reminiscent of the mighty warrior he once was. Anyone else would have left immediantly, but you do not.

“It’s only me, father,” you hum as you kneel beside him.

“You smell like fish,” your father grumbles as you wrap your arm around him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I took Myrcella and Tommen to the docks to watch the ships. It was nice outside, you should get some sun too, father,” you answer as you sigh.

“The Lord Jon Arryn will not go anywhere, father. Come eat with me, bathe, and have a good nights rest. It will make you feel better,” you promise him as your father raises a hand to rest on your own.

“He was like a father to me,” your father says quietly, shame evident in his tone.

“He was certainly a good man, among the best if you ask me. Very smart too,” you agree as you rub your fathers back.

“You became King of the Seven Kingdoms under his tutledge, father. You have brought peace and stability after the reign of the Mad King. You are a good father, proud, and a mighty warrior. He was very proud of you, he told me himself,” you tell him softly.

“He said that?” Your father asks surprisedly.

“He did, well technically he said that the greatest thing you’ve ever done is be one half of the whole that made me. But that’s neither here nor there,” you joke, forcing a laugh from your father for the first time since Lord Arryn’s death.

“I jest, the Lord Arryn was very proud. I am sure he rests well, knowing the boy he watched grow into a man, grow into a King, will ensure peace within the Kingdom’s for generations to come,” you tell your father.

“I have to pick a new hand now, who could possibly live up to Jon?” Your father asks rhetorically.

“Your mother would have me place your grandfather there, I imagine,” he grumbles.

“Who would you like to have, father?” You ask him, ignoring the slight he made against your grandfather. Your father thinks for a moment with a sigh.

“Perhaps I’ll ask Ned Stark. He’s a good man, an honourable man, I trust him,” your father confides in you.

“I think the Lord Stark would be an excellent choice father. What better choice is there than the man you grew up alongside under the Lord Jon Arryn’s watchful eye?” You agree.

“I shall have to call him down to Kingslanding soon then,” your father plans. You look down at your father, a beaten and broken man. Nothing like the King and father you have known him to be.

“Why don’t we go North, father? Let the people up North see you, you are their king, after all. It’ll be nice to get some fresh air away from Kingslanding, don’t you think?” You ask. He doesn’t answer right away, but you know he’s considering your thoughts. The thought of seeing Ned Stark again seems to brighten your fathers spirits a little.

But you don’t want him to think too hard now. Your father needs some rest before making any serious decision, especially one so consequential like chosing his Hand.

“Come eat with me and breathe some fresh air, I’m starving and I’m sure you are too having been in here all day. Someone else can come sit with our Lord Hand, perhaps Lysa will come,” you encourage as you get up, offering a hand for your father.

“Alright,” he sighs as he picks himself up. You link your arm with your father as you both walk out. Ser Borros and Ser Barristan were still waiting, and seemingly stand a bit taller when you (to their surprise) walk out with the King.

“Come, father, I hear the recent fishing trips have been bountiful, perhaps they have something grilled for us waiting,” you suggest.

“I don’t want fish, I want boar,” he grumbles.

“Then we shall have boar father,” you laugh, pulling the King along faster than he would have liked to walk. But he bears no mind, the sound of your laughter is a welcome repreieve from the pain he felt in his heart.

#game of thrones #robb stark #robb stark imagines #game of thrones imagines

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Quarters of King's Landing

Vast swathes of empty land outside of King's Landing were separated and converted into Quarters. Each Quarter is set aside for lords, ladies, and anyone from a particular kingdom within Westeros. A sheriff is appointed to each Quarter, to maintain law and order. These Quarters came into being after the conquest, with the Dornish Quarter being the last of them. They do not just serve as a place of residence for those wanting to spend time in the Crown Lands. They are also places where one could find specialties from each region.

The Northern Quarter: Lumber, furs and pelts, fine wool and yarn, cured salmon and salt-cured sturgeon roe, true green and blue dyes obtained from winter roses and their leaves, and a rare, costly perfume that can only be made from winter roses are the most sought after goods. Some of the best hunters and trackers can be found in the Northern Quarter, along with some of the best boxers and wrestlers. Their seers are revered, and people from all over come to them for guidance on future decisions. Festivals sacred to the Old Gods are celebrated here.

The Vale Quarter: Weapons and armor. Some of the best plate and swords and mail can be found here, along with the best war horses. The best place to look for a master-at-arms would be in the Vale Quarter. Some of the finest sculptors for marble and stone can be found here. Equestrian events are the order of the day in the Vale Quarter.

The Stormlands Quarter: Some of the best shipwrights, boatbuilders, and sailors can be found here. There is even a hall for their fighters to put on boxing matches. Fighters from all over Westeros and beyond come to compete and wagers have reached record-breaking numbers in some instances.

The Dornish Quarter: Dates, Camels, and Sand Steeds can be found here, along with the finest linen and cotton, and lightweight hauberks suited for exceedingly hot weather. True red dye, one obtained from tiny insects that live only in Dorne, is sold in the Dornish quarter. A racing track can be found here, for horse and camel races.

The Reach Quarter: All manner of perfumes and oils, rare vintages and the finest silk. Their shipwrights are as good as those found in the Stormlands Quarter. Books of all kinds can be found here. Whenever the weather is fine, there are poetry and storytelling evenings.

The Westerlands Quarter: The best smiths and jewelers and glassmakers from in and around Lannisport come here. Gold and silver and platinum jewelry can be found here, as is beautiful hand-blown glass. Here one can find acrobats and ribbon dancers and tightrope walkers performing if the weather is clear.

The Riverlands Quarter: The best boatmakers and archers. Trackers from the Riverlands Quarter are as good as those found in the Northern Quarter. The nobles in this Quarter organize boat races along the Black Water Rush during late spring and summer.

The Iron Islands Quarter: Whale meat and whale oil can be found here, as well as shipwrights, sailors and whalers looking to ply their trade. Finger dancers and fire dances are held here and attract quite a crowd.

#late night musings #Random HCs #my headcanons #headcanon #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones headcanon #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf imagine #asoaif #king's landing #crown lands #💫whimsy's musings #For future fics

[boyanabela]

The Dragon Prince & The Sun Pruncess

Prologue

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: nothing for the prologue

Summary: It follows the reign of Viserys I Targaryen, in the most peaceful period in Westeros, for a time, but most importantly, Aemond'One-Eye'Targaryens and his lovers', (Y/N) Martells, greatest love story through the ages.

300 AC, Dorne

It is the most humid of days, with the Sun beating down with its harsh rays, that did little to calm down the Princess, who had just received news of her dear uncle's death.

Her fury knew no bounds. Her blood is hot like the summer Sun, coursing through her veins. She heard all about the man responsible for her uncle's death and the only thing on her mind-vengeance, but she had to control herself.

Arienne Nymeros Martell liked to think of herself as a woman of cunning, and she was. For all her many talents she was quite charming, and could easily get people on her side. She was sitting in her chambers, when she heard a knock at her door. Little Myrcella Baratheon, had come to join her, must be her boredom that brought her to me, she thought.

Myrcella walked in with her golden curls bouncing around her like the Sun's rays. Her pale pink dress did little to hide her nervous hands playing together. Arienne stood up, her emerald skirt swinging on the golden stone floor.

Little Queen, you've come to me for some delightful conversation? She asked the young girl, offering her a small smile, even though beneath it all she didn't feel like it.

Myrcella gave her a look of pity, her round green eyes full with unshed tears. I came here to offer my condolences. I've heard you lost someone.  The child let out with a shaky breath. Arienne didn't let the girl stay in that poor state, opting to instead cheer her. Thank you, little Queen. She grabbed the child by her arms, entirely engulfing her if it weren't for her short stature.

I won't be Queen. The Baratheon child insisted, slightly pouting. My brother is the King. She whispered, sitting on the wooden chair by the balcony overlooking the grand sea.

 Have you heard about the story of The Dragon Prince & The Sun Princess? Arienne asked Myrcella, standing near the table, a few books on top of it. No… the golden-haired girl answered sadly.

Come. She beckoned the child next to her. Let me tell you about a Princess turned Queen. She sat down on the bed, the smooth sheets wrinkling underneath her. Myrcella gives her undivided attention.

The story begins with the impressive reign of the Targaryens, some would say, but most importantly the second son of Viserys I, Aemond Targaryen, and our very own Princess of Dorne. Her name was (Y/N) Nymeros Martell.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x martell reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #pro aemond targaryen

[heresathreebee]

Eddard Stark | A Song Of Ice And Fire/ Game of Thrones || Outdoor Sex // Tender Sex

ReCasting Joseph Quinn As A Lord; 2.8k words; NO BETA/ SELF- EDITED, I Have No Excuse I Simply Cannot Be Contained, Swearing, No Robert’s Rebellion AU, Pre-Show/Book Setting, Underage (they’re technically considered adults in-universe), Y/N (insert your name), Implied Slow Burn, Catelyn Marries Brandon, Mutual Pining, Jealous Ned, Vague References To Canon Typical Violence, First Kiss, Old Gods Marriage Practices, Consummation, Semi-Public Sex, Breeding Kink

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From the first day you came to ward in Winterfell, you had shared something special with the Quiet Wolf. Your father sent you to learn about keeping house from Lord Rickard himself since he had no sons and was too sick to show you himself. It was always known that some day, you would return to your fathers' castle. But that could be years from now. 

Brandon Stark married Catelyn Tully in the halls of Riverrun. You thought the girl was beautiful and intelligent and sent a silent prayer that Brandon would do right by her. Your eyes followed the string of Starks beside him and connected with Ned's, who was already watching you. You hadn't seen him since you were both ten when he was sent to the Eyrie. 

He danced with you at the ceremony, not a word exchanged between you but a world of emotions spoken in the way he gently held you just a little closer than was considered appropriate between an unmarried girl and a lordling. If he could lay his head in the groove where your neck meets your shoulder, he would breathe your scent and never let you go. His father called Ned away with a knowing smile after three consecutive dances. 

