Write in progress

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐲 - 𝟑𝟎𝐬 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 + 𝟏𝟖 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

[sallymaywritings]

Welcome!

Hi, I'm Sally May. I'm here with a fresh new blog to improve my writing skills. I'll make some gifs too. I'll reblog a lot for sure. This post will be regularly updated with a list of my stories & other info.

Feel free to DM me!

You can find my writings on Ao3 too

Masterlist under the cut ⤵️

Duncan the Tall

Oblivious Oblivious Pt.2

Maekar Targaryen

Cyvasse Portraits: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 Heavy Burden Fireplace Carnal

Lyonel Baratheon

Bachelor party at Storm’s End | Lyonel x F!Reader

Other

One Night in the Storm | Lyonel Baratheon x F!Reader x Duncan the Tall 200 followers milestone | ft. Maekar, Lyonel and Baelor What are you looking at? | ft. Maekar, Lyonel and Baelor 300 followers milestone | ft. Maekar, Lyonel, Baelor, Duncan and Cregan

Requests

Maekar Targaryen

A little bit of help | Maekar x F!Reader The Seventh Day | Maekar x F!Reader The Dress | Maekar x F!Reader The threat of the bull | Maekar x F!Reader Redgrass | Maekar x F!Reader Req no title 01 | Maekar x F!Reader The Right Treatment | Maekar x F!Reader The Ride of the Wolf | Maekar x F!Reader Motherhood | Maekar x F!Reader The Wrong Prince | Maekar x F!Reader Love Niche | Maekar x F!Reader

Lyonel Baratheon

Deer Hunting | Lyonel x F!Reader Thunder - Deer Hunting pt.2 | Lyonel x F!Reader Knights | Lyonel x M!Reader The Game | Lyonel x TargPrincess x Duncan Req no title 01 | Lyonel x F!Reader Gilded Silver | Lyonel x F!Reader Twins!Dad Lyonel x Targ!Reader Headcanons

Don't Play With The Box | Ormund Hightower x F!Reader (in progress) | Roderick Dustin x F!Reader

The wife and the hitman | Part 1 - Part 2 | Ole Munch x F!Reader

Other Sam Spruell's characters:

The North Water

The Heart of the Sea | Michael Cavendish x F!Reader

Outlaw King

Butterfly | Aymer de Valence x F!Reader

[californiablues88]

[adumbgirlinloove]

𝔗𝔞𝔩𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢

Pairing : Lyonel Baratheon x Mallister!Reader

Summary : Lyonel's decision to take part in the Trial of the Seven deeply upsets you. However, once it's over, you decide to go find him in his tent, thinking this will be your last chance to speak to him. Instead, Lyonel finally claims his long-awaited reward.

Warnings : Smut !

Word Count : 4.4k

Masterlist House Mallister Prompts

Taglist : @yikes-buddy @purple-1995 @scarletwolfxox @liliac-dreamer @@tillbots

When he gave his word to the boy, he had no doubt about his decision. He was certain of the righteousness of Duncan's reaction and consequently of his own. He also believed that this trial would prove to be a unique opportunity to cut off the dragon's head, hoping it would at least temper the flames of your resentment.

It would not change anything about the years you had spent haunted by your sister's absence. The whispered confidences you might have shared about your romantic escapades, the quiet nights when the two of you might have got up to mischief, the reassuring words she would have offered on the eve of your wedding ... All of those had been stolen from you. He could neither return them nor replace them.

The best he could offer you was making prince Rhaegel suffer the same grief that comes with loosing a sibling. A poor substitute to justice he would concede but justice nonetheles.

That's what carried him to your private pavillion, but what prompted him to slip inside unoticed was the wish to steal a few moments with you, in the hope of riding into the trial witht the warmth of your body still lingering against his skin.

When he took his first step inside, he had thought it was a brilliant idea. The most romantic he’d ever had in his whole life. It’s the sort of scenario young maiden love to read about in their romance novels: a knight asking for their favour, a token of affection before setting off to risk his life for a noble cause.

However, judging by your icy look fixed on him, you obviously do not share his view on the romantic aspect of his gesture.

"I see no reason to continue a conversation with a talking corpse. See yourself out before I call for my brothers."

You lower your gaze once more to the book you had been reading before his intrusion.

" A talking corpse?" He scoffs, "Do you really have so little faith in me?"

"Yes"

The evident conviction in your answer made him purse his lips. "I thought you'd be pleased to hear someone is at last holding them accountable for their actions."

