A03 and wattpad
request in inbox list
MDI, 18+ blog
Rules
Currently writing for AKOTSK / HOTD -> requests are closed
Currently working on | drabbles and headcanons, chains of duty (Valarr x fem!reader)
Recent posts | chains of duty III, Vixen, Knight in shinning armour, revealing, AKOTSK Men with sleepy reader, To court a knight, How the AKOTSK men would react to a sensitive reader on her period, It would please me dearly, , To fear love you, Modern!nerd AKOTSK men, Aphrodisiac, A Price to pay
Masterlists
House of the dragon
A Knight of the seven kingdoms
Headcanons/drabbles
Game of thrones
A court of thornes and roses
The Pitt
Throne of glass
personal favourites
False god (Maekar x targ!reader)
Pretty in pink (Maekar x Florent!reader)
Golden (Baelor x Lannister!reader)
The Stags Knight (Ser duncan the tall x Baratheon!reader)
AKOTSK men courting autistic!reader
mine (Aerion x fem!reader)
Solace (Jace x targ!reader)
please, please, please (aegon x targ!reader)
seduction (Jace x Targ!reader)
Aphrodisiac (Gwayne x Targ!reader)
none of my work is beta read! please read blog rules!
post last edited: 12th August 2026
dividers by @zaldritzosrose and @saradika-graphics
Alliances and duty brings you to Westeros, with your sisters courtship with the prince well in hand, you never expected that one trip and fall would land you bound to Prince Valarr over your sister. (3.3k Words) (requested)
Valarr Targaryen x fem!reader
Content: MDI, 18+, angst, Slow burn. Arranged marriage, Mutual yearning. valarr being so perfect (i love him). Pitiful denial of feelings, jealousy. Miscommunication. reader has dyed pink hair. No other descriptions of reader. Bullying and insecurity. Autistic!reader,?. Oblivious reader. not proofread
Masterlist | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven
authors note: i struggled with this because it was supposed to be angsty for our couple, but i want them to be happy so the angst is sisterly angst and self-doubt. all valarr pov. sorry if this felt rushed in places i needed a lot done in this chapter and my brain did not have the words for half of it.
.
One would think that the last two weeks before the wedding were the easiest part of any bethrothal. Everything was set in stone, guests were arriving, the dress was made, the flowers ordered, and the cooks began preparing the endless menu for the feasts that would follow the wedding. And for the bethrothed couple, it was time to relax, to know each other as much as they could before their vows were said, to be comfortable around one another after moons of endless courtship.
And thought these past few weeks Valarr had begun to know you, to care for you more than he knew you would believe. He still felt as if you were a stranger to him still. That the friendship, the desperate attempts to get you to grow comfortable around him, had all been for nought.
It was not rare for strangers to marry in Westeros, but it had been the very thing he had tried desperately to avoid. With Kiera, he had spent moons courting her in the lead-up to what would have been their betrothal, and now with you he was given so little time.
His family already believed him entirely in love with you; the court thought you had either seduced him to marry you or that you were both so in love that propriety be damned. Yet that was so far from the truth.
He had been honest when he had said he had wanted to start as friends, but in the three weeks since then, he had treated you with the respect and kindness one would give any friend. It was driving him to madness. Knowing you but restraining himself, watching you get belittled, his words comforting you for a time, before the cruelness of the court reached you once more.
The weeks of being your friend, of stopping himself in acting like more, even though it was what he desired, but knew you were not ready for. Your comfort was vital to him. He needed it like he needed to breathe. And yet the friendship and restraint had only made the already repressed longing and the crush he held for you develop tenfold. And he did, in truth, regret the promise to start as your friend, not when he had wanted so much more since the start.
He had wanted everything from you, had dreamed of you and hated it. Had resented that you had been the one he dreamt of marrying in the sept when Kiera was the one he had been told he would wed. And that initial resentment had caused so much misunderstanding that he felt as if he was still fighting it. His shock over the sudden betrothal between you both had worsened it. And even though you had vowed to restart. Had taken each day, day by day. Had gotten to know him as a friend with a careful guard up. You still seemed so unsure of him. So oblivious to his feelings and so knowledgeable of the feelings of court.
They were split. Half believed you both entirely besotted, the other believed you wanton and jealous. Though in truth it was them that were. Kiera that was. He had tried to understand her, to express his apology. But when weeks went by, and she still remained bitter and cruel. He could only blame herself for her feelings and try to help you understand that your sisters bitterness was not truly of your own making. Not when Kiera's actions had made it so obvious she had merely wanted him for his crown.
He tried so hard to help you ignore her, to assure you of his friendship. And though he some days believed he had made little progress in your feelings of hatred at yourself for how your sister felt, it did become apparent to him that you were rather happy with the friendship you had made.
He hadn’t noticed, or had been allowed to notice, how alone you had been before. Where Kiera had flourished, made friends with every lady she crossed, you had only Kiera. And now, you had only him. And though he rather liked the fact that you no longer ran from him, or rolled your eyes at his words, that you spoke to him with interest and not annoyance.
Knowing you as a friend, he only wanted him to know you more, to court you properly and to make the feelings for you that haunted him mutual.
So, on the third week of your makeshift courtship, and three weeks after you had decided to restart your relationship, Valarr had decided, close to two weeks to the wedding where a couple should feel secure and relaxed in their impending nuptials, Valarr decided he would court you and woo you. And be as shockingly romantic as the novel you had read to him over the last few luncheons you had shared.
He knew you needed obvious, knew you were oblivious to nearly everything and if Valarr wished for a marriage of love, not friendship or resentment. The very thing your betrothal started on, and you both feared your marriage could become. Valarr knew he needed to be the most obvious man alive.