"You cannot dance with her all night," Lord Rickard chuckled. "There are a might of other lads who want a chance." 

More akin to a blight, young Ned thought with a scowl. "She did not take offense." 

"No, I'm sure she didn't!" 

The only partners you danced with that did not make his heart squeeze were his sister Lyanna and Catelyn, the bride. Even Robert, no especially Robert, had not the control to keep from flirting with you, and he did it with a shit eating grin thrown at Ned's table. At long last, the bedding ceremony commenced and the rest of the company was expected to drink or retire to their rooms. Ned took it upon himself to escort you and his sister, making sure to keep you both safe from the rowdy crowd and their wandering hands. 

"Good night, sweet sister," Lyanna drunkenly purred as she kissed your cheek. 

"Sister? I am not quite a Stark, my rose," you answered warmly. 

"Oh yes, I had quite forgotten," Lyanna drew you into a hug and winked at her brother over your shoulder causing his face to grow hot, and not from the evening of drinking. "Be gentle with her, brother." 

Ned's eye twitched in annoyance. "There is nothing to be gentle about, I will simply walk her to her room and make sure she locks her door." 

"Of course you will, sweet brother." 

Lyanna shut the door and latched the lock twice, and then you were alone with Ned for the first time since leaving Winterfell. You placed your hand in the bend of his elbow and leaned into his side as you walked to your chambers. Your soft slippers were muted on the floor, and only the faintest echo of the party still going in the grandhall could be heard from here. 

You both stopped before your chamber door and seemed to freeze in place. Neither of you wanted the night to end like this– alone in bed for yet another set of untold years to come. A good time for weddings was in the long summer, when everybody in the realm prospered from the Wall to the coast of Dorne. 

"I won't leave til I hear you latch your door," Ned announced quietly. "And I bid you goodnight, my lady." 

"Perhaps a farewell can wait," you suggested as you opened your door wide to find a fire already going. "I would be safer if you stayed for the night. My bed is quite comfortable." 

You watched as emotions warred over his normally stoic face. "I cannot. We will be on the Kingsroad by morn and home in a fortnight." 

"You can sleep on the floor if it eases your mind." You leaned on the edge of the door with pleading eyes. 

But Ned's jaw set. His warm, calloused hands gripped your face firmly and he drew you into a kiss for the first time. Your pleasure was cut short when he released your lips and stared you dead in the eye, looking all the more like a direwolf. 

"Pull the latch tight," he commanded lowly. "I will try the door to make sure it is safe, and then tomorrow I will see you on the road." 

Defeated, you did as he bade you, and once the door had rattled loudly without opening, you heard his heavy boots echo as he dashed away from your chambers in a hurry. "Goodnight," you whispered in your empty, hollow room. 

...

Back at home, you grew to love Brandon's new wife Catelyn quickly and held a special bond. She was closer with Lyanna as her good sister, but Lyanna could never understand what moving to a place like Winterfell felt like. You did. 

"They're not always so stoic after all," she had commented as you both took tea in her solar room. 

"They have ice in their veins for sure, but warm, beating hearts beneath all that leather and armor," you agreed. "Do you find that married life suits you yet?" 

Catelyn looked over the rim of her cup and made a contemplative noise. "I always knew my place. The gods know I have been looking forward and somewhat dreading marriage all my life. But Brandon is… very nearly the knight I dreamed about as a girl." 

You nodded along, happy she was being honest and optimistic. You only prayed the young and virile Brandon would remain faithful to her. 

"And what of you, hm?" 

When the question turned to you, you were puzzled. "How do you mean?" 

"Well I mean Ned, of course." 

Catelyn had only been here for a short time but even she had noticed the two of you. It was a sore spot however, and you frowned instantly as a sour taste filled your mouth. 

"It doesn't matter," you mumbled, "he is leaving." 

You learned that very morning. Ned was returning to the Eyrie with Robert Baratheon. Lyanna had run off to talk some sense into him, no doubt she was also in the Great Hall scolding their father Lord Rickard. But the lady Stark had returned to you, sullen faced. He was not going to ask for your hand. 

...

Ned may have had plans to return to the Eyrie, but the whole of Winterfell and even his newfound brother Robert seemed possessed to thwart him. Not hours after they had agreed to go had he heard that Robert would be betrothed to Lyanna and married in a fortnight. “I’m staying brother. As should you,” he had replied and slapped Ned on the shoulder so hard it stung. 

Lyanna had refused to look at him all day after he insisted he would not marry his father’s ward. He had good reasons, but she would not hear of it. Even his father had seemed somewhat disappointed by his decision. No doubt you had heard, but when he tried to look for you, you were nowhere to be found. It was making him anxious and he wanted you to hear it from him. 

Something deep in his chest reached out to speak to him. You’ll find her in the godswood. 

His boots crush fallen leaves and twigs scattered across the ground as his breath billows white in the air with every breath. It’s warm out, for Winterfell that is, still colder than anywhere else south of the Wall. Ned could have wandered the woods for miles, only his feet took him exactly where he needed to go without a hair off the path. He found you staring into the eyes of the heart tree with your back to the glistening, still black pool and to him. Despite his saddening errand, his chest warmed at the sight of you. 

He called your name softly. Stopping by your side and admiring the profile of your lips, your chin, your nose. He would miss your beautiful face. 

“You are leaving.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. 

It twisted his heart to answer, “I am.” 

You smiled then. A part of him expected tears but they didn’t come. Disappointment was on the beautiful face that finally turned to him. “But not today.” 

Ned shuffled his feet. “Not today…” 

“And you don’t want to marry me?,” you asked with an indecipherable tone. 

Instantly he opened his mouth to protest, then swallowed his words and thought more carefully. “There are better matches for you, your ladyship. You could be a princess of Dorne–” 

You interrupt flatly, “You think I want to be a princess? How very ambitious of me.” 

“Y/N,” Ned said, “I am a second son. At best, my brother will be Warden of the North and I only his bannerman.” 

“That is a great honor, Ned.” 

“You deserve more,” he insists. 

“I want you, Ned. I have always wanted you. The second son of Rickard Stark is more than enough for me.” You turn yourself to face him and take a few gentle steps. “I will gladly take whatever it is that you have, even if it is only you.” 

The boy is speechless. You watch a hundred thoughts swim in his eyes. A decision must be made once and for all about your relationship with your lord’s son, and you were done waiting for him to make it. 

“If I cannot expect you to take advantage of your status,” you said as you untied the knot keeping your coat upon your person, “perhaps we can come to an agreement.” 

“I’ll not dishonor you, Y/N,” Ned said sternly. 

“And I am not asking you to dishonor me. I want to be your wife, Ned.” You drop your furs and reveal the complete expanse of your naked form to him. 

Even the most honorable lordling could not avoid drinking in the sight of you. Had he ever seen a naked girl before, you wondered, perhaps in the Eyrie? Well, you were a woman now. Of that, he could no longer deny. 

Your careful, gentle Ned sputtered to reply, his tongue heavy in his mouth and his mind clearly distracted. “... We can’t. In the eyes of the Seven–” 

You swaggered up to him and forced his darkened eyes to snap to your own hard gaze. “Fuck the Seven. Ours are the old gods, Ned.” 

He can’t seem to commit to a proper rebuttal. Ned takes deep, slow breaths to control his reaction. And as he takes everything in, he notices you shivering. “You’ll catch your death, love. Your coat.” 

You fold your arms over your chest and push your breast up. “Come and warm me.” 

Ned doesn't know what to do, so he flings his rough hewn cloak off his back and wraps it around your shoulders. Something possesses him to cup your face in his hands and pull you into his arms. Perhaps it was so he did not have to see your quivering lips. His chin rests on top of your head and he feels your hands find purchase against his broad chest. 

Suddenly you push him away so fast he stumbles. You pray he can't see the hope dying inside you as you fling his cloak to the ground and sit atop it, almost pouting in position. You can't back down now, you've come so far and been so bold. You silently promise that if he rejects you this time, you will concede. You bite the inside of your cheek and hope the ancient gods of the forest heed you. 

Ned's jaw clenches tight. He knows he has lost when he loosens his belt and drops his sword to the ground. He watches you turn away but doesn't miss the spark of hope in your eyes. 

"Fine. If it will please you…" 

Now, it's like he can't move fast enough. Ned tugs each layer of his clothing off and becomes more and more desperate as he realizes he was right all along– it is far too cold for you to be naked out here. His cheeks flame red as he slips his trousers down and his cock bounces fully erect and weeping to the point he becomes dizzy from it all. 

So invested in keeping yourself warm were you that you jumped when you heard a splashing sound. "What in the seven hells are you doing?" 

Ned's hair sticks out at odd angles like he dipped his head in the water. He turns to you, down in the water to his shoulders and beckons you closer. 

"Come here. I'll warm you." 

You had no idea the pool was one of the many hot springs that Winterfell was built on top of. You scramble to your feet and slosh into the water as quickly as you could. You feel Ned's hands grab your hips and whine as he keeps you from submerging yourself in the water as he had. That is until his arms wrap around your thighs and lift you up against his chest. 

You steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders and tingle where his heated flesh presses against your body. Slowly, Ned lowers you into the water and his lips draw nearer and nearer to kissing distance. 

Your fingers tangle into the hair at his nape and drag him towards you, desperate for his lips. Twin sighs of longing, of contentment echo between you as at last you know the taste of each other. You kiss him harder, trying to pour all of your passion and praise into it, to make him finally see that this was always meant to be. 

You cross your ankles and allow his tongue to slither past your lips. He tastes like mint and honey. He raises a hand to softly caress your cheek and it makes you melt even further into him. 

"Yours," you gasp as you break away for air, "I am, and have always, been yours." 

"My lady, yours is the first face I see when I am missing home," Ned whispers. 

