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wardenparker · 9 months

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The Viper's Bride - ch 14

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: 12.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* Threats, anger, threats of violence (specifically), classism, degrading language. FFM threesome, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pregnant sex, rough sex, cum eating. Summary: An announcement, a decision, a reaction, and a development. After the events of this day, none of your lives will be the same. Notes: This is, of course, an au. So we have adapted the events of season four to be as true to the plot as possible while also working for the story we want to tell. I hope you enjoy!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13

Each step forward this morning feels heavy to Raeden, who is amused at his own surprise over how much he wishes he was still in bed with his bride. He and Margaery had almost fallen into bed upon the group's return to the keep last night, taken aback by the shock of the charge in their first kiss as man and wife. This morning Leyth had woken them last and left the room with an expression made of pure amusement, finding the couple wrapped in each other instead of the blankets had been a boon of practicality. Any question of the marriage's consummation could be answered by the first-hand witness account of your maid.

"Mace Tyrell will be angry, shouting." Oberyn reminds him, smirking slightly at the expression on the other man's face. Margaery Tyrell – Sunstone's – cunt must be magical to make the man forego his duty with such a woeful expression on his face. Although the idea of having everyone together had been sweet, it was necessary to establish the legality of the marriage without any dispute first. A night with all five of their group in bed would come soon enough. "However, in his heart, he is a coward." He snorts. "Grasping at favors like a rat and scampering away when heavy boots thud around the table."

“It is not Mace Tyrell I worry about,” Raeden admits. Though he is not precisely keen to inform his unwitting father-in-law of the elopement, Raeden has enough wits to understand that Olenna Tyrell is the true head of his wife’s family. “Tywin will not be pleased to lose out on the Tyrell fortune.”

"Tywin thinks that you are my little pet," Oberyn grunts in amusement. "Perhaps a lover I have taken out of boredom and bestow favors upon." He shakes his head. "It is why you have been allowed in the Small Council sessions, he believes that you are soon gone and will no longer be of consequence." Oberyn knows his reputation and what the elder Lannister would think, using it and him for his own ends. Now there is no question of Raeden's position and it is another stab at the Lannisters. This time in their pockets.

“Yet, I am the only one you have not fucked yet.” Chuckling ruefully at that fact, Raeden walks steadily beside Oberyn and shakes his head as he goes. It is only a matter of time for them, and Oberyn has been respectful of Raeden’s past troubles with male lovers.

"I have not fucked your pretty wife." He points out, smirking slightly as they walk shoulder to shoulder. "Tell me, how was her cunt last night? Was it tight and wet for you?"

“All the stable boys and knights and soldiers all moaning for their queen at night would not have been disappointed.” Despite chuckling, though, Raeden puts one hand into his pocket as they walk and fiddles with his wife’s favourite handkerchief. She had given it to him this morning as a token of proof if her father did not believe what they had done. He has a wife. That truth still sits foreign on Raeden’s tongue.

"Then I do not feel guilty for having both of your soulmates on my face and cock last night." Oberyn teases, knowing full well both men wear the marks and in a strange way are also bound to each other. He catches the tender expression that flashes across Raeden's face and understands it. How that he has made his own vows and discovers that he does not dread it as much as he thought he would. "It will be a good union, perhaps a loving one in time." He predicts, wrapping his arm around the new husband's broad shoulders. "I have a good feeling about this."

Down the hall and around a corner, the other two judges, such as they are, are already waiting in the throne room when Oberyn and Raeden stroll in with broad smiles and good humor. “Oberyn.” Tywin Lannister raises one eyebrow in surprise. “You are early.”

“Early because there is a matter that needs to be discussed before the meeting and trial.” He announces before he looks to Raeden. “Lord Sunstone has taken a wife.”

“How…fortunate.” Tywin cannot see immediately why this matter is of any concern to him, but he forces his expression into a thin-lipped smile and nods to the elevated bastard. “You are to be congratulated, then?”

“Many thanks.” Raeden knows that sentiment will be soured when they find out who he married. He turns towards Mace and reaches into his pocket. “I hope there will be no harsh feelings for the quickness of the marriage, but your daughter is safe and content in my chambers.” He tells the man as he pulls out the handkerchief.

“My daughter?” Mace huffs out a condescending laugh of ridicule without so much as glancing at the fabric in the bastard noble’s hand. “You must be a greater dullard than I thought, boy.” Bolstered by Tywin standing just over his shoulder, Mace Tyrell knows no fear. “Margaery is a queen, not a bed-warming whore. Some girl has tricked you into a fool’s vow claiming to be a Tyrell.”

“It is true.” Oberyn bristles at the insult, far more than even Raeden does, since he was the one to appoint him as a lord. “I witnessed their vows myself and the former queen eagerly spoke her vows before the maester and the Seven.”

“It is not possible.” The man’s round eyes widen before instantly squinting, and he bolts forward to snatch at the token that Raeden keeps just out of his reach. Margaery’s monogram is unmistakable in the corner, done up in green thread by her own mother’s hand. “It is not possible!” Mace howls, his face turning deep pink and then red as confusion turns to fury. If his daughter has actually eloped, he is ruined. “This is a trick!”

“Miracles abound.” The prince snorts, amused by the older man’s tantrum. “If it is a trick, then it was a vivid one, considering my servant saw your daughter using Lord Raeden as her personal pillow this morning, still perched on his cock in sleep.” He smirks as he looks towards Lord Tywin. “Tired herself out on her husband’s cock it seems.”

Lannister, who has pursed his lips once so far but said nothing, watches with careful eyes as Mace storms around the room in circles for a moment before doubling back to him with drawn terror on his greasy little face. “It cannot have been allowed.” He insists, staring up at the much taller Tywin in horror. “I did not allow it! I would never allow it! She will be brought to heel and returned to you, Tywin. As promised.”

“And break the laws of the kingdom?” Instead of Oberyn speaking up, it is Raeden. “Once a marriage is blessed by the maesters and consummated, it negates any contracts or agreements made prior.” He reminds the Small Council members. “You no longer have the power to do so, Lord Tyrell.”

“You are a flea.” Mace Tyrell may be half of Raeden Sunstone’s height, but he points a finger up at him like he’s scolding a street urchin. “You are a boil on my ass and I will see you in a cell right next to Tyrion’s for this!” With a face redder than a ripe cherry, Mace Tyrell storms from the chamber headed for the gods-only-know-where, muttering and flailing his hands all the way.

“That went very well.” Oberyn chuckles. “Don’t you think?” He asks Raeden, knowing the man is slightly flustered at the ire of his new father-in-law.

“It certainly went differently than expected,” admits Raeden, who had prepared himself to be attacked bodily if Mace reacted poorly.

“It was unwise, Oberyn.” Tywin warns him in a grave voice. “Most unwise.”

“What? Only the Lannisters can make deals that benefit them?” Oberyn asks, lifting a brow haughtily. “I think that you are upset your golden goose has been plucked.”

Tywin’s thin lips become a nearly flat line and he narrows his eyes at Oberyn. “It goes without saying that your place on the Small Council has been rescinded for this stunt.”

The response is not what Tywin must have expected. With a causal shrug, Oberyn smirks. “That is agreeable with me.” He hums and narrows his eyes slightly. “You meet too early for me.”

“You have stuck your nose and your pet mongrel in where they do not belong.” Heat rises in Lannister’s voice, a low rumble that would have most others trembling instantly. “What good do you think the throne will ever do for Dorne now?”

“Why do you think Dorne needs the throne?” His amused demeanor drops and his eyes darken dangerously. “We have not bent the knee. Do not forget, Lannister, that you need us to be the Seven Kingdoms.” He growls, the threat clear in his voice.

“What invasion could be withstood? What negotiations will end in your favour? What mercy will your people find when they are left without the resources they rely on from the North?” The steady rolling rumble of Tywin Lannister’s voice echoes through the room, bouncing off each wall and making it sound as though he were everywhere. “Whatever you promised Margaery, rescind it now. Your bastard’s bride-napping may yet go unnoticed.”

“You wouldn’t.” Oberyn counters. “Because it would be admitting that your Lords are not capable of being managed.” He tells him. “That your hold on the throne is not as iron fisted as you would have it believed.” His own blood is starting to boil now, the insults to Dorne, the threats, pissing him off. “We will simply turn our trade to Bravos,” he counters. “Our spices and silks will be sent across the Narrow Sea. Dorne is not threatened by you, or your armies.”

******

The rising voices, the tension, the anxieties in the air, the building anger means more things than just another spat between the Martells and Lannisters. It means tensions rising for the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. It could go as far as war, if things turn violent. But more immediately, for the man awaiting yet another day of his trial in a cell several yards down the hallway, it means a heighten possibility of certain death very soon. If his father is angry and the opinion of his trial’s only reasonable judge is moot? Then Tyrion Lannister is headed for the executioner’s block. Tyrion stretches as close as his chains will allow, trying to hear as much of the conversation as possible.

“That don’t sound good for you.” The portly, slovenly jailer had been another insult for Tyrion. Someone who could barely see his dick over his fat belly couldn’t possibly chase down a healthy, whole man. But Tyrion wasn’t a normal sized man. And the guard set to escort him to and from the trail reminded him of that.

Tyrion’s eyes roll so far back in his head that they almost disappear, and he huffs. No, it does not sound good for him at all. “Hardly anything involving my father is ever good for me,” he says instead.

“Fighting with that Dornish pig.” He grunts. “Nothing good comes out of Dorne but the whores.”

“I would advise you not to say that within earshot of the Red Viper,” Tyrion advises rather drolly.

“What’s he gonna do? Fuck me to death?” The jailer snorts, his amusement making him cough until he hacks up a thick wad of phlegm that he spits at Tyrion’s feet. “I ain’t a goat.”

Grimacing animatedly only to end up rolling his eyes at himself this time, Tyrion gains a half-inch more toward the bars of his cell and leans over. His father’s threats are clear and the prince’s replies are steadily hushed, although his tone is clear enough. “It is time,” he lies, turning to the guard and gesturing. “Bring me in.”

“I didn’t hear nothing.” The guard protests but Tyrion snorts.

“My father will have your head removed if you fail to do your duty.” He reminds him, making the man grimace. He has no love for Tywin Lannister, but he doesn’t want to die because of him.

“On your feet!” He barks, grinning as Tyrion struggles to his feet in the heavy chains.

The usual ruckus and chaos of onlookers is absent when the guard lumbers past the end of the hallway and into the throne room and he grunts as he shoves Tyrion forward. “What is this?” Tywin barks out, barely even glancing down at his youngest child.

Oberyn hums in amusement, settling back in his chair. While Tywin may have kicked him off the Small Council, he cannot kick him off the trial now, and he knows it. “It is your son.” He muses. “You do not recognize him? Perhaps because he is covered in filth and shit from where you threw him in the dungeon.”

"And a good morning to you, too, your Grace." As much of a farce as this entire trial may be, Tyrion is still glad of Prince Oberyn's presence in the proceedings. The trouble will be if his father decides to bring a swift end to things and ignore the prince's opinions in the verdict.

"What is this?" Tywin repeats, annoyance building on top of anger in his tone. "What is it you want, Tyrion? Unless you have come to confess, I will not hear anything from you."

"Yes, Father. I'm guilty." Tyrion's tone is not one of dismissal or of anger, but one of a measured response, and that catches Oberyn's attention. "Guilty. Is that what you want to hear?"

Startled, Tywin's eyebrows knit together. "You admit you poisoned the king?"

"No, of that I'm innocent." Tyrion may be many things, but the least of them all is a fool. "I'm guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I am guilty of being a dwarf."

Wholly annoyed with his son's dramatics, Tywin huffs so deeply that he nearly implodes. "You are not on trial for being a dwarf."

"Oh, yes, I am. I've been on trial for that my entire life." Tyrion contends seriously.

Tywin pinches the bridge of his nose. "If you have nothing to say in your defense, you will go back to your cell until it is time for the trial to begin."

"I did not kill Joffrey." Tyrion holds up both hands in a sort of show of innocence, but also defense. He is headed toward a point, and he will make it sooner rather than later. "I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had the stark fortitude of will to do away so decisively with my enemies. I would gladly give my life to see that justice done. But I will not give my life for Joffrey's murder, and I know I'll get no justice here." Studying his father's face intently and seeing the intrigue there, Tyrion is sure there is a chance this may work. "So I will let the Gods decide my fate." A sure, steady breath enters his body and he squares his shoulders. "I demand a trial by combat."

Oberyn leans forward, intrigued by the notion and it is obvious from the ridged disapproval on his face, that another of Tywin’s schemes that has not gone his way, his careful plotting unraveled by the son he had always secretly despised.

"You know who Cersei will appoint her Champion." Tywin nearly twitches as the idea settles into his bones, disliking every moment of his cursed imp son's clever mind. Why could that cleverness not have gone to Jamie where it could be useful?

“And I will have my own champion.” Tyrion answers dismissively, even though his list of allies dwindles as the days pass and his lack of gold backing him is made obvious.

"Who?" Tywin chortles with unfettered glee. "That useless squire of yours? I thought you finally set him free."

“There is someone who will fight for me.” Tyrion insists, though he knows that Bron would not. He does not have enough coin to pay him.

"How much time will you give him to find someone?" Raeden asks, aghast at everything that has happened in a mere five minute span.

Tywin seems to consider this, frowning down at his son for a long moment before speaking again. "Whatever the length of time is that it will take Clegane to arrive in King's Landing."

“Gregor Clegane?” Oberyn’s voice is soft, piercing through the tension like a whip.

"Who else would my sister appoint to be her Champion?" Tyrion asks, mostly rhetorically. "She cannot appoint our brother, can she?" After all, Jamie's missing hand is a damper on his swordplay. Otherwise Tyrion would have appointed his brother himself. Still, Tyrion looks to Jamie standing silently in the corner with sympathy. He knows what it is to be unwanted and wishes that Jamie never had to learn.

Oberyn hums, a vicious little growl in the back of his throat. Thrilled that the opportunity has finally presented itself. “I will be your champion.” He tells Tyrion, his voice clear and firm.

"You— what?" Both Lannisters ask together, heads snapping up toward the Dornish prince. Even Raeden is staring, although he is imagining the terror on your and Ellaria's faces rather than expressing surprise at Oberyn's choice. He understands perfectly why the choice is being made.

"I will fight for Tyrion Lannister." He repeats, settling back into his chair with an air of supreme victory. "And kill your Mountain." He warns Tywin. "It is fortunate that you have been so accommodating in arranging our conversation. I was starting to think that you had deceived me." He offers with a small pout.

A man does not get a nickname like the Red Viper of Dorne without earning it, and although Tyrion has never seen Oberyn Martell fight, he knows his reputation. The man is as likely to win a fight as he is to be successful in a seduction – and he has fucked half of Westeros.

For his part, Tywin is seething, but the only way to tell is his eyes. If looks could kill there would be no need for champions at all — Tywin would simply strike his son down here and now. “Take him away,” he growls to the jailer, striking out one bony finger to indicate that he wants Tyrion as far away from him as possible.

Jamie Lannister is perhaps the only person in the entire room that seems genuinely upset, his eyes filled with genuine worry for the brother he has always tried to protect from the wrath of his sister and father. His deal with his father now useless, he turns and strides out of the room with a swish of his white cloak.

******

“You are sure you can win?” Raeden is at Oberyn’s side with worry painted over his every feature in the swift walk to your chambers. If anything happens to Oberyn, he cannot think of how profoundly it will devastate you and Ellaria.

"Extremely." Oberyn boasts confidently. "I have been in the fighting pits in Mereen, against much better opponents than Gregor Clegane." He spits the name out like a curse. "His size is what wins him his battles but I have the agility he does not."

“Size can often be enough.” Raeden himself is not a small man, but nowhere near the size of the legendary Mountain. “They say he can crush a man’s skull in with his bare hands, Oberyn. That is not to be taken lightly.”

"I do not intend to make light of it." He reassures him. "I intend to make him confess his crimes in front of all of King's Landing before I kill him."

“Revenge for your sister and a swift trip back to Sunspear.” Even when Raeden nods, it is with a heavy heart.

"Tywin Lannister ordered the murder of my sister, a crowned Princess of Dorne." He reminds Raeden. "Would you not do the same if it had been Star's fate?" He asks quietly.

