#dornish!reader
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Cruel Summer - Jace Velaryon x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Virgin!Jace, Nerdy!Fratty!Jace, 80’s AU, frottage, male m4stürb4t10n, pining, Jace’s huge mf schlong, babysitter reader, Dornish!Reader, fluffy, awk first times, Jace working that thang, horny ass mofo, multiple o’s, pnv!sex, so much lube, wet n messy yeah
Taglist: @godrakin @lovelykhaleesiii @fairysluna @ilikeitbetterangsty @xfancyuu @borikenlove @aemondsversion
Jacaerys Velaryon was fucked. Sincerely fucked. He was home from his freshman year of college and there she was. Playing with little Aeg and Vis in the pool. Olive skin gleaming with droplets, a one piece fiery red and high cut. Revealing those thighs for days.
She could put Jamie Lee Curtis in Perfect to shame. Fucking Dornish babysitter that was unimaginably hot. She was back from her study abroad in Essos apparently. Luke laughed from behind, “Don’t bust the window out with that wood, Jacey.”
“Shut the fuck up Luke,” Jace barked and turned away to stomp to his room. His younger brother’s laugh echoed from downstairs. The brunette flopped down on his bed, staring up at all the old posters in his room. God, he was still such a nerd.
Joined a frat and everything, met his best friend Cregan. Cregan could pull any girl he wanted, like many others in the fraternity. Jace got a tentative handy and many attempts for pussy actually. Apparently he had a horse cock. That’s how that crazy Greyjoy bastard put it anyways.
But he still didn’t lose his v-card. Not because of an embarrassingly small prick of course, no, he ran the normal chicks off and the real sleazy ones made him wilt faster than a dying plant. A nerdy Virgin who still stuttered around chicks unless he had a couple drinks in his system.
And for the the love of the seven he was still hard as nails from baby’s perky tits. Baby. That’s what the Velaryon clan called her since little Viserys pointed at the girl and called her, “Baby! Mah babysidder!” So it stuck. Drove him fucking nuts.
The other side of the family came over for dinner and Aegon was all over Baby. But she smirked and ate it up. Why would she even want that idiotic slimeball? He’d gained, like, so much weight at college.
Aegon didn’t give a fuck though. He had that confidence border lining delusion. Jace stuttered and grinned like a fool in front of their long-time neighbor. He palmed at his cock, shifting to slide down his track pants and get his cock out, imagining himself chatting her up.
She’d giggle and press her pretty tits closer to him, purring in that Dornish lilt, “Mhm baby, want that big cock of yours so bad, kiss those pretty lips while you split me open, mmm.” Jace was stroking himself rough and quick, other hand tugging heavy balls. Biting his plump lower lip the brunette moaned, “Yeah, yeah, gonna fuck you so ha-ah-ard! Suck on those tits of yours-oh fuck!”
Jacaerys gasped as his thick cock spurted on his hand and chest, whining through his nose as he tugged his balls one good last time. He flopped back, heavy cock slapping luridly against his exposed thigh. It wasn’t long until he dozed off into sleep. Just to wake up with more cum on his belly, dreams of her dark lips enveloping the blunt tip of his cock.
Jace grumbled, “Seven forgive me, I’m like a fucking middle schooler.” He stripped his ruined clothes off and hopped into a long, hot shame shower, scrubbing the residual embarrassment off. His mom would be home soon and Uncle Daemon was probably cooking dinner now.
No one dwelled on Uncle Daemon. Targaryens are weird. Baela and Rhaena were awesome though. Half of his clothes were unpacked so Jace put on a polo button-up, jeans, and loafers. How fratty of him. He may have spent too long trying to manage his hair mullet in the mirror.
He trudged downstairs, Joff arguing with Luke over the Nintendo. Jace hollered, “It’s a stupid game you idiots!” Baela and Rhaena were curled on the couch while they ogled over a magazine with Motley Crüe or something on the cover.
Daemon was cooking, chatting with her. She turned and flashed a shining smile, Viserys in her lap. Baby cooed, “Jacey, you look all grown up! College looks good on you, when did you get home?”
Jace’s cheeks reddened and he mumbled, “Uh, a couple hours ago but I was wiped, my bad. How was Essos?”
Daemon snorted at his lame response, working on stir fry. She launched into a spiel about the culture in Braavos, chatting in that warm way of hers. He needed a drink of water. Badly. The moment was interrupted when his mom came into the kitchen, unloading her briefcase and opening her arms for little Aegon and Viserys.
She grinned at him, “Jacaerys, my sweet boy, you look so handsome. We’re all back together!” Daemon lamented, “What a joy!” She shushed the blonde and cooed at the boys, grinning. Jace looked up to make eye contact with Baby, her dark eyes hooded and intense. She sipped her orange juice, pink tongue coming out to lick away a stray drop.
Jace darted to the cabinets to get a glass for water. Ice fucking cold. He mingled a bit, answering questions about grades, the frat, making new friends. Daemon was intrigued about Cregan, his best friend. “A Northman! I guess you need a frigid bastard.” Jace rolled his eyes and sat down at the table.
Across from Baby. Who was wearing a pretty green blouse tucked into sinfully tight shorts. The blouse in question was showing off her tits, making his cheeks redden again. Everyone milled in, filling the huge table while Daemon passed out the plates of food.
He remained quiet as Rhaena talked about her tennis matches. He almost threw his fork when a bare foot nudged his own. Baby was smiling around her drink, eyes on Daemon’s girl. The eldest son chewed on some chicken slowly so he wouldn’t start choking. Because Baby’s foot was traveling up his thigh, stroking along, then toeing at his thighs. Jace whimpered, covering it poorly up with a cough.
Rhaenyra’s thin brows furrowed as she asked, “You okay sweetheart?” He nodded, making an excuse about ‘the wrong windpipe’. Baby smirked and scooched her chair forward, ball of her foot rubbing Jace’s erection.
He stood up abruptly, croaking, “Ah- I- I don’t feel well. I think it was the fast food earlier. I’m going to retire early.” His mom told him to stay in touch if anything got worse, the rest, including her, gave well wishes.
Half waddling up the stairs Jace slumped on the ground, propped up on his bed. He stared at the Star Wars poster, wondering why he couldn’t have super self-control powers like Luke Skywalker or something. But she was obviously flirting with him, sultry eyes and teasing toes evidence of that.
Jace’s heart beat rapidly, unsure of what to do. Baby was actually a very sweet girl, never a bad word spoken about her in highschool. She’d see his cock and run away screeching. He held his head in his hands, groaning in displeasure.
“Man up and fuck the girl!,” Dalton’s voice echoed.
“Obviously she’s into ya’ just give it a try,” was Cregan’s deeper tone.
Jace would just do what he did best— brood until further notice. His cock had already died down some from his anxiety. And brood he did, turning up the radio to Bananarama’s cruel summer. How fucking apt.
He laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
The door cracked slightly, a thin light of illumination coming through. Jace groaned, “M’fine mom.” Her sultry accent came back, “No silly, it’s me.” He bolted upright and opened his mouth to get a manicured finger pressed to them. Baby whispered, “Hush, they think I’m gone for the night. You ran off on me?”
Jace stuttered, “I-I was going to cum at the table.”
She cocked her head and climbed onto the bed next to him, hand rubbing his chest tenderly. Baby murmured, “You never played a little footsie? Look at you, I know you were beating the girls off with a stick.” Jace miserably laughed, “Yeah, that didn’t go as planned.”
“What do you mean?”
Jace flushed and whined, “Oh god, I’ve messed around and stuff. It’s embarrassing.”
“You’re a virgin.”
The Velaryon turned away from Baby and murmured, “Yes, big whoop, Jace is still a stuttering virgin bitch.” She laughed and climbed onto his lap, grinning. He moaned, “It’s horrid, not funny Baby.” The girl played with his hair, scratching as she sought his dark eyes.
“I don’t think it’s funny because you’re a virgin. I think it’s funny because you’re so handsome. What is it? Anxiety, I get that. I was nervous too at first,” she pressed closer to whisper, “But I’ve had an awakening in college.” Jace couldn’t help but moan softly at her warm breath and soft tits.
He stammered, “Y-yeah?”
She purred, “Mhm. Found out I like em’ big. Bigger the better. Gods it feels amazing.” She shifted on his lap, his cock already back in full form. She gasped, “Oh- seems like you’re just my type too. Not every girl can take something like you’re packing. Not a girl that cares about you Jacaerys Velaryon.”
His eyes boggled. She? The most gorgeous girl who has tormented his wet dreams since puberty, cared about him. He grew serious, eyes narrowing, “Are you joking?”
“Why would I lie? I’ve been trying to get your damn attention for ages Jacey,” she turned to look down, Jacaerys pushing back her thick locks as she admitted, “I kinda, hah, would accidentally say your name in the height of passions.”
“So, do you want me? I shared my embarrassing moment and feelings.” She stared in earnest, breathtakingly gorgeous.
He nodded vicariously, “I’ve always wanted you Baby, fuck, like so bad.” He carelessly moved forward, cradling her head as he kissed the darker girl. She titled her head so they didn’t collide noses, rutting further on his cock, rough denim against his briefs. She moaned into the kiss, keeping one hand in his hair, the other trailing down to the slit in his underwear.
Jacaerys lapped at her warm tongue, lips sensually moving against her own. He softly whined through his nose when she pulled him out, getting a feel for the heft and length. She hummed, “Big boyyy, gods, stupid girls don’t know what they’re missing.”
The brunette blurted dumbly, “I don’t want those stupid girls. Like. At all.”
“Good. I get jealous. Dornish blood runs hot.”
“So does Targaryen.”
They returned to desperately sharing kisses, the girl unbuttoning her shorts desperately, Jace yanking them off and tossing the denim. She remained in a scrap of clothing desperately humping her wet pussy against him. Jace groaned, “Baby, baby, god, need you?”
She tied her thick hair back in a flurry of movement, unbuttoning and slinging off the blouse, heavy tits on display. Jacaerys instinctively covered them with his calloused hands, squeezing at flesh and thumbing at pebbled nipples, relishing in her soft whining,
She rasped, “Lube?”
“Lube?”
“Do you have lube Jacey? You have a monster cock, remember?” She began to snicker as Jace rifled around his bed and side drawer, eventually finding the tube of KY. Jacaerys stuttered, “Oh-ah, how do you want me?” While she yanked down his underwear Baby responded, “Missionary, can fit you better that way, just need a pillow under my back. You can, fuck, move my legs up for more.”
Jace flipped them around, panting with excitement. He grabbed a condom too, about to tear it open but she stopped and hummed, “M’on the pill, you’re good sweetie.” He was going to combust. But he liberally squirted lube on his fingers first, he’d done that before. “Good boy,” she rasped as Jace slid the substance around.
He dove two thick fingers into her slick cunt, stretching and rubbing at that spot making Baby call his name and squirm. He added more KY just for the hell of it, enjoying the slick and lurid noises. Then a third finger fit and he was vigorously fingering the Dornish, leaning over to suck and bite at those huge tits. She whined and clawed at his biceps, but Jace was lost in the pleasure.
He couldn’t stop, this was like crack, every sweet noise and her sloppy cunt driving him further into the need to send her into an orgasm. She did after he managed to stuff his pinky in, abusing her g-spot. Baby slapped a hand over her mouth and gushed on him, howling behind her hand, squirming and shaking.
Jace’s eyes rolled back at the wonderful sight; tear streaked face, swollen lips, heaving breasts. Baby rasped, “You fucking monster, hah, c’mere and kiss me. I know you’re excited but I want that cock more than a couple o’ pumps.”
In a sensual, lazy embrace, they twisted in the oldest dance, laughing, whining, moaning. Baby nipped his plush lips, murmuring, “Such pretty fucking lips, want them on my pussy next time.”
He kissed her harder, tucking that idea away for later.
Their make-out had turned into sloppy humping again, the eldest Velaryon gasping, “Oh, m’ready, lemme have you please!” Baby goaded him on, “Yeah, yeah, lube it up ‘kay?” Jace did so with expediency, liberally coating the heavy member.
When his blunt cockhead began to breach her entrance his mouth fell open, eyes rolling around. Baby purred, “Mmm, yeah Jacey, gonna feel s’good, slow slow, ease into it.” The brunette did his best to take it slow but the tight, wet grip around his cock had him sucking in breath and whining on every other breath.
He was about halfway now, sweating from holding back, maneuvering those perfect legs of hers to over his elbows. She arched her back and moaned, “Yes, yes, stuffing me all up baby boy.” Jace could only garble nonsense as he bottomed out, cock sleeved in her cunt. He was in heaved, Baby’s pussy so hot and ridged, pulsing around him.