"Need you, Ned," there are tears gathering in your eyes, "please. Please…" 

His forehead bumps against yours, and after some maneuvering, at last his manhood notches at your entrance and your lord is pushing into you. Your jaw drops at the unfamiliar feeling of being filled, and Ned takes his time, stopping when you clench around him and sinking in further when you rock your hips encouragingly. You both moan when he bottoms out inside of you, the painful sting of your broken maidenhead soon fading due to the heat of the water. 

Ned holds himself still for as long as he can stand it. "Are you alright, love?" 

You nod minutely, noses smushing together as you shiver from all the new sensations going on. "Yes." 

"Can I move," he almost begs. You've never heard Ned beg before. 

"Yes." 

Arms bulging with muscle and restraint, Ned begins to rock his hips back and forth, making sure your face does not show any more pain. When, instead, his ears are met with a pleasant and joyful sound, his eyes darken and his thrusts become rhythmic, long and deep strokes stoking a fire in your gut. 

You chant his name like a prayer and shake as your pebbled nipples brush over his sparsely hairy chest. Ned's mouth slants over yours once more, eager to taste you again and swallow some of the delicious sounds that are falling from it. Your head lolls back and he laves his hot tongue over your throat, sucking on your pulse point as you begin to quiver and moan louder than before. 

All too soon, you feel intense pleasure sweep through you like a hurricane and have to bite down on his shoulder to quiet yourself. This was still just the godswood and it was not entirely absent of visitors. 

In feeling the way your warmth pulses and squeezes him, Ned finishes too, burying himself as deep as he can to keep all of his seed in your womb. Once he begins to soften and slip out, Ned finds a ledge to rest on and keeps you in his lap, not wishing to part with you yet. 

Ned hisses as he realizes there is a dull sting on his shoulder, and looks to find a ring of teeth marks near his collarbone. His eyes fall to you but you won't meet him, instead hiding a satisfied smile behind the back of your hand. 

"M sorry," you whisper. 

Ned laughs. "No you're not." 

You join him in merriment and rest your head on his shoulder, looking sad again. "Don't leave Ned. Please." 

"How can I?" His hand smoothes over your hair. "I have a wife to care for now."

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Listen I didnt think about it until I reached the end of this fic but JOSEPH QUINN WOULDVE BEEN AN EXCELLENT EDMURE TULLY

#three bees writing #kinktober 2022 challenge #ned stark smut #ned stark x female reader #tppkinktober2022 #joseph quinn character fiction #black reader insert

[thedragonofbearisland]

Byka Zaldrīzes// Little Dragon

TW/CW: Targcest, the word "c*nt", 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI! (not explicit, but idc)

Word count: ~2.3k

Desc: A re-writing and semi-open ending to Rhaenyra's marriage welcome feast. Daemon is scheming but pathetic for her AS HE SHOULD BE.

Lith's Note: Hii, this is my first completed fic in a HOT minute (I'm talking like 8+ years) so please be kind, I'm sensitive. Please excuse any spelling or grammatical mistakes, I have no excuses other than I hate proofreading.

Typical disclaimers: Not my characters, all rights to GRRM and HBO. However, this fic is my own creative work and mine alone, I do not give permission for any other persons to repost or claim my work as their own. If you do, I'll start living in your walls and shitting in your left shoes.

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The walls of the Red Keep’s throne room thrummed with a menagerie of sound; jovial cheers from dancing nobles, hearty laughter of lords exchanging japes, and rhythmic, traditional music filled any spaces that bodies physically did not.  Back in Aegon’s day, the length of the hall was more reminiscent of  a mountain path, the Iron Throne its glorious summit.  Now, the floorways were polished with over a century of erosion, the majesty of the original throne’s design downsized to accommodate the aging kings of past and present.  When not converted for royal affairs, this great hall is the antithesis of claustrophobia.   Even amongst all its grandeur, one can hear the breezes whisper across the vast space while the court is recessed.   Not tonight, though. Tonight, the grand space felt as if it had been transported to Dorne in the midst of a long summer.  It was hot, the air itself mugged down by the sheer amount of people and flames that lit the room.  Likely, the only reason guests hadn’t yet complained was due to the copious amounts of pear brandy, honeyed wine, and mead that had been served.  Drunk nobles from all the great houses, celebrating in front of the Iron Throne, the most lavish royal event of the year .  A  perfectly picturesque background for heralding  in ‘The Second Age of Dragons’.

  Gods, Viserys is insufferable.  A Westerosi wedding celebration, and no one has even died yet.  How dull.  Daemon mused to himself, he was nursing a cup of Dornish red at the royal family’s table.  The right side of his mouth slightly pulled up into the faintest smirk at the memory of Viserys motioning to a servant to fetch him a chair, hurriedly placed in front of the width of the lengthy table.  Even now, Viserys had not turned him away from the festivities, despite that it was his debaucherous actions that led to this expedited betrothal.  

Movement in his peripherals caused his gaze to shift involuntarily.  Daemon turned his attention across the table, to Laena, as she stood from her chair.  His eyes followed her, admiring how she carried herself in the throes of a dancing crowd.  She commanded attention effortlessly.  Her curly,pale silver hair bounced with reflected shine from the candlelights.   A true Valyrian beauty, indeed.   Yet still a pale comparison to her, nowhere close to the likes of Rhaenyra… Rhaenyra.  The same gaze that was shadowing Laena’s path to the dance floor now shifted to its new focal point.  He instinctually found her in the dense crowd, seemingly exactly where he willed her to be.  She was dancing.  

Not just dancing, she was dancing with a man.  A man who was not him; in fact, she twirled around the center of the hall on the hand of none other than her betrothed.  The sight of  their mere physical proximity caused Daemon to squeeze the  goblet in his hand with a grasp he normally reserves for the battlefield, or brothel, depending on the whore.  He knows there is nothing for his envy to ruse itself over; it was the worst-kept Velyaron secret that Laenor swallows swords.  Despite his mind’s attempt at logic, the sight of another’s hands on her waist, on her.  It was proving too much to bear, adding fuel to his internal wildfire, he was burning from the inside out.  He did not know if it was yearning or rage, mayhaps a mixture of the two.  Daemon exhaled deeply when Rhaenyra and the Velayron cunt parted ways, the dancers moving into groups amongst themselves of the same sex.  He had not realized he was holding his breath.  

The relief was short-lived as the musicians switched songs, and none other than Breakbones himself stole the future queen for the start of a new dance.  At this, Daemon felt himself lean forward and return the goblet to the table.   His right hand grazed his cutlery as he brought his hand to the chair’s armrest.  It took an immense amount of restraint to keep his fingers from wrapping around the knife and charging into the fray, they itched as his hand ghosted over the cool metal.  

Enough of this, be a dragon.  His feet were moving beneath him, shoulders brushing past the bodies of the Six Kingdoms’ wealthiest.  Harwin, that shameless cunt, was in sight, completely enraptured by Rhaenyra as she spun and stepped around him.  Her flourishes around the broad man could melt the permafrost north of The Wall and stop time itself.  If she was dancing with him though, he was sure the elegance of her movements, her inherent sophistication; would be highlighted in all its glory with him at her side.  The spectacle they would be together, it would rival the majesty of Old Valyria.  A generational wonder, an eternal legacy; forged from fire and blood, from divinity and ambition.  A blinding beacon of white gold stood before him, his little dragon, impossibly radiant.  Blood of my blood, more god than mortal.  

For a second time that evening, Daemon’s breath was caught in his lungs, but now he was overwhelmingly aware of the fact.  He could feel the instantaneous reaction to adjust his metaphorical mask, his lilac eyes scanning her, his desire soaring to new heights in the safety of his thoughts.  Only a few years ago, she had all but begged him to kill her on the winding paths to their ancestral seat on Dragonstone.  All for an egg that her babe brother would never see hatch, claiming she was the object of his ire, an insurmountable hurdle between him and the throne. 

Daemon managed to pry himself from his enamored thoughts long enough to dismiss Ser Harwin from his niece with a small wave of his hand and a half-hearted but polite enough pardon.  It gave him a small pleasure to know the man slinked off without protest, the greater pleasure though, was found when he realized her eyes had not followed Ser Strong.  Rather, he found himself  locking gazes with the vibrant violet of her irises, staring right into his own.  It was as if the Red Keep itself had melted away into the stream of time, all that was left was them.  He found himself moving closer to her, leaving mere centimeters between their chests, a distance any septa would deem unholy.  The ghost of his breath whispered over the side of her right cheek, instantly warming her face in a pastel blush, a shade he’s seen before though under much more scandalous circumstances.  

“Is this what you want?” He asked her in High Valyrian, as though it was their own secret language.  His lips ached as he spoke, his own cells were drawn to her, his very being longing for her touch.

“I wasn’t aware that what I want mattered to you.”  She replies, venom thinly veiled in her voice, her gaze flittering across the crowd.  He supposes he deserves the meek amount of animosity she can muster towards him.  Slowly, he circles her as the beat of the song reverberating in the air does.  From a distance, his affections looked familiar of her, but she remained unknown.  Perfectly decent for a most public celebration.  Yet, as he steps in time around her, his eyes are burning with fervorous desire.

“This is not for you.” He says, finishing another loop around her before changing directions as the rhythm alternates, “Laenor is a good man and a fine knight.  He will bore you senseless.”  As he says his last sentence, he trails his hand around her waist and fully circling her body.   The contact is purposeful, adoring, and completely wanton; and once he finishes speaking, he daringly licks at the edge of her ear.  His tongue whispering along the junction of her lobe and cartilage.  Though thoroughly flushed, Rhaenyra manages to keep her wits, echoing her uncle’s past sentiment.

“Marriage is only a political arrangement, I hear.”  Her pride for the quip unconsciously creating a smirk on her lips.  In that moment, Daemon decides to play along, he’d banter with her until the hour of the owl if she allowed.  