Raeden’s eyes darken, the gruffness in his voice obvious. “I would burn the world down if it took her from us.”

“Then you understand.” Oberyn grunts. “I must do this. But I will not fail.” He smirks. “My bite is much worse than his.”

When Raeden pushes open the door to the chambers now shared by seven people, they are considerably fuller than they were even last night. Trunks piled in the corner that he has never seen before say that you and Ellaria must have taken Margaery to retrieve her things from her grandmother while he was speaking to Mace Tyrell with Oberyn. A very clever decision on your part – you will only have dealt with Olenna Tyrell this way.

"How did my father take the news?" Her grandmother had been surprised, but she had smirked and patted her hand in a way that let Margaery know that she approved of her granddaughter's rash decision.

"Apparently..." Raeden sighs, but happily puts his arms around his wife when she steps closer to him. "I am a flea for stealing you away from him." He shrugs, his mind having moved on to other things since being shouted at by the red-faced little man. "How did your grandmother take it?"

"She did not say much, but—" her smile is bright and conspiratorial. "She is pleased. I am out of my father's and the Lannister's clutches." Her hands brace on his chest and while she would sink into his arms, she pushes him back slightly so she can take his hand and drag him over to one of the larger chest. "She has sent this with me, promising that the rest will be ready for when we sail to Dorne."

Curiosity is a powerful thing, and Raeden raises one eyebrow at Margaery before lifting the heavy lid of the trunk she has indicated. Jewelry, coin, silver and gold trinkets, luxurious fabrics, and assorted pieces of armor fill the large wooden vessel and he sucks in a sharp breath. “She—she gave you your dowry?” In truth, he had not expected to see it. Having eloped with Margaery, he had assumed that her family would deny him the fortune that had been offered to the Lannisters along with her hand. But it appears he was wrong.

"A portion of it." She clarifies. "There are six other trunks that are bigger than this one." She snorts. "Seven trunks of gold for the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms." She had scoffed at the irony. "Along with another seven trunks of silks, seven of weapons, and seven of silver."

"So this is...a sampling?" His eyes widen at the implications of that – of all the riches that she has brought to the infancy of their House. He knew it would be a great deal, but clearly he had underestimated the wealth of House Tyrell.

"My grandmother has a gift for keeping our wealth quiet, especially when my father wishes to flaunt it." She purses her lips. "But over the course of the years, House Tyrell has accumulated more wealth than the Lannisters have in their coffers." She admits. "Robert Baratheon was a wasteful man."

"Kings have that habit." You murmur from behind them, surprising even yourself with how much you enjoy the sight of them side by side. "Forgive me for interrupting, but would someone like to tell me why my husband breezed through the room and shut himself away without a word to any of us?" Oberyn's face had held determination and an utter expression of being pleased with himself, but he had walked straight through your quarters and shut himself out on the balcony and is now pacing the length of it with determination.

Guilt at forgetting the most important part of today floods Raeden and he drops Margaery's hand to rush towards you and gasps your shoulders. "My love, I—" He starts and chokes up for a moment before he clears his throat. "The trial is over." He tells you quietly. "Tyrion invoked trial by combat when it became clear that he would not get a fair judgement."

"And trial by combat will be more fair?" The deep concern etched into his face brings your heartbeat to a near panic almost immediately. "But why should that upset Oberyn so? It means we can go home."

"The Lannister's champion is Gregor Clegane." He murmurs softly. "The Mountain." His hands drop to yours and he squeezes gently, bracing for you to understand. "We are not going home."

"Oh no." Turning away from him immediately, you push through to the other chamber of your quarters and practically shout Ellaria's name to get her attention before moving through to the door of the balcony. The wooden doors have glass panels where you can see Oberyn moving with grace and determination – as though he were prowling out there instead of walking back and forth. "Oberyn, unlock the doors," you insist, knocking on them loudly after you find that they will not pull open. The latch on the outside of the doors never made sense to you until this moment, and now you curse it.

Ellaria's graceful pose on the settee abandoned when she hears the distress in your voice, she rises and quickly crosses the room to where you are rattling the costly glass as you bang on it. "What is wrong?" She demands, her breath catching when she sees the stiffness in her lover's back, the determination in his gain. "What did he do?" She gasps.

"He's going to get himself killed," you gasp, feeling a little like you cannot fill your lungs properly. "Oberyn, open the door!"

Oberyn pauses, looking towards the door and his eyes flash, conveying that he knows that you are aware of his plan. He turns and continues his pacing as he plots, thinks about his next moves. About the confrontation to come.

"Tyrion demanded a trial by combat," you tell Ellaria, already feeling the tears fill your eyes as true terror and worry set in one wave at a time. "And the Lannisters have The Mountain."

"Gods be damned." Ellaria whispers, her own dread crashing through her like a wave and for a moment, she sways on her feet. She's aware of Raeden and Margaery out of the corner of her eye, but she cannot muster any thought but of what will come. "He is fighting for Tyrion."

"He is fighting for Elia." There is no need to state the obvious, but you cannot help yourself. The tears are flowing freely even if they are silent, and you can feel yourself shaking with nerves.

Ellaria sighs softly, her own fears pushed aside as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. You need to be calm, for the baby. “Come my love.” She murmurs softly. “He will not talk until he is ready.” She knows his habits and of this, she is certain. “Let me get you some tea and we can sit.”

"Oberyn!" They will have to forcibly remove you from the other side of this door and there is hardly any chance of calm finding you soon. Of course you understand the need to avenge his sister's murder, but if attempting it will leave nine children fatherless then is that worthwhile?

Margaery moves to your other side. “Come.” She urges softly. “It cannot be good for the baby.” Her hand wraps around your arm and she tugs you gently.

It is a broken half-sob that cracks through you, making you fold in half at the door. Everything has come to such a measure of happiness and now it stands on the brink of ruin. It is only because of Ellaria and Margaery that you do not collapse into a heap on the floor. The older woman bearing most of your weight as she carries you away from the glass, Raeden rushing over to take you from her and cradle you in his arms.

Raeden all but carries you to the bed, laying you down to cry on the pillow instead. Fear – pure, unadulterated fear – courses through every inch of your body as you lay there, unable to think of anything but the possibility of losing him. Your husband. The father of your unborn child. Your soulmate. What will become of all of you and the promises that have been made if Oberyn dies reaping his revenge from his sister's killer?

Margaery is the first to lay down. Knowing how upset you are and wishing to offer you some small comfort. “He must have a plan.” She coos, stroking her hand over your hair while you cry.

"What can one plan against a Mountain?" Overwhelmed with fear, you barely shake your head. For someone who has grown up with great violence in your life, the idea of it now is terrifying. When the people in your life have been in danger – your brothers, or Brynna, Raeden, or even Margaery? You have done everything in your power to help them. You cannot be of help to Oberyn in a fight to the death.

“Our lover, our soulmate would not champion this fight if he didn’t not know he could win.” Ellaria is angry at Oberyn as well, but she knows he will not yield in this. The best thing she can do is support him and encourage you to do the same. “He is clever and quick, fierce. He would not fight if he thought he would leave our children without a father.”

"I cannot control the tears." Begging her to understand, desperately hoping that the one other woman in the room to have experienced pregnancy will know this feeling, you cling to Ellaria's hand. "Or the fear in my heart."

“I have fear too.” She confesses quietly, wrapping her lithe body around your back. “Do not doubt it, but I know he will do this, even if we do not approve.”

It is not for you to approve or disapprove of. You know that. This is something that he must do, for himself and for Elia. In his shoes you know you would do the same. But that does not keep you from weeping at the possibility of losing him.

Raeden watches, feeling helpless as you cry so he turns to the doors out onto the ledge, hoping Oberyn might talk to him. It is not likely the prince will entertain any argument whatsoever against his choice, but it is not Raeden’s intent to talk him out of his vow. Just to simply get him to talk.

The knock on the door makes Oberyn pause again, seeing Raeden on the other side, and his eyes slide past him to the bed where Ellaria and Margaery are laying with you. Clenching his jaw as he strides to the door, he wonders if you have sent your other soulmate to talk him out of his duty to his family. Talk to me. Raeden mouths through the window, not wanting to shout and startle you more. He has seen how screaming can panic you after incidents with your mother.

For a moment, he considers ignoring the man, to continue to plot by himself, but the concern in his eyes makes him flip the bar to allow the doors to be pushed open. “You will not change my mind.” He warns the younger lord.

“It is not my intent to try.” Raeden steps out onto the balcony and lets the door shut again behind him. “But tell me you have a plan.”

“I do.” Oberyn nods as he looks out over the city below the keep. “They will make it very public, an event.” He muses, a trace of a chuckle in his tone. “They will wish to make an example of him, and me.”

“And you will make them wish they had not?” He guesses, seeing the fire in Oberyn’s eyes.

“I will get my confession if it must force it from him one slice at a time.” He growls with satisfaction. “For all of King’s Landing to hear. Tywin Lannister’s sins will be laid bare.”

“I know you are determined. With good reason.” Raeden’s hand twitches but he does not reach out. Oberyn is pacing like a caged animal and may bite. “And we are not of a mind to change that.” He swallows a plaintive sound. “But you have two soulmates afraid of losing you,” he tells Oberyn plainly. “Your wife is inconsolable at the idea.”

Your words burn into his brain and he sighs after a moment, looking back towards the door. “I—” he pauses and he knows that you are different from Ellaria, you have not seen him fight before. “I will talk to her.” He tells Raeden, stepping closer and reaching out to cup the man’s neck to drag him closer for a kiss.

It is fierce, and a little surprising, but Raeden does not fight the moment of intimacy. Instead he presses into it and nips at Oberyn’s bottom lip before letting him go. Oberyn growls, the urge to strip Raeden down right here and burn off the extra energy fucking him nearly makes him reach for his belt, but he has a soulmate, two soulmates to reassure. He doesn’t hesitate to reach down and cup the other man’s cock, feeling it twitch in his hands. “Soon.” He promises.

Ellaria is the only one of the three of you facing the door, and she sighs in relief to see Oberyn striding back into the room even as your tears have started to calm. They seem to come in waves and right now the flow is ebbing.

He doesn’t urge Margaery to move, but he reaches over her for you. Pulling you up and into his arms. Upset at himself now that he’s not solely focused on his revenge at how distressed you are. “My moon and stars.” He coos softly, cupping your chin. “Why are you crying like you are mourning me?”

"Practice." You sniff, curling against his chest and clutching his robe.

“You will be practicing for a long time.” He warns you, a chuckle at your pouting tone threatening to bubble out of him. His lips press into your hair and he cradles you close. “Why do you insult me by believing it is my time to die?”

"I do not—" Sucking in a breath makes you shudder, and you shake your head against his chest. "Mean to insult you, love. It is—I—I am afraid for you."

“I am not going to die at the hands of Gregor Clegane.” He promises you. “I will die old and decrepit in our bed, after many more children and years together.” He hums. “I will hold our child in my arms as she slips from your womb.”

"They say he cannot be beaten." You have heard the tales of The Mountain as well as everyone else in Westeros, and despite having also heard tales of Oberyn's prowess as a fighter, you cannot help the way you have reacted. "And they say you cannot be beaten. Surely one of those is wrong."

“He is large and lumbering. I have the advantage of speed and skill because I do not rely on brute strength alone.” He tells you, rubbing your back gently. He is trying to reassure all of you.

“I—I am— forgive me.” Logic and reason dictate that he is correct. That speed and agility may be enough to work against an enormous foe in one-to-one battle. And even though logic and reason are not your ruling bodies right now, you can see the merit in that argument. “I do not mean to doubt you. I only— I cannot bear the thought of being without you.”

“It is okay to be worried.” He will not make light of your fears, but he will remind you that he has no intention of dying. He nuzzles against your jaw and presses a soft kiss to your skin. “I have every intention of poisoning the bastard as well.” He admits quietly.

That makes your head snap up, eyebrows furrowed, and lips parted in surprise, though you are not sure why. It is a good plan. A very clever plan, in fact. To be as qualified with and knowledgeable of poisons as he is, it would almost be folly not to use them. “You—you will?”

“They do not call me the Red Viper for naught, my love.” He reminds you quietly. “From the first strike, Gregor Clegane will die. Every time he will swing his sword or axe, he will work the poison closer to his heart.” He smirks. “That is where being quick and agile works in my favor.”

Foggy from tears and fear, your mind is slow to grasp the concept but once you arrive at it, you gasp. “All you have to do is wear him out. The poison will do the rest?”

“Exactly, my love.” He hums, happy that you have worked it out. “While I trick him into confessing his part in my sister’s murder and who gave the order.”

Though the realization does not instantly dry your tears, it does have you sniffling and burying your face against his chest all over again. “When, my love? When is all this meant to happen?”

“It will be within the next week.” He doesn’t know exactly when, but he can’t imagine Tywin delaying it longer than necessary. “As soon as the Mountain arrives to King’s Landing.”

Both of your arms creep around him, holding tight to the man who has changed your life irrevocably and so much for the better. “Once it is over, I hope we never have to return to King’s Landing again.”

“That would be my fondest wish.” Oberyn chuckles, allowing you to hold tight to him as he looks over at his other soulmate and reaches for her. “Come.”

Ellaria is better at hiding her fear. She has more practice and has seen him through many more battles than you – both big and small. But even she sighs with relief to sit up from the bed and press a kiss to his palm. “If you do not return with us I will find a way to make sure your baby is a boy and convince your princess to name him Oberyn,” she threatens half-heartedly, knowing from conversations many years past that he hates the idea of naming a child after himself.

“You would not dare.” He groans, sending her a narrowed eyed gaze, playful in nature.

“I will.” She promises, wrapping her arms around both of you in turn. “As sure as the sun rises each morning.”

“Then it is settled.” He huffs, leaning in to press his lips to hers. “I will not die; I will make sure that my newest child is not be named after me.”

“Is that all it takes?” You huff, playfulness edging your still-worried voice as you kiss both of them easily. “A threat?”

“I am simple man.” He teases, winking at you before he squeezes you gently. “Do not worry yourself sick, my love.”

“I promise I will not show my fear out there.” Glancing to the windows and at King’s Landing below, you bite back a sigh. It will be imperative to present yourselves as united, strong, and confident when the time comes.

“A little fear is not unrealistic.” He reminds you. “I just do not want you to make yourself ill. You have the baby to think of.”

“And so do you.” The tears, thankfully, are beginning to dry. And as with all other times in this pregnancy, it seems, you have become rather exhausted from the efforts of shedding them.

“I know, Star.” He rocks you slightly against his body and despite the earliness of the day, you are already starting to wilt from the exertion of your tears. “Do you wish to nap, my love?”

Pursing your lips at him, you wrinkle your nose for good measure and sigh in defeat. “Only if you promise not to make any more life or death decisions while I am tucked in.”

“I promise that I will run any other decisions by you before they are made.” He promises. “Do you want to lay down by yourself, or would you like one of us to stay with you?”

“It would be selfish to ask someone to stay.” And with the display you just made, the last thing you want is to show more selfishness. “I am sure you all have more entertaining things to do than lay with me in the dark.”

“I am feeling exhausted.” Margaery is not tired, but you have been such a rock for her, that if she can lay down with you to be some small comfort, she will. “Would you mind if I shared your nap with you? I know that we are not intimate yet, but maybe you would not mind?”

“Fifteen minutes ago you were practically giddy for Raeden to return.” Skepticism aside, you do offer her a half smile when Oberyn puts you back in bed beside your other soulmate’s wife. “But all the same…I would dearly appreciate the company.”

“Good.” She sends you a small smile and settles against the cushions. “We will have a nice rest and then we can settle on what we will do for the rest of the day.”

“Nothing too public, I should think.” As word gets out that Margaery has married again – and that it was not to Tommen Baratheon – you expect there will be a few days at least where she ought to lay low.

“No, nothing public. But perhaps we can go through my clothes to see what I will need to discard before we get to Dorne?” She asks, look at you as you both lie down.

“That would be a good idea,” Ellaria agrees with an encouraging nod. “Both of you can surely donate your heavier gowns to some less fortunate ladies and it will be less to travel with.”

“Yes, will we have the noon meal delivered to the rooms.” Oberyn promises. “Now, both of you rest and when you are ready, come out to the main area.” He leans down and kisses your lips and hesitates but then does kiss Margaery’s forehead. She has not indicated wanted to touch him yet, but it seemed rude to kiss his wife and leave her out.

