#Dorn x lessing

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

Why do you think the tides have slightly turned from "Elia deserves better than Rhaegar" to shipping her and Rhaegar together? Like what is the psychology behind these people because I've seen some of them like/reblog anti Rhaegar posts while also shipping Rhaegar x Elia at the same time.

hey anon! my thoughts are a bit messy, but i’ve done my best to explain them coherently :)

so, rhaegar was the best man anyone could have when elia was alive, and most people want the best for their favs. he was considered the most handsome, didn’t have a bad personality, and he was crown prince—meaning elia was almost queen, which is often seen as the greatest role a woman can have. the narrative also treats rhaegar as a beautiful, tragic, haunting figure, and elia actually had this very aesthetically pleasing man all to herself at one point! she was married to him, had children with him, and her life was so close to perfect! but rhaegar just had to go and ruin it. 😠

for many elia stans, if rhaegar hadn’t fallen in love with another woman (they want him to have been a completely different character), then everything would’ve been perfect, and elia would’ve had the best, most desirable life. however, that’s not what happened—elia met a very tragic end, and as a result, these stans feel double the bitterness. because of this bitterness, they blame rhaegar for everything (even though it’s not logical to do so), but he’s just too ‘perfect’ to let go of. so, for years these stans have made rhaegar revolve around elia, filling his tag with posts about her out of bitterness. so, i do believe that this obsession with rhaegar x elia has always been there, but i think it’s become a more favorable stance on the elia stan side of the fandom because of a mix of reasons.

plus, rhaegar is one of the few canon relationships we know elia had, since she’s not much of a character. because of this, and the fact that most people don’t like to stray too far from canon, most elia stans are forced to focus on rhaegar, which has created an echo chamber. basically, if a sentiment about elia and rhaegar’s relationship becomes popular, then the whole elia stan side of the fandom will likely regurgitate the sentiment. (also, this desire to stick close to canon is likely why the elia x arthur ship was so popular. while it’s a total crack ship, it had good aesthetics, and since elia and arthur at least knew each other, it allowed the stans to create their perfect fanfiction whilst sticking it to rhaegar. but remember, elia was actually married to rhaegar and had children with him, so while arthur is cool, rhaegar was always ‘top dog,’ meaning arthur would never be able to match up to rhaegar to most elia stans. also, the arthur x elia crack ship is likely her second most popular ship, which just shows how little elia stans have to work with, so they’re always forced to eventually return back to rhaegar for a lot of things.)

however, even if the elia x rhaegar ship gains more popularity, these stans will never stop hating rhaegar because he wasn’t ‘perfect’—and he wasn’t perfect because he didn’t love elia. plus, rhaegar loving another woman and supposedly kidnapping her is what began the war that led to elia’s tragic death. that’s bitterness times 1000. and while i don’t actually blame rhaegar for the war, i do think that this is how an elia stan sees it. i also don’t view rhaegar’s complex relationship with elia as a bad thing—it’s actually a very realistic take on an arranged marriage between two decent people. but most elia stans will never be able to get over the fact that they almost had everything, which is why many have it out for lyanna, as they consider her a thief who ruined their ‘perfection.’

tbh, that might be why so many elia stans are so obsessed with the idea that rhaegar only got with lyanna because of the prophecy—they don’t want to believe that rhaegar actually loved a different woman and not their perfect self insert elia. that’s a bit mean of me… but i don’t know what else one would call the ‘elia’ elia stans have created.

now that i’ve laid all those thoughts out, i’ll try to explain why the tides seem to be turning… i think it may have something to do with the ‘targaryens are all evil and bad’ sentiment losing popularity. i think this shift has occurred due to a mix of factors, such as years of fandom fights and fandom cycles leading to the targs being more liked now than before. it helps that canon doesn’t actually condemn the targs/favors them quite a bit, and the influx of new targ fans from HOTD has also contributed. this combination of reasons seems to have shifted the way the mainstream fandom discusses all the targaryen characters, including rhaegar. so, with this shift, it’s only natural that some elia stans/elia x rhaegar shippers—who’ve always been there—are using this opportunity to push their agenda. while these stans still hate rhaegar and see him as the bad guy, they just can’t let go of him. and as the mainstream fandom moves away from the anti targaryen sentiment, these smaller corners of the fandom, which tend to be echo chambers, are also affected, which has therefore led to a rise in rhaegar x elia shippers and the ‘shifting tide’ that you’ve also noticed.

[aemondsbabe]

The Gods and Everyone

summary: you and aemond sorely overestimate how much time you have before a small council meeting, which leaves the two of you in quite a scandalous predicament

pairing: aemond targaryen x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, cockwarming, public sex, slight breeding kink, fingering, aemond being an absolute menace, dirty talk, aegon being a little shit but what else is new, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 5.6k

a/n: based on an anon request for cockwarming! i hope you're still with me and that you enjoy this, friend! sorry it took me so long to get to it!

creds to @bbygirl-aemond for the gif!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

You watch, concerned, as your husband flits around the Small Council chamber, your eyes following his lithe form as he checks and re-checks the parchment with notes he had written for himself earlier that morning – you’d awoken in the pale hour just before sunrise to see him already hunched over the small desk in your chambers, scribbling away furiously with a quill, his pale hair glowing in the dim light of the candle next to him. All of your attempts to lure him back into bed with you had fallen on deaf ears. 

“You know you needn't do all this,” you point out, perched against the Small Council table, your eyes tracking him as he paces back and forth across the space, going over his notes for the upteenth time, “Your only job is to be on time like everyone else, husband.”

“Things will improve with time,” he rushes out, fixing you with a pointed look, “Hardly two moons have passed since Viserys…” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, “The least I can do is ease this transition for Aegon and mother.”

“My love, it is a transition for us all,” you soothe, striding to him and gently taking his hand. His fingers, rough from all his years of training with swords and spears, instantly wrap around your own as he lets out a tired sigh, “You included. Aegon named you Master of War, not master of everything.” 

“I know,” Aemond murmurs, eye softening as his gaze traces over you, “I find it hard to be still when there is so much chaos – Dorne has yet to be subdued and there are whispers of rebellion from the North. There is so much still to be accounted for.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, your fingers threading through his long, silvery hair, lips quirking into a smile as the gesture makes his eye flutter closed for a second. “But all this stress cannot be good for you, husband,” you sigh, gazing up at him with a mournful smile, “You need rest and calm and…and I need you.” You nearly whisper, blush creeping across your cheeks as Aemond’s eye darkens. 

“Sweetling—“ He starts with a sigh. 

“Aemond, please,” you cut him off, wrapping your arms around his trim waist as you lay your head against his chest, his heart thumping in your ear, “I cannot bear to hear another excuse, I feel as if you have been away for weeks.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, wrapping his long, lean arms tightly around you as he rests his chin on your head, your breaths the only sound in the stony chamber. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, smoothing a hand up and down your back, “I miss you too, my sweet girl.” 

You hum, leaning further into his embrace after going without it for so long, “You haven’t touched me in weeks.” You say quietly, his touch already igniting a spark in the pit of your stomach. 

“Perhaps tonight,” his breath is warm against the top of your head as he speaks into your hair, “I will try to cut my meeting with–”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” you cut him off once more with a sigh, pulling back to look up at him, “I can’t take anymore, my love, I need to feel you.” You whine, nearly petulant like a spoiled child. If it were any other time, if you were any less desperate, you’d be embarrassed at your behavior. Right now, though, you could not find it within yourself to care as you stared into your husband’s darkened eye, finally feeling the passion you had gone so many weeks without. 

Aemond chuckles as he looks down at you, conflicted between feeling pleased to see you reduced to such a state while also feeling a similar fire in his own belly. “Sweetling, the meeting–”

“Is not due to start for at least another hour!” You interrupt, determined to persuade him to this. Taking you in various parts of the Keep was not new to him, both of you had plenty of memories from your courtship and first year of marriage of rutting together in all sorts of nooks and crannies of the old castle. 

Aemond gazes at you for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face, though his eye remains dark with desire. After a second, he nods to himself almost imperceptibly, seeming to come to some decision you weren’t privy to. Finally, finally his lips descend upon yours as he sweeps you into an all-consuming kiss, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulls you to him, groaning lowly in his throat as he licks into your mouth. You shiver in his grasp, finally tasting him properly after so long as you whimper and whine into his mouth.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you finally part from him, mewling as he immediately trails kisses down your jaw, “What–”

“Seems I can never deny you for very long, sweetling,” he huffs, halfway laughing as he guides you over to the large table, pulling you up by the waist until you’re sitting on the cool stone table, your legs bracketing his trim waist, “I’ve missed you too, my love.” He confesses, sweeping a lock of hair from your shoulder before trailing kisses up across your neck and jaw, one hand already desperately pulling up the bottom of your gown.

You huff out small moans and whimpers, relishing his warm touch. His nimble fingers finally manage to undo the knot at the front of your smallclothes and he tugs them down quickly, leaving you bare for him under your skirts as they fall to a pile on the floor just beside his chair at the table. 

“Husband,” you pant, tugging at the drawstrings at the top of his trousers, “Please, please do not make me beg today, I–” Your train of thought is cut off as a moan, louder than it should be given the location, tears itself from your throat when you feel his long fingers ghost over your center.

“Shh, darling,” Aemond grins as he feels your arousal immediately coat his fingers, a pleased hum emanating from deep in his chest as he feels it already coating the insides of your thighs as well, “I don’t have the patience to restrain myself today, sweet one,” he mutters, watching your face carefully as he spreads your folds and teases your entrance with a finger before carefully sliding it in, groaning with satisfaction at the feel of your walls already tightly clamping down on it, “Nor the time.” He adds with a slight smirk, pale hair cascading like a curtain down his shoulders as he leans his forehead against yours. 

“Oh, Gods,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut as your hands white knuckle the dark leather of his tunic, too uncoordinated with lust to manage the ties on his pants, “M-My love, more please!” You whisper, angling your hips to try and catch another of his fingers. 

You hear him chuckle above you before he pulls his finger from you, smirking as you whine pitifully at the loss. Before you have a chance to protest, he quickly undoes his trousers, not bothering to pull them down at all and opting to merely loosen the laces at the front enough to free his cock. Your eyes widen as you watch his hand stroke over his length momentarily, taking in the way it already throbs in his grasp, the head flushed and leaking from merely having you in his hands once more.

“Ready, sweetling?” He asks, gently tilting your chin up as he captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his other hand positioning his length at your entrance. 

You part from him and nod eagerly, widening your legs and angling your hips, “I’ve been ready for you for weeks, Aemond.” 

He smiles softly, pressing one more kiss against your neck before finally pressing into you, growling as he sinks into your slick heat. “Seven,” he grunts, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other slinks down to grab at your hip, “You feel better every time, sweetling.”

You moan hotly against his shoulder, sinking your teeth into the thick leather of the shoulder of his tunic in an attempt to quiet yourself. Your eyes squeeze shut at the feel of him sliding into you, filling you to the brim perfectly. You’ve been without him for so long that he feels enormous, your walls aching as he stretches you out, pressing in and in until he’s finally seated fully within you. 

Without another word, Aemond started thrusting into you, slow at first but quickly picking up the pace with every firm roll of his hips into you. After only a moment, he’s already grunting like a madman into your ear, holding you to him even as you cling tightly to his shoulders yourself, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist. 

You feel a fire building in your belly at a breakneck pace as he ruts into you, the hand on your hip no doubt leaving fingerprint bruises across your skin, even through the fabric of your gown. If the low groans from your husband are any indication, he isn’t doing much better. He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you into a desperate kiss, teeth and tongues clashing together frantically as if the two of you are trying to fall into each other, to become one. 

“My love, I—,” he pants against your lips, jerking your head back by the grip he has on your locks. His eye meets yours, the light lilac almost entirely eclipsed by his pupil as he stares at you hungrily, “It’s been so long, I don’t know how long I can last.” 

His breath is warm as it fans over your lips and you nod dazedly, zings of pleasure radiating up your spine from Aemond’s grip in your hair only adding to the warmth quickly threatening to overtake you. “It’s okay,” you swallow thickly, eyes already rolling back with pleasure, “I can’t either.” 

Nodding in return, he picks up the pace, the head of his cock rutting against the most sensitive spot within you hard enough to make you see stars. He hasn’t even needed to tease your pearl and you’re already nearly unraveling as Aemond mumbles nearly incoherent praises, the hand on your hip traveling lower, nearly cupping your ass. 

Just as you’re about to warn him of your inevitable release, muffled voices sound from behind the thick wooden doors that lead into the Small Council chambers. Aemond slows within you as both of your heads swivel to the doors — just in time to hear the guards stationed outside begin to tug them open. 

You freeze, eyes widening as the doors open, seemingly in slow motion. Thankfully, your husband moves quickly enough for the both of you, nimbly scooping you into his arms before hastily dropping down into his chair, hurriedly scooching it forward until both of your laps are hidden under the stone surface of the table, before kicking your smallclothes under the table at the last second. 

Your head whips around to face Aemond and you give him a panicked, wide-eyed look just as people start filing into the room, unaware that you’re still being split open by your husband’s length. One hand, still on your hip, tightens, silently commanding you to be still as his lilac eye pleads the same; his other hand is already poised on the table, relaxed against the cool surface as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Yes, yes, we must certainly ask him once he’s back in King’s Landing,” Lord Tyland’s voice fills the chamber as he walks in, engaged in a conversation about something or other with Lord Corlys, the two sharing a laugh before finally taking notice of you and Aemond, “Prince, princess.” Tyland bows his head at the two of you with Corlys following soon after. 

You sit frozen atop your husband, gazing blankly at the two men without a word. Thankfully, Aemond has the presence of mind to bow his head politely, though he stays quiet. As they walk further into the room, you can only see Tyland and Corlys from the corner of your eye but you don’t miss the odd look they share, silently asking each other why you were present and certainly why you were sitting on Aemond’s lap. Blood rushes to your head so quickly you feel lightheaded, your cheeks stinging as a harsh blush quickly appears on your face from their attention. 

Maester Orwyle files through the doorway next, doing a double take at you and Aemond before bowing his head, a gesture that you thankfully remember to return this time as you stiffly nod your head. Thankfully, the older man simply takes a seat at his place at the table without any comment, though you can hear the two other men speaking quietly in the corner of the room, throwing glances your way as they do. 

Your walls tighten around Aemond’s length as the rest of you tenses up when Larys creeps in, leaning against his cane as he moves; Aemond thighs tense underneath you as you hear him suck in a breath, only slightly more hasty than normal — the hand in your hip tightens, warning you to keep it together. 

“Prince Aemond, princess,” Larys nods as he approaches the table, “To what do we owe the pleasure of such… intriguing company?” He questions, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes ever so slightly, his eyes bouncing between you and Aemond. 

Your head spins as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself to respond, to say anything, to appear somehow normal. Yet, nothing comes out as your center throbs uselessly around Aemond, your head cloudy with need as your eyes stare ahead blankly, though registering just enough to pick up on the small smirk playing at the corners of Larys’s lips. 

“My wife appears to have taken ill this morning,” Aemond drawls from over your shoulder while affectionately petting your waist, a gesture entirely for show, a lie to placate the men in the room, but it comforts you nonetheless. He clears his throat before continuing, the only tell thus far that your warmth around him is affecting him at all, “My presence brings her great comfort, I see no reason why she should be without it.” 

“I see,” Larys hums in response, his dark eyes sweeping over your form, sparkling ominously as if he knows the truth, “What shame, let us hope the Gods grant you reprieve from this…illness soon, princess.” 

“Yes!” You finally squeak, snapping back to attention as Aemond just barely squeezes your side, “Yes, let’s hope so. Thank you, Lord Larys.” You breathe, managing a smile small. 

You shift on your husband’s lap and immediately you know you’ve made a mistake as the head of his cock prods directly into that overly sensitive patch within you, nearly making you topple over on the spot as a small groan escapes you. Blessedly, you have enough presence of mind to cover it up with a cough, sparks jolting down your back as Aemond presses a soft kiss to your cheek, one of his hands coming up to rub soothing circles against the back of your shoulder. 

“There, there, sweetling,” he says softly, again, entirely for show as you put on your best performance, “Once the meeting is over, we will have the servants make some tea for you, that will help with that cough.” Even if it was for show, you couldn’t help but shiver at Aemond’s low voice, at how he’s being so soft and caring with you. That, combined with the incessant prodding to your sweet spot, has you throbbing around him, your heart hammering in your chest. You can hear Aemond suck in another barely there gasp behind you, a groan low enough to remain silent rumbling against your back while at the same time his hand almost imperceptibly twitches on the table; his composure makes you feel all the more lightheaded, blushing somehow deeper at the fact that he’s taking you apart this easily without so much as moving a muscle. Your thighs trembled atop his lap, the insides already sticky with your arousal as you struggled to stay still, silently thanking the Gods that at least your laps were hidden. 

“I’m sorry,” Corlys began, striding over from his spot in the corner with a sheepish look, “I really feel I must speak up, this is really most unusual.” He finishes through an awkward laugh, Tyland following closely behind him as they saddle up to the table. 

“What is most unusual?” Alicent asks, entering the Small Council chambers with Otto, followed closely after by Aegon and Ser Criston. Her eyes sweep over the room, pausing when she sees you, though she quickly corrects herself with a soft smile. “Ah, my dear,” she nods hello to the various men in the room before sitting at the table, “May I ask why your wife joins us, Aemond?” She peers at him curiously, throwing a nervous glance at Aegon who is smirking far too much for her liking as he slinks up to the table. 

“It seems the princess has fallen ill, your grace,” Larys answers quickly, slyly smiling as he turns to face the dowager queen, “Prince Aemond insisted she stay so that she may be…comforted.” You quickly look away from him as his eyes meet yours once again, piercing through you as though he can see directly through your gown. 

“Yes, which is most odd,” Tyland butted in, throwing glances between you, Aemond, Alicent, and Aegon, “She is not a member of the council, she should not be present. Surely there is some way the princess could be comforted that does not involve being privy to government matters.”

Aemond stays silent behind you, glaring daggers at Aegon over your shoulder, watching carefully as he traipses over to the table and stands at its head, his eyes never straying from his brother’s as they stare one another down. The other members, some reluctantly, take their places at the table as well, each of them standing so long as Aegon does, though you and Aemond remain seated; your eyes never stray from the marbled surface of the table.

“Aemond, please,” Otto sighs from his place next to you, “The least you and the princess could do is stand for–”

“I see him everyday,” Aegon interjects, breaking eye contact with your husband as he rolls his eyes, “I don’t give a shit if the fool stands.”

Your eyes dart up at that, shocked that Aegon isn’t taking the chance to thoroughly humiliate Aemond by putting him on the spot. The king’s violet eyes meet yours, sparkling with a mischief that makes your center flutter around your husband’s length – Aegon’s smirk grows as if he knows exactly what just happened. A thin sheen of sweat makes you feel clammy as Aemond’s cock twitches inside of you, pushing him against your sweet spot all the more. 

“Very well,” Alicent swiftly cuts in, determined to keep the peace, “Shall we get st–”

“Are we really going to allow for the presence of–” Corlys starts, only to be viciously cut off.

“She stays,” Aegon says flatly, shooting a bored look at the man, “If anyone has an issue with the princess’s presence they may take their leave.” His violet eyes pass over the room, almost daring anyone to move. Everyone remains still, though you can feel Tyland and Corlys glaring at the side of your head, and after a moment, Aegon takes his seat followed by everyone else; blessedly, the meeting finally begins. 

The Small Council meeting drones on and on, with various conversations of coin and ships, concerns abroad in Essos, and other diplomatic matters that mean nothing to you. In the back of your mind, you know it’s hardly been any time at all but it feels like an eternity has passed with Aemond’s hard length still piercing into you, twitching against your pulsing walls every so often. A part of you wonders if he does it on purpose, gives you just enough stimulation to cruelly tease you before going stock still once more. 

The small, unnoticeable to everyone but you, hitches of his breath tell you otherwise and deep down, you know he’s just as affected as you, no doubt steadily leaking into you, though you dare not consider the thought for very long. 

“Aemond,” your breath catches in your throat as Otto directs his attention to your husband, everyone else's gaze quickly following, “Any further communications from Dorne?”

Behind you, your husband clears his throat and you feel him shift beneath you, sitting up slightly straighter in his seat, both hands now clasping your waist to keep you steady on top of him. “Negotiations with the Dornish remain stagnant,” he begins as you practically wilt on his lap, the added attention from the council members making the knot in your belly tighten in a way you shudder to consider, “We received a raven from Prince Qoren some days ago rejecting any dealings with the crown, no matter the amount of coin we have to offer.” He finishes, pointedly looking at Tyland, who proceeds to butt in.

As soon as the attention shifts off of the two of you, it’s like the air around Aemond changes, becoming charged all of a sudden as you feel his chest heave against your back. At the other end of the table, Tyland begins to raise his voice, debating hotly with Corlys and Otto, drawing the attention of everyone else to them. 

“Do you think you can be still?” Aemond whispers, his breath hot against your ear although his voice is barely audible even to you. He must sense you freeze on his lap as the hand on your hip begins to move slowly, dragging your skirts up your legs until his hand can slip underneath them, making you tremble as he grips the soft skin of your thigh, “Tighten around my cock if you can be still.”

Against your better judgment, you do as he says, tensing as you clench your walls around him; his only reply is a low growl against your back. He stays still for a moment, trying with all of his might to appear as if he’s taking great interest in the ongoing argument taking place. 

Finally, once he’s positive everyone is too preoccupied arguing over coin to pay attention to either of you, his deft fingers slip through your folds before finally twirling against your aching pearl. 

You have to bite harshly at the inside of your cheek to keep quiet, trying to keep your breathing steady as you focus on not moving even though you so badly want to rut your hips against his fingers as they rub against you. 

Aemond swallows thickly behind you as he slowly circles his fingers, careful to keep his pace light and steady to not stir up any slick sounds from your wet cunt, though he longs to hear them. 

Your elbows rest against the top of the table, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. The conversation around you seems to shift as Otto begins prattling on about some Tyrell woman finally being with child. Aemond’s fingers suddenly pinch at your sensitive bud and a gasp tumbles past your lips before you can stop it, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“Is everything alright, princess?” Alicent questions from across the table, her dark eyes narrowed with concern. 

You nod quickly, coughing to conceal a moan as you open your mouth to answer her, “Y-Yes, I’m sorry,” you apologize with a weak smile, “I’m just so pleased for the Tyrells, what a j-joyous time this must be for them.” You say quickly, stumbling over the words as your core clenches tightly around your husband’s cock, his small touches driving you steadily to your peak despite the circumstances. 

Alicent gives you a curious look before quickly collecting herself, “Yes, I’m sure the family is quite thankful, children are always such a blessing,” she smiles politely before turning back to her father, “Please, continue.” 

Otto’s voice hardly reaches your ears as he picks up where he left off, though you don’t miss the horribly put out looks you garner from Tyland and Corlys. 

Aemond’s fingers just barely speed up as they swirl over your bud, though the small change is enough to drive you wild and you can feel the way his chest heaves against your back as your walls twitch around his length, threatening to milk his cock dry without him having to move an inch. 

The heat that has slowly been building within you finally begins to bubble over and your husband’s fingers show no signs of stopping as he pushes you closer and closer to your breaking point. The hand of his that has been resting idly on the table top comes over to casually rest against your clenched hands and rubs soothingly up and down your forearm, Aemond’s silent way of telling you he knows you’re close. 

Your eyes flick around the room as you feel your peak threatening to spill over you, frantically checking for any onlookers at the last possible second. You nearly jump out of your skin as your eyes finally land on Aegon, only to find him already staring at you, an amused smirk plastered across his face as he studies you. 

Aemond chooses that exact second to pinch at your pearl again and the small touch is your undoing. Your teeth bite down firmly on your tongue as your walls pulse rhythmically around your husband’s leaking cock, your eyes still locked on Aegon’s violet ones, now darkened with lust. 

Your muscles tense up as you peak helplessly, waves of pleasure lighting up every nerve ending within you. Somehow, you find it within yourself to remain quiet and still on Aemond’s lap as your eyes finally flick away from his older brother’s and you gaze, apparently absentmindedly, at some point on the wall on the opposite side of the room as your high subsides. 

Thankfully, Aemond takes pity on you and slips his hand away, his wet fingers resting gently in your bare thigh, still underneath your gown. 

You slowly come down from your high as the Small Council winds down, Aegon and Otto quickly discussing a few final points before the king formally adjourns the meeting. Tyland and Corlys practically bolt from their chairs, quickly bowing before they exit as they mumble between themselves, no doubt about the displeasure of your presence. 

Otto and Maester Orwyle take their leave soon after, each bowing politely. Aegon busies himself at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair as he lazily sips from his wine cup, the gleam in his eyes making you shiver. 

Across the room, Alicent and Larys whisper between themselves. Strangely, your mother-in-law blushes, shaking her head suddenly and mumbling a quiet, “Not here,” before glancing around the room.

Larys merely shrugs, turning to you as he shuffles from the room, “Do get better soon, princess.” He says with a feeble bow, although the look on his face makes you blush heavily. 

At that, Alicent turns to Aegon, “Would you care to come see the children with me?”

“Go on,” he dismisses her before nodding toward you and Aemond, “I wish to have a word with my brother.” He catches your eye with a quick wink. 

“Of course,” Alicent mutters, glancing curiously between the three of you, “I’ll ask the maids to bring some tea to your chambers this evening, princess. They make a wonderful lemon one that always seems to lift my spirits.” She says with a kind smile, coming around to place a comforting hand on your shoulder before she too heads to the door. 

“Thank you!” You breathily call after her, voice squeaking at the end as Aemond shuffles impatiently beneath you, his cock still prodding against your sensitive walls. 

Aegon chuckles darkly as soon as the doors close once more, standing from his chair with a wide smirk. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he taunts, eyes glinting as he looks between you and his brother, “I didn’t think either of you had that much gaul in you.” 

“What exactly are you tittering about now?” Aemond asks lowly behind you, his voice rough and choppy as his patience clearly wears thin. 

Sniggering, Aegon saunters around to stand beside you, violet eyes scanning over your laps still concealed under the table, “You’ve had your cock in her the whole time, have you not?” He teases, laughing harder still as Aemond merely hums in response, “Come brother, you should be proud of yourself,” he clasps a hand over your husband's shoulder, “She was nearly falling apart when she peaked.” He comments with a final wink as he ambles to the door, stopping to throw one last amused look over his shoulder, “You might want to do something about that bite mark on your shoulder.” He says casually before slamming the doors closed behind him. 

At his comment, you whirl around and your eyes grow wide as you spy a clear impression of your teeth marks in the leather of Aemond’s tunic, on his shoulder where you’d bitten down earlier. Your cheeks heat up at the thought of it being there throughout the entire meeting. 

You don’t have long to dwell on the thought though as your husband roughly pushes you from his lap until you’re bent over the table, cheek pressed to the cool stone surface. “Seven!” You sequel as he unceremoniously shoves his cock back inside you, his hips pumping wildly as his hands grasp at your waist harshly, no doubt leaving bruises. 

“Fucking finally,” he grunts, eyeing the way his cock disappears into your slick heat as he bunches your gown up over your ass, “‘M not gonna last.” He warns lowly, already panting with the speed of his thrusts. 

Your head spins once again as his cock moves within you, his pace nearly bruising. Your teeth sink into the skin of your forearm as you desperately try to keep quiet, another peak already welling up within you. 

Aemond growls and quickly threads the fingers of one hand through your hair, making you whine loudly as he pulls your head back until his chest is once again pressed against you, his other hand coming to rub against your abused pearl once more. 

“Aemond!” You moan, shaking your head in his grasp, one hand braced against the table as the other grabs at his forearm, feeling his muscles twitch as his fingers swirl against your center, “P-Please, I cannot keep myself quiet, I know I can’t—“ You start babbling. 