“Cuh-can I?,” he wheezed.
“Mhmmmm,” she sighed with dreamy eyes.
Jacaerys tentatively pulled back and slapped back in with a wet noise. He cried out helplessly, tucking his mouth onto a perky nipple. Then instinct took over. Fuck. Breed. Fill. Jace could get very one-track minded and focused it all on fucking his Baby silly, trying to keep that need of blowing in the future.
The bed shook, she cried out, Jace keened her name, pounding her roughly. So much for keeping it quiet. “Oh gods, you feel s’good, fuck, it’s s’good,” he repeated.
“I- mm! Know!,” she whimpered.
He moved her legs over his shoulders, living in the moment, all the noises and heavenly feelings. She had bit down on a pillow to keep from screaming, shaking from head to toe. Baby was milking him like a vice now, pussy just dripping and messy. Messier when he came in her poor slit.
That thought felt like a gut punch and she bit harder, squirting on his cock. He must’ve spoken that thought out loud, desperately panting her name as he emptied his heavy balls into her cunt, stuffing it with load after load, Jace shaking and whimpering at the intensity.
They stayed locked together, both too oversensitive to move. Jace had dropped her pretty thighs, rubbing them as he laid on her chest. Her shaky hand played with his hair. Baby hoarsely muttered, “You’re mine forever. I mean it.”
“Guh- uh- yes Baby.”
They needed a shower. Then maybe Jace could try that whole pussy eating thing. Clean her up good and well, make her cry from the third orgasm. Fuck. He sure had some stories to tell Cregan when he got back.
#jace velaryon x reader#jacaerys smut#hotd smut#dornish!reader#afab!reader#wwcd: what would Cregan do?#this was fun
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In the fading light
Daemon Targaryen x fem Dornish!reader
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, but I was going for soft!Daemon so I don't think there are that many warnings this time.
Summary: Daemon comes to visit you at Godsgrace, the seat of House Allyrion, in Dorne. Kind of an AU in the sense that Rhaenyra isn't the object of his love, nor his motivation for "ending his marriage" to Rhea. 2.6k words
From the request here - romantic Daemon inspired by the song "kalam eineh" (Words of his eyes) by Sherine. I was able to work in a few lyrics as well ("the one whose eyes the moon envied" and "get lost in his beauty").
a/n: Dorne is a very big place and all of the houses are as different as the Northern houses. So as I write more Dornish!reader fics I start to see them uniquely in my headcanon. Godgrace is on a river from what my research tells me, so I think it worked out perfectly that Sherine is Egyptian. I've dropped some Egyptian elements into Godsgrace and that's how it is in my head now. (If there was a face claim for a location think Thebes/Luxor landscape.)
A warm breeze wafted onto the balcony where you and Daemon sat. The sun sank low against the horizon. The river in the distance shone with golds and pinks. A falcon screeched nearby. You turned from the gorgeous view of the Godsgrace river oasis to look at your Prince. He sat, reclined, opposite you. You slid your toes up the inside of his leg, teasing him. He stroked the top of your foot, your ankle, up your shin. Your smooth skin reflected the light of the setting sun much as the river did. Daemon slipped his fingertips under the hem of your thin skirt. The contrast of his pale hand under the bronze fabric was delightful to you. This Northern prince, so accustomed to clouds and darkness. Such a dreary land he came from.
You watched him as he looked out over the Greenblood river. It would be so easy to get lost in his beauty. His hair, his eyes, his mouth, everything about him was entrancing to you. You glanced back out at the river, the people going about their evening paying no attention to the lords and ladies so high above them. Birds circled above fishing boats as the nets were pulled in. Lights began to flicker in windows across the city. You smelled roasted meat and fresh baked bread on the warm air. You would have to dress for the evening meal, if you didn’t request it in your quarters.
“Did you come only because the fool Prince Martell forbade it?” You were genuinely curious. “Or because of your brother?”
“You know that is not the reason,” he spoke softly and continued to stroke your leg. “Their approval means less to me than you think.”
“You risk much coming to Godsgrace.” You wiggled your toes against his thigh.
“It is a fair price,” Daemon replied.
“Surely you are quite rested now, my love,” you goaded. “It is a long journey up the Greenblood, but not so tiring that you would ignore me.” You flashed your eyes at him. They were nearly the color of burnt umber in the fading light. Soon your maids would light torches and candles in your chambers. You would hear them through the diaphanous curtains that hung in the entry of the balcony. Though they would never dare to disturb you, even if you had your Targaryen on the floor in front of them.
Daemon turned his violet eyes toward you, finally pulled from his thoughts. Gods, you thought, even the moon could envy those eyes! The last pink of the sunset caught on his silver hair as it swung freely about his face, tendrils caught in the breeze.
“Quite rested,” he smirked as he spoke. He slipped his hand behind your knee and, reaching forward, grabbed your other leg and pulled you, bodily, to him. Your chair legs screeched against the stone floor as you threw your head back and laughed. When he had you where he wanted you, he smoothed his palms up the inside of your thighs. You rested your bare feet on the seat of his chair on either side of his legs. He pushed your skirt all the way up to your waist as he stared into your eyes. His thumbs grazed the creases of your thighs and you sighed.
“The journey was too long, but certain hindrances are now resolved,” his voice was low and quiet. “I am no longer married.”
You raised an eyebrow at these words. You trailed your fingertips down one of his forearms.
“I hope that it was painless, my prince,” you both knew the mocking of his title was not malicious. He was not your prince and you enjoyed reminding him of that. “You know, you could have stayed in Godsgrace and I could have sent one of my women to dispatch the issue quickly.” Your grin was knowing, yet seductive. Daemon’s response to Northern morality was curious to you. He didn’t want his wife, but could not bring himself to have another while she lived.
“I did not say I did the deed,” he tried not to smile. “Only that it was resolved.” Oh, he was deliciously vile when it suited him. You chuckled at this.
“Well, I had no trouble with the situation,” you grazed his thigh with one foot. “I needed only your devotion, not your marriage.”
“That you will always have, my lady,” he replied as he sank to his knees in front of you. You moved your foot to his shoulder, the other still in his chair, as you languidly spread your legs to make room for him. He looked up at you again, catching your eyes with his as he kissed your thigh, then your belly. You stroked one hand over his silky head as he lowered it and kissed the dark hair between your legs. You heard him inhale, smelling you, and you became even wetter.
Daemon licked the full length of your slit and paused at your pearl. He circled it with the tip of his tongue and you gripped the arms of your chair. He slid an arm around one thigh to steady you. Then he grazed a finger through your folds, finding your entrance quickly, as if he knew your geography by heart. He teased and didn’t slide inside you yet. He used two fingers to circle your opening, almost matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit. Your hips rocked. You tried, and failed, to get his fingers inside. He stilled you as much as he could and continued for a moment that felt like an eternity.
When he finally slipped his fingers into your wet heat he sucked on your clit and your hands flew to the back of his head. You moaned and pushed against his mouth. You thought you felt him chuckle. You didn’t care. You ground your hips on his mouth and fingers.
“Daemon,” you whispered, as that was as loud as you could manage. “That’s it, just there. Please.”
He rubbed his fingertips against the spot that drove you wild, fighting against your clenching muscles. His tongue resumed its circling movements, but with a slightly quicker pace. Your breathing was becoming shallow and the sounds you made came deep from your chest. He pumped his fingers harder into you, knowing the pressure you needed to reach your climax. Your toes curled on his shoulder. You let go of his head, gripped the arms of your chair again, and your body curled forward as your climax overwhelmed you. You yelled his name, moaned incoherently, and then laughed. He hadn’t stopped, tongue still lapping causing your thighs to twitch. You playfully pushed at his forehead to give you peace.
You leaned forward and cupped his face in your hands. His expression wasn’t playful, as yours was. The look was full of something akin to admiration. You kissed him, roughly. You licked yourself from his lips, his tongue, and moaned into his mouth. He reached up and tangled his fingers into your hair at the nape of your neck, letting some of it loose from the pins that held it in place. Without much grace, he blindly began to release your hair from its confines.
Daemon broke your kiss and began to stand up. You let your fingers trail down his body as he did. You grazed your fingers over his pants, deliberately avoiding the hardness straining the fabric. He pulled pins and a comb from your hair, tossing them on the floor with abandon. You looked up at him, a playfully displeased look on your face for the carelessness he showed for your jewelry, and shook out your hair. It fell in near-black waves down your shoulders and back.
“I need you,” Daemon breathed. His eyes were dark with lust. Still looking up at him from your chair, you pressed your palm over his erection. His eyes nearly closed. His chest rose and fell, trying to maintain his composure. You pressed just a little harder. He grabbed your wrists. It didn’t hurt but made it evident that he couldn’t be teased this evening. You stood, your wrists still in his hands. You raised to tiptoes and pulled at his bottom lip with your teeth. Your eyes narrowed in defiance against being so restrained.
“That’s enough!” He threw you over his shoulder. You squealed and laughed, kicking your feet and pounding your fists lightly against his back. Your laughter bounced off the stone walls as he carried you through the curtains into your chambers. You pushed against him, raising your head to look at the two startled maids, and laughed harder.
“Let me go!” You giggled and kicked your feet but he only held your ankles as he walked you to the bed. You heard the two girls scamper from the room, giggling and twittering.
Daemon dropped you lightly on the bed. You were breathless from laughing. He smiled down at you, but that look was back. What had changed since he had gone North? Your laughter faded into giggles, which in turn faded into quick breaths as he knelt on the bed and kissed his way up your feet, calves, and thighs. He began to unfasten the ties of your skirt at your waist and you helped him with the small buttons of your delicate top.
He licked and kissed the curves of your exposed belly. He nuzzled his nose between your breasts, then kissed each of your nipples. You played with his silky hair, enjoying watching him worship you. When he reached your neck and jaw you began tugging on his shirt, pulling it toward his shoulders. He straightened long enough pull it over his head, then bent down to your mouth again. You kissed him back, hands gripping his neck, stroking his shoulders, down his biceps.
Daemon moved with you, still kissing, as you began to sit up. You gently pressed his shoulders back and guided him to lay down. You straddled his thighs and began pulling at the laces of his pants. He groaned at the pressure of your fingers. You stroked his freed cock, watching your hands move slowly. You enjoyed making him wait but you couldn’t wait any longer. You released him and begin to remove his breeches. Once you had both struggled with that for a moment, you trying not to giggle during the endeavor, you climbed up him and placed yourself on his belly. You could feel his cock pressing against your buttocks. You leaned forward and kissed him and he cupped both of your breasts in his hands.
You lifted your hips enough to reach between you and guide him into your wetness. He growled and squeezed your breasts a bit harder. Slowly, you took him inside you. You raised up, allowing him to keep his hands on you, and pressed your hands against his stomach as you rocked your hips. You took his cock as deep as you could. Gradually, at first, then setting a gentle pace that brought sweet sounds from Daemon’s lips. You leaned forward slightly, finding the angle you needed. He moved his hands, one to your neck, one to your hip. As you settled on a rhythm, he began to match you, thrusting upward slightly each time you rocked back on his cock.
You let your head fall forward, you hair sweeping forward, framing your face and his. Your fingers curled against his chest. You kept this pace as long as you could before your cunt began to ache with the beginnings of your climax. You slowed and Daemon took over. Gripping both of your hips, he fucked up into you, harder than you had been able to manage. His grunts made you squeeze around his cock. They were wonderful sounds that only increased your need for him.
You rested your face against his, pressing your cheeks together. Neither of you could stay quiet. Your name fell from his lips as fluidly as the curses he uttered. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you down onto each of his upward thrusts. The sound of flesh against flesh, lewd and satisfying. Your bodies glistened with sweat in the torch light. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him but the pleasure was too great.
“Yes, please, Daemon,” you whined in his ear. Your lips drug across his cheek as you searched for his mouth. You tried to kiss him. Instead you panted and moaned against his mouth. As your climax began the wave that would drown you, you heard his voice, much calmer than yours could have been in that moment.
“Look at me.” You did. He didn’t stop fucking you, but he held your gaze with those perfect eyes. “I love you. I would kill for you. I would kill anyone who kept us apart.”
Something in his eyes, not just his words, was your undoing. Your climax spread over you at the same time as it curled up inside you. You squeezed your thighs against his hips, almost stopping his movements entirely. You bent to him and kissed him, moaning and sighing, as you came.