“We will, my love.” You promise him, watching as your three lovers file from the room and close the door gently behind them. Though you truly are tired, you turn back to face Margaery and offer her a smile. “You are very kind to offer to stay with me.”

“If it was me in your place, you would offer the same.” She murmurs quietly. “I meant what I said, I consider you my dearest friend and now? Perhaps more.”

“Have you been hiding affection for me, Margaery?” Waving away the joke teasingly, you nevertheless curl up on the pillow beside her and offer her a place in your arms if she wants it. “That would quite set tongues to wagging.”

“You are beautiful.” She huffs and slides closer to you until her own arms wrap around you. “You know that. You and Ellaria are breathtaking. More stunning at my wedding than I was.”

“Impossible.” The wedding may have been a tense, overdramatic thing, but Margaery was mesmerizing. “You looked like a goddess that day.” Cheeks warming slightly at how easily she comes to you, you let one of your hands settle on her back. “You are one of the most stunning women I have ever seen, no matter what the day is.”

“You must not have looked in a mirror too often, my Princess.” She hums, smiling at you and leaning in. “It is high praise if you feel that way.”

“Margaery…” Before you can let the moment progress, you take a breath and put your other hand to her cheek. “If you change your mind, simply say the word and we will go on as if nothing ever happened.”

“I understand.” She hums softly, aware that she is in a unique situation, and this is something she could have never foreseen, but she is not upset by it.

First Brynna, then Ellaria, and now Margaery. There seems no rhyme or reason to it beside them all being beautiful women who treat you with singular kindness, but when you lean forward to press your lips to Margaery’s for the first time and let your eyes flutter shut, there is that same feeling of rightness that there had been with both women who came before. Unforeseen and unplanned, it is not unwelcome at all.

Margaery’s hum is almost surprised, mixed with delight as she melts into the kiss, and pulls you closer. It will be the first kiss she has had with another woman since she was a young girl, since before she had bled, but instead of giggling and teasing, she wants more.

Somehow, she tastes the way fresh air and sunshine feel in spring. Like promise and good things to come. Like the crisp cleanness of spring rain. It’s intoxicating in a way you have never experienced before, making you linger and try to claim more of the taste with small kisses from her lips.

“Does everyone in your party know how to kiss?” She asks breathlessly, grinning as she indulges in the quick kisses and her fingers reach up to undo your hairstyle.

“They all have far more experience than me,” you admit, warm cheeks disguised in the semi-darkness of the room. “But they are wonderful teachers, if there is a pleasure you wish to learn.”

“I am certain I will learn it all.” She admits, almost shyly. “Unless you think it strange that I join your obviously close foursome?”

“If it were strange to us, we would not have offered.” After a few months of knowing Oberyn and Ellaria, you are now very certain that they choose their lovers in different ways. And the ones that entered into this arrangement — this family you have created — were chosen for more than just looks or sport. “We would never have even mentioned it.”

“I am worried.” She confesses quietly. “You are Ellaria are his soulmates, Oberyn is his lover, and I— I am just his wife.” It sounds ridiculous, but she is used to many wives not being of any use or consequence once an heir was secured. “I was slightly worried my father would have offered him coin to return me to him.”

“Just his wife?” Your fingers graze through her hair and tuck the strands behind her ear. “Raeden is not in the habit of dismissing the people he cares for, my darling. And he would not have proposed – the marriage or indeed any sort of solution – if he did not care for you.”

“I guess that I just need to believe that.” She chuckles quietly. “With my luck though, you can see why that is hard.”

“Just because you have not been lucky yet, does not mean you are never going to be lucky at all.” It is a small offer of comfort, but an honest one. Your thumb strokes her cheek and you smile, feeling a bit more awake with the sensation of arousal coursing through your veins. “Perhaps it is time to balance the scales.”

“What do you suggest?” She asks, arching a brow and humming quietly. Her head tilts, leaning into your touch and her bright blue eyes are fixed on yours.

“How much are you keen to experience?” She is looking to you for guidance and you want very dearly to provide it.

“What do you have in mind?” She asks curiously. Last night with Raeden was wonderful and satisfying, but she craves more, wishing to learn everything she can and experience it all.

“Have you ever had a woman give you pleasure before?” It is a careful question, one that could go wrong if Margaery decides she does not want to explore this with you, but you find yourself craving to know if her slit tastes as divine as her lips do.

“No.” She confesses quietly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. For all her worldliness, she had never ventured into pleasure with another woman. “Is it— what is it like?” She asks breathlessly.

“Much the same as when a man has his head between your legs.” It makes you laugh softly to admit it, but it is the truth. “But slender fingers can sometimes wring sensations from you that thicker ones could not. And while these men know of that hidden nub above your folds, not all men do.”

“Raeden was the first.” She tells you quietly. “No man had ever used his mouth on me before.”

“Then your lovers have been neglecting you.” This time when you offer her a smile, it is smaller, warmer, and more confident. “If you would like to experience it from a woman, I can show you. Or Ellaria, if you would rather.”

“Do you…want to?” She asks, unsure if you are interested in her or if you are just being kind. Both you and Ellaria make her cunt clench and bottom out when you both look at her as if she is a tasty morsel.

“I would not offer if I did not want to.” Once more, your fingers smooth the stray hairs from her face. “But if you are not ready yet, or if you would prefer Ellaria, it is entirely your choice.”

“I confess I find both of you extremely intoxicating.” She tells you, slightly flustered. “I would like to touch and be touched by both of you.”

“Then that can easily be managed.” With five of you, there would never be a moment that one of you could not have someone between your legs if you wished it. “Very easily indeed.”

“Is it— similar to touching a man?” She asks, biting her lip.

“It can be.” After all, some men are soft and some women are muscled. “But women are shaped so beautifully. And the scent and taste? Worth drowning in.”

“You do not find men pleasing?” She tilts her head in surprise, sure that you had true affection for Oberyn. And to have two soulmate who were men? She cannot believe that you prefer women to men.

“Of course I do.” You shrug, though. “Some men. Not most. But women are—they are otherworldly, are they not? Inspirations. Walking goddesses.” In the half-light, you laugh softly at yourself. “I did not mean to surprise you. But surely you must know how stunning you are?”

“I have been told I am beautiful for my entire life. Flattered and had my hand kissed.” She shrugs one dainty shoulder. “Men who wished to align with my family, to access my dowry. Never me that they wanted, they wanted my name.”

“Their motives may have been wrong, but they were telling the truth about your beauty.” Your own experience as a noble daughter was nothing like hers but you still frown. “I am sorry if you learned not to believe it because of them.”

“My faults are nothing you need to apologize for.” She promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek.

“They were wrong,” you repeat again, more steadily this time. “Not you. You are not at fault.” Softly, slowly, you rise up on one elbow and nudge Margaery over onto her back. “Will you let me show you how wonderful you truly are?”

There is a soft grin on her face as she looks up at you. “I thought you were tired?”

"I was." There is no lie in that, but you cannot help the way your smile turns sly. "But then the beauty in bed with me confessed she wanted to know what it would feel like for me to touch her."

“Then touch me.” Margaery begs. “Make me cry out so loud our husbands come to see what is happening.”

"They will only be upset that they did not get to witness the first moments." Grinning, you bowl Margaery over entirely and let the next press of your lips to hers be eager. Wanting. This time your hands have permission to wander, and you work at the ties on the front of her dress methodically. Suddenly you understand every complaint Oberyn has ever had about Northern dresses.

Margaery moans when your fingers brush her skin, eager to feel your touch and her legs restlessly spread underneath you. Unable to control herself and for the first time, she doesn’t have to. She is allowed to have what she wants with no shame.

"Oberyn is right," you huff, a small laugh escaping you as your fingers ghost over her skin and spread apart the two sides of her dress. "No more of these heavy dresses in Dorne. Far too much fabric."

She giggles quietly and reaches out to pull at your own laces. “Your husband grumbles about your clothing?” She asks coyly.

"If Oberyn had his way, none of his lovers would wear anything but cock-drunk smiles." It is only half a joke, but the two of you are far more focused with pulling off your dresses. "But now that my goal lies under all of these layers, I am bound to agree with him."

“Perhaps the world would be simpler if everyone where nude.” She bites her lip and crows in triumph when your stays loosen. Your enthusiastic anticipation is catching and she swears she has soaked her undergarments.

"Oberyn will celebrate to hear you say such a thing." Laces, layers, stays, and petticoats are tossed off the bed from every angle until Margaery is finally bare under you. "Gods above..." Not so long ago, you would have been embarrassed the way the sight of her breasts makes your mouth water. But now? There is no shame in your attraction. "You are...stunning, my darling."

Your own body is still covered in a chemise and she whimpers, squirming slightly. “I— I wish to see you.” She pants slightly. “All of you.”

On your knees above her, you pick up the hem of your final layer and toy with it for a second just to see if she rolls her hips again with need. When Margaery squirms again almost instantly, you bite back a smirk. "There is no need to beg," you assure her, pulling the fabric over your head at last.

She has seen nude women before, but none that take her breath away like this. Drinking in the sight of your tits, the thatch of curls between your thighs, she reaches out to caress your hip. “Beautiful.” She whispers. “I want to see this every day.”

"I was promised an extremely large bed as a wedding present," you tell her with a grin, reaching down to caress her cheek and letting your hand wander to the peak of one breast lightly. "It will have to be large enough for five, I think."

“And if I wanted to fuck your husband?” She asks softly, wanting to make sure that she doesn’t cross any boundaries that would hurt or offend you.

"Then I might ask to watch." Your other hand grazes her thigh as your eyes roam back and forth over every inch of his body. The reddish tone of her hair is darker in the curls at the apex of her thighs, and somehow knowing that is more alluring than you ever could have believed. "Or I might fuck your husband in turn."

“You must look gorgeous on his cock.” She whimpers when your fingers brush through her curls and she spreads her legs wider. Her cunt is throbbing and unlike a man, you don’t just jump into things. Heightening the sensations. “Have you – have you fucked them together before?”

"I did not know my pussy could stretch to take both of them like that." The memory of that particular day will be burned into your mind's eye forever, and you shiver as you lay yourself down between Margaery's legs. "You can have them both too, if you want."

“And you and Ellaria?” You look breathtaking between her thighs and a shiver rubs through her body when your breath washes over her sensitive folds.

Lifting your head, the plains and dips of her body are even more dramatic from the place you are now occupying and your smile tugs into a smirk. "You can have us, too. If that is your desire."

“I have done what I have been expected to my entire life.” Margaery pants, her chest heaving as she looks down at you. “I wish to be greedy.” The sentiment earns an approving nod of your head, and a flash of your own greed has you lunging upward to wrap your lips around one pert nipple while your thumb easily finds her swollen clit. Margaery’s cry is strained, gasping when she realizes that you are just as talented as her husband, maybe even more so. Overwhelmed by the fact that you are touching her, her eyes close and then pop open again so she can watch.

Your free hand kneads her other breast, rolling the nipple between your fingers experimentally to find the amount of tension she likes even as your fingers dance at her entrance. If you had been worried about the transition from friends to lovers, the ease of this moment is proof that you need not have given it a second thought at all. After all — when you had told Oberyn that you would likely only go to bed with people you cared for, you had been telling the truth.

“Oh, oh gods.” She moans out, panting your name when you give her the exact amount of pressure on her nipples that she likes. It is like being with a man, but the touch is more gentle, localized, and she can tell that you have touched a woman before.

The pleased hun from your throat vibrates through her skin when you find just the right tension, continuing your ministrations at her gorgeous tits but slipping the tips of two fingers through her slick folds. A little deeper with each pass, it will take no time for your digits to disappear inside her body, but you want to give her time to adjust to the sensation.

“I— I did— I never—” Her cunt is pleasantly sore, thoroughly used by your soulmate last night and her hips still chase the feeling of your fingers. “Please, Princess.” She begs, the knowledge that you are higher than her socially making her clench again.

“Never what, Margaery?” Removing your mouth from her temporarily, you find her eyes already glazed over with lust and cannot help but feel a little proud. You felt the way her cunt clenched your fingers when she used your title and you wonder if she might find it alluring to be ‘under your power’ like some others have you heard about.

“Never felt so good.” She whines and shakes her head. “Please.” She needs you to keep touching her. She’s orgasmed before but this sensation is sweeter, sharper.

"Raeden will take that as a challenge," you inform her with a smirk, but her pleading is too dear. You wrap your lips around her other breast, switching your hand to its twin and sinking your fingers into her dripping wet heat just a touch faster. The way she is pulling you in, you could not go slower if you tried. It is as though her body itself is begging for you.

It is too much and not enough all at the same time. Margaery knows her voice it pitching up every time she makes a sound but she can’t even try to muffle herself, not when she knows that no one will judge her. The sharp cries of pleasure tighten when you move down her body, laying kisses along her skin and inhaling her scent with your own blissed out groan before you open your mouth entirely and envelope her cunt entirely. Languid open mouth kisses come with kitten licks from your probing tongue, and Margaery lets loose a moan so loud that it breaks past the walls and the door opens abruptly.

“Star?” At the sight in front of him, Raeden’s eyes widen. Letting loose a moan of his own at the sight of his soulmate’s face between his new wife’s thighs, licking and sucking like you have always pleasured her. “Gods be praised.” His cock jolts and immediately starts to harden as he steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him.

Your hum vibrates through Margaery's lips and you barely turn your head before you get a glimpse of Raeden crowding into the room. "I had a sudden burst of energy," you hum, smirking in a very self-satisfied way.

“I see.” He grunts, his hand moving to his belt to start untying it as he moves closer. “I had some thought to take my new wife to bed, but it seems as if you have beaten me to it.” He tells you, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches her body writhe under your attention.

"And yet I think you are not upset about it." Not at all, if his instantly hard cock is anything to judge by.

Margaery waits for her husband to answer but he doesn’t. Instead he strides over to the bed and leans in, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a hot moan as he caresses your head between her thighs.

That is all the encouragement you need, turning again to give your devoted attention to Margaery's weeping pussy. Every lick is divine, but you push your fingers deep inside her and suck her clit into your mouth all at once, wanting her to moan into Raeden's kiss so he can swallow the sound.

Margaery reaches up, desperately grasping Raeden’s head as she kisses him back, feeling like her entire world is spinning and she doesn’t want it to stop. Her husband is turned on by this, and if he and Oberyn together is anything near this intoxicating, she would want to witness it every day.

Your own moan follows, loud but muffled by Margaery’s folds, as you feel Raeden’s fingers sliding along your own throbbing cunt. He loves to explore your body while you use your mouth on someone else – something you discovered quickly the first time you gave Ellaria pleasure – and this morning with his wife is no exception.

“I want to see you with her.” Margaery moans. “Would you fuck your soulmate in front of your wife?”

The question makes both you and Raeden pause, but with him naked beside you there is no question of the affect her request has on him. A spurt of precum drips from his cock into your shoulder and you grin wickedly. “I think he would enjoy that.”

She bites her lip and looks from you to her husband. The weight of the ring on her finger feels right and she spreads her legs wider. “Make me shake while my husband fills you with his cock.” She begs. “I want to see his seed drip from your cunt and taste it to see if it is sweet inside you.”

If any of you were ever unsure as to whether or not Margaery would fit into the dynamic you have established amongst yourselves – all of those concerns are dispelled in this moment. Raeden groans deeply and surges down again, plunging his tongue deep as his kisses her and sliding his fingers as far into your cunt as they will go to make you buck against his hand at the same time you moan into his wife’s pussy. It is a symphony of sin but it is so earnestly wanted by all of you. It could only be more perfect if Oberyn and Ellaria were here, the two of them disappearing into the other bedroom, and while they had invited him, he had wanted to stay in the main area in case you or Margaery needed him.

Your hips rock against his hand, impaling you on his thick fingers even as your own slide in and out of his wife. The squelching sounds are like music to your ears, and the hand that was previous at Margaery’s tits now plays with your own as Raeden lavishes hers with attention.

“Oh fuck.” She moans, enjoying the difference between the two sets of hands on her body. “Do you— is this what you do every day?”

“As often as we like,” Raeden rumbles, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “And you are welcome whenever you choose.”