“Let them fucking hear,” he growls, eye squeezing shut as he feels his stones tightening up, “The whole keep can listen for all I fucking care, I won’t be stopping this time.” 

Your eyes roll back in your head at his words, never having heard him sound this possessed and overcome with pleasure before. After only a few more thrusts, you feel your walls twitch once more, a loud gasp rattling through your chest, “H-Husband, I’m—!”

“That’s it,” Aemond groans, redoubling his efforts against your pearl as he continues to rut into you at a nearly inhuman pace. “Peak, sweetling,” he commands, his voice low and raspy in your ear, “Peak while I breed your precious cunt.” 

His words nearly take your breath away and you whine loudly as another high washes over you, your walls milking your husband’s cock as they clench and pulse against it. 

Behind you, Aemond groans lowly, grunting as his cock twitches strongly inside you, his thick seed flooding into your heat as he finally, finally peaks, the pleasure of it making him dizzy as he leans against your back, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. 

The two of you are quiet for a moment, your tired pants the only sounds in the chambers. Finally, Aemond untangles his fingers from your hair, both of his hands coming to rest against the cool table as he finally pulls his cock from your center, soothing you with soft shushes when you whine, the emptiness in your core such a foreign feeling after being filled for so long. 

He sinks into his chair once more and pulls you with him, wrapping a protective arm around your waist as you rest your head on his shoulder. Once your breathing is steady, you pick your head up, a displeased groan tumbling from your throat as you see your bite mark more clearly up close, a finger coming up to trace over the intents in the black leather. 

“I’ll need to send this to the seamstress for repairs,” you whisper with an apologetic sigh, “I believe this is beyond my ability to fix.” 

Aemond chuckles beneath you, lilac eye gleaming with pride as he clasps a hand over yours as it still rests on his shoulder, “Don’t trouble yourself with it, my love.” 

“What?” You question, smiling despite the way you tilt your head in confusion, “Aemond, I cannot fix it myself and I’m afraid the mark will not simply go away—,” 

“You misunderstand me, sweetling,” he says, smiling as he looks down at you, “I intend to keep it as a mark of great pride. I shall wear it as a trophy for all to see.” He explains with a teasing laugh. 

You playfully smack a hand against his chest, which only makes him laugh harder, “You can’t be serious!” You admonish with a wide smile.

“Why? I simply wish to remember this day,” he chuckles, “The day I made my sweet wife peak in front of the Gods and everyone.” 

“Aemond!” You cannot help the surprised laugh that leaves you, “You’re as disgusting as your brother!”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @demirunner @eponaartemisa @trshngyn

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[entitled-fangirl]

Staying warm.

Jace Velaryon x Dornish wife!reader

SMUT

Summary: the reader is feeling homesick, the sunlight in Dragonstone doing nothing compared to the kind she had in Dorne. Jace notices her chill and yearns to warm her.

Warnings: p in v, fingering, light breast play, overstimulation

A/n: my homegirl @princessvelaryon helped me come up with the dragon part!! You should follow her, she's fantastic🤭

Masterlist

....................................

Jace's heart dropped when he walked into their shared chambers to see his wife gone. 

She was adventurous, that much was true. But usually when leaving like this, he would be the first to know. 

It was quite unusual indeed. 

The worry was both relieved and heightened at the sight of her riding boots. If she wasn't out riding…?

He ran from their chambers and down the corridor, almost tripping down the multitude of stairs as he did so. Jace was not a runner per se, but he made quick work of getting down to his mother's solar. No doubt would she know of something.

He threw open the door, not waiting for the guards nor being polite. 

Rhaenyra gasped, then relaxed. "Gods, Jace."

"Have you seen my wife?" He urgently panted.

The Queen raised a brow at the sight of her boy almost sweating. 

"She told me just this morning that she'd be there until I fetch her for the afternoon. And she's gone."

Rhaenyra tilted her head with an almost smirk. "Have you looked for her beyond your room?"

"I-" Jace paused. "No."

His mother held back a playful scoff. "Go look around. I'm sure you'll find her."

"You're not as worried as you should be," he pointed out.

"No. No, I'm not."

Jace kept his disdain inside as he turned to look across Dragonstone.

…

After scanning all of her favorite spots in Dragonstone, Jace was beginning to grow frantic. He resorted to ease his panic by stepping out onto a balcony to catch fresh air. 

Ah. There she was.

He saw his precious wife out in the grass outside of the walls. She laid in the sun with her eyes closed, and he swore she was glowing. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" He yelled out.

He saw her eyes snap open and her body sits up to look over her shoulder at the sound. "WHAT?"

"WHAT ARE Y-" He stopped himself with a laugh and ran back inside to join her. 

She waited patiently for him to walk through the door, but to her surprise, he was running. He ran all the way to her, practically tripping onto the ground next to her. "My sweet wife," he hummed and kissed her deeply. "I was worried."

"Worried?" She pecked at his lips again. "Why?"

He cupped her face with an intense look of admiration, as if memorizing her face. "You weren't in our room when you said you'd be."

"I-" Her eyes widened. "Is it that time already? I've been out here longer than I thought."

He chuckled openly at that. "Very much so." His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "What warranted such a trip outdoors?"

She sighed and turned her head to kiss his palm. "I've been getting less and less sun on the balcony to our chambers. Today, I looked out and… the sun looked so soothing out here in the open. I'm sorry for startling you. I only planned to be here for a few minutes."

"The sun is dangerous in large amounts, my love. Surely we should take you indoors."

She shook her head and kissed his palm again. "In Dorne, I practically lived in the sun."

While to her it was a happy proclamation, it made Jace's heart twist with guilt. "I see." He moved his hand down to pinch her chin. "Do you grow cold here?"

Her smile faltered a bit. She shook her head insistently.

"Love," Jace persisted. He titled his head down a bit and his stare intensified. 

"Maybe a bit," she quietly remarked.

"A bit?" He asked. "I'd say more than a bit. You're out here basking in the sun like a dragon." He chuckled at the thought. "Perhaps you're more dragon than I."

She felt a laugh rise from her throat and she playfully pushed him back, resulting in him resting in the grass.

He sat up and grabbed her hips then laid back down with her next to him. She laid her head on his chest. 

Jace's eyes had to squint to look up at the sky, but she was entirely content. 

"Nice, isn't it?" She hummed.

It wasn't his favorite. "Yes. Yes, it's wonderful," he agreed. "Tell me though how I can help you in the future. More cloaks? The greatest furs and blankets? Why does my best girl wish for?"

She hummed out a no. "Don't do anything on my behalf. I'll be fine."

His hand on her hip squeezed her. "I'll do what I wish. I'm the future king, and if my queen wishes for even the most outlandish thing, I'll grant it to her."

She squirmed, flipping herself onto her stomach to look at him. "What if I wish for nothing?"

"That is the goal, isn't it? To have my wife wish for nothing. But we must work to get to that point, hm? Tell me what you want. What will ease your mind, my love?"

She considers his question. She leans on one elbow to use her free hand to play with his doublet. "When I think of something, you'll be the first to know."

He vowed then and there to figure it out anyway.

…

Jace had stayed true to his vow, making excuses to take her to various places and do various activities to keep her warm.

"I understand your excitement, Jace, but I truly shouldn't-"

"-Nonsense. Vermax has been lonely as of late. You know how much he adores you."

That part was true. Jace sometimes believed that Vermax truly did like the girl more than him.

They entered the dragon pit and she basked in the warmth that radiated through the caves from the dragon fire. Jace tugged on her hand, "C'mon. He'll be waiting."

The dragon neared them with the help of the handlers. Jace nodded in appreciation and approached the large beast like greeting a friend. 

The dragon nuzzled into his hand and gave a purr. 

Y/n stayed behind Jace in waiting for the dragon to notice her presence, and of course, it did. 

Vermax snapped playfully at her and she ignored the dragon's hot breath moving across her skin.

"I think he's ready to stretch his wings for a bit. Think you can handle that?" He grinned and held his hand out to her. 

Once her hand was firmly grasped in his, Jace pulled her to Vermax's side, helping hoist her up onto the dragon's back. She grabbed onto the saddle with an iron grip. 

Jace climbed on quickly and settled behind her. He brought his hands around her hips, feeling a shiver move up her body. "Settled, then?" He purred into her ear.

"Jace," she whispered. She could feel his breath against the back of her neck. The warmth from his body was intoxicating. She blamed it on his dragon-blood.

He let out a breathy chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes."

The dragon was led out of the pit and into the sunlight. It let out a content growl. 

Jace grabbed the reigns.

"Sōvēs!" (Fly)

The dragon's wings stretched out and began to push air down, lifting its legs off the ground. 

She shrieked and held the saddle so tightly her knuckles turned white. She could feel Jace's chest pulse with a laugh. 

Once Vermax evened out in the sky, she relaxed a bit. Her hands still held on but her heart was slightly eased. 

Jace's nose nuzzled at her neck.

"Jace," she tutted. 

He continued his movements with a cheeky grin. "Thought you liked my touch."

"I-I do, but…" She watched one of his hands let go of the reigns and began to run up her thigh. 

"But?" He teased.

She took in a deep breath. "Is this safe?"

He kissed her neck. "Most likely. Hold this."

She mindlessly takes what he asks then realized she was holding the reins in her hands. Vermax seemed to either not notice, or just not care.

Both of her husband's hands were now on her thighs. "This is a bad idea, Jace."

"Shhh. Don't let negative thoughts persuade you." He kissed and nipped at her neck. "Do you like this?"

She leaned against his chest and slowly nodded. 

"Now," Jace tutted. "I'll keep you warm, you lovely girl."

Her eyes closed in comfort and let out a satisfied groan.

"Easy, love. You're steering Vermax."

Her eyes shot open to keep watch.

Jace's hands wandered up her legs and up her stomach, then moved back down. The feeling of his hands on her always caused her to run hot, but this was something else entirely.

His hands never moved further than that, just wandering back and forth over her body. He grinned cheekily each time she shivered or took a sharp breath. 

"Enjoying yourself?"

She nodded absentmindedly. 

"Good." He kissed at her neck again.

…

A few days passed until Jace saw another opportunity to warm her again. 

She sat at the window with a book, halfway keeping Jace company as he slaved over his work.

The second goosebumps erupted on her skin, Jace practically threw his work to the side. 

He stepped to her and kissed her deeply. 

She let out a surprised yelp that Jace all but swallowed down. 

When he pulled away, she hummed. "What was that for?"

He admired the flush that came to her cheeks. "Just caring for you is all."

She laughed and kissed at his cheek. "I want you to do it again."

"Easily done."

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her again, groaning when she began to tug at his doublet. Her fingers pulled at the buttons with earnest.

Jace smiled against her lips and picked her up, walking her to the bed and setting her on to it gently without breaking the kiss. 

Her tongue licked at his bottom lip, and his grin only grew. 

Her hands pulled managed to pull his doublet off and was now pulling his tunic up, her fingers brushing over his stomach. It made Jace gasp. 

He cupped the back of her neck to bring her closer to him, as if that was possible, and let her explore his mouth. 

A low growl sounded from his throat. The feeling of her was all-consuming, warm and soft. 

He pulled away to let her tug his tunic over his head, but as soon as he was free, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He sucked at the skin with a fervor that she was sure would leave marks. 

"You're an awfully convincing man," she giggled. 

He kissed her cheek. "I only aim to please. And I plan to do it well."

She pulled on his hair to tilt his head up at her, and she kissed him again. 

Now his hands began to undress her. He started slowly, but as the kiss progressed, he was getting desperate. Once he got to her shift, he gripped the neckline and tore it all the way down. Any complaint she made was lost in translation against his lips. 

He pulled away to sit up and tug his pants off and join her in the nude. 

She admired the sight of his pretty skin, trailing her eyes down from his chest to enjoy any sliver of skin he presented to her. He was perfect. 

He grinned at the sight of her delight. "So do I?"

She forced her eyes back up to his face. "Do you what?"

His hand moved down to her hip bone, rubbing it soothingly back and forth. His eyes made a sweeping pattern over her entire body. "Please you?"

Her breath hitched. He was consuming her every thought, and she found that she couldn't think of any words to say. 

His hands touched her hips and then moved up her body achingly slow before they rested on her cheeks. She shivered as he did so, the feeling tickling and yet starting a fire in her. "Cold?"

She only whined. 

"Don't worry, love." He pecked her lips. "I plan to warm you the rest of the day and into the morrow."

He brushed some of her hair back from her forehead as his other hand wandered lower to circle her clit lightly. 

She whined again, her hips jerking away out of instinct. 

"Feel the heat rising in your body?" He whispered into her ear. "The warmth that radiates when you get what you want."

"J-Jace-"

His eyes studied her earnestly. "Trust me?"

Breath escaped her. "Yes."

The hand on her clit began to move faster, the heat of her body contrasting with the cold metal of the ring on his finger. His other hand journeyed to her breast, brushing over it with his thumb and enjoying her small noises of content. 

He continued to do so, getting braver with each sweeping pass until he finally circled the nipple and watched her suck in a breath. 

"I- I'm-"

"I know," he tutted lightly.

One hand tugged at his hair, the other moved down his bicep and squeezed, bordering pain for Jace. 

Her backed arched slightly off of the sheets with a moan before slumping back down and panting.

Jace stopped when he noticed she was becoming overstimulated. "Feel good? Feel warm?"

She hummed. 

Jace chuckled. "I don't know if that's good enough for me, beautiful."

His fingers moved down to her slit and slowly pushed a finger in. She soaked him in easily. He cursed under his breath and added a second one with a slight stretch. He eased up when she whined again. His two fingers sunk into her and he began to pull them out, only to repeat the process. It was a slow and steady thrust, getting her properly prepared. 

Her eyes closed in bliss. He let out a breathy chuckle and took her hand with his, making her fingers brush over the other hand that was currently busying itself within her. 

The feeling felt right, and yet, downright sinful. Jace was like an angel that was cursed to the earth for being too perfect. 

There was never fear with him. He was steadfast in his loyalty. It made things like this easy. 

"I need more," she panted. "I want more of you."

"More?" He chuckled.

"Anything you give me, I'll take, Jace. Just pl-" She whined when he spread his fingers. 

"I'll give you all of me, my girl. Just be patient."

Jace pulled his fingers out, admiring the glaze that covered them and using it to ready his cock. He shifted comfortably onto her, alining himself. "You make my blood run quite hot, you know that?"

She giggled and brushed his curls away from his cheek. "And you with mine."

He pushed his hips forward, his jaw dropping in a hearty groan as he watched her body take him. 

…

Jace's words rang true, their bodies both overstimulated and dripping with sweat by the morning.

...........................................

[r0ugesun]

I have a fluff maybe to slight spicy request for Aemond Targaryen if you are interested!

Aemond finally becomes betrothed to princess!reader of a different house (can be any it don’t matter) but has circulation problems so she’s always cold and therefore fretted over making Aemond believe she is spoiled. But upon being proven wrong from maybe bonding over books or hell training, falls in love and carries her to bed when the cold gets to her and her bed is just full of blankets to cuddle in.

(Aemond deserves all the intimacy and cuddles)

Thank you for sending me this request anon and sorry for the delay! Ur right Aemond deserves all the cuddles (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

Synopsis: Princess y/n of House Martell arrives at the wintry Red Keep as Prince Aemond’s betrothed. As y/n’s warmth and intellect begin to break through Aemond’s icy exterior, he finds himself drawn to her. In return, Aemond’s protective embrace provides y/n the warmth she desperately needs.

Aemond x Martell!Reader

Prince Aemond Targaryen’s engagement to Princess y/n of House Martell was a union crafted to solidify political alliances. While their marriage was intended to serve as a strategic move, it was marred by the disparity in their circumstances. Princess y/n, renowned for her exotic beauty and noble grace, suffered from a rare condition that left her perpetually cold. This affliction required constant warmth, a need that Aemond initially perceived as a sign of pampering rather than genuine necessity.

From the moment y/n arrived at the red keep in the middle of a particularly harsh winter, the contrast between them was stark. The grand halls of the castle were adorned with tapestries of fearsome dragons and Targaryen banners, but y/n’s presence was marked by her constant need for warmth. She was swathed in layers of heavy furs, her every movement accompanied by a retinue of attendants. Aemond observed from a distance, noting her delicate appearance and the attentiveness of her servants. His initial impressions were marked by skepticism and a hint of disdain.

Their first meeting was formal, a carefully orchestrated affair. Aemond greeted her with his characteristic stoicism. “Princess y/n” he said, his tone courteous but distant, “I trust your journey was comfortable?”

Y/N offered a polite smile, though her eyes revealed a trace of weariness. “Thank you, Prince Aemond. The journey was long, but I am well. Though I must admit, the cold here is harsher than I expected.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his gaze indifferent. “You are accustomed to much warmer climates in dorne, I’m sure. Adapting to this cold must be challenging.”

Y/n’s voice was steady as she replied, “It is indeed a challenge, but I am here to fulfill my duty. I hope to contribute meaningfully despite the discomfort.”

Aemond's eyes remained cold as he regarded

Y/n. "Your sense of duty is admirable, though I can't help but wonder if you’ll be a hindrance rather than a help."

Y/N’s eyes flashed with sharpness, though her smile remained placid. She titled her head slightly before she spoke.

“I suppose we'll find out soon enough. I’ve faced challenges before. If I can endure the cold, I’m certain I can manage other… inconveniences.”

Aemond’s lips curled slightly in a thin smile, more of a smirk than a genuine expression of amusement. “Mmm. I wonder if your resolve will hold up as well when faced with the less glamorous aspects of life here.”

“Let’s hope” y/n replied smoothly. “It’s one thing to endure the elements, another to contend with a lack of charm.”

Aemond’s gaze sharpened slightly, but his tone remained even. “Charm is not a luxury I indulge in, Princess. I prefer matters of substance.”

Y/n had a smirk of her own now, her expression thoughtful. “Substance is important, but so is the ability to navigate social graces. Otherwise, one might come off as... unlikable.”

Aemond’s expression did not shift. “And you, Princess, are known for your social prowess?”

“I am known for many things, my prince” y/n said with a wry smile.

“Including the ability to keep my composure even when faced with frosty reception—both literal and figurative.”

Aemond’s eyes flickered with a hint of respect, though he quickly masked it with his usual stoicism. “We shall see if your composure extends to the political intricacies of our alliance.”

“I have no doubt it will” y/n replied confidently. “After all, if I can manage to stay warm and navigate through a wintry castle, I believe I can handle the complexities of court politics.”

Aemond regarded her with a piercing look, as if assessing whether her confidence was merely bravado or a genuine asset. “We shall see, indeed.”

Days passed, and the cold of King's Landing seemed even more relentless. Aemond, finding solace in the library's quiet, often retreated there to escape the castle's demands. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the ancient tomes, he entered the library to find an unexpected sight: Y/N, comfortably nestled near the hearth, a thick fur draped over her shoulders, engrossed in a book.

Aemond paused, his usual stoic demeanor faltering for a moment. He approached her with measured steps, his curiosity piqued. "Princess" he greeted, his tone more neutral than before.

Y/blooked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes before she smiled with a hint of apprehension. "Prince Aemond. I didn't expect to see you here."

"The library is a place of comfort for me" he admitted, his gaze drifting over the bookshelves. "I come here often to escape the... noise."

Y/n nodded, her fingers tracing the edges of the book she held. "I think it’s quite peaceful myself. I find the histories of your lineage particularly fascinating."

As Aemond sat across from her, he noticed the title of the book in her hands. "The Histories of Dorne and Aegon the conquerer" he remarked. "An interesting choice."

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with interest. "I was just reading about Aegon’s failed conquest of Dorne. It seems he underestimated the resilience of the Dornish people."

Aemond’s lips twitched into a faint smile. "Aegon was a formidable conqueror, but he came unprepared, the Dornish have always been adept at guerrilla warfare, using the knowledge of their land to their advantage."

Y/n leaned forward slightly, her interest genuine. "Do you think he could have succeeded if he had approached the conquest differently?"

Aemond considered her question, appreciating the depth of her curiosity. "Perhaps. He tried to discredit your ancestors with slanders and rumors when his dragons failed, of course that endeavor proved fruitless as well, if it were me I would’ve hired mercenaries familiar with the terrain and the culture”

Y/n smiled wryly “Wars are not won with bloodshed alone my prince If he had been more willing to negotiate and form alliances rather than relying solely on brute force, he might have had a better chance. The Dornish value our independence highly, we would not bow to mere threats."

Aemond’s gaze softened, clearly intrigued by her insight. “It seems you have a keen grasp of the intricacies of the histories and strategy. I imagine you would have made a formidable advisor.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, but she remained composed. “Thank you, my prince. I’ve always believed that knowledge and perspective are key to navigating both conflict and peace.”

Aemond’s smile widened slightly, a rare gesture that hinted at genuine admiration. “I look forward to hearing more of your perspectives.”

Their debates on the histories of the realm continued, the conversation flowing easily between them. They discussed strategies, historical figures, and the nuances of Dornish culture versus the Targaryen way of conquest. Aemond found himself increasingly drawn to her intellect and passion, her perspectives challenging and enlightening.

As the evening wore on, Aemond realized with a start that he was enjoying her company. Y/n’s confident demeanor were a stark contrast to his initial impressions. He found himself admiring the way she held her own in their debate, unafraid to challenge his views.

As the days turned into weeks, the cold of King's Landing seemed to grow less oppressive for y/n and Aemond, though winter’s bite was still unmistakable. One crisp afternoon, the pair decided to take a stroll through the Kingswood, a vast expanse of trees and tranquility that lay on the outskirts of the city.

Wrapped in their furs, they walked side by side, their conversation flowing as seamlessly as the wind through the trees. They continued their discussion of history. Aemond found himself enthralled by y/n’s insights and the way she animatedly discussed the events of the past.

As they wandered further into the wood, engrossed in their discourse, they lost track of time. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the temperature dropped sharply. Y/n’s delicate frame began to show signs of discomfort, her shivering becoming more pronounced.

Aemond’s keen eyes noticed her struggle first. “Princess, you appear distressed” he said, his voice laced with concern. “We should head back.”

Y/n tried to maintain her composure, but her attempts were faltering. “I’m quite cold” she admitted, her voice trembling. She winced as she took another step, her limp becoming more noticeable. “Perhaps... we should indeed return.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed as he observed her growing discomfort. Without a second thought, he scooped her into his arms with surprising ease. Y/n gasped, both startled and flustered by the sudden, intimate contact. Her cheeks flushed, though it was not entirely from the cold.

Aemond, maintaining a careful hold, began to carry her back through the woods. His stride was steady and purposeful, though he could not ignore the feeling of Y/N nestled close against him. The warmth of her body against his own was both a contrast to the frigid air and a comfort he had not anticipated.

As they neared the castle, Y/N’s embarrassment was palpable. She attempted to speak through her shivering. “M-my prince, you needn’t carry me. I can manage!”

Aemond’s gaze softened as he looked down at her. “You are in no condition to walk, Princess. Allow me to ensure you are safely returned to your chambers.”

Despite her initial resistance, Y/N found herself settling into his embrace, her coldness slowly melting away with each step Aemond took. The castle’s warmth greeted them as they entered, and Aemond carried her up the grand staircase, his movements deliberate and careful.

Upon reaching their chambers, Aemond gently set y/n down on the edge of the large, ornate bed. He took a moment to stoke the fire, ensuring the room was warm and inviting. Y/n watched him with a mixture of gratitude and bashfulness.

“Thank you” she said quietly as he helped her settle under the heavy, embroidered blankets. “I didn’t expect...”

Aemond interrupted her softly, a rare tenderness in his voice. “There is no need to thank me. It is my duty as your future husband to ensure your well being.”

As the fire crackled and the warmth enveloped her, y/n began to relax. Aemond, though maintaining his usual stoicism, could not ignore the growing affection he felt. He seated himself beside her, his presence a comforting shield against the chill.

Y/n looked at him, her eyes reflecting both relief and a newfound closeness. “You’ve been very kind, Aemond. I appreciate it more than you know.”

Aemond nodded, his own emotions subtly shifting. “I am glad to see you more comfortable. It would be remiss of me to let you suffer.”

The fire's glow cast a warm halo around them, and the room was filled with a tender intimacy that seemed to wrap around them like the softest of blankets. Y/n’s eyes met Aemond's, and for a moment, the world outside their secluded chamber fell away. The air was thick with an unspoken yearning, a deep desire that neither could ignore.

Aemond's gaze softened as he took in the sight of her, his usual composure giving way to a rare display of vulnerability. The warmth from the hearth made her cheeks flush, her lips slightly parted in a way that made Aemond's heart ache with a longing he had not anticipated. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch tender and lingering.

As he leaned in, their breaths mingled, warm and intertwined. The kiss that followed was not hurried but slow and filled with a profound tenderness. It was as if Aemond was trying to savor every moment, every sensation of her closeness. His lips moved gently against hers, exploring with a careful, reverent touch. The kiss was a quiet confession of his growing affection, a promise of warmth and devotion.

Y/n felt a delicious shiver of pleasure as he placed his warm hands under her dress and caressing her thighs, melting into his embrace, her cold body finally finding solace in the heat of his touch. Aemond's arms wrapped around her with a desperate kind of need, pulling her closer as if he could absorb her cold and make it his own. His warmth seemed to seep into her, chasing away the chill that had plagued her since her arrival.

With each press of his lips every soft touch under her clothes, Aemond conveyed a yearning that went beyond mere physical desire. It was a yearning for connection, for understanding, for something deeper than the political arrangement that had brought them together. His touch was both possessive and protective, He was a fire that would keep her brittle heart warm.

When they finally parted, their foreheads resting together, Aemond’s eye was filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

Y/n’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “You bring warmth to more than just my body, Aemond. You’re igniting something in me that I never knew I needed.”

Aemonds eye shone with a mix of relief and affection as he looked down at her. “I never thought I’d find comfort like this.”

Aemond’s smile was soft, almost shy, as he brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek as she spoke.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? How something so unexpected can bring such warmth to our lives.”

Y/n nuzzled her nose with his and wrapped her leg over Aemond’s waist, drawing herself closer to him. The closeness of their bodies created an even more intimate cocoon, reinforcing their shared warmth. The contact of her leg against his body was both grounding and tender, a subtle way of expressing her trust and affection.

Aemond’s hold tightened slightly, his eye closing in contentment as he savored the sensation of her closeness. His hand continued its soothing caress, and he rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in a warm, gentle rhythm. “You are my only warmth” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/n’s eyes met his with a tender, knowing look. “And you are mine.” she replied softly, her lips brushing against his in a final, lingering kiss. They were each others warmth and comfort.

[msmorningstaarr]

let me be yours. | part I

ao3 | masterlist | part II >

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x F!Martell!Reader

Word count: 3.1K

Summary: You, a Martell princess who was recently brought into Rhaenyra's courtyard as a sign of goodwill to ensure the unification of the Seven Kingdoms. With time passing on, you feel trapped under the enticing aura of the Dragon Queen and sees yourself desiring her more and more. However, in a delicate situation, is it worth the yearn for your Queen? Would you give in to your needs to have your way with her and find some indulgence?

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), afab reader, bisexual rhaenyra, canon divergence, longing, age gap (you early 20s rhae mid 30s), fingering, masturbation, oral sex, sub/dom dynamics (rhae dom you sub), overstimulation, scissoring, queen rhaenyra targaryen, nipple play, possessive rhaenyra

Ever since you left your homeland to be a ward in King’s Landing, life has become a journey of too many changes and mixed feelings. The sense of homesickness and fear of the unknown was present and huge within your heart.

You were a princess of Dorne, the second in line to inherit Sunspear after your brother. After the rise of Rhaenyra Targaryen as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she successfully united the relations with Dorne and finally brought it into the feud and unifying the realm once and for all. You, after all, were presented at her courtyard as a sign of good will from the Martells and forge a prominent marital alliance between you and the heir to the Iron Throne, Prince Jacaerys, in order to legitimise the coming of the dornish to the courtyard.