Suddenly Daemon’s large arms encircled you and in your delirium you could hardly notice that he was moving you. You clung to his shoulders as he somehow, and gracefully, managed to lay you on your back. He had not pulled out. You wrapped your legs around his hips and ran your hands into his hair.
Daemon fucked you without restraint. You were coming down from your climax but your cunt gripped him tight and he grunted with each deep thrust. He shifted his weight to one hand and deftly scooped one of your legs into the crook of his arm. You bit your lower lip and looked up at him. He was watching you.
“Touch yourself,” he panted. “Come on my cock again.” His smile was enough to convince you, if his words hadn’t been.
So you did. You rubbed your fingers quickly, and in time with his strokes. When you were close again, you arched under him, head thrown back, Daemon’s mouth on your exposed neck. Then he pressed his hips against you as hard as he could. His cock buried completely inside you as he came. Your cunt spasmed around him and you both felt his seed fill you as your climax peaked. He cursed and tried to gently lower your leg. Your body shook and you were unable to help him. He chuckled and kissed your forehead.
As he slowly pulled out and away from you, you mewled and groaned, closing your thighs and squeezing them together. Daemon lowered himself down next to you, on his side. He rested his head on your chest. You smoothed his hair away from his forehead in a long stroke down to his back and sighed. You let your hand rest on his shoulder. He held you close to him.
The cool night breeze wicked the sweat off your skin. The torches guttered slightly. You wrapped one leg over Daemon’s. You wanted every part of your body touching his. You breathed in his smell mixed with your own and the dusty sweetness of Godsgrace coming in through the curtains.
“No one will come between us,” Daemon whispered against you.
“I know, my love, my dragon” you replied, lips brushing against the top of his head.
The sun had set and, perhaps, the dark was what he needed. In the light of day The Rogue Prince was rakish and disreputable. But at night, with you, he could shed that facade.
Masterlist
Tags: @black-dread
#daemon targaryen x Dornish!reader#daemon x dornish!reader#daemon x fem!reader#anon 🔥#x reader#x poc reader#x fem!reader#x you#daemon x poc!reader#house Allyrion#house of the dragon#hotd#daemon targaryen#daemon fic#daemon x reader#daemon#hotd fic#matt smith#fluffy daemon#x Dornish!reader#daemon targaryen fic#fic request#daemon x woc!reader#woc reader#x woc!reader#soft!daemon Targaryen#soft!daemon
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A list of all my favourite OBERYN MARTELL Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.
Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤
⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.
Lemon Cakes & Lust - @thetriumphantpanda
Stripes Of A Tiger & A Bond Formed Of Love - @palioom
The Viper & The Lamb Series - @supernaturalgirl20
Far From Home - @psychedelic-ink Featuring Ellaria Sand
Kinktober Day 5 - @agentwhiskeysdarlin
Does Your Mother Know? - @simpingcowboy
Sweet Reds & Starlight Mornings - @lowlights Featuring Ellaria Sand
Rescue - @deadhumourist GN!Reader
Oberyn Masterlist - @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis Lots to choose from!
The Viper's Bride Series - @wardenparker Featuring Ellaria Sand
Baths & Sunsets - @mrsbrekkers Featuring Ellaria Sand
Meant To Be Series - @radiowallet OFC
Not From Around Here Series - @mishasminion360 OFC
In Name Only Series - @forever-rogue
Wrap Around Series - @lovelyladyabsinthewrites Featuring Ellaria Sand
Flavour - @lavendertales Featuring Ellaria Sand
Little Prince & Sweet One - @redahlia-writes Featuring Ellaria Sand
Messenger Bird - @thosewickedlovelies Featuring Ellaria Sand
The Red Wolf Series - @heartsofbeskar OFC
Dark Paradise - @bits-and-babs
Sit On The Throne - @prolix-yuy
Kinktober 22 Oct 15th - @absurdthirst
Breath Of Life - @moonlight-prose
A Poisonous Truth Part 1 & Part 2 - @rise-my-angel Featuring Ellaria Sand
Holy & Heathen Series - @msmorningstaarr OFC
Happy Ending - @nothoughtsjustmeds Wife!Reader
Even Stars Will Fall Series - @cyantomatos Featuring Ellaria Sand
The Snake & The Dragon - @multifandomfanfiction
First Dance - @hopeamarsu
Aphelion Series - @something-tofightfor & @the-blind-assassin-12 Modern!Oberyn
Kinktober Praise Kink, Wax Play, Public Sex & Lactation Kink - @palioom
Fall In Love In A Single Touch - @ezrasversion
The Viper Longs For Foliage - @nerdieforpedro Plus Size F!Reader
Reaching For The Sweetest Of Peaches - @psychedelic-ink Modern AU
Enjoy The Show - @sweetenerobert M!Reader
A Baker's Dozen - Oberyn - @avastrasposts
Birthday Kiss - Oberyn Martell - @something-tofightfor
My Way - @lincolndjarin
Little Dove - @palioom
The Old Prince Series - @sirowsky
In The Night Air - @lis-likes-fics
Silent Running - @imperatorkhaleesi
The Sunshine Undertow Series - @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa Featuring Marcus Pike
#pedro pascal characters#fic recs#oberyn martell#oberyn martell game of thrones#game of thrones#the red viper#oberyn martell x reader#oberyn martell x you#oberyn martell x ofc#oberyn martell x ellaria sand#house martell#dornish prince#prince of dorne#pedro pascal character fics
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The Dornish Princess
Aemond x fem! Dornish!reader
Cw: mentions of murder, false identity, theft
Tag list: @valeskafics @queen--kenobi
You arrive in King’s Landing as a poor survivor of a shipwreck. All your nice things and clothes and servants and knights gone when the Wyldes found you on their lands.
The only proof of your identity was a waterlogged scroll naming you Coryanne Nymerios Martell, Princess of Dorne.
You looked the part, tan skin, dark hair and the haunting purple eyes of your Dayne mother and the manner of a gentlewoman. By the time you arrived at Court, you had been given all a woman of your station needed and letters were sent home to your sister to tell her of your rescue and invitation to court.
No one knew why your dead handmaid looked so much like you until you quietly explained she was your bastard sister and companion. But you didn’t really cry for her, she was just a bastard after all.
The bastard of Qoren Martell and a dragonseed from Lys.
“My congratulations on your betrothal, may the gods bless you and your intended, your highness.” You say quietly when you encounter the Prince Regent avoid his three and ten year old betrothed.
Little Floris Baratheon had been picked because it would be a good three years until she was old enough to be bedded, a smart move to prevent Baratheon from having too much power over the Greens and keep one’s freedom for as long as one needs it.
You were in a similar boat, your hand merited more than a vassal lord so your sister decided to sell you to the Prince of Pentos because she refused to wed. You were Aliandra’s heir; you were older than Qyle and next in line to be Princess of Dorne, you were everything Floris Baratheon and the rest of the ladies in Westeros were not.
Now it was all a matter of seducing the infamous kinslayer beside you.
His mother distrusted you, a smart decision, no one should trust you. If anyone looked too closely, they’d see it was not snake scales you wore.
“I am engaged to a child, and you are engaged to a man older than my dead father.” He said bluntly and you agreed. Both matches were bad, especially if you were a romantic at heart. It seemed the prince despite his appearance and cold exterior was one.
It wouldn’t be difficult to convince him you love him, or to make him love you. Everyone you met had that misfortune of loving you and becoming blind to your true nature.
It wasn’t the shipwreck that killed your sister, you had held her under the water until she stopped thrashing and came up with the story you fed to Lady Wylde and her company.
Aemond believed himself to be the exception to the faults of men, but he was only a man even if he rode the largest dragon since Balerion.
“A betrothed is not a spouse; the Prince of Pentos is not the first of my suitors to propose and die before the negotiations begin in earnest, you know.” You admit, hinting at the tragic and sudden deaths of all the men ---young and old--- who courted you since you first bled.
You sampled some of them when you grew older, those who didn’t satisfy you usually had hanger-ons who did, and tradition dictated that no bride prices cannot be returned should the groom die before the wedding takes place.
You had amassed quite a fortune in Essos, that was where you were heading. To find more unsuspecting men after your sister was forced to toss you out of Dorne after you slipped up and was almost caught.
Perhaps you could stay here instead. All signs pointed to the Prince Regent becoming King before the first chill came south.
If Prince Aemond was as good with his cock as he was with his sword, he’d be worth staying in Westeros.
Queen Coryanne, now that had a better ring to it than Queen Floris.
“And Lady Floris is not the first of mine to seek greener pastures.” His lips quirk slightly in amusement. He was notorious for evading matchmaking mamas and their daughters, Borros Baratheon may think a war would prevent Prince Aemond from going back on his word, but he’d never played against you.
“Shall we put it to the test?” you ask in a whisper knowing little Floris will be shuffled off to the youngest boy like an old shirt before the sun even sets.
You like him, despite it all, you cannot help but like him.
You are betrothed now, a small feast thrown in your honor as the Baratheon contingent leave and wage war against the Vulture King to spite both the Greens and Dorne at the same time.
But House Targaryen does not care, they got the better deal in you.
Gifts of money and finery and jewels were given to you by your soon to be husband, his mother and the nobles currying favor with the woman who is queen in all but name.
Your dowry would be partially paid in gold and in men. While Dorne was far less backwards than the rest of Westeros and women held equal rights like men, and end to the hostility between the realms.
“We can wed as soon as your dowry comes, my love.” he says as you lounge in your bed after a particularly trying morning. Aegon was growing weaker, Helaena and Jaehaera doing so terribly they had to be taken to the motherhouse in Oldtown to heal away from prying eyes and the need for men and heirs was as important as breathing.
Letters from Dorne had come, mainly thanking your prince and his mother for their hospitality and the promise of sending a proper envoy to negotiate the wedding. You pray the envoy comes by land instead of sea.
Who knows, perhaps Dorne would join the six kingdoms without bloodshed.
But it won’t happen.
The moment the envoy comes, you are fucked.
He won’t want you if he knew the truth. Loathes bastards, killed one even if the little fucker had his blood. Worse, you made a fool of him as you rob them all blind as you plan your escape before Aliandra exposes you as the fraud you are.
What would he do to you when he knows you are Y/N Sand and not your dead sister, Coryanne?
“Why wait, my love?” you kiss him to show how much you care for him, how little it bothers you to see him without his eye as he fucks a bastard into you as he calls you by a name you spit like a curse.
And like the lovesick fool he’s become, the two of you elope in the night. Two strangers stand witness, and you give your real name as a jape as a drunken septon names you man and wife.
Aemond will hate you and hunt you down, you know this you spend your wedding night in his rooms and see how happy you’ve made him.
“I love you, Y/N.” he breathes out and your heart catches in your throat. The boy he was under it all didn’t deserve it, but you can’t have him and no matter how much you pray for the envoy to drown, you know your past will catch up to you.
You are gone when he wakes.
Nothing, not even the furniture, is left in your rooms, nor is there a speck of gold left in the royal treasury except a valid marriage certificate signed and dated with your true name.
He will hate you, but you’d rather he hate you than ever forget you.
Part ii
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In these moments
Family man! Ser Harwin x Dornish wife f reader *
*established relationship bt adults. Married with children.
Warnings: none
More Ser Harwin | Ao3 | masterlist
It’s softttt hours okay. Just a drabble.
Ser Harwin Strong is famous among the seven kingdoms. Harwin ‘breakbones’ is the strongest man, a loyal knight, and so much more. To you, he’s your loving doting husband, the father of your children.
A trip you didn't want to take to King's landing, three years ago, put you in his path. The moment you made eye contact, the knight captured your heart. You prefer Dorne, you miss home and travel back as often as you can. You often find yourself dreaming of the day your husband's work is done and you can move back to Dorne.
Though this isn’t a place you want to be, you stay for him. He has a duty, and you love him wholeheartedly, so deeply you found a way to accept life in Westeros. Harwin does what he can to make you feel at home and makes sure you feel as comfortable and safe as possible. You never want or need anything, minus the call to return home.
In the last three years, you’ve had two children with Harwin. Your small family continues to grow, and you make sure they know all about your homeland, teaching them the history of Dorne, its people, and all the things that make it the most magical place in the realms.
You love every moment you share with your husband, and he always finds ways to make time for you and your children, no matter how busy he is, or how heavy his duties may be. Though your list of treasured moments with him is long, your absolute favorites are early in the morning.
As the day just begins, and people rise from slumber, Harwin moves carefully through your home, careful not to wake you or the children. No matter how light footed he tried to be, you wake anyway.
Apologetically he makes his way over to you and kisses your face, his skin warm against yours and snuggles against you in the bed, already half dressed for his day. In those moments, you whisper sweet things to each other in between kisses and he tells you loves you. You tell him to be safe and he always responds, “always my love.”