He started with a book. Your favourite book, some tale of knights and princesses, a romance that even Kiera told him you gushed over. You had lost your copy on the voyage to Westros, and though he knew you could recount it from memory, had done so one afternoon when Valarr and you had walked the grounds. The book was rare, out of print and proving to be exceedingly difficult to find, but he, a prince and future king, had many strings to pull and had managed to convince some minor lord to lend him his wife's copy. The book was pristine, though it was in the common tongue and not your native language; so Valarr eager to start your marriage properly, and tired of hearing you call him your friend (It had happened twice, and each time you had stuttered the word with a pretty blush that would have Valarr giddy at the knowledge he had you blushing) had tasked himself with translating it, re writing the book in its entritity just for you. He even added his own notes and thoughts for each passage. Especially the ones you had left out, that had even Valarr blushing.
He had gifted you the book on the first day of the week, a bashful smile on his face as he placed the wrapped book in front of you as you broke your fast.
“What is this?” you asked, smiling as you untied the pink ribbon around the package, your eyes watching Valarr carefully as he sat across from you, toying with his rings nervously.
“A gift,” was all he said, swallowing roughly as you unwrapped your gift. Confusion laced your features first, then pure, unadulterated joy.
“Where did you get this?” you asked, flipping through the pages and reading the words Valarr had written, your smile only growing at his annotations.
“Some lord owed me a favour; his wife had a copy and allowed me to translate from it-”
“You hand-wrote this?” you asked. Valarr nodded, smiling as you reached across the table and kissed his cheek, thanking him softly.
He would hold his hand to his cheek for the rest of the day, relishing the feeling of your lips kissing him.
The next day he found you at luncheon, in your usual spot, in the gardens. Typically you ate away from prying eyes, away from the eyes of the court and the ladies that seemed to insist you had whored yourself out to him. But that day he found you, sat alone, with your sister and her gaggle of ladies at a table not far from you. Their eyes set entrily on watching you.
Valarr approached you without hesitation, greeting you with a smile and a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand, his eyes never once moving away from your form, even as Kiera stood up hoping to catch his attention.
“My lady,” he greeted, presenting the bouquet to you, relishing in the soft smile you gifted him.
“Valarr, you wish to eat with me?” you asked, watching Valarr take the seat beside you.
“Who else would I wish to eat with?” he asked, confused at your words. He watched your eyes drift over to your sister, as she turned to her ladies, whispering nonsense in their ears.
Valarr shook his head. “As I have said for the past few weeks, my lady, I have no desire to know more of your sister, only you.” he watched you nod, though he knew it was not heartfelt.
You seemed insistent on causing yourself misery. Even the weeks of friendship, you seemed hesitant to enjoy it. Your eyes always looked over your shoulder, treating his closeness with apprehension, even with his relentless reassurance.
“My lady,” he shook his head, reaching for your hand, “tell me what truly worries you.”
You looked down, your hand reaching to pull a flower from the bundle, twisting it between your fingers. “Their words remain cruel, and I find myself struggling to believe your kindness.”
“We agreed to restart.”
“And yet they do not,” you shook your head, clearing your throat, “they make me feel small, that any fondness I believe you have for me is a charade.”
Valarr shook his head, bringing your hand to his lips. “i will say again what i have told you each day for the past three weeks,” he made you look at him with your words, helping you to ignore the ladies behind him, “i am to be your husband, not hers nor theirs, and hence their words mean nothing.” you shook yourhead, still polaying with the flower between your fingers, “they are jealous and it makes them curel and you their undeservivng victim,”, he kissed your hand again, “i had hoped these last few weeks we had made progress-”
“In our friendship?” you asked, your gaze flickering between him and the ladies.
“Yes, and I had hoped we had become more than friends.”
“Well, we are to be married-”
“No, my lady,” Valarr shook his head, smiling softly at your oblivious nature. “At our relationship, I had said we would start as friends, and now that we are, I had hoped we would be more.”
“I did not-” you stopped yourself, pulling your hand away from Valarr, your eyes focused entirely on the tablecloth. You shook your head, speaking so lowly he almost didn’t hear you, “I did not believe you were serious about that.”
Valarr sighed, frustrated. Not entirely at you, “I was, and I plan to show you that every day until we are wed and after.” Valarr reached for your hands once more, pulling them to kiss lips and kissing them softly, before ordering a servant to find a reason to send the ladies behind you away, allowing you both to enjoy your luncheon in peace.
The rest of the week, he made sure to fill your days. Not once did he allow the gaggle of ladies near you. You were always on his arm or sat beside him. You were always by each other's side to the point that his father teased him more and more each day about his “fall” for you. You broke your fasts together each day; he would gift you a new bundle of flowers each morn. Lunch was shared when his days were not filled with council meetings. And he would sometimes draw you, though he never once let you see them even when you huffed and threatened to throw your book at his head. You did so once and found the ordeal entirely too funny; he found he could not be mad at you.
You grew more and more comfortable. Day by day, you accepted his advances, accepted his hand, his soft kisses to your knuckles. He felt as if you were finally accepting that you deserved more than a marriage made of friendship.
That was until the four days before the wedding. When he had found you in the gardens, your sister beside you.
He hadn't heard the conversation, but he had seen enough, seen your face at her words, the tears that fell from your face, and the smirk on her lips, to feel nothing but pure hatred for Kiera. A feeling so rare to him, so foreign; only the Blackfyres had conjured the feeling before, and yet your sister, the woman he was told was the perfect lady. Made him feel the hate and rage of a thousand suns with how she treated you.
He approached as she left, watching as shock fell across her face as she looked at him, then back to you. And Valarr, had he not been so angry and concerned for you, would have seen the regret in her face. As if his appearing made her realise exactly who she was being cruel to and that it was no random lady that stole the crown from her but her sister. Who until a moon ago, Kiera and told valarr she loved dearly.