“Mine was recently dissolved.”  His reply is all but physically dripping with invitation for her next retort, her next tease, her next challenge.  Tell me, little dragon, say you want me.  Give me the word.  He had disappointed her before once, in the heart of a Street of Silk whorehouse, he would not do so again.  Not when she’s his most simplistic yet enjoyable path to control of Westeros; and certainly not while she’s this enraptured with him.  

“So take me, then.  Has this not been your purpose?”  Her reply flies out in her mother tongue, her speed rivaling that of Caraxes aided by tailwind.  Gods, she was so desperate for him.  He was her future, she knew it in her bones.  She lifts her chin then, daring him to meet her eyes, a spark of courage flickering within them.  He goes to respond, gathering the words for a perfectly filthy motive for his little dragon.  Yet she continues, “I am not yet married; but the hours pass swiftly,” she pauses then, momentarily unsure if she should speak her bidding aloud.  She finds her resolution quickly though, “You are surely armed.  Cut down my father’s Kingsguard.  Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife.”  she finally dares.  Suddenly, Daemon’s trousers feel as claustrophobic as the throne room.  In that moment, he could not summon a single thought or a shred of composure; a growl rumbled in his diaphragm, primal and draconic.  His actions, while not mindful, glowed white-hot with pure, sinful need.  Abruptly, the hand that did not hold her waist reaches out and grips the expanse of the left side of her neck.  His hand is so divinely large, his thumb gently pushing up her cheek while his other fingers splay down the length of her neck.  The tips of his digits cupping her plaited hair by the root, his little finger resting on her shoulder.  The  slightest gasp from her perfect lips echoed through his senses, he could feel her longing as their torsos pushed flush together.  His touch guides her to tilt her gaze up even further, wanting to make her feel small, protected even.  Once he hears his little dragon draw breath, he strikes, rushing her mouth with his own.  Pushing his lips forward as  he parts her own, brushing their tongues together, with earnest passion their only guide.  The moment was no longer than a few seconds in actuality, but despite its fleeting time, Daemon felt it.  The fickle feeling that is perennially featured in every great legend and tragedy, the one all the theatres and the court jesters reliably jape at.  

For the first time that evening, the whispering spring breeze could be heard in the throne room, every set of eyes locked onto the pair of dancing dragons in the midst of their homestead.  Daemon found his thoughts exploring the similarities between Rhaenyra and Syrax and himself with his bonded dragon.  Perfect pairs, halves of one whole, infinitely complimentary, gods amongst men.  Distantly, in a muted part of his mind, he knew that Viserys was bellowing with all the strength his fragile lungs could give him.  His more imperative concern was sensing Rhaenyra’s body tense against his, he needed to protect her.  The Kingsguard drew their arms towards the prince, at the king’s command.  Instinctually, Daemon did the same with Dark Sister.  His gold cloaks that lined the perimeter of the hall followed suit of their commander, ever the loyal hounds.  The original plan was to sneak her out during a ruckus instigated by a bribed servant; but Daemon has a persistent flair for the dramatic.  Mayhaps he could rely upon Viserys’ hesitations of becoming a kinslayer, use his darling girl, his last living token of Aemma against him.  The room’s volume had grown to hushed whispers along the outskirts of the crowd as he began to speak.

“From the ruins of the ancient Freehold, to the shadowlands of Asshai, to the furthest reaches in Westeros, even the enigmatic jungles of Sothoryos.  There is not a being alive who will keep me from you, no one will stop me from having you.  My heart, my sword, my fealty.  It is all yours, my little dragon.”  He declared for all to hear before he paused, taking in her shock and awe.  “I, Prince Daemon Targaryen, son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, Commander of the City Watch, Rider of Caraxes the Blood Wyrm, the Rogue Prince, swear this oath to you, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.  I bend the knee and swear my eternal fealty to you, I am yours to command… and love, should you have me.” He brought his right knee to the ground as he swore those sacred words, bold enough to turn his back to the swords drawn against him.  She smiled down upon him with tears welling in her eyes, somehow they highlighted their violet color as her face grew into her first genuine smile of the night.  The faintest motion of a nod, gave him leave to stand, thieving a rather chaste kiss along the way.  Though not his original intent, he will have his way tonight, with fire and blood if he must.  He would cut down any man from this room to the Dragonpit if they dare try and stop him from flying with her to Dragonstone, eloping, consummating.  May the Mother be merciful to their opposition, for he would have her, against all odds.

#hotd #hotd 1x05 #daemon x rhaenyra #daemyra #asoiaf #game of thrones #grrm #a song of ice and fire #dragons #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #the realm's delight #the rogue prince #viserys is TIRED of daemon's shit #hotd fanfic #daemyra fanfic #fire and blood #westeros #gaelithoxfics

[yourstruly-sephie]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐀 𝐁 𝐫 𝐞 𝐰 𝐢 𝐧 𝐠 𝐅 𝐮 𝐫 𝐲

𝟐𝟕𝟖 𝐀𝐂 | 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦’ 𝐬 𝐄𝐧𝐝

The morning was haze and gloom—a slight drizzle filling the empty air. The coldness stuck to the skin, trailing damp kisses that left a person breathless. The fog was dense, making it hard for the naked eye to spot anything coming from the distance. The time was a quarter past seven, yet it was too dark to be a good morning.

Nyrella walked through the disheartening garden of Griffin's Roost. It was small and bare. Nothing but weeds and wilted flora decorated the space. The dark moist dirt was scattered everywhere on the pathway. Shards of tiny rocks and pebbles were a common motif through and throughout. The whole place was a sad thing, which added well to the mystery of the morning.

"Let us come inside," Arthur's rasped, a plea in his early morning voice, "the hearth is warm and hot tea waiting for you."

Nyrella was a step ahead of the worrying Kingsguard. She walked with her head held up and her hands comfortably positioned behind the small of her back. "I'd rather stay here for a little longer," she spoke softly.

"You've barely recovered," Arthur tried again to persuade her, "I do not want for you to be bedridden again."

The Valyrian princess let out a warm breath into the cool air, creating a fleeting mist reminiscent of clouds. She gracefully pivoted on the heels of her shoes to face her entire being towards Arthur. A small lipped smile formed on her pink lips. "Does it worry you that much?" Her head tilted as her lavender irises searched into his violet ones.

The Kingsguard was tight-lipped, keeping his word to himself. There was fear ever present, that if he were to answer her question, only the wrong words would escape him. His hand fidgeted with Dawn's hilt— a way to calm his nervousness.

Nyrella took Arthur's averting gaze and sudden quiet demeanor as an answer. She sighed once again. Her feet took a few steps forwards until she was beside him. She linked their arms together. "Another walk around this garden, then we can go inside," she said, shaking the wet dirt from the bottom of her gown.

"As you wish princess," Arthur replied as he led the way. He kept his stare on Nyrella, watching her intently as she strolled beside him. Her gaze was looking out into the distance, observing her foggy surroundings. She swayed to the movement of the winds as it pushed her long silver locks behind her shoulders.

"The weather is not kind to the flora here," Nyrella pointed out, frowning at the dead bush of roses across from her.

Arthur lifted his open palm in the air, "I fear the cruelty will continue. It is going to rain by the looks of those dark clouds."

"I long for sun again," a part of her reminiscence the way the burning rays hit her skin. She loved the warmth, and she missed it more and more everyday she was in the Stormlands.

"So do I," Arthur agreed. Dorne was unbearably hot through the year with little to no rain. The scorching sun took more lives than steel during the climax of the summer seasons. However, Arthur would take those chances than the dampness and gruel of the Stormlands. He was not used to so much rain and mud in his life. Dorne was his home, and it will always be.

Nyrella hummed softly, "I would like to visit Dorne one day. I've only been when I was a babe."

"I am sure Dorne would appreciate your visit. The people are generous and open unlike some in King's Landing," the Kingsguard replied.

"I would like to visit your home," she told him.

Arthur looked down at her, catching her gaze. The way her eyes glimmered reminded him of the way moonstones shine during the peak of the afternoon.

"There are better places in Dorne to visit such as the water gardens," answered with a small smile.

Nyrella shook her head feverishly, "And I am told that Starfall is a place to visit when in Dorne." Her voice went higher towards the end of her sentence, which was paired with a cheeky grin of sorts.

"And who told you that?" Arthur matched her playfulness. He leaned closer to her, wearing his smile in his eyes.

"Rhaegar did," Nyrella answered, "he saidthat when he was on tour, he thought Starfall was the most brilliant place he saw. He said that the castle glowed like a million stars during golden hour."

"Did he also mention that is how he and I met?" Arthur glanced at Nyrella, who wore knitted brows of confusion and shook her head in disagreement.

"I was ten and seven, your brother ten and five. We saw each other at the welcoming, however did not talk until the next day. I was training at the courtyard with my cousin. Your brother wanted to spar with me, telling me not to hold back," Arthur recounted.

"Why did he never told me this?" Nyrella muttered as she listened intently.

"To save his pride," Arthur grinned, "your brother was flat on the ground after a minute of sparring. I was afraid he had a temper, but Rhaegar laughed it off. He praised my talents over the course of his stay."

"And now, you are here," Nyrella used her hand to signal to Arthur's spot, "the greatest knight to have ever existed."

Arthur nodded, looking into the distance. Everything that he ever wanted came true, his dreams became real. He hoped his luck would remain constant because he still had dreams he wanted to come true.

"Nyrella—"

"Over there!!" Nyrella pointed out with her outstretched index. Arthur snapped his focus at the figures on the contrasting pathway.

"Rhaegar and Miles!" Nyrella excitedly yelled as she extended her arm upwards, waving at them. The pair snapped at the sudden call. They waved in return as they changed their direction to walk towards them.

Arthur straightened his stance when he caught Rhaegar's gaze. There was a silent exchange of words in a span of a glance. There was something in the Prince's eyes that made Arthur on edge.

"The maester said you should be recovering?" Rhaegar asked before leaning over to kiss Nyrella's temple.

"And what help would that be on my mental health, cooped up in my room without company? I'd rather be here," she responded.