Once you rise from bed, you often find him holding your youngest child, just under one years old. It’s one of your favorite sights in the morning. You lean back against the wall, gazing at them lovingly as he feeds the baby and gazes at you adoringly from across the room.
Your husband, a loyal man, devoted partner and father; you know a side of Ser Harwin no one else ever will and it’s a privilege, a blessing, a true joy. In these moments, you make deeper peace with living in Westeros because you have him.
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What Quaithe would wear
(Alexander Mcqueen)
#game of thrones#house of the dragon#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#asoif/got#headcanon#fashion#house targaryen#quaithe#dorne#dornish#princess of dorne#doran martell#trystane martell#elia martell#house martell#oberyn x reader x ellaria#prince oberyn#oberyn nymeros martell#oberyn x ellaria#ellaria sand#oberyn martell#oberyn martel x reader
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Can someone please write something about dorne 🗿
Im dieing to see a dornish strong ass woman leading on all the targaryens cus I think shit like that would be so entertaining to read.
#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#dorne#dornish#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aegon ii targaryen#fanfic#fanfiction#daemon targaryen
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This photo is kind of unnerved coded 🤨🤨🤨 Martina Fačková ate!
#no we don’t like alyn in this house#but this is so beautiful very much the vibe#hmmm thinking about a backstory of reader’s mom being dornish and somehow (have to come up with that part)#she meets reader’s dad (from westeros) and he whisks her away#her family back in dorne was pissed#her father’s family wasn’t too thrilled themselves probably had a betrothal lined up#but the grinned and bear it#now they want to help reader out (how she gets to court)#also like that aliandra ‘tested her men’#making them prove themselves by raiding#very unnerved reader in the sense she likes pushing her boundaries to see how far people will let her go#people (men) assume she must be doing something more but they underestimate the power of being pretty and knowing when to be nice#also… obsessed with targaryen-dornish relationships bc they almost always are fraught and or end in tragedy
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I'd love someone to write a dornish oc who dabbles in witchcraft. She fall in love with aemond and witchy stuff ensues. Including having a vision of aemonds death.
@lya-dustin This is starting to sound alot like Eva
#aemond targaryen#dornish oc#witchcraft#body swap#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen x oc
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Jon will ruin everything… but it will be for a reason
#wattpad#black reader#fanfic#black girl#crimson snow#jon snow#amyrahbaratheon#Baratheon#princess#jon snow fanfiction#dornish#the north#asoifedit
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This took a hard kink into mommy land that’s all— the return of Dornish!reader and trashbaby!Aegon
Half-mad in love
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Mommy kink, tit sucking, cunnilingus, mommy dom/baby sub, slutty pet names AGAIN, v!fingering, general angst, dumbass raccoon Aegon, dornish reader is a bit dark, frottage, premature ejaculation, general filth
You sipped on some Dornish Red in the Martell’s grand tent. Aliandra, although merely a girl, loved men. Therefore with strict supervision under Ser Lyonel handsome knights of Reyne, Buckler, and Caswell entertained the princess. You snorted behind your cup, thoroughly enjoying the cock-measuring contest. The men were simple if they thought this was anything more than a mummer’s play.
You casually pulled down your thick hair from the pins holding it up, letting it cascade down your shoulders. The boy of Caswell’s eyes flickered over to you— throat bobbing. The long night would come again before you’d remotely consider the dunce. You drained your cup and an attendant dutifully refilled it. It was mid-tourney and you were bored.
The dragon prince you’d bedded had averted his gaze and kept far away from you after the incident in the woods. Aliandra’s cousin Taron dryly remarked, “The fires of hell are hotter than the dragon’s flame.” You shrugged and kept your eye out for another bedmate. So far the Arryn of Gulltown had been a decent lay. Still your mind crept back to teary violet eyes and trembling lips.
You’d never experienced such a pretty sight. His whines, uttered pleas, and sheer need. You crossed your legs to stop the burgeoning ache in your loins. Picking at your silks, you thought of the prince’s less desirable traits to dissuade your impulsive thinking.
Another cup of wine down and you were quite drowsy and tipsy. Aliandra had reached her peak too, giving each of the knights a kiss on the cheek. Lyonel glared them down, a sturdy hand on the pommel of Dawn. The sleepy girl questioned, “Did you not like them?”
Changing into your sleep linens you shrugged, “Too green.”
Her brown eyes sparkled and the princess teased, “Does the hellmaid yearn for the prince?” Your spine straightened and you snapped out a no. Aliandra sing-songed a ribald tune about riding dragons. You began to laugh while ushering her to bed.
Ali laid back, staring at you. She yawned, “Maybe you should chase him down.”
“Maybe you should sleep silly thing,” you chided, tucking dark tresses behind her ear. You kissed the princess on the forehead and blew out the candle. You padded to the main section, searching for some water to drink. Taron played cards with young Bryn Yronwood, the two drunk as skunks. Taron laughed, “The dragon slayer!”
You narrowed your eyes and snapped at the attendant for some refreshment. You gulped down the water, ignoring the two idiots. A swish from the the main entrance drew your eyes. One of the Cargylls stood politely at the entrance. Lyonel— dozing on the pillows gruffed, “Yes? Is it something urgent Ser?”
The twin nodded and replied, “The Prince Aegon requires Lady Uller’s presence in his tent.”
Taron and Bryn giggled like girls, you and Ser Dayne sharing a look. You raised a brow and asked, “Any other information that could be offered? Being from Hellholt I do not always expect hospitality from dragons.” The white knight fought back a smirk.
“Ah- The Prince simply requires your company and attentions,” the knight almost looked bashful.
You deadpanned, “So Aegon sent you here to tell me that he wants his cock wet?”
More laughter rumbled about.
With a shrug you turned to the rest of the Dornish company, “Well off to see the dragon! Men, don’t get too rowdy without me. Lead the way Ser Cargyll.” The man bowed his head and held open the heavy curtain for you. You slipped on some espadrilles and followed along.
The Kingsguard bluntly stated, “He’s in quite a mood. Drunken tantrums. Then he requested you. I don’t dare to assume what goes on in the man’s head.”
“A child more like. Tell me Ser Cargyll, has the Prince truly grown up past ten-and-three?,” you questioned. Aegon’s grand red tent with golden dragons adorning the frame came into view. You shivered with what lay inside. The knight brooded before finally answering, “Eh- not much m’lady. That’s all I shall say on the matter.”
You smoothed your hair back, steeling yourself for the mercurial princeling. Cargyll stopped outside, ushering you in with a vague gesture. So you’d face this alone. Inside was a wreck. What once was a perfectly fine space was littered with bottles and cups slammed around, broken glass, and upturned furniture. You wrinkled your nose in disgust at the childish display.
You gingerly stepped through the mess towards a bedroom setup. Slumped in the bed was the prince himself. He was bedraggled, bloody, and snoring. You crossed your arms and stared. Even in slumber, his face was wrought with emotions. Something pulled in your gut at the wretch. Twisting the vulnerable and unloved into your plaything was so very fun— an Uller blood curse you’d been told.
Aegon whimpered in his sleep, twisting and turning. He mumbled, “Mommy- don’t- m’sorry!” Your mouth split into a grin, suddenly very interested in his dream. Aegon rolled onto his belly, hips rutting into the down of the bed. He whimpered again, “Ah- mmh! Please mommy it hurts.”
At this point you couldn’t go any further without feeling too lecherous— which you were feeling plenty of. You carefully drew yourself onto the end of the bed, toeing off your shoes, and curling your feet under your legs. A shaking hand reached out to touch Aegon’s twitching calf.
Violent violet clashed with your own smoky eyes. Aegon bolted upright and gasped before stuttering, “W-Wha-What are you doing here?!” His chest heaved in shock, a hand running through his disheveled hair. You groused, “You had your guard dog come get me from my tent. Said you requested for me.”
Aegon’s hands cupped his reddened cheeks as he clenched his eyes shut. The blonde groaned, “Of fucking course I did. After thrashing the place I presume?” You smirked at the agonized Targaryen and murmured so very lowly, “And what a sight I came in to. Rutting and whining in the bed like a puppy, begging for mummy.”
Aegon’s annoyed expression turned into one of frantic shock. His lips gaping, brow furrowing, shifting through a range of emotions before stuttering, “N-no I was not! Lying Dornish wench.” You simply crawled further into the prince’s space, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Aegon trembled and weakly denied your claim, shaking his platinum curls.
You cocked your head, a sultry leer plastered on your face. Your hands untied the front of your linens, exposing your breasts to the panicking Aegon. The poor thing’s breath came out in a thin wheeze. You purred, “You’ve been such a bad boy— again. I thought you’d learn a semblance of manners after last time sweetling.”
Aegon’s composure broke, falling forward onto his belly, that empty head of his pillowed on your thighs. Violet eyes were glued onto your full tits, watery with need. Aegon mewled pitifully. You teased, “I know you need someone to show you some love, manners, how to be a good boy. Like a good mommy should.”
Aegon cried, “Pleaseplease yes mommy, wan’ be good!” His slim hips were desperately rutting into the mattress. You lightly slapped his cheek and tutted, “Stop humping filthy babe, you only get pleasure when I say you can. Got it?”
Aegon nodded eagerly, hands fisted into the bedding. You wrapped your hand into his knotted locks and hummed, “Do you think you’ll come all over yourself if mommy lets you suck her tits?” Aegon looked as if he were gonna sob— you knew he would spend too quickly but the wretch wanted a taste so, so, so bad.
The silver prince brokenly moaned, “M’sorry, forgive me, I don’t k-know,” a look of determination flitted over his soft features, “I can bounce back, won’ take long, please mommy.” You yanked his hair, a pained yelp filling the room. You jabbed, “Don’t need your cock to pleasure me. I’ll let you have a suck.”
You laid back, laughing easily, your hair strewn across the down like a halo. Crooking a finger, Aegon scrambled up your supple body. You grabbed his soft cheeks and pulled those plump lips to your own. The man whined into the kiss— struck enough to barely do anything but drool. You whispered, “Settle down sweetness, I’m not going anywhere. Hands on my waist.”
Purple eyes flickered down to your waiting tits but he dutifully placed his hands on your soft waist. Aegon slotted himself like between your legs, you moaning when you felt the dampness from his weeping cock. Aegon kissed you back, licking into your eager mouth. Your hand skated from his cheek to that pretty, pretty neck still mottled with faded bruises. Your tongues danced against eachother, lips sensually sliding with wet smacks.
Aegon’s hips trembled and twitched, you smacking a hand on his flank in warning. He whined into your mouth, “S’rry mommy.” The kissing resumed until you knew the babe was in agony— your bare slit’s own slick was mixing with his copious pre-spend. Your eyes rolled in ecstasy at the realization he still had breeches on. Poor horny pup.
Aegon drew back, spittle falling from his swollen lips. He mewled, “Can I? Please mommy? Jus’ a taste.”
“Go ahead sweetling. You may touch, rut, get it out.”
Like a feral animal his hands pawed and kneaded at your tits. You threw your head back with a breathy moan, sliding a palm to the nape of Aegon’s damp neck. You squeezed it gently, reminding the prince who ran the show. He mewled and suckled eagerly, thanking you in between gasps. The prince rutted against you, the soaked fabric of his breeches dragging against your sensitive bud.
You demurred, “So eager, poor baby just needed a tit.”
Aegon’s lips suckled at your breast, whining and grunting like he was hurt. His other hand groped before switching— the Targaryen couldn’t get enough. He cried out, “Ah- s’good mommy, thankyouthankthankyou mommy ngh!” Your lips tilted up at his pathetic tone, absolutely drunk in power. Heat flushed your body with an intense need coming over you. To have this prince, this dragon rider, mewling and sniffling from you set your body alight.
You yanked him back by platinum locks, Aegon whining, “Mommy nnno!” You shook your head and deftly untied his breeches, releasing the man’s cock with a wet slap. He hissed at the air hitting his flushed member, so full it was purple. You gripped his chin roughly and demanded, “Sweet boy, you’re gonna fuck me until you spend, and if I don’t come your pretty head better get between my thighs. Understood?”
Aegon’s glassy eyes bore into your own before he dumbly nodded. He murmured, “Yes mommy, anything f’you.” Lying back down, you pulled up your linens to expose your own puffy heat. The prince’s eyes rolled and his cock visibly dribbled more pre. With a wanton, absolutely whorish cry the prince entered you.