“My lady,” he greeted, sitting beside you, his hand reaching for yours to offer comfort. You pulled your hand back as if you had been burned, turning your back to him. “My lady, please, let me help you.”
You shook your head, back still turned to him.
He sighed, his eyes going to the flower bed that surrounded you, plucking a flower as he continued to try and speak to you. “Whatever she has said, it is not true,” he tried to reassure, his hand hovering over your shoulder, stopping himself from touching you.
“Mayhaps,” he heard you sigh, your breath heavy from crying. “But it does not mean it does not hurt any less.”
Valarr nodded, swallowing roughly, his hand reaching for your shoulder with the lightest of touch, a relieved sigh falling from his lips as you turned to him, your eyes set on the floor. “My sweet lady,” he breathed, “what did she say?”
You were silent for a moment, your breath slowing as you seemed to ease the tears. “She did not mean it, she is just sad,” you reasoned. “She is bitter over this marriage; that is it,”
“No, it is not it,” Valarr dismissed, hating how you defended her still after everything, pulling you to face him, his hands tucking your hair behind your ear and placing the flower he tucked into your hair, hoping to offer you comfort, “tell me all that she said,” his hand rested on your face, his eyes set on watching as you calmed yourself down and built the courage to tell him what happened.
“She spoke of the truth, or at least what the truth was a few moons ago,” you began, your hand covering his on your cheek, “how I never wished to stay here, to marry a lord, let alone a prince from this country and yet here I am,” you shook your head, “she spoke my own words back to me, my hatred for this palace-” you stopped yourself, meeting his eyes at alst, “my old hatred, i have grown fond of it these last few weeks i promise you i-” you rushed out, worry in your voice.
“I know,” he smiled in reassurance, not only to how you have loved this place in recent weeks but your feelings before. He knew you wanted to go home, that you had not seen that palace as your home, or as a palace that would become it, until fairly recently, and even then the thought was still fresh and fragile.
You moved his hand from your cheek, moving away from him slightly as you continued to speak, “She was mean; she spoke of how I would hate you, hate this place, how I did not deserve it, how I betrayed her and how you will resent me for the whole of our marriage.” you forced your eyes back to him, “how you resent me for stealing you from her,” you shook your head, “she said it as if she believed i was making a decision that would hurt me more than her, that i put myself in a situation would hate and then she-” you shook your head, refusing to say whatever it was that had you in tears, “she was cruel and i-” you cut yourself off, not daring the finsh the thought let alone the words you had been about to say, before breathing deeply and looking to him, “do you, i mean, have you resented me?” your eyes wide as you waited for his answer. And an answer Valarr did not know how to give.
“No,” he shook his head, “i resented not knowing you first, not having the choice, for the situation we were thrust into, but only because it was not entirely our choice.”
He saw your shoulders relax at his words, and he found himself relaxing as you did. As if his tension was neutrally tethered to yours.
“Do you still resent me for all that has happened?” Valarr found himself saying after a moment, partly worried Keira's words had made you resent him once again or that you had resented him and never stopped.
“I do not resent you,” you whispered softly, playing with the flower Valarr had tucked into your hair, “i- i resent myself,” you stuttered, refusing to meet Valarr's gaze once again.
Valarr sighed softly, moving to sit closer to you, his hand reaching to grip your chin gently, making you look to him. “What for, my sweet?” he asked softly, relishing the blush the pet name gave you.
“For liking you, for-” you swallowed roughly, “for stealing you from my sister, accident or no.”
Valarr shook his head, “my sweet, “ he spoke again, “you have no reason, none, to resent yourself.” he choose to ignore your words of liking him, he had only just made you realise his intent to love you, to have a true marriage, he had no desire to ruin that by teasing you, not when you were finally telling him why you still though the match, even if it put your own happiness on the line. “Truley,” he reiterated, holding your hand and caressing it softly, “you deserve every happiness and just because your sister resents you, is not happy at the idea of you being queen over herself, it does not mean you deserve to suffer. That you should resent this,” he made sure you were looking at him, that you were taking in his words, and you were, your eyes were wide as you listened to him, “you are to be my wife, and i plan to love you, even if it takes years for the whispers of the court to fade, for your sisters bitterness to boil over, i intend for this to be a happy marriage, and if this last moon has not shown that then i-” Valarr, despite his determination felt tears well in his eyes, he shook his head to steady his thoughts, “i will not let them make you unhappy, i promise it, i vow it,” he spoke steady, bringing your hands to his lips. “I promise you, you deserve to be happy, and i will not allow you to live in their misery, not any longer.”
He spoke his words as a vow, determined to show you he meant every word. Because he did. He hated seeing how they made you feel, how they caused you such insecurity. And even if he had to banish them from your life to make you happy, he would. He just did not wish to have to banish your sister. For even if she was the cause of your misery, Valarr could tell you loved her still, and your hope that she would one day forgive you for the misunderstanding that led to their impending nuptials- that was what you needed. You needed your sister, and valarr hoped that you would get her back; he just hoped you didn't hurt him or yourself in the process.
Hello!! I saw your reply about It Would Please Me Dearly. Seeing you confirm that the reader is basically a softer version of Margaery made me love the fic even more. I'm fascinated by female characters who are clever and manipulative while still coming across as sweet, feminine, and innocent. It just feels like a much more realistic way for women of that time to gain influence and power, given how little power they actually had.
I'm really hoping for a part two, especially if we get to see the reader become even more clever and manipulative, slowly learning how to play the game while everyone keeps underestimating her. I'd love to see Ormund completely wrapped around her finger without even realizing it, too distracted by her soft voice, gentle manners, and angelic appearance to notice she's quietly influencing him.