Your hand stills upon the page, your mouth slightly agape in disbelief.

"Pleased?" you echo, "Why would I be pleased to see you run to your death?"

"Why are you so certain this will be my grave? I am well trained."

Your hands slam down in frustration on the armrests of your chair.

"This is not solely about you, damn you!" you cried, "Do you truly believe prince Maekar will let his son die tomorrow ? He will have the Kingsguard participate. Whoever fight for the hedge knight got no chance. None."

" You do not know that."

"Neither do you. You've got no fucking clue on who will stand beside you tomorrow, do you?" you ask but you already know the answer. "You have no ground on being this confident about the outcome."

He stays silent, he wishes he could retort but he cannot. He's not even sure if Duncan will be able to rally enough men to his cause.

" I thought you wanted them to be dealt with." is the best defense he could come with.

"On a friendly joust, at most!" you exclaim in anger."Not on a fucking trial by combat, you imbecile!"

You grip the armrest tighter. It’s either that or you’ll slap the back of his head to knock back some sense into him.

"What would you have me do then?" he asks, voice rising with anger, or frustration. Or both. " This is also for Duncan. What he did was honourable and Aerion deserves to face the consequences of his actions. I cannot stand idle in front of such injustice."

“I’m not—,” you begin angrily but you take a deep breath to calm yourself, then resume, “You’re preaching to the converted Lyonel."

He steps closer, until he stands over you, towering in font of your chaise. Gently, he cradles your face, guiding your gaze to meet his.

"If you agree then why are you so cross with me? Think of it as a retribution for what you had to go through."

" It doesn’t change the fact that it’s daft and suicidal.”

He could swear you eyes were getting brighter by the second, perhaps glistening with unshed tears.

" My sister has long been gone. This won't change anything. And I would rather not have your death on my conscience."

" It's also what honour asks of me." he argues.

You let out a slow breath, the decison you're about to make sit heavy on your chest, enough that it steals your breath.

"I do no blame you for your decision." Your fingers tinghten around his, "But if I cannot change your mind then I want no part in what comes next."

He leans down until he's close enough that his warm breath hits your skin. Then he presses his lips to yours in a soft, almost timid kiss, as tough trying to convince you.

You let him.

"I've already lost too much," you whisper when he pulls away."If I'd never had you to begin with then I won't have to lose you."

Your hands slipped from his, and his arms fell heavily to his sides.

"Begone, now." you say, voice trembling despite every effort to steady it. "Please."

The weather of the day of the trial seems to mirror the turmoil within you. The day dawned grey and misty. You could barely make out a silhouette, just as you’re unable to tell what you were truly feeling.

You feel torn. You think you did the right thing by protecting yourself, for once, by keeping your distance from the current events. In a sense, at least, since you’re going to witness this carnage just like everyone else. But as you watch the commotion leading up to the trial, you feel a lump rise in your throat. You can’t quite put your finger on exactly what it is. Fear? Anxiety? Regret?

The night had been brief but it had given you much to think about. Your view of his involvement remains unchanged. You would rather not have to worry about his participation at all, but that does not seem to be part of his plans.

Yet something compelled you to see him up close, just one last time. You still hesitated on whether to wish him good luck.

And so you find yourself standing before the arena where the fight is about to take place, where you witness first-hand the betrayal of Steffon Fossaway. The spineless turncloak. You'd have cursed the entire Fossaway family tree if you'd had not seen his younger cousin stand up to him. You felt a certain pride as the young man chose honor over blood. The good lad.

That feeling only grew stronger when she saw Lyonel knight him on the spot, moved by the devotion these two men showed to their oath as they stood alongside ser Duncan.

All they needed now was a man who would remember his oath, and Ducan set about achieving this by addressing the crowd. While everyone’s eyes were fixed on the knight-errant, you seized the moment to call out to the young Fossaway.

"Boy! Come here."

Curiously, three heads turned round. Prince Aegon, who is undoubtedly the youngest of the little group. The newly knighted squire, whose first name you do not know and who seems far too accustomed to being addressed by that title given his age. And Lyonel, who you think recognised your voice given how quickly he turned upon hearing it.

Raymun, flustered by the sudden attention, points to himself. "Me?"

" Him?" you hear Lyonel, his voice a mixture of surprise and frustration.

"Yes," You nod. "You. Come closer."

He does as told. Until today, he had always been good at that, tough his cousin would not agree. You then hand him the ribbon that was holding your sleeve at your wrist. "Here. Take this.”

