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horizon-verizon · 2 years ago

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Why would Alys send Aemond to his death when it doesn't benefit her at all? She is better off being the mistress of the prince regent than some woman with a bastard she claims is his true born son. This idea that she sends him to his death to avenge her family is a funny one to me. They were distantly related at best and she was their servant. The dance itself is about a family killing each other for power so family has limited meaning for some, more so if you're a bastard.

EDIT: (link) I think Alys sent Aemond to his death to protect herself or at least didn't stop him because there was no world where she wasn't in constant danger beside him, even if he took her to KL. The people around the greens or a part of them (especially Alicent, this conservative woman who, like her show counterpart, thinks about appearances), would try to remove or use her.

I don't think she was as attached to him as he was to her, even if there was some sort of reluctant affection from her (not quite full-fledged Stockholm syndrome, since I think she always maintained her eye on the prize: self-preservation).

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Alys could send Aemond to his death because he made her his war prize and immediately began having sex with her after destroying her means of living (look at point “B”, there’s more).

Alys is referred to many times as Aemond’s “bedmate”. Her purpose is sexual.

No trueborn Strong was spared, nor any bastard save...oddly...Alys Rivers. Though the wet nurse was twice his age (thrice, if we put our trust in Mushroom), Prince Aemond had taken her into his bed as a prize of war.

(”Rhaenyra Triumphant”)

So here is this guy who has literally made a pile of heads out of the children and adults you have seen or interacted with, even causally, for years. It's still traumatic to see them die violently in front of your very eyes, or know how they died. Even if you didn't love them, you knew them. Plus, if we believe that Aemond even killed kids, that would induce a lot of fear and panic in those left behind, even if they didn't like kids. Women and girls get raped by occupying soldiers often in all sorts and periods of war, too. But otherwise, it's usually a heartbreaking thing to know/witness: the violent murders of children. No one good or sane approves or ignores to see the most vulnerable people get killed or abused.

She also seems to show some compassion for that messenger that Aemond was going to beat up. So I imagine she would have been horrified by the live-extermination before. I see little reason why Alys would not be affected similarly as that is the usual response to such, and if you argue otherwise you need very good evidence in the text/context.

Again, Aemond murders these male Strongs -- man and child-- openly. For everyone left to witness...

Do you actually think that Alys would have seen this and thought, "hmmm this guy will take good care of me (specifically in the moment and right after when he chooses her out of others to keep) and respect me or care of my feelings beyond his own"? You’d have to present a good reason and evidence to suggest how she’d know of his coming, which admittedly reveals how little we know of Alys and her true abilities or even if she was a witch or if she was just Aemond’s “type”.

Here is another, earlier example of what war prizes actually were, as opposed to a legitimate paramour or mistress:

Bold Jon Roxton became enamored of the beautiful Lady Sharis Footly, the wife of the Lord of Tumbleton, and claimed her as a “prize of war.”. When her lord husband protested, Ser Jon cut him nigh in two with Orphan Maker, saying, “She can make widows too,” as he tore the gown from the weeping Lady Sharis.

(”Rhaenyra Triumphant”)

And Ian Plate writes this in his article:

The treatment of women as objects, used to mark male prestige, appears in our earliest extant Greek literature, Homer's Iliad. Here, women are valued as prizes in competition between men, awarded to acknowledge relative male prowess.

There is no consent here, at all. None. And little guarantee of safety.

Never said or claimed that she DEFINITELY sent Aemond to his death for her family. Never even said she cared or loved them.

I said she materially depended on the Strongs for her own living.

She may not have loved them per se but it’s possible that she would still feel like she lost some sort of "home" as well as her means for living and economic support -- as she lived with them all her life, had memories, and grew up with them in her formative years. To have that gone in such violence RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER FACE will still discombobulate your sense of security as I already said, so that's another motivation against Aemond.

Though breastfeeding was not always a respected job and she would not have been as respected as the bastard closer in relation, she did relatively better as their wetnurse than if she married outside and became a “serf”’s wife. Which is probably why she even stayed for so long, as we see by her age (not old, but she never chose to marry and have kids elsewhere and she was estimated to be in her late 30s to mid 40s...which is old to not have a family to these medieval persons).

Aemond, destroying her means to live, thus made her much more vulnerable, giving her a less stable life. War prizes depend on their captor and their captor alone. (I go into Alys’ vulnerability if she had gone with him to King’s Landing or if Alicent knew about her below). That is enough for a person to hate him even without the war prize event.

But add the war prize to it, with her history of losing children (wet-nurses were women who weaned their child too early or lost their infants very early...hence their ability to breastfeed), forcing her to get pregnant again and scrounging up her past miscarriages or stillbirths...Alys sees Aemond murders this Strong kids (even if she weren't close to them), and remembers her own loss....trauma reborn.

There’s a lot to hate and fear Aemond for.

Official, "true" paramours and other mistresses historically are not usually war prizes. War prizes are those who were captured and taken as reward for an individual’ military prowess and conquest, as I’ve already stated.

While paramours, mistresses, and war prizes all occupy this strange space of “lover of a lord/warrior under his sociopolitical authority and dependent on him”, because war prizes literally have no choice in the face of harm or violence after being captured, they are not like other mistresses or paramours. They are not “free”. Their lives don’t really matter as much to anyone but their captors, who can decide when they live and when they die. Mistresses and paramours like Samantha Tarly, Ellaria Sand, Barbra Bracken, Bellegere Otherys, etc. have a lot more freedom since they weren’t taken as prizes during/after the captor’s victory and usually have some backing from families and even husbands. Some money independent from their lovers to fall back on, even if they received some moneys from said lover. They are protected by customs and/or self-allocated resources and connections.

Thus, they would very likely and often not be treated as well as the average paramour/mistress, who weren't bonded to the lord in a war/violence/reward context.

Of course, having a child would make Alys and other war prizes’ prospects a bit more politically “better”, since lords are still expected to take care of their bastards or look out for their well being in some capacity. However, realistically, this puts both Alys and her kid in more danger, with that kid now traced back to Aemond.

What would the others (Otto, Aegon, Alicent) have thought and done about this child to maintain their images and royal image even if it’s a man/Aemond and not Helaena having a bastard? By how they neglect Aegon’s bastards, I’d imagine they’d try to get rid of Alys’ child. Maybe not violently, but...it's just not in Alys' interests to be perceived as a nuisance or even as a "thing" that creates a flaw in the greens' image or nettle Aemond's mother. Viserys II forced Aegon IV's mistress, Megette, to leave even after birthing Aegon's first set of kids, 3 daughters. Megette was eventually beaten to death by her husband. Daeron is one of those who supposedly looks at Jon Roxton in “horror” when he rapes the Lady of Tumbleton and kills her husband. Which happens presumably before Aemond takes Alys. Which means that this image of Hightower religious and moral purity is tainted by Aemond’s action. What if the Hightowers had won, Aemond came back with Alys to court? Especially with the rumors of Alys being a witch and Alicent/the Hightowers being so religious or seeming so....

You see the issue here, for Alys? It’s actually best if Aemond dies and she gets to run off, even if she didn't know what the other greens were like.