Rhaegar hummed, resting his hands behind his back, "then we should all walk together since we are all here."

"You three should," Myles said, "I am excusing myself."

Nyrella furrowed her brows, "Is there somewhere you need to be?" She tried to find his gaze, but he refused to meet them.

"I remembered that Jon needed my help for tomorrow's journey to Storm's End," He closed.

"Then I'll see you for lunch. I've told the kitchen to pre—," Nyrella smiled.

"That won't be possible," Myles interrupted. "I have other arrangements to attend."

"Oh," Nyrella's voice trailed.

Myles nodded, bowing his head to the fair-haired princess, "My apologies truly princess. If you will excuse me." Myles turned around in a swift movement from the trio, walking back to the back entrance of the castle.

"Shall we go on then with the stroll sister," Rhaegar lightly touched Nyrella's elbow. She faced him, observing his other hand signaling to the pathway in front of them.

"What's wrong?" The Prince followed with a question, seeing the troubling look on Nyrella's face. He noticed that she was fidgeting with her hands again.

"Myles and I always have lunch together..."

"You cannot expect him to be on your beck and call," Rhaegar linked their arms as he urged her forward.

Nyrella bit her lip, "Yes, I know...but I felt an uneasiness from him."

"You worry too much Ny," Rhaegar pushed away her growing concern. "Everything is how they are meant to be."

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

The sound of leather boots against the nasty coloring of mud became the unwanted substitute to the song of birds. The air was rigid and cold, turning any exposed flesh a bruising red. The stench of human feces mixed with the seawater could bring a grown man into a high of ecstasy, and later, in consequence vomit their stomachs out. The sky, a permanent gray with heavy dark clouds, threatening to brew a dangerous storm that would fester for hours, days even. These were the promises the mighty seat of House Baratheon, Storm's End, condoned their guests, more so even their most esteemed guests.

Nyrella stood at the courtyard, gawking at the mythical castle. She had heard various variations of the construction of the centuries-old seat. Some rooted in magic, and some rooted in not-so-interesting lore compared to the prospects of magic's involvement. Her fragile mind could not wrap itself around the question of how a castle that seemed to be built with stone and brick could stay in a place known for the ravaging storms that ripped apart anything into smithereens. It was impressive, lurking in mystery.

"Are you doing well, your Grace?" The lord of house Baratheon cut through her daydream, bringing back Nyrella to her senses. She could tell by the raise of his brow that it was the second time he was reciting his question.

She blinked a few times, taking in the old and worn-out face of the storm lord. His dark hair was the color of the obsidian gemstones she wore as jewelry, but there were visible graying and stark strands of whites against the darkness of his hair. She conjured it was due to stress of his position and being cousins with the Mad King. Wrinkles were strategically drawn on to tell his age and mold him to look strong, tough as he aged. His eyes were the clearing of his dark features. They were tired but held a kindness.

"All is well, my lord, but I cannot say the same thing for the weather," Nyrella glanced above her to the growing clouds. The lord followed her gaze, humming to himself as he wore an unfazed expression.

"You must deem yourself lucky princess," he spoke softly, "you did not arrive during the middle of a storm."

"And if that were the case, my entitlements would still have forced me to purge through even the most dangerous of weather," Nyrella turned her head to look at the side of Rhaegar's sharp features. She had to refrain herself from rolling her lavender eyes and sticking her tongue at him. She could not taint her reputation in front of the lord of the Stormlands and his wife, who was in casual conversation with her brother.

Steffon Baratheon hummed again, "I do fear the tourney will be pushed back a day or so, if there is heavy rain and thunder tonight." And by the sight of the rapid growth of black clouds, his words became truer every passing moment.

This also meant, it would be more days Nyrella would have to stay in the damp, cold, and muddled conditions of Storm's End. One she was not too happy with.

"We have prepared your room, Princess Nyrella. They used to be your great grandaunt's quarters," a sweeter voice replaced Lord Steffon's rough baritone. The Lady of the Stormlands, Cassana of house Estermont, brightly smiled showing the top row of her teeth and the significant indentation of the wrinkles around her mouth. She was a beautiful lady with striking green eyes, one's that none of her sons inherited—a true shame for Nyrell loved her eyes.

Nyrella reflected the welcoming generosity with her own smile, "thank you Lady Cassana, that is very giving of you and Lord Steffon."

"It is our pleasure. Rhaelle Targaryen would have wanted the honor to have you stay in her space. There is no one more deserving than you," Lady Cassana gently placed a comforting hand on Nyrella's arm, squeezing lightly for assurance.

Nyrella nodded her head. There were no words to convey her gratitude, hoping her actions would speak louder. She was honored to stay in Rhaelle's quarters, to be in a space where a strong Targaryen lived and breathed. Yet, there was melancholy. The last time she stayed in Storm's End, Rhaelle was still alive in her old age but still stronger as she was in her youth. Nyrella remembered her smelling like the sourness of citrus.

"You have been kind to us," Rhaegar spoke for the both of them as Nyrella kept quiet and in her own thoughts. "We have nothing to offer but our deepest gratitude," his voice was like velvet to the ears. The charm rubbed off the lord and lady, who wore warm expressions to the duo siblings.

"Please, I insist you and your sister inside where the hearth burns hotter than Dorne's sun," Steffon stepped back to gesture his hand to the grand entrance to the castle.

"Husband," Cassana called out, "allow our eldest son, Robert, to escort the princess to her quarters."

"Oh. That would not be necessary," Nyrella tried to decline, "I am more than glad to have a servant show me the location."

"Nonsense. I cannot allow a servant to be your escort, it is a disrespect to you. My eldest will happily be your guide," Steffon glanced over to his shoulder to where three young men stood shoulder to shoulder beside each other. They all were spitting copies of their father, sharing everything down to their footwear.

The taller of the bunch, and the stronger built came forward by the subtle nod from lord Steffon. It was hard for Nyrella to show the distaste of seeing Robert. The heir of the Stormlands walked with his chest puffed out, taking as much space around him to show his importance. He wore a permanent smirk on his chiseled face that made women swoon at him. But not Nyrella, she wished she could punch the smugness of him. He infuriated her.

"Princess," Robert took her hand in his, leaning his head low to peck the whites of her knuckles. Nyrella forced herself a painful smile.

"Lord Robert," she mumbled out, "I hope your ride from the Vale to Storm's End was forgiving."

The young lord hummed, scanning his eyes over her features. The last time he saw Nyrella was when she was a youngling, but now, it almost seemed his eyes deceived him. He cocked his head to the side, his grin growing by the second, "I would say it was, but I would be lying."

"I presume the weather was not kind as today."

"Oh, no. It was not the weather that made the journey difficult. It was the lack of a woman's touch."

Nyrella quickly retracted her hand from him. A nasty bile rose to her throat threatening to come out, tarnishing the well-polish doublet Robert wore. It was made clear to her that his womanizing ways have not changed.

"I suppose we should be on our way. Your father predicted the storm to come any moment," she declared. She turned her head around to search through the crowd behind her. "Arthur, come with us," she commanded over her shoulder.

Arthur was stationed beside Jon. They were in each other's company throughout the entirety at the courtyard as the dragon siblings were greeted by the family of stags. Arthur connected his gaze with Nyrella, bowing his head to her in agreement. Yet, in front of the corner of his eyes, he could see the heir of Lord Steffon reaching a hand for Nyrella's arm.

"That would not be necessary, princess. You do not need a kingsguard on our ventures it—"

"It would be my pleasure, princess," Arthur hastily came beside Nyrella, blocking Robert from laying a hand on her. He offered his arm, which Nyrella took almost immediately. "Show us the way my lord," Arthur said, gesturing for Robert to lead the way.

Robert forced a smile, "Of course. Follow me." He glared towards Arthur's direction before leading the way into the castle.

Once the Baratheon heir was far from earshot, Nyrella breathed out in relief. "I could bear to be alone with him," she looked up at Arthur. Her eyes were filled with gratitude.

Arthur smiled down at her, "I could not let you go with him alone. I see why Rhaegar has a distaste for the man."

"For his house sigil to be prey, he is a walking contradiction. There is a predator behind those eyes," Nyrella glanced to observe Robert's massive back. To her, he even looked like a predator.

Arthur leaned closer to Nyrella. His hot breath brushing the tip of her ears, "All you have to do is say the words."

"What words?" Nyrella responded, her eyelids fluttering at the warmth of his breath.

"To command me," Arthur answered, "to cut him down."

"You'll do that for me?" She hiccuped.

Arthur let out another hot breath on her ear. It made goosebumps all over her body. "Anything for you, princess."

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

Nyrella has never experienced a storm unlike no other at Storm's End. The windows rattled as thunder shook the foundations of the castle. The droplets of rain were falling fast like rocks hitting against glass. The flashes of lightning were loud, crackling through the darkness of the skies.

She held herself in her arms, observing the rain hitting her window. There was a feast in honor for her and Rhaegar's arrival, but she managed to slip through the cracks of loud drunken yells from men and the clinking sounds of goblets. She wanted to be in her own little space for just a moment.

"Your brother will start to worry about your absence," Arthur's voice echoed through the empty stone hall. He leaned against the wall, keeping his violet eyes on Nyrella's figure.

She scoffed, "then let him. I am not in the mood to talk to him or anyone else's."

"Is this your way of releasing me of my duty?" Arthur jested, pushing himself off the damp wall. Nyrella slightly turned her head at the sound of his armor clattering.

"If that is what you want. I am not holding you back on enjoying the rest of your night with the comfort of wine and ale," Nyrella remained still in front of the window. She hugged herself a little tighter.

Arthur hummed. A silence befallen over the two of them. A part of her was nervous he might take her offer. She did not want him to leave her alone despite what she said.

"I prefer the comfort of your company, Nyrella. Much more than wine and ale," Arthur eventually spoke. He made a stride towards her. His footsteps were the only sound echoing through the empty hall, but if he listened closely, he would hear another sound of Nyrella's pounding heart.