He accepts it with a slight hesitation. He knows what he’s supposed to do. Wrap it round the pommel of his weapon and thank you. Yet he stands motionless, his mouth open in confusion.

" You did the right thing just now" you assure him, hand resting on his arm in a comforting gesture. "Now listen, boy. I want you to kick your cousin arse. Do you understand me?"

“Yes, ma’am—Yes, my lady,” he stammers, whilst wrapping the fabric around his sword.

"Good. May the stranger spare you, ser."

"Why the fuck does the apple boy I just knighted get you favor over me ?" you hear the stag lord curse behind, tough he strides closer, gait heavy with anger.

That's the sign Raymun needed to flee.

" Because he needs it more than you." you explain, " You said it yourself, you're well trained."

" Doesn't mean I did not want it " he grumbles

You lean over the barrier, inching closer to him. Taking in his features before the fight. "I am sure the laughing storm does not need a ribbon to come out victorious."

" It a real nice piece one." he insists "Real pretty colors. Worn by a real pretty lady as well" he says

" You'll get to have as much of them as you want if your remain true to your words."

"i can just steal the boy's"

"Lyonel."

" All right. I'll let him keep it. " he conceds "For now."

You cross your arms, giving him a piercing, warning look as you take a step back. You need to join your family before they come looking for you.

"I'll pray the stranger to spare you."

"You do not strike me as the religious sort." he remarks

" You're right. I am not." you confirm " Consider yourself fortunate that my rare prayers are for your sake."

He smiles, not the bright and wild grin he so often wore. This one was quieter, the corner of his mouth barely lifting, yet carrying a softness that made the gesture all the more genuine.

" I'll make sure they are not wasted."

He walks away from you with that unspoken promise. He rejoin his comrades for the day while keeping an eye on you out of the corner of his eye as you join your family in the stands.

His attentio is however quickly drawn away by Dunk’s speech. All the more so when Baelor Targaryen steps forward as the last knight to side with Dunk.

What a show-off, he thinks. Every knight who has decided to vouch for Duncan has done so for honourable reasons. Yet he knows full well that only Baelor's chivalry will be praised. It only serves to sour his mood further to think that they are all taking a considerable risk by opposing the royal family. Some more than others.

Nevertheless, he can admit if only to himself, that the prince's intervention is welcome. He would never say as much aloud, of course. On the countraty, he intended to voice his displeasure. Loudly. By motionning his mother, for instance.

He cackled to himself as he ride to their side of the field after that. Tough he makes surre to puff out his chest as he does, knowing you must be watching him.

All that remained was for him to emerge alive from Westeros’s bloodiest customs. After all, this was the perfect chance to win the approval of your father and brothers. They would certainly be more inclined to accept a man of honor and courage, especially if he was willing to stand up to the family that had caused theirs so much pain.

He'd make sure to put on quite a display.

A shit show. That was what it really was. A bloody one at that.

The Humfreys died within the first few minutes. Prince Baelor at least had the decorum not to bleed out in front of the entire audience. You found yourself surprisingly indifferent to his fate.

For years, you’ve carried the weight of grief within you. It’s a burden you’ve learned to live with, and no amount of blood can change that. On the contrary, the blood shed by another man has only made the burden that’s weighed on your heart heavier.

Indeed, despite all his fine words, Lyonel fared little better. From what you could gather, he ended up like all the others. Nothing more than a heap of battered flesh bruised black and blue.

Despite your concerns, you kept your distance.

Partly because approaching him had become surprisingly difficult. His men stood guard outside his tent, which had gone from being one of the tournament’s main attractions to a place few dared to disturb. Tough you knew he would have let you in if you’d asked. You just couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt either his rest or his mourning. At least, that was the excuse you came up with at first.

In truth, you simply didn't know what to say to him.So you kept putting it off.

At first, you decided you would speak to him once he was done with ser Duncan. You’d heard that he’d been searching for him all over the tournament grounds, and judging by his efforts, it was clear that this conversation meant a great deal to them both.

Then you found yet another excuse to delay, telling yourself you would speak to him after the funeral. But the funeral is over now. The scent of cooling ashes still lingers in the air and with his men already packing away his belongigs, it seems Lyonel departure is only a matter of hours.

Standing in front of his tent, you think it’s now or never, and you know you’ll regret it if you let it be never. It’s this thought that drives you toward his tent. And just as you’d thought, you walked right in without any trouble.

