a thot: Dunk's pretty little wife that likes to garden ♡ who always gives her husband the first of everything that ripens, always comes running to see him with something sweet 'n fresh.
Dunk's pretty little wife who stumbles into camp (far from thier own private campsite in the forest, away from prying eyes) with a wicker basket full of strawberries, her husband having to catch her in his thick arms as she laughs and babbles about her strawberry patch and offers him the first one, pressing it to his lips and only then noticing the tall, raven haired stranger in all of his finery, slouching back in a chair and watching them.
"Oh...oh, Dunk, I'm sorry, I-"
"No, no," the stranger says. "I shan't interrupt such a sweet scene! I am a romantic at heart."
You don't notice him eyeing the curves beneath your simple green dress, the way Dunk's hand rests low on your lips (nearly grabbing your ass at that point and Lyonel wishes he would) and pulls you close to his hulking form...the way Dunk's lips brush slowly against your soft, pretty fingers as he bites into berry flesh, oh, he sits up a little straighter then, taking a long drink of wine...
You don't notice
But Dunk certainly does, how smug he feels that this pretty little woman has stolen a lord's eyes is his woman, his wife.
He licks the red juices dripping down your finger, mumbling about how sweet you are, honey, just so sweet.
And Lord Lyonel muffles a groan and Dunk hides as smug smile, stealing a kiss from your lips and sending you on your way. He will return to you early that night and make it quite clear to the others that he simply aches for his little wife, watching as Ser Lyonel takes another bite of strawberry shortcake and shifts a little more in his seat.
Some times husband dunk tells you “no” and times he says “yes”…
Content tags are reader uses she/her pronouns, no physical description of reader, mentions of pregnancy and fertility, brief smut, p in v, husband dunk, domestic dunk, pet names thank you for reading <3
“Let me kiss you” you reach for the sides of his face, raising up in tip toe to be closer to his face. Your husband had just returned home sweaty, and cheeks reddens from the heat, a layer of grime dusting his face from the hours of travel.
“Little lady, I am in no condition. I am covered in road dust” he uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face earnestly. This exposes the lower softest part of his stomach, and rips your attention away from his face and onto this bare area.
Your hands are drawn immediately to touch his stomach “Wait!” You cry after he tries to lower his shirt down, to prevent you rubbing the cute pudge of fat storage. He is always so concerned about being undesirable to you, even after years of reminding him that you find him extremely desirable. You trail after him around the cottage as he removes his dusty, sweaty shirt. “Where are you going?”
“Let me wash up first” the floor creaks as he walks over to the wash basin.
You watch Dunk as he leans over to splash water on his face, hands, forearms, underarms. Leaning against the wooden bedpost, you contemplate the broad expanse of his back and impossibly wide shoulders.
“Wanted to be nice smellin’ for you.” He explains sheepishly, as you hand him a small cloth to dry his face.
—
You had wanted to go into town to buy beeswax candles. Candles were something you needed - something practical. But you couldn’t help shopping at all the other vendors stalls, right?
You browsed the wares, when suddenly an older man darted in front of your path. He wore an overloaded belt of herbs and tinctures. “Dear girl. You have beared no children correct?”
You could only manage a surprised grunt at the man’s brazenness.
“I have just the thing for you! Fertility herbs. Only one brew is needed for you to be with child” he held out a vial of dried flowers. “If you need something to pique your husband’s interest, I have some very effective pollen. It would be at a discount for a beautiful lady such as yourself.”
You studied the vial in his weathered fingers, stained green from ages of handling plants. Before you would even hold out your hand to the man’s offering, Dunk was blocking your body with his own- becoming the barrier between you and the man. “The lady has no interest. You’d be wise to leave her be” He snarls. Dunk’s hand wraps around your waist, leading you away from the vendors so quickly your head spun.
—
You were in riding atop Dunk. You wanted to go like this forever, looking down at your handsome husband falling apart. Your knees wobbled a little as you raised yourself up the never ending length of his cock, then let your body slide down to the base. It was a nice, slow pace that you were in no rush to end. You gave a wiggle of your hips to grind against his coarse hair. “Gods above” he wheezes. “Little lady ‘m not going to last.”
“But I want to continue!” You lean forward, still sheathed with him, and prop yourself up in elbows, face in your hands, looking down at him. “You make me feel so good, and I love you so much and-“
“You must stop” he runs a hand though strawberry blonde hair in exasperation. “I cannot last” he shakes his head, hand covering his eyes so he cannot see you atop him, since he is teetering so close to the edge of release.
“Well you may finish, but then we can keep going, yes? It doesn’t have to stop after you release. Men and women can have multiple.” You remind him.
He removes his hands from his eyes to look at you and consider what you are saying for a moment. “Alight. I can do it.” He nods to reassure himself more than you. “If you wish it, sweet girl. We will continue until you are satisfied.”
you're allowed to draw. draw badly even. draw and then delete it. draw and rework it and then delete it anyway. draw only half of it and the other half three years later. in one style or another. in different styles in the same week. traditional or digital. you're literally allowed to draw however you want
hello! might I request the akotsk men reacting to seeing reader treating children kindly and gently? like dunk watching reader coddle egg, baelor seeing reader read to matarys, maekar seeing reader play with his younger kids (daella and rhae included), etc?
thank you!
this is such a sweet idea thank you for sending it in!! i sure can 🥹💗
REACTING TO THEIR S/O WITH CHILDREN
features: baelor, maekar, dunk, aerion, lyonel, daeron and valarr
The rain outside had been relentless, hammering down onto windowpanes and stone like a drum, and more than the storm raging, it had kept you inside with little to do. Beyond tea with your ladies and overseeing lessons performed by the septa’s, there was not much to cure your boredom.
Much less had it done so for the children.
You had been married to Baelor for over a year, and you shared a happy and content marriage, a loyal one, and despite the many looks exchanged in passing at the knowledge of it being his second, the pair of you basked in your love.
And when his youngest, Matarys came to you with a book in hand and smile pleading, you dared not refuse. You had been close with both boys since your betrothal, left without the softness of their mother since her death many years before, they grew fond of you instantly.
Valarr had remained proper, polite smiles and kind words while sharing jests when others were not listening, he orbited you during feasts and tourneys, a steady presence with a soft smile. Whereas Matarys had become your shadow, one that had clung hard. Though often prone to distance with his nose in a book, he took to you, preferring to be at your side than most others.
And Baelor had delighted in it, watching carefully across halls of from your arm with a tender gaze. As had you, though they he was warned even by his brother not to smother you, you assured him, finding comfort in his presence and the break from humdrum at court.
Hunting was something your husband had little time to do these days, much less with his son, but it had proven triumphant. Hares and boar were found upon the trail they had set out on, taking up all day from the early morning and leaving you alone, and they had only arrived back once the rain had set in, and the ache in their bones began to burn.
You were not so unfortunate to be out in it however, instead the hearth crackled from the corner of the fireplace, soft pillows pressed into your back as Matarys lay gently next to you. He had peeped into your solar with a book so big it had barely fit into his arms, clutching it tightly as he set it into both of your lap’s.
“And what is this?”
“Histories of Old Valyria.. and the Doom.” You watched the way his face lit up as he talked of his ancestors, only looking up at you once he had opened it, dragging his finger along the pages as you did the same. They were worn, rough at the edges and thick with old parchment, the book itself had smelt of mothballs and ancient ink, the black thick across the cream coloured page.
“Is this the choice for today hm?”
“Indeed, I thought it would be best. I have been practicing my Valyrian.” He beamed, sitting back just under your arm as you leaned in to listen.
“Then you shall have to teach me.” You smiled, holding the other side to keep the heavy book open.
And the pair of you read together, aloud, taking turns across the chapters, and you indulged in such histories, hearing more of them than you ever had. First the many houses that had existed in such a time.. more than just your blood of the dragon. Velaryons, Celtigars, Belaerys and over forty that were known to rule.. You had read about Daenys and her premonition that forsaw the end of their reign, and that their empire was not so much one throne but a Freehold, much different to the way life was lived in the present.
Baelor had climbed the stairs in steady strides, flight after flight passing guard and servant alike he had kept his head low, nodding politely. He ached, a sharpness in his back pushing him all the way to your chambers, and how he longed for you. To relax and to bathe, to hold you and catch up on the day you had without one another as you often did.
It was something he looked forward to, though what he didn’t expect, walking the seemingly longest hall to your chameber and guiding the door open, was two figures laid across the armchair. The chair itself sprawled wide and long much like a chaise, coverings of gold and crimson with engravings of patterned flowers.
It was Matarys’ chapter to read, purely in Valyrian, an account of one of the many supposed slaves of the time and their life under the rule of their dragon lords. The both of your were so engrossed you did not noticed the way he studied form the doorway, his back to the door he had closed quietly.
His finger trailed the page, carefully reading over every word in ancient tongue as you encouraged him, learning just beside him. Baelor felt something tight pull in his chest, rather settle, not like the muscles that ached or bones that felt cool to their depth, it was warmth. The hearth had raged on yes, but he was many paces away, and the tiresome furrow of his brow had eased into a look of wonder, his gaze honing in on you both tenderly.
“Naenie sia glad hen vējes kesrio syt ēdas maghatan.. I know this word, peace, it says peace but I don’t know..” Many people were glad of the Doom because it had brought..
He stumbled over his words, looking up at you for help, eyes squinting at the word before him neither of you managed to pronounce properly.