And that's the issue in her perspective as a war prize: the future is a lot more unpredictable and likelier to be dangerous than it was before. And we still don't know how Alys's probable visions work...does she just get them out of the blue, or can she focus and see events yet to happen? Both? Can she ever really trust those visions?

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dyannawynnedayne · 2 years ago

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Round One

AWOIAF Articles: Bloodraven, Daenerys

Bracket Link

#polls #round one #round one polls #bloodraven #brynden rivers #daenerys of dorne

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ines-silva-tantramassage · 1 year ago

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Dornes - suggestion for a walk. With a boat ride, bath in the river.

#river bath #boat ride #dornes

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valyriansource · 6 months ago

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Regions of Westeros: the Riverlands

Stretching from the Neck to the banks of the Blackwater, and east to the borders of the Vale, the riverlands are the beating heart of Westeros. No other land in the Seven Kingdoms has seen so many battles, nor so many petty kings and royal houses rising and falling. The causes of this are clear. Rich and fertile, the riverlands border on every other realm in the Seven Kingdoms save Dorne, yet have few natural boundaries to deter invasion. The waters of the Trident make the lands ripe for settlement, farming, and conquest, whilst the river's three branches stimulate trade and travel during peacetime, and serve as both roads and barriers in times of war.

#*regions #ours #gifs #the riverlands #preseries #main series #asoiafedit #valyrianscrolls #asoiafsource #asoiafnet #gotedit

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jackoshadows · 1 month ago

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Firstly, why is it that Sansa can only be praised by comparing her to Arya? Secondly, in what world is Arya physically strong and more than Sansa?!

The masculinization of Arya Stark by tradfems in fandom has become so commonplace that I suppose many of them imagine this is how Arya and Sansa are in the books:

In case folks don't know this: ARYA IS TWO YEARS YOUNGER THAN SANSA! She's the younger sibling!

Anyone who has read a Jon POV chapter should know that Arya is a skinny, little girl. Jon specifically makes a small, lightweight, thin sword for Arya to handle.

And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. - Jon, AGoT

Arya has been on the run for two years, hunted by Lannister men, a slave put to hard physical work and starved for food.

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. - Arya, ACoK

Often as not, she went to bed hungry rather than risk the stares. - Arya, AGoT

"Lommy's hungry," Hot Pie whined, "and I am too." "We're all hungry," said Arya. - Arya, ACoK

Arya watched them die and did nothing. What good did it do you to be brave? One of the women picked for questioning had tried to be brave, but she had died screaming like all the rest. There were no brave people on that march, only scared and hungry ones. - Ary, ACoK

I knew we should never have left the woods, she thought. They'd been so hungry, though, and the garden had been too much a temptation. - Arya, ASoS

"An inn?" The thought of hot food made Arya's belly rumble, but she didn't trust this Tom. - Arya, ASoS

Rabbits ran faster than cats, but they couldn't climb trees half so well. She whacked it with her stick and grabbed it by its ears, and Yoren stewed it with some mushrooms and wild onions. Arya was given a whole leg, since it was her rabbit. She shared it with Gendry. - Arya, ASoS

The biggest toms would seldom win, she noticed; oft as not, the prize went to some smaller, quicker animal, thin and mean and hungry. Like me, she told herself. - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

We have the contrast of Arya having to trade some carrots and cabbages they picked from an overgrown garden to get some food and the innkeeper complaining about the lack of lemons to the sumptuous 64 dish feast in the Vale with a 12 feet tall lemon cake made especially for Sansa.

Anguy shuffled his feet. "We were thinking we might eat it, Sharna. With lemons. If you had some." "Lemons. And where would we get lemons? Does this look like Dorne to you, you freckled fool? Why don't you hop out back to the lemon trees and pick us a bushel, and some nice olives and pomegranates too." She shook a finger at him. "Now, I suppose I could cook it with Lem's cloak, if you like, but not till it's hung for a few days. You'll eat rabbit, or you won't eat. Roast rabbit on a spit would be quickest, if you've got a hunger. Or might be you'd like it stewed, with ale and onions." Arya could almost taste the rabbit. "We have no coin, but we brought some carrots and cabbages we could trade you." - Arya, ASoS

Sixty-four dishes were served, in honor of the sixty-four competitors who had come so far to contest for silver wings before their lord. From the rivers and the lakes came pike and trout and salmon, from the seas crabs and cod and herring. Ducks there were, and capons, peacocks in their plumage and swans in almond milk. Suckling pigs were served up crackling with apples in their mouths, and three huge aurochs were roasted whole above firepits in the castle yard, since they were too big to get through the kitchen doors. Loaves of hot bread filled the trestle tables in Lord Nestor’s hall, and massive wheels of cheese were brought up from the vaults. The butter was fresh-churned, and there were leeks and carrots, roasted onions, beets, turnips, parsnips. And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar. For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out. Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites. The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more. - Alayne, TWoW

Arya was already a little, skinny girl smaller than Sansa when they left Winterfell. She has been worked to the bone, sleeping rough and gone hungry. Again, by what logic is this Arya supposed to be physically strong and more than Sansa?!

There is this idea that's often pushed where Sansa is some dainty, fragile princess while Arya is this strong executioner henchwoman and it's just so tiresome and toxic.

Arya is also not Brienne! They are two different characters. If you want physically strong warrior types to compare to Sansa, there is already Brienne. Arya is the smaller, younger sister. In canon and logically, it's the taller, bigger, elder sister with access to good, rich food who would be physically stronger.

The Stark looking Starks tend to be slender and quicker compared to the bigger, stronger Tully looking Starks.

He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. - Bran, AGoT

The biggest toms would seldom win, she noticed; oft as not, the prize went to some smaller, quicker animal, thin and mean and hungry. Like me, she told herself. - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

"Can't you guess?" Jon teased. "Your very favorite thing." Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together: "Needle!" - Jon, AGoT

Arya was always quick and clever, but in the end she's just a little girl, and Roose Bolton is not the sort who would be careless with a prize of such great worth. - Jon, ADwD

This is one of the reasons for why Jon Snow is so protective of Arya Stark - he certainly doesn't see her as some physically strong warrior type, despite gifting her with a sword. He's scared for her because he knows that despite how clever she is, Ramsay can kill, rape and torture her - she's 'just a little girl'.

Arya deserves to be protected, same as Sansa. She is not there to be anyone's henchwoman, she does not have super strength and she is certainly not physically stronger than Sansa.

#Arya Stark #asoiaf #fandom nonsense

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vincentsambershades · 1 year ago

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How not to tame a dragon

Cregan Stark x Targ!fem!reader

Summary: when Cregan Stark informs his Targaryen bride that she cannot bring her mount with her to Dorne, all hell breaks loose.

(I usually avoid writing since English is not my native language (be warned). I was, however, inspired by some hotd-fics from my favourite creators and wanted to write something fun, about our favourite northern man, mister cregan, which I'm actually pretty proud of. So here it goes.)