The sight that greets you inside isn’t entirely unpleasant. The Storm lord is sprawled on a couch, his arm covering his eyes in a futile attempt to shield himself from the light. Probably because of a headache. No wonder, given the blows he’s taken.

You announce your arrival in a lighthearted tone.

“Your men let me in far too easily.”

He rises too quickly, in his surprise tugging at his wound in the process, if his grunt is anything to go by. His hands rest at his sides, finally giving you a clear view of his bruised face. You hiss when you see his black eye.

" They know better than to stop a pretty lady from entering" he says with a grin that does little to to disguise the pain in his voiice.

Despite his condition, he seems pleased to find you standing before him. That this time you’re the one who’s come to him.

"Is that so ?" you muse, arching a brow, "It's a sight they're used to then ?"

"Trust me," he says, "they have never seen one as stunning as you."

"Well, that can't be said for you. You look like shit."

From a practical standpoint it is true., but there is something strangely endearing about his battered-puppy eyes and damp curls. You have to resist the urge to brush them aside to get a better look at his sight.

He huff at your remark. He may not be at his best, but he recognize the fondness in your gaze. He leans back against the chair and spread his legs, hand resting on his thighs with all the confidence you have come to know him for.

“Hmm. I know,” he agrees, adding an exagerated hiss to his act “I don’t just look bad. I feel terrible too. Maybe you could help remedy that?” he replies in a sly tone.

You bite back the smile tugging at your lips and instead busy yourself by scanning the space in a futile attempt to avoid that sinful pose.

“I think you have a maester for that,” you remark, your hands brushing against the antler crutch leaning against a post.

“He’s a good-for-nothing,” he complains.

“Oh, poor thing,” you coo amused by his theatrics, “The best I can do is pour you a glass of wine.”

“There's no doubt that this will be more effective than any of his concoctions. Besides, seeing you strut around in my tent might just be the cure I need."

You snort loudly and he immediately follows with his own laugh .You make your way to a small table behind him, but just as you’re open a bottle, a flash of indigo catches your eye.

You’re quite certain that colour has no place in a Baratheon tent

“You little shit !” you blurt when you realize it’s the ribbon you’d given Raymun. It’s now carefully wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

He glance over his shoulder with difficulty and scrunches his nose when he realizes he’s been caught.

“This so childish.” you tell him but your tone does not hold any real accusation.

“He didn’t need it anymore and I told you I’d take it back.”

“You mean you stole it. ”

“No,” he insists. “I took it back. I was generous enough to lend it to him for the trial.”

You decide not to argue . He seems convinced by his version. Instead, you return to his side and sit beside him.

“You didn’t bring my wine.” he complains.

“No wine for thieves.”

“It’s not theft if—” he begins again, but you place your hand over his mouth.

“I get it." you laugh." Stop it ! I really do get it."

You feel the warmth of his lips on your palm before he pulls away. Instead of letting go completly he catches it in his own, his fingers closing around yours

“What are you doing here?” he asks once calm has returned.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure," you admit. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Before you left ”

“And here I was thinking you were here to congratulate me."

“For what ? Acting recklessly ? ”

He lets his forehead fall on your shoulder and a moment later you feel the warmth of his lips as he places a trail of slow, damp kisses along your neck.

“That's according to you. I do not agree.”

“You're the most stubborn man I have ever met.”

“You're one to talk" he says. " I knew you weren't happy with my decision, but you're the one who threw me out of your tent. The one who refused me your favor. Then you made me wait an entire day before coming to see me." he sighs dramatically, " I'd hoped you would come straight the trial. I wasn’t opposed to the idea of being tended to by a beauty like you."

“You were already well taken care of and what right would I have had to come to your bedside?" you ask quitely, " I’m not supposed to be anyone to you. ”

“You could be.” he said, squeezing your hand. “I want you to be.” he corrects himself.

“Oh, I beg you, Lyonel, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” he says before you can finish , “unless you don’t share my feelings. In that case, yes, I’m making a fool of myself.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say that, but what am I supposed to be in your eyes? A passing fling?”

“My bethroted, for starters." the answer seems obvious to him, "Then my wife."

“Marry me ? A widow ?" you ask "You cannot do that."

He leans back just enough to look at you proprely.

“I can marry whoever I choose. Who I spend the rest of my life with is entirely up to me. ”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

“Maybe not" ee shrugs." But I don’t care. You’re the one I want. You’re simply… the one. I can’t imagine it any other way. ”

He gently draws you closer until you’re straddling his lap. You’re careful not to rest your full weight to avoid hurting him.