“Ohhhhh oh gods.” The moans come out louder now, both the idea of having this anytime she wishes and the pure pleasure of your mouth on her sensitive cunt. “Yes.”

He seems as blissed out as she is even without having more than his hands involved, and you reluctantly pull away from Margaery’s glistening cunt to look up at him. “My love, your wife wishes to watch you fuck me,” you remind him, chest heaving at even the formation of the words on your tongue.

“Yes.” Raeden nods, aware that this is something special. The first time that the three of you are together like this. Hopefully not the last. He kisses her once more before he is shuffling behind you and wrapping his fingers around his cock. “Watch wife.” He orders Margaery.

His fingers are slick from being inside you and you moan from deep in your chest when he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and starts to push inside. Raeden’s tendency to be overly gentle with you has eased over the last few weeks, and especially in moments like this when you are so pliant and wet that you are literally dripping on the sheets.

“Fuuuuuuck.” Raeden grunts, rocking his hips until he is buried to be hilt inside you, his dark eyes fixed on his wife as she watches.

“Gods above.” Your groan echoes through Margaery’s body and vibrates deliciously through her wetness, but you have to tear your mouth away temporarily to catch your breath. “How will you take me for your wife, love? Will you be soft and sweet, or will you show her how I like to be made breathless?”

“I think I will show her how the princess likes to take her cocks.” Raeden decides with a grin and a wink to his wife before he leans over and kisses your spine.

That promise is immediately followed by the pulling back of his hips and having them slam forward again, emptying and filling your quivering cunt all in an instant and making you cry out into Margaery’s folds. Your fingers pick up speed with the determination of having Raeden fuck you, and you suck her clit into your mouth again with such enthusiasm that her cry echoes your own.

“Oh gods.” Margaery can feel the strength behind the thrust when your face pushes into her cunt harder than the normal pressure. Rocked forwards by his cock. “That cock is so good. I will need it harsh too, husband.”

“Whatever happened to ladies being delicate?” Raeden huffs, groaning as his hips connect with your ass again.

“None of us really are.” Margaery giggles and then moans when your tongue flutters around her clit. Making her grind down on your tongue.

“Men have been fed a lie,” he grouses good-naturedly, and he reaches out with one hand to grip your braid that Margaery has unpinned.

“Do you like to have your hair pulled?” Margaery asks you breathlessly.

Nodding makes the grip that Raeden has on your hair that much tighter, and your eyes flutter shut at the sensation before you open them again to look up at Margaery. "I cannot explain it, but I always enjoy pain with my pleasure."

“I want to try that.” Margaery moans and reaches up to twist her hand around her own braid.

The amused smile on your lips is mirrored by Raeden, and you shake your head at her. "You cannot do it yourself, lover," you tell her, reaching up and tangling your fingers tightly as high up in her braid as you can manage. "If you do not like it, tell me 'no' and I will stop."

“Yes.” She nods and moans as she moves her head and makes her scalp tug.

Seeing the way her eyes roll back at the slight pressure of the tug, you pull harder and more sharply, elated when the sounded you are gifted with is an ecstatic moan. "Yes?" You ask, letting her braid go slack so you can tug again, just as sharply.

“Yes!” She cries out and her cunt clenches around your fingers. She can’t believe that it feels so good and makes her entire body shake with pleasure.

"My wife and my soulmate may be more alike than they know." Raeden rasps out, grunting out another thrust and tugging at your braid as you pull on Margaery's. "Make her cum, my love. I want to see the moment she falls apart for you."

“Ohhhhh fuck.” The curse falls from Margaery’s lips easily as she shamelessly grinds down on your fingers. “Would— would that be so bad?” She manages.

"Not at all." As Raeden pounds you deeper and harder into Margaery's pussy he bends over to bite your shoulder and groans at the sight in front of him. "You will both be fucked into the mattress at every opportunity."

“That sounds perfect.” She moans, one hand drifting to her own breast. She wonders if she could have whomever she wanted at any time, or if there was some unspoken rule. She doesn’t doubt that she would need to give Raeden his heir before she sleeps with another man, but she is eager to experience the legendary Red Viper between her thighs.

Any kind of conversation dissolves again when Raeden pulls your hair sharply and you pull Margaery's in response, and the room becomes a renewed symphony of moans. There is nothing you want more in this moment that to hear the ecstasy that will come from your friend's lips when she cums for you, so you curl your fingers against the place inside her that will make her scream and redouble your efforts.

Now her breath comes out in ragged gasps, watching as her breathtaking husband slams into you eagerly, his own groans making her cunt clench around your fingers. The scene is enough to make her keen and the quick, cleverness of your fingers quickly pushes Margaery over the edge with a very unladylike yell.

There is something truly intoxicating in being the middle of this encounter. Knowing that it was not only your skill but Raeden’s passion which sends Margaery over the edge and has her clenching down in your fingers with such eagerness that her body might try to envelop your entire hand. It leaves you wishing under Raeden’s Powerful thrusts, moaning and grinding back against him as you lap up every drop of cum from her slit.

It is hard for Margaery to keep her eyes open, but she is determined to watch him cum. Seeing if he makes you squeal like she had last night with his gentler touch. His fingertips dig into your hips, sure to leave marks that last days, and it is the powerful need behind them along with one more well-timed thrust that has you tearing away from Margaery’s body to cry his name for all to hear. The insistent throbbing of your body between his and hers is unending, rolling through you so you can neither seem to stop the continuous feeling of peak pleasure or even catch your breath. It is magnificently exhausting, and Raeden is still fucking into you with erratic force.

He gets to have you. It is still a wonder to him, made even more precious by the fact that his wife is watching him fuck you, her hands still cupping and massaging her tits while she catches her breath. He gets to have it all, and it’s making his thrusts slap even harder than he’s ever fucked you.

A half dozen more pumps of his hips against your ass and Raeden is choking on his own groans, trying to call both of your names at once and ending up alternating between them as he pulls you tight against him and nearly collapses onto your back.

Margaery hums. A little chuckle in her throat as Raeden rolls you onto your side, protective of the babe in your belly. She had been told about the child and is very happy for you, actually eager for her own time. Now, she pushes to her knees and leans over to kiss you both.

“You do not mind your own taste?” Your thumb swipes under her bottom lip, wiping away a smudge of her own slick that came from your mouth. Some do and some do not. It would be another delightful development if Margaery did not, as you find it quite indulgent.

“No, I want to drink it from your lips.” She coos, kissing you again and then Raeden before she smirks. Slowly sliding down to drag her tongue over your nipple and biting down on it gently. “Right now, I want to taste my husband’s cock still inside your cunt. Lick you both up.”

There is a voice in the back of your head that knows Oberyn is going to be thrilled with Margaery’s curiosity and desire to explore her own sexuality, and that Ellaria’s approval will be near instant as well. “Enjoy yourself, my darling,” you hum, snuggles up in Raeden’s arms and spread for her to enjoy.

Raeden’s eyes widen when his wife, the wicked smirk pleasantly plastered on her face, starts to move down your body. Fixed on the sight, his spent cock twitches inside you. “Wife, you fit this group more than you know.” He rasps out.

“Better than I did, at the beginning,” you admit with a soft sigh when one of Margaery’s long fingers strokes your folds.

“I cannot imagine that to be true.” She scoffs. “I am lucky you are so accommodating.” She looks back up at you as she scoops some of the thick, creamy cum up from the base of her husband’s cock.

“You are a wonder,” you correct, relaxing even more under her touch.

She hums, accepting the compliment, although she knows she is receiving much more from this arrangement than you are. Her fingers slide into her mouth and she moans at the musky, salty taste. “Delightful.”

“He is even better when you taste him from the source.” The encouragement is met with a groan from your soulmate, and he kisses along your shoulder as Margaery lowers her mouth to the place you are still connected. It is her first time being with another woman, tasting another woman and it seems like she is diving into it. Luxuriating in the freedom and encouragement she is getting, her tongue flutters around your clit like she had felt you do to her and then down to her husband’s cock.

“Fuck.” The appreciative groan from Raeden makes you grin in his arms when you turn to kiss him. “Your wife is a fast learner,” you hum, breath hitching when her tongue flicks over your clit again.

“She is.” Raeden hums with pride, “Very good. The gods blessed us when they brought us together.”

"Such praise, my darling." Looking down your body to where Margaery is indulging her seemingly endless curiosities in your bodies, you grip her hair in your fingers again and tug just sharply enough to make her moan. "You deserve every word of it."

She hums and preens under the praise. Feeling her cheeks heat up at the words when she should be shocked at what she is doing. There is no embarrassment. Nothing but pleasure and curiosity.

"How does your husband taste from my cunt?" As filthy as the words are, they're languid. Relaxed and indulgent. You are as curious for the answer as she is for the taste, if you are honest with yourself.

“Like ambrosia.” Margaery moans, flicking up another taste of the two of you so she can come to let you taste for yourself.

When she unfurls her tongue into your kiss it is an extension of that gorgeous indulgence, and you hum deeply as you wrap her up in your arms. "I think you might be far more eager for this arrangement than you first thought," you grin knowingly.

“I think I am.” She grins as she slides her finger down your cheek. “I am very proud to be Lady Sunstone.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Margaery Tyrell #Margaery Tyrell x reader #Margaery Tyrell x male OC #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #arranged marriage #polyamory #poly

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daddy-dins-girl · 9 months

Text

Pedro Boys - Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic

This was such a tough one to do... Thanks to everyone who shared their input and helped me put this one together :). I hope I did everyone justice!

Lawful Good - Marcus Moreno. Always acts with compassion, honour and a sense of duty. Marcus will always do what's right. He is courageous and moral and respects law and order. A "superhero" through and through.

Lawful Neutral - Din Djarin, Frankie Morales. Din will follow his creed; the creed of the Mandalore, always ("This is the way"). He has a strong moral compass and upholds order. His creed and his clan come before anything else. Frankie also follows a code; the one that's patched on his jacket shoulder in the form of an American flag. He may not always agree with the orders he's tasked to carry out and for that he'll carry a lifetime of grief and trauma on his broad shoulders.

Lawful Evil - Jack Daniels. Jack uses the "black & white" of the law to further his own agenda. Blinded by vengeance, he has a goal to achieve and he plans on seeing it through, regardless if it means harm will come to others who may or may not deserve it.

Neutral Good - Javier Peña. A man ultimately out to do good in the world, Javier upholds strong moral values and pursues justice, however he isn't afraid to act outside the law (which happens to be his job) if it's what he believes to be for the greater good. Javier will disobey a direct order if he believes the end justifies the means. He doesn't feel as bound by the red tape as the bureaucrats upstairs and it's always been his belief that it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Neutral - Joel Miller. A true neutral, Joel Miller marches by the beat of his own moral drum. He'll act for himself, indifferent to what is "good" or "bad", based solely on his own needs or feelings at the time, or if his survival depends on it. He won't kill for no reason, but he would certainly kill if he believes someone means harm to himself or his loved ones. By the way, "the trolley problem?" Don't worry, Joel solved it :P

Neutral Evil - Maxwell Lord, Dave York. They have little to no reservations about bringing harm to others if it gets them what they want, but they also won't go out of their way to do something hurtful or evil if it brings them no benefit. Dave is paid to do a job. It's a name on a piece of paper in his pocket, nothing more. Loyalty or morality plays no part in it and Dave is happy to dust off his hands after it's done and go home and tuck his children into bed (and he sleeps just fine at night, thank you for asking). Maxwell has grand aspirations and plans to see them through, regardless of who gets hurt in the process. He'll "grant your wish" whether its for the greater good or the greater bad, as long as it benefits his own agenda.

Chaotic Good - Oberyn Martell, Javi Gutierrez. They uphold principles of justice and freedom but are unconcerned about how it is achieved (inside or outside of the law). Oberyn Martell believes in vengeance in the name of justice. He is bound by honour, love and duty to kill those who brought harm to his family and he will do it with a smile on his face. Javi Gutierrez' actions are inherently good and he believes in doing the right thing, although he will turn a blind eye to his criminal empire family and reap the benefits of their actions because he knows no other way.

Chaotic Neutral - Pero Tovar, Ezra. These individuals follow their own whims and will act in whichever way benefits them the most at any point in time. They are beholden to no one. A mercenary, Tovar can be paid to operate on either side. It makes little difference to him, so long as the price is right. However he also has no qualms about switching alliances, should it ultimately benefit him better, or just because he feels like it. Ezra is first and foremost a survivalist. He will always act in his own self interest with no intentions or bias toward doing evil or good. He's quite capable of switching sides if it is what is best for him (and the teenager he accidentally adopted along the way) either in the moment or for the long run.

Chaotic Evil - Max Phillips. This man is evil simply because he can be, and because it's fun. He lives for himself and his own desires with no respect to rules, authority or other peoples lives. He thrives on destruction and chaos (and has a blast doing it, thank you very much).

related posts: Pedro Boys "During a Fire Emergency" Pedro Boys "Nice Argument. Unfortunately," Pedro Boys "Don't Fuck This Up" Pedro Boys "Dad(dy) Matrix" Pedro Boys & Stabbing Pedro Boys "Feral/Sad/Angelic" Pedro Boys Respond to "I love you." Pedro Boys "Character Tropes" Pedro Boys "Gay/Depressed/Horny on Main" Pedro Boys "Dad/THOT/Bastard" Pedro Boys "bring some Coke to the party" Pedro Boys "Zombie Apocalypse Team" Pedro Boys "I Want a Baby" Pedro Boys "As Babysitters" Pedro Boys "As McDonald's Dads" Pedro Boys "in a horror movie" Pedro Boys "Cinnamon Rolls" Pedro Boys "5 Kids, 3 Chairs" Pedro Boys "Playing Monopoly"

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bucknastysbabe · 11 months

Note

it's still me, sorry.

ancient rome with viserys III (he just has that twink senator build, I am telling ya)

YES TWINKY SELF IMPORTANT VIZZY III YOUR BRAIN MAKES MY GO SPLOOSH, also I took a while bc 1. Work 2. I get wayyyy too invested into research! So I hope you enjoy xoxoxoxxo

AU Bingo - Ancient Rome - Viserys III

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Imperial Rome setting, Viserys is an angry lil asshole, too much background building, aphrodisiacs, arranged marriage, pnv!sex, enemies to lovers, hate sex, they’re both bottoms they’ll figure it out later, background Jorah and Illyrio, dany living her best life!, orgy time, I hope that was a good offering to Cupid

A/N: Tumblr is full of smart people but I still marked stuff that might need a translation or explanation:)

Viserys Targaryen. The third. Bred well from a long line of Emperors. The dynasty had ended when his mad father was struck down by the Praetorian* guard meant to protect the man. He was a mere senator now, the Baratheon family forcing him into submission. Damnatio Memoriae* for Aerys and his eldest son Rhaegar.

Everyone knew you could flip a coin to decide if a Targaryen would be mad or not. Viserys, although smart and a respected senator, definitely leant towards the unwanted side of the sestertius*. Regardless, the man had enough allies to secure his position in aedileship* and keep the family estate. His little sister had been married off to some obscenely rich warlord king outside of Roman lines, further padding the man’s pockets.

He walked around like an inflated peacock with his purple striped toga, dreaming of revenge and retaking the grand palace. Not married, still young, and quite mean from all accounts. Rumors flew that he was the passive cinaedus* of his longtime Gaulish slave. But you had your eyes on the fool regardless of who said what.

Recently arrived from the ever growing Hispania Baetica*, your father, a powerful proconsul* had sent you with a retainer to find a husband. Your aunt was married to Rhaegar Targaryen, and there was a promise for your hand to Viserys.

There was a catch. Viserys was not made aware of this pact. All of the details ands plans were burnt up during the violent overthrow of mad Aerys. Greek fire everywhere from the accounts. Your sister and her babes had perished from the Lion of Rome’s horrid beast of a soldier.

Elia was gone now, you reminded yourself. Oberyn kept her memory alive much too much but you grinned and bared it. He accompanied you with his lover and only two of his many bastards. Viserys was to be hosting you all in his grand manse upon the Esquiline Hill*. He knew the power of your family and sought to gain more status.

A plethora of slaves tended to your baggage and personal goods. A fat man with a thick accent, Thracian* of sorts, welcomed you all with an ecstatic smile. “Good evening, I know you all must be weary from your travels, our busy Senator will be home late tonight and plans to sup in the morning. Please call me Illyrio, I am the steward here.”