You obviously missed the sultry dunes of sand, the sweeteness of Dornish Red, the incandescent sky, with a fiery burning sun crashing your skin and the sense of community amongst your siblings and the freedom your country provided. You felt less lonely in Dorne, for the life in King’s Landing could prove to be challenging under the judgemental and prejudicial nature of the rest of the Westerosi. Some became outraged by your presence, others just spoke in whispers around the corners of the Red Keep, yet, it was undeniable that as soon as you stepped into the city, you became the centre of attention, always remembered by the courtyard for your mysterious peek, luscious, long hair and exquisite beauty or your luxurious sense of fashion. It distanced yourself from the standard beauty of the other ladies in the realm, putting yourself easily as the fairest maiden of your time.

You had no idea if this title came over the fact that you hold a big status as future consort and people wanted to fuss around you or if you were indeed the most beautiful lady in Westeros. However, you knew well that ever since the Queen has met you, she had been enchanted by you and held you in high regard, always complimenting you and your astonishing beauty. Her Grace enjoys calling you by terms of endearment, being “sweet girl” her favourite name for you, showering you with jewellery and plenty of expensive gifts or simply having your company along the day, to have long walks throughout the royal gardens and even show you the Dragonpit became a regular routine when she arranged time between her royal duties. You barely had time to bond with Prince Jacaerys, given the fact you became her loyal companion.

Speaking from the back of your mind, you cared not much, once you found yourself drowning into the alluring beauty of Rhaenyra. The Westerosi average accent for you was dull and ugly on everyone else; on her, it was perfection. Her touch was gentle and her violet eyes were rather attentive, careful of you. You spent your nights having supper with her and her other sons or simply sharing a good conversation. She made you feel less lonely in that castle.

You questioned yourself if what you were feeling was no more than a delusion, a projection over your neediness for attention. But you could swear you caught yourself in a moment with her where your gazes locked on each other and she lightly pinched your chin, getting too close to your face. Queen Rhaenyra was a daydream. You never indulged in kissing or having any romantic interaction with other ladies but Rhaenyra lit a fire within you - a liability only Her Grace could solve.

And now there you were, another night where she requested your company for supper. You wore an orange dress with silky cuts giving a slight volume to the gown, although it was a more simplistic dress, more adequate to the occasion. Her Queensguard announced you at the door and she received you with a polite smile before you gave her a courtesy.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” You speak, bending your body on a polite greeting gesture to Rhaenyra.

“It has been a far cry since we are done with courtesies, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, silently commanding her servants and guards to leave her with you. Her peek examined your features and smiled softly at you.

“It is a costume I would rather not lose, Your Gra-… Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself, remembering she wanted you to address her by her name only, as a sign of how much she enjoyed your presence. She giggled and guided you through her chambers, ever so caring and jolly.

“I should warn you,” Rhaenyra began, walking through her private apartments. “I commanded the cook to prepare you something special.” Her Grace spoke to you, graciously raising her eyebrows and excited, yet contained beam. Your eyes lit up, already knowing what she was talking about.

You sat after her on the small table fetched for the two of you and a set of plates strategically placed for the duo to have dinner. Even before you would open it, you already knew. “The dornish recipe of roasted lamb.”

Rhaenyra grinned and joined her hands once she realised how much you enjoyed the said surprise. “I had the cook searching for this recipe for days, sweet girl. I hope it is of your liking.”

And then, after waiting for Your Grace to start eating, you hummed in satisfaction eating your meal. The spicy flavour exploded in your mouth, invading your taste and drooling your mouth by the slightest of satisfaction. “I take for your expression that you enjoy it a great deal.” Rhaenyra told you, after taking a bite of her own dinner. You nodded eagerly tasting it and had to contain yourself to not lose your composure in front of the Queen.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It tastes delicious, I have missed this.” You reply to her and involuntarily touches her hand, squeezing it delicately. Once you tried to take it away, Rhaenyra held it tighter, forbidding you to take it away and stared at you, silently reassuring you it was acceptable. Her hands entangling on yours was almost electrifying, causing goosebumps on your skin just with a simple touch or an exchange of looks. Her face, however, was tender and calm, with a soft smile whilst looking at you.

Rhaenyra put her hand over the table once again and her fingertips traced patterns over your soft skin. “My pleasure, sweet girl.” She muttered at you and tension was thick in the air. “Do you miss Dorne, my dear?” Rhaenyra asked you and her other hand grasped the cold metal of her cup of wine, taking it to her mouth to drink it, but her gaze never left yours.

You craved her attention, thirsting for more of Rhaenyra. Her presence sparked questions in your mind about her prowess as a lover; with so many sons, it seemed plausible her husbands found her passionate and fulfilling in bed, particularly Daemon. Could she bring that same intensity and allure to you? As Rhaenyra doted on you in your future role as a daughter-in-law, you could not help but ponder how she might express her affection in a more intimate relationship. Her gestures and glances, filled with warmth and intrigue, hinted at depths of passion waiting to be explored. The thought of her as a lover stirred your curiosity and desire, wondering how her charm and grace would translate into romantic moments.

"I do," you replied, your voice tinged with anticipation and full of honesty, grappling with the allure and uncertainty of what lay ahead. Would she meet your expectations, exceed them, or perhaps offer something entirely unexpected? The prospect both thrilled and unsettled you, as you navigated the complex emotions and possibilities that Rhaenyra's presence brought into your life.

“Well, darling, this is your home now. Your Queen will make sure you feel enoughly accommodated in my court,” Rhaenyra replied, breaking the contact between them to cut the tension shortly after it. The Valyrian Queen cuts a piece of her meat and fidget her fingers on her cup, tracing the boards as her eyes rested on your features. You, on the other hand, smiled gently at her words, deeply touched by her kindness towards you. It was not supposed to feel right to yearn for a full desire of Rhaenyra, you had to get rid these ruminations from your mind and replace them with Jacaerys. But how could it ever be possible when she is just in front of you, cornering you to fully focus on you and your relationship with her?

“I should hope you’re preparing your cloak with your ladies-in-waiting.” Your marriage, however, was a sensitive subject. Jacaerys was a dutiful boy and the interactions you had with him were more than pleasant, still, he was not what you were looking for. His long, brown curls had its appeal, but his mother unveiled things she wished she felt for Prince Jace. “I was done with the embroidery yesterday. I can bring it and show you on our next encounter, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra lifted her eyebrows and lowered her eyes, smirking at her food as she ate it, seemingly thinking about something. You laughed, nervously drinking your wine. Your hands felt sweaty and heart beating just as it was about to rip open your chest out. “I would be most glad, sweet girl. Are you nervous about your wedding?”

You nodded, with your eyes sly and cautious while lingering on the Queen and she smiled at you again, on an attempted shared empathy. “I was a little thing like you when I married my first husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, Jace’s father,” Rhaenyra began. “He was not my choice of husband, earnestly.” She giggled and drank a sip of her wine. “But we had a good marriage. Laenor was a good man and provided me with children and good company. We loved each other in our own ways. Jace will treat you well too, sweet girl.”

“Thank you, Your Gr-...” The Queen lifted an eyebrow, reminding you of her request. “Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself again and she mumbled something as ‘much better’. You giggled alongside her as she shook her head in amusement.

“A marriage is just a piece of paper,” Rhaenyra began. “You and Jace will understand you both can perform a duty and still find your happiness.”

Her words sounded suggestive, was the Queen motivating you to commit treason before your marriage? Was Rhaenyra testing you? You raised your eyebrows and Rhaenyra smiled mischievously again, her eyes gazing at you intensely and in quietude. You rummined what was going on within her mind. Rhaenyra's violet eyes held a depth that made you feel seen and understood in ways that no one else ever had. The silence stretched between you, charged with unspoken words and possibilities. Rhaenyra's touch was a lifeline in the vast sea of desires you were feeling. Her thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted to ask her so many things, but the words seemed to fail you in the face of her overwhelming presence.

"Sweet girl," Rhaenyra began softly, her voice a soothing melody, "My first marriage was also born out of duty. I can relate to the worry in your eyes. I want you to know that your happiness means a great deal to me, equally as my son’s. Your marriage to Jacaerys is a duty, yes, but it does not have to be the entirety of your existence."

By this point, you both had finished your plates and no desire for dessert rose for any of you. Rhaenyra had her wine by a window, feeling the cold breeze blow on her face with you by her side. The moonlight casted a silver glow, contrasting with her fair skin and silvery locks. Her words were a lifeline, pulling you from the deep core of your anxiety. The way she looked at you, with such intensity and sincerity, made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

"Rhaenyra, I..." You hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the storm of emotions swirling inside you. She squeezed your hand reassuringly, her eyes never leaving yours. “Are you testing me?”

Rhaenyra stared at you, grinning and confused. “Why would I test you, sweet girl?”

The proximity of her and the warmth of her breath on your skin, was intoxicating. You found yourself leaning closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her nearness was both a comfort and a temptation, stirring feelings within you that you had never dared to acknowledge before.

“Rhaenyra, what are you asking of me?” You finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “I am asking you to trust me, to let me guide you through this. Do you trust me, sweet girl?”

“I trust you.” You simply replied, sighing heavily. You should not desire her this much. However, being this close made you want to touch her, kiss her perfect lips and beg for her to claim you as his. She smiled at you, relieved and her fingertips stroked your hair, pulling it behind your ear. Her scent was a blend of lavender and something uniquely her. You felt the pull towards her, a magnetic force that you couldn't resist. Tentatively, you leaned in, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it.

“Good.” She mumbled against your skin as Rhaenyra came closer. You never had been this close to her before. Her fingers reached your chin, lifting it to bring it closer to her lips, but her kiss was redirected to your cheek, so gently and delicate, yet so intense and slightly lustful. “Will you visit me next evening, my sweet?” Her Grace asked you, whispering words softly and close to your ear. It was a dangerous game you two were engaging in and you knew it well. But what is duty compared to what you are feeling now? You nodded in silence, quietly responding to her question as her hands embraced you slowly, bringing you closer, like a viper defeats its prey.

“I shall leave you to rest now.” You whispered at her, trying not to look into her eyes. Rhaenyra did not deviate her eyes from you, caressing your hair and staying close enough to feel her breath close to your face. “If you excuse me, Your… Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself for a last moment and she giggled briefly to your face and finally let you go.

You were right in front of a windy window and your body was catching fire after having that moment with Rhaenyra. The cold breeze contrasted sharply with the heat that had built up inside you. As you left her chambers, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Making your way back to your quarters, the corridors felt longer, each step echoing with the memory of Rhaenyra’s touch and her whispered words. You couldn’t shake the feeling of her fingers against your skin, the promise and peril in her gaze. It was a heady mix of excitement and apprehension, knowing that you were treading a fine line between duty and desire.

Once in the privacy of your room, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a moment to catch your breath. The room felt different, almost foreign, as if it no longer fit the person you were becoming. You moved to the window, looking out into the night, the stars twinkling like a thousand silent witnesses to the secrets you now held.

You changed your clothing for a simple nightgown and decided it was time for your slumber, laying on the mattress and allowing you to rest. However, your mind recalled the way Rhaenyra was too close to you, the way her hands had touched you, her soothing voice in your ear felt as the prettiest of melodies, made just for you. It was by far, the most erotic encounter you ever had and you found yourself silently begging for more. Her words echoed in your ears, a constant reminder that your happiness was just as important as your duty. Your hands wandered throughout your body, pinching your nipples, squeezing your breasts and closing your eyes to imagine it is her touch on them. Your hand then passed down on your clothed belly and thighs, teasing yourself before actually going all the way to your pleasure. A soft moan left your lips as you played with your nipples, fantasising about Rhaenyra taking over that liability.

When her body was enoughly worked up and her cunt ached, your hand had encountered your centre over the thin fabric of your dress and when you could feel a small trace of wetness staining on the undergarment, you hummed slightly. Your hand was not a regular tool, you tried it a few times only, but her touch was so recent and her scent was well alive in your nostrils, it felt logical for your body to demeanour in that manner, begging to be touched. You moaned lightly when your fingers pressed against your swollen clit, causing your body to shudder under your own touch. You reminded her sweet talk so close to you, how soft her lips were kissing your cheek and your mind screamed, pleading for those lips to kiss your lips, your chest, your cunt…

As you moved your hand south, your fingers circled around your clit in a slow, tortuous motion and caused your body to arch your back, mumbling words of ‘please, Rhaenyra’ , begging to release for her. Alternating between circles and light taps on your sweet spot, you drove yourself to madness, humping your crotch in the air. Traces of sweat fell down your face as heat grew inside your body. Your breathing was quick to become erratic, just as the pace of your hand became more urgent on your sweet spot. Soon enough, your moans were a bit louder and the pleading became more insistent, desperate. When you least expect it, your body convulsed violently, and orgasm hits you, making your legs quiver, spread wider, hips bouncing against nothing and lungs breathing heavily, your entrance clenched around nothing. You never came this strongly before, and all thanks to your Queen. Trying to gain consciousness, you stared at the ceiling, reflecting about what you just did. Not even a single trace of guilt had reached your body and you considered doing it again if your eyes were insistent to be closed and put your body to sleep.

———

a/n: missed writing and hell yeah i got inspired by THAT scene. please consider leaving likes, comments and reblogs. it’s very important for the writer! <3

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody @pet1t3

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 4 ✿:+ Candle Flames

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, -, 5

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: SMUT, MINORS DNI, afab reader, thigh fucking, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of death, mention of arranged marriage, LOTS OF VIOLENCE, blood, implied threat of non-con, 

Word Count: 4738

After you’d spoken to Loras, you’d felt even more alone than before. The talk offered no comfort other than the fact he didn’t want you dead. Sansa was fine company but she was something you felt the strong urge to protect. You put yourself in harm's way constantly just to prevent her from facing any pain.

Specifically one incident when you and her were walking with the Royal Party after watching the Princess sail away to Dorne to be wed off. It was hard to watch the crying girl sail away, especially when you’d been in her very place. 

It was easy to keep your eyes averted to such a sight when The Hound was there to accompany Joffrey. You kept your head low but your eyes stayed on him. You’d still had so many questions about the night you both shared, but now was not the time to ask. 

Later making your way back through the capital city you were sickened by the sights you saw. The Lannisters and Baretheons were supposed to be the wealthiest and most powerful houses. And yet the people of their cities sit in filth and starve. Starving over a war they did not want nor started. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to be even the least bit angry when the crowd began to shout vile things. However you found yourself slightly confused once you heard the words ‘bastard’, ‘incest monster’, and ‘brother-fucker’ being sworn towards the royal party.

However your confusion only occupied your mind for a brief moment before someone within the crowd hurled cow manure at the King's face. You felt a brief sense of enjoyment when you saw it hit his face, but it was soon replaced by fear when the King ordered for the execution of the entire crowd,

“Find the man who did that and bring him to me! Kill them, Kill them all!” The King shouted.

Foolish it was, he’d only a few gold cloaks, some kingsguard, and even less knights. Outnumbered by the hundreds of rioting starving people.

Sandor grabbed hold of Joffrey protecting him.

“What are you doing? I want these people executed!” Joffrey whined loudly

“And they want the same for you!” He shouted back

The city watch was quickly overpowered. And the High Septon that you and the royal party was traveling with was pulled into the crowd. You were horrified to witness him being pulled limb from limb, never seen such a thing in your life.

“Move, Move!” Tyrion shouted at you

As the Kingsgaurd were able to eventually carve somewhat of a path towards the entrance of the Red Keep, Joffrey, Cersei, and Tyrion were all rushed inside quickly. 

Before you could make your way inside you noticed your cousin Sansa being derailed and separated from the rest. 

You grabbed ahold of her quickly and pushed her into a Kingsguard who brought her inside. However once she was in, without seeing you they closed the doors. 

Alone.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

Inside the keep 

“You blind bloody fool!” Tyrion scolded Joffrey’s moronic behavior by hitting and cursing at him. “We’ve had vicious kings, we’ve had idiot kings, but I don’t know if we’ve ever had an idiot king!”

“You’re talking to a King!” Joffrey shouted back like an embarrassed child.

Tyrion raised his hand and slapped him “And now I’ve struck a King, did my hand fall from my wrist?” He shouted back, he turned around and noticed you were not there, “Where is the Arryn girl?” He shouted at the men. 

“Let them have her!” Joffrey retorted 

“If she dies her relatives in the North won't forget it! She’s cared for in the vale and might I remind you she shares blood with the Starks! You need her alive!” He shouted back before frantically calling upon all the king's men to return to save you. 

“Gather your men and find her!” He shouted to Ser Meryn 

“I only take orders from my king, imp.” Meryn responded coldy. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ 

Meanwhile as you attempted to hide in a dark hall, winding up in some kind of stable. You thought for a moment you’d made it there unnoticed and alone. However four men soon walked in behind you as you backed yourself against a wall. Your hand found his way around the handle of a small sharp shovel of some kind. The blade of it was sharp and flat. 

You’d not said a word, you knew if you shouted for them to get back or to fuck off it would be of no use. 

“Look at this little bird's eyes, she’s furious.” One of the men with short hair was mocked. 

“I’ve no gold, no silver, no bread.” You said in a low tone, firm voice. 

“Aye, but you’ve got something.” The taller man said with a crooked grin.

As that man began to take a step towards you, you grasped the handle of the shovel firmly and stabbed it into him. Between his neck and his collarbone. 

As the other men began to shuffle towards you, you pulled the shovel back out and pointed it at them as their friend fell to the ground holding his bleeding wound. 

The man with short hair managed to grab ahold of you whilst his other friend grabbed ahold of your wrist, yanking the shovel out of your hand. The man with short hair placed his hand over your mouth, in response you bit down onto his fingers so hard you were afraid your teeth would shatter. You could taste the blood rush into your mouth. 

In response to your bite, with his other hand he hit you creating a cut over your eyebrow. It threw you off just enough to make you fall back and into the other man's arms. 

The three men began to pin you down shouting vulgar remarks, as they did you kicking at them and scratching at them. Just as the one with short hair began to undo his pants, he was stopped. 

Picked up by the back of his neck like a puppy, practically lifted off of the ground. His guts were cut out of him. As his body fell to the ground you saw him, it wasn’t Sandor, it was The Hound. This is what everyone spoke of. 

The men who held your wrists were next. He cut with precision. His swords swung and took off the man's head. The next he grabbed before he could escape. Slamming his fist into his head, and shoving his blade deep into his stomach. Once he was done he put away his sword. He turned back towards you, and it was him again, Sandor. 

He bent his knee to you and spoke softly “You’re alright now, little bird, you're alright.” He said as he picked you up in both arms and carried you back to safety. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧

As the two of you entered the keep Tyrion was shocked. 

Once Sandor placed you down gently, a few ladies including Sansa rushed to your side pawing at your bloody face. 

“My Lady are you hurt?” Tyrion asked as he tried to assess whether the blood on your mouth and hands were yours or not. 

“Little birds hurt, get her back to her cage. See that cut on her head.” Sandor commanded the women as he walked away, 

as he did Tyrion shouted back to him. “Well done, Clegane.”

To which Sandor responded, 

“I didn’t do it for you.” 

Tyrion, confused by his words, went back to your side and asked again before your ladies could take you away. “My lady, are you hurt? There’s blood- your hands and-“ he said reaching his to touch your chin where the blood from your mouth dropped. 

“I bit one.” You said plainly, exhaustion in your eyes, unwilling to attempt that you’d murdered a man. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

As you laid in your bed that night, you looked at the one candle you had burning beside your bed. Contemplating whether or not to blow it out. Watching the flame kept your mind away from the memories you’d made today. You’d never seen such horrid things before, and much less partook in them. You’d killed a man. And yet, felt no remorse, which made you feel terrible, but maybe that alone counted for something. But soon even that left as your memories shifted to the feeling of being in Sandor's arms. 

Before you could blow it out, 

you began to hear the sounds of metal clanking up the hall. Sandor thought you’d never notice, but he often walked up and down your halls more than he was meant to. Simply to make sure you were alright. 

Every time you heard the metal clanking pass you’d smile to yourself. Only this time it stopped, in front of your door. You sat up slightly on your elbows and peered towards the door. Without knocking, he came inside your chamber. 

“What’re you doing here?” You asked in a whisper. 

He didn’t respond, but made his way to that same golden pitcher in the corner of your room. 

“It’s water, remember?” You said. He huffed and put it back down without taking a swig of it. 

“What are you-” You began before he spoke in a low deep husky voice. 

“You could’ve been killed.” He said without looking at you. 

“But I wasn’t.” You said in a sweet whisper.

He began to walk towards your bed. “The fucking cunts would ‘ave taken you bloody every which way, that pretty throat would’ve been slit open. You’d been left for the fucking rats.” 

You took his hand and pulled him onto the bed, his metal scrapping the delicate sheets as he sat on it. 

“You saved me, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever seen.” You said with a strange kind of adornment, one he’d never heard before. 

“Brave?” He dryly scoffed, “Dogs don't need courage to chase rats.” 

“You’re no dog.” You say with that same sweet whisper, it’s as if you’d realized you’d began to fall deeper into whatever emotional trap you two had created here. 

“You killed that man?” He asked in a low whisper. 

“I did.”

“How’d that feel.” 

“Necessary.” 

He stared at you for a moment, not in judgment or disgust but in understanding and some other emotion you couldn’t quite understand just yet. 

“You can’t do that again.” 

“Kill?” 

“No.” His eyebrows furrowed, he couldn’t give less of a shit who you killed or why, “You risked your life for that Stark girl.” 

“You saw that?” 

“She kept yapping about it.” His tone husky 

“I needed her safe first.”

“Too bad.” He said not giving you any room to argue as his thumb ran over the cut on your eyebrow, you winced slightly. “I’d kill those cock sucking rats a million times again if I could. Died too quickly. I should have cut their arms off, their hands, taken their eyes for even looking at you.” 

Your hand came to his jaw, pulling yourself to his lips but he pulled away. with a sigh he came close again. He rested his forehead on yours. 

“I don’t know how to- do this- gently.” He let out a small rumble, “fuck” he hissed “i want to do this gently. I want to be gentle with you.”

He was like a dog given a bone that he so badly wanted to preserve. 

His hand came to your lap, and fisted the fabric of your nightgown. You placed your hands on top of his, you smoothed out his hand to lay flat on your lap. 

“Like this..” you whispered as you guided his hand up, making the fabric ride up. As your thighs became more and more visible he stopped and backed away, 

“No, no this isn’t right.” He grumbled as he walked over towards a large chair in the corner of your room. His face was illuminated by that single candle light. You could see his frustration and desperation in a battle with one another. 

You stood, and walked towards him. He slumped forwards. Resting his forearms against his strong thighs. 

“I can’t be what you wan- what you need.” He corrected. His voice was low and deep. 

You pushed him back by his shoulders, making him lean against the back of the chair. His deep scowl was ever present but it didn’t stop you from running your fingers through his coarse hair. 

“I shouldn’t have come back here. Should’ve stayed the fuck away. Left you be,” 

“I don’t think either of us have much a choice.” You said as you moved yourself between his large thighs. Standing in front of him still running your hands through his hair. “Do you think of that night?” You asked in a whisper. 

“Fuck do you think-“ He barked back before you stopped him, 

“Gentle.” You corrected him 

“Aye.” He conceded painfully, his hands coming to your sides holding you by your waist. His large hands engulfed your ribs. 

“What part of it do you think of?” You whispered sweetly as you began to move on top of him. Your thighs spread across his as you straddled him. His eyes never leave yours. 

He grumbled something low, you couldn’t make it out, but it sounded like “Your eyes.” 

You didn’t want to push him, to make him repeat it. 

Your hand cupped his chin, as you slowly pressed your lips against his. You pecked at his lips for a moment. Then pulling away, looking into his eyes waiting for his response. His eyes filled with shame, he looked away. 

You pressed a kiss into the scarred tissue on his cheek, he flinched at the feelings and his eyes darted back to you, 

“My face, why did you-“ He rasped suddenly 

“Don’t you want me?” 

“Course’ I do but I-“ he cut himself off as his lips hit yours once again, he sucked on your lips as hardly audible groans escaped his throat. 

You pressed your thinly clothed cunt against his hardening bulge. However as soon as he felt it he grabbed you by your hips and lifted you up. You whined, and his forehead slumped forward and rested on your chest. “Fuck-“ he said breathlessly, “Can’t do that shit to me.” he panted. 

“Why?” you whined a little too loudly, his grip on you tightened. 

“Told you, stubborn fucking girl.” He finally caught his breathe, “Ye poke at me too much and i’ll fuck you bloody.” His eyes leaving yours in what looked like guilt.

“That’s what I want-“ 

“Don’t matter.” He snipped back quickly, his eyes snapping back to yours. “Once you're wed that imp will stick his cock in ya’ and know you’re not his.” He said, his words harsh, sharp and cold 

“I’m not.” you said, his eyes went a little wide, with what? adornment? 

You slowly lowered your hips onto his once again. Waiting for his push back but were met with none. You let out a small gasp as the bulge separated your lips through the thin fabric that covered your cunt. Another moan left your lips once you felt the hardened mound poke at your entrance. You grinded against it, your cunt began to clench around nothing. 

“At’s it” He groaned into your neck, “Grin’ yerself on my cock.” He grumbled low and deep. 

His face contorted, his muscles tensed, and his groans became more and more primal. His grip on your hips began to sting a little how tightly he held you. Your cheeks began to heat up, and that knot in your stomach tightened. 

He picked you up abruptly, kissing your neck. 

“On your back, now.” He commanded as he placed you onto the fur rug on your bed chambers floor. 

He untied his breeches that clearly had a wet spot on it, unclear if it was your doing or his. He was still fully covered in his armor, as he pulled out his cock. Harder than you’d seen it before. 

You rode up your night gown to your hips and slipped out of the thin underclothes you’d had on. 

He was on his knees before you, you on your back, legs bent and spread, ready and inviting. 

He stared at you, admiring you. 

He placed his heavy aching member between your folds. Rubbing up and down, his tip hitting your clit in the most perfect way. 

He pressed your thighs together, and he let out a long drawn out groan. 

“Fuck!” He hissed as he began to buck himself against your cunt. “So fuckin’ wet” He growled as his bucking continued in a more erratic pace. 

You arched your back and squeezed your thighs together as his fat tip kept hitting your clit

“Don’t- Don’t stop.” You whimpered looking up at his hair falling into his face, his eyes trailing all over you, from your wet thighs to your breasts that bounced with every thrust to your pouting lips all the way back to your eyes. 

“Not fuckin’ stopping.” He said through gritted teeth. “But,” He was stopped by a deep guttural moan, “Don’t look at me like that.” He said panting, “You’ll make me finish too quickly.” He said once more through gritted teeth. 

You took it as a challenge, stubborn as you were. You gave him a smile, and a giggle. 

“Fuckin' stubborn girl.” He said through gritted teeth, then picking you up and turning you around. Your back flesh with his armored chest. 

He pressed your thighs together again, and pushed his cock back in between them, but slightly missing and catching your entrance. Even though he graced it only slightly you moaned so beautifully it almost made him cum right then. That's when you realized how truly lovely it would feel to have him inside of you. 

“I want it inside” You moaned as one of your arms reached over and behind you to wrap around his broad shoulders. While your other hand held his large forearm that draped over your stomach holding you in place. 

“Can’t do that to you.” He said breathlessly, as his other hand removed the straps of your gown. As it fell to your waist, he cupped your breasts, his large hand completely engulfing it. 

You whined again. You didn’t care if you were ruined, you wanted to be. But you couldn’t force him. 

His tongue and teeth danced along your neck, you begged in your mind that he’d bite down or suck on your skin but no, never. Never to burden you with evidence that this ever happened. 

You felt that heat rise and the knot in your belly begin to snap. He could feel you clenching and it produced a vulgar moan from him, 

“That’s alright, you can cum,” He grunted, as he said that you moved your head back and faced him. “MH-” He gave you a sloppy and passionate kiss to mute your moan as you came over his cock. As your high was ridden out, he continued to thrust, he separated the kiss and looked deeply into your now exhausted and satisfied eyes, “Sandor” You whispered, sweetly, “Sandor,” 

He didn’t break your eye contact, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold back his moans as he began to spill out and over your thighs, “(Y/N)” He growled with a final deep and long thrust. 

