#「 ♛ 」 » interactions . / ━━ ⸢ sigilsongs⸥ˊ.

[myrc3lla]

@sigilsins / @sigilsongs asked: in a hallway, near a party. myrcella and edmyn

the   lady,   once   princess,   attended   the   gathering   at   the   king's   request.   her   uncles   were   all   there   as   well   her   father,   though   he   is   surely   somewhere   else   with   the   former   hand   of   the   king   or   with   some   other   mind   elsewhere,   giving   her   yet   another   bastard   sibling.   regardless,   cella   had   found   herself   the   entire   gathering   with   stolen   glances   with   lord   edmyn   tully.   he   had   been   on   her   sight   before   and   his   touch   had   lingered   once   or   twice   and   she   could   not   help   to   notice   how   handsome   of   a   man   he   was,   age   wise   he   might   be   as   her   uncle   jaime   but   one   cannot   avoid   that   water   steel   gaze   when   it   was   on   her.

  it   made   her   feel   a   pool   on   her   belly   and   a   quiver   between   her   legs   and   she   had   been   wise   enough   to   read   to   the   point   to   know   that   this   is   more   than   just   a   young   maiden's   blush.   and   when   she   finds   herself   between   a   wall   and   his   frame   she   can't   help   but   moan   in   a   delighted   quiver   her   cup   now   on   the   ground   forgotten   as   his   lips   had   attached   to   her   mouth   and   his   hand   had,   somehow,   with   expertise,   shifted   some   of   her   silk   away   from   her   shoulders   so   his   hand   sneaked   inside   her   breast   and   let   her   feel   his   touch.  

"my   lord   ⸻   edmyn."   she   whispers   against   his   lips   as   leg   hiked   around   his   waist   and   despite   protest,   her   hands   help   gathering   skirts,   made   of   dornish   silk   and   so   easily   undone.   "anyone   could   see.   or   hear."   myrcella   blushes   at   the   thought   as   she   knows   herself,   and   a   sentiment   makes   her   aware   she   is   not   exactly   a   quiet   one,   specially   when   his   mouth   presses   over   her   pulse   and   his   fingers   tease   her   cunt   and   slip   inside,   causing   myrcella   to   inhale   deeply   and   hum   in   delight,   her   nails   digging   on   his   arms.   "you   make   me   a   wanton   woman."

[myrc3lla]

Myrcella's   breath   hitched   as   Tytos'   lips   brushed   the   corner   of   her   own.   The   storm   around   them   made   their   hiding   place   feel   even   more   dangerous,   as   if   the   rain   and   the   wind   might   wash   away   their   secret   at   any   moment.   Her   eyes   fluttered   shut   as   his   nose   trailed   her   cheek,   her   body   responding   to   the   way   he   pressed   closer,   how   his   fingers   knew   her   so   intimately.   The   fabric   of   her   dress   felt   like   a   flimsy   barrier   between   them.

His   words,   my   queen,   stirred   something   bittersweet   inside   her.   A   lie,   she   knew.   He   could   never   claim   her   as   his   in   truth.   Her   fate   was   sealed   with   duty,   not   desire.   And   yet,   as   his   hand   moved   against   her,   as   his   kisses   left   warmth   along   her   neck,   she   wanted   to   believe—if   only   for   this   fleeting   moment—that   they   could   be   more   than   stolen   touches   and   hidden   meetings.

His   possessiveness   frightened   her,   but   it   also   made   her   feel   wanted   in   a   way   no   suitor   ever   had.   It   was   a   foolish   feeling,   a   reckless   one,   but   it   lingered   in   her   chest,   mingling   with   the   rain   and   the   danger   of   being   discovered.   Myrcella’s   lips   parted   as   his   fingers   pushed   deeper,   and   she   bit   down   on   the   sound   that   tried   to   escape   her   throat.

Despite   the   rational   voice   in   her   mind   telling   her   to   stop,   she   couldn’t   help   but   let   his   name   fall   from   her   lips,   soft   and   breathless.   “Tytos…”   The   storm   around   them   masked   the   sound,   but   in   this   moment,   under   the   cover   of   rain   and   darkness,   it   was   as   though   the   entire   world   had   vanished,   leaving   just   the   two   of   them.

Her   hands   grasped   at   his   shoulders,   nails   digging   into   his   tunic   as   the   intensity   of   his   touch   pushed   her   closer   to   the   edge   of   reason.   She   couldn’t   let   him   know   how   much   she   wanted   this,   how   much   she   wanted   him,   because   wanting   him   meant   losing   something   of   herself—losing   the   perfect   princess   she   was   expected   to   be.