“Please,” he pleads softly, “Think about it. Don’t reject the idea outright.”

His hands rest on your waist, as tough he is afraid you'll slip away

“I can be patient.”

“You don’t know the meaning of that word,” you try to reason him, but you do not even convince yourself.

He squeeze your waist ever so slightly , “I’ll learn to be. For you.”

It's your turn to nuzzle on his shoulder, careful to not rest on his bruises.

" Would you consider coming to Seaguard for a little while ?" you ask suddenly

"While I have nothing against the Stormlands,I don't think the weather is ideal for a recovery ."

You take another second to think of your next words.

" It would give more time." you hesitate, voice softening " Come to Seaguard and I'll consider it."

A grin spreads across his face.

" Sounds loverly to me.'" he says without a moment's hesitaton "Besides, I need to see what kind of place breeds women like you"

" Women like me ?"

" Yes. The kind who turns me into a fool and has me chasing after a stupid reward." he gives you a pointed look " Which I might add, I have yet to receive."

" I am fairly certain it was prince Maekar who unhorsed you, not the other way around. That was the deal."

He throws his head back with a groan of theatrical despair.

" Woman, you're impossible to bargain with. I did a damn good job."

" We will have to work on your definition of a good job" you reply, smiling as you run your hand over his chest “but I’m feeling generous today.”

You keep moving down until your fingertips rest on his cock, still covered by his pants. “Would that be enough of a reward for you?” you ask.

“Fuck yes,” he swears, his neck straining in anticipation.

The vein that pulses there makes your mouth water, so you move toward his neck, determined to leave a mark there.

As you take a perverse pleasure in licking and sucking his skin to carry out your little mischiefs, you place your hand flat against his cock through the fabric of his trousers. This simple gesture makes his stomach tense up and draws a breathless groan from him.

A familiar feeling of satisfaction spreads across your chest as you feel him harden.

Just as excited as him, you struggle to pull down his trousers and breeches, but you stop short when one of his bandages catches on his them, giving you a brief glimpse of the extent of his injuries and, above all, the horrific way they’ve been treated.

“Gods above, you do have a shit maester. Even I can sew better than that.”

He laughs dryly. That’s the least of his worries right now.

“ See ? I told you I needed you to make it all better”

You chuckle at his impudence.

You soothe his frustrations by sliding your thumb over the tip of his reddened tip, which draws a low moan from the very depths of his chest. In just a few strokes, your fingers are glistening with the precum oozing from his slit.

" Fuck, fuck.." he repeats, out of breath, as his head fall back onto the cushion.

“I’m working on it. Don't act spoiled now." you warn him

So you kneel down in front of him. He instinctively tries to reach out to you, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. He hesitates, wondering whether to pull your hair back into a ponytail, but finally decides just to bury his fingers in them. He wants you to go at your own pace, to enjoy what you have to offer him, and not just take. Even if all your teasing is driving him crazy.

Now that you're so close to him, you can admire his muscular thighs as much as you want and even treat yourself by kissing the skin that's still intact. You have to resist the urge to bite them, knowing that he already has enough bruises as it is.

You can always leave your mark another time. Instead, you deliberately let your lips brush the base of his cock, and you smirk as you watch him shudder at such a small touch.

“Damn it, just wrap those pretty lips of yours around me already” you hear above you.

Since this is meant to be a reward, you give in to his requests even if every fiber of your being begs you to tease him just a little longer. You first wrap your lips around the head of his member. His taste immediately overwhelms your senses as you begin to suck him gently, your hands stroking the rest of his shaft at a languid pace.

Lyonel's hand traces the curve of your jaw before brushing aside the strands of hair that hide your face from him. And he really, really wants to watch you work on him.

" What a fucking sight you are" he praises" Fucking beautiful."

You hum as you push him as deep as his girth will allow, your saliva escaping from the corners of your mouth and running down your chin.

“Shit. Sweet thing, I am not going to last.” he warns you. Not that you need him to tell you. The way he grips your hair and the little jerky movements of his hips speak for themselves.

That’s when the real moans starts to pour out. Lyonel knew neither shame nor restraint in the face of your warm mouth. After all, why hide how good you made him feel?

You pick up the pace, your chest tightening as the air grows thin, your hands clinging to his thighs to try to steady yourself.

“Yes, yes, just like that…” he mumbles, giving one last thrust before coming deep down your throat. “Seven hells, you’ve got a perfect mouth.”

You pull away from him, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a wet sound as you gasp, out of breath.