As you laid there, on the fur rug of your room catching your breath. He laid with you. 

You peered over to him, “I meant what I said.” He peered over to you, raising one eyebrow. “I’m not his.” You said softly. 

“Aye.” He looked away, “But for your sake he’d better think you are.” He said in a low husky voice. 

You raised your hand to his scarred cheek, you began to run your fingers over it when he pulled away. 

“I don’t mind it, really,” You whispered. 

“Every one fucking minds it.” He hissed 

“I don’t.” You said back defiantly 

He huffed, and laid there in silence, he looked over at you, feelings somewhat bad he’d snapped at you. ‘Gentle’ he remembered. 

“When I was a boy, my brother caught me with one of his toys. Thought I stole it. I didn’t, just playing with it. Pressed my head to the fire. All like Baelish told you.” He let out another sigh, “But the worst part was that it was my brother who did it. And my father who protected him. Told everyone my bedding caught fire.” 

You moved closer to him and rested your head on his chest. You tried to listen to his heart beating through the armor, only making out a few muffled thumps. Your eyes heavy, closed soon enough. 

When you woke in the middle of the night you were in your alone bed, your legs were cleaned and you were dressed. 

And 

Your candle was out.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

Every Morning since the riots you were awoken by a handmaiden, sometimes two. They’d dress you in red or gold. Braiding your hair, being sure to put lots of intricate, and no doubt expensive hair pins in it. You were beginning to feel more like the ornate decor that was scattered around kings landing than you felt like an actual woman anymore. 

As you walked the halls your handmaidens were like guards, guards of a prisoner. 

You passed a mirror as you walked and caught a glimpse of yourself, hardly recognizable. “As high as honour” what a joke you thought. Look at you now, looking more and more like a Lannister with each passing day. The red and gold you were forced to wear was a stark contrast from the blues and silvers you’d grown to love. But now you’d really had no home. You didn’t align yourself with the rest of your house anymore either. Lysa and Robin felt like intruders in your home, and they treated you the same. And now, Baelish was a true intruder in it. Being allowed in by your stepmother who’d no right to allow him entrance. Entrance to your home and now your titles. Rightfully yours. 

To gain your titles the Lannister's were your only hope now, so for now you’d be Cersei’s doll and Tyrion's wife. For now, you’d play along. 

But where did that leave Sandor?

You knew that first night he was angry, not at you. He was angry you were the one thing he couldn’t protect. You were his master's thing and couldn’t stop them from toying with you. He was angry you were the only thing he’d ever wanted, and just like everything he couldn’t have. He was angry he couldn’t tell you how much he wanted you. 

And the second night, he was scared, and vulnerable. 

You’d stopped eating since the riot. Normally, that would have gone unnoticed. However your now doting husband has made sure to keep eyes on you at all times. Your handmaidens are unwilling to engage in an argument with you knowing you aren’t the person to pick a fight with, told Tyrion. 

As your ladies ceaselessly brought you trays of food whilst you attempted to lounge on your balcony while you read you simply waved your hand at each tray, now not even bothering with a “No, thank you.” As it didn’t seem to stop them. 

Tyrion stepped onto the balcony, your eyes went towards him but snapped back onto your book as soon as you knew who was joining your handmaidens in disturbing your peace. 

“Lord Tyrion.” You said in greeting, hardly exerting any energy into it. You would have felt badly about discarding your virtue once more for another man if he’d hadn’t made you feel even more like a prisoner. 

“Lady (Y/N)” He said back, sitting across from you, “What are you reading?”

“Something of little consequence,” You said, closing the book and looking over your shoulder at the women who surrounded you “May we be left alone?” You asked, the women didn’t budge but looked to Tyrion who nodded at them, once at his command they left. 

“They don’t listen to me.” You said with harsh eyes. 

“I told them not to.” He said with a huff as he repositioned himself in his seat and putting on a half hearted smile. 

“Did you tell them to dress me like this too?” You said tossing the closed book to the side table next to you. 

“I asked them to help you fit in,” He said, leaning closer to you, his eyes filled with some kind of concern. “Joffrey has a tendency to single you out I wanted to see if I could correct that... Aesthetically.. Cersei had some dresses made for you and-”

“If you wish for me to continue to view you favorably, you are failing.” You said stoically, "Was I inadequate before?"

"No- no I-" He stopped himself, “I just want to do all I can to ensure your safety.” He conceded. You did appreciate it, but your need for freedom overweighed that appreciation heavily.

You sighed and looked away, off towards the near distant ocean of blue. You fidgeted with your new golden rings on your fingers. “And, you’re not eating.” He said in a lower tone, 

“And, you’re spying on me?” You said now focusing back on him. 

“Your ladies told me-” 

“Your ladies.” You corrected. 

“I am concerned. Ever since the riots you’ve not eaten a meal.” He huffed, “You need to eat. Name any food you want and I wish to have it made.” 

“I don’t want to eat.” You responded bluntly.  

“I am your husband to be, It is my duty-”

“Your duty? Your duty to imprison me in this place, in this engagement?” Your angry scowl dropped soon as you realized how cutting your words were. To him he was keeping you from further harm, and you knew that. You sighed and looked back to the sea, “It is hard for me to eat, it is hard for me to sleep.”

“Tell me how to help and I will.” He said almost pleading as he leaned forward and held his hands out palms up. "I’d do anything for my lady wife.” The words ‘lady wife’ made you want to vomit, especially after the previous night. 

“I want to go home. I want to claim my titles.” 

“You and I both.” He said with a dry chuckle. “I have wanted to claim my own birthrights long enough to know the feeling.”

“Were they stolen from under your grieving feet by Petyr Baelish?” 

“No-”

“Mine were. And I am powerless to stop it, because I sit here in this castle in these red gowns and Lannister gold. I am presenting myself as indifferent to my own birthright being stolen from me.” You sighed, “I understand what you are trying to do. I do, I may be angry but I do understand. But you need to understand this, in doing what you feel is protecting me, whether it is or is not, you have taken whatever independence I had left.”

“I understand.” He said sitting back into his seat, “And I will do all I can to help you proclaim your titles. But, it would seem Stannis aims to attack this city.” 

“Stannis Baretheon?” You asked in some confusion, no one ever told you anything.

“It seems we are not the only ones who wish to claim titles.” He said in an attempt to jest, “So we're not the men to fight for you yet, however we aim to win this war. Once it is, I will see to it that your titles are restored.” 

You smiled, “Thank you, Tyrion.” Although not in the slightest comforted by the idea of war approaching your doorstep

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

As you walked down the halls of the castle you were hit with a brick wall, Sandor. 

“you’re not eating.” Sandor said in a hushed but deep and husky tone

“How’d you-” You began before he interrupted you. 

“All those fucking handmaidens tell the royals.” He said in annoyance

“I eat when I'm hungry. haven’t been in a while.” 

“you don’t eat, you’ll starve.” His voice was like he was warning you.

“unlikely. That takes time. Stannis aims to attack the city. I'm sure I'll be dead then.” You responded stoically.

“You won’t die.” He said as if it were fact,

“How can you be certain?” You retorted defiantly 

“Cause I fucking said so.” He said stomping off, his cape flowing behind him.

NOTE: Hey all you cool cats and kittens I hope you like this one!!! The next two are going to be a wittle cwazy just a warning... ALSO yall I wrote the smut part during jury duty LMAO... anyways

Also the last few chapters have gotten so much love and I am so very grateful thank you!!! <3

[fairyybngtn]

Pairing: Armando Aretas x Black Reader

Genre: Jealousy/Fluff??

Warning: use of the n word and slight smut

Note: this is my first time ever writing anything so it might not be good. I been wanting more Armando fics but people barely be uploading anymore so I had to step in lol. (Also I added Megan in it…am I the only one that seen Jacob and Megan together cause nobody is talking about it)😭

Summary: A night at the club with your coworker, whom you secretly had a crush on, altered the dynamic between you two. What was meant to be a one-time thing spiraled into a whirlwind of feelings you struggled to navigate. Everything shifts when a new girl joins the team, and Armando seems to take an interest in her.

Tired was an understatement. After countless hours debriefing and working on the latest case, all you wanted was to collapse into bed, pour yourself a glass of wine, and binge-watch Love Island. But it was your coworker and best friend Kelly’s birthday, and she was adamant about hitting the club. "Why don’t you invite Armando?" Kelly suggested, her excitement barely contained. You looked at her like she was stupid. “Armando? Really? He doesn’t seem like the type to hang out with coworkers, especially not at a club.” Kelly persisted, oblivious to your hesitation. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Kelly, I don’t even know if he likes going out, let alone to a club. And besides, he barely acknowledges me at work.”

“He doesn’t have to hang out with us,” Kelly pointed out. “Rita, Dorn, Marcus, and Mike will be there too.”

You considered her words, the idea starting to seem less far-fetched. Still, you were uncertain. “I suppose. But what if he doesn’t even show up? And what if things are awkward?”

Kelly gave you an encouraging smile. “Come on, just give it a try. It's my birthday, and I want all my friends there, including the mysterious Armando. You never know, maybe this will be the night everything changes." Reluctantly, you agreed, sending a quick text to Armando, half expecting no response. But to your surprise, he replied almost immediately, agreeing to join.

After work, you went over to Kelly’s house so that you two could get ready. You were wearing an oversized sweater and sweatpants and had no idea what to wear. Kelly said, "Girl, your body is literally banging. Let’s show it off tonight!” She pulled out a dress that looked too small for you to fit. It was a black, snug dress that hugged every curve. You hated wearing anything tight, but because it was your best friend's birthday, you wore it anyway. You did your hair, deciding to let your curls out instead of the usual slick-back bun, and fixed up your edges. Kelly looked you over and grinned. "You look stunning. Tonight’s gonna be unforgettable."

You two were on your way to the club. When you arrived, the place was packed, and the sound of Sexxy Red’s "Fuck My Baby Daddy" playing got you excited for what the night had in store. You walked until you found the rest of your coworkers: Dorn, Mike, Marcus, and Rita. Mike, flirting as usual, said, "You need to dress like this more often. If I were around your age, I'd be all over you."

You laughed it off, but you didn’t see Armando and assumed he hadn’t come. You sat down with Marcus and Rita, taking your time to warm up to the large crowd. As you did some people-watching, you finally spotted Armando leaning against the bar, and your heart skipped a beat. He wore a fitted black shirt and dark jeans, a gold chain glinting under the neon lights. His hair was freshly styled, and he exuded a confidence that seemed so different from his usual office demeanor. He walked up to the group, greeting everyone. His uncle Marcus said, "Damn, that Lowery DNA is a bitch," seeing the resemblance between him and Mike. Armando looked at you and smiled.

"You look amazing tonight," he said, his eyes lingering on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. This was the most he had spoken to you since you started working together. Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, feeling the magnetic pull between you.

"Thanks," you replied, your voice barely audible over the music. "You look pretty different outside the office too." His smile widened, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Glad you noticed."

"Want a drink?" he asked. You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. As the night went on, one drink turned into several, and your best friend Kelly soon interrupted your conversation with the others. Her song "TGIF" by Glorilla came on, and she pulled you to the dance floor. Normally, you wouldn’t dance so openly but after seven drinks you had no care in the world and now here you were in the middle of the club with your best friend Kelly twerking together.

Unbeknownst to you, Armando made his way towards you. The distance that usually separated you at work seemed to dissolve. Here you were, throwing it back on Armando, who was catching every movement. The heat between you was undeniable, a magnetic pull that drew you closer with each passing moment. His hands rested on your hips, guiding your movements as you swayed to the rhythm of the music. The crowded dance floor seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own world.

As the night wore on, the tension between you two intensified. The proximity, the stolen glances, the subtle touches – it all built up to a crescendo. When Armando’s lips finally met yours, it was like a spark igniting a wildfire. The kiss was urgent, filled with pent-up desire and longing. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, and your eyes hungrily traced the outline of his form. His bulging veins, the prominent bulge in his jeans – every detail fueled your growing desire. The kiss deepened, and the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you in a whirlwind of passion and longing.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot on your skin. You nodded, your mind a haze of desire. He grasped your hand and guided you through the swarm of people and out into the cool night air. By the time you reached his car, you were already tangled in each other, the tight space only heightening the intensity of your longing. When you finally arrived at his place, the anticipation was almost too much to bear. The moment the door closed behind you, he pushed you gently against it, his mouth capturing yours in a fierce, heated kiss. His hands roamed over you exploring and memorizing every curve of your body.

You couldn't resist any longer you pushed Armando back against the arm of the couch as you climbed into his lap. He responded eagerly, his hands roaming up your thighs to grasp your ass, pressing you firmly against his growing erection. His grunts mingled with your soft moans as you grind against each other, but it wasn't long before his impatience got the better of him.

With a swift motion, Armando lifted you and carried you to lay you down on the bed, his gaze dark with desire as he took in the sight of you. He moved to climb on top of you, but you were quicker, grabbing his arm and pulling him down so that he was flat on his back, with you straddling his waist. His hard cock pressed enticingly against your clothed cunt, just waiting to be released. His hands gripped your hips tightly as you rocked against him, the friction sending shivers of pleasure through both of you. You could feel his hardness through the thin fabric, driving your desire even higher.

“Me estás volviendo loca" he growled, his thick Spanish accent laced with lust as his eyes locked onto yours.

"Good," you replied with a mischievous smile.

Your fingers worked quickly to undo his jeans, freeing his cock. His breath hitched as you positioned yourself, sliding your panties aside and sinking down onto him in one smooth motion. The sensation of him filling you was electrifying, both of you groaning in unison. Your hands braced against his chest as you began to move, riding him with a rhythm that drove you both wild. The sounds of his rough groans and the intense heat between you heightened the moment, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. Not wanting you to reach climax just yet, he flipped you over onto your stomach and pounded into you roughly. His hands gripped your hips firmly, and he leaned over to kiss along your jaw, his lips brushing your skin with each passionate thrust. The sound of his thick Spanish accent giving you praises, mixed with his low moans, pushed you over the edge. With one last powerful thrust, you both came together, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless and entwined. When you finally sank into each other's arms, exhausted and satisfied, you knew your relationship would never be the same again.

The next morning, you woke up before Armando, the weight of what had happened hitting you like a truck. The whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you was overwhelming, and you left without speaking to him. Armando had always been a distant crush, someone you admired from afar. But now, the lines had blurred, and you found yourself tangled in feelings you didn’t know how to acknowledge. As you gathered your clothes, you glanced back at Armando, a pang of longing striking your heart. All you wanted was to stay wrapped in his arms, but the weight of last night’s events pushed you to flee. Checking your phone, you saw a bunch of missed calls and texts from Kelly, wondering where you had gone. With a deep breath, you dialed her number, ready to face the aftermath.

“Girl, where did you disappear last night?” Kelly's voice was laced with curiosity and concern.

You hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, “I left with Armando. We… ended up at his place.”

Kelly’s gasp was audible even through the phone. “No way! What happened? Spill!”

“Girl, I don’t even know where to begin,” you admitted. “All I remember is us dancing together and then going back to his place... We slept together.” The weight of your confession hit you hard. “I don’t know what to do now...”

“Wow,” Kelly said, stunned. “Are you okay?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” you admitted. “I just need some time to figure things out.”

Weeks passed, and finding a new normal became a struggle. The memory of that night lingered in your mind, a constant reminder of what had happened whenever you saw him. At work, things seemed to fall back into their usual rhythm, but the atmosphere was charged with an underlying tension. Armando barely acknowledged you, and when he did, his responses were curt and one-worded. Whether it was during meetings or on missions, he made a deliberate effort to keep his distance, intensifying the emotional strain of your interactions. You found yourself constantly thinking about him, the memory of his touch and the way he made you feel. It was impossible to focus, and the unresolved emotions gnawed at you, making it difficult to move on. Every interaction with Armando, no matter how brief, was charged with unspoken words and lingering glances.

One day, as you passed each other in the hallway, his gaze met yours for a moment longer than usual. There was something in his eyes, a mixture of regret and longing that mirrored your own feelings. But before you could say anything, he looked away and continued on his way, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. The tension between you two was palpable, and you knew that sooner or later, you would have to confront it. But for now, you were caught in a limbo of uncertainty, waiting for the right moment to address the complicated emotions that had taken root in your heart.

The next day, Mike and Rita called a meeting to let us know a new person would be joining the tech team. Her name was Lana. When she entered, it was like a burst of sunshine filled the room. She had a vibrant, bubbly personality that instantly drew everyone in. It didn’t take long for everyone, including Armando, to take a liking to her. You watched from a distance as he laughed with her, their conversations flowing effortlessly. He never did that with you, but could you blame him? You never took the chance to talk to him, still holding a grudge against him for what he did to Captain Howard. Jealousy gnawed at your insides, a constant reminder of the unresolved feelings from that night with him.

One afternoon, you walked into the break room to find Armando and Lana in deep conversation so engrossed together that they didn’t even notice you walk in. You felt a pang in your chest, the reality of the situation hitting you hard.

"Hey," you said, trying to sound casual. They both looked up, and Armando's smile faltered for a moment before he greeted you.

"Hey, how's it going?" he asked.

You forced a smile. "Good, just grabbing a coffee." As you turned to leave, you heard Lana ask Armando something, her voice light and teasing. You couldn't make out the words, but the laughter that followed felt like a punch to the gut. Tears clouded your vision, and you quickly left the room before anyone could see you cry. You ran to the bathroom and, with trembling hands, texted Kelly.

"Kelly, can you come to the bathroom? I need you," you typed, your fingers barely able to hit the right keys through your tears. Moments later, your phone buzzed with Kelly's response. "I'm on my way. What happened?" You tried to steady your breathing as you waited. When Kelly finally arrived, she found you sitting on the floor, your face buried in your hands.

"Hey, I'm here. What's going on?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

You looked up at her, tears streaming down your face. "It's Armando. I walked in on him and Lana. They were so close, laughing, talking... I don't know what to do."

Kelly sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "I'm so sorry. Armando is an idiot if he doesn't see how amazing you are. But you need to decide what you want. Do you want to talk to him and try to work things out, or is it time to move on?"

You sniffled, trying to gather your thoughts. "I don't know, Kelly. I still have feelings for him, but seeing him with Lana hurt so much. I'm scared of getting hurt again." Kelly hugged you tighter. "Whatever you decide, I'm here for you. Just remember to take care of yourself first. You deserve to be happy." You nodded, feeling a bit of comfort in her words. "Thanks, Kelly. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Anytime," she said, giving you a reassuring smile. "Now, let's get out of here and go get some drinks,” Kelly said, helping you to your feet. With some convincing from her, you agreed to head back to the same club. Though hesitant, not wanting any feelings about that night to resurface, Kelly's persistence won you over. Unknowingly to you, Armando was there too. You sat at the bar, waiting to get drinks for you and Kelly, lost in your thoughts, when a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Mind if I join you?" Armando asked, his expression unreadable. You stiffened, but gestured to the empty seat next to you. "Sure." For a moment, neither of you spoke, the thumping bass of Megan Thee Stallion’s “Thot Shit” filling the silence. Finally, Armando took a deep breath and broke the tension.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that night," he said, his voice barely audible over the noise. "I didn't want things to be awkward between us."

You looked at him, your heart pounding. "It's not just about that night, Armando. It's about everything since then. I know I left without saying anything to you, and I regret doing it, but it feels like you’ve been toying with me. Keeping your distance, giving me one-word responses... and Lana," you said slowly, locking eyes with him.

Armando's expression softened, and he leaned closer. "I never meant to toy with you. Lana and I are just friends. I didn't realize how it looked from your perspective."

"You didn't realize?"... “Nigga really?” you echoed, frustration bubbling up. "How could you not see it? Every time I see you two together, it's like a knife in my heart."

"I know, and I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "I was trying to keep things professional and not make things awkward, but I see now that I ended up doing the opposite." His phone buzzed again, and you saw Lana's name flash on the screen. The sight of it was too much to bear. "See, this the shit I'm talking about just go be with her, Armando."

You got up to go back to Kelly when he reached out to grab your hand gently. "No, listen to me. Lana isn't who I want. You are." Your heart skipped a beat, but doubt still lingered. "Then why didn't you say anything before? Why let me suffer in silence?"

"I was scared," he admitted, his voice raw. "Scared of making things worse, scared of losing you. But I can't keep pretending. I have feelings for you, real feelings, and I want to be with you." The sincerity in his eyes made your resolve waver as this is the most emotional you ever seen Armando. “If that's true, then we need to start being honest with each other. “No more games and hiding how we really feel about each other."

He nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. "Agreed. No more hiding.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension start to lift. "Okay. But you have to prove it, Armando. Show me that you're serious."

“Mami, te puedo mostrar cómo puedo demostrarlo.” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment. As the noise of the club swirled around you, a glimmer of hope began to stir within you. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

Translations

“ Mami, te puedo mostrar cómo puedo demostrarlo.” - Mami I can show you how I can prove it

“Me estás volviendo loca - You’re driving me crazy

[novaursa]

hello, may i please request some maegor the cruel x fem!martell reader? you know when aegon i receives that note from dorne? maybe it could be to arrange a marriage between maegor and martell!reader to end the war? and she's a badass who gets maegor wrapped adorns her finger in less than ten minutes?

No Meek Bride

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Maegor meets the princess that his father promised to him, and you are not what he expected.

- Paring: martell!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sun beat down mercilessly on Sunspear. Maegor Targaryen, mounted on his warhorse, eyed the golden sprawl of the Martell stronghold with the same cold scrutiny he gave every potential battlefield. He had not come here for war, though that was his preference. No, Aegon, his suddenly diplomatic father, had come to the conclusion that peace with Dorne would best be achieved through a marriage contract. And so, Maegor found himself betrothed to a Dornish princess.

You.

As his entourage approached the palace gates, Maegor's expression hardened. He knew little of you, save that you were Dornish, a princess, and supposedly beautiful in the way Dornish women often were—dark of hair and skin kissed by the sun. Maegor had his own opinions about beauty, none of which involved submission or docility, but he expected you to be meek, much like the Hightower girl his mother had once insisted he wed.

But then you stepped into the sunlight, and everything he had assumed about you scattered like the sands of Dorne.

You stood there, hands on your hips, chin lifted, your expression neither demure nor shy. No veil covered your face; no hesitation clouded your eyes. You stared up at him, not as a man to be feared, but as a man who would do well to remember whose lands he stood upon. Maegor raised an eyebrow.

You raised one back.

The Dornish retinue welcomed him in the Martell fashion, with wine and citrus-scented air. You walked beside him as he was led into the inner court, rattling off a list of what he assumed were idle pleasantries about Dorne’s beauty and history. Your voice was light, teasing. But there was something in your tone that held an edge—a sharpness that Maegor wasn’t sure if he wanted to parry or let pierce through his defenses.

"Your father must think very highly of me," you said as you entered a chamber filled with vibrant tapestries and low couches. "To offer up his most fearsome dragon in marriage. Or perhaps he just wanted to get rid of you?"

The jab was subtle, playful, but Maegor narrowed his eyes, half-expecting you to falter under the weight of his gaze. You didn’t. Instead, you smiled—a slow, confident curve of your lips that seemed to suggest you had no fear of him.

Odd. He had never encountered a woman so… infuriatingly self-assured. Where was the meekness? The quiet obedience he had been told to expect? You were no Hightower maiden.

And yet, as you continued talking, pointing out some tapestry or another that Maegor couldn’t care less about, he found himself… listening. More than that, he found himself watching the way your lips moved when you spoke, the way your eyes sparked with amusement every time you threw out another veiled barb. He could not recall the last time someone had dared to speak to him so freely, much less a woman he was meant to marry.

By the time the evening feast began, Maegor was seated at the head of the table with you beside him, laughing—laughing—at something one of your cousins had said. The sound caught him off guard, warm and inviting in a way that made his blood stir. He tried to ignore it.

But then you leaned in, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from your skin.

"I expected you to be taller," you whispered, eyes glinting with amusement.

Maegor blinked, caught completely off guard. "I expected you to be more respectful."

"And I expected a dragon, not a man made of stone," you shot back, sipping your wine with an infuriatingly pleased look on your face.

He could not believe this. Was this to be his life now? To be challenged at every turn by a woman who clearly found great delight in besting him in conversation? The idea of returning to King’s Landing with you as his wife seemed more exhausting than fighting a hundred battles. Yet, there was something… thrilling about it, too.

The next few days passed in a blur of negotiations and formalities, but you were always there, always a step ahead of him in both words and actions. You challenged him, taunted him, and somehow, in the span of a week, Maegor found himself more drawn to you than he had ever been to any woman. He would never admit it, of course, but there were moments when he caught himself thinking about you when you were not in the room, wondering what clever remark you would make next.

The final straw came when, after another particularly heated exchange—this time about where you would live after the marriage—you sauntered away with a knowing smile, leaving Maegor standing in the middle of the courtyard with the distinct feeling that you had won.

He watched you go, the sway of your hips as you moved, the confidence in every step. His jaw clenched.

"She’s got you wrapped around her little finger," one of his men muttered under his breath, thinking Maegor couldn’t hear.

The man was wrong, of course. Maegor Targaryen bowed to no one, least of all a Dornish princess with a sharp tongue.

And yet, as you glanced back over your shoulder, catching his eye with that maddening smile, Maegor realized with a start that you had, indeed, wrapped him around your little finger.

And worse still… he didn’t entirely mind it.

Though gods help anyone who tried to make him admit it.

[lady-phasma]

In the fading light

Daemon Targaryen x fem Dornish!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, but I was going for soft!Daemon so I don't think there are that many warnings this time.

Summary: Daemon comes to visit you at Godsgrace, the seat of House Allyrion, in Dorne. Kind of an AU in the sense that Rhaenyra isn't the object of his love, nor his motivation for "ending his marriage" to Rhea. 2.6k words

From the request here - romantic Daemon inspired by the song "kalam eineh" (Words of his eyes) by Sherine. I was able to work in a few lyrics as well ("the one whose eyes the moon envied" and "get lost in his beauty").

a/n: Dorne is a very big place and all of the houses are as different as the Northern houses. So as I write more Dornish!reader fics I start to see them uniquely in my headcanon. Godgrace is on a river from what my research tells me, so I think it worked out perfectly that Sherine is Egyptian. I've dropped some Egyptian elements into Godsgrace and that's how it is in my head now. (If there was a face claim for a location think Thebes/Luxor landscape.)

A warm breeze wafted onto the balcony where you and Daemon sat. The sun sank low against the horizon. The river in the distance shone with golds and pinks. A falcon screeched nearby. You turned from the gorgeous view of the Godsgrace river oasis to look at your Prince. He sat, reclined, opposite you. You slid your toes up the inside of his leg, teasing him. He stroked the top of your foot, your ankle, up your shin. Your smooth skin reflected the light of the setting sun much as the river did. Daemon slipped his fingertips under the hem of your thin skirt. The contrast of his pale hand under the bronze fabric was delightful to you. This Northern prince, so accustomed to clouds and darkness. Such a dreary land he came from.

You watched him as he looked out over the Greenblood river. It would be so easy to get lost in his beauty. His hair, his eyes, his mouth, everything about him was entrancing to you. You glanced back out at the river, the people going about their evening paying no attention to the lords and ladies so high above them. Birds circled above fishing boats as the nets were pulled in. Lights began to flicker in windows across the city. You smelled roasted meat and fresh baked bread on the warm air. You would have to dress for the evening meal, if you didn’t request it in your quarters.

“Did you come only because the fool Prince Martell forbade it?” You were genuinely curious. “Or because of your brother?”

“You know that is not the reason,” he spoke softly and continued to stroke your leg. “Their approval means less to me than you think.”