She smiled to herself, "More than wine and ale," she recited back. "That is the first I've ever heard a man confess an unpopular opinion. I wonder what the other would say if they heard you."

Arthur chuckled. Nyrella did not realize how close he was. His hot breath fanned her bare neck like a burning flame. "It is the truth. I am a man that enjoys a drink or two, but not to the point of drunkenness or alcoholism."

"If only Robert could take after your morals," Nyrella turned to face the Kingsguard. It was no secret the heir of the Stormlands was a raging alcoholic, turning to some wild boar as he drank the scarlet liquid of summer wine or the amber fuzz of ale, and sometimes a mix of both. It was another reason she did not want to be at the feast. She knew Robert would want to dance with her, and she did not want his hands on any parts of her body. It made her sick just thinking about the scenario.

"He is much worse than what Rhaegar described him," Arthur came beside her, watching the droplets of rain glide on the glass. "No wonder Jon hates him."

"Arthur," Nyrella spoke. "Could I ask something of you?"

Arthur faced Nyrella's direction, his stare fell on the side of her face. The moonlight hit the highest points of her features, making her appear more striking and hauntingly beautiful. He hummed his response.

"I've noticed recently that many people only desire to tell me half their truths, especially my own brother. I could see in their eyes that they are holding things from me, and I know it comes from good intentions but it still hurts that they cannot trust me like I am something fragile," Nyrella wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "I trust you, Arthur, more than anyone. All I ask for is your promise of your honestly?"

Arthur listened to the desperation in her voice. A desperation that called for the end of her loneliness from being pushed away from the secrets. Arthur let out a breath. He extended his hand towards Nyrella's face, gently grasping her chin with his thumb and index. He turned her face towards him, forcing her to connect her lavender eyes with his. His thumb lightly stroked the softness of her chin.

Nyrella was not in control of her body. She allowed him because she yearned for his touch. The pit of her stomach fluttered like springtime butterflies, her heart soared like a falcon in the sky, and her womanhood burned to be noticed.

"You have my word," his response fanned her face.

She hummed, too speechless to convey with words. Her mouth was slightly open, batting her eyelashes slowly, and her body on edge. She stared at Arthur's face, tracing every feature with her eyes. She licked her own lips when she ended up on his. There were inches between their lips. She wanted a forbidden taste of him.

"Nyrella, Arthur. You two are needed back at the feast," the familiar tone of Jon's voice echoed through the hall, followed by his heavy footsteps.

Arthur released his hold on Nyrella's face, standing straight up as if nothing happened. He took a few steps away from Nyrella, leaving her back into the embrace of the coldness. He turned to greet the Lord of Griffin's Roost with an acknowledging nod as the redhead came closer to the duo. Nyrella wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, taking deep breaths to steady herself.

"Rhaegar's orders?" Arthur asked his friend. The redhead nodded, "He needed a private meeting with Lord Steffon, and he asked for you to come with him."

Arthur gave a firm nodded, "I shall take my leave then. I trust you will deliver Nyrella back to the feast." Without another look back at the Targaryen princess, Arthur strode away into the darkness of the hallway. Nyrella watched him, a piece of her heart with him.

"Come on now, Nyrella," Jon came to her side, gently tugging her elbow. "I know a dozen young lords ready to dance with you."

"Did you see what happened?" Nyrella pulled her elbow away from Jon. There was a defensiveness in her tone.

Jon sighed deeply, "I saw Nyrella."

Nyrella clenched her hands into fist, putting all her disappointed hopes into them, "let's go Jon."

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

At the feast, Nyrella went against her better judgement. She loosened up with cups and cups of goblets, even drinking other people's reds, ambers, and odd alcohol that made her want to breathe fire. Her body moved the entire time since she entered the dining hall. Her feet were sore from the constant dancing with different partners, but she minded the pain for the enjoyment of activities. Her mind was muddled like the nasty coloring of mush dirt outside the castle. Need a way to forget what happened earlier.

Just as Nyrella finished a dance with a lord from a vassal house of house Baratheon, one who she could not hear his name through the loud singing of the minstrel and the booming shouts of spoiled men. At the corner of her of her eye, she spotted a familiar silhouette slip through the wooden doors. She blinked a few times to water her dry eyes, making sure she was not seeing things.

"A dance your Grace," a random lord gestured his hand towards Nyrella's front.

"Another time, my lord. Excuse me," Nyrella pushed his hand away, then squeezed her body through the tight space of bodies until she reached the doors.

A whip of cool air engulfed her warm face. She almost forgot a storm brewed outside the warmth of the dining hall. The corridors had little soul like a few hours ago. Her head switched left and right, searching for the person she eagerly wanted to talk to. She squinted her eyes at the right, making out a sliver of someone's figure through her tainted vision.

Her body wobbled as she walked, dragging her feet behind her as she used the stony walls to support her once a while. She blinked hard, pushing away the sleepiness. If anyone were to see her, they would have thought she was a ghost, haunting these halls with her red beady eyes.

"Nyrella," Myles turned from the window to look at the Valyrian princess slowly walking towards him. He took the last few steps, closing the distance between. He held her arms to steady her as he could smell the strong scent of alcohol on her. "You should be resting," he spoke to her again.

Nyrella did not listen to him, only humming as if she did hear him. She pressed her face against his chest, nuzzling her face into the warmth. "Myles..." her voice was hoarse, but still was soft and mellow to the ears.

Myles chuckled as he gently stroked her silver hair, "You should be resting, Nyrella. Let me take you to your quarters."

"No," Nyrella heard him this time, "I want to stay like this." Her arms wrapped around his torso, pressing her body close to his.

A panic arose in Myles. He was not acclaimed for his closeness with Nyrella. He dreamed of them together like this, but he did not imagine the scenario to be like this. He tried to peel her arms off him, but she only embraced him tighter. He pushed her shoulders back, yet she remained latched to his chest.

"Why are you pushing me away," Nyrella looked up to meet Myles' gaze, "don't you want me?"

Myles shook his head, "I do want you but not like this. I cannot take advantage of you, Nyrella. Please, let me escort you back to your quarters."

Suddenly, Nyrella pulled back. Her arms crossed, and her body turned away from him. "Why do people keep treating me as a child," her voice wavered, a fury of emotional tears threatening to fall.

Myles felt bad, "Nyrella, I'm not treating you as a child. All I'm asking for is to take care of you, put you to bed."

"That is exactly the words you say to children," she snapped at him. A few stray tears fell over her cheeks, "I'm tired of people seeing if I'm not capable of handling hardships."

"I'm sorry," Myles apologized. He reached for her, gently holding her elbow to gestures he's here for her. "I see you not as a child, but as a woman. You must understand, the people hiding things from you, only want to keep you away from hurt. I do not want to see you hurt."

She turned her body, facing him once again. She observed him through her glossy eyes, blurry but still visible enough to notice the way his face harmonized. His eyes soften with worry. The front of his dirty blonde hair fell over his eyes. His head slightly tilted, asking her without words if she was okay. For a split second, she thought Arthur was standing in front of her.

"I will escort you ba—" Myles was cut off as Nyrella pressed her lips with his. A sudden kiss from the princess.

Nyrella closed her eyes, squeezing them shut. Her right hand gripped the nape of his neck, forcefully pressing his face against her's. She moved her mouth, willing for him to return the action. The experience was new, giving her goosebumps all over her body.

But just as she could press her lips further into his, Myles got a hold of her arms and pushed her away. Nyrella blinked at the drunkness, observing the aftermath of the kiss. Myles wore an unreadable expression. His honey brown eyes pooled over her, looking at her as if she could break in his arms. His lips were swollen, red, and wet with spit. Nyrella imagined her lips were the same. More of his hair fell over his eyes.

Nyrella reached her hand out to him, to push the hair back in place but Myles grabbed her hand mid-air. "I'm escorting you back. You need to rest for the night," Myles said. He dropped her hand to her side, and turned her body around so her back was towards him. He held onto her shoulders, steadying her as he guided her walk toward her quarters.

But Nyrellla could not walk anymore. The sleepiness of alcohol took over the remainder of her conscious mind. The dark halls were the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

"I told you to look after her."

"I did, but I did not know you wanted me to check how much wine she drank."

"She drank more than just wine."

"She will be fine, but I cannot say when she wakes up. The aftermath makes you want to kill yourself."

"I think she is waking up."

Nyrella shifted in her silk covers. The small peek of sunlight through her windows caused her to stir in bed, and the desire to wake up. She forced her eyelids to open from the crust of sleep. Her vision was blurry at first, and tried to adjust to the bright light in the room. Two people stood at both sides of her bed, their fuzzy figures positioned in a way that made it looked as if they were staring down at her.

"Drink this," Rhaegar pushed a goblet for water towards his sister. Nyrella groaned, rubbing her eyes awake.

"What time is it?" She managed to respond as she grabbed the goblet and drank the contents.

Jon, who was on her right, pushed a plate of lemon slices on the side of her bed. "A quarter to two," he told her, "I advise you to also eat the flesh, if you want your headache gone."

That is when Nyrella felt a sharp pain hit her head that made her eyes water. The headache added to the exhaustion she felt and hunger. She grabbed a lemon slice, brought it to her mouth and sucked the juice out. She took deep breaths to help the throbbing of her head.

Rhaegar sat down on her bed, taking his sister's arm in his hands. He sighed and shook his head disappointingly, "you have a bruise on your forearm."

Nyrella peered down on her arm. She saw a circular purple mark that was the size of a small ball. Rhaegar placed his finger on the bruise, putting a light pressure that made Nyrella wince. "Ouch," she pulled her arm away.

"I will get the Maester to do something about your bruise," Rhaegar moved to stand but Nyrella stopped him.

"Please don't," her voice hoarse from the lemon. " I don't want anyone to see in such a disastrous state."