“Lyks.” Peace.
Both of your eyes shot up then, landing onto Baelor who stepped steadily toward you both, that familiar tug of his lip forming with the tilt of his head.
“Lyks.” You both repeated, and he had nodded, moving across the chamber to your other side. His hand planted over Matarys’ head who already began reading once more, this time more confidently, pride settling in his chest as it did his father’s who looked at you with a smile.
He pressed a kiss to your temple as he sat beside, stroking your knee as your duo soon had become a trio, settling into the softness of the afternoon. The storm thundered on outside, but inside by the hearth and with your family, there was a warmth nothing quite else could fulfill.
Maekar had warned you of the children at first. And it had made you laugh, waving him off like it was nothing, though you hadn’t entirely realised what you were getting into. They were a handful to say the least, and after many months into your marriage, you know understood why beyond his targaryen heritage, his hairs were more grey than silver.
The girls had ran to you all at once, another little pair of feet following just after.
Egg.
The little ones had done this most often, creating havoc where they went, chasing one another about until they landed at someone’s feet, and somehow that had been yours. Particularly in their fathers absence, and though they respected your word just as his, they felt as if they had gotten away with more with just you, that they were able to be more than just an expectation, but children.
It wasn’t entirely his fault, all of you knew of it, and he didn’t do it out of malice, only love, but even after the nights of urging him to ease, his pacing back and forth about their whereabouts and behaviour, he hardly managed to stay so calm, and it irked him.
So they came to you instead, and with Maekar standing on council for the early morning until noon, it was no better than you to have been left in charge. Also when that had descended from simple lessons into playful chaos.
They had set a stool in front of you first.
“Our nursemaid does not know how to braid, could you help us.. the traditional ones? Please please..” Words tumbled out at once, two pairs of eyes peering up at you expectantly. Their dresses swirled at their feet, shades of violets and pink, sweet smiles on their flushed faces from running you suspected.
And so you did.
At first you had brushed Daella’s hair, sitting her in front of your vanity so that you both could see better, pins and clips in between your fingers as you combed through the light brown strands. Rhae stood at her side, peering up just over to see the mirror she could barely reach, impatiently awaiting her turn.
You did so one by one, praising both yourself and the Gods that you had managed to practice on the off chance. Daella’s braids were pulled slightly looser, sitting in twos across each side of her head, pulling her hair into a half up half down, elegant style. Rhae’s were no different, but more refined, higher up on the scalp and tightened into a small bun.
Aegon sat behind, watching the three of you with a curious smile as he kicked the floor below him from the daychair. He caught your eye in the mirror as the girls marvelled and whispered about their hair, in a world of his own.
“Are you not having your hair braided my prince?” He shrugged a little, standing tall as he met your eyes
“Knights do not wear braids.” He complained, shaking his hair.
“Now that is not true. Only the finest warriors wear braids..”
And thus, between the gallant voice you’d raised and the smirks his sisters gave him behind you, he had obliged, changing his mind as quick as it took him to sit onto the stool at your legs and command, nicely, what braids he had wanted.
With the length of his hair just growing through to his ears, after shaving it all off mysteriously, there was little to work with, but you made do. He donned two at the sides of his head by the time you were done, one on each, proud and tightly knotted.
The three of them were pleased, just as you were with your handiwork, and then they had turned to you. Menacingly..
“You must do yours..” Daella spoke first.
“I don’t know about that they are not—“ You reasoned.
“You are one of us.. you have to.” They had begged, a string of ‘pleases’ and cries probably loud enough to be heard down the hallway until you had relented.
“Fine.. but only a few.” You had insisted, and they delivered.
Albeit, more than a few. Much like the girls, you had multiple on each sides of your head, well done for small, clumsy fingers, and it left your hair flowing but pulled out of your face.
The four of you together, battle ready and mischievous, but only then did it begin.
Wooden swords bashed together just as feet tapped and danced about the room, the chaos wasn’t like the usual craziness, more sharpened, like all four of you were truly staking out where to go and who to pick off next. It had been every man for himself, as Egg had declared, and all of you set about your solar taking turns hiding and attacking.
You had been so engaged in fact you didn’t notice you husband standing entranced with wide eyes until you had collided with his chest, warm, calloused hands clutching at your arms to keep you from falling.
“Oh I’m so—“ You had looked up, huffing the stray hairs from your face as you met eyes with his violet ones, piercing and yet tender as they gazed into yours.
“Husband.” You breathed, easing in his grip, it did not soften, only stroked the sides of your arms through your sleeves
“Wife..” It came out gentle, the familar grumble and astute annoyance left in his voice from hours of a court debacle that had been left on his tongue just as he was about to utter it when he found you.
“We were just..” You went to speak, still out of breath.
“Look father it is our braids.” His youngest called out, running toward you both.
“A warrior hm?” Rhae fell into his side, a hand moving from you with one to cup her little face with a half smile. He tilted his head at her looking over her hair and back to you, your wooden sword still in hand, eyes raking over your face, your blush, your braids.
“But you haven’t killed anyone.”
“I have.” Maekar raised an eyebrow and she turned, angling you both to the other side of the chamber. “Two.”
Her little finger pointed playfully, to the other two in a heap on the floor barely controlling the giggles that left their mouths and shook their bodies on the cool floor. His eyes followed to them, huffing under his breath, a sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh, rumbling his chest, before turning once more to you.
You were certainly disheveled and rather unsightly for a lady of your position. Your skirts had rumpled, your hair a mess and pulled from its styling but the smile that reached your face in small pants was unlike anything he had seen.
And just as Rhae had ran back off to ‘finish the battle’, he had closed his arm around your middle, pressing a sharp kiss to your lips as your noses nudged.
“They suit you.” He did not specify what he had meant, because his words had a double meaning. And it was not only the braids he was talking about..
Life on the road brought little comfort. That was until Dunk had found you. And the boy who by any means never left his side. He was grateful of Egg’s company, even after the events that ensued not long into their friendship, somehow it brought them closer, more comfortable in a war torn world wrecked by grief and guilt.
And with the three of you together, there was more than just friendship found, there was love, a family.
Egg had clung to you both, in different ways. Where there was lessons to be learned from both of you, Dunk often walked first, leading the strides in arms and worldly wears, whereas he found gentleness in you, sharing curiosities and the wonders of the world.
Both of you often getting into more trouble than you had meant to behind Dunk’s back. And after a long day of travelling, making your way further into the westerlands of the Reach, you had sound your spot to set up camp.
The night was coming in faster that particular evening, the late spring having its last few cold blights until summer was upon the realm. Leaves were beginning to fill the trees, the countryside greener than you had seen it in a long time, the cool wind settling a deep chill in your bones.
“Got some more wood f’the fire.” Dunk called from the trees as he stumbled through with logs in his large hands, rising up as he caught sight of you both. Egg had sat with you, flattening out the blanket that had been rolled up on Sweetfoot’s flank for half of your journey.
It was barely warm enough, a dark shade of green, covered in lint and fallen leaves but the wool was enough to keep you enclosed and the most of the chill out as you took it around your shoulders and his smaller ones.
“Could you go any slower?” Egg mumbled rubbing his eyes.
“Hey I spent half the afternoon chopping these..” Dunk reasoned, chuckingthe kindling between you all.
“It shall be done soon..” You assured him, breaking a yawn that pulled from you, wracking your body in a shiver from your own tiredness. Your eyes wandered to Dunk where he had ducked in front of the fire, sliding the flint across the rock in front of the piles of logs with a huff, cursing under his breath at the boy’s impatience. You had only chuckled, watching him struggle to light the fire as Egg shivered into your side, you shushed him quietly.
The fire had taken only minutes of grumbling to light, an array of orange flickering bright onto the roots to the tree branches you had sat under. Egg’s eyes grew wide before they fell tired, eyelids growing heavy with full bellies as much as finding food would allow, and the comfort of your embrace.
“See it did not take that long..” You said, turning to him as he nodded.
“You’re telling me..” Dunk softened then, looking up at you across from the flamed, his broad features lighting up in the darkness as your softer ones did. He found himself staring more than he had meaned to, swearing it was just to keep you both under watch, eyes darting at the sounds around you as he stoked the fire with a sharp stick.
But it was more than that. It was the way you held Egg, his now squire, and the way he tucked into you looking so contented and calm, the fact you had still stuck beside him after all of this time. And somehow, by the grace of all that was good, your beauty was amplified by all of it.
Night descended fast as the three of you talked, more so, the three of you talked eachother into sleep. Egg had not relented of course, as he usually did, despite how tired he was himself, he had kept on, he had never wanted to sleep.
“Those three are brighter tonight..” His small voice mumbled out, hand pointing up into the sky through the fluttering leaves in the night breeze. You had laid down by then, propped up only slightly on the satchels and sacks you had carried with you. He was growing more tired by the moment, fighting to keep his eyes open even as he told you tales of the stars and planets above you.
“Perhaps it is the three of us..”
He smiled at that, curling further into your side, blinking up at the stars twinkling above you.
Dunk lay across from you, propped up on the nearest tree, always watching as he continued to even with an arm under his head and laying back onto his cloak.
“He is close t’you.” He called out, voice rumbling as he observed, the boy’s breathing evening out as he fell into a fast sleep.
“He is to us both..” You answered, tucking the blanket around you both tighter.