“You risk much coming to Godsgrace.” You wiggled your toes against his thigh.

“It is a fair price,” Daemon replied.

“Surely you are quite rested now, my love,” you goaded. “It is a long journey up the Greenblood, but not so tiring that you would ignore me.” You flashed your eyes at him. They were nearly the color of burnt umber in the fading light. Soon your maids would light torches and candles in your chambers. You would hear them through the diaphanous curtains that hung in the entry of the balcony. Though they would never dare to disturb you, even if you had your Targaryen on the floor in front of them.

Daemon turned his violet eyes toward you, finally pulled from his thoughts. Gods, you thought, even the moon could envy those eyes! The last pink of the sunset caught on his silver hair as it swung freely about his face, tendrils caught in the breeze.

“Quite rested,” he smirked as he spoke. He slipped his hand behind your knee and, reaching forward, grabbed your other leg and pulled you, bodily, to him. Your chair legs screeched against the stone floor as you threw your head back and laughed. When he had you where he wanted you, he smoothed his palms up the inside of your thighs. You rested your bare feet on the seat of his chair on either side of his legs. He pushed your skirt all the way up to your waist as he stared into your eyes. His thumbs grazed the creases of your thighs and you sighed.

“The journey was too long, but certain hindrances are now resolved,” his voice was low and quiet. “I am no longer married.”

You raised an eyebrow at these words. You trailed your fingertips down one of his forearms.

“I hope that it was painless, my prince,” you both knew the mocking of his title was not malicious. He was not your prince and you enjoyed reminding him of that. “You know, you could have stayed in Godsgrace and I could have sent one of my women to dispatch the issue quickly.” Your grin was knowing, yet seductive. Daemon’s response to Northern morality was curious to you. He didn’t want his wife, but could not bring himself to have another while she lived.

“I did not say I did the deed,” he tried not to smile. “Only that it was resolved.” Oh, he was deliciously vile when it suited him. You chuckled at this.

“Well, I had no trouble with the situation,” you grazed his thigh with one foot. “I needed only your devotion, not your marriage.”

“That you will always have, my lady,” he replied as he sank to his knees in front of you. You moved your foot to his shoulder, the other still in his chair, as you languidly spread your legs to make room for him. He looked up at you again, catching your eyes with his as he kissed your thigh, then your belly. You stroked one hand over his silky head as he lowered it and kissed the dark hair between your legs. You heard him inhale, smelling you, and you became even wetter.

Daemon licked the full length of your slit and paused at your pearl. He circled it with the tip of his tongue and you gripped the arms of your chair. He slid an arm around one thigh to steady you. Then he grazed a finger through your folds, finding your entrance quickly, as if he knew your geography by heart. He teased and didn’t slide inside you yet. He used two fingers to circle your opening, almost matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit. Your hips rocked. You tried, and failed, to get his fingers inside. He stilled you as much as he could and continued for a moment that felt like an eternity.

When he finally slipped his fingers into your wet heat he sucked on your clit and your hands flew to the back of his head. You moaned and pushed against his mouth. You thought you felt him chuckle. You didn’t care. You ground your hips on his mouth and fingers.

“Daemon,” you whispered, as that was as loud as you could manage. “That’s it, just there. Please.”

He rubbed his fingertips against the spot that drove you wild, fighting against your clenching muscles. His tongue resumed its circling movements, but with a slightly quicker pace. Your breathing was becoming shallow and the sounds you made came deep from your chest. He pumped his fingers harder into you, knowing the pressure you needed to reach your climax. Your toes curled on his shoulder. You let go of his head, gripped the arms of your chair again, and your body curled forward as your climax overwhelmed you. You yelled his name, moaned incoherently, and then laughed. He hadn’t stopped, tongue still lapping causing your thighs to twitch. You playfully pushed at his forehead to give you peace.

You leaned forward and cupped his face in your hands. His expression wasn’t playful, as yours was. The look was full of something akin to admiration. You kissed him, roughly. You licked yourself from his lips, his tongue, and moaned into his mouth. He reached up and tangled his fingers into your hair at the nape of your neck, letting some of it loose from the pins that held it in place. Without much grace, he blindly began to release your hair from its confines.

Daemon broke your kiss and began to stand up. You let your fingers trail down his body as he did. You grazed your fingers over his pants, deliberately avoiding the hardness straining the fabric. He pulled pins and a comb from your hair, tossing them on the floor with abandon. You looked up at him, a playfully displeased look on your face for the carelessness he showed for your jewelry, and shook out your hair. It fell in near-black waves down your shoulders and back.

“I need you,” Daemon breathed. His eyes were dark with lust. Still looking up at him from your chair, you pressed your palm over his erection. His eyes nearly closed. His chest rose and fell, trying to maintain his composure. You pressed just a little harder. He grabbed your wrists. It didn’t hurt but made it evident that he couldn’t be teased this evening. You stood, your wrists still in his hands. You raised to tiptoes and pulled at his bottom lip with your teeth. Your eyes narrowed in defiance against being so restrained.

“That’s enough!” He threw you over his shoulder. You squealed and laughed, kicking your feet and pounding your fists lightly against his back. Your laughter bounced off the stone walls as he carried you through the curtains into your chambers. You pushed against him, raising your head to look at the two startled maids, and laughed harder.

“Let me go!” You giggled and kicked your feet but he only held your ankles as he walked you to the bed. You heard the two girls scamper from the room, giggling and twittering.

Daemon dropped you lightly on the bed. You were breathless from laughing. He smiled down at you, but that look was back. What had changed since he had gone North? Your laughter faded into giggles, which in turn faded into quick breaths as he knelt on the bed and kissed his way up your feet, calves, and thighs. He began to unfasten the ties of your skirt at your waist and you helped him with the small buttons of your delicate top.

He licked and kissed the curves of your exposed belly. He nuzzled his nose between your breasts, then kissed each of your nipples. You played with his silky hair, enjoying watching him worship you. When he reached your neck and jaw you began tugging on his shirt, pulling it toward his shoulders. He straightened long enough pull it over his head, then bent down to your mouth again. You kissed him back, hands gripping his neck, stroking his shoulders, down his biceps.

Daemon moved with you, still kissing, as you began to sit up. You gently pressed his shoulders back and guided him to lay down. You straddled his thighs and began pulling at the laces of his pants. He groaned at the pressure of your fingers. You stroked his freed cock, watching your hands move slowly. You enjoyed making him wait but you couldn’t wait any longer. You released him and begin to remove his breeches. Once you had both struggled with that for a moment, you trying not to giggle during the endeavor, you climbed up him and placed yourself on his belly. You could feel his cock pressing against your buttocks. You leaned forward and kissed him and he cupped both of your breasts in his hands.

You lifted your hips enough to reach between you and guide him into your wetness. He growled and squeezed your breasts a bit harder. Slowly, you took him inside you. You raised up, allowing him to keep his hands on you, and pressed your hands against his stomach as you rocked your hips. You took his cock as deep as you could. Gradually, at first, then setting a gentle pace that brought sweet sounds from Daemon’s lips. You leaned forward slightly, finding the angle you needed. He moved his hands, one to your neck, one to your hip. As you settled on a rhythm, he began to match you, thrusting upward slightly each time you rocked back on his cock.

You let your head fall forward, you hair sweeping forward, framing your face and his. Your fingers curled against his chest. You kept this pace as long as you could before your cunt began to ache with the beginnings of your climax. You slowed and Daemon took over. Gripping both of your hips, he fucked up into you, harder than you had been able to manage. His grunts made you squeeze around his cock. They were wonderful sounds that only increased your need for him.

You rested your face against his, pressing your cheeks together. Neither of you could stay quiet. Your name fell from his lips as fluidly as the curses he uttered. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you down onto each of his upward thrusts. The sound of flesh against flesh, lewd and satisfying. Your bodies glistened with sweat in the torch light. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him but the pleasure was too great.

“Yes, please, Daemon,” you whined in his ear. Your lips drug across his cheek as you searched for his mouth. You tried to kiss him. Instead you panted and moaned against his mouth. As your climax began the wave that would drown you, you heard his voice, much calmer than yours could have been in that moment.

“Look at me.” You did. He didn’t stop fucking you, but he held your gaze with those perfect eyes. “I love you. I would kill for you. I would kill anyone who kept us apart.”

Something in his eyes, not just his words, was your undoing. Your climax spread over you at the same time as it curled up inside you. You squeezed your thighs against his hips, almost stopping his movements entirely. You bent to him and kissed him, moaning and sighing, as you came.

Suddenly Daemon’s large arms encircled you and in your delirium you could hardly notice that he was moving you. You clung to his shoulders as he somehow, and gracefully, managed to lay you on your back. He had not pulled out. You wrapped your legs around his hips and ran your hands into his hair.

Daemon fucked you without restraint. You were coming down from your climax but your cunt gripped him tight and he grunted with each deep thrust. He shifted his weight to one hand and deftly scooped one of your legs into the crook of his arm. You bit your lower lip and looked up at him. He was watching you.

“Touch yourself,” he panted. “Come on my cock again.” His smile was enough to convince you, if his words hadn’t been.

So you did. You rubbed your fingers quickly, and in time with his strokes. When you were close again, you arched under him, head thrown back, Daemon’s mouth on your exposed neck. Then he pressed his hips against you as hard as he could. His cock buried completely inside you as he came. Your cunt spasmed around him and you both felt his seed fill you as your climax peaked. He cursed and tried to gently lower your leg. Your body shook and you were unable to help him. He chuckled and kissed your forehead.

As he slowly pulled out and away from you, you mewled and groaned, closing your thighs and squeezing them together. Daemon lowered himself down next to you, on his side. He rested his head on your chest. You smoothed his hair away from his forehead in a long stroke down to his back and sighed. You let your hand rest on his shoulder. He held you close to him.

The cool night breeze wicked the sweat off your skin. The torches guttered slightly. You wrapped one leg over Daemon’s. You wanted every part of your body touching his. You breathed in his smell mixed with your own and the dusty sweetness of Godsgrace coming in through the curtains.

“No one will come between us,” Daemon whispered against you.

“I know, my love, my dragon” you replied, lips brushing against the top of his head.

The sun had set and, perhaps, the dark was what he needed. In the light of day The Rogue Prince was rakish and disreputable. But at night, with you, he could shed that facade.

Masterlist

Tags: @black-dread

[lotusunique]

The Engagement pt.3

Armando Aretas x Black Fem! Reader

Hey guys I know this took a little while to come out but like I said, nothing but the best for my readers!

With that being said, this has strong themes of toxic relationships and major smut! Enjoy 🌺💋

I also wanna give credit to @zari-0115 she helped me write the smut scene so W to her! She’s the best

You knew he’d be here. You were told he’d be here. You just didn’t realize how much it would actually hurt. You didn’t realize the air would start thinning around you when you saw his new girlfriend wrapped around him looking like they were the happiest couple on earth.

You feel a tight squeeze on your hand before realizing Armando was standing beside you.

“C’mon”,he says,taking your hand in his. You sift through the crowded party, hand in hand, before finally making it through the balconys sliding doors. You put your hands on your knees , and attempt to steady your breathing.

“Look up and count to ten”,Armando lifts your chin up before turning your head to look at the view in front of you. You stare out at the beautiful picture. The sunset and the ocean colliding in a way that’s so gorgeous with the pool infront of you glistening. It makes you wonder what you did to deserve to see this.

“One.Two.Three. Four. Five”, you start to count,feeling the tension and anxiety fade away. “There you go, inhala exhala”,he says rubbing your arms softly. “Thank you”,you smile up at him.

“What’s with the panic attack?”,Armando asks. “I don’t know. I saw my ex and my chest just started like caving in”, you explain trying not to let the tears hiding behind your eyes, out. You take a seat on the cool pavement

“That blonde tonto wit the bad hair cut?”, he asks with a disgusted look as he sits next to you.

“Unfortunately yes. I don’t even know why I dated him. But when someone manipulates your heart, it’s hard not to fall for the fake version of them”, you sigh.

“Oh look at me sounding like a Pinterest quote and shit”,you laugh. “What happened?”,he looks over to you. “Well he didn’t physically do anything to me. But i just realized it was like he was jealous of what I was doing with work and when I finally had my own place it was like he hated me for it.”,you start to explain.

Armando’s blood starts to boil the more you talk. “I don’t wanna talk your head off about old shit tho”,you shrug. “Im here to listen”,he says geniunely.

You give a slight nod,“It got to the point where he would ridicule me for everything and belittle me. And at some point I started believing he was right. And I got in this really low place..I wasn’t eating, couldn’t sleep, didn’t even show up to work for a week.”, you sigh getting war flashbacks from arguably the worst time of your life.

“Why did Kelly and Dorn invite him if he did all that to you?”,he asks. “They don’t know about anything that actually went down. They just know we didn’t work out. After everything I still wanted to protect his image.”,you say fidgeting with your finger tips .

Armando grabs your hand, “promise me something”. You raise an eyebrow. “Promise you’ll never let anyone give you anything less than what you deserve”. He looks into your eyes, waiting for you to promise.

“I promise”,you nod. “And don’t let that dickhead fuck this party up for you okay.”,he says rubbing the palm of your hand with his thumb.

“Thank you again Armando. Like for coming and helping me with all this.”,You look over at him. The world is calm for a moment and it seems like it’s only you and Armando.

“I don’t know if this is dumb to tell you or not. But Armando I think I -“

You’re cut off by Armando smashing his lips into yours. You lean into the kiss as he cups your face. You two get so deep into the kiss that at some point your back is on the pavement and he’s on top of you. Without coming up for air the two of you deepen the kiss. Within an instant Armando falls over into the pool, the splash getting you wet.

“Oh shit”,you let out a loud laugh. He resurfaces,wiping the water out of his eyes. “Oh this is funny to you?”,he smiles up at you. “Oh no of course not. It’s hillarious”, you cackle. “Yea yea now help me out”,he sticks his hand out for you. He grabs on hold of your hand before he smirks and pulls you in next to him.

You resurface in the water, “no the fuck you didnt”,you laugh. Everyone walks outside hearing the commotion. “What is going on here”,Kelly laughs.

“Um nothing”,you giggle. “Who cares just jump in”,Marcus says pushing past Mike to jump in the pool. “Man you better watch my suit,”, He says, dead serious by the look on his face.

The two of you climb out of the pool as everyone files back into the living room. You make your way to you guys’s room as your wet clothes cling to your bodies. “You wanna shower first?”, you ask turning to him. “Nah ladies first”, he smirks over at you . You head into the bathroom,starting up the shower, getting the temperature just right. You loved the build of the bathroom. There was a huge see through shower with beautiful deep brown brick walls and a huge granite sink.

You peek your head out the bathroom seeing Armando snatch off the wet t-shirt. It’s not like he didn’t look amazing with the shirt on but got damn if he didn’t look just as good with it off.

You get into the shower feeling the warm water and bubbles up your skin. A wide smirk spreads across your face as a bright idea pops into your head. “Hey Armando can you hand me my towel I left it on the bed”,You call out.

“Yea sure”,he says putting the towel over his shoulder and walking into the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He walks in with his hand over his eyes. “Why don’t you move your hand and put them somewhere else”,you smile. He slowly removes his hand before looking upon your body and stepping into the shower with you.

He places soft kisses on your neck, tracing his hands up and down your skin. You let out soft moans as he scoops you up, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

In this moment you two were the only things that matter. He looks up at you, “Are you sure you wanna do this”,he looks into your deep brown eyes.

“Yes, I want you”,you say as a wide smile appears across your face. He smiles before kissing you so passionately.

He immediately starts fast, pounding into you with your back against the tile wall. He slides in you going deeper, until he hits your cervix causing you to yell out in pleasure.

Armando carries you to the bed, your legs still wrapped around his waist, before laying you down, towering over you he places soft kisses on your boobs, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. He enters two fingers into you causing you to arch yourself upwards with every touch. Your toes curl as he massages your clit. Just when you’re close to finishing Armando removes his fingers. You look down at him, your eyes meeting his, you all but beg for him to give you your release. He smiles up at you mischievously while taking his fingers and putting it up to his mouth to taste you.

He then lifts you up and turns you over like you weigh nothing. He slips himself inside of you and pounds in and out repeatedly. You grab hold of the pillows to keep yourself up right, squirming at each jolt you can hardly keep your ass up. “Hold on Mi Amor” he says instructing you not to finish just yet. Right when he feels you pulsing under him he slips himself out… yet again. “Why are you teasing me?” You whine. Armando doesn’t answer he just flips you over and begins to go down on you, alternating between his tongue and fingers devouring you while he pleasures your nipples with his other hand. He finally lets you release not soon after he enters you again for him to then be finished.

The two of you plop down onto the soft satin sheets, heavy breathing and giggling in between. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that”,You smile over at him. “I’ve been waiting for that since the day I met you”,He says cupping the side of your face.

“You getting soft on me Aretas?”,you laugh. “You know ain’t shit bout me soft Mama”,He looks over at you with a sarcastic smirk. “Call me mama again and we gon have to may have to go run it back ”,You say before climbing on top of him, a mischievous smile across your face. “Let’s do it then mama”,he smirks up at you.

[happilyhertale]

A royal encounter - Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Summary: Daemon had a great idea to bring a breath of fresh air into your marriage. But his plans were thwarted.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; oral f receiving, fingering (f in v and f in a), p in v sex, p in a sex

Author’s note: To celebrate the one year anniversary of my very first posted story, I've decided to finally post the Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell story.... I hope you like it! And… Thanks for reading my stories for a year! 🖤 I am very happy that you still want to read my stories!

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.3 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You cling to the railing with your hands. Daemon's hands dig into your hips almost unpleasantly, the marks of his fingernails will be visible for a long time. His thrusts slowly subside and his breath comes heavily. A warm breeze envelops you, here on the balcony of your old chambers. You have sought a little excitement, escaping the boring ball that has lured many lords and ladies to King's Landing. That's how Daemon came to practically push you into your old chambers for a bit of excitement.

You are both still breathing heavily as Daemon slowly pulls out of you. His soft laugh rings out as he gently kisses your nose.

But then this gentle moment is interrupted as someone applauds you and a clap is heard.

For a second Daemon's gaze meets yours before he looks over his shoulder and sees Prince Oberyn Martell standing in the middle of the chambers. He grins, "Perhaps I should have tried harder to seduce a Targaryen princess after all," Prince Oberyn says cheekily. In one movement Daemon pulls his trousers completely up and spins around, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, is the Prince of Dorne trying to make a pass at my wife?" hisses Daemon.

A gasp escapes you and you try to hide your naked body behind Daemon's. Your gaze wanders, searching for your dress, which Daemon had torn off you just moments before.

As Prince Oberyn chuckles, "No... But now that I've seen how much fun you've had, I wish I'd had it too," he says to him. Daemon's gaze falls slightly over his shoulder, seeing you trying to cover your body. He sees you reaching for your dress, which is lying on the floor.

He looks back at Oberyn and his mood suddenly seems more relaxed. He starts to button up his shirt, "I think we were just looking for a little excitement here," Daemon replies.

"But..," Daemon adds suddenly, "if you want to join us, I could certainly be persuaded."

You are pulling up your dress and frowning when you hear his words, "Daemon? Did you just invite Prince Oberyn to a threesome?" you ask him a little shocked.

Daemon hears your words, but before he can say anything back, Oberyn intervenes. 

"A threesome?" asks Prince Oberyn with a grin, "I would have thought you were a jealous husband rather than an adventurous one...". Oberyn's words echo through the chambers and your eyes fall on Daemon again. You know he can be jealous, but this time something else is reflected in his eyes.

Daemon chuckles softly, "We could have a good time in these old chambers here," he says mischievously, "It might make everything a little more exciting." Daemon turns slightly, looking you straight in the eye, "What do you think? Is the Prince of Dorne a threat to our marriage?" he asks you gently. His thumb gently strokes your cheek.

You are not easily embarrassed, but this idea makes you blush. You bite your lip lightly, the pulsing between your legs reignited. Prince Oberyn was a handsome man. No less handsome than your husband, but in total contrast.

"No... he's not a threat. I only love you..." you say softly to Daemon.

Your gaze drifts to Prince Oberyn and his mischievous grin jumps out at you. He begins to unbutton his shirt and his lightly tanned chest is revealed. It is a stark contrast to your fair skin. Gently he brushes his shirt off his shoulders, revealing muscles that are rather small compared to Daemon's – he is defined but slender in stature. You step forward and stand next to Daemon.

But Daemon's gaze follows Oberyn's actions as he unbuttons his shirt, looking at his wife. He sees pure lust in Oberyn's eyes, the brown of his eyes barely discernible – his pupils dilated with lust.

Daemon notices how handsome Oberyn is and feels an excitement welling up inside him.

Oberyn's gaze falls on Daemon's face and notices Daemon trying to hide his excitement, but he sees his eyes fixed on the scene before him. A smile spreads across Oberyn's face. Oberyn walks towards you and slowly kneels on the ground in front of you.

You gasp briefly as his gaze goes up to you and he smiles at you. His hands reach for your dress and slowly begin to lift it.

The blush on your face continues to spread to your cleavage. Never has another man been about to touch you like this.

As Oberyn's voice brings you back to reality, "The blush is much more visible on your pale skin, Princess," he murmurs, "No need to be nervous, you'll enjoy it"

You bite your lip, even though you don't want to be nervous, you feel it flood through you.

You feel Daemon behind you, his hands on your shoulder. His thumbs glide gently over the crook of your neck. However unfamiliar this situation may be, Daemon's touch soothes you.

"Well?" asks Oberyn suddenly, "Do you want me to have her?" 

Your eyes slide from Oberyn's to Daemon's purple eyes. Slightly peeking over your shoulder, your lips meet, "I want you both, Daemon..." you whisper against his lips.

Oberyn chuckles lightly as he lifts your dress further. You're not wearing any undergarments and as Oberyn pushes your dress up to your hips, your light pubic hair is revealed.

"Mmm, the silver hair of the Targaryens..." he murmurs, pressing his face into it. A smile crosses his face, the smile of an artist when he sees the masterpiece he has created. 

You gasp as Oberyn presses his face into your pubic area. You exhale heavily, watching Oberyn enjoy the warmth of your private parts.

Daemon watches Oberyn and a slight, excited growl forms in his chest. Your previous words, "I want you both," also add to his arousal. Daemon's lips gently touch your neck as his hands begin to slide your dress down from your shoulders.

Prince Oberyn lets his tongue slide slowly through your womanhood. His fingers gently pull apart your folds so he can fully enjoy you.

You moan as you feel Oberyn's tongue find your bundle of nerves and gently circle it.

A "mmhmm" sounds from Oberyn as he pushes his face further into you. Your breath quickens as you feel Daemon lightly bite the soft skin of your neck and Oberyn circles his tongue faster. Your moans echo through the chambers.

When Oberyn suddenly lets go of your warm core and you whimper in disappointment. Your eyes fall on Oberyn, who looks up at you. His lips are glistening with your juice. Slowly he stands up and begins to open his trousers. Meanwhile Daemon lets your dress fall to the floor. His hands slide to your breasts, massaging them lightly. His thumbs and fingers grip your nipples, teasing them lightly. His lips continue to caress your neck as another moan leaves your lips.

You are now standing naked in front of them both. And your teeth don't want to release your lip. As Oberyn takes one of your hands and leads you away from Daemon. You take a step and slip out of your dress, which is lying at your feet. Slowly he leads you to the bed.

You climb onto the bed and Oberyn, who is naked himself, lies down beside you and begins to caress your body with his fingers. You see how Oberyn's hot length is already aroused and unlike Daemon's, a dark ring surrounds his size. You can't resist, you run your fingers through the hair. Oberyn grins at you and now he lightly bites his lip.

Your eyes fall on Daemon and you watch as his gaze is fixed on you. A shiver runs down your spine as you see his gaze follow Oberyn's fingers on your skin. Daemon begins to undress, his eyes never leaving you. First his shirt falls, revealing his muscular torso. The scars from all the battles won litter his pale skin. Your arousal rises immensely. As Daemon undresses from the waist down and his arousal immediately springs free, you moan. The way Daemon stands in front of you and Oberyn's fingers find their way between your thighs is too exciting.

Daemon's attention is on you, the love of his life, and the tanned man next to you, caressing you on the bed and sliding his fingers through your wetness. Daemon comes towards you with long strides, gently sliding himself onto the bed with you. His fingers find your hips, reach into your curves as he begins to play around your nipple with his tongue. You moan again as his teeth begin to nibble lightly. 

Daemon's lips slowly glide up your neck. A game of kisses and light bites until he encloses your lips. You breath into his mouth as Oberyn slides his hand to your bottom and turns you to Daemon. You lie on your side, your hand glides over Daemon's chest to his neck while your tongues dance wildly around each other. Oberyn brushes your silver hair aside and begins to kiss your neck softly. His fingers slide down your thigh, until his hand reaches the curves of your bottom and grips firmly. You whimper into Daemon's mouth. Oberyn releases your butt cheek and lets his fingers slide between your thighs. You whimper again as he covers his finger with your wetness and slides it to your butt hole. He applies light pressure and your whimpering repeats itself.

His fingers are slick with your wetness, easing the way as they tease the sensitive spot. He wants to push you further, to see how far you're willing to go. Experimentally, he stroked his fingers against your hole.

Oberyn's breath hitches as your hips begin to move slightly. A soft sound comes from you and your bottom presses lightly against his finger, your slight gasp sending a wave of satisfaction through him. He pressed a little harder, his finger slowly sliding into your tight, forbidden entrance.

The feeling of you around his finger, it all fueled his desire, igniting a primal need within him. He let out a low grunt in response, his own pleasure intertwining with yours.

He could feel his own cock hardening almost painfully, aching for the intense pleasure that only you could provide at the moment. The sound of your whimpering, your vulnerability and need, only served to heighten his own desire to please you.

Daemon's fingers mirror Oberyn's movements as his fingers slide between your legs. His attention is on your clit at first until he slides them inside you. You hear him growl softly as he feels the walls of your cunt already clenching around his fingers.

Daemon looks at you with slightly parted lips, enjoying the sight of ecstasy on your face. "You always take my fingers so well inside of you," Daemon mumbles a little breathlessly, "just like my tongue... My cock"

You whimper again and your fingers grab his biceps.

Daemon growls again and his gaze falls on Oberyn, who grunts slightly as he slides his fingers into your butthole.

"The princess is so tight," Oberyn murmurs and Daemon feels a tingle inside him as he hears the words. You gasp and bite your lip lightly as Oberyn's fingers thrust deeper, his warm breath on your neck.

Daemon lets his lips meet yours again, both of you breathing heavily, his fingers thrusting faster into you, completely wet with your juices. He starts to insert another finger into you and you moan almost desperately. The sensation of your wetness coating his fingers only fueled his desire further, knowing that you are becoming more and more receptive to his touch. He elicits a long whine from you as he curls his digits against your sensitive walls.

You feel the fingers thrusting into you. But this time it's so much more than usual. Daemon's fingers keep rubbing over the rough part of your wet walls, making you whimper, while Oberyn's fingers keep stretching your tight hole, awakening the feeling inside you that you need to feel so much more.

You moan out loud and before you've fully realised it, you feel Daemon's fingers pull out of you and slide his hot length through your wet folds. You whimper slightly each time he grazes your sensitive pearl. You moan even louder as he presses lightly against your entrance and you whimper again at the thought of how perfectly he will fill you.

"I think the princess will be perfectly filled tonight," Oberyn whispers, followed by a slight chuckle, as if he can read your mind. His lips still pressed against your neck as his fingers continue to explore your depths.

Daemon thrusts hard into you and your walls give way to his size. Daemon grunts loudly as he's back in his warm, soft home. His large hand slides to the back of your thigh, but you are distracted by the penetrating thrusts. He grabs your thigh and guides your leg closer to his body, placing your knee on his hip so he can penetrate you deeper.

He thrusts forward again and again, conjuring up the sweetest whimpering noises from you.

