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[tropes-and-tales]

The Coolness of the Shade

(Oberyn Martell x F!Reader)

CW:  Fluff, non-smutty smooching, references to past smutty times, language, mention of pregnancy, a mention of Ellaria. 18+ to be safe.

Word Count:  1312

AN:  This was originally requested from a "gentle prompt list" ("lazy kisses that don't even count as kisses but you could live in that moment forever because LOVE") by @elegantmusicdragon!

Tales of Prince Oberyn Martell precede him through Westeros, into Essos, and likely beyond.  You wonder sometimes if there’s some giant in his cave in the Frostfangs, swaddled in fur and coated in a rime of ice that has heard of the Red Viper and his prodigious appetites in love.

If that’s so, the giant would likely miss the hidden truth of your prince and lover:  that yes, of course many of the stories are true because Oberyn is without shame and without prejudice in who he loves…but that his outsized love extends beyond the salacious moments in the bedchamber or brothel. 

To put it crudely (which Oberyn would love, because he so loves to hear the filthiest words falling from your ladylike mouth):  the Red Viper’s cock may be large, but his heart is larger.

To put it more delicately (which your dearly departed septa would love, because she toiled so tirelessly to mold your wild person into a semblance of a lady):  Oberyn may love a person with his body, but the love he grants them from his heart is a far more precious thing.

-----

It is the custom of the Dornish to retire during the noon hour, when the sun is at its peak and the heat shimmers across the city and desert.  They laze by fountains or in the shade of the lemon or olive groves, they drowse in their beds with the curtains drawn.  They take a small meal, then relax behind the thick stone walls of their homes, the shutters fast across their windows to keep the sun and heat from penetrating.

You and Oberyn retire too; his rooms at Sunspear are cool, and even the balcony that overlooks the royal garden is deep and shaded.  The two of you lie across a wide divan heaped with silken pillows on his balcony, and a nearby table holds an ewer of water infused with lemon and mint.  There are little bowls of snacks—dates, berries, almonds dusted with ginger—but you work at a ruby-red pomegranate, separating the juicy arils from the bitter white flesh.

“You look like someone out of a myth,” Oberyn says from where he’s sprawled against the divan.  “Some temptress with her fruit, ready to cause an innocent boy to sin.”

You laugh lightly.  “I’m less a temptress and more the tempted.”

“Is that so?”

“I seem to recall a certain feast in Honeyholt.  A certain celebration of a Beesbury daughter’s betrothal to a Karstark.  There was wine, jousting, mummers—”

“Sounds festive.”

You nod, and you free another aril to pop it in your mouth, the tart juice bursting on your tongue as you bite down.  “I also seem to recall a certain man, temptation himself, slipping between the silk panels of the Beesbury daughter’s tent, slipping past her dozing septa, and offering her a glimpse of what her married life might hold.”

“Temptation himself,” Oberyn muses.  “Sounds wicked.”

Another nod.  “Oh, he was.  Wicked with his tongue and his fingers and then finally his cock.  Before the sun rose over Honeyholt the next morning, both the Beesbury daughter and Temptation were long gone, leaving only a broken betrothal and a furious father behind.”

Oberyn hums at that, and he reaches out and grasps your wrist lightly, tugs you down to where he lays. 

“And a shattered reputation,” he adds.  “And more pleasure and love than the Beesbury daughter could have ever received from dour old Karstark.”  He pauses, then adds, “and I love it when you say cock, my love.  Such a blunt word in such a pretty mouth.”

You dip your head and kiss him gently.  “I think, on the balance, the Beesbury daughter is quite happy with her choice.”

“And Temptation is glad to hear it, because he is quite happy with her choice too.”  He waits until you start to draw away from him, then tugs you back, kisses you again.  He opens your mouth with his, but his tongue slips against yours lazily, like he’s tasting you but happy to do little else.

“Come, my disgraced Lady Beesbury.  Lie down with me.”  He pulls you down, helps you stretch alongside him, but he doesn’t press his advantage in the heavy noon heat.  In the coolness of the shade of his balcony, he only kisses you:  gentle presses of his lips on yours, the sweet, slow slide of his mouth on your jaw, your neck. 

You kiss him back:  the crown of his head, his forehead, the slope of his nose.  His temples, the rough stubble on his cheeks.  You don’t press your advantage either; you still are not used to the heat of Dorne, the necessity of pausing a productive workday.  In Honeyholt, your noon hour was when the commoners would petition your Lord Father, when Cook began preparing for the evening meal, when the servants hung wet linen to dry in the breeze.  You often took strolls through the gardens, the heavy buzzing of the hives an accompanying melody.

This is different, but it’s not unwelcome.  A daily moment to spend time with Oberyn, to relish each other’s company, to wrap yourself in each other’s arms and exchange kisses without heat but with plenty of love.

Oberyn kisses you again on your mouth, then breaks away.  He lays a gentle palm on the back of your head and guides you to lie against his chest.  He’s in a light linen robe, but it’s open, and your cheek brushes against the smattering of hair there.  You can hear his heart, strong and steady, under your ear. 

The two of you lay in silence for a long moment.  There’s little sound other than a breeze stirring the leaves in the lemon trees below, a bird chirruping nearby. 

“I may have been Temptation,” Oberyn finally says, his voice a low rumble.  “But who could resist you?  The sweetest flower about to be torn out at the root and taken to the cold North.  You would have never flourished there.”

You feel the tiniest stab of loyalty for your would-be husband, now dead since the past year.  “Lord Karstark was a kind enough man.  Only gruff.”

“Northern men never treat their women well.  Little more than broodmares to continue their paltry bloodlines.”

You laugh, turn your head enough to press a kiss to his bare chest.  “Ah, so says Prince Oberyn, father to…how many is it, now?”

“Eight.  Eight daughters.”   His arm that holds you tightens around your shoulders, but his free hand reaches up and cups your breast lightly, then slides lower, under the edge of your gown.  He lays his palm gently against your belly that has only begun to round with his child.  “And perhaps a ninth daughter.”

You smile.  It is too early, but you imagine the child turning towards Oberyn’s hand, sensing him, feeling the love the Red Viper already has for this unknown child—the same love he bears all his children.

“Or perhaps a son,” you reply.

“And then afterwards, perhaps a tenth child…and an eleventh…”  His palm caresses you.  You know he loves the making of his children, but he also loves watching them grow in their mothers.  Ellaria had warned you with a knowing smile, but you had not quite believed her until you experienced it for yourself.  The moment you told Oberyn that you had missed your monthly courses, he was insatiable:  keeping you abed for days, as if he hadn’t already planted his seed, as if more love-making could somehow fix the growing babe firmer into you.

But he doesn’t press his luck now.  He only holds you in the cool shade, drowses with you, kisses you from time to time.  Just you, the Beesbury daughter and your tempting prince, and the child you made together…all three resting in the noon hour in Dorne.

[s-brant]

Little Dragon

In a the aftermath of a fight sparked by the feud between him and her brother, Lucerys, Aemond and his wife are now trying to fix things between them. (or judas part three)

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, knife play, choking, spitting in mouth, strong language, yandere (so basically canon) aemond, and some of the language used to describe past sex acts could be interpreted as dub-con, but everything is consensual.

-

Married life is not what she thought it would be.

Everyone told her their days would be spent in honeymoon-induced bliss that seems as though it will never end for the first year or so of marriage, but that wasn't their experience at all. When they weren't fucking, which was about all they did together, Aemond and Y/N were typically fighting for the first four months of being wed to one another. There were good moments, though. They bonded over shared interests that appeared the longer they lived in close proximity, and he began to open himself up to her little by little. It wasn't nearly as much as she wanted, but he still offered her more than he did most other people.

It was evident in the little things, such as how he would feel comfortable enough to take off his eyepatch at certain times when alone in her presence or how he would always, no matter how far apart they were when they fell asleep in his spacious bed, end up with an arm around her by the time they woke. But, then, there were the times when the wall between them would come down again and she was left wondering if her husband would ever speak freely in her presence.

As of late, it seems they are leaning more on the side of fighting rather than fucking.

Her temper has been running hotter than usual, so when she heard of an incident in the training yard between Aemond and Lucerys, who is visiting alongside Rhaenyra after a close call with Viserys' health that thankfully ended without complication, she was out for blood.

"Have you no shame, husband?" she asked as she walked after him, chasing and herding him in the direction of their shared chambers after having to watch her brother be tended to by the maesters. "I asked you to not harm him, and you ignored me at the first opportunity presented to you!"

This led to a screaming match that ended in him storming off to fly on Vhagar for the better half of the night before coming back to their chambers—soaking wet from the rain—ripping the sheets off of her, hiking her shift up around her waist, and fucking her until she was babbling and incoherent for him. It was a vicious fight masked by the actions of lust and passion. Her nails broke skin open on his pale back while his hand squeezed down around her delicate throat, providing her a heady little head rush that made the pleasure of his cock gliding in and out of her intensify.

The rainwater dripped off of him and onto her, turning the mattress damp beneath their writhing bodies. Not that either of them minded. By the time they finished, she was on the verge of passing out again and didn't do much other than sigh as he lifted her into his arms to move her around before setting her back down on the bed. Come morning, she found herself alone, but the bed was not cold or damp. Her side of the mattress was covered with a warm fur hide that had been draped atop the divan, and she couldn't help but smile to herself at that before she remembered their argument.

Aemond was never a cruel husband. If anything, he was the opposite. Their arguments did not mean he mistreated his lady. Yes, they would fight and fuck like animals, but, at the end of the day, she was his. In a world where he was granted nothing, not even a dragon's egg in the cradle as his siblings were, the Maiden had blessed him with her. Every other girl or woman balked in his presence, but not Y/N. She and Vhagar were the only things he ever had to himself, and he would never mistreat either of his dragons.

Hence, the fur hide.

As angry with each other as they were and, he knew, would continue to be on the morrow, his face softened when he came back from the bathing room to find her curled up in fetal position and shivering in her sleep from the wet sheets. She hardly stirred as he lifted her up, one arm under her bent knees and the other holding firm around her naked back, and walked over to the divan to fetch the warm fur hide. It took little effort for him to hold her as he picked it up and spread it out atop the bed, then set her down. It took him searching the room to find another blanket to cover her with, but, once he did, he sighed to himself at the sight of her and tried to resist the urge to reach down to brush her hair out of her face. What had she done to him?

He had little trouble falling asleep on the damp sheets and left early before she woke to avoid the consequences of the things they said to each other the previous night.

Since this morning, they haven't crossed paths much at all. For she was spending what little time she had left of their visit with her mother and brother, trying to conceal the turmoil within her caused by her marriage and, well...

"Are you certain, mother?" Y/N asked. "It is so soon, and I have only missed one of my courses thus far. It was just last month's, I am certain it will come again soon. I always feel sick to my stomach before my blood comes, and I have felt that way for days."

What she didn't want to tell her mother was that she already knew. Deep down, she knew the answer, yet she was too stubborn in their ongoing argument to want to admit to herself. Or him.