He outstretched a jiggly arm and beckoned you all, “Come, come, dinner awaits.” Oberyn sniffed and sauntered in, viper eyes darting around suspiciously. He had become quite bitter and distrustful after dear Elia’s death. Rhaegar, a wonderful general, had found some Briton barbarian’s daughter while putting down an uprising and squirreled her away. Much to the anger of the Novantae*.

Robert Baratheon also took offense to the affair, having eyes for the same girl. Add on Aery’s madness and rising tensions against the imperial family. Well. That’s what led to now. It’s bad when the Roman army has to enter Rome. Slimy Lion of Lannister, Tywin, a once trusted Consul* and general settled the fighting quite quick. His son, a Praetorian guard, struck down the Mad Emperor.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts, weary from all the travel. Dinner and chatting was a blur, Oberyn interrogating Illyrio up quite intensely about Viserys. You retired early to a sumptuous room, dreaming of frolicking in the paintings until slumber met you at last.

In the morning you had two girls attend your bathing, dressing, and other attending. You felt quite beautiful in your immaculate yellow stola, embroidered with gold. Your headband and jewelry was also gold and citrine. They smudged your eyes with kohl, painted your lips a darker color with berries. All to hopefully ensnare.

Padding to the triclinium* you readied yourself. Being a proconsul’s daughter, you knew how to behave. Hispania Baetica was extremely romanized, it wasn’t like you came from Judaea* or Asia Minor*. Your family was mostly seated, Oberyn and Ellaria looked tired. They may have treated themselves to the pleasure of Rome last night.

Illyrio beside a big man in armor and the distinct silver haired of a Targaryen graced your vision. Viserys was quite handsome, lengthy waves, strong features, and long limbs. No warrior like Rhaegar but self assured in his own right. You gave obeisance and sat down. Viserys intense lilac eyes bored into you, pretty lips curling up in pleasure.

He hummed, “Martells. You have been good to the Targaryens for many a moon. I hope the trip was fair, nice to see you Oberyn. I hope Doran is doing well.” The senator’s smile was stiff lipped and frigid.

Oberyn snorted, “The place smells of pig shit and is overcrowded. But a fine city I suppose. The streets of pleasure are wondrous. How is the usurper doing?”

An awkward hush enveloped the room. Viserys’ eye seemed to twitch. His pallid cheeks reddened, “The fat oaf is fine. The Lion does his dealings after the Arryn man passed.” Oberyn hissed, “Detestable fucker.”

You cleared your throat and gestured to Illyrio, softly stating, “I’d love to reminisce on the injustice of our past but we did not travel to Roma for nothing, Senator.” Viserys seemed a relax a smidgeon, eyes narrowing at Illyrio’s wide frame. He drawled, “Was there something not to my knowledge? As the leader of my family this could be treason.”

The big man placed a hand on his sword.

Illyrio laughed it off and boomed, “No, this is all good tidings. A proposal lost in the fire.”

“Go ahead, Mopatis.”

You nervously popped some grapes into your mouth, eyeing the silver haired man’s heady gaze. He was entranced— for what gain you did not know. Illyrio opened the scroll and read of the marriage pact hastily made after the downfall. You would marry and join Viserys’ household.

The Senator remained quiet, the guard muttering something along the lines of, “That’s a first.” Viserys finally hummed, “What will I receive if I am to marry your girl? Gold, allies, men? I will become Emperor again dear Martells. You burn with the same injustices!” A vein on his forehead twitched.

Oberyn bristled, “You will receive a handsome sum and my gorgeous niece. Have patience, little Targaryen, lest the people might think you’re madder than your father,” he sharply grinned, “Excuse me, the emperor before Robert. Damnatio memoriae is a bitch, hm?”

Viserys barked, “Quiet your tongue, red viper! I accept the girl, shall pay the dowry, but I need allegiance. My sister awaits with her warlord husband, powerful screamers on horseback.”

Oberyn settled back down with a shit-eating grin, placing his sandals on the table, throwing an arm around Ellaria. You nodded and added, “All good things come with time, Aedile Targaryen. We shall plan, and I will do anything in my power to asssist.”

He was quaking with anger, long and thin fingers almost shredding the purple edging of his toga. Illyrio hummed, “Very well, we shall have the wedding, small, and pay the dowry. Then you may return to Hispania.”

Oberyn stated, “My daughter Obara stays as her personal guard, then we shall leave in the morn.” Viserys glared at the strong woman, lips thinning in annoyance. You glanced down at your hands, quite unsure what to do with an unstable temperament.

You’d find a way, always had. Nothing cunt couldn’t fix. Unless the Senator didn’t prefer that. But that could be arranged too.

After the wedding, you felt alone and bored. Viserys had held intercourse with you once, a banal affair. Strange for a Roman, a Targaryen one at that. Obara and Jorah as you learned, were mainly your company out and about. Viserys spent most of his time on the Capitoline Hill*. Planning events and city works, whatever Aedile’s did.

One day you’d had enough. You decided to snoop around Visery’s personal quarters, he’d be in hearings all day. Illyrio turned a blind eye with a small smile. Coming to a bronzed desk you found a half-unrolled paper. Wonderfully decorated with Pan and his nymphs.

Fingering the scroll open your eyebrows raised. It was an invitation. Tomorrow night. To a secret party with masks only. It was likely to be an orgy once you placed the masks, Pan’s* turgid cock, and the syrupy invitation. Your fool husband wasn’t going to even let you know.

“Illyrio!,” you hollered.

Heavy footsteps and breathing came closer and closer. Mopatis wiped the sweat from his brow. He panted, “My lady?” Padding over to the large man you shoved the invitation toward pudgy hands.

“Was my dear husband planning on inviting me?”

He stared at you with a strange expression, mouth twitching. You held his gaze before he broke. “No. He was to go alone. Felt stifled recently.”

You snarled, snatching the invitation back, Mopatis now leaning on a doorway. You murmured, “Say Illyrio, dear steward, could you perhaps get me into this sordid soirée?” His fleshy face erupted into a smile.

“I have friends in the lowest and highest of places, I’m sure we could arrange your arrival. A surprise for your husband. I’ll have to send one of the girls to the mask maker.” Patting a shoulder you mused, “Hmm, I cannot wait to see the look on the asshole’s face.”

Jorah snorted from afar.

You gained entrance into a vast complex of gardens and smokey rooms, smelling of herbs. Petals littered the ground at every turn. You fixed your mask and stola, quite lost. You’d heard of these debauchery laden gatherings high up in the echelons of Rome.

It wasn’t like that in your household, definitely in Oberyn’s with all the boys and women he could fuck until dawn. A man with a deep voice sidled next to you, offering a goblet of wine, “Here sweet one, this brew will make Cupid himself bless you.” You took it and asked, “Where is the main gathering?”

“Follow me nymphet,” he hummed.

You downed the wine, unsure if that was a horrid idea or not. But Jorah was waiting on the outskirts in case you may need help. Citizens of Roma were fucking and kissing all over as you drew near the sounds of wailing and drums. The mysterious man hummed, “This is where the show is, where you find your lovers for the night.”

He disappeared as fast as he had met you. Eyes scanning through the fog you spotted silvery hair. Viserys was sprawled with some ladies, idly watching the erotic show on the dais. Sucking in a breath you sat on some cushions directly across from him.

Heat began to slither up your belly, the haze and glistening skin of the erotic dancers making your cunt ache. Pulling at your stola you stifled a whine, chewing on your lip under the mask. It must have been that brew that man gave you, some sort of Aphrodisiac. Venus herself must have dipped her tits in the brew, you were on fire.

Transfixed in the low hum of the droning singers, the sensual beating of the drums and the escalating cries of pleasure— you were not prepared for a rather smug voice in your ear. Yelping and sliding away, long fingers wrapped around your upper arm, jerking you close. Viserys lilac eyes were a bit hazy as he murmured, “You aren’t secretive you know that? Thinking I don’t know that you’re going through my belongings, sending my steward around.”

As his thin face began to erupt into a sinister smile you grew a bit fearful. Maybe you’d crossed the line. Targaryen’s were notoriously unpredictable. You gulped out a weak, “I apologize, maritus*, I do, please!” Viserys only smiled more and pulled you flush atop his thin hips.

“I’d prefer dominus*, my sly little Baetican,” he drawled, dragging fingertips across your overheated skin. Nosing along your slick neck he continued, “Almost as slithering as that viper of your uncle,” his soft curls tickling you issued a full body shudder and whimper.

“Dominus, I simply wished to- ah- find out what pleases you! You show me no attention,” you wheedled, overwhelmed with groping hands and wandering lips. Viserys cruelly mocked, “Dear, you were a pact, a bag of sesterces, a pretty little something that makes me look good when I get my birthright back.”

Anger seized through your veins at his callous words, shoving him off with a hiss. Viserys smug look turned to shock as he called, “I wasn’t done yet! Come back here!” You shook your head and stumbled through the clouds of burning incense, past the degenerates contorted and fucking, howling to Lūna.*

Slinking through to doors, not to make any noise, you arrived on a much quieter plaza of sorts. A fountain, some beautiful columns, and a small worship temple. Probably Venus. You ran toward the temple, seeking to hide from your vile husband.

Inside everything was painted a rosy, gorgeous color. A statue of Cupid* surrounded by candles and offerings sat at the head. You decided to sit against the wall, staring at the little cherub from the side. You filtered through your robes to throw a coin at the shrine. No one had shrines to the son of Venus*. That you knew until now.

“Strike him, will you,” you asked out loud.

Viserys. What a wretched ass. You knew this was a pact. He showed desire but nothing else. Doomed to a loveless marriage with a power-hungry maniac. You wanted to make him cry, make him hurt like you were. Throwing your mask off your hands clenched into balls of fury. Then took a deep breath, holding the tears back.

“I said I wasn’t done, now you ran off to weep?,” Viserys snapped as he entered the shrine. You stared at him coldly and replied, “No, I didn’t want to hear your vile words. I’m sure you had some great insults coming up, dominus.”

The blonde scoffed and leaned against a pink column, crossing his sinewy arms. He drawled, “Whatever, I was going to say, that you have proven yourself to be strong and dedicated. I like that. Ask me next time and I’ll take you along to my affairs.”

You crawled forward on all fours, holding his piercing gaze until you sat back in front of cherubic Cupid. Gesturing to the god you said, “I’m glad then, I have your approval dominus. Now fuck me. Prove it. Prove your power over me.”

Viserys sputtered for a second, pale cheeks blotchy. His cock was hard enough you could see it through the layers of his toga. You needed this, didn’t care if it was the Minotaur of days of old fucking you open. Anger and lust coursed in your veins, the drink wracking your system.

He mumbled under his breath and padded over to shut the doors to the shrine. Just leaving you two and marble Cupid. He knelt down in front of you, looking composed but sweat beaded along the high points of his face. You leaned back, revealing your legs and bare cunt, pulling and undoing your stola*.

Viserys sat like a dolt. Obviously he did not have the upper hand in this situation, Face getting redder and redder. You purred, “Dominus, or should I say, Caesar?” The blonde moaned softly, trembling hands undoing his expensive garments marking the man’s station. You were naked and waiting, smirking to yourself. Viserys, now just as bare didn’t move.

“How do you want me Caesar?,” you hummed with a cock of your head. Visery’s swollen prick could rival Priapus* currently, leaking and red. He rasped thinly, lips agape, “Ride me, ride me, hispanus.” Stifling a laugh at the suddenly submissive acting senator you prowled forward like a tigress, placing your jeweled hand on his pale chest, pushing the man back.

Straddling yourself across lean thighs you rolled your slick pussy across his length, moaning lowly in satisfaction. Big hands clamped down on your thighs, a strangled noise leaving Viserys’ throat. Suspiciously close to a whine.

You leaned forward to press your tits against his flat chest, breathing against his pink lips, “Caesar, why are you bowing to such a simple whore him? One from Hispania, probably not even a citizen. Tsk tsk” Viserys thrashed some, face pouty. His free hand clamped down on your neck as the blonde hissed, “This is no time to jest, your Caesar wants you to ride his cock. Get to it.”

He wouldn’t let go until you heaved for a breath, sliding onto his long cock, the protrusion deep and nestled on your sensitive upper walls. He let go, hands now groping your breasts, that irritating look back on his face. You coughed wetly, sucking in breath as you clumsily began the first few thrusts, but it felt wonderfully divine.

Your pussy, lips, and nipples were hypersensitive and swollen, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting off over your body. You rode harder, seeking more and more. Viserys gasped, “Gods, fuck, you’re different tonight.” Slapping him across the cheek while simultaneously squeezing his turgid length made the made shout, eyes fluttering.

“I may be your, hng ohhh, wife, b-but I can be your equal! Fah-fucking lackwit! Jaehaerys and Alysanne ring a godsdamned bell?” Your cunt grew slicker and slicker with your arousal, sweat rolling down your back, between your bouncing tits. The small shrine was growing warmer, the sounds of fucking echoing in the small temple.

Viserys mewled hungrily around your chest as you reached back to grab his overfull balls, squeezing ever-so gently. His eyes flashed open, mouth opening and body arching as he cried your name passionately. He managed to string together a broken sentence, “I- Ifffff- you beast, keep it up, ah Cupid you little shit! I will rethink my behavior!”

You plastered yourself to the man, luridly slapping your plush hips against him, moaning uncontrollably. Viserys was right along with you in pitch, desperately jerking his wonderful cock into your needy cunt. Sloppy sharing lips you growled, “Good boy.”

Your foggy mind expected another bout of anger.

No. Viserys outright whimpered and seized your lips, skinny arms holding tight as he planted his feet and pounded your cunt. He licked into your mouth, tongues dancing together in a style much older than Rome ever was. The senator caressed and sought to drive himself into you, besides his cock of course.

Pulling free from slobbery lips you rasped, “You like that? Dominus just wants to be my good boy? Ah-ct like one and I’ll give you ah-ah-alll the praise you want oh pretty silver!” He nodded fervently, lilac eyes searching your own, whimpering unintelligibly.

His blunt cock head was massaging your most tender spot, driving you to grab Viserys hand and guide it to your swollen Pearl. He picked up easily, eyes lidded with heavy satisfaction at your carrying on. You began to shake, the pleasure heightening to the realm of the gods.

“Ah! Caesar, Viserys, Dominus! I’m gonna,” you convulsed and crumpled atop of him whining when your clit was rudely pinched. Another one wracked your frame when a flood of hot spend filled your warm cunt. You babbled deliriously in your own dialect, Viserys panting and heaving through his heavy unload.

Flattened atop of him now you warily eyed Cupid, little cheeks puffed as he smiled. With a scoff and a residual tremble you said, “I did pray he would strike us. Not sure if it’s love, but I felt the lust.”

Viserys hummed gently, carding fingers through your sweaty curls, “He might have mad contact, I would kill any other woman this brash. Take that as a compliment, you are quite special my baetican vipera.”

“I’ll take it. Do you think our fucking was a good enough offer?”

He barked a laugh, stealing your lips for a peck, “Very much so. We should built a shrine in the manse.”

Translations/Explanations:

* Praetorian Guard: Guard of the Imperial family, Caesar, and special agents

* Sesterce: Roman Coin 1/4 of a denarius

* Denarius: silver coin

* Aedile/Aedileship: Senator of public office, Job that involved maintenance of Public buildings in shape and regulation of public festivals. Also keeping city life in order and that needs are met.

* Cinaedus: Male willing to be the passive partner in a homosexual relationship

* Hispania Baetica: Third province of Spain. Rich and romanized, they are citizens of Rome. Eventually brought up now named cities of Cádiz, Seville, Cordoba.

* Pro-consul: Governor or military commander of a province

* Esquiline hill: One of the seven hills of Rome. A upper class residential district.

* Thrace/Thracian: Area of people spanning between Bulgaria, Greece, and Turkey.

* Briton: Roman conquered England

* Novantae: powerful Celtic tribe in the north of Briton.

* Consul: Highest senate position, has the emperors ear

* Triclinium: a dining room with couches on three sides and a table.