When you suddenly feel Oberyn's fingers leave your tight hole, you almost feel an emptiness inside you that needs to be filled. But then you feel his cock sliding along between your thighs from behind. Again and again he rubs it through your wet folds, soaking it with your wetness, while Daemon continues to thrust into your cunt.

Oberyn's cock throbbed with desire while his lips are still pressed against your neck. His breathing becomes heavier and you feel the warmth on the soft skin of your neck as he positions himself at your tight entrance.

You're slightly distracted by Daemon's thrusts and grunts, but you feel Oberyn begin to press the tip of his cock against your butt hole. You cry out slightly, but it ends in a long moan.

With a deep, primal grunt, he presses the tip of his cock against the entrance, feeling the resistance and tightness that awaits him. The whimpers and moans escaping your lips only fuelled his desire, his own need becoming unbearable.

But your butthole quickly gives way. Still slightly stretched by Oberyn's fingers, it almost greedily envelops the tip of his cock. You hear Oberyn moaning in your ear, breathing heavily.

"Gods... Princess... I haven't even been all the way inside you yet and you already feel so divinely tight," Oberyn murmurs breathlessly – you can only whimper.

Oberyn follows Daemon's rhythm and every time Daemon pushes your pelvis backwards, Oberyn takes the opportunity. Your bottom is pushed towards Oberyn again and again and each time he thrusts a little harder to meet your movements.

You feel yourself getting restless and your hand suddenly reaches for Oberyn's bottom. Your hand grips his small, firm bottom and squeezes gently. Oberyn continues to thrust slowly but firmly and you are caught up in the feeling of wanting to feel him deeper, but the slight pain forces you to take it slowly. But your hand starts to push him closer to you as a mix of whimpers and moans leave you. Oberyn stretches you further and further and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

With one final, powerful thrust, Oberyn conquers your tight hole and moans loudly. You cry out briefly, but the pain quickly subsides and gives way to pure pleasure. You realise how completely filled you are. Daemon and Oberyn are now thrusting in unison and you are trapped in their grips – and you don't want it to end. You put your head back and Oberyn immediately turns his attention back to your neck. He bites in lightly as he thrusts into your tight hole.

"Gods... Gods... fuck..." leaves his lips again and again.

With a primal instinct, he grabs your hips and slides closer to you. His thrusts now go deeper. He savours your tightness and the pleasure he brings you. The sound of your soft cries and moans fill the air as Daemon and Oberyn thrust into you, driving them both even further into a state of primal lust.

Daemon's hand is still on your thigh, lifting it slightly as he thrusts into your cunt. Oberyn's fingers grip your hips tighter as his thrusts penetrate you from behind.

Daemon grunts to himself, feeling the unusual resistance on his cock every time Oberyn thrusts into you and it turns him on. He thrusts harder and feels your cunt literally pulsating. His hand slides from your thigh to your breast, gripping it tightly as his lips slam onto yours. A wild kiss, accompanied by whimpers and moans, unfolds between you.

Your foot slides to the back of his thigh, wanting to pull him closer, needing to feel him deeper.

Daemon breathes heavily and grunts as your kiss ends. His eyes are fixated on the sight of you taking Oberyn's cock up your ass as he continues to fuck your cunt. The combination of your actions, the raw lust emanating from you, elicits a primal moan from deep within him.

With each thrust, he feels the lust building inside him and the need for release becomes almost unbearable. But he wants to savour this moment, savour your pleasure, revel in the intoxicating connection you share. Daemon's hand lets go of your breast and slides to your leg again.

His grip is firm and so are his thrusts, which become more intense and violent. The sound of your moans and the beginning trembling of your thighs only fuel his desire and bring him even closer to the edge.

You feel that you are about to come. The sensation of being filled in both holes is almost too much and you feel the familiar pressure spreading through your abdomen.

"Yes... Come on my cock," Daemon grunts, " Show me how good it feels for you to be filled like this," he grunts as his cock starts to twitch dangerously as well. Oberyn starts grunting behind you. He can feel your whole abdomen literally start to clench. His hand slides from your hip to your warm core. You look down, breathing heavily, and see Daemon thrusting into you and Oberyn's fingers begin to rub your clit. You are a moaning mess. The pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.

"Be an obedient wife... come while our cocks fill you," Oberyn grunts in your ear as his fingers rub faster.

You only whimper, followed by a loud moan.

"I'm going to fill you up, princess... My seed will fill this tight hole," Oberyn grunts further, thrusting deeper.

And then you come, your cunt clenches around Daemon's cock, milking him and driving him over the edge with you. He growls and grunts loudly, pumping his cum deep into your cunt with deep thrusts.

Oberyn follows shortly after you and dresses your dark walls in white. He bites the back of your neck and immerses himself in the sensation. The grips on your body are firm, the feeling wonderful.

You whimper softly as the grunting around you slowly dies down. There is a smell of sweat and sex in the air. Heavy breathing echoes off the walls. Your light whimpers come to a climax as the two of them slowly pull out of you. Exhausted, you let yourself sink against Daemon's chest while Oberyn lies on his back, breathing heavily. His hand rests on your bum, stroking it gently.

"Maybe I should visit King's Landing more often after all..." mumbles Oberyn as he looks up at the ceiling.

Your eyes are closed, but instead of a reply, you hear a slight chuckle from Daemon.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list:

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @sylasthegrim @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @arcielee @just-some-random-blogger @softyhwrt @bl4ckph0enix

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Violent Delights (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.

Warnings: Fluff. Pining, yearning, childhood crush. Mentions of sex, sexual thoughts, noncon (Baby reader catching Daemon in the act, it doesn't last long, adults intervene) all the usual Daemon warnings.

A/N: Meet dornish reader! I wanted to explore how Daemon can be in character and be with an actual age appropriate woman. Enjoy.

The first time you see Daemon Targaryen, you are twelve years old. Twelve years old and fascinated by the rain. It’s not something you usually see in Dorne, so as you trail your older brother around the Red Keep, you slip away to get a closer look.

You have never been good at orientating yourself, specially in such large spaces. You climb a stair and go in circles, before you decide to start opening doors. Unsure of which wing you are in, you decide to enter the first empty room you see.

Much to your delight, it is a sitting room with large windows. You choose the biggest one, underneath which a tiny windowsill will do quite nicely for a resting place. The window is heavy to your child self, a monstrosity made of a darker wood unseen in Dorne. You manage to pry it open with great effort and sit by it, one hand extended to feel the raindrops.

It's freezing. It feels just like running water does, but much colder. You close your eyes, committing the feeling to memory. In Dorne, desert and sand extends for miles and miles. When it rains, it's never like this. There are small drizzles, but nothing like this absolute downpour.

If it were to rain like this back home, panic would spread among the population. Crops would get ruined, houses would end up sunk in mud. But as you look down, you do not see hurried servants spreading sand or sawwood in the entrances, much less dragging furniture inside. Everything here seems to be built to withstand the climate.

You close your eyes again, feeling utterly at peace. The soft patter of the rain, so frightening at first, now feels much more calming. This is nice. You could get used to this, you think. Perhaps, when you are older, Qoren might marry you off to a kingdom where there is rain. You would like it, you think. It's a very marvelous thing. Majestic, even. There is a certain beauty in the natural forces making themselves known.

The door opens. You startle. When you look up, you are greeted by the sight of a couple kissing passionately. It’s a blonde man, tall and handsome, and a serving girl. Frozen in place, you stay quiet. You aren’t sure what the protocol is for this, if you should clear your throat or walk out quietly.

The couple parts. The man, young, around her age, pushes the woman down to her knees and starts undoing his clothing. He is a noble of some sort, you know it by the gambeson he wears. It's too finely crafted to be otherwise.

And sure, you are dornish. Someone has given you the talk about the birds and the bees already, along with some necessary knowledge of the feminine mystique. It doesn't mean you want to witness an unknown couple going at it.

As you get down from the windowsill, your shoes thud a little too hard on the floor. The woman doesn’t take notice, her mouth already… Well. But the man, blonde, Targaryen blonde, you think, looks up.

At first, it is as if he doesn’t see you. His face is contorted with pleasure, eyes nearly closed. He is beautiful, you think. His features stand out to you, specially because you are not used to people being so…white. The way he is lost in his pleasure, too, speaks to you in ways you can't yet comprehend.

Then, his eyes meet yours and widen. He is surprised at your presence, but it barely lasts. Without any ounce of shame, he gives you a superior smirk and winks.

You shriek. The serving girl pulls off him as if he were on fire. The man groans.

“Shut up, little girl.” He says, to you, as he pulls the serving girl back on. “In a few years, you too will be on your knees for a man.”

“My Prince!” The girl sounds scandalized. You can tell she is on the verge of placing herself between him and you. It's all over on the way she stands, blocking your view of his nakedness. You wonder if she fears damaging your innocence or what the man might do to you in a fit of temper. You have heard these Targaryens are quite spirited. “She is a child!”

“A dornish one.” The man, the Prince, shrugs. “Now, she can either stay or get out, but I am…”

Whatever he is, he doesn’t get to say it. No, because the door opens yet again, slamming against the wall. You startle, and so does the Prince. The serving girl starts quietly weeping, something along the lines of how she is sure she is about to lose her job.

Helplessly, three pairs of eyes shift to the door. There are guards, spears at the ready, at the forefront of it. One of them even drops his weapon, before shielding his eyes.

“What in the…”

The King and your older brother step inside the room, pushing past the men. Your brother's eyes are frantic, his hands reaching desperately for you.

The Prince still has his pants down.

Your brother takes one look at you, and one look at the Prince and loudly declares:

“We are leaving.”

Safe to say, Dorne does not join the other kingdoms that day.

There are many thoughts in your head about Daemon Targaryen after that. That he is handsome, and bold, and you always smile when told of his exploits. It's not a trait you should admire, as a second daughter, but you like his rebelliousness. When he gets the moniker of the Rogue Prince, you think it fitting.

You grow, during those years. You turn into a beautiful woman, sharp and bold, flourishing in the way women do when free to pursue their interests. But in your suitors' eyes, you have one fatal flaw: You live as you please and bed exactly the number of people you desire to bed.

In Daemon's eyes, though, you are a ghost. A memory that haunts him, every once in a while. He has heard of you, of your beauty and independence. He wonders if he was the one to initiate you into the world of pleasure, if that's why you have turned into such a siren. It's not often that Daemon does, but when he wonders, he recalls the face you had made when shattering your innocence.

But you don't know that yet. The more you grow, the more you forget him, even starting to feel a mild annoyance towards his house.

“You can never trust a Martell.” Or so King Viserys said, when your brother's offer to fund his side during the war at the Stepstones reached him. But he certainly finds it convenient because he pockets the gold so fast, one might believe him a dornish lover.

While it was true that you had an unfortunate habit of deceptiveness, it was not as if you changed sides as fast as a viper shed her skin. You only do it twice a year. Every six months is the perfect time to conduct an assessment of your investments.

Because that was what it was. War was no more than profit, for you, and most of the nobles in Westeros. The only difference is that you were much more honest about it than most.

It wasn't necessarily profitable in terms of gold. No, sometimes it meant gaining lands, or getting other kingdoms to respect you, so you could retain your freedom. But regardless of what you were gaining, you tended to look at things in a rather practical way. Some things were worth the sacrifice, some weren't.

Qoren lacked a business instinct. You had told him time and time again that the Triarchy was not a good investment. You would be losing men and funds, only to stick it to the Targaryens. Grievances aside, it was not worth it. You had to think about the good of your people.

Yet no matter how much you insisted, Qoren refused to see reason. Too proud. He had argued that the Iron Throne was going to scam you, in some way or another. When he had finally conceded to jumping ships, you had found out that he might be right.

While much more profitable than your time with the Triarchy, considering that you were now about to win the war, you were pretty sure you were being robbed. The funds you gave them slipped though their fingers faster than sand. They were either very dumb and got duped every time they bought supplies, or they were inflating the costs on purpose.

The deal had been clear. You would foot one quarter of the expenses for the lasts months of the campaign. But it seemed like you were footing the whole war with how much they were asking for.

While Qoren ruled Sunspear, you had always done your best to be involved in his politics as much as you could. Having been raised with the freedom most dorsnishwomen were, you had not been eager to make a political marriage or leave your home for a land that would think you too unconventional. Instead, to guarantee not being sent away, you had endeavored to make yourself as useful as you could.

But as you grew, you had proven to be much more than so. While he had made a good marriage, with a kind woman, she had not been raised in the way that you had been. You had turned indispensable in the ruling of Sunspear, his Lady in all but the fact that you did not share his bed.

It helped that, unmarried as you were, you retained your title. And as the Princess as you were, you didn't stand for being made a fool. That fact, aided by the hot-blooded nature of the Martells, had been what had prompted you to travel by yourself to the war camp.

If the lords loyal to the Iron Throne did, why couldn't you?

Much to your surprise, when you finally arrive at the Stepstones, it seems like the war is over. You find men pillaging the caves where the Crab King kept his few riches. A few wounded lay on the floor, others already taken by the Stranger.

You step in the sand, kicking a few bodies away to make room for yourself. The whole place is a mess. There are some fires going. Some men are rounding up the enemy’s soldiers, either killing them or placing them in chains. You wrinkle your nose in disgust at the smell of blood and burned flesh.

Slowly, you start to make your way forward. You have made sure to be dressed in the bright yellows and oranges of House Martell, to avoid being confused with someone else. The heavy, male boots you are wearing contrast sharply with the daintiness of your attire.

As you make your way forward, some men try to approach you. You gesture to your guards, a second son of House Dayne and a young man by the last name of Sand, to block their paths.

“Who is that?” Some men ask, dumbly. You roll your eyes. What sort of allies were these, that they didn't recognize your standard?

“Hey, Lady, you can’t be here!” And oh, the sheer stupidity of them all. If you didn't know their lords to be much more cunning, this display might have actually led you to believe that they were, in fact, being duped time and time again instead of inflating the cost of supplies.

“… The Maiden…” Now, that one was a bit better. You looked good in your traveling dress, despite the chunky boots.

“What is she..?”

You bat them all away, set on reaching the center of the smoking ruins. You know the men you seek must be there. The faint screeches of dragons tell you that.

Your knights locate a rock for you to sit on. They stand guard, their backs turned to you. You eye the carnage around you and decide that yes, the rock is precisely where you wish to sit. It's high enough that you get a vantage point to watch the terrain, but not too tall you will need aid to get up on it.

When you sit down, carefully spreading your skirts to not let them touch the dirt, someone sits by your side. You don't need to look up to know it's who you seek. Your guards wouldn't have let him approach if he wasn't.

“Quite the entrance.” He says, casually leaving his sword on the sand. “You have grown.”

Pretending not to recognize him, you look at your nails, casually. His voice sounds exactly as you remember it.

“Do I know you?”

“More intimately than you probably wished at the time.” He laughs, and you finally risk your first glance at him. Daemon Targaryen is still in his armor, covered in so much blood he looks positively feral. His hair, in intricate little braids, is as beautiful as you remember, even if limp and tinted red. A shame he will probably have to cut it now because by the looks of it, the blood and sooth are not coming off.

You are no longer a girl of twelve years old, and he is no longer the young Prince you once caught in the act. Yet, he is still disarmingly handsome. Despite the years and the self assuredness you have managed to cultivate, he leaves you weak at the knees.

How could one say this in a polite manner? Daemon had featured in quite a few of your teenage fantasies, as you grew older. After catching him in the act, you had had an interesting conversation with Qoren. It had opened your eyes to a whole new world of pleasure.

Twelve years old was an impressionable age, especially for young maidens. You had flowered not long afterwards your first exposure to sex. Back then, you hadn't understood what you had witnessed properly, but as you grew, your imagination did too. And Dorne was not a place for the shy.

As you started to look at the world with the eyes of a woman, you had experienced your first infatuation, and it had been on him. Never before had you met a northern that was as open-minded about pleasure as Daemon was, and that fact had made you wonder what it would be like to share his bed. And then, the war at the Stepstones had reawakened your teenage urges.

“You!” You play it cool, as if you had not set up this whole thing on the odd chance of getting to see him. Dornishmen were no strangers to pleasure, after all. And you had never been good at denying yourself of anything you wanted. “The boy in the sitting room.”

“The girl at the window.” Daemon conceded, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “And here I thought I would have to lower my pants.”

You snickered. Daemon looked perplexed for a second, before snickering too. You could tell he was impressed by your lack of a reaction to his joke, probably because he had thought it would scandalize you.

The moment is cut short, though, by his own sobering up.

“You shouldn't be here, little dornish girl.”

“Oh?” You extend your legs in front of you, getting comfortable. Will he mention the elephant in the room, or will you have to?

“These men have not seen a woman in months.” Daemon answers, lightly curling his hand over the pommel of his sword. You look around you, noticing that some of the men are, in fact, staring hungrily at you. It's not something that bothers you, any longer. Despite the nickname Daemon has bestowed on you, you are no girl. Younger than him by a few years, you are more of an old maid. You were used to men's attention. As the Princess of Dorne, you had come to expect it.

“And that concerns me, how?” Because there are much more interesting matters you wish to discuss, rather than the ogling of some uncouth northerns. For one, where was your gold going. Second, what were you having for dinner. Third, if he was going to join you.

“Do I really have to explain?” Daemon arches an eyebrow. Deciding to play coy, you give him a sweet look.

“Please. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of your opinions.” And if it comes out a bit ironic, Daemon doesn't seem to notice, too entranced by the way you are twirling one of your dark curls between your fingers.

“Plenty of hungry cats.” He says, as if in a daze. Apparently, Daemon hasn't seen a woman in months either, if seducing him will be this easy. “And you are looking an awful lot like a little mouse.”

You fight the urge to snicker. You were no mouse, but a viper, and you were ready to strike. But if he fancied himself the protector, you didn't mind playing into it.

“Well, good thing you are here. Now they think this little mouse is spoken for.” You run a hand over his arm, softly. Your hands lift a trace of the blood in his armor, leaving behind a drawing made up of empty space.

“Are you?” He arches an eyebrow, unbothered at the contact. You retract your hand, staring at your now bloody fingernails.

A scattering of images comes to mind. Maidenheads, bloody sheets. The girl you were at twelve. The man he is now. Your nails scratching lines on his back, biting at his throat, nipping at his lips. Unable to connect the thoughts, you let them go until only a pleasant smile remains.

“Are you a hungry cat?”

“No, little mouse.” Daemon tucks a loose curl behind your ear. As his hand comes down, he caresses your neck, lightly. It's barely a brush of his fingertips, yet your breath falters. He leans in, as if sharing a secret. His next words come out in a whisper. “I am a hungry dragon.”

Predictable, if a bit witty. Targaryens and their dragons. Despite it, you enjoy how much of an effort he is putting in. As a Martell, people often expect you to do all the seducing, not noticing you like being seduced as well. It's good that someone finally acknowledges it takes two to dance.

“That explains the never-ending appetite.” You tease, leaning towards him as well. The sun is starting to settle around you, some of his men lighting fires. They do not seem about to stop their pillaging. You wonder if Corlys Velaryon is near, and if so, why he doesn't stop them.

“You have no idea.” His voice is low and smooth. His hand is still on your loose curl, lower, this time. Barely touching your collarbone. His eyes are dark, and you doubt it is from the change in lighting. "A taste would never satiate me.”

“Shame. Little mice make for small bites, I think.” Your lips quirk up at the corners, barely suppressing a laugh. Expert in denial as you are, you know now is the time to retreat. You want him hooked on you so badly, he never sees your next move.

“I would make sure to do so very slowly. Savor it.” Daemon's thumb rubs just between your collarbones, tracing a path towards the valley of your breasts. You move away before he can reach it.

“Maybe, hungry cat.” You stress the last word, already knowing how you will lead Daemon into your trap. It will only take a few well-placed prods at his ego.

“Hungry dragon.” He repeats, a bit annoyed. The idea that you do not recognize him by his proper title upsets him. You laugh.

“Oh, but you look like a starved cat. A stray.”

“I am no stray.” Daemon complains. You arch an eyebrow, coolly.

“What else is a Prince doing fighting a war so far from home?”

Daemon stares at you. You are willing to admit it was quite mean on your part. Perhaps a tad too vicious. But you have yet to accomplish what you wish to, hence why you take it even further.

“You have until tomorrow to deposit the gold you have stolen from us in coffers.”

His whole face shifts, flirty expression replaced by a mask of indifference that is not fooling anyone. Caught off guard by your words, Daemon resorts back to his only defense mechanism.

“And if I don't?” He thrusts his chin up, defiant.

“You will find yourself at war with Dorne.” Your tone is even. Your voice doesn't waver, as if you were discussing the weather and not defying a kingdom much larger than yours.

“And you will declare war with two knights?” Daemon laughs.

“Have you met Dalton Greyjoy, perhaps?” You lean back on the rock, tilting your face up to the sun. Soaking in it. “Awfully young ironborn. Eager to prove himself, much more so if it's to beautiful women. Or so I hear.”

“You have allied yourself with the Iron Islands?”

You say nothing. Instead, you give him an enchanting tilt of the head, as if he was no more than one of your suitors. Your lips stretch into a coy little smile, one that tells him you have a secret he is not privy to.

“I do not believe you.” Daemon shakes his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, before uncrossing them and shaking his head yet again. Stunned. “No. Prince Qoren would never allow it.”

“Qoren would not?” You repeat, mockingly. “And pray tell, since when do you know him so well?”

“Do you know why he dropped the Triarchy?” The question is unexpected. Before this, you had not bothered to wonder about your brother's motives. Used as you were at things going your way, you had assumed Qoren had seen the wisdom of your advice and decided to take it.

“Because I told him it was a bad investment.” You answer, refusing to back down. What could Daemon Targaryen know of the motivations of a prince of Dorne? Nothing. He had to be bluffing, searching for a weakness he could exploit to get out of this.

“Because the Crab King, over there…” Daemon gestures vaguely in the direction of the corpses. “Had eyes that lingered too much on you. And if this Greyjoy boy is the same…”

You blink a few times. It makes sense. The Crab King had never tried to seduce you, yet you know men like that are not used to asking. Instead, they order. You can only guess the face Qoren made when faced with such a demand. He is as proud as you are.

Daemon could be lying, of course. Trying to make you doubt Qoren. Divide and conquer, and all that. You can't let that happen. Everyone knows the two of you are a team. Whatever grievances you have to air with him, they will be on private. You tuck away the piece of information for later, and focus on what's in front of you.

“If Qoren is willing to turn into a turncloak for my sake…” You narrow your eyes at Daemon, menacingly. You know as well as him that the easiest way to stop you is to hurt you. Kill you, perhaps. But it would mean war. “Think of what he will do to you, if you hurt me.”

“You will have your coffers tomorrow, Princess.” Daemon says, bitterly. He knows he has lost. You outmaneuvered him. House Martell has never bowed to dragons. If Daemon declares war on Dorne, his brother will pull the support from the Iron Throne. Corlys Velaryon will not want to get involved, no matter how much he has benefitted from their plot. He cannot wage war alone.

You get up. You dust off your skirts.

“Good. And make sure you bathe before touching the gold. Wouldn't want you staining it.”

You do go back to Dorne with a chest full of gold, and then some. As it seems to be a tendency with Daemon, you almost forget all about him before he is barging into your life again.

It happens on an odd afternoon, while you are trying to broker a deal with a foreign King. The tart taste of the berries makes you scrunch up your face. It's more acidic than what you are used to, but good nonetheless. You smile at the King in front of you. He looks on the verge of drooling.

“I am glad you like it, my Princess.” He simpers. “I must say the shade compliments your caramel skin quite well.”

Caramel. Ugh. How you hate when men compare you to food. It's always your caramel skin, your cherry lips, your golden eyes. Can they get more unoriginal?

You beg to the skies for fortitude. This alliance is important, you remind yourself. Qoren needs them, Dorne needs them. They grow more fruit than you could ever hope for.

As it often happens, your prayers are heeded in a way you could not have expected.

“Princess.” A guard suddenly sprints into the room. “There is a situation at the gates. Prince Qoren needs you.”

You spring up from your seat so fast, one might think there were needles on your cushion.

“I apologize, my King. The berries were lovely. Perhaps you could send some more? For the people?”

“Oh, I understand.” The King gives a jovial laugh. “Duty calls and all. You are right, I shall send you…”

“Good.” You cut him off, and walk out of the parlor. As you start to reach the gates, you slow down your walk. You can't have Qoren thinking you rushed to his side, after all.

“Have you developed some sort of mind reading ability?” Qoren turns at your words. He is facing the gates, right in the middle of the watchtower. It's not an actual watchtower, but rather a ledge on one of your lower walls, right aside to the actual tower. Its slightly off center position allows for a better view of the gates, despite not being very high.

“What's that supposed to mean?” He asks, reclining precariously. Your stomach turns. This is a recurring occurrence, Qoren watching from places he is not supposed to. You often fear he will fall to his death, yet he has yet to even slip. He is noisy enough to not care about the dangers of the world.

“You knew I needed an out, I gather.” You keep your tone flat. While you enjoyed being his right hand, you disliked that so many of your allies thought flirting was the way to do business.

“I didn't. Come here and take a look.” Qoren sounds uninterested in your grievances, which is highly unusual for him. Whatever he is looking at must be fascinating. You start climbing the steps, aided by the guard that led you here. You try to do so gracefully, but it's daunting in a dress as the one you wear.

“How did you even get up here?” You huff, crouching on the ledge before slowly starting to stand.

“Invaders.” Qoren says, unbothered. You nearly fall off, shrieking. The guard pushes you upright again.

“At ease, Princess. We got you.” He says. “Look closer.”

So you do. You narrow your eyes at the horizon, and what you can see of the gate. You can barely make out a giant red blur. A dragon, perhaps? One you already know, by the eerie calm he is sporting.

You only know one dragon. It happens to be red.

“What did you do to that man?” Qoren laughs. Your mouth opens and closes. It has been almost two moons since you departed from the Stepstones, half of the gold you had originally given to the Iron Throne back with you.

You had gone on with your life. Taken a few lovers, here and there. Ate good food. Pawned off resources for alliances. You know, the typical. Daemon Targaryen, though, clearly has not. Because he now stands at the gates of Sunspear, dragon in tow.

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.” You reply to Qoren, still open-mouthed. “Is he trying to declare war?”

Qoren laughs at you, poking you in the ribs. You squirm away, before remembering you are standing on a ledge. You slap his arm.

“Don't do that! We could fall!”

“The only falling being done here is that dragon prince for you, dear sister.”

“Huh?” You frown, confused. What is he on about? Despite your desire to bed Daemon, you had walked away from the meeting with the certainty that he was not interested in you. You were not a maiden like the ones he chased, nor were you young, and you had done a good job of alienating him after threatening him with war. This could not be a mere visit, for you had parted on bad terms.

But Qoren doesn't answer. He only raises his voice slightly.

“Truss him up in chains!” The order is clearly not meant for you. “And place him on the Princess' solar.”

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, as the guards hurry to carry out his order.

“I'll give you a chance to deal with him.” Qoren says, mysteriously. “I think he is about to ask for your hand.” And with an agile jump, he is off the ledge and getting down the wall. You scramble to follow.

“Qoren!” You scream, nearly falling off in your haste. He is too fast for you, already entering the palace. The guard steadies you again, and you gather your skirts and run after him, but it's too late. You do not know which direction he has turned. “Qoren, what do you mean by that? Have you spoken to him? He asked you for… Qoren, dammit!”

His cheery voice reaches your ears.

“Do try to get rid of him, alright? We can't have our people thinking we have been invaded.”

You chase after the sound, but he is gone. You could follow him to the throne room, but you decide for the more amusing option. No matter if Qoren is teasing about the marriage proposal, you decide to go and freshen up a bit. It will take a long time for the guards to subdue Daemon, and to drag him inside. Plenty of advice for you to change clothes.

Be it for declaring war, or rejecting a marriage proposal, you like to be well-dressed for the occasion. You take your time choosing your outfit, strapping a tiny dagger to your thigh.