I was also curious about their feelings for each other. Does Ormund genuinely love her in an obsessive way, or is it just obsession? Or is it real love from someone who's so cruel and dangerous that possessiveness is simply the only way he knows how to love?
And what about the reader? Is she physically attracted to him at all? Does she feel anything beyond fear and disgust for his cruelty and temper, or are there confusing, contradictory feelings of affection or desire mixed in there too?
Ormund does genuinely love her in an obsessive way. He is so delusional when it comes to her and believes she is so perfect for him it made him obsessed with her. But when it comes Ormund he only loves what he believes he can posses. He believes she is so perfect and mouldable to his wants and desires to the point where he belives that he does posses her.
When it comes to reader she is definitely physically attracted to him but she hates him as a person. So she does feel conflicted in her marriage because she feels guilty for likening him physically but hating his personality.
But she does like how she can use her physical attraction to him to get what she wants.
If I do a part two, it would definitely be him entirely wrapped up in her. Him being delusional and obssesed. Like I feel he would stalk her and spy on her. And because she is 100% aware he’s doing it and afraid of him, even though she knows she can basically get everything she wants from him, she never says a thing against him at least explicitly.
Been staring at my notes for part 3 of chains of duty all week and I’ve only written 300 words.
My aim for next week is to post two parts of chains of duty to make up for missing the chapter this week.
So I’ll be focusing on that next week but knowing me I’ll get side tracked and post something else but I love the couple in chains of duty so I’m hoping I actually get Inspo to write for them like asap
Also I haven’t gone through the comments/requests to be tagged but I will check before I post the next part so don’t worry I haven’t missed you 🩷
The ladies of court had a game, sneaking into lords room, stealing a small trinket and leaving uncaught. All your friends had done it and now it was your turn, but unlike them your caught red handed, and Lord ormund has never been lenient (2.8k words) (requested)
Ormund Hightower x Florent!reader
Content: MDI, 18+, smut, fingering, spanking, dry humping, praise kink, edgeing? Reader is shorter than Ormund. no other descriptions. swearing. kinda proofread, but i got lazy (like usual).
“Lord Ormund,” you repeated, staring at your friend as if they grew a second head, “you can’t be serious?”
“We’ve all done it with no issue-” Floris Beesbury began, a sly smile on her face as she took in your shock at their decision.
“Oh please,” you cut her off, scoffing, “lord Ormund is nothing like the lords each of you have stolen from.” You shook your head, scoffing more at the amused looks on your friends' faces. They had been playing this game for the last three moons; all the ladies of court had. It was simple, really; the ladies would take turns sneaking into some lord's or knight's room and stealing a small token. The other ladies would choose the man, and should you refuse, you would be punished. Though the punishment was little more than a humiliating dare, Rhae Bracken was made to run the length of the hall to her rooms naked; two men had seen her and had been courting her ever since, much to her dismay, and Mina Royce was dared to jump into the Blackwater. They were harmless dares, but dares you had little desire to do. Especially after the ghastly illness Mina had gotten after her swim. But if Ormund were the man they would make you steal from, suddenly a cough or unwanted male attention sounded much more preferable. You hated the man, his gaze was relentless and seemed to follow you in any room you were in. He was intense to say the least, and it unsettled you entirely. And if you were caught, he would no doubt demand a favour of you. He seemed to wrack them up; the number of men of court that seemed to owe the man a favour grew daily. And the lord had been here little more than a fortnight.
“Come now, it will be easy,” your cousin, Alena, argued, giggling as you shook your head, “trust me, cousin, he will be out in the godswoods for the hunt, all the men will be. It should be easy to sneak in and out unseen.”
You sighed, looking at the gaggle of ladies that surrounded you. You were the last one left to do it, and you knew the dare they had in store would be worse than whatever favour Lord Ormund could muster. “Fine, but if I am caught, I am throwing us all under the wheelhouse,” you scoffed, trying to ignore the laughs of the ladies as you stormed off to your rooms.
It had been surprisingly easy to sneak into the lord's room; his rooms weren't too far from yours, and it seemed whatever paranoia Maegor the Cruel had been under when he built the Red Keep led him to build a secret passageway connecting the guest chambers, yours and Ormund's included. Finding your way to his rooms had been easy enough, a torch in hand and one push of the wall, and you were in his rooms. A strong floral smell filled your nose as you entered, the room seemingly doused in the scent, no doubt protecting Ormund's nose from the vile odours of flea bottom.
Pushing the wall into his rooms, your eyes locked with Ormund's desk. You paid little attention to the rest of the room, wanting to get in and out as quickly as possible. Lifting your skirts and tiptoing across the room, your hand reaching to snag his signet ring.
“What are you doing, little fox?” you heard a voice ask, the drawl of it all too familiar, snapping your hand away from the signet ring, your eyes snapping to lord Ormund’s as he rose from his bathtub, in all his glory. “Hmm?” he asked, smirking as your eyes snapped to cock.
“My lord!” you squeezed out, mentally kicking yourself for missing him. How you had walked into his rooms and not noticed the man naked and bathing evaded you both. “I did not think to find you here.”
“In my own chambers?” He tilted his head, walking towards you, making no effort to cover his nakedness. “And pray tell me, what did you think to find when sneaking into my chambers?” he drawled, his hand coming to grasp your chin and force your gaze to meet his. You swallowed roughly, fighting the blush that was threatening to rise to your cheeks. “Come now, Lady Florent, I want the truth of it.”
You closed your eyes, breathing deeply as you thought of some excuse. You had known this would happen; Lord Ormund rarely attended hunts, or anything that could dirty him. The man was obscenely clean, and if the scent of him now was any indication always smelt lovely, obsessively so.
“I had hoped to leave you a token,” you found yourself saying, your hand racing to find the handkerchief in your dress pocket, hoping that would suffice as some excuse, that you would leave not owing Ormund any favours and he would send you off thinking you were some fanciful lady with a crush.