“Give me a minute and I’ll return the favor,” he pants, gently wiping the mess from your face with the pad of his fingers

You laugh at suggestion," Lyonel, you can barely walk."

"That's why you'll ride my face." he replies like it the obvious answer, "I’ve been thinking about it ever since I saw you with Olyvar. Now it’s my turn.”

GIF by @manny-jacinto ( this is exactly the face he made when the favor was given to Raymun, the apple pip he just knighted , instead of HIM)

Please Baelor girlies don't be mad at me I actually really like him !

I don't know when I'll post again, since I've been a little busy lately, but just know that I am working on a hurt/comfort request that I am very excited about !

[fysamspruell]

"When a man digs a grave, he has to fill it. Otherwise, it's just a hole."

[emziess]

SPIRITED AWAY 2001 | dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[sixofclovers]

hecate

[king-baelor]

mutual disappointment

[mhevarujta]

Official poster + We're getting the teaser on Friday.

[sallymaywritings]

[orson-pope]

In the Dark of the Night

Pairing: Cyrus x fem!reader

Summary: A sleep paralysis demon visits you again.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: MINORS AND AGELESS DO NOT INTERACT, NSFW, smut, explicit, DARK, blood, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, sexual assault, somnophilia, sleep paralysis, sleep paralysis demon, demon, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), not proofread, no beta, first draft yolo

Some tea, candles, meditation, again. It will work this time, you told yourself, your mind anxiously racing. It has to work. 

One good night of sleep was all you needed, one good, uninterrupted night without that man, a ghost really, invading your dreams. You shuddered just thinking about his increasing visits, his slow walk around your bed as you were frozen in paralysis, unable to move, unable to scream.

He would smile, showing off crooked teeth, his long hair jet black and his eyes red, an ornate ring on each finger, except the left ring finger. And then he would come closer, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, his body on top of yours but still careful not to touch you, yet. And then, he would lie down next to you, smelling you, whispering. 

He was always whispering, but you could never make out the words, his voice like a faint rumbling of leaves under the autumn wind. One of his fingers would slowly extend, the tips of his fingers black, like dipped in dirt, and he would carefully remove a strand of hair clinging to your lips away from your face.

“Pretty,” you heard him say once, your eyes immediately darting to his lips.

It sent a different kind of shudder through you, his touch and his voice.

This night was no different. He was already in bed with you when you woke, your mind in a panic. You could smell him before your eyes even got accustomed to the dark, an earthy scent mixed with a little bit of sulfur. Your breath hitched in an instant, and your heart was beating so hard it drowned out any other sound in your ears as you desperately tried to blink him away.

He smiled even wider, enjoying your panic. His finger was extended already, and you noticed the ring was shaped more like a claw, a sharp, gold metal glimmering under the street light making its way through your blinds.

Whispering again, you tried to make out the words, focusing on the movements of his lips. Everyone kept telling you your nightly visitor was not real. A figment of your imagination and a consequence of trauma; there were no ghosts or demons, and nothing supernatural was happening in your bedroom.

You tried to tell them that this guy was different; sure, you were visited by sleep paralysis demons before, and sure, they were terrifying. But this guy, he was something else. You even went to church to get blessed, the priest trying to calm you down by repeatedly telling you that you were not getting possessed. 

The more alone you were feeling, the more often he would come, and although initially disturbing, his visits became more soothing. Like you were a lamb he was trying to convince to willingly come to the slaughter.

And there was something else you couldn’t quite place, but it was so hard to look away from him… Although at first you found him repulsive, the black veins prominent on his face sending cold chills down your spine, you would describe him as charming. Magnetic. Charismatic. Seductive.

It was hard to tell what was real and what was not when you found yourself in this petrified state, except that you couldn’t move and couldn’t talk. So perhaps your friends were right. Perhaps this mysterious demon wasn’t real either. Perhaps feeling a cold, prickly metal slowly scraping against your lip was just your mind playing tricks on you.

He smiled, the hushest of growls escaping his throat, and then repeated it, his finger sliding over your lip faster, and then he quickly curled it, causing the sharp metal to pierce your skin. Surely, if this were real, the sensation alone would wake you up?

“So pretty,” he whispered, watching a drop of blood form and slide down your chin. He collected it with another finger, his touch featherlight, and licked his fingertip.

“And so tasty,” his pupils went wide, black on red filling your sight, as he slowly pushed you onto your back and crawled over you.