“Aye, but he softens with you.. haven’t seen him do that in months.”
“You mean he bullies you less.” You chuckled, as your eyes met, the firelight flickering in your pupils, his already blown.
“Or that.” He shook his head, tutting quietly bit playfully, crossing his arms as he lay back properly.
“Goodnight Dunk.” You smirked, rolling over to at last rest.
“Goodnight Love.”
Though even as he closed his eyes, head fallen back and the hammering of his heart quickening in his chest slowing with exhaustion, he had stayed awake. Long after Egg had fallen asleep, and a while after you, the embers growing white and cold with the night, the three of you had laid together, with one last look up to the night sky.
The three stars still shone brightly even as the moon fell over the horizon, a knowing from Egg’s words alone, that the three of you were together, and you were better off that way.
His gaze did not betray him, not once.
He saw the way they wanted after you, the way you gave your kindness freely and lovingly, in ways he had not seen for many years. He wanted one of his own of your own. And truthfully, though it pulled at him, stoking the fire that burned beneath, beyond all primal urges and ‘duty’ if it was not one of his own, he would not have looked upon you the way he did in such moments.
Your own babe, Maegor, named after the cruel, by his account, lay across your chest. Familar silver hairs flopped across your skin, the firelight flickering in the background.
Aerion had been dragged from the tourney with scraped and bruises to match his triumph, as champion of the day he had not been as worn as many expected him to be. Instead the thought of you powered him, the ride back from the nearest town and into the courtyard stables.
You had spent the days at home since birth, many worries for your health from the advisory of maesters and your chambermaids. Your husband hadn’t delighted in the idea, particularly missing out on you spectating his victories. Though to keep you away from everyone else and just in his arms for a little longer from court, he did not argue. Not when he was so close to having you in his arms again, turning corridor to corridor until he had found you.
You hummed to your son, a tune you had heard once when you were a girl, smoothing your palm over his head as he cooed in your arms. He had only seen the top of your head from the doorway, through the cool night, the curtains blowing in as night curled over the realm. It had been the only way for him to settle for the moment, moonlight calming him over the heat of the day, as much it did you, even as you heard the door click and footsteps step in.
His armour had long since been discarded, removed carefully by his squires, leaving him in just his open chainmail and breeches, arms flexing as they braced around your chair.
He did not say anything for a moment, eyes widening to find your son in your arms and not in his cradle or with a maid. And though he did not have it in him to often ease, wanting your company and yours alone, he did not find himself disappointed.
Not with the both of you together, his wife, his son.. he exhaled harsh through his nose, curling around to your side to press a curl to the crown of your head.
“You should not coddle him, he is blood of the dragon, not a parasite.”
“He is but three moons old Aerion.” You snapped though you didn’t hear the bite in his voice, it was merely jest, though he underlined it with truth, the familar growl settling as he stood before you both.
“Mhm.”
And though it could have sounded like protest, his eyes told a different story. The stoney eyed scowl he usually wore twinkled as he blinked, mouth pressing open as he breathed, taking in the sight before him. You were in your nightclothes, the white chemise curling at your feet as the small boy wriggled in your arms, sound asleep.
“And how was today..?” You blinked up at him.
“I brought home trophy, there wasn’t much competition. There never is.”
“So I see.” You said, eyes raking over the cut across his cheek, small but mighty, a dark bead of crimson to match the bruises at his knuckled and arms, just as you imagined them littered across the rest of his body.
“Though this is much better..” His voice did not falter, and he only watched, slinking his back into the chair beside you with a tap of his fingers on its rest.
The trophy was brought home, whispers of his name climbing ranks as a knight to be paraded across the realm, both by lord and himself alike. Though he had meant it, beyond every clash of a sword and ounce of blood he had spilled, when he had came home to you, it had meant more than just that. It was protection, assurance, for him, for you.
His family.
Among all of the traipses and splendours that journeying could give you, away from your home at Storm’s End, there was one thing to be lacked.
Softness.
That couldn’t be said for you marriage of course, it was full of it, all tenderness and warm hands, soft kisses to your skin and gentle words from a proud man. However debauchery was often centrefold, not quite the place for a little boy, much less a Prince.
The boy had flitted around to from time to time. whispers grew louder at every visit with him and the large man your husband had come to love. As did children come from time to time, sitting upon the benches as their mothers and fathers drank themselves into a stupor of chattering and laughter, they often occupied themselves. You had smiled at them as they ran over to you, enchanted by the Laughing Storm and his wife and he did not know what to do with such attention, even as they chased after his antlers and your pretty dresses.
Egg had been apart of that, though more observant. He was more refined, more gentle than the other children, as you would have supposed for his different upbringing. And there you grew fond of him as he did you.
The celebrations were in full swing, tents lined on the grasses of Storm’s End across fields and meadows. For one of the nearby lord’s name days, Lyonel had decided to host, allowing more space and more excuse to let loose after weeks of tense councils.
And just as your husband had relished in the arrival of his hedge knight’s arrival upon invitation, you had some so with the boy that had launched into your middle in a tight embrace.
“Good to see you too, my Prince.” You hugged him to you with a huff.
“I missed you.. it was an awfully long journey.” He pulled away to smooth the dirt from his worn clothes, violet eyes bright.
“So I imagine..” You chuckled wiping the dirt from his cheek.
Dunk had followed just after, catching up to you both as Lyonel stood beside you, beaming widely. The festivities boomed behind you, the sunshine high in the sky as your castle home loomed proudly at its side.
“Come big man.” He held his arms out, embracing the giant before you as he bowed politely to you with a smile.
“The boy wouldn’t let me refuse.” He chuckled, sniffing through the pollenated air. The men then began conversation, something of tourneys and when Ser Duncan planned to stay, when Egg tugged onto your sleeve.
“Might we get something to eat.”
“We might, I have a few ideas..”
The pair of you took off, walking through market stalls and vendors, snacking on treats and tarts and eyeing up all sorts of weaponry. You had enjoyed yourself immenselyand by the time the evening began to draw in, the string lights of the markets lighting up your way to a familar voice booming.
“To mark the happy day, humbly hosted by me nd my.. astounding wife.” He raised the chalice as everyone followed for your shared friend’s nameday, and also to you, just as you and Egg had entered the tent, Lyonel’s eyes finding you through the crowd with a loving smile. “And to my father who let us hold this whole thing.” He rumbled out at the end, taking a long gulp of his wine as he and the others laughed in cheers.
The night carried on in happiness with you relaxing at your table enjoying the warmth and fun around you.
Egg had sat by your side through the whole thing, spotting faces in the crowd and the small noble houses and their sigils, telling you all he knew of each of them. Though even when the hedge knight was around, his frame taking up the space rightly as he was dragged into dance and stepping around people, people stumbling and jumping about, Lyonel couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.
Amidst the noise, he found himself honed in, even as he himself was pulled up to dance, he took it graciously, performing just by the slightest as you both locked eyes, and though there was that usual, deep carnal spark between you, there was something different he felt. Something he had not began to think of until you, and as he made his way, weaving through people, he tucked his arm around you as you and Egg mimicked others and laughed together.
He pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling away only as he sat down, though his eyes didn’t, only moving around as a cough came at your other side.
“You don’t plan to steal my wife do you.”
“Of course not Ser.” He blinked up at him bashfully, a smirk pulling onto his face. And though he had meant it, Lyonel’s eyes squinting at the boy he only chuckled.
Because it was more than he had in a long time, good ale, his love, and more good company.
Daeron had been put in charge, oft imposed on responsibility of taking care of his younger sibling ever since his mother’s death, much less when Maekar lost slight control of them all in their growing age.
But with his own afflictions, it only grew harder, more difficult to manage and keep up. And that’s when you came along.
They hovered around you, out of respect and love, much like their eldest brother did .
“Give her some space for Seven’s sake.” Maekar sometimes ordered, one time at the feasting table with a mouthful of food, and they listened at once, through it did not stop their gazes following you everywhere. Or the way they tumbled after you wherever you had went.
Much like it did in the very moment you spent in the gardens. It was a welcome break, your studies done for the day already before noon, and no others until the morrow, you were entirely alone and thankful for such peace. The lilies were in full bloom, summer flowers and peonies brightening the bushes into a glow.
You had closed your eyes all but for a moment until you heard bickering, it was muffled at first, from behind the bushes.
“Do not step there..” A voice broke the silence.
“Perhaps she is sleeping..” A smaller once came next.
“Let’s go.”
“No she said we could.”
You peeped one eye open, and that’s when two little legs had been pushed forward, standing right in front of where you sat in the marble bench. You opened both of your eyes then to find Aegon, or Egg as you all called him, with an apologetic smile on his face.
“And what might I help you with?” You inquired, sitting up straighter to face him.
“The girls and I were wondering if you wanted to join us.” You urged him on in a nod as he rocked on his heel, hands princely behind his back as you caught them snickering behind the bushes.
“I would much love to. Perhaps we should race them to the fountains.” He grinned brightly as you whispered in close, taking his hands as the pair of you ducked through the hedgerows, much set out like a maze. Their giggling had stopped, noticing the way you had disappeared as they looked around, smirking as they knew this game.
There was always one to be had, someone chased someone, someone beat and raced another, it was non stop, and even with the sun on your backs, blazing ardently, you had not minded, even if your peace had been disrupted.
You had reached the fountains first, the girls tumbling around the other side in short bursts of breath, all of you placed your hands onto the solid, white rock.