* Capitoline Hill: Name says all they be doing government shit up there

* Pan: Greek name for a forest god with nymphs. A horny goat okay

* Cupid: God of lust/love, son of Venus

* Maritus: Husband

* Dominus: Lord, master, owner

* Caesar: Emperor

* Venus: goddess of beauty and love

* Stola: Women’s dress at the time, feminine version of the toga

* Priapus: Fertiliy protection god known for his HUGE DONG

* Hispanus: From Hispania

#Ancient Rome!au #viserys iii targaryen x reader #viserys iii targaryen #asioaf fanfic #got fanfiction #got smut #asoiaf smut #au bingo #ask answered #ily Angsti

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raspberryfingers · 1 year

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A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 10)

With the war over, the mood within the Red Keep seemed generally improved. This was especially true for Tywin and my grandmother, who no longer had to strain their pockets. Of course, the Lannister mines still supplied tremendous wealth, but why spend money when it’s not needed?

More than anything, I’d been happy to report the news back to Tywin.

I could recall vividly returning to the Red Keep—with nobody except for my family and Tywin being aware of why I’d left at all—and making my way up the stairs in the Tower of the Hand.

When I’d been let into Tywin’s office, he had looked at me with an almost relieved face.

“(Y/N), you’re back. When I hadn’t received a raven- well it had made me nervous,” he’d said, rising from his desk and making his way toward me.

“What happened? You got here quicker than any spies could have.”

When I had merely smiled at him, he’d instantly understood. He had smiled at me then, and he took me into his arms.

“I told you I could convince him, Tywin.”

“Oh I know, dear girl. I never doubted you. If anyone in the seven kingdoms was going to convince Robb Stark, it had to be you,” he’d whispered, admittedly making me blush.

“You flatter me, Tywin.”

“I’m merely telling the truth. I’m proud of you. What other man or woman that you know could’ve done that? Ended a years long war overnight. Only you, (Y/N). My nightshade of the garden.”

And even besides Tywin, I had received thank you’s from everyone but Cersei. Even Joffrey had called me into the throne room and told me I’d done a good job. Though, he did say he would’ve preferred Robb Stark dead, but I was saving him money. It was abundantly obvious Tywin had told him to thank me, but at least he’d done it.

Still, it did not make me hate the boy any less. Especially when I remembered he was going to marry Margaery at the end of the week. It was that event which had brought all sorts of people to King's Landing, and had made living in the Red Keep miserable.

Although, I was informed that the Red Viper, or Oberyn Martell, was present in the city. After learning that, a genius idea sparked in my head. When I presented it to my grandmother, she approved wholeheartedly. And so now, I found myself in Littlefinger’s brothel, hoping to have a nice conversation with the prince of Dorne.

Thankfully, when I walked in, everyone still had their clothes on.

“Prince Oberyn?”

A head shot up from among the bodies, and everyone else on the bed seemed to notice I was there.

“I am Prince Oberyn, who are you?” He asked, sitting up and looking at me.

“I’m (Y/N) Tyrell, your grace. I’ve come here to speak with you about something rather important,” I announced. He gave me a contemplative look, and then motioned for everyone else to leave, including a woman who he kissed rather passionately. I assumed that was Ellaria Sand.

When the room was empty, he sat at the edge of the bed and raised an eyebrow.

“What is it you’ve come to discuss, Lady (Y/N)?” He asked, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a sip.

“It’s less of a discussion and more of a proposition for you, Prince Oberyn, as your hatred for the Lannisters is rather well known,” I began, taking a seat on a nearby couch. I tried not to think about it too much.

“Are you here to blackmail me? Everyone knows you and Lord Tywin are quite close,” he remarked, crossing his arms and sighing. I chose to ignore the last comment.

“No, I’m not. I’m hoping this will be beneficial for both of us, granted you’re bold enough to do what I’d like you to,” I said, watching his curiosity be piqued.

“And what is that?”

“Prince Oberyn, I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories about our king. He is cruel, stupid, and unwilling to actually rule Westeros,” I began, giving some context for what I was going to ask.

“Of course.”

“Let me ask you, would you want your sister to marry someone like Joffrey?”

He sat up straighter, and his eyes darkened.

“No, but it’s not as if she could, because under someone’s orders, the mountain murdered her and her children.”

“I’m aware, Prince Oberyn. That’s why I’ve come to you, because you have quite a lot of reason to want revenge on the Lannisters, and I want Joffrey gone,” I said, hinting to him what I needed.

“You want me to kill the king?”

He did not sound surprised, or shocked. In fact, a small grin began to tug at his lips.

“No. I want you to take responsibility for it. Well, unless you’d like to kill him yourself, then be my guest. You see, originally my grandmother thought we might work with Littlefinger himself, he’s got quite the network and would naturally be able to help us. However, with my brother married to Sansa Stark, that was no longer a viable person for us to reach out to. Or rather, for my grandmother to. When she revealed the plot to me, I assured her I’d be able to take care of it myself. I’ve got quite the knowledge of poisons, and I wouldn’t have a hard time getting my hands on some if I truly wanted to. So I did,” I began to explain, gauging his reaction as I spoke.

“However, therein is the problem, I’m already known as the nightshade of the garden, and Cersei does not like me very much. If her son dies of poisoning… well, I’m sure you understand how that would look,” I said, to which he nodded.

“The blame will be on you, of course.”

“Exactly, and that trial would not bode well for me, not to mention ruin nearly everything for my family. But you. When I heard about you being in Kings Landing instead of your brother, I was overjoyed. As I said, you famously hate the Lannisters for what happened to your sister, and I-“

“Not all the Lannisters. Just Lord Tywin,” he said, a slight venom in his tone. I smiled, knowing he wished to make me uncomfortable for associating with him.

“You know, Prince Oberyn, it’s a funny thing. When Lord Tywin and I first began interacting with each other, I detested him. He and I had quite the argument, and your sister was the primary reason. Yes, I have come to enjoy Lord Tywin over time, but there are many things we heavily disagree upon, and there are many things that I hate him for. What happened to your sister is in that category, and I do not blame you for hating him for it. That’s why I’ve come to you with this proposition. To kill his grandson right under his nose would infuriate him, it would make him look weak. To him, that is worse than dying,” I explained, watching the thoughts process in his head. His posture was more attentive, and I could see that slowly he was being convinced, though this conversation was clearly not over.

“Yes, it would embarrass Lord Tywin, and I would have my head removed. Because that is what you want, right? Me to admit to his murder so that you are not blamed?” He clarified, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Not necessarily. You wouldn’t have to admit to it until later. Perhaps- well, let me explain what would happen. Joffrey would be poisoned, either by you or me, at his wedding. He’d die, Cersei would be furious, naturally. Depending on how long it takes her to actually start thinking, my time is limited, but the hope is that I somehow manage to find Tyw- Lord Tywin and tell him I believe it was you. I can explain my reasoning, say that I wouldn’t have done it with poison for it would’ve been too obvious. But, if Cersei does figure it out quickly I suspect he’ll come visit me in the cells anyways. He’ll want to know if I’ve truly betrayed him that way. Which of course, I have, but it’s not for him to know,” I began, explaining the first several steps in my plan.

“But, either way, I would install the thought into Tywin, give him-“

“You keep calling him Tywin. Just Tywin. You are close to him, aren’t you?” Oberyn interrupted, beginning to grin. I took a deep breath.

“Yes, I am. I suppose I might as well just admit that I’ve fallen in love with him, as everyone else seems to have figured that out too,” I said with a sigh. Prince Oberyn chuckled.

“You’re in love with him, yet you desire to betray him. Why?”

“I don’t desire to betray him, but I will. For my sister, I will. I refuse to see her married to Joffrey, to see her harmed and used by him. His younger brother is far more agreeable, and will make Margaery much safer and happier. For that, I would do anything,” I admitted, pressing my hands together and hoping he would understand.

“You are much like I am, then. When Elia was alive, I would’ve done anything for her. She was always my favorite, always my dear sister,” he said softly, looking down and smiling solemnly.

“And that is why I’m giving you the opportunity to kill the mountain without any consequences.”

His face shot up at that, confused and curious. I smiled.

“I will instill the thought that you’re guilty into Tywin’s mind. You will leave another crystal of the poison where you sat, and will naturally be arrested. Once this happens, you will be given a trial. At that trial, don’t say a thing. They’ll ask you questions, don’t answer. Demand a trial by combat,” I said, watching as it fell into place for him.

“The Lannisters will pick the mountain to fight me, and if I win, he’s dead and there are no legal consequences for me,” he finished, making me nod.

“Exactly. Granted that you do live, of course. That is the only risk, and what I believed you’d be most hesitant about,” I reasoned.

I watched him think, and the room was silent for a good minute.

“I will beat the mountain, and I will poison Joffrey myself, that way I am truly responsible for the crime,” he finally said, looking over at me. I nodded.

“Thank you, Prince Oberyn. When you do it, do it in front of everyone. Go up to Joffrey and Margaery, both of them will have an additional glass of wine, a different kind meant for dessert. Put the poison in Joffrey’s cup, it’ll be larger than Margaery’s. Make small talk with them, come off as offensive, perhaps smell the wine and comment that it’s quite nice, then pour the poison in while he’s not looking. The point is, let people see that you were near him and touching his cup,” I explained, already having everything perfectly envisioned.

“What if the cup should spill?”

“My grandmother will have a backup. I’ve picked out The Strangler for our king,” I revealed, making my way across the room and handing Oberyn a small, purple crystal. He looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever seen this poison in action before?” He asked curiously.

“No, but I know what will happen. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I already knew where to find some of this, not to mention it will dissolve perfectly in his wine,” I said, watching Oberyn get up and store it in a small box, which he locked afterwards.

“Can I tell you something, Lady (Y/N)? Since we are being honest with each other,” he asked, facing me as he leaned against the wall.

“Of course,” I said, wondering what I might hear from him.

“I was going to poison Lord Tywin. Slowly, so he wouldn’t notice, but I intended to kill him,” he revealed. My mouth fell open, and a certain fear gripped me. I would not allow Tywin to be harmed, no matter what the cost.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t done it yet, and I don’t think I will. You’re right, this embarrassment will be worse for him. And, you seem to be a reasonable woman, from all that I’ve heard and my impression of you from this conversation. You’re smart. If you are in love with Lord Tywin, I will leave him be, simply out of respect,” he said, smiling. I still felt unnerved, but I nodded.

“Thank you, Prince Oberyn. I hated Tywin for years, nearly half of my life, in fact. As I said, he’s done things I’ll never forgive nor forget, but the man he is with me… he’s not Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock. He’s just… just Tywin,” I said, thinking about the times I’d seen him engaged in politics versus how he was with me. They were two different men.

“And I would wager that to him, you are not the Nightshade of the Garden, or Lady Tyrell. To him, you are probably just (Y/N),” Oberyn replied with a smile.

“And what makes you think that?”

“You become the best version of yourself around the people that you love.”

—————

I had returned to the Red Keep, excited to report my success to my grandmother. However, when I arrived at her room, she wasn’t there. According to her guards, she was waiting for me in my room.

I sighed, wishing she’d have told me that before I’d bothered walking all that way. It was curious, too. Why would she go to my room? She knew I was going to speak with Oberyn, but I hadn’t told her before I’d left.

When I got there and went inside, I found her sitting at my table with a letter in her hand. I didn’t think much of it yet.

“Grandmother. I went to your room first, I wanted to tell you that Prince Oberyn has agreed, we had quite the conversation about it, and-“

“(Y/N), dear.”

I paused, eyebrows raising as my grandmother addressed me.

“What?”

“Come sit down with me, please,” she said softly. There was a look of sadness in her eyes, and I felt my heart drop. I had no clue what to expect, but regardless I was terrified. Had something happened to Tywin?

“What is it, grandmother?” I asked, hurrying to sit down and praying to the gods it wasn’t horrible. Or at least, something so horrible I might cry. Was it Loras? Had something happened to the Starks?

“Your father came into my room about an hour ago, far happier than he ought to have been. He gave me this,” she said, handing me the letter.

I unfolded it and immediately began to read, my throat dry and my hands shaking slightly. If my father had been happy about it, I knew it could only mean one thing.

—————

I was running up the stairs, skirts clutched in my hands and tears running down my face. My grandmother had tried to console me, but it was useless, I’d run out of the room anyways.

I nearly tripped as I tried to make my way up all the stairs in the tower of the hand, which certainly weren’t easy to climb in my current condition. When I reached the top, I was somehow sobbing even harder.

All I wanted was to see Tywin.

The guards outside his office recognized me by now, and when they saw my tears, they only looked between each other awkwardly and opened the door.

I burst in, body racking with sobs as I made my way toward Tywin. He was sitting at his desk, but when the door opened and he saw me, he instantly rose and rushed toward me.

“(Y/N)?”

I said nothing, but threw myself into his arms. I heard the door close behind me, and I finally let myself fall apart. My face was buried into his chest and gods I couldn’t stop crying. I felt his arms wrap around me, and one hand came to my head while the other was holding my waist on the other side.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)? What happened?” He asked softly, petting my hair as I wept.

“M-My father,” I managed to get out, choking on my tears and pushing my face into Tywin’s neck. It was warm, and his scent brought a great comfort.

“Your father?”

“Walder Frey- Walder Frey sent him a letter, r-requesting that I marry his eldest son,” I cried out, clutching Tywin for dear life. In all honesty, I believed my life was over. I’d told Tywin I’d need to marry soon, but I certainly hadn’t expected it to be now, nor to a son of Walder Frey of all people.

I felt Tywin inhale, and he pulled me back to look me in the eyes.

“Don’t worry yourself about it, (Y/N), I’ll convince your father not to. I’ll convince him to-“

“No! No, Tywin, that’s just it, he’s already sent a reply and he’s accepted!” I choked out, hot tears still streaming down my face as I shook. I pushed myself back into his arms, disconsolate and an absolute mess.

Tywin was silent, and normally I would’ve thought it strange, but I was in so much distress that I couldn’t even be bothered to think about it.

“Father believed it would cause conflict to say no, especially because Tyrion is marrying one of Walder Frey’s daughters. So he sent the raven without even bothering to tell me,” I said between sobs, wishing more than anything that I could just stay in Tywin’s arms forever, that I wouldn’t have to get married to anyone.

“(Y/N), you mustn’t worry.”

“I don’t want to get married, Tywin! I don’t want to get married and I don’t want to marry one of Walder Frey’s sons. I don’t want to- I can’t- I can’t…” I was beginning to hyperventilate, so distressed at the thought of being shipped off to live at the Twins. And once that was dealt with, my name would fade away just as every other woman’s did.

“(Y/N) listen to me, I’m going to speak with your father and convince him this isn’t wise,” Tywin said, stepping back and lifting my chin so I’d look at him. I shook my head.

“That’s just it, Tywin. My father doesn’t listen to anyone. He does whatever he pleases, he’s not going to- to listen to you or me for that matter,” I said, sniffling as Tywin brought his hands to my cheeks and wiped the tears away.

It was useless, of course, they just kept falling, and I kept spiraling. My gaze fell and I continued to hyperventilate.

“I don’t want to marry Walder Frey’s son. I don’t want to marry at all! There’s only one man I’d ever marry and it’s most certainly not Walder Frey’s son! I just want to be left alone, I want to stay the head of the Tyrell army and live in peace!” I spewed, hardly even processing what I was saying. Tywin’s eyes went wide, though I hadn’t realized what I’d said yet.

“(Y/N), breathe!” He said sharply, taking my hand in his and pressing it to my chest.

“Take deep breaths. Calm down,” he said softly, watching me try to take slower, longer breaths through my tears. When I no longer sounded erratic, he dropped his hand.

“I would rather kill myself than marry him,” I whispered, lip quivering. Tywin sighed and wiped my tears again. When he finished, looked down.

“You’re not going to, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Tywin, my father-“

“I’m not going to try and convince your father. I’m going to take care of Walder Frey’s son,” he said. My eyes shot up, and I was certain the surprise I felt was painted all over my face.

“Tywin… he doesn’t need to die. I don’t want to marry him but he doesn’t- he doesn’t deserve that,” I said, truly hoping he wouldn’t do such a thing.

“I don’t care. You can’t marry a dead man. Your father can arrange as many marriages for you as he likes, I’ll make sure none of them happen. I will have every single man in Westeros murdered before I see you married to them,” he said, hand coming under my chin. My heart began to skip, and my tears were ceasing to fall. What was he insinuating? We were both silent, simply gazing into each other's eyes.