Rhaenyra smiled softly at her from where she braided her hair for her, something she would continue to insist on doing for her only daughter no matter how old she grew, and said, "Feeling sick to your stomach is an indication that you may be with child as well. Considering that you told me you missed one of your courses and you winced when Lucerys hugged you too hard upon our arrival"—It was true. When Luc threw his arms around her in a tight embrace, she couldn't help but grimace at the tenderness she felt in her breasts upon impact against him. And, the previous night, with Aemond, her nipples were uncharacteristically sensitive whenever he made contact with them, though she did not say that to her mother—"I do not think it out of the realm of possibility, my love...You should tell Aemond what you suspect."

Having told the handmaidens to leave them to their own devices, they did not have to bother with concealing their conversation from eavesdroppers by speaking in Valyrian. They simply sat together and spoke openly, and honestly, and Y/N was glad for it. It was the type of open communication she found difficult with Aemond due to his closed-off nature. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. She knew he tried as much as she did, but they both have too sensitive of tempers to get very far with civil discussion. Once they misunderstand one another's intentions, they lose control and allow emotion to guide them, not logic. Then, the truly hurtful things are said in the heat of the moment that neither of them means.

Since leaving her mother's rooms, she has wandered around the keep aimlessly to avoid the argument that will reignite once she sees Aemond again. So, she goes to the one place she knew she could flee to to clear her head. The Weirwood tree she once had a tendency to read under.

Yet when she finally sits down and settles into place with her back against the thick trunk, all she can think of is her husband. Although infuriated with him for the training yard incident in which he injured Lucerys, she cannot help but imagine what it would be like. She pictures him with a tiny, newly-born babe in his arms and feels her knees weaken at the thought. Then, her mind conjures images of their child a few years down the line, resting their head on his shoulder with their silver hair falling down his back to blend in with his. He may be perceived as an unfeeling man by most, but she knows he will be a decent father. A better one than her grandsire was to him, she's sure.

As fond as she is of him in the safety of her mind, hearing his voice out of the silence causes her to turn still.

"I thought I might find you here."

There's a brief moment of hesitation before she lifts her gaze to find his eye fixed on her quite intensely. After last night, she cannot blame him. They were two seconds from brawling one another in their chambers before he walked away to blow off steam by flying Vhagar late into the night, and what happened after he returned wasn't much less aggressive than the argument they engaged in hours prior. It did little to solve anything other than stifle their remaining anger.

"You were not there when I woke," she says without greeting him.

The unforgiving tone she takes with him tells him everything he needs to know. Despite their passionate, near-feral fucking last night, she has yet to forgive him for "accidentally" injuring Lucerys. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted the younger man as they practiced in the training yard together, nor should he have let his retort turn him blind with anger, but it's too late to change that now. All he can do is try to navigate the rough tides of her temper in the aftermath, still shocked that he even cares. Never once would he have thought that he'd be so willing to bend himself to the will of his lady wife when he first spoke of betrothals with his mother years ago.

He doesn't dare to step any closer to her, though. Instead, he holds his hands behind his back and tilts his head as he looks down upon her face in the buttery daylight, fighting the admiration felt in the center of his chest at the sight of her silver hair glowing in the sun. Although he's trying to get back in her good graces, he still refrains from surrendering all of himself to her in order to do so. Sometimes it scares him; the urge he has to allow her to render him pathetic and subservient.

It confused him this morning when he fled to find his mother and sister breaking their fast together. Luckily for him, Helaena was leaving at the very moment he entered, leaving him alone with his mother in the privacy of her secluded rooms.

He paced back and forth in front of where she sat at the table, too distracted by his neurotic movements and ranting to indulge in her poached egg.

"You did not prepare me for this, mother," he said, not with any malice or anger, but honesty. When it came to his mother, he could never find it in himself to be anything but gentle with her. "She is driving me to madness."

A frown crossed Queen Alicent's face at this.

"You know I wanted to betroth you to one of the Baratheon daughters. Y/N may not be a good match for you, but it's far too late for a change of—"

He didn't even need to say a word. No, she was silenced by the look cast in her direction. His features hardened into a mask of impenetrable force and threat as if daring her, his own mother, to finish that sentence before he remembered himself and averted his gaze to the ground. Still, it was too late. She saw everything he fought to keep hidden beneath the surface every time he was in public in the presence of his wife.

"Oh," she said softly.

This wasn't something she thought she had to prepare him for, but he was right. She hadn't properly prepared him for it. Considering her own experiences with marriage, as well as most other royals and aristocrats who wed people for power or alliance, the thought never crossed her mind. But based on the look on his face and the embarrassment that now shows in his flushed cheeks, it should have.

"Aemond," Alicent said, her voice a quiet push of air before speaking up a bit more clearly to ask him, "Do you mean to tell me that you truly love her? Is that what this is about?"

The lack of response and refusal to make eye contact with her spoke every word he refused to say aloud. He simply stared off at the ground as if in amazement, wondering to himself how he ended up there. Although part of it felt wrong, wrong in the sense that he swore to never let his guard down around anyone, least of all the sister of the bastard that maimed him, there was so much of it that felt right. Though he would never have spoken of such crass things in the presence of his mother, he kept thinking back to the previous night—to how every touch, every thrust, every kiss felt so inherently right that he couldn't imagine himself wanting to galavant the Street of Silk as his older brother had. No, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way that consumed him, in a way that scared him, and it crept up on him slowly but surely in the months following the wedding ceremonies.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "We do nothing but argue and...perform our marital duties to produce an heir...yet I find"—The words eluded him at first. Never having spoken about his emotions out loud to many people in his life, he found it difficult to articulate, but to get the advice he sought, he had to—"I cannot bear the thought of her being angry with me."

Those were the types of thoughts that chased him on his aimless stroll, ignoring every member of court who attempted to greet the sullen prince with a wary smile or pleasant few words. They chased him all the way here, to where he walked unconsciously and found the object of his incessant infatuation sitting beneath the tree.

Snapping himself out of the haze of his memories, Aemond straightens his shoulders and offers as explanation, "I left because I did not wish to fight with you again. I needed time to think." He shrugs. "I took a walk."

This silences her for a moment. But it's just that, a moment, before she's summoning the nerve to retort back at him with a snarky tone, "And what did this time to think do for you? Have you realized how much shame you've brought me as a result of your actions yesterday?" Her face then softens, as does her voice. "Everyone saw. It's all that the servants are talking about. Everyone either pities me or thinks I am weak for marrying someone who hurts my own kin."

Although his raging temper and unrelenting pride urge him to say something equally as aggressive back, he wills himself to remain silent and mindful of every word that may leave his mouth. The self-control it takes to restrain himself is immeasurable, but all he hears when he closes his eyes are the words of advice his mother gave earlier.

"I don't blame you for holding a grudge against Lucerys," she said, "but, she is your wife. If she asked you not to harm her brother, the honorable thing to do would be to listen."

His body stiffened at this. At the thought of letting anyone or anything tell him what he can and cannot do, but when he voiced such concerns, he was shut down.

"A wife is meant to obey her husband, yes, but if what you've come here to tell me is true, you must treat your marriage differently." Her eyes never once left him, nor did the intensity in them recede. "In order to receive obedience and respect, you must be willing to give it. Love is a fickle thing, Aemond. If you do not nurture it, it will become resentment."

There's a beat of silence between him and Y/N, then—

"I came here to tell you it will not happen again. I swear this to you."

That was the last thing she expected to hear. Not technically an apology, but, she supposes it's the closest she's ever gotten to one from him. Most of their fights end in them making up after sex or from the healing touch of time gone by. This is a first for them. They're both typically too stubborn to admit defeat, yet here he is.

Her brows furrow at him as if in confusion.

"You will not make any attempts to harm my brother again? Either of my brothers, for that matter."

He nods. Just once.

"Unless he makes the first move, I will not touch him," Aemond says slowly, hating every second of it but forcing himself to proceed for the sake of following his mother's advice. More importantly, for the sake of preventing any resentment from growing between them. "Or Jacaerys. You have my word."

And even though it's the outcome she longed for the whole time, she can't help but feel infuriated with him. How dare he be so...kind. How dare he give her a reason to genuinely admire him in favor of using their near-constant disagreements as reason to keep him at a comfortable distance? She never wanted to account for the fact that he may be more to her than a tolerated presence. She never wanted him to hold such power over her, and still...

Y/N takes in a deep breath, the low-cut neckline of her dress accentuating the rise and fall of her breasts, and looks up at him. What she finds in his gaze is pure honesty.

"Well, good." She chews at the inside of her lip for a second, unsure of how to proceed in light of these unforeseen circumstances. "Thank you for your understanding. I won't forget this kindness."

With that, he turns to leave, assuming she'd like to be left alone after everything they said and did to one another last night. He takes all of three steps before he's halted by the sound of her voice.

"Where are you going?"

He slowly turns back around to face her again and takes note of the hopeful glint in her eyes that he's never seen before. Strange...

"Do you not wish me to leave?"

No, she thinks, I do not wish you to leave. I wish to spend all day and night with you. If I could live beneath your skin, I would.

The obsessive nature of her thoughts startles her a little, but she tries not to judge herself too harshly. After all, she just got confirmation from the maesters after breakfast that she is, in fact, with child as Rhaenyra suspected, and the fluctuation of hormones tends to cause heightened emotions, so it makes sense. Not to mention, there's an added layer of intimacy that makes her feel closer to him now that she knows. A part of him lives within her. It's not something she takes lightly despite her initial trepidation surrounding the idea of childbirth in the weeks after their wedding ceremonies.

Y/N takes her time in responding, allowing herself the opportunity to stand from where she rested on the thick root of the Weirwood tree. Her palms flatten against the back of her dress to dust the dirt off, and it isn't until she's done so that she looks up at him again.

"I did not say that," she says matter of factly. "I was curious what you're doing today because I want to spend time with you. That is unless you have prior commitments to attend to..."

The speed with which he utters, "I don't," verges on the type of embarrassment severe enough to make him flee and hide, but he doesn't. He instead focuses on the fact that she actually wants to be around him after the fight they had, far too preoccupied to think about how pathetic it is that all he has to do today is mope around the Red Keep over her. Although they've had passion and fondness for one another in the months that have passed since they married, this is the first time he's ever felt truly wanted by her in a way other than that of carnal desire.

He prays the overwhelming relief hasn't reached his face by the time he elaborates, "I was only going to see Vhagar. She gets quite restless when she hasn't seen me, so I make a point to visit her every day even if we do not fly." There's a dip of silence. His face softens. "Come see her with me, then. I realize you two haven't been properly introduced."

The only times she got relatively close to Vhagar were when flying beneath her on Vermithor and when she and Aemond arrived at the keep at the same time those months ago before their betrothal. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to know Vhagar's last rider, Laena Velaryon. Her father was wed to her, yes, but she never once met Daemon until her funeral at Driftmark, and that very night was when Aemond claimed the ancient war dragon for himself. So, in her eyes, Vhagar has always been intrinsically entwined with her husband.

She smiles at him, saying softly, "Okay."

The journey to the place outside the palace walls where Vhagar rests, too big for being kept inside the dragon pit as the other dragons are, is not too strenuous. Aemond made sure to show her the quicker route to the unoccupied land where they once held Queen Aemma's funeral rather than taking her through the streets of King's Landing, preventing her from being exposed to the indecent things that occur in plain daylight. Not that she hasn't done such things with him before, but for the people of the city to see their future queen anywhere near that type of behavior is not ideal.