Word count: 2.5k-2.6k

Warnings: 18+, angst, smut, fingering, p in v, tiny bit of breeding kink, flufffffff

When Cregan Stark was first presented with the young Targaryen princess he didn't fail to notice the fire that erupted from within her. A fire caused by her close attachment to her dragon. Her Cannibal, albeit frightening, had served the both of them well enough after their wedding. And even though Cregan was hesitant to ride on dragonback, his wife had charmed him in doing so relatively early in their marriage.

In spite of how much Cregan admired the beast, as well as the bond between his bride and her mount, there were moments when he wished he hadn't been married to a Dragonrider.

The princess was used to roaming Westeros with her loyal travel companion. Therefore, when the time had come for the newly wed couple to head to Dorne, in order to manage 'certain financial and commercial matters', as her husband had called them, Cregan prevented her from bringing her beloved dragon along. He insisted that a dragon, despite being a sign of force and power, would create an intimidating environment that would leave no room for impartial negotiation. He was right of course, as always, but the wrath of the dragon was easy to provoke.

"Cannibal is coming with us to Dorne! The cold of the North is no good for him! The heat will soothe him!" she was red in the face and as terrifying as the wild thing she had managed to tame.

"My love, you know we cannot travel with a dragon to Dorne, bringing your beast along will only serve as provocation which we cannot afford!" said Cregan only fuelling his wife's fury.

"This is outrageous!" she looked almost as if she intended to feed him to the dragon.

No direwolf would ever be able to save him from that fate.

She didn't speak to him for at least two weeks after that.

Around that time, their journey to Dorne began.

After long hours of travelling, as night was setting, time had come for them to rest and as Cregan helped his men set out camp for the night, his wife was taking a stroll near the frozen river. She was wrapped in more furs than he could count and looked as if she would tumble over from their weight any moment now.

She would appear comical had it not been for that sour expression on her face.

Separating her from her dragon seemed to toll on her more and more as the days passed. Her denial to exchange more words with him, other than 'Good Morrow' and occasionally 'Good night', didn't seem to improve her mood either.

It didn't matter to her that she missed him. The princess wanted for her husband to be the first, out of the two, to break. She wanted for him to seek her out, chase her and claim her all over again.

Cregan needed her too. He had always known that half her heart belonged to her dragon. That was what happened with all Targaryens.

He had come to terms with that.

Yet, there were moments, like this when the mere view of his beautiful wife had him hoping that he owned at least some part of her heart.

He felt silly. He knew that their marriage was a political arrangement. Her father had established that when the match was made. However, Cregan couldn't help but feel lucky to have found a match in the princess, their chemistry was undeniable and their times together were filled with all the passion other political marriages lacked. There was mutual understanding in their marriage.

Cregan shook these thoughts and concentrated on the task ahead. So called traders from Dorne had been entering his borders and tormenting villages on his coastlines. Of course, the Lord had tried to diplomatically remove them from his land but when the situation became unbearable and his ambassadors came back empty handed, he knew it was time for a formal visit to the far South. He had been tempted to use his wife's creature in order to intimidate them, but the thought of causing further commotion, when the throne was so vulnerable, prevented him from doing so. For a Stark, Cregan's will to maintain the peace was greater than his thirst for battle.

Cregan was lost in his thoughts as the men sat around the fire, passing around carafes of ale to warm them during the cold night. It took his companions quite a bit of convincing, but he finally accepted to take a swing.

"To keep you warm, Lord." insisted the man who was sitting on his right. Cregan took the carafe, offering the man a grateful smile, and drank generously.

Instead of downing more, he wrapped his coat tighter around him and relaxed while watching the flames. Cregan managed to lose himself in the moment. He didn't know what it was, the easy atmosphere or his companions' laughter, but something warm bloomed in his chest. How he had missed travelling. Roaming the North with his friends as the moonlight illuminated them.

It felt even better this time. Because in this particular occasion, he had her to share it with. His stubborn little wife. His fierce dragon rider.

And that was when it hit him.

Cregan realised he hadn't seen her in more than an hour. The last time his eyes had fallen on her, she was wandering around, kicking the snow with her feet. He didn't think she had headed for the woods, he knew she wasn't that careless. Before they began their journey he had, after all, made sure to inform her of all the dangers they might come across, wolves, bears and other animals humans shouldn't meddle with. Therefore, she had to be in their shared tent.

"What is it Lord?" the man turned to him again. Cregan attempted to hide the worry off his voice.

"Have you seen my Lady around?"

"I fear I haven't, Lord, she must be resting." offered the man with a toothy grin that did nothing to ease Cregan's worry.

Cregan rose to his feet swiftly, turning on his heels and heading to the tent where he found nothing but an untouched bed and a trunk he himself had placed there. He exited the narrow space, searching for any sign of his wife. His vision, despite being acute, served him little in the moment and the full moon, albeit helpful, didn't shine enough light upon the heavy snow. His mind ran several miles an hour, considering all the possible paths the princess could've taken. He began his search without being in control of where his feet took him until he reached the river. He looked for footprints but found none. Even if she had taken that route, the fresh snow would've covered her tracks.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a crack on the ice that had gathered at the edges of the river. The sound of the rapture was followed by a splash in the cold water and a womanly scream, one that undoubtedly belonged to his wife.

He followed the direction of the sound only to be met with the sight of the princess' attempt at defying the coldness of the river and swimming to the surface. Without second thought, Cregan rid himself of his fur coat, keeping on his less warm leather attire. He placed the heavy coat to the side and got in the freezing water aiming for his wife. She was easy to identify, even in the dim moonlight, and so he reached for her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her out, letting her limp body rest against the snow covered ground but only long enough for him to pull his dry furs on top of her soaked ones. After she was securely wrapped in them, he carried her unconscious back to the untouched bed he had prepared for her.

"You stupid girl..." he scolded her while peeling her clothes off and leaving them near the fire to dry. Despite being close to the fire and covered in all the blankets Cregan could find, she was still shivering. "The blood of the dragon is not enough to keep you warm after all..." she had awakened during this time and was aware of everything he threw at her.

Had she been in her senses, she would've jumped at him for daring to question the fire in her veins. But she was weak and defeated as she watched him pull his own clothes off.

He knew there was only one way to warm her up fast and that was body heat. And no matter how mad she had been at him for the past two weeks, she couldn't help but feel grateful as he covered himself in the blankets and pulled her to him. His arms found their place around her waist and she buried her face in the crook of his neck inhaling the manly scent of him. He started running his fingers up her back, all the way to her damp hair, and down again, just above her rear. He grabbed her thigh, hiking her leg over his hip and drawing her closer. His fingers found her front and caressed the skin below her bellybutton, tentatively delving lower. She heaved a sigh, her now hot breath hitting his neck as he let his urges overtake him.

His hand found its place between her thighs. She was warm there. Warm and soft. He dipped his fingers in her delicate folds, finding her oversensitive bud and circling it. They hadn't coupled in a while and his desire for her was driving him crazy.

"Cr-Cregan..." she whimpered and for a moment he thought she was hesitant. That thought, however, didn't plague him for long. When he pulled away to look at her face, to search for a negative reaction, he saw her pouty lips regaining their colour and her eyes reddened with unshed tears and clouded with want, pleading for him to finally touch her.