You realised, when a bunch of pendants, talismans, dragged over your chest, that he was shirtless under his jacket, a bunch of line tattoos that you couldn’t quite make out outlining his toned chest. Your breath hitched again, for a different reason, and you closed your eyes quickly. 

When you opened them again, he was still there, that twisted smile still on his face, his long, fine hair tickling your skin. He leaned in, his nose dragging over your shoulder until it reached the crook of your neck; he inhaled, a hoarse chuckle escaping his throat. You could feel cold sweat forming at the back of your neck, and you still couldn’t look away.

“I wonder what else tastes good?” he teased, his finger burning into the sensitive skin of the hollow of your throat. 

You exhaled sharply, still trying to speak, to scream.

He dragged his finger slowly in a straight line, stopping just above the thin fabric of your panties.

“And what do we have here?” he whispered as you desperately tried to move, a cold shiver forming at the small of your back. 

Gently, he pushed your legs wider, mesmerisingly staring at the wet spot on your panties, two of his fingers now sliding over it, before he pushed your panties aside. Cold air collided with your slick-ridden pussy, his fingers slowly pushing their way between your folds. You sighed.

He slid them up, spreading your needy juices over your clit, then down again, pushing a finger inside you. It felt good, so fucking good, his long finger slowly massaging your walls as his thumb kept drawing circles over your clit. Perhaps the nightmare was turning into something else entirely. 

Slowly, feeling a little bit of resistance, your mysterious demon started to introduce another of his long fingers, pulling out the first one slightly, your stomach disappointingly dropping at the loss of stimulation. You felt it then, your pussy acting as if it had a mind of its own, more of your slick gushing over his fingers as he finally pushed them both fully in.

A cold metal of his rings was pressing against your fluttering walls, a sensation so unexpectedly pleasant you felt like you almost moved. He kept pumping his fingers even as he leaned down, smelling your pussy, a first lick sending the most enjoyable shivers through you.

The knot in your stomach, long formed, was tightening as your demon kept lapping at your pussy, sucking at your clit, his fingers still tirelessly finger fucking you, the dual sensation completely overwhelming you. If only you could talk, talk and beg for his cock. 

He curled his fingers, hitting that one spot that was always bound to tip you over the edge, an orgasm so intense it finally released you from your paralytic shackles, shameless whimpers and moans falling from your lips as you ground your hips against his face, trying to prolong the feeling that made you feel so inconceivably good.

When you finally opened your eyes, still gripping your sheets, you were alone in your room, no demonic presence to be noted anywhere. You turned around, trying to sleep, ignoring the puddle of sweat you found yourself in.

Perhaps all of your dreams could end like this, you thought to yourself, grabbing a toothbrush, before stopping dead in your tracks. It was still visible: a little blood dried on your chin, and the tiniest of the cuts on your lower lip.

If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-

Masterlist౨ৎ

Tagging @sallymaywritings @californiablues88 @sem-ra @ghostlybfgf @nerdyinfluencertastemaker @risefallrise @cintoasted @aryaslittleneedle @fromirkwood @ctrlanthro @xyahx @alexjacobsgoodnight @moonlights-muse

taglist ♥︎ here (or leave a comment!)

dividers by @strangergraphics

[sallymaywritings]

OMG FINALLY CYRUS! and what a delicious fanfic. 😍😍😍😍 More more more!

[alicewiththreefingers]

I lived bitch (I got my master's degree)

[fysamspruell]

[sallymaywritings]

🥞🥞

[rhaenyratargeryen]

FREDDIE FOX as Ser Gwayne Hightower HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | 2.05: Unbowed and Unbent

[goldcrescent]

he thinks himself a scholar

[misscromwellsmonocle]

The Lazy Italian Girl (1757) by Jean Baptiste Greuze

[quendergeer]

god, you take a five minute break and some asshole paints a picture

[trans-lykanthropie]

I bet Jean Baptiste wasn't helping with the washing up or doing the laundry

[faelinda]

Turn my Grief to Grace

House of the Dragon: Addam of Hull x Targaryen!reader

Rating: Mature (MDNI)

WC: 3.3k

HOTD Masterlist

Tags/Warnings: Way more plot than porn, angst, grief, romance, oral, sex, bathing, soft times, comfort, reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and heir (and she loves those brown-eyed, dark-haired men like her mama), no use of y/n, no physical description of reader given, no beta we die like Jace :(

 A/n: I just love Addam so much. He's the embodiment of a perfect knight to me. Bonus if points if you know what TV show this song came from. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated. My asks are always open.