Your nails dug into his shoulder and moaned lowly at the snug fit. His cock filled you up nicely, pulsing and stretching your tight walls. Aegon sucked in breaths, pitiful little whines of ‘mommy’ on the exhale. You cooed darkly, “Relax sweet babe, hold it if you can.”
Aegon clenched his eyes closed and whispered, “M’sorry, don’t be mad, g’nna cum mommy you feel sooo good, fffuck s’warm!” You kissed his pouty mouth and thrusted into stilled hips, the princeling cumming with a wail. He dug his face into your tits and babbled, “Oh fuck! Gods! Mommy, mommy, oh gods it’s too much, ah I can’t!” You rubbed his back with a lecherous smirk, enjoying the seemingly endless load from the sobbing blonde.
Boneless and trembling, Aegon sniffled and slid out. You cocked your head and spread your legs to remind the pussy-drunk fool. He wiped his tears, pale face splotchy and red. He whimpered, “S’ry.” You smacked his thigh and snapped, “Stop apologizing, you’re doing fine. Now be a good babe and eat me out. You do know how to do that, right?”
Wide eyes, a low sob, and a shake of the head was the answer.
You idly wondered what the Cargyll knight thought of the wanton raucous echoing through the chambers. Shit- probably half of the camp could hear!
You sighed, “R’hllor bless you. Spoilt babe. Just get down there for now, I’ll show you.”
Aegon got onto his belly again, spreading your thick thighs with a squeeze. He murmured something unintelligible. You leaned up to direct the prince, stating, “You know how to finger a wench, so just do that but lick at my clit. Move around and when I get loud you’re doing something right.”
Aegon dove right into it. He slid two fingers into your soiled cunt, whining at the slick and spend coating his digits. “Crook up, use your damn mouth.” you breathed. Aegon whimpered, “Yes mommy.” Your toes curled when his pink lips sealed around your rosebud, deft fingers digging into your sweet spot. You cried out happily with an arch of your back.
“Good- ah R’hllor’s fires- good boy!”
Aegon flicked his tongue and entered his ring finger, sending your thighs to clamp around his neck. The prince gasped into your sex, moaning, “Yes mommy, don’t stop!” You laughed at the Targaryen whining like he was the one getting fingered. A good idea for later.
You were getting close, choosing to pluck at your hardened nipples to speed yourself along. Aegon swirled his tongue into a circular motion— you tightening all over in response. A slim hand gripped his hair and you howled, “That’s it! Don’t stop- FUCK!” Your body seized and you gushed onto the prince’s lewd embrace.
Aegon mewled, lapping and swallowing gluttonously. You writhed through the aftershocks, praising the quick learner of a Prince. Aegon’s wide eyes peered from between your legs. You’d paint a picture if you could of the sight. You hoarsely huffed, “What is it?”
Aegon asked, so very hopefully, “Did I do alright mommy?” His glazed eyes told you the babe was still fuck-dumb. You thumbed his chin and cooed, “Yes sweetling, did a great job.” He melted into you, still squeezing at your thighs.
With a sigh you called, “Come up here, princeling.” Aegon pressed his body next to yours, nuzzling his pale head into your tits, almost purring. He asked in a muffled tone, “Will you stay with me now?”
You frowned and stated, “No, I have to be back to my quarters at some point or Ser Lyonel will come swinging with Ali in tow.” Aegon pulled back and pouted. He grumbled, “Who cares, I’m a Targaryen.” Your lips stretched into a smarmy smile as you retorted, “Dorne does not submit fully to your family. If you need me so bad…fly down on your golden beast.”
Aegon declared, “I will. I swear on the wretched seven.” You patted his cheek and shook your head, “Silly princeling, just stick to your whores. Let us enjoy the time we have.” The Prince sniffled, tucking his face back into your pillowy chest. You rolled your eyes and idly scritched his scalp, thinking about unrealistic futures.
You’d leave when the dragon prince drifted off into sleep. Then the affair must end, your heart was destined for Dorne. No dragons, parades, and petty politics were in the fires of your future. Still you uttered, “Sweet thing, sweet sweet princeling.”
#aegon ii targaryen#hotd fanfic#aegon targaryen x reader#dom reader#sub!aegon#dornish!reader#mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy?#mommy kink#aegon ii x reader#hotd smut#evil kink brain hopped out
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A willing pawn
Daemon Targaryen x fem! Dornish!reader
A huge thank you to @zaldritzosrose for this amazing board. You read my mind and I don't know how you did it! An equal thank you to @black-dread for providing the missing puzzle piece to make this fic work.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, hurt/comfort if you squint, little bit of size kink, use of an infantilizing pet name (because Uncle Daddy Daemon), flimsy plot, creampie (and I truly did not plan what was going to happen there, Daemon just does whatever he wants in my brain, cheeky bastard)
Summary: You had a mission in the Stepstones, but he wasn’t as fearsome, this prince, as you had been led to believe. I’m not sure about my soft!Daemon but here he is. 4k words
The encampment was dark, lit only by dying fires. This night had been chosen because it would be moonless. Your soft-soled shoes were silent on the rocky earth as you crept between tents. You had planned your path at sunset, marking in your memory where the prince’s tent stood. As the orange light had faded from the sky, your stomach had begun to knot and twist with anxiety.
Could you really follow through with this? You knew you were able but were you capable of such a thing. The circumstances didn’t offer you any choice in the matter. Prince Qoren Martell wanted to avoid the costs of war, in gold and lives. His war counsel thought of every possible measure they could take to win this war, including involving House Yronwood. You were a cog in a larger plan and there was nothing you could do to stop it.
You ducked around another tent and tiptoed to the edge of the large royal tent. This is as far as you had gotten in your strategy. From this point forward you could only hope for luck, as stealth wouldn’t matter when faced with the prince’s guards. You were sent here with the barest of plans and what little plan there was, was foolish. You listened for movement inside the tent and heard none. As you neared the front you expected a half-dozen guards but saw only two. You held your breath.
You couldn’t walk right up to the tent and demand to be let in. Sneaking in seemed to be impossible, but if you could, what next. Your heart pounded in your ears. Godsdamn it, you thought. You let out a shaky breath and slunk back into the shadows. When you turned around you almost walked face-first into a giant wall of armor.
The guard almost threw you into the tent but did not relinquish his grip on your elbow. You grunted and jerked your arm away from him as you stumbled into the large room. You caught your balance and stood up straight. The ground was covered in rugs. A table laden with maps and documents stood in the center. Next to it sat the Prince.
“We found this creeping about outside, your highness,” the guard grumbled.
Prince Daemon lounged in his chair, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. He was peeling a pear, paused mid-knife-stroke, and looked up from under his brows. They raised slightly, seemingly amused, but he didn’t bother to lift his head. He resumed his peeling.
“Leave us,” he commanded without looking up. You heard the guard’s armor as he left but didn’t take your eyes from the prince.
“What terrible deed have you been sent to do child?” He didn’t look at you, only sliced a bit of pear and popped it in his mouth. When you didn’t respond he brushed aside papers to make space on the table and laid down the knife and pear. He wiped his hands on a napkin, dropped it next to them, and stood up. Finally, he looked at you. He finished chewing, swallowed, and wiped one corner of his mouth with his thumb.
He strode toward you, sucking the pear juice off his thumb and assessing you. Much of your face was covered by your hood, stay strands of dark hair were visible but your features were cast in shadow. He dipped his head slightly and looked closely, standing only a few paces in front of you. His silver hair swung loose from his shoulder. The violet of his eyes was unnerving. You squared your shoulders.
“I am no child,” you replied, leaving off the honorific. He was no prince of yours.
“Is that so?” Daemon reached for your hood and flicked it back from your head. The only hint of surprise he allowed to show was a brief widening of his eyes. You were well aware the effect your father’s blue eyes had when set against the sienna skin you got from your mother. You narrowed your icy eyes at him.
“I’m gown enough to make it this far into your camp, am I not?”
Daemon chuckled and flipped his hair back over his shoulder. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled at you.
“I suppose so… but you did get caught, little one.”
Your cheeks flamed and you wanted to strike him but the smile on his face caught you off guard. Had he just winked at you? You were too frustrated to think and that wink made your blood boil. This was not going at all how you had expected when the guard snatched you up.
Daemon didn’t so much as blink when you moved your hands from inside your cloak to push your hood back further. He was amused with you. The handle of your dagger glinted in the candlelight and caught his eye.
“So you were sent here to assassinate me?” He smiled that infernal smile. “Would you say it is going well?”
“Time will tell,” you answered through gritted teeth. Then he laughed at you, actually laughed. You clenched your hands into fists at your sides.
He took a step toward you and you tensed. You hadn’t the faintest idea what this man would do. You had only heard the rumors and propaganda in Dorne. When he reached out, you tried to take a step back from him.
“Uh-uh,” he commanded quietly. Then his hand dipped into your cloak and before you could move to stop him, he snatched your dagger out of your belt. He spun it lazily around, watching it dance in the light.
“This might have done the trick,” he spoke to the blade, not to you. “But I imagine someone with more experience should have been entrusted with it.” His eyes flicked back to your face. “Though, perhaps there were none as fierce as you.”
With absolutely no thought in your mind, you lunged forward and tried to grab the weapon from him. He deftly moved it out of your reach and grabbed your wrist with his other hand.
“As I said: fierce,” he quipped. You tugged your arm against his grasp to no avail.
“But I must!” You almost snarled at him. His expression wasn’t surprise but interest. He let you go and turned to lay your weapon on the table. When he faced you again a small smile was set on his mouth.
“Must you?” He raised an eyebrow. “If a child assassin has been sent to slay me, Dorne must be desperate indeed.”
“I am not a child! I am a woman grown, of 20 years!” You had no idea why this infuriated you but the prince knew that it did. He grinned again.
“Pardon me, my Lady. I should have said a ‘small’ assassin,” he mocked you. It was somehow kind. You were taken aback by his jest, by his demeanor. You hadn’t taken the time to pause and evaluate Prince Daemon. You had only been concerned with the ramifications of your failure.
Now that you looked, you saw a man not much older than yourself. A man who moved with experience in battle, with an ease not unlike your own. Graceful, even. Then he did the most unexpected thing. He extended his hand, offering you to sit in the chair opposite his. You had come here to threaten his life and now he was treating you like a guest! You gawped.
Before you could decide what to make of the situation, Daemon slid down into his chair and stretched his legs out again, completely unwary of you. He glanced at you one more time as he reached for his unfinished pear. You were too shocked to do anything other than sit. You closed your mouth and sat down across from him. You slipped your cloak off of your shoulders as you sat. Your common clothes weren’t uncomfortable but you weren’t used to them. You tried to adjust them as you sat but instantly became more frustrated. Daemon’s eyes on you didn’t help to easy your new-found insecurity. You were meant to have been unseen.
“Who sent you?” The blunt nature of his question startled you.
“And why should I tell you?” you retorted. You were behaving as if you were at home entertaining men you had grown up with. This was madness.
“I believe I am owed an explanation as it was my life you were planning to take. Also, what else is there to do?” He popped a slice of pear in his mouth. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Let’s start with your name, shall we?”
You hesitated, but he was right: what else was there to do. You could sit in silence until he decided to have you executed. You could try to run from the tent only to be caught and executed sooner. So you told him your name and your house name.
“Very good,” he tossed the knife and pear back on the table. “What did Martell threaten? What predicament did he put you in?”
Your eyes widened. Was Prince Martell’s reputation so tainted, so sullied, outside Dorne?
“Not him,” you spoke quietly. “Though I suppose, ultimately, he knows. We are not a political house but we have wealth that is necessary for Dorne to succeed.” Your eyes flicked down from his at the last word. You weren’t sure why but you felt ashamed for being in this position, had all along if you thought about it.
“So if not the prince himself…” Daemon paused, waiting for your answer.
“His war counsel,” you replied. “They have many strategies in play, I’m sure, but one is to ‘motivate’ certain houses to bring the war to an early end. I have no knowledge of the other plans. I only know that my father was threatened. Whatever that threat was, it was powerful enough for him to send his youngest daughter to the Stepstones.”
There it was. You had spilled it out to the enemy in a gush and felt like vomiting or crying or fleeing. You looked up from your lap. Daemon was studying you. Once again he surprised you. Perhaps you expected him to mock you but the kindness on his face somehow made your situation more real. You bit your lip to stop the tears. You would not cry. You were angry and frightened and when the prince had called you a child it made those feelings more real.
“What choice did you have?” He sounded almost compassionate. This couldn’t be the petty tyrant you were warned against, who would rape, or torture, or kill you if you were caught. “You came all this way on an errand not of your choosing and meant to go through with it. That’s more than a little honorable, don’t you agree?”