"Please, please, please-" as much as he usually enjoyed her begging him to take her, he was quick to stop her whimpering by capturing her lips in a kiss. His lips felt hot against hers and as he replaced his index finger with his thumb on her pearl, reaching lower and teasing her entrance, she gasped offering him the perfect chance to deepen the kiss. His fingers felt heavenly inside her, pumping in and out of her always hitting the rough spot that Cregan knew made her see stars.

Even with his fingers inside her and his length, brushing against her lower stomach, the kiss was his personal way of reclaiming her, swallowing her whole.

She reached her smaller hand between their bodies, taking him in her hand and stroking him as he sat hot and heavy in her palm.

She pulled away and her slack expression, lust filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips could have made him peak at that instant.

"I want you inside of me, now." she stated and how could he refuse her. Especially when she looked so eager, practically begging him to fill her.

He was quick to pull his fingers out of her, leaving her with an empty feeling. She didn't complain though, not when the sight of him getting on top of her and settling between her thighs had rendered her speechless.

He lowered his hips, reaching between his legs to tease her with his tip before entering her in one forceful thrust. She let out a yelp and choked out a moan.

The feeling of him long and thick, stretching her out after weeks of refusing him couldn't compare to anything.

Except, perhaps, for the feeling of her, wet and warm and tight, around her husband. Cregan swore there was no other woman besides his wife that felt so perfect.

Her tears, from how intense their lovemaking was, had Cregan remembering their first time together, right after their wedding feast when he had her lay on silk sheets, broken her maidenhead and molded her to him.

"Cregan I need to-need to-" she tried to say while Cregan delivered licks and bites to the sensitive skin of her neck.

"What do you need, my girl?" he thrust in her hard and fast, the way she liked it as his lips landed on her breast, sucking lovemarks and taking her nipple in his mouth, making her moan loud enough for everyone around to hear.

"I n-need to peak, please!" she managed and who was he to deny her wishes. He led his fingers to her pearl, rubbing it while hitting her sweet spot.

"Suck a good girl for me, begging me for her peak. Do it, I want to feel you come apart on my cock" he commanded her and not long after that her climax hit her. She held onto him, her nails digging into his biceps as he kept his unrelenting pace. His murmurs of 'that's it' and 'good girl' were muffled by her hair. Endless mantras of his name left her lips as she rode out her orgasm, her hips moving involuntarily against his own.

"Do you want me to spill in you, uh, my love?" he asked almost mockingly as his thrusts grew uneven, a sign he was close.

"Sp-spill in me Cregan!" she yelped as he continued to abuse her insides. Her husband groaned at her lustful pleas, grabbing her face and forcing her to look him in the eye.

"I will, sweet girl. I will spill in you, make you round with my pup. You would like that, wouldn't you?" Cregan came apart with a satisfied moan, his warmth filling her and then running down her thighs as he grew soft and pulled out.

He didn't leave her side after that. He laid beside her, instead of on top of her, and pulled her to him. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to regain her breath and Cregan placed reassuring kisses to her forehead.

After a few moments of utter silence, he heard her sniffle and mutter something against his throat. He soon came to realise she was apologizing. He gave her a questioning look, wondering what she had to apologize for.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you for two weeks, it was stupid and immature of me and I'm so so-" he silenced her with a kiss to which she responded quickly.

"You have nothing to apologise for." Her expression was hopeful. "I understand what it is like to be parted from something or someone you've truly set your heart to. That's what staying away from you felt like" she gave him a nod before letting his words truly set in. Her confusion painted her face a scarlet red and her anticipation was later imprinted in her voice.

"What are you saying?" she questioned and he sighed softly, cupping her cheek and wholly giving into her.

"I love you infinitely, my fierce dragon princess. And you needn't say it back. Not unless it's your truth." a weak smile formed on her lips.

"I love you too, have loved since I married you, before that even." her cries ceased. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, inviting him to her. "I love you my wild man from the North, my wolf." he laughed at that, an honest heartfelt laugh, the vibrations of which she felt against her own chest, and proceeded to kiss her.

Cregan kissed his dragon princess like his life depended on it.

#cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #cregan stark smut #house targaryen #house stark #cregan imagine #cregan stark x targaryen!reader #my writing

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hereforthehitsbaby · 7 days ago

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I'm Not Interested | Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

Synopsis: Being a handmaiden meant you lived to serve, to make sure you were keeping the young queen safe. But when a certain golden fellow makes his way in from the South, he cannot help but to become infatuated with your aura. So many stories you have heard about the Prince of Dorne, how uninterested it made you. But would he be able to woo you?

Warnings: Language, Angst, M/F Sexual Situations, The Hatred the Reader Has For Oberyn is A S T R O N O M I C A L, Reader has the last name of Flowers since they are a bastard from The Reach,

Rating: M

Word Count: 7.3K

What is it with those who we cannot have that make life most difficult? Was it the fact that every time you lay your eyes upon them, you knew you cannot be with them? Or was it the fact that you have convinced yourself you should not care for this person, should not be with them, because they will not feel the same way? The constant back and forth can be very tiresome; What was the point of harboring such emotions if they could not be acted upon? Why must life be so damn complicated? Why must two different social classes not interact even though they can bring the greatest of pleasures and happiness? The gods from above were out to get us all, to make sure we cannot act upon such feelings in order to restore balance, power, and integrity within the seven kingdoms. But what would they think about those who did not harbor such feelings for the irresistible? The greatest challenge they would ever have to face, started with you.

Urges were something you had never given into, no matter how bad you needed to. You never really saw the necessity in pining after them if all they could bring would be heartache, fear and anger. It had to do with your upbringing, you attributed it to. Fearing the worst of all situations forced you to become cautious in your day to day - why live in multiple strides when you could comfortably follow one linear path? There would be no disruptions, you could predict everyday and know it would/could play out the same way. After all, was what fun about surprises? Knowing what to expect everyday had a better feel; You go to work, do your tasks and go home - simple enough at the end of the day. No big occurrences that could knock you off track, no distractions that could cause you to be beheaded - everything worked out perfectly in hindsight. What more out of life could you possible have asked for? Why did he need to be brought into the picture? Why was the world out to get you?

Growing up was not simple for you; Then again, neither was life. Westeros was suppose to be the land of opportunity, the country of new allegiances and fresh life - it was not suppose to be the end all, be all. Surely you didn't pick up on the evil and the carnage until you were much older, but growing up in Honeyholt was your solace - your home away from home. Though you had only spent a short amount of time there, it was nothing like you ever new before. Lush greenery and sweetened air flowed through your nostrils every time you woke up; Softened gaze of the sun rippling over your body like it was a kiss from the gods themselves. The Reach was one of the least problematic provinces of Westeros but, somehow there would always be evil that followed. Maybe it was just you after all, maybe the evil followed because you provoked it? Your first lick of the bad was when one of the river boys decided to kill your lovely hummingbirds by pelting them with rocks; Weirdo was a phrase they tossed at you like stale bread. But it was the rocks being pelted back at their heads that helped solidify the family you would have, love and cherish forever.