Rhaegar pursed his lips, "Myles warned me it would be bad, but I did not think it would be this bad. You are not allowed to drink in the next feast for the seven hells, Ny. You might make your stomach explode if I don't restrict you."

"Myles..." her voice trailed. The dizziness made her nauseous.

"Yes, Myles. You are lucky. He carried you all the way here when you passed out. He was frantic when he told me early this morning," Rhaegar explained as he took a slice of lemon for himself.

"Myles..." she said again. This time the name of the Knight of Maidenpool brought back memories from last night. His disheveled blonde hair. His worrying pools of honey browns. Their conversation. Lastly, the kiss.

She brought her fingers to her lips, swallowing the feeling down. There was a pit at the bottom of her stomach. A terrible guilt overcame her as she replayed the memory of the forceful sloppy kiss she inflicted on him. It made her sick for what she did to him.

"Nyrella are you listening?" Rhaegar's question pierced through her blank mind. Suddenly, Nyrella lurched to her right, vomiting the contents of last night's supper on the floor and Jon's boots.

Jon yelled out in disgust, jumping away before more warmish green mush poured over his leather boots. "Seven hells! What did you drink last night!"

Rhaegar gathered Nyrella's with his hands as she continued to empty her stomach. "Fetch the Maester, Jon," Rhaegar commanded his friend, "Ny won't be able to keep anything down the whole day."

Nyrella shook her hand in the air, while her other wiped the vomit that lingered at the corners of her mouth. "I'm fine," she told them. She took a deep breath before resting back into her silk covers. "Where is Myles? I need to speak with him."

"He is busy at the moment," Rhaegar answered swiftly. "You need to focus on resting. Jon, I need you to get the Maester."

Jon nodded. His blue eyes took another glance at the sick princess. He pointed his index at her, furrowing his eyebrows, "you owe me a new pair of boots." After saying his peace, Jon slipped through the doors, leaving the dragon siblings alone.

"You do not understand," Nyrella breathed out as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Rhaegar sat beside her, wiping the remnants of vomit around her mouth, "what do you mean, Ny? What don't I understand?"

"Everything, Rhaegar. Don't pretend to care, when you hide things from me," she looked deep into his indigo eyes.

"You are delusional, Ny. Go back to sleep," he averted his gaze. He pulled the cover higher on her body.

Nyrella shook her head, "You know I'm right. What can't you tell me? Why do you push me away like everyone?"

Rhaegar said nothing. The silence filled the room until Jon and the Maester arrived. Nyrella felt herself spiraling into her own thoughts, ready to explode from the frustration. Her mind turns morbid and grim, sometimes thinking to herself that she would have rather perished in the cool depths of the lake then experience constant pain of hurt from the people she cares most about.

#asoiaf #pre asoiaf #house targaryen #targaryen oc #oc female #prince rhaegar #rhaegar targaryen #arthur and nyrella #house dayne #arthur dayne #arthur dayne x oc #arthur dayne fanfic #arthur dayne fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #Storm’s End

[armaans]

who: @dancingshores​ where: one of highgarden’s many bustling halls, within a night of celebration. there was feasting, dancing, and gambling; he noticed how women from the other courts did not seem to engage in the game, apart from their own. currently, armaan was involved in some sort of game of dice, with lyseni, tyroshi and reachmen. 

it was another hot summer night within the great hall of highgarden, ivy and vines creeping up stained glass and ornate white marble decor; and yet, after an evening of feasting, the surroundings was the last thing on his mind. this card game had gone on for far too long, thanks to a specific member of the party seemingly enjoying the conversation more than the actual game. unaware of the impatience that was only growing upon the table, the man continued to speak of matters across the narrow sea; matters that were not anything of significant importance. 

rather, building styles of villas and pavilions - and as the lord of yronwood put down his final hand, his hand seemed to come down hard upon the table top. almost in a way that caused whatever was on the table to shake.

it shut the representative up at least, or reminded him they were here to play the game, rather than engage in small talk for the sake of trying to get in one’s socialising. his dark orbs, stormy in essence, looked to the large crowd that was dotted around the rest of the room; there was dancing, there was one woman dancing specifically. by the sounds of the anklet, his first impression was to think it was the princess consort - only, it was not her. only someone with an uncanny resemblance to her, a woman he had come across before. she had stayed within yronwood with her lord father some years prior, for a brief amount of time; back when his uncle held the regency and armaan was to turn eighteen within the week. 

of course, she was once someone of far more importance to his friend, the ruling lord of the tor. she had stayed with the jordaynes; he was sure he had seen her during his visits to the tor, time after time.

there was much talk of him retaking yronwood that evening over the dinner, stepping into his father’s shoes that dinner; it was almost ironic now. for who knew what betrayal, bloodshed and butchery would come just a week later; crossbows shot into an empty bed, and he watched. her presence reminded him of a time where things seemed okay, but in reality, were truly not. their eyes met multiple times throughout the course of the night, and when he was finally able to collect his winnings once the game wrapped up, the man did not excuse himself. 

rather, moved his way through the crowd in his black kurta, still adorning traditional dornish attire. his hair longer than he usually kept it. moving his way through the crowd, he knew better than to interrupt her. he would not join her. and so, the bloodroyal just became another figure stood around watching. watching, alongside those andals who looked as though she were a piece of meat to be unwrapped. he was there, silently, as he felt as though he needed to be - she was dornish, she was one of their own. 

there was applause as she finished, in a spiral conclusion. he joined the claps, slowly; still keeping his gaze fixed on her. though in truth, his attention was on the people around them. dancers were not whores, not in dorne; he knew not elsewhere. “kya aapaka kaam khatm ho gaya, ya kya mujhe agale din tak yaheen rukana hoga?” (are you finished, or do i have to wait until tomorrow?) 

#c: zahra #zahra 001 #jnfdugif this got too long bc i set context pls shorten #also the idea of armaan sitting there and being like you done? i can go? hdfudh

[shootertron-stuff]

Farhad's wives, part two

Continuation of this post, more of Farhad's wives created through Picrew.

Warnings that this universe contains a lot of forced pregnancy, enslavement, forced feminization, ableism, noncon etc etc

Krispus Kestrel: An Iron Snake who Farhad bought off an unscrupulous warband claiming he was an Ultramarine ("What's the difference? Sons of Guilliman are Sons of Guilliman!"). Due to being racist against Beastmen and attacking a nurse who was taking his baby's vitals, Krispus' children have been taken away to be raised by goat people.

Despite not being born there, he is anal about Protected Designation of Origin and Traditional Specialty Guaranteed foods from Ultramar. It's not Ultramarine Barley Soup unless the ingredients were grown on the 500 worlds and prepared in a specific way!

Ta-wr: In this universe, Perturabo is secretly a girl and her geneseed has a high chance of turning you into a girl. To test this theory, one could forcefem an Iron Warrior and see if she likes it. But bringing home an Iron Warrior wife would make his Imperial Space Marine wives unhappy, wouldn't it?

So instead, Farhad bought a Silver Skull, a Space Marine chapter rumored to have Perturabo's geneseed. Ta-wr was having a bad time, being used as forced labor for the Red Corsairs. Being bailed out came with a cost.

Ta-wr turned out to be an Ultramarine in spirit, despite the truth of her chapter's founding. Like Krispus, she is anal about PDOs and TSGs. But as they say in the Black Legion, you're more than your geneseed!

Not all women want babies, and Ta-wr had no "maternal instinct" when her kids were born.

Like other Silver Skulls, she is covered in tattoos.

Maximus: A Death Strike Marine. Was a Dreadnought pilot before his exosuit was irreparably damaged. Was "saved" and made a breeder. Has no arms or legs and must rely on the other Marines for many tasks. Due to how long he was sealed inside the Dreadnought sarcophagus, is sensitive to stimuli including light.

Adores all his children and is one of the most well-behaved wives, and Farhad dotes on him, providing him with sensory-friendly clothes and lots of stuffed animals. Also he gets flogged, an "essential care need" for all Sons of Dorn that he was "cruelly denied" while inside the Dreadnought.

Must be watched closely to prevent less compliant wives from hurting him, as they think he needs to be put out of his misery due to his care needs.

Jamshed: A Hawk Lord who miraculously survived being shot out of the air, though he suffered extensive injuries. Paired with Krispus.

Hot Pink Rhododendrons Blooming on a Summer's Night: "Roddy Summer", a Celebrant, came from humble origins. His mother, holding high hopes, gave him a grandiose name and spent every last bit of money they had to send him to the Space Marine trials shortly before her death. After failing to protect his home hive city from attack, Roddy became depressed, easy pickings for a Chaos warband.

Dresses like an 80s roller skater.

Gunvaldr Faramundson: A Space Wolf. Liable to mount the other Space Marine wives. Responds well to positive reinforcement with chopped and dried pieces of bull penis.

Umer: A Hammer of Dorn, extremely unhappy about the whole baby making business. Has long passages of the Codex Astartes memorized and will start reciting them unsolicited. Begrudgingly shares a bed with the other Sons of Dorn.

"Ifrit" Tanager: A Thousand Sons Sorceror skilled in biomancy. Farhad took the fact that he shapeshifted a pussy for their first meeting as permission to use him as a breeder, but also, he has something against the Thousand Sons and likes tormenting him.

Farhad tries to be accommodating to the other wives but is as mean to Ifrit as possible without the Hereteks monitoring the breeding project complaining that it will have a negative impact on maternal health.

Gunvaldr is overly friendly with Ifrit.