You had no idea. You were confused and overwhelmed and angry. You had never been a zealot, but you had been more sure of your mission when the target was evil or cruel. Perhaps he was at times, but not now.
“I suppose so,” you muttered, trying to look anywhere but at him.
“Well what do I do with you now?” He leaned forward in his chair. “I can’t set you free. Yet I don’t want another prisoner. And you don’t want to return home as a failure. I can see that. I could keep you as a hostage and demand gold for your safe return. Would that keep your honor intact?”
You blushed, not just from his nearness but from the fact that he could see your thoughts so clearly on your face. You and your family would be dishonored if you returned unsuccessful. It would also be unfavorable to the prince to appear compassionate to would-be assassins.
“It would,” you answered. “But I do not think the ransom would be paid.”
“No? Not for a young woman as fierce and cunning as yourself? Not for someone so precious?”
Your eyes flicked up to his at this curious word. You watched him, suspicious, as he slid out of his chair and knelt in front of you.
“I think you’re quite frightened of either choice: being sent home or being held here. I don’t want you to be frightened. Maybe the Crone had a purpose for bringing you here.”
You felt your breath catch. He looked so sincere. He was intoxicating but you believed him. You didn’t want to feel relief at the prospect of no longer sneaking, hiding, being a stowaway, but you did. Almost instantly, you imagined a hot bath, a dress and not these rags, and food that wasn’t brown. Then something else flashed in your mind and the heat returned to your face.
Daemon slowly reached out to you and stroked the side of your face. He skimmed a lock of your hair with his fingers, watching it catch the light. Its deep brown shown with hints of gold. You studied him closely. When he turned his gaze back to you, your heart pounded in your chest. His eyes searched yours as he cupped your cheek in his palm.
“Gevie,” he whispered. You thought it was High Valyrian but you weren’t sure. Your lips parted almost involuntarily as you looked up at him. He leaned toward you, silver hair cascading off his shoulders. You felt his lips on yours and closed your eyes.
His hand holding your face felt safe. His lips were warm and tasted of pear. You dared not move. You were overwhelmed and confused. However, there twisted in your belly some need, some desire for him. Your chest ached with the delicious feeling of being safe. You didn’t question how this was possible so far away from home and with your “enemy” no less. So you kissed him back.
Daemon slid his other hand to frame your face. His kiss wasn’t rough, but it was deep. You had kissed men before, you were experienced in the most basic of ways. You realized now that all the men before had not kissed you, they didn’t see you. They saw a Yronwood daughter or practice for their marriage beds. You had made those choices willingly. You weren’t concerned with being married for political reasons and had enjoyed your freedom. Until now. In this moment, you felt… precious.
Tentatively, you raised a hand to him, your fingertips grazed his jaw and neck, and came to rest on his chest. He slid his hands from your cheeks as he broke the kiss. As if waiting for your permission, Daemon rested his hands on your upper arms. You kissed him in answer. His arms swept around you and scooped you up as he stood. Your head spun but you steadied yourself by putting your hands on the back of his neck.
Daemon sat you on his bed and smoothed your hair back from your face. He stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head. He dropped it on the floor as he leaned down to kiss you. You made room for him on the bed, drawing him toward you with your kisses. He knelt between your legs, kissed your neck, and slid a hand under your shirt. You arched your back, pressing into his palm.
He brushed the underside of your breasts with the tips of his fingers and his other hand glided up your ribs. He pushed your shirt up above your breasts, fixated on your hardened nipples. His hair slid over your chest as he took one nipple in his mouth. He propped himself up on one hand and cupped your breast with the other. You moaned and writhed under him. You instinctively ran your fingers through his hair and held him against you. Daemon groaned and the sound vibrated from your chest to your core. When he pulled away you realized you had been grinding against his leg and flushed. He smiled down at you.
Wordlessly, he guided you to raise your arms so he could remove your shirt. Then he began to unlace your breeches. You watched his muscles move as he slid your pants off. You lifted your hips and giggled a little when you plopped back down on the bed as he tugged them off your legs. You weren’t shy but the action was awkward and you were quite exposed now. He tossed the breeches on the floor and smoothed a hand up your thigh. He stared, rapt, at the dark hair between your legs, so different from the silver of his own.
You bit your lip as you looked from his face, down his chest, and to the evidence of his arousal. His breeches looked uncomfortably tight now. His hands absently stroked your legs and your lower belly but paused as you sat up. You held him between your legs. When you kissed his stomach he hissed in air through his teeth. Your hands grazed over his hips and to the laces in the front of his pants. You let your fingertips glide over the shape of his erection before undoing the knot. You kissed seemingly every inch of his stomach then looked up at him as your hand dipped inside. His face was curtained by his hair as he looked down at you. You smiled as you stroked him.
Daemon moved his hands from your legs, smoothed over your hair, and then gently pressed your shoulders back. You laid down, already missing the feeling of him in your hands, but the sight of him between your legs was almost as pleasant. He leaned over you, kissing your forehead gently, then your lips, and pressed his forehead against yours.
You gasped as his fingers slid between the lips of your cunt. He licked his lips and continued to explore your wetness. Stroking, searching, learning. He circled your opening, your clit, and back again. One finger slid in easily and he grinned. You lifted your mouth to his as you lifted your hips to his hand. He slid in a second finger.
“You are so tight, little one,” he grinned down at you. You rocked your hips against his hand and moaned in reply. You placed one hand on his arm, pulling him deeper into you. With the other you smoothed his hair behind his ear and trailed your fingers down his jaw. You drug your fingertips over his lips. His eyes were dark as he watched you pleasure yourself on his hand.
“More, Daemon, please,” you moaned, saying his name for the first time. Hearing his name come from your lips pleased him immensely.
“Say it again,” he breathed as he curled his fingers inside you.
“Daemon, please.”
Slowly and with a tinge of disappointment on his face, he pulled his fingers from you. He was enjoying the sight of you but couldn’t wait any longer. He freed his cock from his breeches. Then he slid his hands up your thighs to your lower back. As he sat back he guided you onto his lap. The transition was clumsy at first, legs bumping and twisting. You both smiled as you held onto his shoulders. When you knelt over him you rubbed your clit against his cock. You rested your lips against his forehead as you rocked your lips. You moved your mouth nearer to his ear and murmured his name.
Daemon lifted your ass and placed you above his cock. With one hand between you, he guided himself into you. You sank down onto him slowly, watching his face. He clenched his jaw tight. You felt his hand move back to your ass. He let you set the pace, let you move against him. You pulled up and then sank down again, taking all of him. The moan that came from your lips was lewd and deep. You clutched at his neck, the back of his head, fingers entwined in his hair. He groaned but did not move to meet your hips. You rocked back, then forward, finding your rhythm.
He kissed your chest and breasts. His hands stroked your ass and lower back, constantly moving. You leaned forward slightly and pressed yourself against him. At this angle he wasn’t as deep in you, but you found friction against his stomach. You ground your hips into him, almost, but not quite able to get what you needed.
“Seven hells,” he panted against you. His hips had begun to move in time with yours. Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair and you tried to find that much-needed angle again. When he realized what you needed he slid a hand between you. You threw your head back as his fingers circled your clit. You sped up, fucking him hard. He kept pace with you, circling and pressing his fingers against you. You couldn’t keep a steady rhythm. You felt him brace your lower back with his hand and pull you closer to him, steadying you, supporting you. You felt your climax tug at your core and sank further onto his cock with each stroke.
“Come for me,” Daemon whispered into your neck. You did. You cried his name, clinched your fists in his hair, and buried your face against his head. You sank all the way down onto him, thighs resting on his as you shook. Your cunt spasmed around his cock but he didn’t stop moving his fingers. He pressed into you with his hips, rocking under you, and bringing forth tiny gasps from you. You lips found his and you panted into his mouth. Tiny sounds mingled with his name flew out of your mouth with every movement of his fingers.
When you thought the overstimulation might be too much he moved his hand from between you. He slid his hand under your arm and pulled you down onto him by your shoulder. A new wave of pleasure crashed into you as he spilled into you. His hips stilled, holding his cock deep inside you. He came panting and moaning your name.
You wanted to sink all of your weight onto him. It took too much effort to support yourself on your aching knees. Neither of you wanted to move yet, though both of you needed to. You released your hands from his hair. You kissed him and smoothed his hair back from his face.
You smiled at him as you rose shakily from his lap. He helped you as much as he could, but your legs were numb and your head was empty. You all but fell back onto the pillows. He watched you grind your hips against the air as the last of your climax left you. His eyes were locked on his seed sliding out of you. He leaned forward, his legs shaking as well. You watched him through half-closed eyes and settled yourself on the bed. His fingers slid through his cum and you twitched as he grazed your throbbing clit. He looked into your blue eyes as he gathered more of it on his fingers. You smiled seductively as he leaned over you and raised his fingers to your lips.
You opened your mouth, your eyes never leaving his, and he painted your tongue with his seed. You closed your lips around his fingers and let him feel you swallow. He slid his fingers out and surprised you by kissing you deeply, tasting himself in your mouth.
You moaned into the kiss and wrapped your legs around his waist. You playfully pulled his weight on top of you. He let you but also guided you both to lay on your sides. Your legs intertwined and you were a tangle of limbs for a moment. Then you buried your face into his chest and breathed in deeply. You sighed as he smoothed your hair and rested his chin on the top of your head. You were quite small in his arms. Daemon breathed deeply as he stroked down your back, your buttocks, and up again. You curled against him, one hand between you, the other resting on his hip.
“I have you now, little one,” he murmured against the top of your head.
Masterlist
#soft!daemon#literally freaking out because this doesn’t feel like Daemon at all to me#but seriously let me know if this is believable#but I like reader so much I think there may be a part 2#daemon Targaryen x fem!reader#daemon x fem!reader#daemon x dornish!reader#daemon x poc fem!reader#x reader#x fem!reader#daemon targaryen#house yronwood#house of the dragon#hotd#matt smith#daemon#daemon fic#hotd fic#smut#daemon smut#hotd smut#I cannot write anything short I’m sorry#I’ll try to make the next one shorter#poc fem reader#poc reader#daemon x poc!reader#daemon x reader#woc reader#daemon x woc!reader
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Lykirī
PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint
WORD COUNT: 8.9k
Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)
MASTERLIST
taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee
"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."
Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.
Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.
"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”
The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.
The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.
You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.
Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."
Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"
The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.
Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.
"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."
"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."
Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”
"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"
He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.
You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.
“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.
“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”
“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?
It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.
“Lay on the bed.”
With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?
“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.
Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.
As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”
Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”
Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.
Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.
Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.
“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.
You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”
He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.
One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”
It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.
“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.
“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.
Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.
He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.
Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.
The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.
"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"
"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.
"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."
"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."
"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."
At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.
The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.
The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.
The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.
The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.
It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.
That was indeed the good part.
“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.
It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.
“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”
His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.
“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”
The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.
“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”
“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”
"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."
"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."
His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.
He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.
And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.
He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.
It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.
She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.
“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”
You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”
You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”
Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”
You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.
“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.
He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.
“Aemond, I don’t think—”
“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.
Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.
Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.
He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.
“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”
She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.
She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”
There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.
“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”
You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.
“Above them. Above the Gods.”
“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”
He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”
“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”
He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”
“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”
You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”
The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.
A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.
Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.
“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”
Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.
He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.
Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.
You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.
It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.
And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.
And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.
“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.
You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.
You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."
Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.
But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.
You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.
“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“
But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.
Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”
“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.
“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”
He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.
Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."
“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.
“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.
“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”
You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”
He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”
Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.
He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.
He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.
And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.
“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”
Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.
“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.
It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.
"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.
Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.
You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.
"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."
"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.
You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"
He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."
"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."
He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.
You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.
“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.
“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.
But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”
You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.
When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.
"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"
You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."
"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"
You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."
"Neither does you."
"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."
"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.
You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.
You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.
"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."
You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.
Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."
"What?"
She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."
"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.
"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."
You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.
"It is too soon to talk about love."
"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."
You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.
But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.
"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."
"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."
You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."
Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."
"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."
Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"
A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"
"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.
"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."
That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.
You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.
"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"
"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.
You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."
He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.
"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.
"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"
"I was in the library."
"For four hours?"
"It was a tough read—"
He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos."
Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.
"Aemond, what's going on?"
"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."
You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."
You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."
"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.
He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."
There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."
He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.
The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.
“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”
“Yes.”
"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"
"I wish to conquer, not claim."
He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.
"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."
He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.
You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.
You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...
"Can I take it off?"
There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.
"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."
"It is not pleasant."