One   hand   craddle   upon   his   cheek   as   if   she   is   holding   herself   when   he   pushes   fingers   inside   her   and   her   head   falls   to   his   shoulder.   "I   need   more."   It's   such   a   simple   request,   for   him   to   add   another,   or   her   mouth,   emerald   eyes   find   his   as   her   hands   move   down   to   his   breeches,   bolden   move   as   her   hand   fondle   the   growing   hardness   between   his   legs.   "I   want   to   touch   you."

"No one will see us, I promise," he replies swiftly, kissing the corner of her lips, "I would never allow it," his  nose  drags  against  her  cheekbone  tenderly,  the  fabric  of  the  Myrcella's  dress  gathering  between  them.  His  eagerness  for  her  is  what  is  driving  his  swift  movements  and  not  because  he  fears  anyone  is  on  his  heels.  It's  all  because  he's  been  yearning  to  feel  her  in  his  arms;  rarely  is  he  preoccupied  with  his  own  pleasure,  but  he  chases  down  Myrcella's  time  and  time  again.  He  bends  his  knee  slightly  to  help  her  leg  remain  aloft,  murmuring  a  soft  and  happy  "thankyou"  as  she  submits  to  his  request.  Tytos'  fingers  are  at  the  top  of  her  smallclothes,  sliding  down  through  soft  golden  hairs  to  dance  against  sensitive  skin,  "and  calling  another  'my  queen'  would  be  a  lie,  and  I  know  you  would  not  have  me  be  a  liar."      As  she  grows  more  slick  under  his  touch,  his  fingers  grow  more  insistent,  the  lightning  flashes  around  them  and  he  smiles  at  how  pretty,  how  fierce,  how  tempting  Myrcella  is.  What  kind  of  madness  could  have  driven  him  to  pursue  her  like  this?  He  cannot  say,  but  he  also  cannot  condemn  it,  nor  himself,  and  never  her.

He's not embarrassed by the way he craves and delights in her touch, a  throaty  sort  of  hum  leaves  his  lips  at  the  way  Myrcella  traipses  her  hands  over  him,  almost  loving  kisses  now  laid  on  her  neck,  her  voice  reaching  just  over  the  sound  of  rainfall  spattering  around  them.  He  risks  only  the  smallest  graze  of  his  teeth  against  her  skin,  Tytos  prays  no  one  will  find  them...  it  is  a  real  fear.  That  doesn't  stop  him,  thumb  gently  stroking  Myrcella's  clit  he  slides  a  single  finger  inside  her  cunt;  even  he  groans  as  he  feels  her  tightness  clench  around  him.  "Oh,  please  do,  you  know  I  love  it  when  you  say  my  name,"  if  anyone  were  to  find  them  like  this,  intertwined  with  his  hand  thrusting  slow  and  firm  between  her  thighs,  they would  never  believe  that  he  hasn't  been  in  her  bed.  Not  that  he  doesn't  dream  one  day  he  will  be,  nonetheless  he  begrudgingly  though  wholly  understands  why.  Tytos  doesn't  want  to  think  about  how  she  will  marry  some  titled  man,  and  how  only  after  their  wedding  night  may  he  have  a  chance  to  be  with  her fully.  Tytos  is  her  protector  and  her  shield  —  and  he  is  her  kin  and  her  lover,  and  those  things  mixed  together  as  he  kisses  her  under  a  Dornish  rainstorm,  only  create  an  unearned  possessiveness  over  her.  He  does  his  best  to  not  let  it  cloud  his  judgement.

[myrc3lla]

Gods,   she   should   not   do   this,   shouldn't   she?   But   the   princess   had   found   herself   drawn,enthralled   almost   by   the   man   before   her.   No   one   dared   to   speak   to   her   like   he   did,   behind   walls   and   on   the   open.   Adored   princess   of   the   Westerlands   and   House   Casterly   and   Lannister,   with   only   a   Baratheon   name   to   make   her   distinct,   he   is   bold   and   forward   and   her   youthful   curiousity   had   won   when   he   had   come   to   her,   and   tell   her   to   do   as   her   body   wanted,   whatever   to   feel   pleasure.   The   shape   of   his   cock   had   been   so   off   against   her   hand   but   the   feeling   forgotten   when   she   first   tested   his   length   against   her   folds,   rubbing,   threatening   to   slip   inside   her   and   she   moans   at   the   feeling,   at   the   image   in   her   mind   that   comes   with   it.  