“It seems I have won.” Egg announced.
“No.. I made it here first.” Rhae called, tilting her chin up to the sky in pride.
“You did not, I did.” Daella reasoned with them both with folded arms.
“Actually—“ Egg started.
“Perhaps we should race to the other one, then we will truly see.” You had cut them off before banter had turned to arguing, never truly knowing who would be set off first. They all turned to you at that, eyeing them mischievously with your skirts in hand as you began to rise.
“Race you.” Rhae teased then, poking her tongue out at you.
“You first.” Your hand flicked up a scoop of the water from the fountain as they three sprinted away, you following after, their squeals and screams stumbling down the steps and stone as they headed for the nearby fountain. They had made it all in one group, still arguing as they all pushed and shoved to reach the rock first.
You slowed into the scene not long after, huffing as you smoothed your skirts.
“Right right.. and who won now.”
“It seems none of you.” The four of you jumped, the breeze bristling as Daeron stood up from the walled rock he had leant upon, a weary smile on his face as he moved to you. Truth be told he had heard you before he had seen you all, sneaking away himself from his father’s side to be pushed onto a council he wanted no part of, he found himself in the gardens, following the sound of your voice until three others chimed in.
And so it seemed, he had made it there first. He stopped behind you, resting his chin onto your shoulder as his arms wrapped around your middle, your own folded over his gently.
“Mind If I steal her back..” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, a smile creeping up onto his face at his younger brother’s looks of disgust and sisters one of wonder. And they ran off once more, chasing and laughing, his chest pressed into your back.
“I like you with them. They are whole like this.. We all are.”
The tourney was a grand event. Stalls and marketplaces full of fruits and wears from across the realm trailed for miles and miles, smiling ladies and courteous knights, there was little to be bored with.
Though even as you were left to your own devices, walking amongst the hustle and bustle with Ser Roland at your side, there was another presence who wasn’t enjoyng himself quite as much.
“Must we always come here in the heat of the day.” Matarys grumbled, a large price of parchment in his hands of all the names yet to be called upon the tourney field.
“Come now, we are here in support, it is not that bad..” You reasoned with him, walking steadily ahead as your eyes caught the many faces that urged you to their stalls.
“It wouldn’t be if my brother would come out earlier.”
You huffed a laugh, remembering the early morning you had spent together, awake at dawn in your shared tent, waking softly bare and sharing short kisses before he had to leave . He had always left early, ‘to ready himself’ he’d often said. Though the hours that passed seemed to weigh on you all in anticipation.
“None of them do Matarys, the day has hardly begun.” You turned on your feel to face him, both the Prince and Ser Roland stopping in their tracks, the older man greeting you with a gentle smile on his stern, weathered face. Your good brother with a quizzical one as you held out your hand, taking him into your stride.
Boredom had claimed you both by the time you had reached the royal tents, no books or scrolls or even spying on passing houses had been able to occupy you.
Not until you both had the brilliant, though probably not the wisest, idea to dress one another in his brother’s armour. Upon the stand near your shared dresser had stood the exact replica of the midnight black metals he had worn that day, used for the safe keeping from every battering should he need another.
“Is this at the front of the back?” Matarys turned around, checking over his back and chest where the next plate was supposed to go. And though you had seen your husband dressed many times, you hadn’t the slightest clue.
“I believe on the back.”
You moved the metals around, frowning as it still didn’t look right, sliding them over his shoulders as they sagged from the heavy weight. He had the chest plate on as you turned it to fit properly, putting it on the wrong way at first, or so you thought, as you kneeled down to clasp the armour at his legs.
His arm reached out at once with a smile, flicking his auburn hairs from his face, “And you can have this, he’d want you to have it.” You barely registered what he had said before he had held the open visored helm next to your face, “It should fit.”
“If you insist.” You smiled wearily with a chuckle, taking it into your hands as you patted the armour on his body to check its tightness. You placed the helm over your head, sliding it on with a careful tug, his body stumbling backward as he attempted to stand tall on the oversized armour.
“Well.. how does it look?” You held your arms out, twirling in place, the metal muffling your voice deeply.
“Ridiculous.” He laughed heartily as you looked at each other and fell into shared near uncontrollable laughter, your head nodding back as the helm nearly pulled your head back.
How on earth could he wear this?
“As do you.” You jested back.
“I feel it.”
“You both certainly look like something..” Another voice called out then, the smile reaching your ears before you had seen it.
Valarr.
He held the flap of the tent open, straightening his back as he entered, smiling from ear to ear with sweat on his brow. What a sight that something was. His younger brother and his wife in his armour, about ready to fall over under the weight of it all, much like he had felt from the heat until he made it into the cool.
“Husband you are back..” You moved to meet him, hardly able to see over the holes in the helm
“Indeed Iam..” He stepped forth, clutching the helm as you attempted to pull it free, though he studied you in it for a minute, contemplating with a smirk, before removing it off entirely, finally giving you room to breathe. He whispered a small ‘hello’ as the familiar hearty swell crept up chest, his lips curving at you.
“And you do know you have that wrong don’t you.” Valarr suddenly turned to his brother looking him up and down as if he was the most daft thing of all.
“For Seven’s sake, we’ve tried it three times already.”
And moments before his name had been called by the herald to enter upon the lists, Valarr had spent time doing what he’d much rather have been doing had he found you earlier. Spending time with the ones he loved most..
Hi! so this is my very first fic EVER so i'm very nervous about posting it but this idea has been on my mind for a while and i wanted to share it. I hope I can make more parts for this, not really a serie but a bunch of blurbs is what I think would suits best.
Lyonel and reader are both bi legends. Reader is in her late twenties/early thirties. I tried to avoid any physical descriptions so everyone can feel included but it's not perfect.
This is the opposite of a slow burn : they’re screwing without even getting to know each other’s names.
Smut, smut, smut. I mean, look at the title. Sorry if it’s bad it’s actually the hardest part to write. Too bad the whole plot revolves around that. At least for this part.
English is not my first language btw ! I tried my best to avoid typos and have everything make sense but it is not proofread.
a special thank you to @punk-in-docs to whom I owe some dialogues and ideas for this fic. Also, thank you for encouraging me with this :)
Next part
"Are there only green boys here ?" you inquire as your eyes sweeps over the men- boys really- stading before you. All of them in their early twenties at most.
They were certainly pleasant to look at. Each of them handsome, sharp ... strong.
"Green boys ?" the blond one, standing taller than the other two sounds offended by your remark. Whatever retorts was however swallowed back as the brothel owner shoot him a dark look.
"My lady !" he interrupts in a surpisingly high-pitchd voice "I would not dare present you with anything but the best I can offer. I assure you, their youth only adds to their eagerness to please"
You hum, playing along with his words.
Ignoring the blond one, your eyes shifts between a brown-haired young man and what you suppose to be a dornish man if his tan skin is anything to go by .The second seems older and more composed , more mature. This, along with his unruly balck curls seals your choice.
You approach him with your face still hidden beneath your hood.
"Would you like to spend the night with me ?" your question seems to surprise him. The corner of his mouth turns upward
"Do I really have a choice ?" his voice is sultry and you can hear a slight accent behind every word.
"Of course. Believe me or not but a willing partner makes it all more fun." you jest, "Makes the ... logistics easier too I suppose"
You cannot see much as your hood block your view but you notice his chest shaking with laughter , the sound soft and oddly heartening given the circumstances.
As his laugh dies down he offers you his arm in response. You gladly take it and he guides you out of the room, towards a more secluded one. Finally granted some privacy, you sigh and take off your cloak. Your eyes follow the silouhette of the man as he walks away from you to open a bottle of wine.
"I don’t often entertain women" he confesses, his back facing you as he fills two cups with the beverage. You reach for the one he offers you.
"Why ? Do you not fancy them or is it the other way around ? " you sit down on the bed in the center of the room, observing him as you sip your drink.
"The latter would surprise me, you’re easy on the eye …" you let the words hang in the air, leaving just enough silence for him to fill it with his name.
"Olyvar" he says “And neither. We just don’t get many noble ladies requesting our time to begin with.”
"Is that a bad thing ?".
"No, if your were a man I would already be on my hands and knees. It’s a nice change of pace."
You smile behind your cup.
"I won't have you on your hands and knees, but i did pay a fair amount of silver stags for your company tonight. Enough at least for two whores " you remark.
He shakes his head, smiling to himself.
"That is because I am worth the coin my lady. I have men coming back here to enjoy my company again and again"
" I am not a man" you points out.
He walks towards you until he is standing above you, his legs brushing yours.
"No, you are not." he tries to cup your chin but you turn your head to stop him.
You do not feel like giving up the upper hand. Not tonight. He is quick to interpret you reaction and instead lies down on the bed beside you.
"That makes me wonder what brings you here. It is no place for a noble lady." he continues
You furrow your brow slightly, not so much annoyed as irritated by what he just said. He said those words as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"And why is that ? Can't a woman take a night for herself after a long journey to attend a stupid tourney ? "
"Of course ! Of course !" He raises his hands in the air in amused surrender, a smile stretching across his lips. " I just meant to say that typically, noblewomen like yourself come with an awful husband who keeps them away from all the fun."
You finally set your drink down, the weight of it producing a metallic clink loud enough to tune out completly , if only for a second, all the moans echoing outside this room.