"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."
He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.
A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.
You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."
His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.
And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.
"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.
"Lykirī."
His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."
He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."
“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.
“You don’t have to—“
“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”
He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.
But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.
He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.
He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.
He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.
“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”
But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.
“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.
“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.
“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.
You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.
Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”
You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.
“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.
Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.
Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.
His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.
You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.
He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”
It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.
You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.
He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.
“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.
“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”
“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.
“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”
“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.
“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”
You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."
Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.
You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.
“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”
But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.
“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"
You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.
"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.
He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.
And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror.
Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞
#likiri#liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond x wife reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x wife reader#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#aemond fic#aemond smut#hotd fic
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The Dornish Lady
It's probably not what you expected @maidmerrymint ,but it is what came out sorry.
Aemond x older!Dornish!witch (because lets face it, witch milfs are his canon type)
Rated: slightly M for smut 🔞
Gif by @gameofthronesdaily
You came with the Dornish contingent, serving as the true Ambassador as well as court seer.
Had you not been so untouchable, his mother would have delighted on putting you to trial and burning you for witchcraft.
But people feared you and worshipped you as if you were the Maiden and the Crone wrapped in a beautiful package.
You were also the life of the party and slowly chipped away at the austerity his mother instilled.
You have a beautiful laugh, a sultry thing that has him coming to your rooms even if propriety didn’t allow for him to visit you without invitation.
“Do not lurk about, your highness, I do not bite.” You tease and beckon him to come closer to where you and some friends drink and talk things that would have his mother running at you with a lit torch.
The only available seat is on the couch you had draped yourself on like a Rhoynish goddess.
You do not keep your tanned legs on the floor for long, as the conversation and Dornish wines flow he finds himself alone with you and your legs on his lap.
Eventually every guest at your quiet dinner leaves and the two of you are finally alone.
“Go ahead, your highness, I see the way you look at me. Tonight is your only chance, my sweet boy.” You say with a voice as smooth as silk.
He wants you, has wanted you from the second you came into court and refused to cower in submission to his mother and grandsire.
But nothing stirs the fire in his loins like the way you call him sweet boy.
You are not much older than him, well, not enough to cause scandal anyways.
And yet you act as he, at nine and ten, is merely a boy playing at being a man.
“Tonight is your chance to prove me wrong, if you so wish it.” You whisper as if you read his mind.
Perhaps you did, at court you defy the Seven by reading fortunes in cups of tea and playing cards and palms.
Mother wanted you gone because you told her something she did not like.
“If you came here for a look into your future, you could just say it.” There is a tinge of disappointment when you say it, as if you hated how your ability is what people see not your charm, sharp wit and political ability.
“No, that is not all I want from you, my lady.” He said feeling himself too awkward to even speak to you of such base desires.
Deep inside he is not the confident prince who is better than his elder siblings in every way.
It is all a façade you peel off like a knife cutting the thin peel of an apple.
And yet he gains confidence when your dark eyes shine with desire as his cool fingers trail up the firm and silky shaven legs underneath the wine red dress you wear.
“I am afraid you are too overdressed for this, my prince.” You say breathlessly.
You are thrice widowed.
And wonderfully experienced, or so he concludes as you, a godsless woman, rides him like a prized thoroughbred.
Aemond has never felt more alive as you reach your pleasure and your dark eyes roll into the back of your head.
And yet when you come back to your senses, your hands shake in terror and your beautiful face weeps not from ecstasy but out of pain.
“It is not a crown they will put on you and your brothers, sweet boy. It is a noose.” You say as a tear slid down your eye and onto his pale cheek.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x dornish!reader#aemond targaryen x witch!reader#aemond x reader#aemond x older!fem!reader#aemond x reader smut#ewan mitchell
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little dove
summary: your first attendance of a huge feast is bothersome, alone and inexperienced as you are. until the eyes of a certain prince won't stop following you.
pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader
word count: 4.5k
warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; virginity/innocence kink; implied age gap (oberyn is in his early 40s, reader early 20s); fingering; unprotected p in v; creampie; some biting
a/n: another fic from last summer, hope you enjoy! ; headers & dividers by @/saradika-graphics
follow @palioomfics & turn on notifs for future updates
• masterlist •
Oberyn had been watching her all night already, his dark eyes following the shape of her wherever she went. Between the bustle of the people, her bright orange glowing dress like the sun, rising and settling as she appeared and disappeared, standing around like she didn’t know what to do with herself.
It was adorable, a smirk gracing his features as he watched her wring her hands, smiling sheepishly when someone approached her.
So innocent.
He could see the nervousness on her face from where he sat, the uncertainty, clearly not used to people approaching her.
He could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest, exposed by the deep cut of her garments.
Taking another sip of his wine, Oberyn stood, deciding now was his time.
The festivities had been going on for a while, and even though he had planned on celebrating with a group of people in his bedchambers later, she had thrown those plans into the wind the second he set sight on her.
Something just intrigued him, maybe it was the innocence she seemed to harbour, maybe it was her beauty.
Whatever it was, he had to know more, waiving away another woman that approached him with a polite smile, then walking over to the mysterious woman.
She looked around nervously, playing with the rings on her hands as people passed by her, some stopping to talk to her.
Feeling incredibly out of place at this feast, her first big one, she didn't quite know what to do. Her parents were somewhere, as were her siblings.
The lords trying to speak to her made her feel uneasy, knowing she was supposed to find a possible suitor at some point, but wanting nothing more than to flee this place.
In fact, she was thinking about just leaving, when she was approached again.
Tall, dark haired and handsome. The Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell.
She had seen him at his table, stealing a glance every once in a while and looking away when his dark eyes caught hers.
And now he stood in front of her, flashing her a wide smile.
“My Prince.” She said, curtsying as well as she could, perhaps a little clumsily.
Out of everything she had expected to happen today, she did not expect for him to approach her.
“Do you intend to sulk in the shadows all night, my dove?”
She blinked up at him, once again playing with the rings on her fingers.
“I have not been sulking.” A frown graced her face, a slight tremble in her voice. His presence was intimidating, but different from the other people who had approached her. “I have been observing.”
Oberyn chuckled, taking a small step closer to her, watching her step back just a little in return. So close to her, he could practically feel the nervosity radiating off of her, trying to hold eye contact before they moved away again, looking at anything but him.
“Observing by turning down all lords and ladies who approach you?” He said, watching her fingers stop for just a moment, as if she had been caught, before fiddling with her rings again. “I must admit, I have been watching you for a while - you are the only lady not dancing, not talking to anyone. Just standing in your corner, sometimes moving to follow the servants for a drink or something to eat.”
She stayed quiet. Had she been that noticeable? Just by standing around, hoping for a saving grace?
“I assume this to be your first attendance at a feast this big, am I correct, my dove?”
That nickname.
It made her feel warm, a different kind of warmth than the Dornish weather. Running through her in an unfamiliar fashion, her veins like molten metal, a strange feeling moving up her spine..
“Yes, my Prince.” She said, nodding, but not looking at him.
Oberyn noticed how she became more nervous, smirking at the display in front of him.
“My parents have kept me from them for long, I was only ever allowed to attend small ones.” She continued, sighing. “It is quite overwhelming. I am inexperienced in these kinds of things.”
Her words made him inhale sharply through his nose, still smiling.
If she was inexperienced in this, what else was she inexperienced in?
He had wanted her before, but now the desire for her burned even brighter. Oberyn wanted to show her the things her parents have undoubtedly sheltered her from.
To keep their daughter pure for a potential suitor.
“I understand, my dove. Would you perhaps allow me to accompany you to a place more quiet?”
Usually, he did not beat around the bush when it came to a potential partner for the night.
But it was different with her. If he was blunt he would simply chase her away.
She didn’t look at him, thinking about his question.
All the other men and women that had asked before had made her feel uneasy. Unsure why they wanted to whisk her away, promising a better night someplace else.
But the Prince of Dorne? He made her feel different. A heat and a pressure in her abdomen that she never felt before.
She knew of the rumours, that he took many partners, for whatever they did. Yet, as he stood in front of her, charming smile and good looks, she felt herself drawn to him.
Oberyn reached out, placing a finger under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “I asked you a question, my dove.”
His fingers on her chin made her still, just looking up at him with her big eyes, lips slightly parted. The touch made that pressure worse, breath hitching in her throat.
“My Prince, I’m-” She stumbled over her words, unsure what to answer.
He just chuckled, a sigh leaving him. “You are quite easily flustered, my dove. Come with me, please.”
Holding out his arm for her to take, he hoped she would. Such an innocent, pretty thing. There was something so endearing about the way she was behaving.
She swallowed hard, looking from his face to his arm, hesitating for a moment. Something drew her to him, and after another moment, she hooked her arm into his with a nervous smile.
Oberyn walked her away from the feast, the noises dying down behind them as they walked the long corridors.
“What did the other lords and ladies ask of you, my dove?”
She sighed, glad to be away from the bustle in the halls, but feeling uncertain now, a throbbing at the apex of her thighs distracting her.
“They wished to take me away for some fun. I’m unsure what they meant exactly.” She didn’t look at him, too nervous to meet his dark, piercing eyes.
It was intimidating, she had never been in the presence of a man other than her father or her brothers alone. She knew how to behave, for the most part, but nonetheless was it a little scary.
Oberyn smirked, looking down to her, seeing how she only stared at the floor or ahead of them.
“You did not know what they were implying?” He asked, a bit amused but genuinely curious. “My little dove, you must be younger than I thought or your parents simply were too careless with your education.”
She remained quiet, her cheeks growing hot.
A sense of shame washed over her, that he thought she was too young. It was as if her friends were with her, giggling and whispering because of something she didn’t understand.
And when she asked, they never explained, finding it too amusing to laugh and belittle her.
There was something she was missing out on, and she hated not knowing what.
“My dove, you do not have to be ashamed.” He said, his other hand coming to gently rest on hers. “If you wish, I could show you.”
He had been right about the assumptions of her being a virgin, too innocent for her own good.
Walking next to her, he felt something else besides the desire for her, a need to protect.
As if he was the only one allowed to show her, that anyone else would simply take advantage of this fact.
Now her eyes met his, brows furrowed.
“Show me?” She echoed his words. “How? What exactly?”
Oberyn just smiled, eyes leaving hers to look at the guards standing by the door of his chambers.
He stopped, not too far away from the door, looking back at her.
“Do you wish for me to show you, my dove?” He asked, brushing back a strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. “If not, I understand.”
She should be wary. Despite him being the Prince of Dorne, she should think about this. But she was curious, so curious about what this thing was that she had been missing out on.
And there was still that feeling inside of her.
“Yes, my Prince.” She said with a small nod. “I am curious, please.”
He chuckled, his knuckles brushing over her cheek. “Please, call me Oberyn, my dove.”
Moving along, the guards allowed them to enter, the heavy door falling shut behind them. Oberyn let go of her arm, walking over to a table to pour himself some wine, then offering her a cup.
She took it with a small nod, taking in his quarters. They were richly decorated, the bed massive.
Just how she would imagine it, if she had ever spent time on that before meeting him.
Taking a sip of her wine, Oberyn laid a hand on her waist with a gentle smile, pulling her closer to him.
“Most people stare when they first come here.” He said, his hand wandering up and down her side. “Don’t be nervous, little dove.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. That was easier said than done, the heat inside her becoming unbearable at this point.
His hand on her side felt like it was burning her, even through the thin fabric of her gown. Like it was hot coals placed on her.
“Have you ever been kissed, my dove?” He asked suddenly, eyes searching hers. Pulling her just a little closer to him.
She shook her head no, slowly. Heart beating in her throat, he was so close to her.
She could feel the warmth of him, twirling the cup of wine in her hand.
“Would you allow me to?”
There was some hesitation inside her, her hands stilling. Should she allow him to? She wanted to, somehow.
Often had she imagined what it felt like, kissing someone.
Her answer came in the form of a nod, her head barely moving.
Oberyn smiled, his hand coming up to cup her cheek.
“Oh, my little dove.”
Despite his growing desire, he moved gently, bending down to place his lips onto hers. The small gasp that left her made him chuckle, his other hand coming to rest on her hip and pull her hips flush against his.
She stiffened beneath his touch, liking the way his lips felt on hers, surprisingly soft, while his beard and moustache tickled her skin. Holding onto her cup tightly, she closed her eyes, humming when he deepened the kiss and she tried to match his movements, clumsy and inexperienced.
When he parted from her, she chased after him, opening her eyes when she couldn’t. Oberyn laughed at that, staying close to her, his thumb brushing over her cheek.