"Gods."   It's   all   she   can   say   as   he   speaks   obscenities   to   her   and   bites   her   lip   at   the   shred   of   nicknames   he   has   for   her.   "—Only   a   maiden   because   you   do   not   take   me."   And   the   idea   is   so   enticing   to   her   now   as   she   feels   her   hips   rubb   over   him,   the   sound   of   her   wetness   making   the   snice   of   his   cock   go   so   easy   against   her.   "Yes.   I   didn't   know,   I   could   be   like   this.   Almost   shameful,   how   wet   I   feel."   And   she   never   felt   like   this   before,   really.   At   night   she   had   touched   herself   but   it   was   never   this,   skin   to   skin   as   sweat   drips   over   her   breast   and   his   hands   command   her   as   much   as   his   voice.   She   is   biting   on   her   lip   in   turn,   her   hips   reducing   their   movement   as   she   grows   tired   for   a   moment   and   enjoy   the   more   sweet   torture   that   is   moving   like   this   with   him.

  "Do   you   want   to   see   as   you   take   me   too?   To   be   the   first   to   lay   such   a   claim   on   me,   Ser?"   Her   mother   said   most   men   would   love   the   feel   of   a   maiden,   more   than   that,   to   be   the   first   to   take   them,   to   be   the   first   to   make   the   young   woman   feel   full.   Her   hands   hold   to   his   own   for   support   as   she   still   glides   against   him,   and   with   the   slower   pace,   the   threat   of   his   cock   slipping   inside   her,   even   an   inch,   becomes   a   recognizable   one,   as   it   brushes   head   against   her   clit   and   the   princess   cannot   help   but   moan   in   turn.

f/m spicy image prompt, 17A — for @myrc3lla from osmund strong

Osmund  fits  his  hands  on  her  slim  waist,  helping  hold  her  semi-aloft  above  his  body,  feeling  her  legs  quiver  as  she  rubs  his  cock  against  herself,  though  her  hips  moving  somewhat  disjointedly  as  she  chases  sensations,  he  slides  between  her  sensitive,  slick  folds  so  easily.  The  sight  is  enough  alone,  causing  his  chest  to  tighten  as  he  meets  her  movements,  moaning  on  exhales  of  breathlessness,  softly  out  of  wariness  of  being  overheard  by  chance.  "Gods,  if  you  could  see  yourself..."  Osmund  trails  into  another  sound  of  pleasure  as  her  fingers  brush  the  head  of  his  cock,  gliding  herself  along  his  length  quicker  and  letting  out  the  most  heavenly  sounds,  "so  fucking  divine,  look  at  you,  Myrcella,  a  sweet  golden  maiden."

He  runs  swords-man  hands  over  her  thighs,  sitting  up  closer  now,  the  roughness  of  his  beard  against  her  neck  as  he  lavishes  her  skin  with  possessive  kisses,  purring  a  teasing  accusation  into  her  ear  as  he  helps  her  rock  back  and  forth:  "It  feels  good,  doesn't  it;  rubbing  that  perfect  cunt  against  me,  making  a  mess  on  my  cock?"  He  tenderly  runs  his  fingers  through  her  hair,  keeping  it  off  her  face  so  she  her  face  isn't  obscured  by  the  yellow  locks, he doesn't want her hiding away.    Osmund's constant, attentive  touches across Myrcella's skin  contrast  to  the  commanding  notes  in  his  tone  as  he  continues,  "Remember  what  I  said,  princess?"  Osmund  prompts of  his  earlier  words,  before  clothes  had  been  stripped  from  their  bodies,  before  he  coaxed  her  atop  him,  —  "I told you to do  whatever  makes  this  heavenly  little  body  of  yours  feel  proper  pleasure,  as  long  as  you  let  me  see  you."

[myrc3lla]

It   was   so   strange   to   feel   rain   after   years   of   being   in   Dorne.   While   no   stranger   to   rains,   due   to   the   heat,   this   was   a   climate   that   she   had   not   seen   before,   not   days   upon   days.   The   coldness   of   the   rain   feels   good   upon   her   face,   softening   the   scar   she   bare   from   the   plot   to   make   her   queen,   the   first   the   failed   and   yet,   she   found   that   men   did   not   shy   from   her.   If   anything,   it   had   brought   new   ones   to   her   shores   that   had   less   than   good   intentions.   Tytos   is   a   cousin   and   his   touch   should   not   exite   her   as   it   does,   when   it's   forbidden   for   she   should   marry   a   prince   or   anyone   else   but   he   already   touched   her   once   and   now,   with   the   bush   of   flowers   and   vines   and   rain   covering   them,   he   feels   the   weight   of   his   hand   on   soaked   dress.   "I   have   many   pretty   dresses,   I   do   not   mind   the   rain   ruin   them."   But   he   is   already   touching   her   before   she   can   complain   or   say   anything   and   lips   are   upon   lips   and   all   she   can   do   is   to   follow   dominating   touch.