Margaery Tyrell was your saving grace that dreadful summer day, her brother Loras standing directly next to her. It was their sharp aim of the glistening rocks that caused your tears and sadness to turn to smiles and laughter - protecting you from the bullshit being thrown your way. The reason you were tormented in The Reach was due to being a bastard - born to a mother and father who were merely fifteen. They could not care for you, so they ushered you off to the nearest orphanage, leaving you without a house name but one that would be burned into your cranium. Flowers was a beautiful last name, elegant and soft but - when it revolved around those born out of lust, no one appreciated it. Still Margaery and Loras let you become one of their own, promising to bring you love and joy like you never knew before. It they had not saved you that day - you would have been stoned to death by those measly boys. But you never expected your life to take such a turn, shifting from anger and sadness to peace and serenity. The Tyrells were one of the only welcoming families in all of the Seven Kingdoms, well besides the Martells.

Due to how close you had gotten with Margaery over the course of sixty two nights, Mace Tyrell had appointed you the handmaiden for his young daughter. It came naturally being best friends with Margaery with her loving, sympathetic and feisty nature; You felt like a Tyrell one most days. Both of you were around the same age of 12 when you had been given the role, doing that even up into this very day. It came naturally to be in the princesses care, though she was not royalty at that age just yet. It was an ongoing dream you both had, being whisked away far away from Highgarden to enjoy the scenery of the world - hoping a loving Prince would make you his one day. Though it was a pipedream, it was one you chose to reminisce in. Those small daydreams started to diminish when Margaery was being whisked away to Renly Baratheon - promising to make her a Queen. You were so happy your best friend got to see the world, being in charge and love every minute of it - but deep down you wished it was you. Mace told you the second she was sauntered off to another realm, you would not longer be of service but, Lady Olenna and Margaery were always going to need you as the handmaiden.

You had been through it all with Queen Margaery, Renly's death - Joffery's death and now her marriage to Tommen. Poor girl had endured so much in so little time you were starting to feel for her, maybe it was the course of the Baratheon's everyone droned on about at times. Still being the one to comfort her through it all meant the world; You needed each other like fish needed water - two halves of a whole. She could not function without you and vice versa; No one could function without a great support system in King's Landing. With Cersei always making her rounds to check in on the both of you, always making quips about you being a bastard - both you and Margaery talked the biggest load of shit about her once she left. Then again that is what sister's do, they talk shit and laugh together. A gift from the gods above, a curse in the seven kingdoms. The optimism that Margaery held was one of the reasons that you became narrow to the world, living as a realist instead of in your sweetened fantasies. There was too much death shrouding for one to endure; You took the baggage on for her.

A stormy night in King's Landing was rare, only sunshine had made its way through the golden city. Standing on the balcony of the castle you watched how the rain trickled down softly in your chambers, how it rippled amongst blackwater bay in the most beautiful of ways. You were meant to be drawing a bath up for Margaery but, decided to let the water boil a bit more before letting her slip in. She loved a hot bath with her favorite citrus and clove oils, and on colder nights like this - it was heavily needed. Pulling your shawl tightly around your body you took a deep breath, letting the different spicy scents take over your senses. Warmth of the water and the cold from the rain were in heavy contrast - the one week you spent up in Winterfell with the Tyrells brought back so many memories like this - but at least Winterfell was welcoming and warm, not sticky and hateful like King's Landing. Hearing the gentle patters of feet on the cobblestone, you rushed over to the fireplace with your mitts, prancing the last of the boiling water over to the metal tub. As the final wash fell over you added the best part, fresh lilac and rose petals from the garden below - fresh cut by the Queen herself.

Standing back towards the fireplace, you watched the chamber door open but - reveal total darkness. Chewing on your bottom lip you felt the warmed presence of something else enter, causing your heart to shift into a flutter. There was a moment of total silence; The rain being drowned out by the racing in your ears, how your body shifted so quickly into fight mode. Candlelight could only take you so far to see - you were never particular on having more than a handful of candles lit at once, a hazard in itself plus the minimal lighting was better for you to sleep in. Slipping in through the open door was someone you never expected to see up this way, thinking he was down in the lower chambers, with six other companions. A black, almost black shawl draped over his shoulders was accompanied by brown pants; The strings pulled loose to show an incredible clean tuft of curls sitting at the base of his pelvis. Wandering eyes made their way up his lean torso, falling right onto his face - one you hated to admit was gorgeous. Generous auburn eyes glowed in the pale moonlight, his facial hair soft enough to scratch, making him purr. His hair, god that fucking short mane on top - how you were tempted to curl your fingers around every inch.

Ever since those from all Seven Kingdoms came to rejoice in the Purple Wedding, there had been one set of eyes permanently locking themselves onto you - watching your every move like it was the best entertainment yet. It all started when you first accompanied Margaery to the great hall for the ceremony, taking your place on her side in front. You stood facing your best friend with a wide smile, giving her some hope though she was to marry such a monster. Everyone in all of Westeros knew how much of a psychopath Joffery Baratheon was, if you could give Margaery a sliver of hope then you were going to. Distraction was prevalent during the ceremony when a warmed presence made its way behind you - boring into your soul. The bareness of your back in the lilac dress you wore had you able to feel every small lick of heat from dead set eyes. Before you could spin around to see the gaze wanting your attention so badly, a thick accented voice, low in nature appeared right in your ear, a heavy breath of wine and berries falling over your senses; "How long have you known the new Queen?" He asked, it was a genuine question from what you could tell. The urge to spin around and see exactly who you were talking to was high but, it would be frowned upon. Plus if your gaze was shifted elsewhere, Margaery would begin to panic.

"About ten years; Give or take," It was true, now that you both were close to your mid twenties now. When meeting at 12 years old you never expected your life to take such a turn like this, to now be standing only a few mere feet from the iron throne where your best friend was. In a way you only thought you were going to have tragedy and horrible memories to grow up with but, the Tyrell's changed your entire outlook on life. "Always her handmaiden, or more?" The same voice asked, goosebumps prickling your bare arms. His calloused, strong fingers began to stroke their way up your skin - reveling in how you gently shook at his touch. For this mystery man to have such an effect on you already was a sign of submission, something you were never going to give up easily. "She's my best friend," You sighed out, wanting to focus on the ceremony rather than another drunken fool who would try and have his way with you. Shrugging his touch off you held your hands together right in front of you, tilting your chin high with a sophisticated smile to your Queen. Deep down you did not want this man's touches to stop, or his sweetened words - you were hating how much you craved a total stranger; What spell did he cast on you?