Ormund smirked, tilting his head as he took the handkerchief from you, his hand tracing your embroidered name with his thumb, “ A token?”
You nodded, blushing furiously as his eyes stayed locked on yours, as if waiting for you to crack and admit your true reasoning. “Yes, I was too nervous to give it to you in person,” you spoke, desperately thinking of a reason to be in his room, “and I had heard you would be at the hunt.” You saw Ormund shrivel his nose at the idea, no doubt the idea of blood and animals irritating him, “and thought I would-”
“Sneak into my chambers and leave it for me?” Ormund taunted, a smile playing at his lips, still standing there unabashedly naked, “What a thoughtful little vixen you are.”
You swallowed, “vixen?” willing your usual confidence back into your voice.
“Yes, “ Ormund smirked, his eyes parsing your body, snagging on the neckline of your dress and, more specifically, the outline of your breasts. “You have an allure to you, my lady” he stepped closer to you. “Your eyes follow me in every room,” you fought a scoff. His eyes were the ones that always followed you, unsettling you to the point that your eyes always snapped to his in nerves. “You are hardly the nervous sort.”
“When it comes to you, my lord, I am,” you swallowed, forcing your eyes to meet him, cursing yourself for getting caught and cursing your friends even more. Hating that a silly crush was the excuse you chose and hating even more the fact that the sight of Ormund naked, so close and taunting you, did more to you than you cared to admit, even dare you to say, making this imaginary crush you had invented become a little true. Though you would scarcely admit that.
“I must say I am surprised,” he continued his assessment of you, “you have taunted me these past few weeks with your eyes, your dresses, and now you sneak into my rooms.” He stopped closer, his head dropping down, his hand moving to your chin, forcing your face to meet his. “And yet you feign nerves still.”
“I do not feign anything, my lord.”
“No?” he moved his face closer to yours, his grip on your chin bringing your lips so close you were almost kissing. “I think you do,” he smirked as he watched you swallow. “Tell me, vixen, why are you really in my room?”
Your eyes locked to his lips, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “It's silly.”
“I'm sure it is,” his own eyes were on your lips. “But if you were to tell me, I will forgive your trespassing.”
“Trespassing? My lord tis not my fault our chambers are connected I-”
“Oh, so now you simply wandered in now. Was your handkerchief a mere decoy?”
Fuck. You thought. Your face was now flushed entirely in embarrassment at being caught.
“No, “ you insisted, shaking your head, hoping Ormund's gaze didn't waver from your lips. Your hand reached for his face, caressing his cheek, hoping he would believe your lie, “I did not mean to trespass, I only-” you were stuck in a lie you had little clue to get out of, and with Ormund's breath heavy on your lips, it was only making you more nervous, and your lie crumble. Your breath stuttered as Ormund's hand tightened on your chin, his breath now mingling with yours.
“What's wrong, little fox? Can’t keep up with your own lie?” Ormund taunted, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you to him, your hips rubbing against his naked cock.
You let out a pathetic little sound as he did so, finding yourself nodding your head at his words. He hummed approvingly at your nod, his hands caressing your sides. “Now be good and tell me why you're really in my chambers.”
You let out another pathetic sound as you felt his cock grow hard, his grip on your sides sliding up to your breasts, not quite touching them, but feeling his hands on your sides was enough for your breath to grow heavy, your nipples to harden, and your wetness to gather between your legs. “It's silly,” you stuttered, your mind going blank as Ormund's thigh moved between your legs.
“Be good and tell me,” he commanded, his thigh moving slowly between your legs, relishing the sigh you let out at the movements.
“It was a game,” you breathed, your hips moving to meet his thigh. You leaned in closer, wanting his lips to meet yours.
“A game?” he asked, his hands moving to your hips, helping you to grind against his thigh. “What game?”
“The ladies of court,” you moaned, softly as you spoke, relishing the friction and pleasure Omrund was giving you, “they take turns and sneak into the lord's chambers, oh gods,” you moaned, feeling your peak approaching, “and steal a small token.” Omrund hummed at your words, not disapproving, causing you to stutter slightly as you continued to speak, “They dared me too… Gods, to sneak in here and take something small… I'm sorry,” you mewled, your hand reaching for his shoulders, for leverage as your hips worked hard to reach your peak.
Omrund kissed his teeth, removing his thigh suddenly, leaving you high and dry as he stepped back from you, the ghost of his breath lingering on your lips. “No,” you sighed pathetically, your hands reaching for him as he walked away from you, “I'm sorry, really, I would have given it back.”
Ormund shook his head, a smile twitching at his lips, no doubt finding pleasure in your begging, your want to please him. And you, fuck, you wanted it. You wanted to please him. You wanted his eyes to follow you in every room. And gods, you loathed to admit it, but this man somehow, despite hating the very premise of him, found you desperate for his approval, desperate for his hands on yours, the pleasure he could give you. Desperate for him.
“Mayhaps,” Ormund spoke, “but that does not mean your actions and the intent of them should not go unpunished.”
“Punished?” you squeaked. You hadn't thought he would punish you, well, you had. But after he practically fucked you on his thigh.
Ormund nodded. “You are lucky, I shall be lenient.” he walked- no, prowled back to you. “My little vixen,” he tusked, “trying to steal from me.” his eyes assessed you once more, taking in your flushed face, your hair that had somehow grown wild from the thrusts of your hips. He continued his prowl towards you, but just when you thought he’d touch you, he chose to sit. Still naked and still with the smug look on his face that you now wished to kiss. “I cannot let that go unpunished,” he tusked. “Bend over my lap,” he commanded.
“What?” you asked, shocked.
“Bend over my lap and lift your skirts,” he repeated, growing impatient.