The earth is soft beneath her feet as she hikes up the rolling hills with her hand grasped in Aemond's. His hold on her is strong, never allowing a chance for her to trip and fall or slip out of his clutches now that he so clearly has her full attention. A gentle wind blows strands of hair back from her face to cool her amidst the typically sweltering summer air. Back in the city, it's hotter due to the palace walls and droves of people, but, here, it's open and free. It's no wonder that Vhagar prefers to reside out where she can roam as opposed to the confined field outside the Dragonpit where she can hardly fit.

She hears her before she sees her, but once they come up over the crest of the hill, it isn't long before she sees the great beast lounging on the grass in the valley between the rolling hills. A Dragonpit of her own making, Y/N supposes. The closer they get to her, the more enchanted she becomes with the creature. Out of the corner of his remaining eye, Aemond notes the look of awe on her face as they come to a stop roughly ten feet away.

"Nyke maghatan ñuha ābrazȳrys kesīr naejot rhaenagon ao," he says loudly to be heard by her over the sounds of the wind and sea not far off from where they stand. I brought my wife here to meet you. "Sagon sȳz naejot zirȳla." Be kind to her.

The elderly dragon huffs out a sharp breath that Y/N can feel the warmth of reaching her face despite the decent space between them. Apparently, that's her cue, because Aemond is now looking at her expectantly and egging her on, daring her to do what no one else would. No one but them. It's part of what thrills him about their marriage. This is why Targaryen weds Targaryen, he thinks to himself. How else would they share this simple pleasure if she weren't also the blood of the dragon? Vhagar would tolerate her presence, sure, but not in the way she does with those of her own kind.

Having tamed the Bronze Fury herself and knowing her husband's dragon will obey his commands to be kind to her, she takes a few steps forward until she's close enough to reach her hand out and allow her to smell it. The scaled creature's nostrils flare out to inhale and catalog her rider's wife for the first time, but she's surprised at what she finds lingering in the scent. There's a bit of him in there. To her, his scent is the most alluring, the most comfortable since she's been claimed by him, so when she notices his scent clinging to Y/N's, her head tilts a little to get closer.

She sees a certain understanding in the beast's eyes despite the fact that they've never been properly introduced until now. Vhagar looks upon her with a reverence no one but Aemond and her previous riders have received. Your womb shelters a little dragon. You carry him inside of you.

Vhagar dips her head down and nudges her nose against the princess's belly, which, as of right now, is not showing any obvious sign of her delicate condition. This action doesn't seem to stick out to Aemond—thank the Gods—it seems to surprise him. To see his two dragons coexisting and displaying affection for one another is a magical thing, and it's something he will never forget. Not even when he's old and frail and can no longer patrol the skies on her.

The sweet gesture brings a chuckle out of Y/N's throat.

"Iksā sepār iā dōna riña, issi ao daor?" she says, reaching up to rub along the massive bridge of her nose. You are just a sweet girl, are you not? "Issa sȳz naejot rhaenagon ao, Vhagar. Ñuha valzȳrys ēza ivestretan nyke sīr olvie nūmāzma ao." It is good to meet you, Vhagar. My husband has told me so much about you.

Though Y/N cannot see it, Aemond smiles slightly behind her. He tries to fight it, but it's impossible. His lips curl up into a grin against his will at the sight of his wife and his dragon cozying up together much like a mother and child. And though Vhagar is old enough to be a grandmother many times over, she, for reasons Y/N has yet to reveal to him, decides to play the role of the child in this instance.

Before he can wipe the smile from his face, she turns to look at him with her eyes widened in wonder.

"She's beautiful." She then turns back to face her. "Iksā gevie, dōna riña." You are beautiful, sweet girl.

"Are you ready to ride with us? You must climb up first. I will sit behind you."

This time, when she turns around to look at him, her gaze does not stray.

"Are you jesting?"

He just shakes his head, smug at the sign of her hesitation after trying to present herself as bravely as possible to his beloved beast. Silver hair cascades over her shoulders and shimmers, even under a cloudy sky, enough so that he has a hard time finding words in the wake of his longing for her.

"I do not jest about dragons," he says with a sadistic look in his eye. If he were being honest, he'd admit that he hardly jests about anything, least of all Vhagar. "But if you are craven, then I do not mind escorting you back to the keep."

That shocked expression of hers shifts into one of amusement.

"I claimed Vermithor when I was two and ten years old, the same year you claimed her, when he was a wild dragon living in the mountain caverns on Dragonstone. Does that sound like the actions of someone who is craven?"

He inclines his head in the direction of Vhagar as though to say, "Prove it."

It takes no less than five seconds for her to spin around and march right up to the side of the dragon, grabbing the rungs of the rope ladder slung over her back to allow small beings like them to scale the massive creature. The skirt of her dress blows in the wind enough to expose her legs to him but not to expose her entirely as she climbs, thanking the Gods that she opted for a pair of riding boots instead of the heels she wore with her dress originally. Once she has reached the saddle, she feels the rope ladder jolt with movement far below and swings her leg over to straddle the dragon. And when she looks down, she sees Aemond climbing up after her.

The feeling of his hard, lean body settling into place behind her stirs a sudden pulse of arousal in the pit of her abdomen. This is very new to her—marriage, sex, intimacy. To feel her husband's hands grip her hips to tug her into him, her ass pressing against his crotch without an inch of space to spare, is a welcomed but scandalous thing. Still, it pleases her. Even though she was taught to guard her heart and body fiercely from men growing up, she feels safe with him. Riding on any dragon other than Vermithor or Caraxes would be stressful, hence her hesitation when he asked her to ride with him, but now that she's up here, she is at ease. For nothing can frighten her with Aemond at her side.

His lips brush her ear as he reaches around her waist to put his hands over hers on the handles of the saddle and asks, "Are you ready, my lady?"

She turns to look at him and nods.

"Yes."

The grip of his hands over hers tightens, and he shouts, "Sōvēs!" Fly.

Beneath them, the creature they sit on begins to move, a deep rumble purring in the back of her throat as she moves from her lounging position upon the grass and gets a running start to take off. The flapping of her wings is loud enough to stifle the crashing of the waves against the land, isolating them from everything that surrounds them until all she can hear is her husband's voice giving Vhagar commands in Valyrian. The strength of the arms wrapped around her brings her mind back to memories of last night—his biceps flexing as he pinned her hands above her head and rutted into her, groaning at the feeling of tight cunt clamping down around him.

With another flap of her wings and push off the ground from her sturdy legs, they take off. Wind blows cold against her face where it comes in from the shore they swiftly fly over, and Vhagar swoops down to dip her clawed feet into the ocean water, sending up a spray of water that mists over them. The temperature draws a sharp gasp from Y/N's throat. Water soaks her intricately braided hair and the fabric of her dress, both of which things she spent time picking out only to have them tarnished. But, she thinks as she feels Aemond's body jolting from his laughter behind her, she does not truly care.

She laughs with him after a few seconds of processing the surprise, allowing her head to tip back onto his shoulder with the wind plastering her damp hair to her skin. Aemond's hands have since left hers to use the reins to steer Vhagar, but his arms remain tucked around her waist even as he does so. They turn around to fly back in the direction of the city and soar far higher above the ground than they had the sea. Although he does not usually push Vhagar to fly this way for a quick rush of adrenaline due to his care for the old girl, he does today. He knows better than anyone that a person only gets to have their first ride upon Visenya's dragon once in their lives, so he figures it might as well be as exciting for her as it was for him.

He remembers that moment like it was yesterday. The warmth of the fire curling in the back of her throat when he tried to mount her at first and got off with a warning, the stinging abrasion from gripping the reins and saddle for dear life to keep from falling to his death, and the joy of that freshly made bond between him and Vhagar. It isn't too different from what he feels with Y/N now at the beginning of their marriage. A visceral connection that takes hold deep in his soul and refuses to untether from it.

The view from above King's Landing is beautiful to her. With the waves crashing against the cliffs alongside the Red Keep and the clouds converging not far above their heads, she thinks to herself that it would make a fine painting someday and makes sure to save the image in the back of her mind for it.

It isn't until they feel the first drops of rainfall, accompanied by a booming roll of thunder, that Aemond commands Vhagar to return to the hills where she previously rested. The ground itself trembles with her landing, dirt kicking up from beneath the grass where her clawed feet dig into the earth. Although they are damp from the ocean water that sprayed up on them, the rain that is coming down now is fierce. It could chill them to the bone if they remained up in the sky, and while Aemond does not mind, he surely will not subject his lady to such a thing. It matters not that she rides her own dragon, sometimes in the teeth-chattering cold of rainy skies. She is his wife and shall be treated accordingly.

The two of them are quick to climb down the rope ladder as droplets of rain come down harder and harder as the seconds pass, and the moment her feet hit the ground, they both hurry beneath one of Vhagar's outstretched, membranous wings to take shelter from the storm until they can walk back to the city.

Her hand is grabbing onto Aemond's arm for support, allowing him to swing her around under the shade provided by his dragon's wing, and she smiles so brightly, he's shocked it has yet to blind his other eye. Their bodies collide with a soft thump—his arms around her waist, her hands bracing against them—that leaves them both a little breathless. Her chest rises when his falls in a push and pull like that of the tides they flew over in the long span of seconds that pass while they stare at one another.

It's the internal aftermath of this heated stare that sends them rushing forward into a kiss.

His hands hold her face with a sense of ownership too confident to deny, and she allows his tongue to invade her mouth when she feels him lick at her closed lips as if in request. And the moment is quite easy for her to become lost in. Between him kissing her like that and the adrenaline pumping through her from the ride on dragonback, she almost misses how they move together, feet stumbling to lead them further beneath the cover of Vhagar's massive wing so as to not be seen should anyone venture out here. The implication of this action turns her blood hot with desire.

He doesn't want to be seen—he bites down on her lower lip and takes a breath before coming back for more—he wants me—one of his hands slides around the back of her neck to keep her locked into the messy kiss while the other slides down the front of her dress—he has me. Gods, he has me.

The hand descending the front of her body undoes the clasps of her coat with a deft touch so few men ever accomplish until it comes loose around her torso, leaving her to shimmy it down from her shoulders while he tugs at the sleeves to get them off. His other hand drops to catch it, never missing a beat, and tosses it down on the ground presumably for her to lay upon. As if she cares about a little dirt or rain.

Aemond breaks the kiss by a fraction of an inch to whisper the question into her mouth between panting breaths, "Will you have me?" and it's by far the most restraint he has shown in initiating physical intimacy with her. Last night he had stormed in and fucked her like it was a challenge, like she was something to be conquered and broken and willed into submission. This, however, is a far cry from that. It's almost...gentle. That is if anything he does can be considered gentle.

The unspoken continuation of that question is, Will you have me after last night? After everything? And in answer, she kisses him harder and reaches for the buckle of his belt. It is weighed down by the weight of the fine sword and knife he carries in two sheaths attached on either side, but once she gets him free of it, it troubles her no longer. It simply clatters to the ground beside her discarded coat without another thought given to it.