"Hm, I am so sure of it. From the look you're giving her I can tell it's more than that," Honeyed words caused you to spin around effortlessly - cocking a wary eyebrow at the patron behind you. To not avail did you find him, just cautious eyes from each section of Westeros shooting you a glare. The heat on your face rose as you sighed out, turning back to the ceremony - now having Cersei Lannister shoot daggers in your direction. The familiar scent of wine and berries came back effortlessly once your eyes faced forward, sending a wave of heat through your nerves. "I'm sorry, who are you?" Your words barely came out above a whisper as you jaunted on, trying to put as much space as you could between yourself and this mystery man. Placing his body directly behind yours, he ghosted his hand over your waist - the heat causing your eyes to flutter shut for a split second, "Little canary, allow me to introduce mysel-"

"Sir, there is a wedding going on and I am not going to get in trouble due to you. Introductions can wait," You did not intend for the words to come in such a harsh manner as they did, it was the fact that Cersei and Jamie were staring at you as if they wanted you dead, you couldn't deal with that on what was suppose to be such a happy day. Before you could shuffle off towards the opposite side of the Great Hall, the hand ghosting over your body finally came into contact, a breathy moan escaping his lips before he began to speak; "Prince Oberyn Martell," He whispered into your ear, placing his hand flush against your waist - pulling you back to his chest. Resting your head against his forehead, you tried to keep your concentration focused primarily on the boring ceremony, the draping of cloth going forth now. But it was difficult when Oberyn's hands roamed your body like you were the last meal in all of the country, starving for your affection, your body, and soul. "Why don't we skip the dreadful event going on and, let me worship you. My paramour would take a quick liking to such a beauty as yourself."

His lips nipped at the soft spot behind your ear, causing a silent whimper to release from your lips. Fighting to keep your eyes opened Oberyn took the opportunity to slip his hand through the opening just below your breast, trailing his hot fingertips across your stomach - dipping lower, and lower until his reached the juncture of where your thigh met your pelvis. Shuttering at the feeling you could not help but think about his words, how he explicitly used the word paramour over wife. The Prince of Dorne; One who fucked everything and anything that could walk. Oberyn Martell was here, right behind you, touching you in such intimate ways as his lips trailed down to your neck. Biting at the supple flesh near your jaw, you felt the anger boil up in you that you were allowing this out in the open, for everyone to see; "Do I look like I'm from the pleasure houses?" The quip was quick, causing the Prince to laugh right into your ear - the assault his lips were having on your neck and jaw never stopped, trailing over to your shoulder instead. "No, you're more sophisticated than that; Feisty. You have a fire and spark I am dying to ravish."

Twirling around in his grasp, you pushed back a bit more to head towards the middle of the crowd. One of your hand was fixed on the back of his neck whilst the other was pressed firmly against his toned chest - both set of eyes peering in to one another. One of the most cocky smirks you have ever seen fell upon his Prince's lips - kissing the side of your mouth as he hiked your leg up around his waist, rolling his hips up into you. The broken moan leaving your lips made you flush, not wanting to give into his advances already. Moving your lips to press against the shell of his ear, you bite down harshly on his lobe, spitting your words out, "If you touch me again, I will break your fucking hand - Martell."

Tightening your hands into fists, you rolled your eyes as you sauntered back to the fireplace, using the poker to move around some of the burnt logs, "You're a long way from the brothels, Prince Oberyn." Shooting a glare at the man standing before you, you groaned as you focused on the amber flames - hoping they would take you away from this entire moment. In a way you were pleased to see Prince Oberyn again, but another was cursing you for feeling this type of way. Oberyn had a huge reputation across all of Westeros and Essos for being an intimate man; One who finds pleasure in all people. Nothing wrong with being sexually active, it was the fact that he could flirt with one and fuck another that made you feel sleazy, as if you were working around the corner at Little fingers establishments. There was a pride you had for not using sex to get to where you are, or what you wanted. Every now and again you did dabble but, it was nothing too exciting. A royal guard member here, a squire there - basic as men could come. "Ah but little canary, I am exactly where I need to be," The thick Dornish tang of Oberyn's accent caused goosebumps to rise on your skin - though you were fanning the flames. Silently you cursed yourself for having a wave of arousal pool in your heated center.

"No, you're not. Why have you come to my chambers?" It was a bit unethical to say the least for Margaery to bathe in your chambers, then again any chance she could get away from Joffrey she was taking. But she would never tell anyone that, she would never let out that she comes to your room for solace in the darkest hours on the mornings. Sucking your teeth whilst refusing to look at Oberyn, you put the fire poker down to add two more logs - breathing out in a ragged manner, "The Queen insisted I become acquainted with her lovely handmaiden." The words shot through your body like ice, freezing you from the inside out. There was no way Margaery would, even if she saw what Oberyn was doing to you earlier. Shaking your head you pounced to your feet, staring daggers into the man before you, silently cursing how you eyes ran up and down his beautiful physique. The urge to strike on him like a viper was strong, wanting to take the name for yourself. "Margaery would never, get lost," You sighed, rubbing the heel of your hand against tired eyes - setting the plush towels down to the side of the tub. Oberyn wasted no time rubbing the small of your back through your baby blue dress - letting the soft chiffon run over his fingertips.

"Aw, are you not enveloped by my charm?" You were, that was the sad part. A side of you wanted to submit in his grasp, let him pull anything he wanted from your body - but you could give him that pleasure. Straightening your back out, you shoved the Prince away from your body - making your way across the room to focus in on your desk chair, pulling your papers closer; Your quill only a few inches away. "Charm? You?" You spat in the direction of the Dornish Prince, watching how his mouth quirked into a hefty smirk. Following your steps over in front of your desk, he watched how you intricately started to write across the creased parchment, the story you had been working on for many moons now. It was one full of tradition revolving around Samhain; A foreign concept you were not well versed in but, it did not stop you from telling the spooky tale. Rolling your eyes as Oberyn comes to your side, you pushed your chair further to the left, cricking your neck to ease the ever-lasting tension; "Please." Oberyn was loving just how playfully snappy you are, loving to tease but hating to give him any/all satisfaction. With you it was like pulling teeth; Men like this never deserved your attention as Mace always said.

Breaking your concentration from writing was the feeling of his warm touch pulling at the strap of your dress, dipping it down enough to show the skin of your shoulder. Oberyn was quick on his feet, you had to give him that. Almost instantly his lips attached to your neck over the back of the chair, biting down on the pillowy skin. There was something so pleasurable about his plush lips but you could not give in, your hands tightening into fists whilst trying to contemplate your next move. "Such a delicate little thing, I wonder how wild you could be without your restraints," Oberyn hummed deeply, letting it ripple from his broad chest. Trailing his strong fingers down the front of your dress he wound up slinking his fingers across the swell of your breast, watching ever so gently for your reaction. He was a man of many passions but, he would never force you into anything you were not comfortable with. He was not going to let anything like that come about, killing anyone who dared do that to those he cared for. Whimpering at his words you managed to sling a sentence together, but not before he chuckled at your broken state, "I-I don't know what you mean - I do not have any restraints."