You are quick to join him in the middle of the bed. Straddling him. You start to absentmindedly trace his chest.
It is smooth, his tan skin devoid of any flaw, of any scar. You prefer when their skins tells a story of its own, and you would gladly run your fingers through some chest hair but it does not make him less appealing.
"You do not have to worry about any husband of mine. The only one I had is thankfully long dead." you declare "I am a widow."
The whore look up at you from his position , his dark eyes gazing at you in awe.
"I've never fucked a widow before"
You chuckle and lean over to bite his lower lip.
"You're not fucking one tonight either." his eyebroxs raise in confusion. "I am fucking you tonight"
Lyonel swears there’s nothing better than resting at a brothel after a long journey to soothe any aches and pains, and the journey to Ashford was a dreadfully long one.
That is why he, along with Lord Dondarrion, Lord Beesburry and a few other men of his entourage graced Ashford’s brothel with their already boisterous and drunken presence.
The owner comes out to greet him before he’s even had a chance to dismount from his horse. The pros of a golden banner that can be spotted miles away.
Lyonels groans, stuck by the door with the old man while the rest scatter.
"Lord Baratheon, what an honour to have you visit us again ! Please, step inside. I'll have my girls take care of you." he invites him inside, not wasting a second to attend to one of the most valuable customer he had ever had.
The girls certainly take good care of him. He hadn’t even taken ten steps inside before he was already shirtless and with a cup of wine in hand. He brushes away any wandering hand on his chest, for he already knows who he wants for the night.
He had been there seven moons ago, when he stopped on his way to that bloody blonde-haired den that is Casterly Rock, and even back then, he was already well accustomed with the place.
Not willing to waste more time, he tosses a pouch of coins in the owner’s direction. He gives him far too much money, enough for at least two nights with his best whores. He just wants him out of his sight.
"I know my way around. Leave me be and make sure no one disturbs me." He states rather than ask
The balding man eagerly takes the money, nodding at him. "As you wish, my lord. As our esteemed guest I’ll still have a something ready for you "
With that, the owner hurries to his own office to fetch his finest bottle of wine for the stag Lord to enjoy.
Lyonel simply waves him away with his hand. He couldn’t care less about anything he might be preparing. Instead, he hurries through the corridor, heading straight to his favourite whore's room.
He grins, knowing that his coins won't be wasted on Olyvar.
He casually opens the familiar door, the creak it makes announces his arrival before he can do so himself. This, however, does not seem to bother its occupants in the slightest.
These occupants being the lad he paid for the night, lying on his back, his tongue buried in what he assumes to be the surprise he was told about just moments ago.
"Don’t move." you order Olyvar in a trembling voice, shamelessly riding his face.
Still, he props himself up on his elbows to see who’s come in, and you hear him chuckles once his expression shifts to recognition. You glance over your shoulder to see for yourself who on earth would disturb you in a bloody brothel.
That is when Lyonel truly takes a look at you, and, decides he ought to thank the old man after all. The sight of your hips moving back and forth, still seeking some friction without a second thought for him, is indeed a pleasant surprise.
His blood rushes south right when your cloudy eyes meet his. You're the most etheral whore he has ever seen.
You take the newcomer appearance in as well.
The first thing that strikes you is the sheer amount of jewlery he wears. Heavy gold chains rests against his hairy chest and equally imposing rings adorn his large hands. You have no doubt they would blind you in the sunlight, but in the darkness of the night, they instead reflect the warm glow of the candles on his skin.
As your eyes lingered on his chains and chest, something caught your attention. You looked up to check, and to your delight, the man before you did indeed have a few gray strands. The same was true for his beard. To top it off his smiling face was quite alluring.
Looks like the owner of this place has finally sent you the manwhore you asked for in the first place
Mistaking him for a prostitute, you unknowingly watch the lord of Storm's End tosses his empty cup on the ground before making his way over the two of you.
"You're new." he observes, whispering the words in your ear as one of his hands comes to rests against Olyvar's knees to greet him
You nod. You’ve only been to the Reach a few times, which explains why you had the gall to visit a brothel tonight. No prying eyes to start spreading rumours about your debauchery, tough right at his instant you could not care less.
The only gaze that matters to you right now is that pair of brown eyes staring down at you, dark with hunger and desire. He looks mesmerised by the scene unfolding before him.
He brushes his thumb over your lips , smearing the saliva he's gathered over them, "May I ?"
Oh, of course he could.
You’ve always had a thing for silverfoxes, which explains your eagerness to close the gap between you, your lips crashing against his.
You hear the younger men resting between your thighs groan, the sight above him surely to his liking. He then enthusiastically resumes lapping at your dripping cunt.
The kiss is slow and sensual, each of you competing for the upper hand. You loose , struggling to keep up as Olyvar’s tongue plunges deep inside you, drawing moans from you with every flick of his tongue.
That kiss may be the most blissful thing ever, but you still get tired of having to tilt your head back just to keep kissing him, so you pull him by his soft curls, forcing him to kneel on the mattress next to you. "Come here." You order him.
A devilish smile forms on his face, his tongue poking out between his teeth in sheer amusement at your boldness — a whore ordering a lord around "Are you always this forthright?"
"Only when I see something I want." you reply in a sly tone.
He feels himself strains in his trousers. At this point, his cock is calling the shots and its telling him to get more of you and that unruly tongue.
So he moves behind you and brushes your hair away from your neck. His face lingers there, taking in your scent while you bare your throat to him. He is pleased not to detect the cheap scent of roses he is used to in whorehouses, but instead an intense chypre fragrance. He can't help but want to savour your neck. He places a chaste kiss there, then presses his tongue against your skin, discovering that you taste just as good as you smell.
Then his hands reach for your breasts, cupping them and feeling their weight before taking a moment to play with them — kneading them and tugging at your already erect nipples. One of his hands quickly abandons this task, instead travelling down your stomach to end its journey between your thighs.
He slaps one of them, prompting you to spread your legs wider for him to be able to work in tendem with the dornish. When granted the space, he slides one of his finger inside of you effortlessly.
"Gods, she’s already soaking wet" he breathes , "Just how much fun did you have before I got here ?" he asks your second partner for the night, as if his face wasn't currently drenched in your arousal. The latter merely lets out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh in response to the lord's envious tone.
Seemingly eager to make up for lost time, he adds another finger and relentlessly pumps them in and out. You cry at the stretch, your hips bucking to meet his fingers, all while trying to rub your swollen clit across Olyvar’s expert tongue.
"Faster." you demand, but your faltering voice makes it sound more like a plea than an order. They comply anyway, and quickly build the coil in your stomach. Ultimately, it is Lyonel's curling digits that push you over the edge.
"That's it darlin', there you go" he praises, fucking you through your orgasm until you squirm away from the stimulation, collapsing back onto the matress.
As you come down from your high, your gaze falls once more on the two men beside you. You watch them in silence, spellbound, as they kiss. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear Olyvar let out a whine, his hips arching against the thrusts of the salt-and-pepper-haired man, who used your own arousal to ease his finger inside him.
He moves slowly and tenderly with him, taking the time to stretch him out, whilst his other hand also grips his throbbing cock. The combined stimulation makes the young man’s eyes roll back in pleasure.
Another wave of lust washes over you at the sight, you cannot help yourself but gaze at Lyonel too, his hard-on difficult to miss , even strained in his trousers. Taking pity on him, you sit up and slide your hand under his clothes and lazily stroke his shaft. He moans in response, his hips jerking involuntarily, craving more.
"Take that off and get behind him."you order him as you take back your touch just as quickly, which causes him to groan in frustration.
You turn to Olyvar’s dazed expression, unable to resist giving him a kiss before issuing an order to him too: "And you, get over here."
You signal him to get closer to you, lying back and spreading your thighs to welcome him between them. Once placed before you, you wrapped your legs around his hips, pushing his cock in your warm heat.
Lyonel, who had held back until then, quickly steps behind him, and without further ado , buries himself in up to the hilt, his large hands gripping the prostitute’s hips firmly. Finally finding some relief, he threw his head back, a growl escaping his throat.
“Seven hells, you’re both perfect.” he praises before picking up the pace, aiming to reach his own climax. Olyvar, just as worked up, does the same while trying to sync his thrusts with Lyonel's.
The room quickly fills with grunts, moans and gasps, accompanied by the rapid rhythm of flesh slapping against flesh. It doesn't take long for the two men on top of you to come dangerously close to orgasm either: the first being simply overwhelmed between your warm, drooling cunt and Lyonel thickness thrusting roughly into his ass, and the other can barely restrain himself after edging himself from the very start.
You know they reached their limit when you feel Olyvar bury his face in the crook of your neck, his thrusts becoming jerky as he comes inside you in waves, his cum spilling out of you when he pulls out.
Seizing the moment, Lyonel draws him firmly against him, his chest pressed against his back, before he too spills deep inside him, as a string of profanities escapes his lips. He needs another few moment to gather his thougts before he pulls away from him. They both gasps at the loss.
Olyvars then immediatly collapses against your stomach eliciting a laugh from you. You run your fingers through his damp hair, and your hand is quickly joined by a another ringed one, which rests on the young dornishman's back in a comforting gesture.
For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your three ragged breathing, until the silence is broken by Olyvar’s hoarse voice: “You’ve both worn me out. It's a first. "
You exchange a glance with Lyonel and smile at each other. Olyvars then sits down on the mattress before declaring " I need a break. Think you can do without me ?"