What happens from here on is hazy to her in the way most distant memories are, but the difference is that she finds it hazy as she experiences it, not due to the passing of time. It's likely a combination of everything she's endured for the past forty-eight hours, the knowledge of her pregnancy weighing down upon her shoulders, and the feral lust felt for Aemond deep within her, but there's something about it that addles her brain similarly to when she drinks a cup of wine.

Somehow, they end up on the ground together with him slotted between the legs she opened so willingly for him and her pinned beneath the weight of his body. Her dress is not cut in half as it was on her wedding night seeing that they have to return to the Red Keep on foot. The skirts are pulled up though, and his lips leave kisses along her cleavage as he ruts his clothed cock against her. Feeling how hard he is, feeling what she alone does to him, brings pulsations of need to her already aching cunt.

That was another thing that surprised her about marriage. How little time it takes for him to arouse her beyond reason. Whenever she pleased herself, she had to work to get herself wet enough to lubricate the movement of her fingers, but he gets it done in a matter of seconds. All he has done is kiss her and shed her coat from her body and here she is.

It takes him a despicable amount of time to undo his trousers and shove them down his legs, so much so that she cannot help but move her hips up against nothing and whine, "Kostilus, valzȳrys." Please, husband.

And, fuck, if he claims that sight isn't what it takes to urge him on quicker through the act of undressing, he's a fool and a liar.

Aemond balances his weight on the forearms pressing onto the ground on either side of her when he finally nudges at her entrance with his tip and, once he feels it slip inside of her, presses his hips forward until they are flush with the back of her thighs. At the same time that he groans, she gasps. The blunt edges of her fingernails dig into his shoulders enough that he can feel it through his clothing. Her jaw goes slack at the indescribable feeling of his cock filling her, buried deep enough that she thinks she can feel him in her belly, and she allows her head to tilt back onto her coat as she looks up into his eyes.

He can hardly keep control of himself when she looks at him like that. There's a part of him that wants to pin her arms above her head and take her the way he had last night, but the softness in her gaze gives him pause. It soothes him. Seeing her look upon his face like that makes him take it slower with her, drawing back and thrusting back in at a relaxed pace that is more of a sensuous grinding than it is outright fucking. It's tender, caring, and much different than any time they've done this in the past. While he isn't always rough with her, he also isn't as sensual and sweet as he is now. No, this is new. Wholly new.

He leans down the rest of the way to kiss her, allowing half the weight of his body to keep her in place now that there's no space left between them. The only time he halts their exploration of each other's mouths is to whisper in a hushed slur of strung together words, "Mmm, taking it so well—"

The praise is punctuated with a hard returning thrust. He felt her walls squeezing around his cock from the sound of his voice alone, and there was little he could do to prevent himself from succumbing to what his cunt-struck excuse for a brain wanted him to do. He is, in every other situation, a man who takes pride in his intelligence and well-nurtured education as a member of the royal family, but all of that is scattered to the winds when he's inside of her. Aegon would tease him mercilessly if he were to ever discover that his brother's sole weakness is, despite Aemond's refusal to discuss the topic with him, his wife's pretty cunt.

Y/N wraps her arms around his shoulders and keeps him trapped in the little prison of her own making as she is being ravished by him. The familiar sensation of pleasure building in the pit of her stomach draws a moan out of her, and he can't help but make it harder and faster. But through the haze of this intense gratification, she sees his face above hers and is reminded of the previous night. When they'd taken their anger out on each other as a result of their fight. As a result of what he did to her sweet brother.

Her features harden at the thought, the soft smile vanishing as she takes thrust after thrust with little gasps that escape without her permission, and she can almost sense the fiery spirit that lives within her—the sleeping dragon—rising from its slumber in response to the anger. Suddenly, she remembers who she is. She is the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon. She is not so easily placated.

The leg that is wrapped around his hip is used to help her flip him onto his back along with the force of her hips pressing up against his and the hands she placed on his shoulders. Her hands remain there for the first moment she spends perched on top of him like this, gripping hard to give her leverage while she begins to ride him. The surprise is evident in his remaining eye, but he does not stop her or make any discomfort known. If anything, he likes it a little too much. To see her like this...

She takes him even deeper than before with this new change in position. Every time her hips come down on his, the broad tip of his cock brushes the sweet spot inside of her and sparks a kind of pleasure far more overwhelming than the kind she gets when he rubs the overly sensitive nub at the top of her folds. He reaches for her hips reflexively once he realizes why she moved him so suddenly, but she shakes her head and pins his arms down by the wrists above his.

In response to this, there's a strange war that is waged in his mind.

Part of him isn't sure what to think, another part wants to take back control and gain the upper hand as any good fighter would, and the other...Well, the other part is the one currently in control. It's the part of him that cannot think about anything save for the sight and feeling of her fucking him, trembling and moaning like a wanton whore. It isn't long before this haze wears off and he begins to come to his senses though. The wrists pinned against the ground push back against the hands holding them captive as though to test her strength, readying to break free in order for him to pull out and flip her over onto her hands and knees.

He can already feel the words on the tip of his tongue, "If you want to behave like a whore, I will treat you like one."

But he doesn't get to say them. Apparently, his wife is already one step ahead of him, and when she witnessed the muscles in his arms flexing in preparation to take back control, she made her move. All he heard was the sound of steel sliding against steel, the knife that he hadn't thought twice of allowing to fall to the ground being ripped from its scabbard, before the sharp tip of the blade is pointed at his throat. One of her hands keeps holding his wrists down even though they both know he could break free if he pleases while the other is wrapped around the hilt of the blade.

He would open his mouth to speak, but he knows he'll get cut if he does, so he just stares up at her with an incredulous expression.

"Swear on your life," she says, moaning before speaking again from the feeling of cock sliding into her. Her breaths are shallow, her chest heaving, as she cants her hips and rides him harder. "Swear you won't hurt them again. If you don't, I shall let this pierce your throat, and we can be finished with this feud."

Her body leans down enough that her chest brushes his with every exchange of air exhaled and inhaled in the limited space between their mouths.

She croons, "Is it not enough they gave me to you? If you are owed a debt"—another moan—"is it not now paid? It is not an eye for an eye but believe me when I say the idea of you defiling me is worse to my dear brother than being maimed."

The stirring sensation within him begins to crescendo as a result of her brutal pace and everything she says. At this point, his brain is no longer in control of him. The ecstasy he feels is too great for him to string together a coherent thought outside of variations of, "She is utterly divine, she is perfect, she is—"

Once again, he finds himself thinking that this is why it had to be her. This is why it had to be someone as wild as him. All it takes to frighten most other women from noble birth is a sharply edged sentence or harsh glare, but she is the type of person to hold a blade to his throat while performing the most intimate act of devotion that exists, and if being driven to that degree of madness by your feelings for a person isn't love, then he doesn't know what love is.

"Did you never think about it?" Based on the look in his eye, he hadn't considered what she just said to him, and it makes her smirk. "Your distaste for him must not run as deep as you claim if you have never taken pleasure in being the one to claim his sister." She laughs quietly. "They all thought you would be cruel, that you'd be a selfish husband who'd use me to warm your bed and nothing else"—his cock twitches in her—"Little do they know, you are the one they should be worried for. No one is near to witness what I may do to you, and here you are. Trapped beneath me with your own knife to your throat and your cock inside me."

Gods help him. Every word she says is fuel to the fire. What a filthy mouth.

At last, she pulls the tip of the knife back an inch or so to allow him to speak without cutting himself, and he never breaks eye contact with her throughout the process. Not once. All it takes is her raising a brow to spur him into speaking the words she wants to hear. And once the words leave his mouth, she knows they are binding. Unlike his older brother, she knows Aemond to be a man of his word, and if he swears something to her, she can trust him.

"I swear," Aemond says, breathless, although his features are set with a harsh rage to counteract the softness in his voice. "I will not hurt them."

They're both interrupted by their own need to suck down breaths of air to compensate for the exertions of their bodies, but he still refuses to look away. He refuses to surrender and let her think she has frightened him despite his willingness to abide by the promise she requested and allow her to think she's the one in control. And now that he's sworn this to her, she taunts him for the fun of it.

"What do you think Sir Criston would say if he saw his best swordsman in such a vulnerable position?" She makes a tsk sound. "I think he would be quite disappointed to see how you let your—"

In a movement strong and swift enough that she cannot process it until it is done, Aemond twists the knife out of her grasp and has her on her back in a matter of seconds. The blade is pressed to her neck, not quite cutting but pressing in just enough for her to feel the threat of it there, and her throat bobs against the sharp side of the blade when he forces her mouth open with his fingers pressing on her soft cheeks.

He says, only warning her once, "Never say another man's name when I am fucking you," and does not hesitate before spitting in her mouth.

The same fingers that pressed on her cheeks to force her mouth open force it shut again, clamping down over her kiss-swollen lips to make her swallow his spit, and once he sees her do so, he tosses the knife aside and devotes his full attention to worshipping her. His lips smear against hers in a sloppy kiss to match the haphazard, pounding strokes he makes into her now that he can feel himself getting close. With every sharp thrust, she cries out and holds tighter onto him to keep him close.

Aemond continually hits that perfect spot within her and never lets up, groaning and trying his hardest not to come before she does. She is close. He can feel it in how her cunt spasms around him, clenching and unclenching in the way it always does before she is sent over the edge. All she needs is a few more thrusts, so he brings his arms down to rest on either side of her head and cages her in so all she can see is him and him alone, forced to look upon his face as she finds her peak.

"Ossēninna mirre vala qilōni māzigon rȳ īlva. Mirre vala ao qogralbar tolie than nyke morghūlilza. Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke," he says in the language of their ancestors because he does not know if he can be so honest in the common tongue. Valyrian provides an added privacy that is a comfort to them both. His voice is a low hum that runs along her skin like a tender caress, and that is all it takes for her to come undone, hearing what he said over and over in her mind. I will kill any man who comes between us. If you fuck anyone else, they will die. You belong to me.

Y/N's jaw falls open in a gape as it hits her, harsh and unforgiving in its brutality but plentiful in its euphoria. The rush is unlike any other climax she has had with him in the past likely due to everything that preceded it. Although she has thoroughly enjoyed every time she's been with him before, this is on a different dimensional scale. Hearing him say that she belongs to him, that he's willing to kill any man who poses a threat to their marriage...to think that she has brought the great Aemond Targaryen to his knees is intoxicating.

The feeling of her cunt clamping down around his cock like a vice brings him to his end much quicker than he anticipated, and he groans as he spills into her.

All he can think to himself is that he is lucky. He is lucky to have a wife that he formed a connection with, lucky to have a wife that makes him feel things he didn't know he could feel. It's difficult to imagine being bound by blood to anyone but her. Whenever he passes by noble married couples, he can't help but feel pity for them. They do not know what it is to love a person with every part of their soul, even the part that hates them.

Aemond and Y/N are panting for air with their foreheads pressed together once they've begun to come down from their respective climaxes, and she cannot do anything but hold onto him as her heart rate begins to slow down again. She can see in the way he looks at her that it was different for him this time too, that he could feel what she felt between them, and to think that it doesn't scare him off...

He collapses onto her chest with a tired sigh and allows her to cradle his head against her, her hand stroking his hair in a soothing pattern that lulls him into a state of peace.