You did, and you knew that you did. It wasn't all of your fault, King's Landing made everyone stressed and tensed. Constantly dealing with the brutality and the bullshit being thrown your way caused you to develop thick skin; Beautiful personality lost in the brazen attitude of the Capital. Lamb to slaughter was the best way to describe how it felt to oppose the Baratheon's, the Lannister's and any house that was prevalent within the Red Keep. Leaning forth into Oberyn's touch, he hummed pleasantly against your neck, giving you the tentative stirs of his fingers against your nipples, "Oh but my little canary, you do. You carry the burden of life around with you like it was a badge of honor - that has made you so uptight." Hearing the truth fall from his lips caused your body to go rigid - the pleasure and sweet satisfaction he laced your body with just from a single touch dissipated. Slowly you craned your neck to stare up at him, trying to threaten him with only your eyes; Oh how bright they shone against the wet moonlight. Only a mere few inches from your face was the Prince, his eyes blackened due to bodily intoxication; "If looks could kill, I would have an honorable death," He winked, pushing himself away from you.

"Prince Oberyn, please leave my chambers immediately." It was getting out of hand this small game of cat and mouse, how he was chasing you with a pining sensation rather than fear. In those beautiful pants giving you little to imagine, you could see his taut backside pounding softly with every small step he took. Of course he noticed, it would be unlike him if he didn't. Slamming your open palms against the fresh oak desk, you rose quickly enough to show how serious you were. Daggers in your eyes and huffed breaths releasing in your wake made Oberyn's cock twitch - wanting to see you submit to him, release that hidden tension you were so adamant about not having. Waving off your excuse of madness, he let the hottest water of the bath ripple against his open palm - moaning at the sensation, "You need to relax, dear canary - sing for me. Come, join my bath," Oberyn pouted right in your direction - catching you with a meek smile. He waited, and waited, and waited for your loving response, knowing you were only moments away from fully cracking. But alas he was wrong, you would not submit without a fight; "No."

Shrugging your one word off as nothing, Oberyn began to hum as he let his shawl fall to the floor - pooling right behind him. His gaze never left yours as he pulled at the leather ties to his slacks, the softened leather outlining his thick cock deliciously. He was teasing you with every movement, not pulling his pants down right away but instead lowering them slowly. Each inch that he released caused the pool of arousal to grow between your legs - his shaft of his girthy length coming into full view. Under candlelight it was so tan, mostly from the nude bathing on the beach he loved to do, but his purple tip - begging to be sucked called your name; Your breath hitching in your throat. Winking at your shocked state, he finally let the pants pool on the floor with a loud groan - the colder air nipping at his bare skin. It did not take the Prince long to slip into the bath, sighing out heavily at the amazing feeling of the hot water on his skin. "Mmm, you made this perfect for me," his moan of appreciation opened the floodgates in your core, causing your legs to part slightly. What would he think if you dropped your dress and joined him? Would he welcome you with opened arms, or would he criticize you? Many thoughts of what you wanted this man to do to you flew through your mind, the dilemma was whether to act on them.

"You're an absolute nuisance, I will have the King's Guard escort you out," with the slam of your hands they came in contact with the wood again, causing Oberyn to jolt slightly in the water. Laughing at your remark he nodded, agreeing that he was a nuisance. He took great pride in knowing how much he pushed people beyond their limits, wanting them to see what life truly had to offer - what they should not be afraid of in hindsight. Life is all about adventure and new opportunity; Oberyn's mission was to make sure you felt the love and want that you deserve, that you craved from a young age. He knew what it was like to be unwanted, but never let that define him. Dorne is for lovers - he wanted every part of Westeros to see, feel, and hear it. Sinking further into the water of the golden tub, he deeply inhaled the beautiful clove scent, reminding him of Sunspear as he spoke, "When was the last time you were properly given the bounty of pleasure?" His face did not falter in the slightest, remaining strong and curious with a tightly pulled lip. Pondering your own expression wasn't hard to do in this lighting, but he could see the heat rising across your skin.

"Shut up-" you stopped yourself quick, not wanting to elaborate on what your mind was thinking. It had been a long, long time - before you even got to the Red Keep when you last experienced pleasure. The last person you ever let touch you in such an intimate setting was Podrick Payne, a chance encounter one night while Tyrion and Sansa were on some kind of retreat. Though it was one of the best sexual experiences, it was innocent with only fingers and mouths being of use. Nothing in between to really get your fancy going. Multiple nights you lulled yourself to sleep with the delicate touch of your own fingers inside your aching core - not thick or long enough to truly graze that one spongy spot. Now with Oberyn, you know that man could find that spot within seconds to have you see stars, to give yourself the beautiful release you were so desperately seeking. He would pull ripple upon ripple of your orgasm from you effortlessly, still begging you for more at the end of the day. That is all you have been craving since he touched you on the wedding day; "Ah, we must have a virgin in our midst."

It was a vicious slap back to reality, hearing such a skilled man call you a virgin. You were nowhere near that pure, losing yours within the last of your teenage years. The anger boiling over in your bloodstream was making you nervous at how badly you were going to snap at Oberyn. You didn't want to lose your cool with him, especially since you were starting to warm up to the idea of him pleasing you. But everyone in King's Landing made fun of you for being pure, uptight and a bitch - so it was like he was adding it the bullying deep within your mind. Pinpricks of tears latched themselves to your lashes as you tried to get them away, not wanting to cry in front of the Prince of Dorne. Rounding your desk you were like a bat out of hell, rushing over to the side of Oberyn as he laid in the tub, comfortable and at peace. Lowering your gaze to stare right at eye level, you let your vision go red before lashing out the harshest words you could muster, wanting them to burn, and sting; "I fucking hate you, Martell. You are one of those most bat shit fuckers I have ever laid my eyes upon, and one that is too slow on the dr-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Oberyn's wet hand came up quick from the hot water, slamming right against the juncture of your throat. Your knees buckled as they came into contact with the cold stone floor, your breath caught in his tight grasp. Bringing your hands up to grip at his wrist you saw the amused grin on his pouty lips, how his eyes slanted slightly to engage in your retort. Bringing your face closer to his, he let his fingers press down on your pulse point to cut the blood flow off - pounding of blood in your ears became deafening when he fanned his hot breath of your parted lips, "I'm what?" The words were calm, too calm for your liking. The fact that Oberyn did not bat an eye at what he was doing spoke measures; How he man handled you without a single thought to accompany it. Gods what you would give to slam yourself down onto his lap right now, but of course that would be too easy, you wanted him to submit. "T-Too slow on th-he dr-r-raw!" You managed to croak the words out with a playful smirk, but Oberyn was not having it. He moved so quickly to pin your face down against the side of the tub, letting some of the water splash against your chin and neck. Under your dress your thighs were trembling at the sudden surge of dominance; Your teeth putting your lip tightly.

"You grab a woman like a bitch in heat; Pathetic." This was not helping your case at all, with Oberyn tightening his grip around your neck as the harsh curl of the metal edge dug into your warm cheek. Wriggling against his restraint had you seeing stars, his warm hand in contrast with your cool skin - how you could feel every inch of his callouses from years and years of sparring. To be man handled by someone as experienced as Oberyn was what you needed - to give up control and order for a little bit just to feel, to embrace, and enjoy. Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult to call a quits now, let this man reign over you and let everything be where it needed. He has had decades upon decades of practice, why would you be any different to the first timers he had? "You know what I think?" Oberyn's words were almost distant when he spoke, though his lips were pressed right against your temple. Gulping down the pool of saliva making itself known within your mouth you tried to keep your focus, but could only imagine how that gorgeous chin strap and moustache would feel between your legs, against your bare thighs - rubbing that sweet bundle of nerves right at the top of your sex. If his hold wasn't so tight, you would be a moaning mess.