You roll your eyes at the quip, not even bothering to reply as he steps out the door to take a moment to himself. Instead, you lie back down on the bed, closing your eyes for a moment.
Until you see a shadow above you through your eyelids.
"You didn’t cum just now and I haven’t had a taste of your sweet cunt yet. Care to remedy that?" Lyonel presents the problem and its solution in one go.
You smile at how brazen he is.
"You're very mouthy." You say
"I can be. Let me show you."
Amused, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him in response.
Lyonel wakes up the next morning just as the sun has fully risen, its rays streaming into the room and waking him.
He lets his gaze sweep around the room and realizes that he is alone.
You left long before he woke up, both because you wanted to leave the establishment as discreetly as possible as well as get your hands on some well needed moon tea
He stares at the ceiling in silence, too exhausted to move an inch. He had come here hoping to ease the ache of the journey, yet now he leaves in an even worse state.
His muscles are sore, his legs feel weak, and he is covered in bruises. He grins to himself like an idiot. What a brilliant night. The two of you were insatiable, so absorbed in each other and your pleasure that you only fell asleep in the early morning : he thinks he has met the best whore in the Seven Kingdoms.
Leaving those thougts aside , he struggles to his feet, searches around the room for his clothes to get dressed.
As he finishes dressing, a pouch on the bedside table catches his eye. He walks over, picks it up, and opens it. Inside rests some silver stags coins.
You left the tip beside him before leaving, so that he would find it later.
It takes his tired, hungover brain a second to grasp the situation.
Did you… did you give him the night for free ? If not then why else leave the money you were supposed to take as payement ? He can’t think of any other reason, or perhaps he’s only too happy to accept this version of events.
Lyonel then joins his men outside the brothel, in high spirits—a mood that Lord Manfred Donddarion feels compelled to question as they ride towards the tournament field.
"What got you smiling like that , Lyonel ?" asks the red-head, though he has a fair idea what it might be.
Lyonel doesn’t even bother to reply; instead, he hurls the money pouch he’d taken at him.
"What’s that?" he asks, barely catching the pouch.
"Can’t you see? They’re coins."
"Yes ?" he replies, even more puzzled.
"Coins that the whore I spent the night with refused to take"
Lord Beesbury, suddenly interested in the conversation, interjects :
"What are you saying ? The lady enjoyed you so much she gave your money back ?"
Lyonel, proud as a stag, merely smiles.
" Have you ever known a whore to turn down coins ? Red gladly takes it, I can tell you"
"Maybe don't tell us that, we do not need to know how mediocre you are in bed"
" Fuck off Humfrey !"
Stading in front of your brother's tent, you sigh as you watch his squire help him put on the last piece of his armour, just as other young boys are doing in the neighbouring tents.
"I think it’s ridiculous that father made us come here. Even making you take part in the joust. Couldn’t he just have come with his heir like everyone else?"
"You complain too much, sister. There’s wine, music and fights. Everything anyone could ask for to ward off boredom"
“You say that because you enjoy taking part in all this bloodshed.”
Your brother shrugs his shoulders.
"Father insisted you come because he’s worried." He explains.
Your lips tighten into a straight line, refusing to speak of this again.
"You’ve locked yourself away in the castle for the last five years, ever since your husband’s death. Father isn’t getting any younger and he just wants to see you settled before anything happens to him."
"Don’t say that, he’s in fine health." you decide to argue over this, trying to avoid the real issue.
Fully aware of that, he calls your name in a stern tone, but you roll your eyes at him.
"So what? What is he worrying about? It’s not as if our brother will kick me out once he inherits."
"Of course not. You know that."
"Then all is fine. Let us stop talking of ill fate."
Your brother, exasperated with your reactions, goes inside his tent to look for his helmet.
You turn around to leave him and take your place beside your father in the stands, but a man calls out to you.
"Is that beautiful cunt still for sale?" you hear, before a heavy hand slaps your backside.
You turn around, ready to slap whoever had the nerve to utter those words to you, but as you face who did, all the colour drains from your face.
What in the seven hells is the manwhore you fucked yesterday doing here? Standing before you in golden armour and a shield painted with house Baratheon’s sigil, no less.
You’re about to ask just that when your brother bursts out of his tent
"What did you just say to my sister?" he asks, ready and willing to start a fight.
Lyonel looks at you, your perfectly styled hair and expensive dress in your house’s colours. Then at your brother, a knight, stepping out of a tent in your house’s colours and adorned with its sigil. Then he looks back at you once more and is nothing but confusion.
"It’s nothing!” you quickly blurt out. “I believe Lord Baratheon has mistaken me for someone else. It seems he’s already had a fair bit to drink too. Do not mind him. "
"I didn’t mean to offend your sister, ser, I swear. It’s true, I’ve had a bit too much to drink," he lies,he's not even tipsy.
Then he turns to you and lower his head "My apologies, my lady."
Your brother lock his eyes with yours, wanting to make sure all is fine before he leaves for his joust. You give him a reassuring smile and a nodd.
He shoots another dismissive glance in Lyonel’s direction, ignoring his apology, before approaching you.
"Very well. Let’s leave it at that. Go and join father now. You need to watch me knock that Frey cunt on his arse."
You don’t need to be told twice, looking for any excuse to get out of this situation, you scurry back to the stands. Just as you think you’re finally out of trouble, your wrist is roughly grabbed and you’re dragged away from the tournament field, towards the forest.
You wonder just how he managed to catch you in that armour, but dismiss the question as unimportant. You pull your arm free from his grip when he finally stops walking, hiding you both behind a tree.
"You owe me an explanation." The stag lord states. You thought he’d be angry, but he still has the same familiar grin, which really pisses you off.
" I do ? " you retort, completely baffled.
“Yes. Why did you pretend to be a whore yesterday ?"
Your eyes widen at the very thought.
"A whore?" you echo back in horror. "You’re the whore, not me!"
He stares at you, incredulous.
"What on earth are you on about, woman? If you’re not a whore, then why were you with the lad I paid for?"
“I paid for him too and was with him before you even got there ! I thought the owner had sent you to me.” you try to explain you side of the story
He points at himself, dumbfounded that you’d think, or anyone, that he was a prostitute.
“That can’t be true. You just called me Lord Baratheon with your brother”
"Look at you !" you shriek in frustration. "You’re blinding me with that golden armour ! Even got stupid antlers engraved. It is not difficult to figure out." you say, far too bluntly.
That makes him chuckles, it seems that you kept your bite outside of the bedroom too.
" And just why did you not come to this conclusion yesterday ?"
"I’ll remind you that you came in half-naked. That made you a very convincing whore, my lord." you snap.
"Well, so did you, my lady. The owner told me he had a surprise for me, and when I came in, you were putting on quite a show."
You glare at him before burying your face in your hands
"Gods, I’m going to kill that wrinkly, cunning old thing. Paid him a fucking fortune too."
At the mention of money, Lyonel suddenly remembers something
"Wait… why did you leave a pouch of coins then?"
For some reason, you’re all of a sudden flustered.
"Well, it was just a tip." you answer honestly.
"So… you didn’t give me the night for free then?" he asks, dejected.
“So not only am I a whore, I’m also a whore with terrible business acumen. " you laugh at the thought. "You flatter yourself, my lord."
“You did leave me a tip, didn’t you? That still means you enjoyed yourself,” he teases.
That’s it. You cannot stand his smug smile anymore. You decide you’ve had enough of this conversation, and so you start to walk away from him.
“Wait, my lady. We’re not done talking,” he tries to hold you back.
“Yes, we are done, my lord,” you respond flatly. You turn to face him. “Speak of this as you wish. I do not care about a reputation beyond repair”
A half-truth. You do worry a little, not for yourself or any future prospects—you got none at your age. You only worry about the consequences for your family.
With that, you leave him without another word. Lyonel watches you go, both hands resting atop the pommel of his sword, a foolishly smitten smile lingering at the corner of his lips.
This night will remain unspoken of. A secret held between the two of you alone. Perhaps with Olyvar too.
Yet even as you disappear from sight, Lyonel finds himself wanting more than just sharing your bed again, though he’s not averse to the idea.
No, he thinks you’d look far lovelier in his bed at Storm’s End , dressed in Baratheon gold. He will see it made real.
I am currently sick so I need a little bit of comfort 🥲 I would like read, how would the AKOTSK men treat you when you are sick.
ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱɪᴄᴋᴇʀ | ᴀᴋᴏᴛꜱᴋ ᴍᴇɴ
─ content: fluff, these men are too much
─ a/n: I hope you're not sick anymore, if you are that's actually insane. We're getting through this inbox slowly but surely. Thank you for likes, comments, reblogs, and requests. 🖤
Lyonel brings you everything, too much of everything, blankets you do not need, broths and tonics, and three different remedies a hedge witch swore by, half the contents of the kitchens. He is tireless and utterly devoted, fluffing your pillows. When you tell him, faint and amused, that you only need quiet and sleep, he tucks you in and stations himself by the door like a guard, glaring at anyone who might wake you.
Daeron climbs straight into the bed with you. You protest, telling him he'll catch it, and he waves you off entirely, settling in and pulling you against his side. He keeps you company through the worst of the boredom, tells you ridiculous stories, makes you laugh until it turns into coughing, and then rubs your back through it. He is the most restful kind of company. You can be miserable and unlovely and half-asleep, and he will simply be there, perfectly content, holding you while you wait it out.