-

The flames burning in the fireplace crackle and surge when the servant tending to them for the night adds another log, then bows her head toward where Aemond sits before exiting their rooms. From the room over, he can hear Y/N humming to herself as she prepares herself for a night of rest. They were both so thoroughly worn out from their prior exertions that they slept together beneath the cover of Vhagar's wing for the better part of an hour before heading back to the Red Keep.

Shockingly, neither of them felt the need to talk about what they experienced this afternoon. There was no overly-emotional profession of feelings or official conversation about what shifted between them, but they both recognized it to themselves. By the time they returned, Queen Alicent had already been looking for them for an hour, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head at the sight of them walking through the halls together with stifled laughter and rain-soaked clothes.

It was when they reached the staircase she was walking down that Aemond met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. That was all the confirmation she received on the state of her youngest child's marriage before they disappeared to clean off and ready themselves for dinner, which they managed to drag themselves out to share with Alicent and Helaena as per the former's request. And when the queen watched them interact at dinner, she couldn't help but smile to herself as she sipped her wine.

Now, it's late at night, and Y/N is brushing out the long strands of silver hair that cascade down her shoulders. The only item of clothing covering her is a thin chemise, and as she sets the brush down on the table beside her, her eyes are drawn to her stomach. A tentative hand slides down the front of it, keeping the white fabric flat against her body, and rubs the imperceptibly small bump residing there that she blamed on natural weight gain or bloating.

Deep down, she supposes she already knew. She can already pinpoint the time she thinks did it—when he woke her up with his head between her thighs before fucking her right there. It was early in the morning before any servants would come knocking, and she was still half-asleep when he spent his seed in her. As she fell back to sleep with his release dripping from her sensitive cunt, she recalls feeling the large palm of his hand settling over her belly to keep her back pressed to his chest. It was almost as if he knew too.

This morning, she couldn't imagine telling him what the maesters confirmed, but now...

She walks out past the bed to the main area of the room where they spend their time either reading, drinking, or talking before it is time to sleep. Her footfalls are quieter than usual, yet he can still hear her approaching from behind, and when she leans down with her arms wrapping around his shoulders to kiss his cheek, he does not flinch in alarm. All he does is offer a hum of approval, eye fluttering shut in appreciation of his wife's gentle touch.

There's a short pause during which she stands and wrings her hands in front of her where he cannot see, then moves around to the front of the chair and sits on his lap. Her legs are bent over the arm of the chair with her side pressed to his chest and her arm draped over his shoulders.

"Aemond?"

He turns his attention from where it had been fixed on the fire onto her. No verbal response is granted to her, but she knows from months of living alongside him that this is his way of telling her to say whatever it is that's on her mind.

Her next exhale trembles a little.

"Um," she stammers, unsure of how to break the news other than coming right out and saying it. "I went to see the maesters this morning..." Her bottom lip is drawn between her teeth as she tries to summon the courage to say it. "Iksan lēda riña." I am with child.

The typically harsh stare set on her face softens with these few words. Just like that, her nerves dissolve into nothing, and she is left to wonder how she had been so scared to tell him this morning. Of course, his reaction would be a pleasant one. He is nothing if not a duty-driven man. Providing his family with more potential heirs is a cause for celebration, even as a second son. Another way to fulfill his duty with his lawful wife, unlike Aegon who has fathered bastards with common whores and neglected his wife. And now that he has discovered a new side to his relationship with her, the idea of her bearing his children is sentimental in a way he hadn't expected it to be in the past.

Aemond's lips curl into a slight smile, his face leaning forward through the space between them to brush her nose with his. The hand not placed against her back comes down to rest upon the barely-there swell of her belly that serves as the only physical evidence of this good news.

"I know."

Her body still atop his. Seconds later, she tries to move to stand up only to be stopped by his strong arms holding her in place.

"You know?" she asks, face flushed with heat.

The emotion present on her face, he notices, is embarrassment. Whatever for, he does not know, but he's quick to settle her down once he notices. His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear, combing through it the same way hers had done with his when he collapsed onto her after their passionate coupling. A wry chuckle escapes him at her shock.

He says, "Did you think I had not noticed when you missed your blood? We share a bed, ñuha jorrāelagon"—My love. Her heart may have skipped a beat—"I would be stupid if I had not known."

Her mind is sent reeling from this.

She missed her blood at the beginning of the last moon, and she would be due for her next bleeding any day now if she were not with child, so...has he known this whole time? Wait, no. More importantly, he cares enough to make note of things like that? He may have said it as though it was obvious, as though every husband would notice, but he is far different from most of the men in this city. She is willing to bet an absurd sum of coin that her grandsire Viserys never paid such attention to the queen, nor does Aegon to Helaena.

He and his brother have vastly different marriages. For one, Aegon and Helaena live separately. She and Aemond do not. They have only consummated their marriage out of necessity for the sake of continuing the bloodline, meanwhile, she has not needed to take Aemond to bed every night. She simply wanted to. And that is the difference. That is the thing she had yet to realize in her denial of his feelings for her. They were wed for the sake of unifying their families, yes, but it is not a marriage that subsists solely on duty. At least, not anymore.

Y/N looks at him like she does not believe he is real.

"You"—she shakes her head as if to dispel her disorganized thoughts and allow her to speak with clarity—"I did not know you paid attention to me that closely."

He is countering back in a matter of seconds, running the tips of his fingers up and down the length of her back, "Nyke daor dohaeragon nykēla." I cannot help myself.

The crackling of the flames not far from where she is perched atop his lap fills the gaps of silence left between them. It allows her to consider the past day or so with the care she was not capable of in the midst of her anger. It was difficult to navigate, and she feels terrible for her brother, but she thinks it may have been a necessary hardship for them to overcome as husband and wife. The issue of their families would not have been settled with them ignoring it as they used to and pushing aside their feelings for the sake of the marriage. It had to be faced at some point, and now that it has, she feels lighter. The weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Her hand then drops to rest atop the one he has placed over her belly, and she looks down at their entwined fingers with a tender smile blooming on her face.

"Nyke pendagon se rūs iksis riña," she says. I think the babe is a girl. "Skoros gaomagon ao pendagon, valzȳrys?" What do you think, husband?

-

A/N: let me know what you think :) thanks for reading

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[phoenixislost]

Three Weeks at the Docks

(Or, what happened in the time that Kaveh and Al-Haitham spent waiting during chapters 6 and 7 of How to Grow a Garden in Your Chest: In 500 Years (or Less).)

From the moment he listened to that dinner conversation between Kaveh and Abel, Al-Haitham knew that his partner had found a new friend. So few people feel kindred to Kaveh’s emotional stability, (or lack thereof). To find someone who also went through the abandonment of a parent – the emotional aftermath of it – is what Al-Haitham is certain that Kaveh would call a miracle.

So, when it turns out that Abel is dying –

Al-Haitham also knows that Kaveh is going to be devastated.

He reaches out to Abel, because it seems he is the only one left privy who is also willing to challenge him. It evades him, why Tighnari has not also tried convincing Abel; or even how Aether has not figured out the truth yet. Al-Haitham thought them both to be fiercer and cleverer than that. But, whatever the matter – it is now clearly up to him to knock sense into the man.

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What he hadn’t expected was for it to come to a head so quickly, or for Abel’s stubbornness to fade. He has things yet to learn, Al-Haitham realizes.

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And yes, Kaveh is devastated. That night before Abel’s departure to Inazuma, he lays in their bed with a red face and disheveled hair. Al-Haitham watches his partner curl in on himself and sob into his pillow. In moments like this, it is a coin-flip to decide whether Kaveh will throw his hands away when Al-Haitham tries to comfort him – or if he will cling on for dear life until he passes out from the emotional stress.

Al-Haitham tries anyway. That night, he sleeps with his partner wrapped around his arm and with a hand balled into his night shirt.

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What comes next is an unbearable game of waiting. Abel and Aether depart that next morning on a ship bound for Inazuma. None of them know whether they will see their friend alive again. To her credit – Lesser Lord Kusinali has greater faith than them all. There is a peace in her smile as she consoles them all after that. She cares very little for the onlookers as she cradles Kaveh’s sticky face in her palms.

“He’ll be back,” she tells them. And to Kaveh, “Wipe your tears and be ready to celebrate.”

And that first day is a tortuous one. Kaveh will not eat; to get him to drink is an endeavor. Al-Haitham even deigns to offer him wine – But his partner is a withered mess of a man, and he will not even take to liquor. One by one, his options are exhausted. By sundown, all Al-Haitham can do is lay on their divan and let Kaveh hold onto him. A book sits in his hands as Kaveh lays over his chest. But the words on the page blur and congeal.

When Kaveh dozes off, Al-Haitham gives up the façade. He places the book down, and he brings his arms around his partner. With his head tipped down and his mouth pressed into Kaveh’s hair, Al-Haitham allows himself to grieve, too.

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“I’m going to the port,” Kaveh tells him the next morning,” as he packs a bag of drawing supplies and snacks. “The breeze is nice today and –”

Al-Haitham knows better. “Kaveh,” he says. “It takes a week to sail to Inazuma from here. They won’t be back in a day.” He crosses his arms and watches as Kaveh continues to fill his bag.

Kaveh huffs, and he looks up to point a finger at his partner. “Well, I can’t just sit around here and work while they’re – while he’s –” A wet ache drips from his mouth. “I’m going to the port.” And it doesn’t sound final; but Kaveh finishes packing anyway.

Al-Haitham watches his partner sling the bag over his shoulder. Just as Kaveh passes by to get to the door, he stops him. His hand catches Kaveh’s wrist, and he tugs him over. Softly, Al-Haitham presses a kiss to the corner of Kaveh’s mouth. “Stay hydrated,” he says. “The breeze won’t do that for you.”

Unlike Kaveh, Al-Haitham can work under these conditions. It is far too easy for him to close down the part of his psyche that lingers on emotional matters. He knows that most people see him as aloof and unfeeling – and maybe in some ways he is – but he is not cold. While he might be able to push away the thought of Abel’s ashen face or the blood on his lips –

It’s so much harder to forget Kaveh’s heartbreak.

As he pores over proposals and requests, Al-Haitham tries valiantly not to think of Kaveh’s heaving shoulders or the his messy, tear-streaked face. His pen idles when he signs paperwork, as the sound of Kaveh’s broken sobs whisper in his ears.

Al-Haitham turns up the volume of his headphones.

It doesn’t help.

His workdays as Acting Grand Sage are much longer than he is used to, which means his nights are later, too. When Al-Haitham approaches the front door of their home, he notices that the lights are still off. He doesn’t bother going inside.

The walk to Port Ormos is silent, save for the call of the jungle. His feet trod along the dirt paths and splash in shallow puddles. Any other day, Al-Haitham might complain about the mess in his shoes. But tonight, his mind is only on –

Kaveh sits on a bench by the docks. The port, even at this hour, is still bustling. But by the angle of his head, the slack of his shoulders – Al-Haitham knows that Kaveh has fallen asleep. It’s a wonder, really, that his bag hasn’t been stolen. It sits beside him on the bench, almost untouched. In Kaveh’s lap is his sketchbook – with nary a scratch on the paper. The pencil is nowhere to be seen; no doubt kicked away by the passing crowds after it fell from Kaveh’s grasp.