  "Tytos."   His   name   a   warning,   or   a   prayer   but   he   is   bundling   her   skirts   away   from   her   body   and   she   feels   the   coldness   despite   the   warmth   that   rises   with   his   touch,   a   gasp   escaping   as   his   hand   touches   between   her   legs.   There   is   wetness   there   too   but   not   from   the   rain   and   she   is   still   almost   ashamed   of   how   easy   it   was   to   excite   her.   Arianne   had   called   it   a   maiden's   charm,   how   simple   touch   could   make   one   grow   excited   and   she   finds   it   to   be   right.   "Someone   might   see   us."   Myrcella   speaks   in   turn   but   her   body   obeys   command   as   legs   open   for   him,   one   raised   to   find   settlement   on   the   side   of   his   waist.  

"Calling   me   queen   could   be   treason."   But   was   that   not   why   they   met   in   the   first   place?   This   second   time,   Cella   was   not   in   the   clouds   when   whispers   of   trying   to   crown   her   again   came   around,   just   as   her   cousin   came   to   meet   her.   Her   hands   wipe   hair   off   his   face   before   they   find   soaked   shirt   and   let   fingers   trail   over   shape   of   muscle   she   can   see.   "What   would   I   say   then?   If   they   find   me   here,   with   your   hand   between   my   legs?"   Cella   does   not   move   though,   simply   allows   her   body   to   slot   his   fingers   with   ease   and   finds   herself   warm   at   his   expert   touch.   "Should   I   just   cry   out   your   name?"

ns.fw gif prompt, 30 MF — from ( @myrc3lla ) from myrcella baratheon to tytos hill

The thunder rolls and lightning splits dark, tropical storm clouds... it's  a  weather  system  that  has  been  brewing  for  days,  and  now  it's  arrived  and  the  air  even  feels  heavier.  His  intention  was  to  reach  her  before  the  rain  came,  but  with  a  crashing  boom  the  downpour  begins  and  the  expansive,  massive  gardens  are  saturated  nearly  instantaneously.  Tytos  spies  his  cousin,  his  queen,  half  soaked  and  face  upturned  to  the  cooling  rains  under  the  archway  that  is  covered  by  a  clinging,  flowering  vine.  He  darts  through  the  puddles  forming  on  the  ground  and  slots  himself  behind  her,  a  hand  openly  splaying  across  her  waist  and  around  her  stomach,  rain-soaked  fabric  clings  to  her  delicate  curves,  Tytos'  mouth  lowering  to  her  ear;  "Didn't  I  warn  you  the  rain  was  coming  soon?"  He's  far  more  brazen  now  with  his  attention  and  attraction  towards  her;  not  technically  reckless,  but  bold.  She  turns  in  his  arms,  droplets  of  rain  on  both  of  their  faces  and,  between  their  bodies,  his  hand  moves  downwards  the  curve  of  her  stomach  and  presses  his  hand  at  the  apex  of  her  thighs,  "now  you've  ruined  your  lovely  dress,  my  queen."

The moment Myrcella's lips part, in either words or a gasp, Tytos grasps  her  face  in  his  hand and  steals  her  lips  in  a  domineering  kiss. There's always a harshness in the way he adores her,  it's  been  days  since  circumstances have allowed them to be... close  —  and  the desire  has  bubbled  inside  him  each  passing  moment  in  her  presence.  "I've  missed  you,"  he  hums  roughly  against  her  lips  as  the  thunder  all-but  drowns  out  the  words.  She  has  an  effect  on  him,  an  evident  effect:  whenever  there  is  a  moment  away  from  prying  eyes,  all  his  restraint  leaves  him within moments.  Sliding  his  tongue  against  hers  he  pulls  at  Myrcella's  skirts,  bunching  them  and  lifting  them  higher  and  higher between their bodies  so  his  hand  can  find  bare  skin, and the sweetness between her legs.   "Open  your  legs  for  me,  Cella,"  Tytos  implores, there is no doubt how intensely,  intensely,  intoxicated  he is at  having  Myrcella  back  in  his  arms,  "I  want  to  take  care  of  my  queen."