You swallowed, walking over in nervous steps, your hands anxiously playing with your skirt as you walked over to Ormund's naked body. Nervously setting yourself over his lap, your skirts lifted above your waist.
“Good,” he hummed approvingly, his hands smoothing over the span of your ass, kneading it softly.
You moaned softly as he kneaded your ass, growing relaxed on his lap, just in time for Ormund's hand to lift from your ass and come down to slap it. You let out a yelp, not in pain but in sheer surprise.
“I have decided to be lenient, I think ten should suffice. What do you say, my vixen?”
You nodded, rearranging yourself in his lap, your back arching and pressing itself to Ormund, a part of you entirely too eager to feel his hand on your arse again.
“Words,”
“Yes, please, my lord,” you spoke, almost trushing the words, and loving the approving hum he gave you before his hand came down to strike your arse again.
Eight more slaps, eight little whimpers and moans, and Ormund's impossible cock grew impossible hard beneath you, as you wriggled your boyd, your cunt growing wetter with each slap to your arse. “Ormund,” you moaned, as he kneelt your arse, his hand moving lower, towards your cunt, as his other hand soothed down your back.
“You did well, vixen,” he hummed, loving how you wriggled your hips, his hand slipping to your cunt, at his words. “I believe I can forgive your intention.” his fingers reached for your clit, circling it softly as he continued to speak, “but you must assure me you will never do something so…silly again,” he spoke, using your own description of the game against you. And you, so eager to feel the pleasure he had denied you earlier, nodded. You had no desire to do this game to begin with, had known you would be caught, be punished, and yet you regretted nothing, not as one of his fingers continued to circle your clit, and his other began to push in your whole. Ormund groaned at the feel of your tight cunt and the pleasing moan you let out at his actions.
“Words,” he tusked.
“I promise, I'll never do anything silly again,” you pleaded, your hips wiggling to get him to fuck you with his fingers. “Please, please, I promise.”
Omrund let out a pleased sound, his fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt. “Good, good girl,” his fingers continued to fuck in and out of you, entrily too pleased with your words.
Your peak washed over you quickly, a loud moan on your lips as you came.
Ormund gave you little time to recover before his hands flew to your hips and he brought you to sit on his lap, your bare cunt meeting his cock. “Ormund,” you gasped, feeling his cock glide between your folds, your hands flying ot his shoulder for leverage.
I'mm going to need more than your promise,” Ormund hummed, his hand squeezing your hips, his face impossible close to yours once again.
“What? What do you need?” you asked, feeling entirely too pathetic and desperate.
“I came here to find a wife,” Ormund hummed, his mouth pressing a kiss to your cheek. “And you… Lady Florent,” he pressed another kiss to your jaw, “you will be my wife,” he pressed a kiss to your neck, a long drawn-out kiss that had you falter entirely.
“Your wife?” you repeated. “You want me to be your wife?”
“Don’t tell me you lied about your little crush,” he pressed more kisses along the column of your neck.
You shook your head, “No.” Gods, why did you say that? Didn't you have a crush on him? No. You didn't even like him; you hated him. And yet here you were, sitting in his lap, desperate for his cock. Desperate to feel his gaze, the gaze you felt on him in every single room you met him in.
“Good,” he hummed, “or else I would have had to punish you more.” his face met yours again, his breath mingling with yours. “And I’d hate to do that to you, vixen,” he gave you a mocking smile, his grip on your waist tightened, his cock probing your entrance. He pushed into you suddenly, your gasp stolen by his lips pressed onto yours, and pleasure filled you once more. Mayhaps stealing from him hadn't been an entirely mad idea, and perhaps you had been silly in your hatred of him. Or entirely right.
Hello! I’d be so happy if you could write this request (loosely inspired by Triple Dog).
I was thinking of a scene where the reader sneaks into Ormund’s chambers while he is bathing. At the Red Keep, wealthy ladies play a game where they compete to obtain the most valuable personal items from the most difficult lords to approach—the winner being whoever manages to collect the rarest and most valuable tokens from the most unattainable men.
The reader is dared to get something from Ormund, but she hates the idea. His intense gaze has always unsettled her, and she has no desire to owe him a favor. Still, refusing the challenge means facing the punishment for the losers.
So she sneaks into his chambers to steal a small token—a brooch, signet ring, or another personal item of value—hoping to leave without ever interacting with him. Unfortunately, Ormund returns while she is still there. Just when she thinks she can slip away unnoticed because he is already finishing his bath, he discovers her.
Hi! I absolutely loved your It Would Please Me Dearly fic with the reader and Ormund.
I couldn't stop wondering—was the reader meant to feel like an earlier, more inexperienced version of Margaery? She's gentler and less overtly seductive, and while she seems to have a natural gift for influencing people, she doesn't quite have Margaery's confidence or polish yet. The fic really reminded me of Margaery dealing with Joffrey.
It also made me wonder... does Ormund really not notice how hesitant and afraid she is around him? Or does he notice and just choose to ignore it?
Also, are you planning on writing a part 2? I'd love to read more!
Hi! I’m so glad you loved it!
Yes I wanted to make her Margery but softer? so a Margery that didn’t grow up with an Olenna and was raised knowing how to manipulate men. But instead she figured out how to do it herself. If that makes sense.
But as time went by she would learn more of how to control ormund and his mood swings in a way that benefits hers and the people she cares for.
And no ormund is delusional. Like entirely, he fully belives her hesitation is her being demur and a proper lady so he doesn’t even blink an eye.
He also fully thinks he’s just trained her well and that her manipulations are really his idea.
He clueless and honestly even if he realised she was hesitant and afraid skruen him he’d probably not even care.
Also part two idk, eventually I probably will do a part two it’s been requested a bit so when the inspiration strikes I will write it!