Aerion is crazy about it. The maesters tend you under threat, and he makes the nature of the threat very clear — fix her. He will not allow anyone else to bring you your broth or sit you up against the pillows; those are his to do. He is not good at soft words. So instead, he lies down beside you and lets you rest your head on his chest, one hand moving slowly through your hair, and stays exactly that still for as long as you need him.
Valarr turns nursing you into a campaign, and he runs it flawlessly. Broth at the right hours, the chamber kept warm but not stifling, every remedy the maesters suggest procured before they finish the sentence. He is gentle and endlessly patient, making sure you are comfortable, smoothing your hair back, pressing his lips to your too-warm forehead, and lingering there. "Rest," he murmurs, every time you so much as shift toward apologising for being a burden. "You are no trouble to me. None at all."
Maekar is unbearable to everyone except you. He barks at the maesters as though your cold is a personal failing on their part, demands to know why it is taking so long, paces the length of the chamber until you tell him, "Sit down, you're making me dizzy." He sits. He frets. He will not say he is worried, that would require admitting there is something in the world that can frighten him, so instead he grips your hand too hard and tells you that you will be well by morning because he has decided it. When you finally sleep, he stays awake the whole night listening to you breathe.
Baelor does not leave. There is a realm that needs running, so he simply brings it to you, settling in at your bedside with all his work, his letters, and his ledgers, from a chair beside your sickbed so he never has to take his eyes off you for long. He keeps an ever-watchful eye on you as he works. The maesters are in and out, and he listens to every word they say. Eventually, you get so tired of watching him labor that you ask him to come sit with you, just for a moment. He looks at all the work still waiting and decides it can wait. He reads to you until you fall asleep. And when you wake, you find that he has fallen asleep too.
i love making friends in fandom, i love playing with our toys together, i love coming up with increasingly niche aus, i love lifting strangers up, i love motivating people to create, i love watching someone get excited over an idea and immediately running with it, i love yelling in tags together, i love seeing someone gain confidence in their writing/art because people were kind to them <33
if you ever see me post an AI generated image, please assume it is because I am fucking stupid and not because I support and use generative AI. the search results on many search engines and picture sharing websites are absolutely infested with AI and I do my very best to avoid AI generated images but there is always the possibility that I will not notice because, again, I am not terribly observant and I don’t have good eyesight. I know it is frustrating and I know it is my responsibility to look into the image source but things will slip through the cracks, please inform me instead of assuming I know
i have this headcannon of Dunk furiously chewing mint leaves when he wants to kiss you to make his breath nice and he is incredibly nervous about it. you’re shopping at the market, looking at all the vendor’s stalls and he’s standing off to the side chewing like his life depends on it, eyes flicking over to you to check if you’re done shopping yet. eventually he sees you pay and start walking over to him, so he spits the leaves out trying to be as fast and subtle as possible lol!
“ready to go?” he asks you, cheeks flaming pink. he’s trying to act casual like he wasn’t sputtering and scraping the mint off his tongue just seconds ago.
the wind brought the smell of the cooked meat along with the smell of roses blooming in the royal gardens. you were scurrying across the backyard with a water bucket for the kitchen. it was your first time being this close to the castle. usually, you were helping out in the stables, changing the water, feeding, and washing the beautiful royal horses. you loved the job and the animals, it was comforting in many ways and lacked the hurry and constant noise that was an integral part of any other servant job. but not today, today you were in the kitchens. your sister fell ill, and there are never enough hands to satisfy the appetites of the highborns.
your head was occupied with all the amounts of things you had to do, and there were not so many hours left before lunch. the small amount of water splashed out as you stumbled on a scattered pile of rocks, kicking one with your foot in irritation. the chatter and noise from the kitchen was heard even from the outside, cooks and maids gossiping about the royal household, and cursing out the rude lords.
"faster, faster! you think you are on the walk?" one of the older cooks took a bucket out of your hands in irritation, nudging you into the kitchen. "go help tansy with the leftovers and then brew the stew!"
"yes, cook." you hurried on to the corner where the maids gathered all the untouched food from the royal tables, before it was divided among the servants. on lucky days, your sister even managed to bring meat home, left from a particularly big feast.
tansy looked up from the pile when she heard your footsteps. "there you are! i saved you some bread before the mailboy took it." she shoved something wrapped in white cloth into your hands.
"you are the best, tansy."
"hurry up, there are still a few sacks in the backyard!" one of the cooks called out, making you sprint to the door. you were trying to keep everything in mind, but it was hard to focus with the fast pacing of everything. quickening your pace, you crossed the kitchen, striding to the backyard door. bring the sack, help tansy, brew the stew... the sight before you made you stop suddenly. some boy was rummaging through the food on the table prepared for the late breakfasts. "hey!" you yelled. "that is not yours to touch!"
the boy turned to your voice, startled. he was older than you initially thought, though there was still something boyish in his face. perhaps a noble squire. he was just staring at you with a confused expression, and you felt a surge of irritation getting through you. "you have problems with your hearing?" you took a pastry out of his hands and set it back on the plate. "there is enough work to do without you stealing royal goods!"
“stealing royal goods?” the boy smiled, as if the situation amused him. he had a kind smile, a charming one even, and you frowned at his audacity to be so unbothered.
"geniunely, have some shame, we are working, tired as dogs here, while you think you can just do whatever you want because you are polishing the armour of some knight?"
he just stared at you, now wide-eyed, his grin disappeared completely, and you felt victorious at such drastic change of his expression.
“so?” you pressed, frowning as he kept standing there frozen.
“i- yes. sorry. i am so sorry. don’t know what got to me, m’lady.” he cleared his throat looking somewhat ashamed? flustered? you couldn’t quite tell. “please let me make amends for you by offering my help.”
mlady? was he mocking you? you blinked at him. “help?”
“yes, mlady. you mentioned you are tired from hardwork and have lots of things to accomplish. let me deserve your forgiveness and be of help.”
it was only then that you noticed his eyes were two different colours. one was a soft brown, the other a strange mix of blue and violet. they remained fixed on you with an earnestness that caught you off guard.
he shifted slightly and stepped closer with a concerned expression. “have i offended you, mlady?”
his face was touched with genuine worry and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that his manner of speaking was even weirder than his eyes. a noble squire being this kind and well mannered? it was a novelty someone who spent so much time in rough and crude company of knights, most of whom weren’t half as good as the songs say, saved so much gentleness in him.
“no. no, you have not offended me.” you looked him up and down once again, noticing the unusual fineness of his clothes. did all squires dress so lavishly? it seemed unfair. “alright, if you are so willing to help, then let it be.” you took him by the sleeve and lead him towards the courtyard, he stumbled slightly but quickly went after you. “here. these sacks of flower should be carried to the storage shed.”
he nodded earnestly and rolled up his sleeves. “alright, where is the storage shed?”
“right there.” you sighed, pointing behind him. “it is not exactly hidden, you know.”
he simply nodded without reacting to the jab.
“how should i call you?” you asked, unlocking the door to the shed for him.
“valarr.”
“that’s a strange name.”
"it is? i have never thought so." despite his lean built he picked up the first sack with unexpected ease.
you bent over picking up one as well. with another pair of hands the work could go twice as quickly and you could even safe some time for sneaking few apples into the stables after dinner.
“have you no other tasks to accomplish?” question came out of your mouth with more coldness in it than you intended. “i mean, don’t squires train endlessly? you can be punished for being here with me.”
“i promised to help you, mlady, please don’t worry about me.” valarr picked another bag. “should you have carried this huge pile alone?”
“thank you.” you couldn’t help but smiled. there was something so charming about him it was hard not to.
“so you do this everyday then?”
you plopped down another sack on the wooden floor. “no. usually i work at the stables, im helping out my sister here.”
“at the stables? with the royal horses you mean?” his voice sounded weirdly enthusiastic suddenly.
“of course i mean the royal horses.” you turned to pick up another sack and nearly bumped into him, his face inches from yours. the unexpected proximity forced a gasp out of you.
valarr smiled at that. "careful," he steadied you by the shoulders. “you seem to be in such hurry.”
“i am in a hurry,” you replied, partly offended. “and you should be in a hurry too! there are so many more things we need to do before—"
"we?"
you stopped talking, studying him. valarr looked weirdly pleased with himself, smiling at you, almost patronizingly, and it only fueled your irritation.
"i thought you said you would help me." you stepped back and tilted your head up, giving him a slightly contemptful look. "or are squires taught to steal and then lie nowadays?"
"lie?" valarr blinked. "no, no, m'lady, i was sincere. it's not— just the way you said 'we' it— i'm sorry. again." he looked at the ground, avoiding your sharp gaze. "i mean— yes. right. i am helping."
he bent down swiftly and hoisted the sack over his shoulder, continuing the work silently. you watched him for a moment, torn between confusion, annoyance, and something warm. he was definitely strange. very strange.
the sun climbed higher as the last sack was put in its place. you shook off the remaining flour from your hands and locked the door. valarr still looked somewhat ashamed of himself, and you felt a pang of guilt for being so harsh with him.
"you have flour here." you stepped up to him, reaching for the white streak in his brown hair. you frowned as his hand shot up and grabbed your wrist, gently stopping the motion.