“Tywin…”

“I will never let another man have you, (Y/N). Do you understand? You may not want to be mine, but until the day I die, you will be no one else’s. I could not stand to live and watch another man make you smile, to watch him hold you and kiss you. And more than that, I won’t stand by and watch you be miserable with Walder Frey’s son. I won’t see you happy with someone else, (Y/N), but I can’t see you unhappy with anyone at all,” he whispered, hands coming to both of my cheeks as he looked deep into my eyes.

My lips parted, and my entire body felt hot. My heart would not stop racing, and I feared I must’ve looked like a fool, because I felt another tear slide down my cheek. I was utterly overwhelmed.

Tywin was in love with me?

He was gazing at me with all the love and passion in the world, and I’d never seen him look so gorgeous. His eyes were the same turquoise blue they’d been in the sept at Loras’ wedding, but he looked as if he might cry. He looked so overcome with all of his feelings, just as I was with mine.

“Tywin…” I whispered, feeling two more tears fall. He looked terrified, as if he was waiting for me to be disgusted with him. I noticed it then, a tear falling from his own cheek.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, (Y/N), please… forgive me,” he whispered. His hands fell from my face, and my heart dropped as I watched him take a step back with his eyes on the ground.

He thought his feelings were unrequited.

“No! No… Tywin… Tywin, I love you. I love you!” I managed to gasp out, my throat dry and emotions a mess. I couldn’t let this slip, I couldn’t ruin this. He’d just admitted he felt the same way I did, I needed to do something.

When he processed what I’d said, his eyes widened, and he looked me in the eyes again. I watched his lips part, and he exhaled as if he’d been holding in a breath. There was a moment of silence, and I suddenly saw something spark in his eyes.

Tywin inhaled, and stepped back towards me. One of his hands came to my face, and he was so close I could hear his breath shaking. He moved his other hand, and licked his lips nervously as if trying to figure out where to put it. All of his actions were quick, and my heart was pounding so much I thought it might explode.

His other hand settled at my waist, and when he looked at me again, I knew.

Tywin hesitated for two seconds, and then—in one swift movement—pressed his lips to mine. I instantly kissed back, and I was so relieved I thought I might sob. I brought one hand to his face, and let the other come to the back of his head and bring him closer to me.

His lips were the closest to heaven I suspected I’d ever get, and I could feel his stubble brushing against my face. The hand on my hip pulled me closer, and for a moment, we broke apart and took sharp inhales. Our eyes caught each other, and we couldn’t keep ourselves from staring and trying to catch our breaths.

“Tywin…”

“(Y/N)…”

Both of his hands came to my face now, and he simply looked at me. I wished, in that moment more than ever, that I could know what he was thinking. But he smiled at me, truly smiled, and that told me all I needed to know. I smiled too, of course, and let my eyes close as he leaned back in and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to my lips.

“Tywin I never thought you’d- you’d feel the same,” I whispered, thinking about all the times I reprimanded myself after wanting to hold him or kiss him.

He laughed, and gave me a look that said ‘really?’

“You never thought I’d feel the same? You can imagine how I felt. Most of the time I wondered if you still hated me, I-“

I gave him a look, and he realized how ridiculous he sounded.

“Yes, I apologize. I’m aware I was quite unfair to you,” he said, making me giggle with satisfaction.

“When did you- when did you realize?” He asked after a moment, swallowing anxiously.

“Well, I realized the day we discussed my brother marrying Sansa. My grandmother was prodding me about my relationship with you, and I- well, when I really thought about it I realized she was right. But I’d- I’d had feelings for you long before that. My feelings developed when we went hunting together, but I’d say I fell in love with you the day we went to the smith. You told me you’d cut that man’s tongue out, and you began to pull your sword at those men on the street. You made me- you made me feel safe, you made me feel cared for,” I admitted, trying hard to think about it. He smiled softly and kissed my forehead.

“I’ve had an attraction towards you since you yelled at me in the garden. I needed that, and it was almost like a challenge. I wanted to make you like me, simply so I could prove you wrong, and it piqued my interest. I fell in love with you the day, or rather the night we went hunting. You were asleep, and I had to move you to your blankets. You were so light in my arms, and I gave you another blanket so you wouldn’t be cold. Normally I wouldn’t even have considered something like that,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I smiled and buried my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his torso. Gently, his arms came around me. By the way he was breathing, I could hear him smiling. One of his hands came to pet my hair, and I felt content.

“Tywin, I don’t want anyone else to know. I just want it to be us,” I said softly, lifting my head to look at him. He nodded.

“I was going to suggest the same. I don’t want my children getting involved, nor do I want others to know I have a weak point. It’s safer if we keep it a secret, at least until- well, until our relationship is more defined,” he said, eyes scanning my face.

“How do you mean, more defined?” I asked curiously. He seemed awkward as he tried to figure out a response.

“When you said there was only man you’d ever marry, who were you referencing?” He asked suddenly. I hadn’t even remembered saying that, but as I thought back, it hit me. It had been him I was referencing, of course.

When I looked up at him with a nervous face, he only smiled.

“You mean we’d only tell people if we were to get married?”

“Ideally, yes. Of course, relationships are much different than friendships, but I hope that eventually… well, it would just be smartest to do it then, should we be compatible and willing to marry each other,” he said, taking my hands in his. I thought I must’ve been dreaming. Perhaps Robb Stark’s best wishes had been fulfilled.

“O-Of course. And I’ve- I’ve truthfully never been in any sort of, well, committed relationship. So I was hoping you’d be patient, and perhaps more understanding,” I said nervously. He gave a small chuckle and kissed my forehead.

“Of course, my dear.”

That was new. Though, I rather liked it if I was honest.

When he pulled back, a question seemed to be on the tip of his tongue. I raised an eyebrow, motioning for him to ask it.

“What is the most you’ve ever done with a man? I don’t mind, I’d just like to know what I should be more… gentle with,” he said softly, giving my hand a squeeze.

“With a man?” I teased, watching a bit of shock settle into his face.

“Have you been with other women?”

“Not sexually, I’ve never been with anyone sexually. But I’ve kissed them once or twice, and perhaps I can see why men like it so much,” I admitted, gauging his reaction. I wondered if he might get upset. For a moment, he almost looked jealous.

“You’ve truly kissed other women?” He asked again. I nodded.

“I’ve told you before, Tywin, there’s nothing wrong with it. In the grand scheme of things, who cares? We live such short lives compared to all of history, why does it matter what we decide to do? The gods made our bodies beautiful for a reason, they gave us pleasure for a reason. If the gods cared so much, they wouldn’t have made us this way,” I said, cupping his face.

“You know, I’m surprised nobody has given you the title of bladed tongue yet. By all accounts you must be the most persuasive woman in all seven kingdoms,” he muttered, putting his hand on top of mine and kissing my palm.

“Thank you. And if it makes you feel better, Tywin, I prefer kissing you to anyone else. You’re the first person I’ve ever truly longed to kiss. Among other things,” I said, muttering the end to myself. If he noticed, it wasn’t obvious.

“Then kiss me again,” he said softly, gazing at my lips. I merely smiled and reached for his collar, pulling him toward me and doing as he’d suggested. He was so warm, and the feeling of butterflies in my stomach was still there. It was made even worse when his hands met my hips, his fingers gripping there and pulling me closer to him.

He broke away suddenly and inhaled, looking away.

“You blow on the fire inside of me, (Y/N). You make me need you,” he whispered, bringing his eyes back and gazing down at me. There were a lot of things I could’ve said, but I decided on this:

“Good. I want you to need me.”

As I said it, it was almost as if I saw lust sparking in his eyes, and it made me smile. I placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, and then began to walk out. When I reached the door, I turned and found him still standing there, looking at me in awe.

“I’ll see you soon, Tywin.”

“Of course, my dear.”

I smiled again and left the room, unable to keep myself from laughing when I’d shut the door behind me. I was positively giddy and over the moon with what had just happened. In fact, so much so, that I wouldn’t even remember why I’d gone to see him until the next time I spoke with my grandmother.

I did not want Walder Frey’s son to die, but in some cruel way, the thought of Tywin killing a man just so he could have me to himself was attractive, and dare I say even erotic.

I wanted to feel worse about the whole thing, but I simply couldn’t. I was Tywin’s now, just as he was mine. From that moment on, the two of us wouldn’t let a single thing stand between us. We loved each other, let the fearsome consequences come.

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul @nothing2113

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws

#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #tywin x reader #tywin imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #house lannister #first kiss #😁🫶#a lion in the garden

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oonajaeadira · 8 months

Text

State of the WIP Address

Hohkay. My show is finally open, so there's some days back in my pocket starting next week.

Truth that I haven't written a word this week, but here's what I did accomplish fic-wise:

read some stuff I liked

dreamed up a moment in the Oberyn/Ellaria fic I need to use

formulated another trope for year of tropes thanks to @grogusmum and it includes a new character for me....y'all, the superhero's coming into the mix

thought a LOT about Max

finally made a decision on LOYW: Winter...and it's not a nice one. sorry, y'all, but kinda gonna put them through it a bit. it's gonna be okay ultimately, but there might be a death in the family...

realized what my hitch was with PATS and am nervous to start him back up and a little excited too.

Completed this week:

nothing substantial, but a whole lot of planning

In the queue:

sex pollen trope w/Oberyn and Ellaria

Pats

Sequel to Light Only Shows You Where The Shadows Are

Leave off Your Wandering pt 4: Winter

Alpha!Javi G

LMR Chapter 14

#state of the wip address

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pedge-page · 3 days

Note

Hi, as it’s pride ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

I’m asking folks how do you think the different Pedro boys would react if they accidentally got caught up in a Pride March?

Pedro tax below

Joel would be like "Ah I'm conveniently wearing my 'I love my lesbian daughter' shirt and would be so proud as Ellie just holds his hand and kind of wants to not walk with him because he's so embarrassing about it.

Dieter would steal someone's flag and wave it harder and be chased down the street.

Frankie would be there in support of Benny who he thinks is closeted but doesn't want to call him out, who also runs into Benny Santi and Will who are there for Frankie because they think he's closeted and don't want to call him out. So they walk together in support of one another without necessarily addressing it to the others.

Javi G wearing pride speedos because he just looks so good, waving and smiling and shouting gleefully.

Javi P is very nonchalant and just walks with his hands in his pockets. (He's actually really hyped inside but doesn't want to show it)

Oberyn strips off his mustard robe to reveal a pride robe and swishes it everywhere!

#pride month #pride #pedro pascal

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thekawaiifruitworld · 8 months

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Tiny Oberyn has joined the Pocket Team! :D

#pocket pedro #pocket oberyn #pocket team #GoT #fanart #digital art

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morallyinept · 3 months

Text

Shoot: GQ Spain September 2017 & GQ Mexico November 2017 Issues (Same Interview I believe, correct me if I'm wrong)

Photographer: Giampaolo Sgura

Interviewer: Maria Contreras

Grooming: Not Confirmed

Full interview, behind the scenes, outtakes & shoot photographs below. 👇🏻

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

• Cover shot and original images used in the magazines.

Video Translation: "Hi, I'm Pedro Pascal. Here doing a photo shoot for GQ Spain... He's very shy, but very talented. And, well, I hope you like the photos, and I had a great time doing it. GQ Spain. She dressed me... all very shy. There it goes!"

Full Interview Translated

First ‘Game of Thrones’, then 'Narcos’ and now glory. We spoke with the Chilean actor about succeeding at 40, his 'little brother’ Miguel Ángel Silvestre, and his non-existent training routine.

The actor has arrived at the London studio hosting this shooting from Seattle, where he has just shot an indie film, and as soon as the interview is over he will fly to Los Angeles on his way to San Diego Comic-Con. An intense schedule for an actor who, until just four years ago, considered that appearing in a chapter of 'Nikita’ or 'Law and Order’ was like a winning lottery ticket.

Seasoned in theater and television, Pascal had developed “the professional ability to survive. I have been going to castings since I was 20 years old, and I had begun to assume that maybe my dream was not viable and to consider that making a living from acting, even anonymously, could also be considered a success. Also, in New York I was sheltered by my sister and my friends, whom I could always count on when I ran out of money. But then 'Game of Thrones’ came along and everything changed for me.”

His brief appearance in Westeros as Prince Oberyn finally caused him to leave the ranks of the eternal aspiring stars. His popularity has only strengthened with 'Narcos’, of which the third season premieres on September 1 on Netflix. Without Escobar, and without Murphy, the plot now centers on the Cali cartel: “It’s a different empire that has more money, more power, more control and more discipline, so it will be much more difficult for my character to dismantle it, because they have their hands in everyone’s pockets."

The Spanish Miguel Ángel Silvestre, Javier Cámara and Tristán Ulloa have joined the cast, and to say that they have got on well with Pascal would be an understatement. “Miguel Ángel in particular is like my little brother. We met in the United States a long time ago and became instant friends."

However, getting famous around 40 also has its advantages, for example, you think more about squandering your salary on sport-cars and yachts. “I can’t afford yachts. Yes, I have bought a car, but it’s a Mini Cooper, so it’s not terribly extravagant. I’m already very used to my habits, and I think that’s the luxury; experiencing a certain level of exposure when you’re older, you’ve already become the person you are and there are certain things that it’s too late to change. A nice new thing about not being under financial pressure is that I can do things for the people I care about. I know it makes me sound noble, but what I like most in the world is being in a position to help someone."

In these troubled times, there are many people that Pascal believes must be helped. When he was a few months old, his family left Santiago in Chile to escape the Pinochet regime. They received asylum in Denmark and later moved to the US, where Pedro and his three siblings grew up as gringos, first in Texas and later in California.

Today, the political climate in his adopted country literally robs him of any dreams. “We are living in a terrifying time. I have no idea what the future holds, I just know that at every opportunity I will stand up for what I think is right. And that includes the fucking fabulous diversity in North America."

Every successful actor knows which role changed their lives, and Pedro Pascal’s was the scene stealer of the fourth season of 'Game of Thrones’. His bloody death by the hands of The Mountain has been burned into our memory, for sure. (Trivia: the actor who plays the huge Lannister bully had been chosen as the third strongest man in the world in a championship shortly before filming that fight.) Several actors on the series have admitted that they read scripts with apprehension, but Pascal knew from the first audition that Oberyn Martell would die in that season.

What he didn’t know was how - he learned that his brains would end up on the ground almost in passing. "I was talking to the showrunners and in a very casual way they told me, 'we'll have to send you to London to do a cast of your head.’ And I was like 'and why my head?’ And they said 'because we're going to have to gouge out your eyes and smash your skull in...' And I said, 'so, this is how I die? You sick bastards!" He remembers between laughter.

Another experience that he will never forget was the filming in 2014 of the video clip 'Fire Meets Gasoline’, by Sia, in which he starred alongside Heidi Klum, including a bed scene. "What was it like? It was good. It was really good (laughs). To put it mildly, she has been a popular figure in my life over the years, so just seeing me in my underwear and running around with her was very surreal."

As if all of the above were not enough, very soon Pedro Pascal will also look at us from the bus stops in the new Solo Loewe fragrance campaign, a collaboration that has only rekindled his attachment to Spain. “I have a tremendously romantic relationship with Spain. My grandfather’s family was Basque, my grandmother was born in Majorca, and I studied there as a young man one summer and immediately felt at home. So having the opportunity to collaborate with such a creative and stylish Spanish team has been really special. I have to figure it out how to move there once and for all."

Perhaps a shoot will facilitate the transfer. Pascal is a great admirer of Spanish cinema, but with Almodóvar’s he has a personal connection. “My parents took me to see 'Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown’ at the only art-house cinema in Orange County, and I no longer stopped going. I lost my mother 17 years ago, and the way in which she identified with Almodóvar’s characters means that his cinema has always played a very emotional role in my life."

At 42 years old, another of his pending subjects is to find a trainer who will help him. "Discipline with sport has always been very difficult for me. You know what pisses me off? The asshole of Miguel Ángel Silvestre, who is physically like a superhero. Sometimes I would kill him, but I also want him to teach me to follow a routine."

Are you asking Silvestre from here to become your personal trainer?

"Exactly. What’s more, I’m going to call him as soon as we finish talking."

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal interview #pedro pascal magazine #pedro pascal shoot #pedro pascal photo shoot #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 8 months

Text

SandStorm (DarkAemond x Oc/Reader!)