Watched spider man brand new day on Saturday and now it’s all I can think about, like I’ve never found tom Holland attractive (like yeah a little but not sexually) but now ugh he’s a ride id want to ride.
Anyway sorry if I’m slow posting fics I’m reading fics about this man and salvating at the mouth
Clumsy, reckless and a thorne in the courts side. You grew up ready to do anything, happy to take on dares and never one to blink when you tripped and fell. But when your recklass behaviour starts catching Gwaynes eye. You find yourself going out of your way to be more recklass. (2k words) (requested)
Gwayne Hightower x targ!reader
content: Gwayne pov, insecure Gwayne, the man is a yearner. clumsy reader. minor injuries. kissing. half proofread.
“My hero!” You gushed as Gwayne's arms wrapped around your waist, stopping you from falling into the lake below you. He pulled you over his shoulder as he moved you away from the tree trunk you had tried and failed to walk across. Gwayne grunted in response to your words, rolling his eyes at your antics. “My princess, you know not how to swim, you cannot-“
“Why not?” You interrupted, giving him a gleeful smile, as Gwayne lowered you back to the floor, his face hardened “I need not know how to swim when you will save me from drowning.”
Gwayne sent you an exasperated look, his mouth opening to say something, but no sound came out, except for a small groan when you ran your fingers through his hair, a groan that snapped him out of his exasperation and had his face hardening even more, “I am not your sworn sword, princess, I will not be there to catch you should-“
“You always are, Gwyane.”
“What?”
“There to catch me, it’s almost like you're following me,” you taunted, a smirk playing at your lips.
“What- princess, no, I promise I’m not, it is merely a coincidence.“ he flushed, his words rushing out so fast they tripped over each other.
You hummed, as you ran your hand through his hair once more. “I wouldn’t mind if you were,” you whispered so softly that he almost didn’t hear you. He swallowed roughly, processing your words, but before a response could be given, you were rushing off, greeting your friends as they stood laughing behind a tree.
You had never been one to follow the rules and decorum of court. You did as you wished, went where you wished and acted as you wished; etiquette and propriety be damed. A fact Gwayne was becoming all too aware of. Most knew you, daughter to a king, the realm's menace as Gwayne had nicknamed you, you had much more freedom than most. You could do whatever you wished, and with a gaggle of ladies that followed you, egged you on and dared you to do the very things that Gwayne kept seemingly having to save you from.
Gwayne wasnt sure how he ended up in this, as he was not your sworn sword, though he may as well be. You seemed to be in lack of one constantly, or any guard for that matter. No one seemed to watch you, to mind you or your antics: anyone but him. Your ladies urged you on, your sister seemed to care little, and the few times Gwayne had encountered you falling from some tree you climbed, with your sister as company, Rhaenyra had merely shaken her head and found you falling into his arms comedic. He seemed to care, entirely too much, so much so that your words of not minding if he followed you had followed him all day.
It was pitiful really, every Lord and knight of the realm fancied you, desired to marry you and love you. And he was no one, no one of note, not a future Lord, a son of a second son. A knight of little prestige. He was simply Gwayne, but he wanted to be your Gwayne.
Yours.
And the only way he seemed to be allowed near you, allowed to touch you to be worthy of you, was when you were running into harm.
He never saw you outside of that, and if you saw him, you never said anything. Never greeted him, nor looked his way.
Instead, he was merely the knight who seemed to save you from your clumsy nature. Nothing more. And certainly a lot less.
The first time Gwayne had saved you, you had stolen a horse. You knew not how to ride, nor had you ever sat on a horse before. Dragons you knew. But horses? They were entirely foreign to you. A fact obvious by the fact you lost control of the horse as soon as you mounted it. And Gwayne, who hadn’t taken his eyes off you since you entered the courtyard, had been the only one to watch as you unflatteringly mounted the stead and clung for dear life as the beast ran straight through the gates.
Gwayne, already astride, rode after you faster than the wind, his hands reaching to pull you off your horse as your horse rode wild into the kingswood. He had unceremoniously tugged you onto his own horse, a wide smile on your face as his own heart beat loudly in his chest, your smile and laugh doing nothing to ease the worry you had caused. “Thank you, ser.” You had merely laughed, calling him your knight and hero. You never thanked him, just met him with sarcasm and your silly little nicknames for him. And despite the nuisances of saving you, how it seemed as if he only saw you placing yourself in harm's way, his heart always seemed to flutter in your presence. Even if he didn't know you, not truly, he still desired to know you, and though he would not admit it, part of him wished to be a part of the nuisance. To ensure you were not truly harmed of course. Not just to see the gleeful smile on your face as you had fun, fun with him.
The next time he saw you after the incident with the horse was with your head upside down as you hung from a branch of a tree, your leg stuck in some bird's nest, though the smile you gave him showed you cared little for the twisted ankle the tree had given you, nor the fact that you were upside down with blood rushing to your head. “Gwayne!” you had greeted, causing him to turn and drop the book he had been hoping to read, a bashful smile on his face as you greeted him.
“Princess, what are you doing?”
You laughed, a sound Gwayne played on his head each night. “Oh, I am just admiring the gardens from..a new perspective.”
“Ah,” Gwayne nodded, approaching you, “by choice or by circumstance?”
You laughed again, “A bit of both,” watching Gwayne as he approached slowly, “being stuck, however, was of little choice. Might you assist me?”
“Have you had enough of his view of the gardens then?” he attempted to jest.
You nodded, “Yes, it is much the same as the wrong way up. Now, if you please, a bird's nest has me captive.”
Gwyane smiled, his face flushed red as he blushed, pulling your ankle gently from the bird's nest, his hands wrapping around your waist to right you. “Can you stand?” he had asked, praying you would say no so he may hold you longer.