#warhammer 40k #taming hellhounds #ifrit tanager #Krispus Kestrel #Ta-wr #Roddy Summer #Gunvaldr Faramundson #mpreg #female space marines

[warsmade]

          [    simone  ashley  ,  26  ,  cis  woman  ,  she  +  her  ]    in  the  time  of  dragons  ,  ALLYRIA  MARTELL  is  entering  the  game  of  thrones  .  said  to  be  incorruptible  +  polished  ,  we  can  only  hope  that  is  the  case  as  regrettably  they  are  also  well  known  to  be  circumspect  +  dissatisfied  .  when  asked  about  them  ,  people  are  always  reminded  of  racing  through  the  trees  on  horseback  with  your  hair  flowing  behind  you  ,  reading  stories  of  old  heroes  on  the  warm  sand  as  the  ocean  waves  crash  in  the  distance  and  splashing  in  the  water  gardens  on  a  hot  summer  day  .  though  they  are  the  PRINCESS  OF  DORNE  ,  their  true  loyalties  lie  with  house  martell  and  rumour  has  it  that  if  given  the  choice  they  would  support  their  family  above  all  else  .  those  of  us  in  the  shadows  wish  them  luck  and  can  only  hope  they  will  survive  what  is  to  come  .     

I.    PERSONAL    .

full  name  :  allyria  martell  .

nicknames  :  ally  ,  lyria  ,  lyrie  (  old  family  nickname  )  .

official  title  :  princess  of  dorne  .

age  :  twenty  six  .

gender  :  cis  woman  .

pronouns  :  she  /  her  .

orientation  :  bisexual  .

allegiance  :  house  martell  .

spoken  languages  : common  tongue  and  low  valyrian  ,  specifically  braavosi  .

religion  :  faith  of  the  seven  .

alignment  :  neutral  good  .

II.    APPEARANCE    .

faceclaim  :  simone  ashley  .

eye  color  :  brown  .

hair  color  :  brown  .

dominant  hand  :  right  .

height  :  5′10″

build  :  slim  .

III.    RELATIONSHIPS    .

father  :  former  ruling  prince  lewyn  martell  ,  deceased  4  years  ago  .

mother  :  former  ruling  princess  narha  martell  nee  tba  ,  deceased  18  years  ago  .

siblings  ,  in  eldest  order  :  ruling  prince  criston  martell  ,  prince  zakar  martell  ,  princess  utp  martell  ,  utp  sand  .

relationship  status  :  unwed  .

children  :  none  .

other  connections  :  ruling  princess  utp  martell  nee  utp  (  sister  in  law  )  .

previous  relations  :  tba  ,  plots  wanted  !

IV.    BIOGRAPHY    .

the  first  daughter  but  third  addition  to  the  house  martell  ,  expectations  were  always  incredibly  high  for  the  princess  .  she  was  incredibly  young  when  her  lessons  first  started  and  while  at  first  she  protested  ,  when  allyria  actually  sat  down  to  attempt  her  responsibilities  like  needlework  or  proper  penmanship  ,  she  found  she  was  quite  good  at  them  .  this  became  almost  like  a  game  to  herself  whenever  something  new  was  asked  and  expected  of  her  because  as  she  got  older  ,  the  frequency  increased  .  when  she  was  taught  to  curtsy  ,  there  was  never  a  single  complaint  about  her  stance  .  when  her  septa  instructed  her  to  create  the  house  martell  sigil  in  needlework  ,  allyria  did  it  within  a  few  hours  and  the  result  was  so  excellent  her  septa  thought  she’d  cheated  somehow  .  even  when  she’d  convinced  one  of  her  instructors  to  help  teach  her  low  valyrian  from  braavosi  ,  as  that’s  where  they’d  grown  up  ,  allyria  began  to  speak  in  full  sentences  within  a  handful  of  lessons  .  people  always  questioned  how  she  could  always  catch  on  so  quickly  and  while  allyria  did  admittedly  have  a  talent  of  learning  fast  ,  she  also  did  her  homework  .  her  love  for  reading  started  even  before  her  lessons  did  and  most  of  the  books  were  of  history  or  stories  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  what  she  would  soon  learn  .  when  allyria  knew  that  within  the  coming  days  she’d  be  learning  something  new  ,  she’d  research  it  and  perfect  it  as  best  she  could  before  even  speaking  to  anyone  about  it  .

this  habit  ,  along  with  a  great  amount  of  tough  love  from  her  parents  ,  turned  into  a  series  of  perfectionist  tendencies  with  the  princess  ,  often  needing  to  be  the  best  at  everything  they  threw  her  way  .  her  behavior  only  increased  ten  fold  after  her  mother  passed  ,  still  a  young  child  unsure  how  to  navigate  the  world  without  a  woman’s  assistance  .  allyria’s  father  loved  her  in  his  own  way  but  his  tough  love  only  hardened  after  the  passing  of  his  wife  .  he  wanted  allyria  to  have  a  great  future  and  therefore  expected  many  things  from  her  to  achieve  such  .  while  he  would  do  much  to  help  his  children  advance  in  the  world  ,  they  would  have  to  earn  their  positions  and  their  livelihoods  free  from  his  support  .  they  had  to  work  for  that  incredible  life  and  he  would  tell  them  how  ,  but  it  was  ultimately  up  to  them  to  succeed  .  allyria  became  her  father’s  perfect  daughter  and  princess  ,  having  quite  the  reputation  for  being  a  bit  of  a  pushover  .  meanwhile  she  was  staying  up  nights  reading  about  how  to  be  a  better  version  of  herself  ,  eating  less  without  realizing  because  of  her  focus  on  responsibilities  ,  and  ultimately  losing  friends  she’d  made  from  lack  of  contact  .

she  wanted  to  make  him  proud  -  her  siblings  too  ,  but  mainly  her  father  .  it  was  the  only  thing  she’d  ever  begged  the  gods  to  give  her  .  one  of  the  main  ways  he  assisted  allyria  in  securing  a  good  future  was  discussing  betrothal  prospects  to  those  he  deemed  worthy  of  his  daughter’s  hand  in  marriage  .  she  was  first  betrothed  at  ten  ,  only  a  few  months  after  her  mother  passed  .  the  one  obstacle  to  the  betrothal  had  been  removed  and  it  made  allyria  furious  to  know  how  much  it  pleased  her  father  .  it  was  something  that  never  came  to  be  anything  serious  ,  lasting  several  years  until  her  betrothal’s  house  went  bankrupt  and  her  father  ended  the  betrothal  the  next  day  .  every  time  he  attempted  to  betroth  her  to  someone  he  found  worthy  ,  something  would  happen  where  the  betrothal  would  break  and  allyria  would  be  back  hunting  down  suitors  .  one  of  the  last  things  her  father  ever  said  was  how  disappointing  it  was  to  die  without  ever  securing  her  a  marriage  .

though  deep  down  allyria  knows  she  doesn’t  have  to  please  him  anymore  ,  she  still  feels  compelled  to  behave  the  same  out  of  habit  .  she  genuinely  wants  to  be  a  good  ,  well  mannered  princess  so  in  some  aspects  allyria  never  minded  being  his  perfect  princess  .  on  the  other  hand  ,  the  immense  pressure  she  constantly  felt  made  her  embarrassed  by  her  father’s  gloating  of  her  accomplishments  and  wanting  to  sprint  out  of  a  room  when  he  was  desperate  to  introduce  her  to  some  of  his  friends  .  she  wanted  to  be  surrounded  by  her  own  friends  or  even  just  people  her  own  age  .  allyria  was  always  secretly  fighting  to  be  elsewhere  ,  desperate  for  something  so  much  better  than  just  searching  for  a  husband  .  falling  in  love  would  be  incredible  but  that  would  be  the  only  reason  she’d  want  to  marry  .  part  of  her  doesn’t  ever  want  to  just  to  spite  her  father’s  memory  but  that’s  something  she’ll  keep  a  secret  .

overall  ,  allyria  is  a  sweet  ,  good  hearted  person  .  she’s  introverted  and  prefers  to  be  hidden  somewhere  with  a  book  but  that  doesn’t  mean  she  won’t  strike  up  a  conversation  the  second  she  enters  a  room  .  though  the  princess  used  to  be  incredibly  shy  as  a  child  ,  she’s  grown  out  of  her  shell  a  lot  since  her  father  passed  and  now  she’s  desperate  to  speak  to  people  she  never  would  have  been  able  to  before  .  allyria  never  realized  how  unhappy  she  was  ,  always  so  focused  on  being  incredible  at  everything  she  did  .  she  wants  to  find  things  that  make  her  happy  ,  truly  happy  ,  even  if  she’s  bad  at  them  .  in  fact  ,  she  wants  hobbies  that  she’s  bad  at  !  she  loves  her  home  soooooo  so  so  much  and  adores  the  beach  /  the  ocean  .  loves  to  go  horseback  riding  ,  swimming  ,  and  is  now  trying  to  find  someone  who  will  teach  her  to  use  a  weapon  .  a  bit  of  a  goody  two  shoes  ,  she  has  good  intentions  and  wants  to  be  more  than  just  a  princess  .

V.    WANTED  PLOTS    .

betrothed  -  this  is  a  wanted  connection  on  the  main  !!

childhood  friends  who  drifted  away  -  people  she  knew  as  a  kid  ,  so  they  probably  either  grew  up  in  dorne  or  traveled  to  dorne  ,  who  she  was  friends  with  for  a  while  until  her  father  started  cracking  down  on  who  her  friends  were  after  her  mom  died  and  they  p  much  completely  lost  touch  .  allyria  feels  really  bad  about  this  and  would  wanna  be  pals  again  !

past  betrothals  -  she  has  a  couple  ,  these  are  people  she  was  betrothed  to  and  the  betrothal  ended  from  their  side  for  one  reason  or  another  .  great  houses  /  dorne  houses  preferred  since  her  father  made  these  matches  and  he  would  have  wanted  those  but  maybe  some  house  made  him  an  offer  .

weapons  trainer  -  this  is  someone  who  is  teaching  allyria  how  to  use  a  crossbow  ,  maybe  a  sword  in  the  future  .  bonus  points  if  this  includes  self  defense  training  .  probably  someone  she  does  this  in  secret  with  .

i  don’t  know  ,  anything  !  i  don’t  have  many  plots  for  her  atm  and  i  love  drama  <3

#thrones.intro #only took me two weeks <3