Al-Haitham sighs, and he packs Kaveh’s bag for him again. He slings it over his own shoulder, and then he braces himself to lift Kaveh’s weight. His partner curls in on himself in Al-Haitham’s hold. As the evening grows ever later and stars begin to dot the sky, Al-Haitham takes Kaveh home.

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For three weeks, it continues. Kaveh leaves early in the mornings, and Al-Haitham finds him at the port in the evenings. Most times, his partner has dozed off by the time Al-Haitham arrives. And like he had on that first night, he gathers Kaveh in his arms and brings him home.

But, some evenings – Kaveh is still awake, with his eyes on the horizon and his hands in his lap. On those evenings, Al-Haitham joins him on the bench. They sit silently and watch as the final fleet of ships dock for the night. And then they walk home, hand-in-hand and somber. If Kaveh weeps, Al-Haitham does not point it out. He squeezes his partner’s hand in his, and he leads them both home. By the time they’ve walked through the door, Kaveh’s cheeks are dry.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nearly three weeks to the day – Al-Haitham feels compelled to join Kaveh on his morning trip. He shirks his reluctant and ill-gotten duty as Acting Grand Sage, and he walks to Port Ormos with his partner. By now, Kaveh’s shoulders have lost their confidence. Yet, stubborn as a mule, he holds his vigil. But Al-Haitham knows better; Kaveh is tired. Kaveh is defeated.

Their bench waits for them when they arrive. The day is sunny, and the docks are busy. A new fleet is set to arrive at this hour – usually those from Ritou and Liyue Harbor. Already, many dockhands are bustling around the piers, ready to work when their hands are needed.  Time flows by, and the passing crowds with them. Overhead, seagulls cry for the warm food being served at the street carts. Out in the distance, just the fainted blots appear over the water’s horizon. Kaveh notices it when Al-Haitham does, and he pokes an elbow into his side –

“I see them, too,” Al-Haitham nods. “Let’s see who comes off.”

Beside him, Kaveh begins to buzz with energy. The warmth in his face returns, and Al-Haitham cannot begin to describe the relief that it brings him; the sheer gratitude he feels for Kaveh’s returning smile. If this is not them –

“Abel!” Kaveh cries, as he spies three familiar silhouettes descend the dock just a while later. He grabs Al-Haitham’s hand, and he jumps from the bench. Kaveh tugs him along as he calls out again. They squeeze through the crowds, and finally he sees a familiar hat. “Abel!” Kaveh cries out. “Look, Haitham, they’re back –”

As Al-Haitham watches his partner tackle their friend by the side, he smiles.

Yes, Al-Haitham thinks. They’re back.

[liminal-storage]

#27: Hall of Whispers

Prompt: Sole

Characters: Maximilian Finch, Crowe, “Mother.”

Content Warnings: Mentions of mutilation/self harm, abuse. 

Note: This is not ffxiv-focused writing, but again me taking the opportunity to write about Blades things. A tiny glimpse at the place that my character, Finch, calls home.

—------------

In the most destitute, wave-worn streets bordering the docks, the rooms of a house known as the Harpy’s Wing stand as a bastion against the freezing winds rolling from Duskvol’s cold waters. Though, anyone left alive from those days can tell you it is a much different sort of place than it was when it opened three decades prior. The ornate, hand-carved door welcoming patrons once shone with a fine mahogany-colored polish. Its plush, neatly upholstered divans are still lovely to look at and fine enough for entertaining patrons, but time and use has certainly shown its wear on the wood. The fabric seems a bit threadbare if you look at certain spots

On good days, of which there are few, a number of delicate stained glass chandeliers fashioned with hanging glass beads catch the light from the oil-lamps outside and scatter it into pieces along the walls. Through the years, thick layers of dust and the stain of cigar smoke have tinted the glass a dull orange, but once upon a time they glimmered with every shade of the rainbow like floating, ethereal jellyfish. 

Most of the Harpy’s Wing looked like that. Lavish and evocative of longing for a nicer city, a different time, but worn down by sea spray and cold and smoke, and Duskvol’s general sense of misery. 

Some nights the phonograph still plays, though someone lost all the other wax cylinders. Now, only one tune resonates throughout the halls, its notes grown dissonant and distorted like the rest of the place. Not that the hard working gentlemen or ladies who come to call on the birds of the house really seem bothered by it. They heed not the call of the phonograph but the call of hedonistic pleasures, taken to dusty backrooms with moth-eaten bedding. Coin flows, bodies sweat, and beds rock like the ebb and flow of the frigid tides. The hard working men and women of the docks find temporary entertainment and a short-lived balm for the soul, never knowing what lurks further within the walls. 

The upper floor remains off limits. 

Here, no light from outside penetrates the halls. The only furnishings to decorate most of the rooms are worn wooden benches, hard lumpy beds, and guttering oil lamps that, at any given moment, pose a danger of tipping over and engulfing the entire Wing in flames. There is one room at the end of the hall where the darkness seems to seep from the very depths of the night. Within the room, a woman with stark-white hair and an unnatural glowing youth sits upon an embroidered chair. Hands bound to the elaborate padded chair’s arms, Mother’s eyes have not espied anything but darkness since the establishment opened its doors for the first time. 

She sits blinded in the darkness, her eyes long since gouged out and covered with a veil dotted with silk roses over her empty sockets. She clawed them out herself, before her most beloved Crowe bound her hands to the chair. An esteemed offering to her goddess, to bear her sacred likeness. Her only company here is her Crowe, he who bears eyes across all of Duskvol. To watch over her children, she says. To witness their sins and tell of their tribulations. 

Her dear, beloved Finches. In the end, one shall fly above the rest.

Someday one of them will repeat the ritual of offering, carve out their eyes to take her place upon the worn throne within the Hall of Whispers. Another will become the new Mother’s Crowe and watch over the rest of the Wing. 

The young Maximilian shows promise, though the Crowe is not yet certain in which way. Will they open themselves to the goddess’ voice? Or will theirs be the voice that speaks for Mother? Though, their recent mishap proved disquieting to hear. Mother shall have to give them a firm reminder of the consequences for indiscretion. Maximilian’s back already bears scars of such lessons, but not nearly enough. To awaken the sovereign beneath the waves, the Finches must come to understand sacrifice. Mother speaks of penance from beneath her veil. 

“Twenty lashes and a week without food this time, I think. This time they shall be inflicted at your hand rather than their own. See to it once the little one returns, Crowe.” 

[broadcastbabe]

We have come to the conclusion that working as a team, we had a much better chance at personal gratifications… than pitted against each other for your affections. You wanted a contest between us, to outdo the other in a sexual girl fight. Hard limits would be forgotten and boundaries crossed in our pursuit of top honors for your undivided attention in your bed. It worked for awhile… taking turns, witnessing the techniques of our opponent, then trying to make the next round sexier, more creatively outre, more deviant to cater to your tastes. Ultimately, you want variety and the tag-team seemed to be one short-sighted solution.

Tonight, the gals are doing it our way. When you and I return from our stroll in a nearby park, where I have been ravaged in a public gazebo under the stars, she is waiting. We recount our undiscovered and unseen adventures in great detail… my surprise lingerie attire for a barrier-free encounter once you had opened the heavy ermine coat… my shameless moaning, meant to attract voyeurs to our escapade, while you feasted between my thighs in preparation for the coup d’gras. I am always juicy and dripping, but you crave the taste of me on your lips while I am being penetrated relentlessly in the pursuit of mutual orgasms.

She is intrigued and topless, toying with her nipples, while we relive the recent glories and paw at each other affectionately. You are already eyeing her impatient display with a desire now evident in your trousers. You suggest your thirst needs requenching, a palette cleanser to move on to her ‘next’ status in line. She disappears briefly and returns with two large glasses of wine, suggesting she and I will share one, while you indulge yourself with her charms. We take turns sipping, winking at each other conspiratorially, anxious to put our plan in motion. She takes the luxurious coat from my shoulders and drapes it across a divan. Reaching around from behind, she removes  my front closure bra to level the playing field, she locks eyes with you and takes my bosom in her hands to caress, while you watch with a new alertness. Rolling my eyes with lusty approval, she toys with my tender nipples until they are as stiff and ruby colored as her own. Our breathing has synchronized in an escalated harmony, and you are compelled to massage the growing mass in your lap as her hands travel to breech my lace thong. My familiar moans fill the room as her slender fingers knead me in slow rotations under the lace. I pull them down past my rump, and they shimmy to the floor to expose this breach of regular conduct… and me. My moans become throatier, slipping an octave, as we both squirm in our spooning position. You seem to be holding your breath, when I pivot to face her and suckle on her breasts with a hunger that sets off her own gratified music. She seats herself upon the ermine while I straddle her, rump up, to allow you a clear view of her busy fingers, attending to my increasing needs. They rhythmically disappear inside me, while I nurse at her plumped heaving breasts, obviously enjoying my feast tremendously. Stunned and realizing your petty little competition has severely limited the scope of your sexcapades, you invite yourself into the melee and hover closer to observe. Your hand makes contact with my derrière as it wags and bobs and offers a polishing of its firm roundness, ending with a half-hearted spank. I shudder and announce my nearness to cumming and you both double-down on your manipulations; by adding another finger to stretch me wider and your more punitive slaps to my crimson rump. I surrender to my body’s reflexes and howl with delight for the second time this evening. Joining in the chorus, like a triggered wolf pack, we give voice to our newly discovered collaborative configuration. You sandwich me between you two to share in the quivering of my multiples that come fast and furious in succession. She is bearing the weight at the bottom beneath us, but is still able to murmur a deserved request as she licks the dew from her fingertips. “Think I’m owed the next few rounds…”

[thecrimecrypt]

Crimes That Shook Britain (Yorkshire)

The Crossbow Cannibal Between June 2009 and May 2010, Stephen Griffiths murdered three sex workers in Bradford, West Yorkshire.

His final attack was captured on CCTV and led to his arrest. He shot his last victim - Suzanne Blamires - with a crossbow as she tried to escape his flat, before stabbing her in the head with a knife.

In custody, he boasted to officers of West Yorkshire Police, ‘I’ve killed loads,’ and also claimed to have eaten body parts of his victims. It’s thought his other known victims - Shelley Armitage and Susan Rushworth - also suffered this fate. Griffiths, who called himself the Crossbow Cannibal, was jailed for life and will die in prison.

The Murder of Jo Cox Jo Cox, 41, was MP for Batley and Spen, West Yorkshire - the constituency where she was born - and was married with two small children, aged 5 and 3.

On 16 June 2016, she was killed outside the library where she was to hold a constituency meeting. She was shot in the head and chest with a sawn-off hunting rifle and stabbed 15 times. Jo’s killer Thomas Mair - a far-right extremist - was convicted of murder on 23 November 2016 and was given a whole-life term.

The Yorkshire Ripper Known as the Yorkshire Ripper, serial killer Peter Sutcliffe, from Bingley, in Bradford, West Yorkshire, was serving 20 consecutive life sentences after he was found guilty of 13 murders and seven attempted murders in 1981.

Over five years, he attacked women across West Yorkshire and Manchester, picking victims he believed to be prostitutes, though not all were.