You shook your head, your own blush on your cheeks, from embarrassment Gwyane guessed. “Yes, no, I mean, would you assist me?”
Gwyane nodded, easing you slowly into his arms as he walked you to the maester. Walking a little slower than one should.
After that, he seemed to run into you once a week. This river, the very same he had rescued you from today, he had saved you from at least thrice before. Once when you missed a stepping stone, the next when you had caused the very tree you tried to balance on to fall, twisting your other ankle in the process.
But still not once did he see you outside of that, and not once were more than a few words shared.
But today, after he had sulked off after saving you, his mind trying to ignore the feeling of you so close to him, of your words, and what meaning they could have had, you seemed to have followed him. Your gaggle of friends gone. Gwayne had felt a hand on his arm, startling him on his prowl back to his rooms. “Ser Gwayne,” he heard you speak, a smile playing at your lips.
“Princess,” he greeted, “have you found yourself in more danger in the last minute?”
You smiled, “No, though must I be for us to speak?”
“Not at all,” he smiled, suddenly feeling very nervous.
“Good,” you smiled, placing your arm through his, “then you will be happy to escort me about my day?”
Gwyane smiled, a large smile he could not stop, “It would be my pleasure.”
You smiled, leaning into him softly, urging him towards Maegors Holdfast, “I meant it, you know.” Gwyane looked at you, his confusion evident. “About not minding if you did follow me,” he watched you clear your throat, “and before your mind goes there, not as a sworn sword,”
“Princess-” You stopped him, insisting he call you by your name, and he did, his heart matching yours in its flutter, “what is it you mean?”
You stopped walking, pulling him into a hidden alcove. “What I mean is, I have been trying to capture your attention for moons now,” you cleared your throat, “and you seem to be entirely clueless to it.”
Gwyane spoke your name softly, disbelief on his face. He was sure you didn't mean it. What could you want with him? Why would you crave his attention, and did you crave his attention for the very reason he craved yours? “You wish for my attention?”
“Well, I wished for you to court me, but I-”
He cut you off. “Court you?” he repeated. Surely there are more entitled men? Lords or future lords,”
“Mayhaps,” you nodded, “but they are not you.”
“You hardly know me,”
“No?” you shook your head, “you have saved me enough times, saved me from every tree I have dared climb, lake I dared cross knowing if I slipped I would drown, followed me as i wandered my mind elsewhere, your hands pulling me back before I walked into a tree or out of a window,” you laughed, “you have saved me, you are my knight,” you blushed, “and I know you fancy me, your sister has shown me the love letters.” you giggled.
Gwyane paled, “I was young and fanciful-”
You shushed him, your hands on his arms, “I liked them, I thought them romantic.” Gwyane's back straightened at your words, his smile larger than ever, as he puffed his chest in pride at your words. “I was hoping if I fell into danger enough times you would get the hint and actually gift me one, but alas,” you sighed dramatically, “here I am begging you-”
“My princess, you need not beg,” Gwyane shook his head. “I had thought you unfazed by my appearance and help, that you saw me as a silly knight, not a suitor,” his eyes looked with yours, confidence strumming through his veins as he leaned his head closer to yours. “Had I known, I gladly would have gifted you a love letter each and every day if it pleased you.”
“I believe it would please me,” you nodded, moving your face closer to his, your breaths mingling, “though what should please me now would be your lips upon mine,” you breathed, and Gwyanes' breath shuddered before he moved closer, his moulding his lips into yours, a kiss that was menat to be chaste ending with his hands holding your face to him, kissing you with the heat and desire that had built into him these past moons of saving your from your impulses and distractedness, acts which he know knew where meant to get his attention.
“So you will court me,” you breathed, leaning into him, still even as your lips broke from his.
I imagined the reader as someone a little clumsy, distracted, impulsive, and reckless, who always somehow ends up getting into trouble without meaning to — getting lost in King’s Landing, accepting silly challenges like walking along the narrow top of the castle walls just to prove she can do it, trying to cross a stream by jumping from stone to stone and almost drowning after falling, or simply finding herself in situations where Gwayne has to step in and save her. At first, these moments happen completely by accident, but eventually she starts putting herself in those situations on purpose just to see him. Maybe he isn’t her sworn knight or assigned protector, but Gwayne always seems to be nearby and keeping an eye on her — perhaps for reasons other than just duty too. 🤭
Kiara is pissing me off in chains of duty. Listen to your sister and turning people against her. It’s understand to be angry if this was intentional but ignoring what’s she is saying bad vibes also why didn’t she mention her prior to her and valarrs meeting
She didn’t mention her because she’s a very insecure. She was raised with the idea of being a queen of Westeros, she has been told it for her whole life so being told all of a sudden your sisters coming too and she could marry the prince not you definitely triggered some deep seated insecurity in her.
Don’t get me wrong she loves her sister but she is also very self serving. She wants what she has always been told is hers. To be the queen. And to have that and then it be torn from her made her act out and turn the court against her sister.
She didn’t tell Valarr about reader because she didn’t want the competition essentially. Both sisters are helosue of each other, both are each others “Lacey’s” if you will. So Kiera’s just ‘forgot’ to mention her sister and tried to get her out of the way by trying to get reader to court Daeron (yeah that was never going to happen reader just wanted to go home)
So when her sister who has acted so uninterested in Valarr and Valarr who she tried desperately to get away from her sister, suddenly got engaged. Keira definitely took it very hard and lashed out by becoming a bully.
She’s going to regret to and grovel though. Don’t worry she’s gonna have a moment of of I’m a bitch and hate herself.
I live in the uk and work a 9-5 so I haven’t seen the new hotd episode yet but what the actual hell have I just seen on my TikTok of Aemond and Alicent?!!!
I’m going to cry like what the hell is this show 😭(I’m still gonna watch it)