Only when an hour has passed, you walk towards your solar. There are a few knights stationed outside, one of them being your Dayne companion. He approaches you cautiously.

“The Prince left instructions for us to enter at your call. One scream, Princess, and we will be in there before he can draw his sword.”

He sounds worried. It's actually kind of sweet.

“Don't worry. He won't hurt me.”

But despite your words, as soon as you enter your solar, you are grabbed harshly by the arm. You look up to find Daemon not only free from chains, but furious.

Perhaps the guards thought it would not be very diplomatic to chain him up. A shame. You jerk off his grip, and go serve yourself some wine. It's a very neat trick, one you have learned from the men in your life. One must let the other do all the nagging while pretending to be entirely innocent, so they sound insane. Often, it leads to the person reproaching you actually thinking they are going mad. You only use it when you feel particularly cruel.

"You took your time.” Daemon follows you, stomping and huffing. “I have been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“I was not decent. I had to change into my afternoon clothes.” You give a little twirl, enjoying the luxurious feel of the skirt against your body. You know it will only anger him further. “Do you like them?”

“You have some nerve.” Daemon scoffs. You offer him a goblet of wine, which he takes. “Do you know what men say of you?”

“Does a viper pay attention to the mumbling of worms?” Your voice is calm and sweet. In truth, you do pay a attention to what they say. Who doesn't? But Daemon doesn't need to know that for the game you are playing.

“You are hardly a viper.” His eyes narrow at you, in a flutter of pretty lashes and lilac. Good Gods, what right does he have to be so handsome. You hate him.

“I like to think I am one.” You drink from your wine, giving him a coy little look over the rim of your goblet.

“They say you are a witch. That you place your spell on them and have them dancing at your tune.” He complains, gruffly. So far, he seems very angered by you, which is fair considering the way you parted. What makes no sense is the fact that he has come this far to make his displeasure known.

“It's not my fault men are often led by their cocks.” You shrug. It's rather crass, but you are unbothered by it. If men are allowed to speak how they please, why shouldn't you?

“Perhaps not.” Daemon cocks his head. “But I do wish to ask something of you.”

“Oh?”

Daemon places his goblet down. He plucks yours from your fingers, all soft movements. He raises your hand to his lips, and kisses your palm. His eyes never leave yours.

“Remove your spell from me.”

You laugh. You stare at him as if he has two heads. You laugh some more.

"I'm serious. You have bewitched me. Ensnared me with your charms and feminine…” He lets go of your hand, angrily gesturing. The laughter dies in your throat. Daemon is not joking.

“I have what?” You repeat, confused. Now you are actually thinking him a madman.

“You have made it so I can't lie with another woman. I only get relief when I think of you. Remove your spell, or I shall…” And it's too good, too much of a joke not to laugh. You restrain yourself, knowing angering him more could be bad for your health.

“You shall what?” Despite your attempts, your amusement must show because Daemon grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a tiny shake. It's not enough to hurt you, but it startles you into seriousness.

“I have never wanted a woman as much as I want you.” His eyes do not show the emotion his words imply. While his face reflects need, Daemon has not drank nearly enough to have such a loose tongue. Something is amiss. “Let me have you. If you don't remove your spell, I need to have you.”

His eyes don't show need, but eagerness. He is trying to manipulate you. The thought of him implying that you must let him have you makes your blood boil. You are angered beyond belief. Has he really come all this way to make some half-assed marriage proposal, in the hopes of trapping you with him? Who does he think he is dealing with?

If you were another woman, more inexperienced, you would let this man manipulate you right into his bed. But you are not. You are old enough to know that lust can be cured with a few well-placed hot baths and enough time and distance. His excuses are a poor attempt. You almost prefer the other men's simpering.

“I am no witch, you fool. Now, out!” You point at the door.

Daemon straightens. He eyes you carefully.

“I need you.” He repeats. It's clearly a lie. You wonder what else is, too. Is it odd to feel flattered by him being so set on you, he is willing to manipulate you into marriage?

“You do not. There is nothing interesting here, go find a whore.” You cross your arms over your chest. Your traitorous heart seems to disagree. You don't want him to leave, says the heat in your cheeks. Not yet, answers the harsh ring of your pulse in your ears.

“I do.” Daemon steps closer. He seems slightly unsure and that is what gives him away. If you are trying to manipulate someone, you have to go all in. You can't hesitate because they call your bluff. His seduction techniques need serious work. “You have to let me have you.”

“I don't have to do anything.” You scowl at him, getting right up on his face. To you, it doesn't matter if you are shorter, you will put the fear of the gods in him or so the Seven help you. “And I do not believe a word you say. If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have merely asked. I do not appreciate you trying to manipulate me. I do not need to be coerced into it, I am no maiden.”

“And if I were to ask?” His nose brushes against yours, tenderly. Daemon's eyes have turned dark, his body nearly vibrating in excitement at your anger. You had heard Targaryens had queer customs, but had not expected him to be so aroused after getting yelled at.

“Too late, out!” You push your index finger into his chest, hard. Daemon smirks. He takes a step forward, forcing you to back off or get your finger crushed.

“You said I had to only ask for what I want.” He gets closer still, backing you against a wall. “No more games.”

“No more games.” You agree, a bit shakily. He noses along your temple, softly. You look up at him, all big, surprised eyes. How has he turned the whole situation into his favor so fast? And when, exactly, did you lose control?

“I want to know what is behind your eyes.” Daemon presses a soft kiss to your brow, then to your eye. You let go of the breath you are holding, eyes fluttering closed. Your lips tingle with the urge to be kissed, alight with the rush that comes from being seduced. But you do not intend to make it easy for him, no. He can't just expect you to submit just because he asks.

“No, thank you.” You duck beneath his arm, leaving behind your moment of weakness. He still tried to manipulate you, after all. He deserves a bit of suffering.

“What do you fear?” Daemon grabs your arm, pulling you towards him. He nuzzles your neck. “It certainly isn't modesty, you said so yourself. You are no blushing virgin.”

“I do not want to marry you.” You jerk free of his grip.

“Perhaps, you think I would enjoy you less. Or you fear I might not like what hides behind your eyes.” He kisses right behind your ear, softly hugging you to him. “The thoughts you have… The things you crave…” His hand traces an upward path, from your belly button to your collarbones. “To me, it only means you are already mine.”

“I'm not interested.” You say, but your whole body is saying yes. You just can't help it. His attention is overwhelming. His hands are gripping at your waist, your hips, everywhere. You shake against him as if you were an innocent still, and not a woman seasoned in the arts of love.

“I made you like this.” Daemon presses scorching hot kisses against your neck. You wonder if all Targaryens run as hot as this one. “Do you remember, little dornish girl?”

“You did not.” You pull away once more, and grab your wine again. You take a hearty sip. The memory you have obsessed over is one he has thought of too. Daemon had awoken something in you that rainy afternoon, and it's clear you had done the same to him.

“I taught you something, even if unwillingly. I always wondered, when I heard of your exploits, if you thought of me too.” And you have. Oh, how badly have you thought of running into him and bedding him, but you are not willing to admit it. You know if you look at him, you will give yourself away, so you keep stubbornly looking somewhere else.

Daemon chuckles.

“Let me see those eyes.” He gently grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. “Ah. So I was right.”

Furious at being caught, you place one of your hands on his hair and tug. Hard. Hard enough to force him to expose his neck.

“How do you feel about my eyes now?” You snarl.

“They are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Daemon's brows are pinched together, his back slightly arched. Your punishing grip on his hair is hurting him, and you are glad for it. Yet, his lips are parted as if experiencing the sweetest delights. “They are those of a woman in the throes of passion.”

“Do not test me.” You warn, forcing him to his knees. He goes willingly.

Daemon reaches up slowly, his much bigger hand curling around your wrist. He coaxes you to let go, softly massaging.

“I can taste the arousal cursing through your blood, Princess.” He pulls you into him, until both of you are sprawled out on the floor. “I see how your chest heaves, how your breath is getting heavier, how your lips plump… You are excited.”

“So what if I am?” You huff. It's all cornered animal. You cannot deny it any longer, you want him too badly for it.

“It means you and me… We are the same.” And he finally kisses you. His mouth meets yours in a hungry kiss, into which you pour all your frustration. But Daemon coaxes you to go slower, to kiss more passionately instead of hurriedly.

“I want you.” He says, when you part. His forehead rests against yours. “Let me keep you. Be mine. A woman as bloodthirsty as you cannot stay alone forever.” As he lays you down on the floor, as he gets on top of you and his hands pin yours down. “Let me keep you.”

And this time, you say yes.

[dreamlandcreations]

The Queen

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

The Dance of the Dragons took place after the right of princess Rhaenys to her inheritance was disregarded, although it wasn't as devastating as it would have been a few decades later, the war did not pass without loss, not even sparing the royal family and their extended circle of relatives.

King Jaehaerys died on his dragon and many were lost trying to claim a dragon of their own. Just after a few months, Viserys was ready to make peace at whatever cost. Daemon, as his heir, wasn't so eager to settle for less.

In the end, his love for his family, and an offer of freedom from his marriage and a promise of proper heritage calmed the fiery-natured prince and an agreement has been made.

After starting her reign with a bloody war, many expected Rhaenys to be a tyrant at best. She, however ruled with grace and was loved by all for she was fair and wise, the people called her either Rhaenys the Just or simply The Grace.

Almost twenty years later, it is time for her eldest, the princess to prove herself to be more than a brave dragonrider and skilled fighter. Many feared her first choice as the heir would be the last as well, for finding a husband meant she would select the future king.

Although almost all available lords were heard, there were only two truly considered, the Prince of Dorne, with who she would unite the Realm, and Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince himself.

• moodboards masterlist •

[seancekitsch]

The Sword and the Quill: Chapter Three

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

My Daring Unfamiliar,

Quite coy of me to evade you? And what of your clever ways of evading me? I find myself no closer to figuring out your identity, though I feel more drawn to you than before. I too am glad you are not betrothed, as a vibrant woman such as yourself you should not find yourself shackled to one of the stuffy men of King’s Landing probably twice your age. It does seem to be their proclivity, as loathsome as it is. I am glad for your friendship, even if I do not know who you are. Even if I feel I will waste away and die without knowing who you are. To think, am I on your list? Are you on mine? I will admit I have my list narrowed down to six women, those that I think daring and smart enough to be you. Perhaps after this letter I will narrow it down even farther. I find I will be searching for your frazzled hair and short temper now that I know what to look for in this humidity. Of course I only jest. I am certain that what you think is unkempt is only marred because one is always critical of the face in the mirror, I am certain such wit and a sharp mind is accompanied by beauty to match.

How is it that a lady of noble birth would ever want to visit a place like Lys? Do you not know of its reputation? Of the pleasure gardens and pillow houses? Of the pirates that lurk there from the triarchy? I have not been there myself, but I do have a few of their coin, of which were taken off of a triarchy pirate. A gift, for you, is one of them I have sealed with this letter. You are an even bigger mystery to me now, knowing that a place such as Lys piques your interest so. But to answer your other questions, I have been to Dorne and Oldtown. Dorne is interesting, some parts a vast desert and others a beautiful oasis. Their wines and silks are the loveliest in all of Westeros, their people far less concerned with the pretenses that we are. Can you believe that I was asked to dance with a man’s wife openly? Such things could never occur here, although I will say that I did very much enjoy that everyone spoke plainly of their intentions and emotions. It was freeing to have that, and the courts proved all too constricting to me every day after. These letters to you are the closest I have had to that feeling since my travel there, and I appreciate you doubly for it. I am glad that I have found someone that I may converse openly with, ignoring status or titles or circumstances.

I will also say that the Queen is correct, Oldtown is maybe the most beautiful city in the kingdoms united. There is nothing more lush than its gardens, more splendid than its chateaus filled with artifacts and scrolls dating back to the conqueror, nothing more breathtaking than the flame at the top of the citadel.

I fear that you will find me boring, if I now admit my love of tourneys. I find the spectacle magnificent, and the skill and prowess on display to be a display of the strength of our shared kingdoms and crown. Perhaps I will find you and make it all the less boring for you. I do hope that my eyes will find yours amidst the crowd, and your countenance will make itself known to me immediately through some supernatural knowing. I will be searching for you in every row of the stands, praying to the seven that it will be easy. More importantly, tell me your favorite song, and I shall learn to play it for you. Or even, you may tell me your favorite poem and I shall transcribe it to song for you, a new creation of art for my Unfamiliar.

I do hope that I have discovered you by the next feast, so that I can ask you to dance properly, and that we may converse without the guise of the quills. So that I may grasp your hand to know that you are real. I assure you that I will be a spoiled man if I am to watch you dance circles around me, and a man utterly ruined if I get to steal more than one dance.

Your letters have cooled a part of me too warm, warmed a part of me too cool.

Truly,

Your Unfamiliar.

You look down at the golden ribbon tied into your sleeves for the day, your mind thinking only of the fact that he had underlined Your in his signing off. He considers himself yours. More, you think of the Lyseni coin that he had tucked into the parchment, a golden oval with the portrait of a naked woman engraved into it. An obscene gift for a lady of the court, but one you cherish because it is from your unfamiliar. Yours yours yours. It now lies in your jewelry box, a dingy coin amongst your finest of necklaces and rings. You have narrowed your list down. It is for certain not Darklyn or Beesbury. The names left are Lord Rowan, Ser Loras Florent, Ser Gwayne Hightower. You have picked out these ribbons for Lord Rowan, as a subtle sign of acknowledgment of his house colors, strikingly different from your own. You do not exactly wish it to be any of the men on your list, however. Lord Rowan is a complete stranger to you, Ser Loras you know to frequent married women’s beds, and Ser Gwayne… infuriates you. All of these men handsome and on parchment suitable matches, yet picturing any of them on the other side of the quill feels wrong. So you are hedging your bets in the days leading up to the tourney by attempting to garner the attention of the complete stranger. Maybe he is well traveled and sharp and charming like your unfamiliar.

Although you admit, the first day you did not see Lord Rowan anywhere within the Red Keep. Nor the day after that or yesterday. And now, the morning of the tourney, you hope that whatever hole he has crawled into he has emerged from so you can look into his eyes and figure out if he is yours. It’s silly, to think that you could tell, but maybe you can? Maybe this is like one of the fairytales you were told when you were young.

Only, it’s not Lord Rowan that you find in the hallways.

“Oh, please don’t tell me this is a new look for you,” Gwayne’s voice calls from the other end of the hall. How is it that the Red Keep is so large, yet Gwayne Hightower is inescapable?

“And if it is?” you call back. Gwayne closes the distance between you, his armor clanking the entire time. He is dressed and ready for his tilt in the tourney already.

“I’d say Lord Rowan is remiss for ignoring your efforts, but I’d also say you are wasting your time,” Gwayne smiles widely. He knows something. Your fingers start to fiddle with one of the ribbons, knowing you could easily pull them all out. It’s horrible, that for as rude you and Gwayne may be to each other sometimes, you can see that he’s not trying to humiliate you right now.

“Why?” you ask, pouting in frustration.

“Because he found out that he’s been writing to Lady Caswell, and now they are courting.”

Oh. That is a very good reason, indeed. You yank at the ribbon you’d been toying with, then the next one and the next one until your hands are full of the little ribbons, and hastily you look for somewhere to toss them, but there is none.

“Thank you for informing me,” you say, trying to steady your voice as much as possible.

“It seems you are no closer to finding out who writes you than I am.”

“I keep a list of his qualities to try to narrow it down.”

“As do I with my lady.”

“May I see your list?”

“Would you tell me who is on your list, if I did?”

“No.”

“Then my answer is the same.”

You are once again at an impasse with Gwayne Hightower, two immovable objects in the tide. 

“I hope you find your woman without the issue I face, I guess,” you offer, not exactly meaning it but not trying to be mean. If this is as trying for you, it has to be for every unwed person in the castle too. As much as your love for the Hightower family finds its limits at the brother, you still wish to carry on the tenants of this experiment for at least your friend.

“Then I shall see upon you at the tourney,” Gwayne says, and then tilts his head “Though I rather see you in different colors.”

“And what colors would you wish?” you ask, though you regret the words as they die on your tongue. He looks you up and down, and then scoffs.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Hours later, at the tourney, you are sat three seats away from Queen Alicent Hightower. You are dressed in the deep burgundy and blue color of your house and idly snapping your fingers closed on each of the elder Targaryen children’s hands; your fake predator of a hand keeping little Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena preoccupied for now. You wish that games like these could entertain you equally, but instead all runs through your mind is your Unfamiliar. Is he here, indeed? You hate that you have to be here, but yet you find your head almost whipping around in search. You told your Unfamiliar that you’d be searching for him; and you are. But with every turn of your head you seem to recognize and be bored of everyone. Bringing a favor to this event even feels silly at this point. You do not feel the spark you had hoped for. In fact, nothing draws anything besides boredom from you until late in the day.  

That is when Gwayne Hightower atop a horse galavants across the royal box and back again. Despite your ebbing annoyance from him earlier, you find yourself tensing in your seat. If not on your own, then on his sister’s behalf. You remember what she told you about the last tourney that Gwayne had attended in King’s Landing. To be almost killed by Daemon Targaryen himself, maybe the only person in all of Westeros you found truly and deeply loathsome and terrifying, is a memory that clearly stains the Queen’s outlook on this tourney. You tense and worry and stop your little game with the children in rapt attention, for her. 

His armor glimmers in the sunlight, blight enough to blind. His smile, though obscured by the helm, is similarly blinding. You’re certain he remembers his brush with death at the hands of the Rogue Prince, but his demeanor would say otherwise. He is the definition of confident bravado. This man looks foreign to the uncertain and studious man you spoke with the other day in the library. 

Lord Manderly has his horse trot and dance as he crosses the pitch, not yet a knight but clearly already presenting the same qualities as any of the rest of them. Soon, you are certain, he will be laughing and chasing women around with the rest of them. The northern stoicism does not seem to carry to this man, as he laughs and points into the crowd, at friends and serving people and women he may ask for favor. 

Both men cross back and forth, searching the crowds, their jousting lances upturned to the heavens as they circle, the crowd growing ever the more excited. 

You clutch your favor, unwilling to let it leave your grasp as a pit forms in your stomach every time Gwayne passes by the royal box. You look down the row of chairs to Alicent, who is already looking at you; her hands frustratedly pick at one another, her nails already rimmed with crimson. You offer her a weak smile, hoping it is enough to reassure her as the thought dawns on you: she has not seen her brother fight since that day. Sparring and training were nothing like this. And though Lord Manderly is no Daemon Targaryen, Alicent is really and truly afraid. You reach your free hand over the children’s heads, and her fingertips copy the gesture to brush against yours, your comfort not lost on her. It is moments like this where you feel truly wanted and needed here, and you could not imagine yourself traveling anywhere else. The love and friendship of the queen is almost enough. 

But her eyes snap away from your gaze, and your attention follows. 

There, resting at the railing, is Ser Gwayne Hightower’s jousting lance pointed at you. 

Shit.

Does he mean to humiliate you? A jape for your attitude towards him earlier? A way to twist and soil your efforts to find your letter writer?

You grimace at him, unsure of what to say as little Aegon fiddles with one of the ribbons on your favor. 

“My Lady, may your favor give me some of that fiery personality of yours. Perhaps your boldness will inspire the courage to win,” His smile is wide as he talks, as if he is holding back a laugh. You wish to snarl at him, hurl insult after insult, but his sister watches with rapt attention. 

“Perhaps you are already too bold, Ser,” you retort, but Aegon tugs harder on your favor. 

“My Lady, I will name you Queen of Love and Beauty if I win,” he presses, eyes darting to his sister before back to yours. It feels conspiratorial. 

“You wish me to have a line of suitors? How kind, Ser Gwayne.”

“I wish to repay a favor you’ve given me,” he explains, and begrudgingly you pull the favor from the little prince’s grasp to wrap it around the lance, the wine red and blue ribbons with embroidered grape leaves easily sliding down to where the base flares out, cementing itself on his weapon. The entire act feels intimate and strange, your handmade favor never having been given, and your eyes never truly meeting his for this long at once. Even from a distance, you can see the shining hazel. 

“You’d better win, I worked hard on that embroidery,” is all you offer, but anything else would feel far too tender, far too genial for the tense at best relationship between you. 

With that, Gwayne winks at you and has his horse trot off, proudly lifting his lance with your favor up to the entire crowd. The pit in your stomach deepens, realizing that if your Unfamiliar is truly here today, you now appear unavailable to him all because of Gwayne Hightower. You could hate him for this. 

But all you can do is sigh as you lean back into your chair, now completely ruined for the entire event. You chew your bottom lip as the dread settles in you, your hopes for the day dashed and taken away by your dearest friend’s brother. 

“Why do you look sour?” Aegon, who now has nothing to keep him idle, asks, “I’d name you Love and Beauty too.”

You roll your eyes as you give the prince a cheeky smile.

“I’m too old for you, little princeling. Move along.”

He sneers at you, but there’s no malice in the little boys face, and he turns back to his siblings to talk to them. Alicent looks over their heads at you, a curious and accusatory look on her face. You’d called her brother a brute, a ruffian, every rude name in the book but here you were giving him your favor with little protest as he talks of naming you Queen of Love and Beauty. Surely, she knows of her brother’s reputation, but you are the big question mark in this situation. 

“When did your loathing of my brother subside?” She asks, finally no longer picking at her hands as this now occupies her. 

“It did not,” you explain, “I merely helped him find a book the other day. He thinks this will repay me for my efforts.”

Alicent’s lips turn upward, a ghost of a laugh in the form of a sigh leaves her. She shakes her head, and finally her gaze breaks yours, casting her eyes to her brother on the field below. 

“Whatever he was looking for must have been very important,” The Queen mutters, and that ends the conversation. 

Gwayne and Lord Manderly line up, opposite sides of their tilt barrier on opposite sides of the list. Otto Hightower speaks, as Viserys’ voice does not find him lately. The King is weakening, today a rare public outing. You are certain that sooner rather than later, Alicent will take the reins and you will be her unofficial hand. 

“Let the final tilt begin!”

Needing no further encouragement, the men urge their horses forward, lances tilted forward and favors blowing in the wind. Gwayne’s lance finds purchase, easily shattering the wooden shield of Lord Manderly, the force of it pushing the northern lord backwards off his horse. However, this is the gruesome part. The moment Lord Manderly hits the ground, a squire brings forth his sword. Gwayne slows his horse, and jumps from the saddle with ease. He passes his shield and lance to his own squire, and reaches for his own sword. The two men run towards each other and finally you find yourself cringing in your seat. The memories of the Hightower Knight covered in blood flash through your mind as if they were yesterday. You grab the material of your skirt, white-knuckling the fabric to the point that you’re certain you’re ruining it.

You worry for Alicent, worry for the outcome of the tourney, worry for the fate of the favor you spent time making, and finally you let yourself admit that you do indeed worry for Gwayne Hightower. As much as he vexes you, you do not want him harmed. Being pompous is not a crime punishable by cracked ribs or bloodied eyes. Damning yourself and your superstitions, you allow yourself to pretend that your favor grants him some kind of protection spell. 

Gwayne’s sword clashes loudly against Lord Manderly’s, sparks flying as metals meet. He dodges and parries easily, and it becomes clear to you that he is the stronger fighter. It calms you, but only slightly. One wrong move could still give Manderly an advantage. But he disarms Manderly at the last moment, the sword flying through the air as Gwayne kicks the man down, his own blade pointed towards the mans face. 

He wins. Gwayne wins. 

You let out a breath, loud and relieved, no longer really caring about your appearances. Alicent too, untended her shoulders, and ushers for wine to be brought from your serving girl. The girls pour into both of your goblets seconds later, and both of you drink deeply. You look over to Alicent, whose other hand holds her seven pointed star in silent prayer, a torn up thumb rubbing meaningful circles across the points. 

“This fear does not become thee,” you remark playfully, smiling at her, “He is fine, you may celebrate.”

“And you may…” but her words die on her lips, now forming into a bigger smile than before as her attention drifts from you. Gwayne rides towards your box, lance back in hand as well as a crown of flowers.

He stops just ahead of you, his horse’s shoulder just against the box. You rise, and lean over to the edge of the railing, to the winning knight. 

“I chose the flowers, I do hope they bring joy to you even if I may not,” he tells you, and you cannot sense a jape in his voice. 

“Thank you, Ser Gwayne, I will wear them with honor,” you tell him, and duck your head down so he may place the ring of flowers, with a trail of flowers downward in the back, onto your head gracefully. His fingers, though gloved, are gentle against your head, his touch soft and careful. 

You rise up, the smile on your face not exactly facetious. As a child you did once dream of this very thing; maybe with a different circumstance, but you did wish this. That is, before you knew how much you disliked tourneys in practice. 

“My Queen of Love and Beauty!” He cries out, and the entire stadium cheers. 

It’s hours later that you finally get to return to your chambers and remove the crown to inspect it further. The ring itself is Mountain Larkspur, a fully poisonous plant. The thought makes you laugh, that Gwayne would pick such a toxic bloom for his Queen of Love and Beauty. But it is to be said that the Larkspur signify lightheartedness, humor, and an open heart. The trail of flowers that rested on the back of your head are Grape Hyacinths, which based on your family, should be a compliment to their legacy. But these flowers signify sincerity, and you’ve been to enough weddings to recognize them. They are more a mauve than a blue like the Larkspur, and those wealthy in the knowledge of bouquet language would know that they symbolize a desire for forgiveness. 

Curious, you think, that Gwayne would go out of his way to mention that he had chosen these flowers. Were they truly and truce between you? Was he trying to tell you something without saying it?

You push through thoughts from your mind, deciding not to dwell on them, lest they give you a headache. 

The quill in your hand touches the paper, releases, touches again. 

It’s quickly that you realize you will not get any writing done, even here at your library desk. You sigh as you push yourself up from your chair, hastily packing everything into your bag as if it pains you to do so. 

It is quick, the trip back to your chambers to change into your simplest dress and cloak, and back out into the hallways, and into the labyrinth of Maegor’s tunnels you had found years ago when Aemond was still just a wish. You pull the cloak closer to you by the strap of your bag, wrapping yourself in a bundle by candlelight as you walk the barely worn path, your candle the only light as you navigate past each stone. It took turning and and faith to get you towards the edge, and for the last twenty feet you blew out the candle for fear of getting caught, but finally the moonlight would hit your face. The tunnels set you out at a district of King’s Landing littered with taverns and food stalls. The food stalls you never saw, for you only come here when you need to write and use some ale in your belly to make the words move more easily. Sure, you could ask a serving girl to fetch you a flagon, but for some reason that did not work the way that writing in a dingy corner with the smallfolk does. Perhaps it is their songs, their open way of speaking, their camaraderie that inspires and spurs you on. 

You enter The Roost, the favorite of these taverns for you. 

“Girlie!” the barkeep calls as you enter, and you shush him as you rush towards the bar to order. As far as the owners of this tavern know, you are a well paying woman attempting to cover up an affair. While they are discreet, they do not hide their fondness of you or your coin. 

“Keep the ale flowing,” you tell the burly man, fatherly and kind, “I’ll be at my back booth.”

“Will do, girlie,” he responds, and you move to the other room behind the bar, a room with two long tables and six small alcoves each dotted with wooden half circle booths. The tavern is busy, but you move through the crowd deftly, easily reaching your little bench and placing your belonging down. You settle in easily, your parchments and your quill and ink easily spread out across the table and one of the barmaids brings you a large flagon of ale. 

You tip the rim of the drink into your lips and drink heartily, careful not to tip your head back too far or else your hood will tip off from your hair and expose you. 

Your quill hits the parchment more easily now. 