Once arrested, he attempted to plead guilty to manslaughter, claiming diminished responsibility and saying God told him to kill prostitutes. Sutcliffe served most of his sentence in Broadmoor Hospital, a high-security psychiatric facility, but was judged sane enough to be moved to HMP Frankland in 2016.

Sutcliffe died at University Hospital of North Durham aged 74 on 13 November 2020, having been sent there with COVID-19. He had a number of underlying health problems including, obesity and diabetes. He reportedly refused treatment.

The Kidnapping of Shannon Matthews In February 2009, Karen Matthews, from Dewsbury, called the police when her daughter Shannon, 9, didn’t come home from school. What followed was the biggest investigation by West Yorkshire Police since the hunt for the Yorkshire Ripper.

Every newspaper in the country reported on the case, with one offering a £50,000 reward for information leading to Shannon’s safe return.

Three weeks after she’d gone missing, Shannon was found alive at a flat less than a mile from her home. The flat belonged to Michael Donovan - the uncle of Karen’s boyfriend - Donovan was arrested and, soon after, so was Karen Matthews.

In November 2008, both denied charges of kidnapping, false imprisonment and perverting the course of justice. Leeds Crown Court heard Karen had engineered Shannon’s kidnap with Donovan to claim the reward. Shannon had been drugged, tethered, and hidden inside a divan bed during her captivity.

Matthews and Donovan were found guilty of all charges and jailed for eight years. Both have now served their sentences.

The Fox Killings Arthur Hutchinson, also known as The Fox, was wanted by police for rape. Then, on 23 October 1983, he broke into the Sheffield home of Basil and April Laitner.

Also there were their children Richard, 26, and Nicola, 18. Hutchinson killed Richard, Basil, and April, then raped Nicola at knife point before fleeing. He’d already spent five years in prison for attempting to murder his brother-in-law.

After a 39-day manhunt, The Fox was captured and serving life. He will never be released.

The Murder of Sharon Beshenivsky Sharon Beshenivsky had been an officer with West Yorkshire Police for nine months in November 2005. On the day she was killed, the mum of five and her colleague went to an emergency call at Bradford travel agency.

There, they were fired on by armed robbers and Sharon was fatally wounded, her colleague seriously injured. Three men were convicted of her murder and got life. Three others were also jailed in connection to the killing.

[mobilityshop]

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[rahlecxs]

What is an Ottoman Bed?

Today's house has actually restricted room because of scaling down in the last few years. Because of this, storage room might be restricted which leaves home owners and house dwellers alike searching for ingenious means to stash bed linens and various other valuables when there seems to be no closet or cupboard space available. If you are amongst those wanting to raise living area by lowering the amount of mess, you might want ottoman beds just due to the fact that they are created to maximise room used up by the bed.

Ottoman bed frames these days is one of the facets of buying an ottoman today is that we usually refer to them by various names. Frequently the term 'divan' is used when describing an ottoman frame but what can be even more complicated is that both an ottoman and also a divan need not have storage below. Rather, a divan or ottoman actually refers to the kind of framework structure in the furniture concerned. Consequently, prior to discussing the type of storage beneath a divan or an ottoman, it is much better to understand how the frame is built. Here is some details on exactly what ottoman beds are, the kinds of ottoman bed frameworks on the marketplace and some of the benefits you can obtain by replacing your typical bed frames with a charming, yet extremely practical, ottoman bed. Interestingly enough, the term ottoman first ended up being preferred in Europe throughout the last part of the 18th Century when this style of furniture made its entrance from the Ottoman Realm. A few of the very first recommendations to ottoman (Fr.) showed up in the early 1700's. Initially ottoman furniture was made use of throughout Europe, after it made its entrance, to be laid around 3 linking wall surfaces within an area. Ottomans served as the primary seating for the household and was stacked high with pillows. Eventually the ottoman started to be made a lot smaller and was made to fit nicely into the space's corner. Throughout the years the ottoman underwent several evolutions till it began to become preferred in clubs where the seats ended up being hinged to serve as storage below. Today there is a variety of ottoman design furniture varying from foot rests to chairs to ottoman beds. Nevertheless, the something modern ottomans share is the concept of storage area they offer. Ottoman beds have become specifically popular, typically due to minimal area available in smaller sized residences as well as homes being constructed today. Find the perfect mattress and achieve greater sleep with mattressheaven247.co.uk Despite the fact that the location under the bed, couch, chair or stool is most often made use of for storage, this doesn't necessarily need to be the case. In order to comprehend how ottoman furniture is created, allow's take a look at an ottoman bed. The bed is framed in such a way regarding make use of a system whereupon the mattress rests. When the mattress is lifted, the storage area beneath is exposed. As pointed out, however, this room does not constantly require to be made use of as storage. It is the framing structure upon which the mattress exists that makes an ottoman what it is, an ottoman.

Do you need other bedroom furniture for your bedroom? if so, then check out our https://www.furniture-n-home-decor.com/ today.

[shannibal--lecter]

Top Tips to Picking Extravagance Beds

On the off chance that you're looking for the ideal extravagance bed there a number learn more clues and tips you can follow to guarantee you find the ideal sleeping spot to address your issues and your spending plan.

1. Consider the stylistic layout of your bedroom to make specific the bed you select will suit your plan style. On the off chance that you have a contemporary bedroom, consider beds with a leather finish, or a blend of wood and leather low to the ground in a moderate style.

2. Then again a more conventional styled bedroom ought to have a bed which mirrors this style, for example, divan beds which are higher off the ground with either wooden, leather or metal frames which will oblige a wide assortment of bedding styles and praise different pieces of bedroom furniture like closets and dressing tables. The actual divan is covered with top notch fabrics in nonpartisan, plain varieties empowering you to pick bedspreads in your preferred shade.

3. On the off chance that you're looking for an extravagant spot to sleep there are different choices which incorporate bed frames produced using leather or sled beds. The leather decisions are wide and shifted, and that implies you can pick extravagance leather whatever your style of stylistic layout. To finish the lavish look pick bed tosses in extravagance fabrics, for example, velvet, the blend of two extravagance materials offer a stupendous and exquisite look.

4. Choose king size or super king size in the event that you're looking for a definitive extravagance bed as these will give you more room to fan out and move about while you're sleeping.

5. You ought to likewise take a gander at various models to see the construction of the foundation of the bed frame. Some have slatted bases which offer extra help, while others have capacity draws giving additional extra room to keep your bedroom without any trace of messiness.

6. You ought to likewise give thought to the sleeping cushion. Most beds, including leather sled beds are sold without a bedding. This offers you the chance to choose a sleeping pad to suit both your financial plan and your own necessities. Various bedding choices are widely accessible, including hypo-allergenic for those inclined to sensitivities or asthma and others incorporate extra springs to further upgrade support. Many beddings have been explicitly planned and created with input from muscular specialists and researchers so that the present innovation is incorporated and pointed toward giving you full help as well as a decent evenings sleep with extravagance sleeping cushions which have body molding or air pockets styled springs.

7. Leather sled beds are an incredible decision on the off chance that you have a sufficiently huge bedroom to oblige them. You'll have to think about the size of your bedroom with respect to the size of your bed. Standard twofold beds will fit most modern bedrooms, while the bigger king and super king size can be picked assuming they leave adequate walking space down the sides. There's little point in choosing a bed which takes up the entire of the room and leaves you attempting to get into every evening. In this way, in spite of the fact that you might need extravagance super king size leather sled beds assuming they're excessively huge for the size of your room it definitely should settle on the following size down.

[atplblog]

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[mrslumber1]

Exploring Divan Ottoman Bed Bases: Where Elegance Meets Functionality

In the realm of bedroom furniture, the divan ottoman bed base has emerged as a favored choice among discerning consumers. This innovative design merges functionality with elegance, offering not just a supportive foundation for your mattress but also a clever solution for maximizing storage in your sleeping space. As urban living increasingly emphasizes the importance of multi-functional furniture, the divan ottoman bed stands out as a beacon of practicality and style.

Understanding the Basics of Divan Ottoman Beds

At its core, a divan ottoman bed is a bed frame that combines a divan base with the space-saving capabilities of an ottoman. The structure consists of a sturdy base, typically upholstered in fabric, which rests directly on the floor. What truly sets the divan ottoman bed apart is its unique lift mechanism. This design allows the mattress to be raised, revealing a spacious storage compartment underneath — ideal for stowing away bedding, clothing, or other items that require discreet storage.

The Structure and Design

The divan ottoman bed is available in various designs, ensuring there’s a model to fit every aesthetic preference. Commonly upholstered in luxurious fabrics, these beds can range from contemporary to classic styles, enhancing any bedroom decor. The lift mechanism, often gas-powered, provides a smooth and effortless way to access the hidden storage. The elegant appearance, combined with practical functionality, makes the divan ottoman beds a staple in modern bedrooms.

Versatile Storage Options

One of the most compelling reasons to consider an ottoman divan bed is the abundant storage it provides. In smaller homes, where space is at a premium, utilizing under-bed storage is a practical solution to maintain an organized and clutter-free environment. The compartment beneath the mattress is typically spacious enough to hold seasonal clothing, spare linens, or even shoes, providing a convenient place to keep your belongings out of sight.

In addition to being a practical storage solution, the ottoman divan enhances the overall aesthetic of your bedroom. By eliminating the need for bulky furniture pieces such as dressers or storage chests, the divan ottoman bed helps create an open and inviting space.

Benefits of Choosing a Divan Ottoman Bed

Maximized Space Utilization

For those who live in urban settings where square footage is limited, a divan ottoman bed is an excellent investment. Not only does it function as a comfortable sleeping surface, but it also provides essential storage, making it a double-duty piece of furniture. Whether you are a student in a compact flat or a family in need of more storage options, the divan ottoman bed is an intelligent choice.

Enhanced Comfort and Support

The quality of sleep is paramount, and the right bed can make all the difference. Many mr slumber beds are designed with comfort in mind, ensuring that the mattress sits atop a solid, supportive base. This stability contributes to a better night’s sleep by minimizing movement transfer between partners. The upholstered surface also adds an element of comfort, allowing you to lean against the headboard while reading or watching television.

Aesthetic Appeal

A divan bed with storage does not compromise on style. The variety of fabric options available means you can find a bed that complements your existing decor. Whether you prefer a sleek, modern look or a more traditional design, the options are virtually limitless. Adding a divan ottoman bed to your bedroom not only serves a functional purpose but also enhances the overall visual appeal of the room.

Choosing the Right Divan Ottoman Bed

When considering a divan ottoman bed, it’s essential to select one that meets your specific needs and preferences. Here are several factors to keep in mind:

Size and Dimensions

First and foremost, consider the size of your bedroom. Divan beds UK come in various sizes, including single, double, king, and super king. Choosing the right size will ensure that your bed fits comfortably in your space while still allowing for adequate movement around the room.

Quality of Materials

The durability and quality of the materials used in constructing your ottoman bed should be a top priority. Opt for a bed that utilizes high-quality wood and robust upholstery to ensure longevity. Additionally, pay attention to the lift mechanism; a gas-lift system is generally preferred for its smooth operation and reliability.