She looked adorable, the way she greedily breathed in air, lips slightly parted. Still too nervous, too stiff.
“What do you think, my dove?” He asked, leaning closer again so their noses were almost touching. “Would you like for me to show you more? There is quite an array of things I could assist you with.”
His fingers curled into her hip, and when she nodded, he only smiled wider.
“I promise to be gentle, my dove. A beauty such as you needs to be handled with care.”
She didn’t know what he meant, but it didn’t matter, because as soon as he kissed her again, more eager this time, her mind went blank.
His hand briefly left her hip to take the cup from her hands, placing it on the table next to them, before it was back, pulling her against his chest and making her gasp.
Letting his tongue glide against hers at the opportunity, Oberyn heard her muffled moan, relishing in the sweet sound.
The way she tried to kiss him back was delightful, so tender and new, trying to keep up with him.
Slowly he manoeuvred her back towards the bed, having to hold onto her waist as her steps became unsure, stumbling backwards once, her cheeks glowing even hotter.
The throbbing only became more intense, and when they reached the bed and he gently pushed her to sit at the foot of it, she squeezed her thighs together, looking for relief.
There was a wetness now that felt foreign to her.
Oberyn noticed, amused at the display.
“Are you aching, my dove?” He asked, his hands coming to the belt tied around his waist.
Aching.
It did hurt, but in a different way. Not like a bruise or a cut.
She nodded. “A little. My Prince- Oberyn, what- I don’t understand what is happening.”
Poor thing. Her parents had done a horrible job to prepare their daughter.
To leave her in the dark at such an age.
She watched him undo his belt, letting it fall to the floor before motioning for her to move further back to the middle of the bed.
“You’re aroused, my dove. You feel the need for cock.” He explained, shedding his robe, then crawling over her. “Have you seen a cock before, little dove?”
Her mouth went dry as she watched him undress, now only clad in a dark orange tunic and his breeches.
Aroused.
Of course. But was she really aroused by him? In need of his cock?
She nodded, and she could see a flash of surprise grace his features.
“In the bathhouses, yes.” She tried to hold his gaze, now hovering over her and letting his hand glide down her side. “From afar.”
He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek, then her neck, hearing the breathy moan spill from her lips, feeling her back arch slightly.
“In the bathhouses…” He repeated in a whisper, still some amusement in his voice. “Yet you don’t know a thing about this… about desire and fucking.”
The word felt vulgar, so close to her ear.
And she felt embarrassed again. That she didn’t know more, that she didn’t understand she was aroused just by him being near her, by him kissing her, by him hovering over her.
“Do you want me to show you, my dove? The thrill of desire?” He asked, still mouthing along her neck, gently, just feeling her as she squirmed, her own hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. “How to fuck?”
Her breath hitched in her throat when he sucked at the junction of her neck and shoulder, a throaty moan leaving her.
“I- I do not know, Oberyn.” She stammered, fingers digging into his shoulders. The throbbing and the pressure were distracting her, just needing relief. “It hurts, it really hurts.”
His hand moved lower, down her side and to her thigh, gathering her skirts before it dipped below them.
“I can help you, my dove.” His hand wandered between her thighs, finding her dripping already, a soft sound escaping him at the feeling. “Oh, my dove. Wet and gushing like a waterfall and I have barely touched you.”
He sounded pitying almost, his fingers slipping between her folds, raising his head to watch her face when he found her clit.
A hiss left her, looking at him with wide eyes at the foreign feeling. It felt good, strange but good.
“Have you never touched yourself before? Brought yourself to the peak of pleasure?” He asked, drawing slow circles into her clit, with featherlight touches.
She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes open, her legs opening further.
“Never, I didn’t know-”
“You poor thing.” He cooed, kissing her.
When his fingers left her again, she whined in protest, one of her hands reaching out to grab his wrist.
She didn’t even really know what was happening, simply that his touch felt good and that she wanted more.
Needed more.
The burning sensation inside her was so consuming and overwhelming while also hurting her.
“Oberyn, please, continue.” She said, guiding his hand back down but he escaped her grasp.
“Do you know anything about this, my dove? About fucking, the feeling of something stretching you open? Feeling somebody’s naked skin against yours?”
Stretching her open? It sounded painful, she couldn’t imagine how anything could do that, and where.
But she didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to embarrass herself further.
She shook her head again. “No, I don’t.”
He chuckled, his hand coming up to tug one of the straps of her gown down her shoulder, then further down her arm, exposing her breast.
“My little dove, so innocent, so pure.” A sigh left him, watching her face as he touched her breast, just lightly brushing over the hardened nipple. Nothing could have prepared him for just how much her innocence spurred him on. “I will take care of you, just allow me to do so.”
“Please, please, Oberyn.” She whined, desperate. His hand felt good on her, back arching off the bed and into his touch, her head thrown back as she closed her eyes.
This was what she had missed out on, something so good and intense. If only he could touch her again.
Slowly Oberyn undressed her, slipping the garment down her body and kissing each inch of newly uncovered skin. Taking in how she whined and moaned, took in a sharp breath or hissed at the sensation.
She felt exposed, once he sat back and pulled the gown down her legs, his dark eyes raking over her naked form as she laid before him, resisting the urge to cover herself.
So sweet and pure. And he would be the one to ruin her, to taint her beautiful body.
Thank the Gods it was him and not someone else.
“So pretty.” He said, a hand gliding up and down her thigh, the other working open his tunic. “My little dove, all for me to enjoy. I shall show you the heights of pleasure.”
She watched as he shed the garment, exposing his toned torso, the muscles under his skin moving. She was mesmerized, despite having seen this so many times at the bathhouses, when she came to find her siblings or her parents.
His hands moved down to his breeches, opening them just as slowly as he had done with the rest of his clothing.
“It seems as if my little dove has found something she likes.” He chuckled, shedding the last piece of clothing, kneeling between her spread legs, just as exposed as she was.
Cock heavy and throbbing, her eyes were fixed on it.
It was bigger than what she had seen before. But she didn’t know if she should mind that.
“Don’t be scared, my dove.” Oberyn said, moving to hover over her again, one hand on her thigh, his cock brushing against her stomach. “I’ll prepare you to take me.”
“Take me?” She asked, gasping when his hand found that sweet spot again, applying more pressure this time and leaving her breathless.
He hummed against her neck, kissing and sucking on her skin, taking in her sweet sounds.
So adorable, needing to be taught. Not knowing what pleasures awaited her.
His hand moved lower and he felt how she stiffened when one finger pressed against her hole.
“Don’t be scared…” He repeated, slowly pushing a single digit in, groaning when he felt her squeeze around him, her nails digging into his shoulders with a whine.
It felt strange, his thick finger inside of her, moving in and out slowly. Yet it also felt good, her hips rolling on their own, legs opening wider.
“Oberyn-” She moaned, voice breaking, the pressure inside her easing just a little.
His mouth found hers again, continuing to move his finger slowly, his cock twitching at the thought of burying himself inside her soon.
“Tell me how it feels, little dove. You might be ready for another finger soon.”
She whined, concentrating on the foreign feeling, the stretch when he pushed a second finger in.
“It feels good, my Prince- Oberyn.” She breathed, her mind feeling as if it was floating on a cloud, hissing when he scissored his fingers inside of her. “It hurts a little, but it feels good.”
He chuckled, kissing her cheek and down to her jaw, then down her neck again.
“My dove, you feel splendid, gripping my fingers so tight with your sweet cunt.”
Something inside her built, blood hot like molten metal as it rushed through her, building her higher and higher until he took his fingers from her again.
A noise of protest died in her throat, his teeth softly sinking into her shoulder.
He grinned at that, lifting his head to look at her, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a deep hum.
“Finer than any wine.” Oberyn said, positioning himself so his cock was lined up with her. “My dove, I promise to be gentle. It may sting nonetheless.”
She nodded, drowsy and wanting nothing more than this ache to end. He said his cock would help, and so she wished for nothing more than him to enter her where his fingers just had been.
“Please, help me relieve this ache.” She said, feeling him against her, so much thicker than his fingers.
Oberyn watched as he entered her, grunting at how tight she still was, seeing her eyes squeeze shut and take a sharp breath.
It stung, he hadn’t lied about that, his lips finding hers as he pushed in further, muffling her whimpers while he buried inch after inch inside of her.
All the way until he was fully sheathed inside of her, hips flush against hers, one of his hands coming to rest on her thigh, squeezing it gently.
“It hurts, Oberyn.” She breathed when he broke from her, looking back at him, his lips on her cheek again.
“I know, my dove. You will feel better soon, don’t you worry.”
It was so new, the sensation of being filled, of him inside of her and stretching her out just as he had said.
Overwhelming, someone being so close to her, inside of her, his hot skin against hers, his soft lips on her cheeks.
The pain slowly fading into a need, the throbbing returning, as did the pressure.
Her hips moving on their own, making him chuckle, the sound vibrating against her chest.
“Are you sure you wish to continue already, my dove?” He asked, kissing a spot just below her ear that sent a shiver through her. “I cannot stop myself if we do, your cunt is simply too tight and inviting.”
She nodded, whispering a silent please.
So he slowly pulled back, setting a lazy rhythm of shallow thrusts, her dragged out moans like music to his ears, a little symphony written just for him as he drove back into her over and over again.
“You feel perfect, my dove, what an honour to teach you about the pleasures of the flesh.” Oberyn groaned, his hands grabbing her legs and wrapping them around his hips, making her whimper loudly. “You won’t find a nicer cunt than that of this little virgin dove.”
She let him move, rolling her hips, trying to meet his thrusts, that something inside her building again, becoming stronger this time.
If this really was what she had been missing out on, what she had been ridiculed for, she never wanted it to stop now that she had it.
The feeling pleasant as the ache became less and less present.
Oberyn had to hold back to not just drive into her with his entire force, losing himself in how good she felt, but still wanting this to be something good for her, as much as he desired her.
Already knowing he would seek her out again and again, her innocence far from gone, her sounds so sweet in his ears, her hands so soft as they grabbed at him, trying to find purchase on his body.
“My dove, you are close, I can feel you.” He rasped, his movements becoming sloppier, lips dancing over her skin. “You’re close, aren’t you?”
“Close to what?” She asked, words catching on her breath, feeling something but unsure if it was what he meant.
Gods, she was so adorable.
“Oh, you will see, my dove.”
His hand moved between them, finding her clit.
And with just a few movements, something snapped inside of her so suddenly and with such force that all breath left her, a strangled noise catching in her chest as her veins burned, the pressure in her abdomen released.
She was trembling, holding him against her tightly as he kept moving, thrusts harsher now.
“There you are, my little dove, isn’t that wonderful? The heights, the peak?”
It was a pretty sight, her face contorted in bliss and pleasure but also so shocked by what was happening to her, by these new feelings.
She could only whine, falling silent when she heard him grunt deeply into her ear, stilling above her.
Spilling himself deep inside of her before rolling off of her, not separating but rolling her with him so she came to rest on top of him.
She felt exhausted suddenly, the euphoric feelings still coursing through her veins.
And he felt solid beneath her body, catching his breath just as she did, his hands carding through her hair.
“Now, my dove, how do you feel?” He asked, watching her face as she rested on him. “Are you satisfied?”
If anyone had told her just a few hours ago that she would land in the bed of the Prince of Dorne, she would have laughed at them.
But now, it seemed quite nice.
She nodded. “I feel exhausted, but I am very grateful for what you showed me.”
A smile stretched her lips wide, he liked it. She seemed to be less nervous.
He chuckled, one hand wandering down to smooth over her back. Normally he would be far from done, already planning another round of pleasure.
But she truly seemed too exhausted by this. After all, she hadn’t even known about any of this until now.
Her eyes drifted shut, but she was still awake, listening to his heartbeat.
“Oh, my dove.” He said quietly, kissing the top of her head. “There is so much more to show you, I am far from done with you.”
She felt warm at the idea, curious what else there was to discover. Her eyes felt too heavy to open them again, slowly drifting off into sleep on top of him.
Oberyn simply smiled, sighing deeply.
Yes, he was far from done.
There was so much to learn, so much to discover.
And he couldn’t wait to see her face once he began to truly teach his little dove.
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What Quaithe would wear
(Paco Rabanne, Fall 2020)
#game of thrones#house of the dragon#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#asoif/got#headcanon#fashion#quaithe#princess of dorne#dorne#dornish#oberyn martell#ellaria sand#elia martell#trystane martell#doran martell#house martell#oberyn x reader x ellaria#oberyn x ellaria#prince oberyn#oberyn nymeros martell#oberyn x reader#hotd
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