My Dearest Unfamiliar,

How dramatic! To think that you will die if you do not know my identity. Though I will not ease your pain, I will give no name in this letter. I find myself narrowing the list of who you may be: an unmarried man, a sensitive yet playful man, well traveled and well read, the best of all things. With words that compliment me, flattery flushing my own face as I read your letters. There are far and few men in the Red Keep that match that distraction. There are three men now on my list after this tourney, and I do hope that I have determined you right. Are you searching for a wife from these letters, I wonder? an a man not yet betrothed, it cannot be distant from your mind. I will have you know that I did not see you during the tourney, or at least I do not think I did. I tried hard to look for you, I looked at every man, but I was not sure what countenance to look for. I will say myself, I am not certain I want a courtship from this, but I do find myself more interested in the idea and the affection that comes from it with each of your letters. You are warming a heart usually icy, My Unfamiliar. Is it too forward to say that when and if I find your identity, I wish to kiss you? It will not be my first kiss, I admit, but I would want to bestow one upon you. Even if you did not want to court me, if only just to thank you for being a just and honest companion for me. I am not saying that I am hoping, but I am hopeful.

I will have you know, My Unfamiliar, that I have read A Caution for Young Girls by the Corinne Wylde, and read it well. The legends of Lys will not make me balk or shy away. I am, as I have said, interested in seeing the world warts and all. I want to see everything that the world can show me. I will say, I do appreciate your gift of the Lysine coin. It is exhilarating to hold something of value to a life so far from my own, to treasure it as if I would a jewel.

Would that I should thrive in a place like Dorne? To speak freely and open tongued. You make it sound such a lively place compared to this. How I wish to experience their wines in a setting where I can speak like the Dornish. Perhaps though, and most likely, if I may be granted leave from court, I will see how grand and lovely Oldtown is. I would love to spend an afternoon perusing the scrolls or reading inscriptions on artifacts just as much as I would enjoy any grand view or adventure.

I will tell you that I do not find you boring for enjoying tourneys, especially because I did not find myself as bored as usual at this one. Though I will say my amusement came from looking for you, I guess I can admire what a tourney is supposed to represent.I am saddened, though, that I could not recognize you immediately. I was hoping some sort of spell could overtake me and cast mine eyes only to yours. I however, just saw many faces in the crowd, and narrowed my list no further.

I find though, that I would appreciate any piece of art you would offer. I am a lover of the arts and a purveyor of understanding them. Jenny of Oldstones is a song I find myself drifting towards often, the lyrics catching me. How beautiful, a woman dancing with the ghosts of the past? How often do we all do the same? Is our love fated by stars, written into the histories? Or is love as fleeting as a ghost on the wind?

For the next feast, I shall try to come up with some coded word. Something we shall say to each other so we will know who we are. I fear giving a dance to just anyone, lest they try to court me and take me away from whatever is between us.

Yours as well;

Your Unfamiliar

The letter is, plainly, too forward. You do not care, though, as you finish off your ale and motion for another one. It’s only now that you look upon the tavern’s rooms, surveying the guests and all their revelry. Your eyes scan, casual and unassuming, until you fall upon a crop of auburn hair. Could it be? You look the the hazel eyes attached, surely, it’s him. But is it? No, it cannot be. The man makes no move towards you, no stern recognition in his gaze, just a simple gaze upon you as you stare back. And the spell is broken as another ale is set before you.

It cannot be him, you think to yourself.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Prince Rhaegar as a character often gets some deserved criticism - and a lot of underserved hate. And one of the things that I think he unfairly gets blamed for is Elia Martell's tragedy. Elia's death is one of the primary objections people have towards Rhaegar and Lyanna being depicted as a romance, with readers believing that if they were just tragic lovers, then that diminishes Elia's own tragedy.

I...disagree. It is understandable (and honestly right) that readers would rally behind Elia. Not only was she horribly brutalized and murdered, but her children suffered absolutely terrible fates as well.

However, in trying to center Rhaegar and Lyanna's doomed dalliance in this, a lot of readers are missing the answer that has been already provided to us within the narrative. Not only that, but this line of thinking also ignores the key context in which Elia's senseless murder is portrayed.

As far as the text goes, Elia’s death is laid squarely at the feet of Tywin Lannister and his men, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch. It's House Lannister's burden to bear.

Doran for one, Elia's brother, directly blames Tywin Lannister:

“You mistake patience for forbearance. I have worked at the downfall of Tywin Lannister since the day they told me of Elia and her children.”

The Princess in the Tower, AFFC

Even Oberyn agrees:

“Dwarf,” said the Red Viper, in a tone grown markedly less cordial, “spare me your Lannister lies. Is it sheep you take us for, or fools? My brother is not a bloodthirsty man, but neither has he been asleep for sixteen years. Jon Arryn came to Sunspear the year after Robert took the throne, and you can be sure that he was questioned closely. Him, and a hundred more. I did not come for some mummer’s show of an inquiry. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it. Starting with this lummox Gregor Clegane … but not, I think, ending there. Before he dies, the Enormity That Rides will tell me whence came his orders, please assure your lord father of that.” He smiled. “An old septon once claimed I was living proof of the goodness of the gods. Do you know why that is, Imp?”

Tyrion IV, ASOS

“Is that the game we are playing?” Tyrion rubbed at his scarred nose. He had nothing to lose by telling Oberyn the truth. “There was a bear at Harrenhal, and it did kill Ser Amory Lorch.” “How sad for him,” said the Red Viper. “And for you. Do all noseless men lie so badly, I wonder?” “I am not lying. Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father’s bed and stabbed her to death. He had some men-at-arms with him, but I do not know their names.” He leaned forward. “It was Ser Gregor Clegane who smashed Prince Aegon’s head against a wall and raped your sister Elia with his blood and brains still on his hands.” “What is this, now? Truth, from a Lannister?” Oberyn smiled coldly. “Your father gave the commands, yes?” “No.” He spoke the lie without hesitation, and never stopped to ask himself why he should. The Dornishman raised one thin black eyebrow. “Such a dutiful son. And such a very feeble lie. It was Lord Tywin who presented my sister’s children to King Robert all wrapped up in crimson Lannister cloaks.”

Tyrion IX, ASOS

“Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne,” the Red Viper hissed. “You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children…“I came to hear you confess.”

Tyrion X, ASOS

Varys and Tyrion both understand that House Martell (but more specifically Doran) hates the Lannisters.

“The Dornishmen thus far have held aloof from these wars. Doran Martell has called his banners, but no more. His hatred for House Lannister is well known, and it is commonly thought he will join Lord Renly. You wish to dissuade him.” “All this is obvious,” said Tyrion. “The only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe.” “My father once told me that a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition … and it happens we have an empty seat on the small council, now that Lord Janos has taken the black.” “A council seat is not to be despised,” Varys admitted, “yet will it be enough to make a proud man forget his sister’s murder?” “Why forget?” Tyrion smiled. “I’ve promised to deliver his sister’s killers, alive or dead, as he prefers. After the war is done, to be sure.” Varys gave him a shrewd look. “My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a … certain name … when they came for her.” “Is a secret still a secret if everyone knows it?” In Casterly Rock, it was common knowledge that Gregor Clegane had killed Elia and her babe. They said he had raped the princess with her son’s blood and brains still on his hands. “This secret is your lord father’s sworn man.” “My father would be the first to tell you that fifty thousand Dornishmen are worth one rabid dog.” Varys stroked a powdered cheek. “And if Prince Doran demands the blood of the lord who gave the command as well as the knight who did the deed …” “Robert Baratheon led the rebellion. All commands came from him, in the end.” “Robert was not at King’s Landing.” “Neither was Doran Martell.”

Tyrion IV, ACOK

Really, all the nobles know where to look at when assigning blame for Elia's murder. Tywin.

“Prince Doran comes at my son’s invitation,” Lord Tywin said calmly, “not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children.” Tyrion watched the faces of the Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, and Rowan, wondering if any of the three would be bold enough to say, “But Lord Tywin, wasn’t it you who presented the bodies to Robert, all wrapped up in Lannister cloaks?” None of them did, but it was there on their faces all the same. Redwyne does not give a fig, he thought, but Rowan looks fit to gag.

Tywin, for the most part, quite shamelessly tries to disassociate himself from his own moral failings; this is nothing new, because he follows this same MO with squarely blaming the Freys for the Red Wedding even though he played an integral part in planning for it.

“Then why did the Mountain kill her?” “Because I did not tell him to spare her. I doubt I mentioned her at all. I had more pressing concerns. Ned Stark’s van was rushing south from the Trident, and I feared it might come to swords between us. And it was in Aerys to murder Jaime, with no more cause than spite. That was the thing I feared most. That, and what Jaime himself might do.” He closed a fist. “Nor did I yet grasp what I had in Gregor Clegane, only that he was huge and terrible in battle. The rape … even you will not accuse me of giving that command, I would hope. Ser Amory was almost as bestial with Rhaenys. I asked him afterward why it had required half a hundred thrusts to kill a girl of … two? Three? He said she’d kicked him and would not stop screaming. If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “The blood was in him.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

“And when Oberyn demands the justice he’s come for?” “I will tell him that Ser Amory Lorch killed Elia and her children,” Lord Tywin said calmly. “So will you, if he asks.” “Ser Amory Lorch is dead,” Tyrion said flatly. “Precisely. Vargo Hoat had Ser Amory torn apart by a bear after the fall of Harrenhal. That ought to be sufficiently grisly to appease even Oberyn Martell.” “You may call that justice …” “It is justice. It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl’s body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father’s bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. Princess Elia and the babe were in the nursery a floor below.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

Tywin tries to alleviate himself of any responsibility by blaming his men, but the narrative actively calls bullshit on this (through Tywin's own son no less).

So the narrative shows through multiple POVs that Elia's murder is contextualized exclusively as a failing on Tywin Lannister and his men; not only was it a moral failing, but Tyrion also questions if it was politically necessary in the first place. It's also important to note that ASOS is when we really dive into the matter of Elia and her children (mostly through Oberyn), but we also have to remember that this is the same book as the Red Wedding. The Red Wedding, another one of Tywin's senseless massacres that he tries to postulate as politically necessary.

So, we have agreed that the blame and context for Elia's (and her children's) murder is presented through the lens of Tywin as an immoral politician who often makes politically unnecessary moves. But then we ask ourselves, can the responsibility of this tragedy be extended? Well, yes it can. And it has been in the text.

Ser Barristan extends this tragedy beyond Tywin and his men

...to King Robert.

“Prince Rhaegar had two children,” Ser Barristan told him. “Rhaenys was a little girl, Aegon a babe in arms. When Tywin Lannister took King’s Landing, his men killed both of them. He served the bloody bodies up in crimson cloaks, a gift for the new king.” And what did Robert say when he saw them? Did he smile? Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded on the Trident, so he had been spared the sight of Lord Tywin’s gift, but oft he wondered. If I had seen him smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar’s children, no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him. “I will not suffer the murder of children. Accept that, or I’ll have no part of this.”

The Kingbreaker, ADWD

Ned Stark does as well.

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

Eddard II, AGOT

And so does Tywin, who uses Robert's tacit approval as justification for this senseless act.

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. “You deserve that motley, then. We had come late to Robert’s cause. It was necessary to demonstrate our loyalty. When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert’s relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar’s children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children.” His father shrugged. “I grant you, it was done too brutally. Elia need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

So if we can't extend the blame to Rhaegar, because the narrative doesn't do so either, what can we hold him responsible for? Let's take a step back and look at Rhaegar's culpability in this whole thing.

Was Rhaegar (and Lyanna) responsible for starting the war that would eventually lead to Elia's murder?

No. GRRM doesn't think so. The war actually started when King Aerys murdered the Lord of Winterfell and his heir, a bunch of other northern nobles, and then called for the heads of Robert Baratheon (Lord of Storm's End) and Ned Stark (the new Lord of Winterfell). Aerys broke the feudal contract, and so Jon Arryn declared war.

I don't think I would have stayed loyal to the Mad King. Do I think they were justified? Yes, and no. [...] There was no doubt that the Mad King was mad. He was paranoid and he was abusing his power. And Westeros has no Magna Carta or anything like that. There was no way to handle this within the rule of law. But was what they do justified? Especially when you consider that it was triggered by a personal grievance. The execution of Ned's father and brother was really a thing that radicalized Ned and put him in opposition to it. Robert was just rolling for a fight and didn't like the fact that he'd lost his girlfriend. So you know, the personal informs the political.

source

Rhaegar and Lyanna's disappearance was merely the spark - it led to a misunderstanding that caused Brandon Stark to ride to Kingslanding. What really caused the war was Aerys' Targaryens subsequent actions as the king. So if we want to blame someone for causing the chain of events that led to Elia's death as well as her children's, the author himself says to blame Aerys; even though I don't think this is right either because we once again stray from the necessary (and sole) context of Elia's murder - Tywin's bloody hands.

Fine. Rhaegar was not responsible for the war. But surely he is responsible for leaving Elia in King's Landing, right in the clutches of Mad King Aerys. Well, this again, is not true. As far as Rhaegar knew, Elia was in Dragonstone with Aegon and Rhaenys where he left them.

As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics. Huge green fires burned along the walls of the Red Keep for a moon’s turn. Prince Rhaegar was not in the city to observe them, however. Nor could he be found in Dragonstone with Princess Elia and their young son, Aegon.

“The Year of the False Spring”, The World of Ice and Fire

At some point, Elia was called to King's Landing. And it was Aerys who kept her hostage there as insurance against possible Dornish betrayal (remember, he was paranoid).

Side Note: Aerys kept another important political hostage in King's Landing along with Elia - Jaime Lannister; this is to deter anyone from trying to blame Jaime for doing nothing. He was a teenager and a hostage himself!

“My Sworn Brothers were all away, you see, but Aerys liked to keep me close. I was my father’s son, so he did not trust me. He wanted me where Varys could watch me, day and night. So I heard it all.” He remembered how Rossart’s eyes would shine when he unrolled his maps to show where the substance must be placed. Garigus and Belis were the same. “Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side. The traitors want my city, I heard him tell Rossart, but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat. The Targaryens never bury their dead, they burn them. Aerys meant to have the greatest funeral pyre of them all. Though if truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die. Like Aerion Brightfire before him, Aerys thought the fire would transform him … that he would rise again, reborn as a dragon, and turn all his enemies to ash.

Jaime V, ASOS

Ok, fine. So Rhaegar did not abandon her with Aerys then run off to Lyanna. But he should have done something when he came back, right? Why didn't he leave more Kings Guard with Elia and the children?

Well....this is a war. The knights of the KG are important assets on the battle field. Kings Landing, at the time, was not the most dangerous location. The KG were better off at the Trident, as a victory there would protect those who were left behind in KL.

And it's not that Rhaegar didn't do anything. Beyond going off to lead the battle himself, he tried to make moves that would help those who were back in KL (Elia and the children included).

He floated in heat, in memory. “After dancing griffins lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys exiled him.” Why am I telling this absurd ugly child? “He had finally realized that Robert was no mere outlaw lord to be crushed at whim, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. Jon Darry and Barristan Selmy rode to Stoney Sept to rally what they could of griffins’ men, and Prince Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and summon my father. But no raven returned from Casterly Rock, and that made the king even more afraid. He saw traitors everywhere, and Varys was always there to point out any he might have missed. So His Grace commanded his alchemists to place caches of wildfire all over King’s Landing. Beneath Baelor’s Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself.

Jaime V ASOS

And Jaime's POV once again shows us that Rhaegar banked on victory at the Trident, and was fully expecting to come back to KL and amend the fraught political situation.

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. “Your Grace,” Jaime had pleaded, “let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine.” Prince Rhaegar shook his head. “My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour.” Jaime’s anger had risen up in his throat. “I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard.” “Then guard the king,” Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. “When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey.” Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but … well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return.”

Jaime I, AFFC

So Rhaegar wasn't leaving with no care about what happened back in King's Landing. We don't know what he wanted to do with Aerys, Elia, Lyanna, and the aftermath of the war because he died at the Trident. But we do know that he, at the very least, was planning to do something.

So we can't blame Rhaegar (and Lyanna) for starting the war and we can't blame him either for abandoning Elia in King's Landing with no care about what happens next. So, again, what can we blame him for?

“It's not entirely correct that the Martells stayed out of the war. Rhaegar had Dornish troops with him on the Trident, under the command of Prince Lewyn of the Kingsguard. However, the Dornishmen did not support him as strongly as they might have, in part because of anger at his treatment of Elia, in part because of Prince Doran's innate caution.”

SSM, 09/11/1999

GRRM states that Dorne was angry about Rhaegar's treatment of Elia. What is this treatment, though?

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap.

Eddard XV, AGOT

Specifically, Rhaegar riding past Elia to crown Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. Yes, that is a humiliation. And it's undeniable that no one was happy.

The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia’s delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar’s cause…Yet if this were true, why did Lady Lyanna’s brothers seem so distraught at the honor the prince had bestowed upon her? Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell, had to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar at what he took as a slight upon his sister’s honor…Eddard Stark, Brandon’s younger brother and a close friend to Lord Robert, was calmer but no more pleased.

“The Year of the False Spring”, The World of Ice and Fire

But, humiliating Elia is not the same thing as being responsible for her death. The narrative never equates these two things in any way. Elia's death is about Tywin's immoral and blood thirsty political actions. It's about Dorne's desire for justice (or is it vengeance?) which they know they will not get from the Lannister regime. House Lannister's downfall in King's Landing will be brought about by Prince Aegon's rise - Aegon who is proclaiming to be the long lost son of Prince Rhaegar, and who is being supported by House Martell as of now.

We can criticize Rhaegar for some things, but Elia's death is surely not one of them.

[aqua-the-smiter]

Primarchs in rut, the movie. Some AU-ish elements. Very nsfw x female reader/reader(s)? Reader is married to said Primarch in each snippet even if not explicitly stated Heavy breeding kink, knotting, rut, romance/healthy marriages because that's the real kink here @thevoidscreams ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦୨୧✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ LION EL'JONSON - If he had a little less dignity he'd bite you, but even in the throes of his rut he does his best to maintain his pride. Instead he licks your neck whenever he's in a position to do so. Sucking bruises onto your tender flesh there. Not that you mind either way. You're pinned prone underneath him while he breeds you, holding you still and fucking you full. Whispering to you about the cubs you'll bear him.

FULGRIM - His rut is far less...demanding, then that of his brothers. Which means he's of perfectly sound mind to adorn your body with ropes and keep you tied like a butterfly in a spider's web while he licks your pussy and pleasures you in every other way he can think of. Just so you're ready. Teasing you for hours on end, making you orgasm with fingers and tongue all while you get drunk on his pheromones and the need for something more satisfying. It's a laborious process, but when it's done you're more than happy to take his cock for twice the hours he teased you for and beg for more.

PERTURABO - He hates going into rut. The loss of control over his body, thoughts, and having no outlet. He has better things to do with his time then continuously think about sex. Of course, that's changed with you around. His sweet little wife. And how could he deny you when you've made it clear how willing you are to give him an heir (or several)? To that end he surprises you with a..."special" project, and you realize you're going to be very busy for a while when he picks you up and straps you to a breeding stand. You spend the next few days cock-drunk, being stuffed and bred by your husband. By the end of it you're so full of his cum that you slosh each time he unties you, and you thank him for it every time. There's no way you're not pregnant.

JAGHATAI KHAN - He's one of the only Primarchs who enjoys being ridden during his ruts. Watching you work yourself into the same (or at least an approximation of the same) fever pitch he's in. Feeling your nails dig into his hips as you work yourself up and down his length, a little mare eager to mate with her stallion and give him a foal. You hardly even need his pheromones to urge you on. If anything, they just give you energy, since craving him is nothing new to you.

LEMAN RUSS - Leman has a knot. You've known this since even before your wedding night with him, of course. But there's something very different about taking it like this. Taking it while he has intent. Every time he forces it into you with a wet pop you wonder how long he'll be able to keep it there before the rut takes over and he has to start pounding you full of his pups again. The longest time so far it an hour. But you love having it in. Having it stuck inside you, stretching you out even more than he already has, keeping all his seed safely corked inside, his tip pressed right against the entrance to your womb. While you're stuck on him he holds you close and runs his fingers through your hair, whispering to you about what a good mother you'll be.

ROGAL DORN - Unlike Perturabo, Rogal prefers to keep you pinned with body weight alone. His usual stoicism all but gone, swept away with sheer desire. He keeps you wrapped up tight in his arms, as solely focused on you as he is on any other task he's set his mind to. That task is knocking you up.

KONRAD CURZE - His rut is gentle somehow. Unlike most of his brothers it mellows him out significantly, making him into a very tender lover. Still rampantly horny, as you can attest to while he fucks you against the wall, but he's just as eager to press kisses all over your body and murmur his love to you between pants and thrusts, rubbing your clit and sucking your breasts as he tries to match your orgasms to his. You're still covered into scratches and bite marks by the end, the way you both prefer it, and he has the sweet taste of your blood on his tongue as he cuddles you close.

SANGUINIUS - From a dove to a cassowary. That is what his rut does to him. He's figured out how to pin you down with his wings, all while you squirm like a mouse in a hawk's talons. But you have absolutely no intention of trying to wriggle away, instead spreading your thighs wide. And of course he bites you. His favorite place is a little cliche, right at the junction of neck and shoulder. Happily lapping up your blood as your pussy spasms around his needy, eager cock. When you end up with a little chick of your own after this, you joke with him that you're thankful you didn't end up laying eggs instead.

FERRUS MANUS - He almost refused to relieve his rut with you out of concern for your welfare. He's the second tallest of his brothers if you're counting Magnus, the tallest if you're not counting the cheating, size-changing bastard. As such, he's got the equipment to match. Yes, you've gotten lucky enough to have married the most well endowed Primarch. And you make sure to let him know just how much you appreciate it. So he relents, sticking to what's always worked for him and his much beloved little bride. A lot of lubricant and a lot of patience. Soon enough you're happily on your back while he holds you down in a mating press and stuffs your pussy full of the biggest, thickest cock in the Imperium. Your hips and wrists have bruises from his metal hands, and your thighs and ass have bruises from his huge, low hanging balls slapping against them while he breeds you. When he's done with you, you're full of so much cum your womb has swelled a bit with all of it.

ANGRON - On first glance you'd think he doesn't go into rut at all. In actuality, his rut is so strong and overwhelming he loops right back around to being completely normal. Stack overflow if you will. He still insists you chain him down, and you're starting to think he enjoys the challenge of it. After all, he pounds you senseless even when you're on top. Really, you're on top in name only. Still, as ever you did your best to hang on, pressing kisses to his chewed lips whenever you could. Making a real show of yourself for him, rubbing your clit and grinding down on him. It was yet another loop of the two of your spurring each other on. You feel his cum trickling down your thighs. Your eyes meet, and he gives you an uncharacteristically sly grin before his hips start bucking again.

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN - Another reluctant rutter. He's just too busy for it. Too much work to do, running an empire. He's got 500 worlds to look after, he's got no time to indulge himself no matter what his body is telling him to do. At least, that's what he'd normally be like, but now he has you. And you're very persuasive. The only downside is that because he takes advantage of his rut so infrequently, when he does it's a little...intense. He has you in his lap, his hands on your hips, gripping them tightly as he uses you as a fleshlight. Literally, dragging you up and down his cock just like if you were the toy. You've lost track of time for how long he's been using you like this, your face pressed into his huge chest and your eyes rolled back in pleasure. His gorgeous blues are glazed and unfocused, and when your mind gets a moment to form a coherent thought, you're happy to see him so relaxed.

MORTARION - You are the only person he's willing to be around when he's in rut. Nobody else. It's you he belongs to. You're the only one worthy of seeing it. Just as you are his. His to love. To fertilize and impregnate. You make your adoration clear to him even as he holds you down to keep your from squirming too much. Pressing kisses all along his lips and neck and jawbone. You wrap your legs around his hips and give him the most whorish moans as he buries his length deep between your legs. He growls in your ear that you're his, that he's going to stain your womb with his seed to mark that you're his as his thrusts grow more erratic. You tell him there's nobody else you'd rather belong to. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how much you love him. As he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight to him as he finally cums, you whisper in his ear what a good father you know he's going to be.

MAGNUS - It's not enough for him to merely fuck you while he's in rut. It's not even enough for him to just knock you up. No, for him, he'll make your very soul orgasm if possible. And with the combination of a mind like his and psyker powers, he can get pretty creative with his methods. You can feel a pair of hands holding your hips and another holding up your face and neck. Coincidentally you also feel a pair of cocks working your pussy and mouth. Spit runs down your chin and your lubricant stains your thighs. Getting fucked at both ends simultaneously as not exactly what you were expecting, but you could hardly complain. Both of them moan, purring and cooing to you about how good you look taking them both. The most you can give in response is a nod of assent around his meat in your mouth. But he is a psyker. He knows how much you're loving this and craving more.

HORUS - Your beloved Warmaster, unlike some of his siblings, thoroughly enjoys his rut. A shameless excuse for him to show off to you just how well he can fuck you. He holds you up in a full nelson, his arms pinning your legs as he thrusts up into you. Nibbling at your neck and praising you for being so good and obedient for him while he breeds you. Your favorite part however, aside from being packed full of your husband's manhood, is the mirror. On one wall of his bedchamber is a full length mirror, which you were energetically fornicating in front of. You can watch him rail you and see his cum and your lubricant dripping out. And you love watching it. With how much he fills you and how wide his cock stretches you. The smug look in his eyes as you writhe in his arms and see how good of a job he does at making you fall apart. His arms shift, one now holding both legs while the other lifts your chin so you get a better view.

LORGAR - Even in this state he still wants to worship you. You swear he gets off more on getting you off sometimes than he does with anything else. With the rut making him far more dominant than he usually is, it's become far less of a theory. He's very attentive to you, after all. He knows exactly how to work you with those long, slim fingers and can play you like a lute on a bad day. On a good one? He makes you sing hymns. Like he's doing now, hitting all your tender spots, rubbing your clit or kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples. Making you cum over and over again until you're an overstimulated puddle sitting on his cock, praying for him to keep going and fill you up with his seed.

VULKAN - He becomes just like the dragon of his legion during his ruts. Protective, jealous of any other men who even look in your direction, although he tries very hard to reign it in. He's always gentle with you still, loving instead of overbearing. He'll slip you little handmade gifts, checking after your welfare. Generally much tenderness and love. At least, when you're not stuck between him and his anvil getting hammered like a piece of metal. You feel him tap your cervix on every stroke. Like the rest of his brothers, it's a need. To see you full of his seed, to make you fat with his sons. You're not leaving until he's sure you're pregnant. And he's eager to see it, your beloved drake. Pressing kisses to your forehead and lips, telling you how your children will be the best thing he's made on this anvil.

CORVUS CORAX - He's made a nest out of bedding for the two of you. When you're not busy with more illicit activities or caring for yourselves, he's cuddling you close, the two of your curled under a blanket of silky black feathers. But that's when you're not busy. Most of the time you most certainly are, clutched in Corvus's embrace as he ruts into you. More often than not you wake up to him having already buried his cock between your legs, spreading your thighs wide open and chirping in delight as he sees you wake up. You don't mind, of course. In fact you looking forward to waking up to his touch, and he's sure to ask you every day if you're ok with him doing it. He might be a bit of a broody man, but you're his beloved hen and the soon to be mother of children, and your comfort is important to him. And it's hard not to enjoy waking up already filled with a few loads of his cum settling in your womb.

ALPHARIUS - Two cocks. He has got two cocks. Hemipenes. Apparently Omegon has them too, but you haven't seen them. You are Alpharius's and only his, as he is all to happy to make very clear to you. The twins share a lot, you've noticed. Which makes sense, they're twins after all. They've even shared women on occasion, serfs they've both taken a liking to, but you are different. Alpharius loves you, and you are all his, his one and dearest. The rut makes him even more possessive, not that you mind. In fact you find it sweet. And not that you have much of a chance of running into Omegon while your husband is in rut anyway, since you hardly leave his bed except for necessities. He's busy pounding you, stuffing you full with one cock, then the other. Sometimes he'll jam you up with both. You're always stretched and gaping after that little move. But you always end up asking him to do it again.