"it is not flour." he said sheepishly, still not letting go of your hand.
you stepped even closer, despite his attempts to turn away, and took his jaw in your hand, tilting his head for better access. "your hair is white here... how is that even possible?" you ran your fingers through the white streak carefully, and he shuddered slightly under your touch.
"did i hurt you?" you asked, surprised. his physical reaction snapped you out of the confusion, and you realized how close you two are standing.
"no, not at all... i just," valarr let go of your hand and made a quick step back.
“how did it happen?” you asked, looking at his head with suspicion.
"i was born like that.”
this made you scoff in disbelief. “really?”
valarr nodded earnestly and opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by the yelling from the kitchens. “girl! where in the seven hells have you been!? stop gawking and move! back to work!”
your head snapped to the side and you scurried over to the kitchen door. “fetch the water, while im gone!” you turned back to valarr, without stopping and pointed at the well.
“when will i see you again, mlady?” he called back.
you just rolled your eyes with a smile and disappeared inside.
what a strange strange boy you thought, carrying the tray of bread from the oven to the cooling table. ridiculous but so charming. ridiculously charming…
“where have you been?” tansy appeared in front of you, making you jump.
“in the courtyard. moving sacks—“
she didn’t let you finish, tugging you by the skirts closer and whispering. “i heard the prince was here today.”
“the prince? which one? there are like… at least three of them.”
“shh! don’t shout about it. donna said she saw the young prince coming down the kitchens. she said he smiled at her.” tansy glanced behind her back and continued. “they say the young prince is the nicest out of the royal family.”
you scoffed, freeing yourself from her grasp and started wiping the cutlery. “the nicest? what, does that mean he doesn’t burn people for fun?”
“that’s not funny! he is truly nice! and very handsome also, i haven’t seen him in person but i have heard prince valarr’s eyes are two different colors—”
the loud clank echoed through the room as the silver spoons scattered around the stone floor.
“what?” you yelped, kneeling quickly to pick up what you dropped. “what’s the prince’s name again?”
“prince valarr! how can you not know his name? everyone in the castle is gossiping about the young prince. he is second in line to the throne, after all!”
you gripped tansy’s hand, shushing her babbling. “valarr. and he has mismatched eyes?”
“that’s what they say.”
you shook your head in disbelief. insanity. it couldn’t be him. no no no no way.
“and his hair?” you asked, quick smile forming on your face as you remembered the stories. “his hair should be white! all targaryens are white haired, aren’t they?”
gods, of course it wasn’t him. stupid.
“most of them yes,” tansy started uncertainly, unnerved by your sudden emotional outburst. “but not everyone. jez said prince valarr is not only handsome but he also has a patch of white hair, even though rest if his head is dark.”
your hand snapped to cover your mouth in horror. you had told him to fetch water. tansy looked confused and you just watched her for a few moments before turning around and bolting to the courtyard, almost knocking down a basket of apples on your way. you were panting and glancing around, eyes searching for the tall figure, but there was none. courtyard empty and silent. two buckets filled with water waiting near the threshold.
a/n: tysm for the request, anon!! <33 english is not my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes
──── ♖ ────
𐃯 daeron is the original yearner. he invented this term with the way he restricts himself to become closer to you and keeps his distance, simultaneously being torn apart by the inexplicable ache in his heart to the very thought of you
𐃯 he is the type to try and burry his feelings deep deep inside, because he sees himself as a burden and the last thing he wants is to make your life harder in any way, so the harder he falls, the more distant he tries to be
𐃯 but still watches you constantly, he just can’t help himself, he is more than mesmerised, it feels like his eyes physically can not help but find you wherever you are
𐃯 he tortures himself on purpose by not looking away when you bend over, and he has an amazing view of silk hugging the fullness of your hips and ass, by the way his glance slides down to the swell of your breasts, when you lean closer to whisper something to him. daeron shuts his eyes, relishing in the sweet agony of the light trail of your perfume reaching his nose, while his imagination runs wild with how it would feel to lick the skin of your neck and taste you on his tongue
𐃯 externally, though, he shows nothing. the maximum reaction that comes out of daeron is a slight smile and a teasing comment. you have no idea what is going on inside this man's head, and you definitely don't suspect even a small amount of perversion that is lurking in his mind because of you
𐃯 one day he saw you with another suitor and that made him feel so much emotions at once, he barely coped. daeron hated himself for wanting something so beautiful, so precious so egotistically and selfishly. but hating himself was easier than live with an unbearable fear of losing the only light in his life
𐃯 so even though he thinks he doesn't deserve you, he still courts you. because he just can't help himself, he knows that he physically can't let anyone else have you, let alone someone who might potentially not treat you right!! and in his eyes no one is worthy enough for you
𐃯 his courting is not loud nor chivalrous. it’s personal. it’s messy and raw, intertwined with respect for you as a person, affection for a dear friend, and an unbearable longing for you as a woman
𐃯 in his eyes you are an angel, a literal goddess, that somehow appeared in his life and is taunting his self restraint and sanity daily
𐃯 writes you drunken gut-wrenching poetry that leaves you in literal tears while he says it’s ‘nothing’, hoping you wouldn’t laugh at him and getting nervous because of your speechless state
𐃯 he dreams of you almost every night, stirring up all drenched in sweat with your name on his lips. the dreams are always different, and he never knows which one it will be: hell or heaven. daeron sees you laughing, screaming, moaning, crying. for countless mornings, he woke up with an image of you still so fresh in his mind, depending on a dream, either with light tears in his eyes or hardness in his breeches
𐃯 he will try escorting you everywhere. “just keeping you company” he’d say, even though it’s quite obvious that he just craves your attention as much as he craves the wine. he makes you laugh a lot and you whisper to each other comments about the court constantly
𐃯 you become inseparable long before you are betrothed, everyone in court already gossiping about your future marriage already, because of how much time the prince clearly dedicates to you
𐃯 daeron tries so hard to become worthy of your love that he doesn’t notice that he already has it at first. he is trying to be less of a mess for you, not to embarrass your name in the eyes of the public for having him as your suitor. he tries to drink less, be more proper, appears in court more. even maekar notices the drastic change in his son and looks rather pleased with how everything is going
𐃯 you know about his feelings and intentions before he officially asks for your hand, and the alliance between your houses is arranged. daeron treats marriage as a chance of being extremely lucky and to call you his and to devote his life to you, so of course, he believes that the first person who should speak out on this matter must be you
𐃯 there are no grand confessions nor sweet words. it's a calm "you know i can't live without you, right?" spoken quietly in one of the moments of comfortable silence, "will you give me the honour of calling you mine?" and you just nod, because you have been his already for a very long time
𐃯 once you are betrothed, he is the happiest. he still drinks, but the reality isn’t wrapped in dread and emptiness anymore; everything suddenly has purpose; his eyes are unusually bright and full of life
𐃯 daeron cares about propriety and reputation only to an extent of not making you any trouble. that's all he cares about, your honour, your happiness, and your love. he loves you even more for the fact that he can be himself with you. that being said, he is definitely not going to behave once you are officially promised to him
𐃯 he will steal a few kisses before the wedding, starting innocently with only kissing your knuckles, and then three minutes later, you are suddenly in his lap, his mouth devouring yours in a slow, filthy, wet kiss. daeron is so touch-starved and hungry, he can barely contain himself
𐃯 he is very physically affectionate. in public, it's holding your hand constantly, wrapping his hands around your waist from behind, kissing your forehead, nuzzling into your neck. while in private, is pinning you to the stone wall, covering you in kisses, making out with you until your lips feel numb, sliding his hands under your nightgown, and leaving hickeys all over your chest
𐃯 daeron doesn't really believe in purity nonsense, so if you would initiate something before the wedding, he is more than ready, but if you want to wait until you are wed before the gods, he agrees. daeron deeply respects any of your choices
𐃯 he sneaks into your chambers every night, sometimes just to talk a little more, sometimes… not to talk. but a lot of times it is innocent, he sleeps better beside you, enveloped by your scent and you like the warmth of his body beside you, his hands gripping your waist and hips in his sleep as if you might vanish of he lets go
𐃯 daeron would beg to eat you out, saying it 'doesn't count'. you both successfully find many loops that let you enjoy each other’s bodies before the sacred wedding night. grinding through clothes, helping each other out with hands, rubbing and licking. everything is on the table and you gladly enjoy the opportunity of making each other whimper with just a teasing touch of fingers
𐃯 but once you are married it’s even worse (in the best way possible). all pent up energy comes out, carnally possessing both of you to the point of borderline insanity. you fuck all the time, at any given moment, simply unable to stop kissing and touching each other. daeron says it helps him cope from the torturous dreams and that not even wine can make him so deliciously numb like the sweetness of your body. you are of course, help him ease his burden, making the constant ache feel bearable, using your hands, mouth and cunt. as a loving wife should
𐃯 he is a pleaser through and through, though his desire to bring you pleasure is wrapped in so much repressed lust that with him each time feels feverish and animalistic. he is not simply rough, he is raw, desperate and wanting, claiming you like a starving beast
𐃯 daeron is a walking bundle of deep soul crushing affection, undying devotion and vulnerable love mixed with unfathomable fleshly lust and ungodly greed
𐃯 he will never believe that he deserves to be with you, no matter how many times you tell him so, but he would rather die than make you cry even single tear that isn’t from pleasure
𐃯 you are not just a wife to him, you his best friend, his biggest weakness, his anchor, his curse and his salvation. and he is finally living a life he has never even dreamed of