(Cool devider credits!!:) @) dingusfreakhxrrington

🔷Summary: You are Elna/Reader Martell and before you marry you go on a vacation to the land that always held a close space to your heart: The Six Kingdoms. You become the captive of Aemond Targaryen.

WORDCOUNT: 3275

🔷Author's note: This was a request, this is my first time writing any Dornish oc, I tried making her a bit as Oberyn (Curious to the world, bold) but also still her own character. I hope the anon who requested her liked her, I tried making her not a total push-over as in some of my fics.

🔷Warnings: Arranged marriages, Dead, gore, bodies, slight dub-con, no smut, kidnapping, hostage taking, and slight judgement against Dornish characters (One innkeeper thinks shes a thief) oh and eating rat-meat.

Your whole life has been about living in Sunspear, the castle in Dorne. Living a sheltered life, away from the dangers of the six Kingdoms, away from the doom, the dragons and the death that Targaryens inflicted upon their subjects.

You were a spectator from afar, unbothered with the politics of any kind, both from Dorne and outside.

Until your father, Prince Quoren Martell, planned to marry you off. And that is where your story starts.

—--

Your fingers absently play with the sigil ring of your house, as you pull the cloak a bit further over your dark, dornish locks, covering up as a shiver runs down your spine.

Your sworn shield, Oryn, walks a few paces behind you, keeping a close eye on both you and the market stalls you pass.

You run from stall to stall, taking in the wares of the sellers, throwing golden coins at their tables before whisking away necklaces, rings, to you foreign foods and other souvenirs that will hopefully fill the hole left in your soul. A hole caused by the one you loved so dearly, your father.

You never disrespected his wishes, never tried anything too dangerous, but now he is planning to sell you to a Spice lord or someone in Essos, in return for a fleet. According to your mother, it is the fate of any woman to eventually be sold to the highest bidder. You spit on that idea, and on the men.

You put a new gold with orange necklace in your pocket, eagerly looking for your next target when Oryn approaches you. He too, is disguised but certainly still armed with his trusty sword. ‘’My lady, surely you have purchased enough? Most of these necklaces are too overpriced for their value. The gemstones are coloured glass.’’ It is true, any fool would tell you the same. The gold is painted iron, if not copper, and the gemstones are glass and fragile. You have been dressing in the finest silks and jewelry for years by now. You would recognize a fraud if it was in front of you.

Your lips slowly creep into a smile.‘’I quite like the way the glass shimmers, pretending to be a gemstone. I have experience with that.’’ You tell him, with a wink.

You walk to another stand, taking a piece of meat on a stick from a vendor, before paying them. You scrape it loose from the stick with your teeth, and it's the best meat you ever tasted. ‘’Oryn, you have to try this.’’ You tell your shield as he does his best to hide his clear disgust, staring at his feet.

You put the stick on the table and leave the vendor, looking for your next target.

Oryn stutters, a bit distraught. ‘’That is rat, my lady.’’

You pretend to not care about that one bit.

‘’Really? We have been missing out, then.’’ A cry from above makes both your heads turn, and a gigantic monstrous creature with wings as tall as trees flies over the town, casting a shadow over the vendors, blocking out the sun for a mere moment.

Your heart stops beating for just one brief moment as you take in the majestic creature, soaring high above the skies, not a care in the world.

A dragon.

Your eyes widen at the sight. Oryn tackles you to the ground, protecting you with his body, from the dangerous dragon. ‘’My lady!’’ The dragon does not even notice you both, nor does its rider. The only ones who do notice you are the confused vendors and civilians. They already were suspicious of your strange golden coins, but now they are even more hostile. You get up from the dirty floors, feeling your scraped knees. Oryn mutters an apology as the dragon makes its way to the castle, without attacking anyone or anything.

‘’A thousand apologies, my lady. I thought for sure…’’ You curse, certain that most of the glass jars and trinkets you bought are now just useless shards in your bag. You throw the glass shards out of your bag.

Yet you understand why Oryn took the risk that he took. ‘’I understand. It does seem we made ourselves even more suspicious. My legs are tired, I think it is best we try to find a place to sit and to have a quick drink.’’

—-

Moments later, you are sitting in a strange but cozy room, with stone walls decorated with wood, paintings and tables that are still dirty from previous customers. The owner of the inn paid no attention to you, scowling the entire time as he took in your Dornish features, but accepted your money anyway. He is now polishing the same glass a dozen times over, when keeping a close eye on you and on Oryn.

Oryn comes back to your shared table with a large plate filled with potatoes, chicken and something that smells familiar. ‘’Rat!’’ You grin from ear to ear, when taking his plate. Oryn watches in disgust as you devour the meat on your plate, before beginning to eat your vegetables as well. Oryn has a plate of his own filled with mostly meat as well, which he devours too.

There is something about King’s Landing that you enjoy. Perhaps the simplicity of it all. You never felt more at home, so far away from home. The people of King’s Landing are interesting, unique folks with each a story to tell. You would pay a good coin to live here forever.

But your sworn shield has a bit more trouble adjusting himself. ‘’This is the capital. What do you think, Oryn?’’ You ask.

He thinks for a moment.‘’It smells.’’ He grumpily comments.

You roll your eyes, impaling another potato with your fork. ‘’Yes, but aside from that?’’

He sighs, deeply, looking around him in paranoia, failing to see the beauty you see. ‘’I don’t know, my lady. My gut tells me it was a bad idea to come here. My gut is never wrong.’’

‘’You’re just hungry.’’ You tell him with a smirk. You bring your cup of ale to his, cheering. ‘’We should celebrate our last trip together, before I become some lord’s property.’’

Yet Oryn has always been very protective of you. ‘’I still think this is a horrible idea. These people are at war with one another. They spill their own blood for a throne.’’He makes his voice soft.

You did hear about the civil war. There was a vendor at the square who sells silver-haired pillows and dolls to set on fire, pillows who are supposed to resemble ‘’Rhaenyra the cruel’’.

‘’Does that not intrigue you? Come on, where is your sense for adventure?’’ Part of you is joking. Another part is deadly serious.

‘’I lost that sense around the same time you were born.’’ He is jesting you can tell. He grabs your arms. ‘’Stay here. Don’t go with anyone, don’t tell anyone your real name. I need to piss.’’ He lets go of your arms, leaving you in the tavern.

When you are alone, you can’t shake the fears that quickly take a hold of you. Fears about your future in Essos. Fears of bedding a strange much older man, having his children and never seeing Sunspear or Dorne again. Never playing with your siblings in the watergardens, never running from palace guards or feeling sand under your feet. A single tear rolls down your left cheek, reminding you of a simple truth: You are homesick, and soon you won’t even be welcome there anymore.

Before you briefly sigh, lost in wonder. What you wouldn’t give to be a dragon, flying far away from this place and to nest somewhere warm, close to home, protecting your loved ones. A man turns around, smiling at you. He speaks, exposing his rotten teeth. ‘’Excuse me, Miss. You seem not from here. I was wondering if you liked for me to show you around the city a bit?’’ You force yourself to smile. The man has dark hair and grins. ‘’I can bring you to a dragon. For a price.’’ You raise an eyebrow at him, not sure. You sigh, moving tables and show him your well stuffed wallet. He nods before opening his mouth.

The man takes you with him to the streets of King’s landing, far away from the tavern and the inn you were staying in. You see many dangerous cloaked types of all sorts of work, assassins and brothelworkers alike. The man chuckles at your discomfort. ‘’This way, my lady. I’ll bring you to a dragon.’’ The man tells you, keeping his voice steady when you begin to question if it wasn’t a bad idea to follow a strange man claiming to have a dragon.

You stand still in front of an abandoned building somewhere close to what seems to be an orphanage. You regret not asking Oryn with you, he must be worried sick.

He gestures to the brown, wooden worn down door. ‘’The dragon is in there.’’ He tells you.

You toss him a golden coin before nodding to the building. ‘’You go first, then.’’

The man laughs at you, before nodding and entering the building. You follow after, curiously looking around for any dragons. The building is too small to host the big one that flew over, but surely they got a dragon somewhere? You hope so.

After looking around and the minutes and the rats pass you by, you begin to understand you made a grave mistake by trusting this stranger. Who knows what he wants from you? There are no dragons, for certain.

You run back to the door, but the man is faster. He grabs you by your arm, dragging you with him when you scream for help.

The man becomes annoyed with you, even hitting you to silence you across your face. ‘’Shut it, Dornish slut.’’ He warns you.

Chains are brought out and put around your hands, chaining you as some sort of animal. A door opens and a person makes themselves known by simply speaking. ‘’Gentle with her.’’ He speaks firm and clear, commanding the man. You chuckle in your head. Of course, this man was a ratcatcher. And you were his rat.

You briefly struggle in the chains as you are brought to the man, who remains where he is, not moving a inch as you are dragged over the moldy wood.‘’Who are you?’’ You demand, your voice unbowed, unbent, and unbroken.

He ignores you. He wears what seems to be castle forged armor, the pretty kind with golden details. But from where you stand you can’t see any of it. ‘’Put her on her knees.’’ He tells his pet.

The peasant obeys, forcing you to kneel before the man. You glare, infuriated by his treatment of you. Your scoff in disgust, refusing to beg or to cry for this pathetic man that would chain you up, instead of facing you with courage. The man nods to the peasant, hinting he may go now. The peasant leaves instantly. The man steps a bit closer, yet you can’t still make out his face, only hear his hypnotic voice. ‘’That is much better, now we can speak properly.’’ He says, as if you are long lost friends.

You take insult to that, and spit at his feet. He chuckles, not even slightly offended. ‘’O, Dornish temperament. I like it. I had a horse from Dorne, you know? I never liked the animal.’’ You don’t know why he is telling you of this, or why you are even here.

You grit your teeth. ‘’You would hate animals. Who are you?’’ He kicks against something, and you notice someone else laying face down next to you.

You see a familiar sword, drenched in blood followed by a familiar head, cut from his body. Fresh tears burn in your eyes as you can’t believe what you are seeing right in front of you.

‘’Oryn!’’ You cry out, trying to reach him. To your surprise, your attacker does not stop you, only watches as you shake the body of your sworn shield, and your friend. ‘’How is that possible? Oryn, wake up!’’ You beg, in tears as a little girl.

His scars and injuries betray he was severely tortured before, likely until he died. He died, protecting you. ‘’He is as dead as a doornail.’’ The man comments, not giving a fuck.

Whatever grief there is, is turned into rage before you can blink your eyes. ‘’You animal!’’ You vow revenge on him, in that very moment.

He chuckles, pulling the chain so you can’t move an inch. ‘’A-ah, Princess. I would most certainly advise against hurting me.’’ You are thankful for the lack of candles and daylight, because you are certain if he saw your face he would get suspicious. You tell yourself he doesn’t know. But he tortured Oryn. There is a chance he knows who you are.

He steps closer to you and you can finally make out the sharp long face that stares back at you, covered by a single eyepatch. But his hair is what terrifies you even more. Long, silver locks. ‘’You’re a Targaryen.’’ You stutter, as a foolish girl.

He grits his teeth, insulted. ‘’I’m insulted you don’t know who I am.’’ You huff at his boldness and rashness. How are you supposed to know who he is? Their names are as complicated as their lovely messed up family tree.

You raise a brow in rebellion, challenging him. ‘’Should I?’’

He makes a low, scoffing bow.

‘’Prince Aemond Targaryen.’’ You try to remember who that is, but you can’t really recall. He must not be a very famous or important Targaryen.

You blink, unfazed and unimpressed. ‘’Who?’’

Aemond scowls, offended once more and even deeper than the other time. ‘’Never even mind. I’m the brother of King Aegon.’’ You do know of Aegon. He sits on the throne. Well, one half of it. The other half is ruled by his sister, Rhaenyra.

You were interested in the war before but now that you are so close to it, you want to run. The Targaryen has other plans.

‘’You are far from home, little Dornish butterfly.’’ He murmurs, lifting your chin with his fingers. You notice there is blood on his fingers. ‘’Your daddy must miss you so dearly.’’ His voice is full of mockery and condescension. ‘’Little Princess.’’ He adds with a whisper in your ear, sending shivers down your spine when his hot breath runs down as fire on your collarbone.

You gulp, as it becomes clear he certainly knows who you are. ‘’You have me mistaken for another.’’ You lie, smoothly. You lie dozens of times. "I'm a poor orphan, nothing special about me."

Aemond simply walks back to the walls, before bringing forward a portrait. The portrait was commissioned on your latest nameday, and was done extraordinarily well. As if you looked into a mirror.

’Do I, Princess Elna of house Martell?’’He asks, pouting slightly, victory written in his good eye and a proud smirk on his lips.

You want to punch that man. You open your mouth, ready to tell him one horrible lie after the other.

But he doesn't let you talk. Not anymore. ‘’You can spare us both the energy: My men informed me the moment you were here when you set foot on shore.’’ they knew. All the time they knew you were here. They were likely waiting for an opportunity and took it.

And now, you are the prisoner of a Targaryen. The thing your ancestors fought so hard to avoid. ‘’What do you want with me?’’ You refuse to whimper or to let fear affect your voice. But your heart almost beats so loud he can hear it.

Prince Aemond Targaryen shrugs, putting the portrait away again. ‘’As luck would have it, I happen to be unmarried. I heard you were very unhappy in your arranged match.’’ He knows a lot about you, that information is very fresh.

You blink, smiling. ‘’Did you torture it out of my friend?’’ That must be it. He tortured your friend and shield and that is how he knows.

He sighs, as if he regrets something before shaking his head. ‘’No. He didn’t slip a word, not even when I had his eyeballs squeezed out. My compliments to whoever hired him. He was a lovely loyal man.’’

Your left eye twitches and you try once again to attack him. Aemond simply steps out of your reach, laughing when you try to hurt him with tears of rage and frustration rolling down both your cheeks. ‘’I will kill you for that.’’ You promise him. You vow it to him in the honor of your house.

Aemond scoffs, as if you are a harmless little kitten he found in a gutter somewhere. ‘’Oh, dear. I don’t think you are in the position to make any threats.’’ You hear a clear warning there. There is a line with him and you better not cross it.

He adds with a soft whisper, brushing your cheeks with his mouth when he finds your ear.

‘’In fact, it looks awfully bleak for you." You have the horrible feeling he might do something unspeakable.

‘’I lack a wife.’’ He speaks, taking your breasts in, and smiling as if picturing himself deep inside of you. Your mind forms incorrect and disturbing images.

You feel as if you are naked. You pretend to feel fine. Unbroken. ‘’I imagine that you do.’’ You sweetly smile.

He ignores your jab. ‘’You lack a husband. It is quite the simple sum.’’ To males it always is.

The answer leaves your mouth before you can think of the true consequences. ‘’I'd rather die. You want a whore, go buy one.’’

Aemond moves his mouth from your ears to your neck slowly nibbling on it when biting harder, just enough to make you whimper. He grins satisfied with the sounds. ‘’Hm. And witty too. I will have my work cut out for me, when I marry you.’’ You huff, confused as to why you liked what he did with you.

You can't believe you are playing this card but you must. ‘’You can’t, I’m betrothed to some spice lord, remember?’’

Aemond Targaryen changes from man to monster in front of you and chuckles, scoffing at your stupidity. ‘’You think I give a fuck about promises?’’ He is right. The pact might as well not exist to Aegon’s kingdom, if anything they would be happy to thwart to avoid giving Dorne more power.

You look away, at a loss for words at the first time in your life. He grabs you by the throat, roughly before smirking deeply and disturbed. His eyes are empty and you see no humanity or kindness or any human emotions. ‘’You are still very naive, for a girl your age. Don’t worry. I’ll teach you soon enough.’’ You feel an unpleasant warmth spread between your legs as your mind begins to think of double meanings of learning how to be less naive.

But your heart bleeds for Oryn. You know you can't become Aemond’s wife for dozens of reasons. It will be a war.

‘’What do you even hope to accomplish by marrying me?’’ You ask and you are terrified for the answer. You see the bloodlust and greed in his eye, brought out by your question.

Aemond answers, softly pecking you on your left cheek, causing you to blush deeply. He grins when moving his fingers over your face, caressing you gently. ‘’Why, conquering Dorne, of course.’’��

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