You had not realized that Oberyn was not liking your quietness, or how lost in thought you truly were to his advances. The only thing you could think of in this moment was how good you would look bouncing on his cock, dragging your nails down his chest on your bed - letting the Prince have his way with you. A harsh crack against your backside caused you to silently yelp, bringing your gaze back up to him as the devilish grin grew - seeing the pleasure building within your eyes; "I think because you have never known the touch of someone so skilled in their craft, one who will not be a disappointment, it has caused you to have a Lannister stick lodged so far up this beautiful ass, you cannot let yourself enjoy the smaller things life has to offer." Each word he let out was given new purpose, causing your chest to ignite. He was not wrong, it was invisible but to those who paid close attention to detail could see how far it was truly lodged up there. There was a glint in his eyes that showed he wanted to remove it, to let those barbed edges slid out of the deepened gashes they created. You did not deserve to be afraid, or scared to take advantage of life; You deserved happiness and freedom - Oberyn wanted to give you that though you were a tough nut to crack. "Flowers; A bastard, are you not?" The quick change in subject caused your heart to plummet, his hand to release small off of your neck.

"That has-" You began, shaking your head as far as he would allow. Oberyn was not having it though, knowing you were going to do what you did best - deny. Pushing your throat down harder against the metal rim he cut your words off quickly, not wanting you to put more negativity out when he was trying to give you some goodness - the greatness you deserved to have. "In Dorne we welcome bastards; Sand is not a name to be ashamed of but one to take great reward in. Hell, I have eight bastard girls myself." That was always a part of the Southern part of Westeros you loved, how the Dornish took pride in bastards rather than shut them away like they were garbage. Deep down you always pondered what it would be like to grow up in Dorne, to be appreciated and loved in a multitude of ways, rather than bullied and tormented. Hearing Oberyn mention his daughters caused your heart to explode with admiration; Just by simple words you could tell how proud he was of them. Though you hardened and sarcastic nature would not let you praise that man for it, instead your retort would be one that Oberyn would not shy away from - especially if it meant punishing you; "Good for you, old man."

It surprised you how quickly and clearly you managed to let that seep out, how the best insult you could come up with is age. Though your words were small they did have a greater impact on the man, though he would not show it properly. One of the things he had been most worried about recently was the small patch of grey hair that littered his temple, along with the softening of his belly, showing his age off a bit more than normal. You did not mean it in such a horrid way, no, it was meant as a teasing tactic to see what he would do to you. Seeing the slight hurt in his eyes made you feel tiny, small and childlike whimpering for help, the cool burst across your body was fear inducing. "You think 42 is old, little canary?" Though you couldn't tell now how much your words offended the Prince when he was beaming down at you, his body half in and half out of the water - the gorgeous outline of his length barely breaking the surface. How you wanted to just reach down and grab hold onto it, suck on the tip until you could taste his salty essence. "No, I think you're old," you meant for it to sound intimidating, but with the way you sated at his cock, your eyes told another story.

"Have you met such an old man who can pull such pleasure from your body in only two minutes?" Oberyn smirked at your expression, flicking his tongue out in a way to mock, and mimic what he could do to your aching mound. When his hand released off of your neck you let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the thought of Oberyn eating you out, clamping your eyes shut - but not moving your head. Perching himself up on his knees, Oberyn pulled you to your feet, letting his eyes wander across your beautiful dress-clad form. Roaming hands found the luscious ribbon holding the entire thing together, slowly tugging on each one to let your dress shed. You could not deny him this pleasure of seeing you in the nude - fuck you didn't want him to stop. The first set came undone easily, leaving only the next two as your life support almost. This was a teasing tactic he was doing, seeing how much you really wanted him and how much you actually played into his games; How much he played into yours. "Just let go, for one dear y/n. Let me take care of you-"

"I'd rather die," you cursed yourself silently at your words, sighing out. It was becoming tiring for you to keep this charade up - draining you of your happy essence to a man who wanted to worship you. Sucking in a deep breath, you let your eyes meet his finally, after so long of pondering what could be. Instinctively you placed your hands right on his shoulders to brace yourself, feeling the last of your straps become undone. Though your words felt like acid in your mouth, Oberyn smirked at your boldness - telling off a part of the royal family, which in some cases, would get you killed. The only was you wanted to die at the hands of Oberyn was by his mouth, his fingers and his cock. You'd want to die by the pleasure and overstimulation, rather than his perfected craft of poison. "I can have that arranged, you know," Oberyn challenged as he released the last of your bindings, letting your nude body stand before him as the soft fabric of your dress pooled at your feet. Instantly to the cool room your nipples pebbled for Oberyn, which caused him to latch his lips onto the tightened bud. Suckling gently to give you that new found pleasure, he held your hand as he lowered you to him in the tub - wanting you to relax. You were finally giving into him.

Oberyn held your thighs as you lowered, wanting to let your legs cradle his waist while holding you close, letting you feel the skin to skin contact you have lacked. You had to admit the water was perfect, how hot it was against the cold room made your body shiver with delight. Hot baths like this were reserved for the Queen only, you had to deal with lukewarm; This changed everything. Every inch of stress and bullshit you have had to deal with over the last few years simply melted away to the scent of citrus and clove; The warm hands holding your thigh and back released positive endorphins to cloud that dull mind. In a way, under Oberyn's grasp, you felt like you again - not the distant memory of you that was locked away. The wet hand that laid against your back trailed wet touches up your spine, leading to the back of your neck. But this time when he held you, it wasn't out of anger - but love. Pulling your face towards him easily, Oberyn braced himself against your body as you did the same, knowing exactly what was going to happen next.

Gently Oberyn lurched forward to press his plush lips to yours with passion; Not enough to be marked as lust but, affection. The kiss was slow, and sweet - no real sign of sexual tension. How perfectly his lips molded to yours only amplified the slick between your legs, dribbling onto Oberyn's exposed cock. Your hand came to wrap around Oberyn's neck, pulling slightly at the tuft of curls he had flowing down the back of his head. The whimper escaping your lips was immediately swallowed by the Prince, his hold on your thigh becoming harsh. Pulling back slightly Oberyn turned breathless with a smile, pushing some of the dampened hair out of your face with ease; "See? Now was that so difficult?" Oberyn's chuckle was like music to your ears, the soft and pillowy nature felt like the home you never knew before. Returning his beautiful smile with such ease, you pressed your forehead against his with a sigh, loving how everything you have been harboring was slipping away, not threatening to come back as long as you were in Oberyn's arms. "Little canary, can I make you sing for me?" Oberyn's voice dipped lower, a seductive stance coming out as he laced his fingers in your hair, tugging your gentle locks. Breathlessly you responded, grinding your molten center against his aching length, earning a harsh slap against your ass, "Yes, release my body of the impurity the Lannister's have put on me."

"Don't you worry, my gorgeous sun, let me take care of you. Let me show you how we relieve tension in Dorne."

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