Style and Upholstery Options

Select a fabric that not only matches your personal style but also complements the overall decor of your bedroom. Options range from luxurious velvet to durable linen, and even leather. Consider color schemes and patterns that will enhance the visual harmony of your space.

Maintenance Tips for Divan Ottoman Beds

To ensure your ottoman bed divan remains in excellent condition, regular maintenance is necessary. Here are a few tips:

Regular Cleaning

Upholstered beds can accumulate dust and allergens over time. Regularly vacuum the fabric with an upholstery attachment to keep it clean. For deeper cleans, consider hiring professional upholstery cleaners who can handle tough stains and refresh the fabric.

Check the Mechanism

Periodically inspect the lift mechanism to ensure it operates smoothly. If you notice any stiffness or resistance, it may require lubrication. Keeping the mechanism in optimal condition will prolong the lifespan of your ottoman bed.

Rotate Your Mattress

If your divan ottoman bed includes a mattress, rotating it regularly can help maintain even wear and extend its life. Follow the manufacturer’s guidelines for rotation and flipping to optimize comfort and support.

Conclusion

In summary, a divan ottoman bed represents a perfect marriage of style, comfort, and practicality. By providing ample storage without sacrificing aesthetic appeal, these beds are ideal for modern living. Whether you are furnishing a compact flat or simply seeking to enhance the functionality of your bedroom, the ottoman divan bed offers a sophisticated solution that meets a variety of needs. For those in search of the ideal blend of luxury and utility, consider exploring the collection of mr slumber products that emphasize quality and innovation.

Explore more options and discover your ideal sleep solution by visiting Mr. Slumber.

[nismaaya-decor]

SHOP Stylish and Functional Divan Beds from Nismaaya Decor

A divan bed is the perfect combination of style, comfort, and storage, making it an ideal choice for modern homes. Nismaaya Decor, a custom furniture firm, offers beautifully designed divan beds that are tailored to meet the unique needs of each customer. Whether you’re looking for a bed that saves space, provides extra storage, or simply adds elegance to your bedroom, divan beds are a versatile option that can cater to all these needs.

What is a Divan Bed?

A divan bed is a bed base that consists of a sturdy wooden frame covered in fabric, often with built-in storage drawers. Unlike traditional bed frames, divan beds come with a mattress and provide a compact, all-in-one solution that is both comfortable and practical. These beds are popular for their space-saving design, as they offer extra storage without the need for bulky furniture.

Key Features of Nismaaya Decor’s Divan Beds

At Nismaaya Decor, we specialize in creating divan beds that not only provide comfort but also offer stylish designs and useful storage solutions. Here are some key features of our divan beds:

Customizable Design: As a custom furniture firm, Nismaaya Decor allows you to personalize your divan bed to fit your bedroom decor and preferences. You can choose the fabric, color, size, and storage options to create a divan bed that matches your style. From minimalist modern designs to elegant traditional looks, we craft beds that blend seamlessly into any room.

Space-Saving Storage: One of the biggest advantages of divan beds is the built-in storage. Our divan beds are designed with storage drawers or ottoman-style lifting tops, providing a discreet way to store bedding, clothing, or other items. This is particularly helpful for those with limited space, as you can make the most of the room by reducing the need for additional furniture.

Durable and Comfortable: Nismaaya Decor’s divan beds are built using high-quality materials to ensure durability and longevity. Our sturdy wooden frames offer excellent support for the mattress, ensuring a comfortable sleep experience every night. You can also select the type of mattress that best suits your comfort needs, making it an all-in-one sleeping solution.

Easy to Assemble: Divan beds are easy to set up and require minimal assembly compared to traditional bed frames. Our team at Nismaaya Decor ensures that your divan bed is delivered and assembled efficiently, so you can enjoy your new bed without hassle.

Why Choose a Divan Bed from Nismaaya Decor?

When it comes to choosing the perfect bed, a divan bed from Nismaaya Decor offers several advantages:

Customizable Options: You have the freedom to design your divan bed exactly how you want it. From the fabric and color to the storage configuration and mattress type, you can create a bed that’s uniquely yours. This level of customization ensures that your bed complements your bedroom decor while meeting your functional needs.

Functional Storage Solutions: Our divan beds come with a variety of storage options, allowing you to choose between drawers or ottoman-style storage. These beds help keep your bedroom organized and clutter-free, making them ideal for smaller spaces or for anyone who needs additional storage.

Elegant and Practical Design: Nismaaya Decor’s divan beds are designed to be both elegant and practical. With a sleek, fabric-covered frame and a space-saving structure, these beds add a touch of sophistication to your bedroom while providing all the functionality you need. Whether you’re looking for a contemporary style or a more traditional design, we have something for every taste.

Tailored Comfort: Sleep is important, and the right mattress can make all the difference. At Nismaaya Decor, we offer a range of mattress options that you can pair with your divan bed. This allows you to create a tailored sleep experience that’s just right for you, ensuring that your bed is as comfortable as it is stylish.

How Divan Beds Enhance Your Bedroom

Maximize Space: If you live in a smaller apartment or have limited storage space, a divan bed is the perfect solution. The built-in storage compartments make it easy to keep extra bedding, pillows, and clothing neatly tucked away, freeing up valuable space in your room.

Simplify Bedroom Design: A divan bed simplifies your bedroom layout by combining a bed base and mattress into one streamlined piece of furniture. This creates a clean, minimalist look, helping to create a relaxing and clutter-free environment. You no longer need separate storage units, as the bed itself provides all the space you need.

Add a Touch of Elegance: Divan beds are not only functional but also add elegance to your room. The upholstered fabric and neat design give a sophisticated look that elevates the overall decor. Whether you prefer a bold color or a more neutral tone, our divan beds can be customized to match the aesthetic of your room.

Ideal for Guests: A divan bed is also a practical option for guest rooms. The extra storage allows you to store bedding and linens for visitors, while the comfortable design ensures that guests have a restful night’s sleep.

Conclusion

A divan bed from Nismaaya Decor offers the perfect blend of style, comfort, and practicality. With customizable designs, built-in storage, and high-quality materials, our divan beds are the ideal solution for those looking to maximize space and enhance their bedroom decor. Whether you’re furnishing a master bedroom, guest room, or apartment, our divan beds provide the comfort and functionality that modern homes need.

Experience the elegance and practicality of a divan bed from Nismaaya Decor, and enjoy a stylish and comfortable sleep environment tailored to your needs.

For more information Contact Us

[cosysofasandbedsireland]

Top 5 Benefits of Using Divan Storage Beds

When it comes to maximizing space and enhancing the functionality of your bedroom, Divan Storage Beds stand out as an excellent choice. These beds not only provide a comfortable sleeping surface but also come with built-in storage solutions, making them ideal for modern living. Here are the top five benefits of using Divan Storage Beds:

1. Space Optimization

Maximized Storage: Divan Storage Beds come with drawers or an ottoman base, allowing you to store bedding, clothing, or other items easily.

Ideal for Small Rooms: If you’re dealing with limited space, these beds are a great way to keep your bedroom organized without needing extra furniture.

2. Enhanced Aesthetics

Sleek Design: With a variety of styles and fabrics, Divan Storage Beds can complement any bedroom decor.

Less Clutter: By providing hidden storage, they help create a cleaner, more visually appealing space.

3. Comfort and Support

Quality Construction: Many Divan Storage Beds feature sturdy frames that provide excellent support for your mattress, enhancing your sleeping experience.

Customizable Options: You can choose from different mattress types to match your comfort preferences.

4. Versatile Functionality

Multiple Storage Configurations: Depending on the design, you can opt for different drawer layouts or lift-up options, making it easier to access your belongings.

Multi-Purpose Use: Perfect for guest rooms, kids' rooms, or even studio apartments, these beds adapt to various needs.

5. Cost-Effective Solution

Two-in-One Furniture: With built-in storage, you reduce the need for additional furniture, saving money in the long run.

Durable Investment: Many Divan Storage Beds are made from high-quality materials, ensuring they last for years, offering great value for your investment.

Conclusion

In summary, Divan Storage Beds offer a perfect blend of comfort, functionality, and style, making them an excellent choice for anyone looking to optimize their bedroom space. Whether you're dealing with a small room or simply need more storage options, these beds can be a game-changer. Consider incorporating one into your home to enjoy all the benefits they provide!

[rsbfurnitureuk]

Divan Beds: Space-Saving Solutions with Style

Divan beds are the ultimate space-saving solution for any bedroom. They offer the perfect combination of style, functionality, and comfort, making them an excellent choice for anyone looking to maximize their living space. Whether you need extra storage or simply want a stylish, compact bed, divan beds provide a practical yet elegant solution for modern homes.

[dtaylor67]

Discover the Elegance and Comfort of Divan Beds

When it comes to combining elegance with functionality, few bedroom furnishings match the appeal of divan beds. Known for their space-saving design and luxurious comfort, divan beds have become a staple in modern homes across Ireland. Whether you’re looking to upgrade your sleeping experience or enhance the aesthetic of your bedroom, a luxury divan bed offers the perfect solution. Let’s explore why these beds are the ideal choice for those who value both style and comfort.

The Allure of Divan Beds in Ireland

Divan beds Ireland are renowned for their sophisticated appearance and practical benefits. Unlike traditional bed frames, divan beds are constructed with a sturdy base that provides excellent support for your mattress. This premium divan base not only ensures a comfortable night’s sleep but also adds a touch of elegance to your bedroom decor. The clean lines and upholstered finishes available in a range of fabrics and colors make divan beds a versatile choice for any bedroom style, from contemporary to classic.

Practicality Meets Luxury

One of the standout features of divan beds Ireland is their practicality. Many divan beds come with built-in storage options, such as drawers or an ottoman base, making them an excellent choice for those looking to maximize space. This hidden storage is perfect for keeping extra bedding, pillows, or seasonal clothing, helping to keep your bedroom clutter-free. Despite their practicality, luxury divan beds do not compromise on style. The combination of a premium divan base with a high-quality mattress creates a sleep experience that is both supportive and indulgent.

Why Choose a Luxury Divan Bed?

Investing in a luxury divan bed is about more than just improving your sleep — it’s about elevating your entire bedroom experience. The superior craftsmanship and attention to detail found in luxury divan beds ensure that they are not only durable but also exceptionally comfortable. Whether you prefer a firm or soft mattress, a luxury divan bed provides the ideal foundation to enhance your mattress’s performance, offering you a restful night’s sleep every time.

Finding the Perfect Divan Bed in Ireland

With the growing popularity of divans in Ireland, finding the perfect bed for your needs is easier than ever. Retailers across the country offer a wide range of divan beds to suit every taste and budget. From simple, minimalist designs to more elaborate, plush models, there is a divan bed Ireland to meet every requirement. When choosing a divan bed, consider the size of your room, the type of mattress you prefer, and whether you need additional storage.

Conclusion

Divan beds Ireland are the epitome of elegance and practicality. Their sleek design, combined with the option of added storage, makes them a favorite among those looking to enhance their bedroom with a touch of luxury. Whether you’re seeking a premium divan base for added support or a luxury divan bed to transform your sleep experience, divans in Ireland offer something for everyone. Investing in a divan bed Ireland is not just about improving your sleep — it’s about adding comfort, style, and functionality to your home.