Summary: After Jace's death, Addam comforts you and helps you heal.

Jace had been foolish and rash in his decision; it had been you who had your guards pry the sword loose that kept your mother locked in her chambers. You were angry at Jace for commanding this. You were angry at Ser Lorent for obeying. If your mother were a man, would they have done such a thing? Certainly not. You caught a glimpse of the shredded red dress, her own anger and disappointment shining through the rash cuts and rips in the fabric, and the distressed look on Mysaria's face. There would be Seven Hells to pay when Jace returned, but the Gods robbed him of such a fate.

When your twin died at the Gullet, after your mother held his lifeless body to her breast, she turned to you and held you tightly in her arms. Your tears of grief mixed with hers, sobbing for the boy…no, the young man who was lost that day. The young man who would have been a great king, with Baela ruling by his side. Two sons dead, two brothers lost to the Stranger. Now you were her heir. The Crown Princess. You wept with your mother, you wept with your good sister who would never be queen, and then you were left to weep alone in your chambers.

"Princess. Ser Addam is here," your guard announced as you warmed in front of the fire, stretched out on the cushioned bench with a white fur draped over your lap.

"Allow him inside, please," you whispered.

"Princess, I am sorry for your loss. Prince Jace will be dearly missed," Addam said, lowering his head. "If only…mayhaps if I had gotten to the Gullet faster…"

"Oh, Addam, you were only following my mother's instructions. I do not think anyone would place the blame on you," you said quickly, standing and rushing over to take his hands in yours.

He softened beneath your touch, giving you a tender smile as he squeezed your hands. "Forgive me, you lost your brother, yet here you are giving me comfort and reassurance."

"Well, I've heard that Lord Corlys has been lost to the sea, so you have your worries as well," you told him gently.

"A man I hardly know," Addam sighed.

"Yet he is still family." He had confided in you not long after arriving on Dragonstone with your mother. The two of you had become quick friends, racing each other on dragonback, with him on Seasmoke and you on Aegarax. You taught him the commands in High Valyrian, as he preferred how they sounded rolling off your tongue. You seemed to possess endless patience, which he warmed to more easily than some of the gruff dragon keepers. "I think I have cried all my tears; no more seem to come, even though my heart weeps inside my chest," you whispered.

"Grief is a strange thing, princess. It can hit you when least expected," he said, and you lifted your gaze to meet his dark eyes and to find that sweet smile on his face. The familiar scent of dragon wafted from him, one you found comforting. "Then there will be moments where it slowly peels away."

"You're right. It happened with Luke and my baby sister. One moment you'll be feeling fine and the next, you'll be brought to your knees. Would you stay with me, Addam? Until I fall asleep? I find such comfort in you."

That smile widened across his face. "It would be my pleasure." He lifted your hands to his lips, gently kissing your fingertips.

He joined you on the bench, and you tucked the fur around both your bodies, letting your head rest on his shoulder. Deeply, you breathed in the scent of simmering embers that clung to his clothing.

"I would like to ride with you tomorrow and help search for Lord Corlys," you murmured, threading your fingers through his. In truth, it seemed like a fine distraction over wallowing alone in your chambers.

"I don't think your mother would allow that."

"If I am with you, I believe she'll be more lenient. She trusts you, Addam, believes you to be a sign. A talisman from the Gods."

"That is too much weight for my shoulders," he teased.

"You ride my father's dragon. A dragon who chased you, who sought you; if that isn't a sign, I'm not sure what else it could be. You are worthy, Addam."

"From your lips, princess." He kissed your temple.

You gazed up at him, growing bold and pressing a gentle kiss to his plush mouth. Warmth permeated from his face.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," you admitted.

"I'll admit the same thought has crossed my mind once or twice," he chuckled, cupping your cheek.

"Mmm, then I hope you feel free to follow through should it pop into your mind again," you grinned, melding your lips against his once more. You tucked perfectly into his embrace.

He stayed with you until the golden dawn bled through the parted red velvet curtains.

"I should leave lest I cause a scandal with the crown princess," he whispered teasingly in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I will find you once I finish breaking my fast," you smiled. "And we will search for Lord Corlys together." One little sliver of grief unraveled.

"As long as you have your mother's permission," Addam said firmly.

"I will seek it and secure it," you assured him. He left you with another searing kiss before sneaking from your chambers. Just in the nick of time, as your ladies entered to help you dress, and the servants arrived with food. The grief had brought on a hunger, and you were eager to fill on the delicious food, especially the jammy eggs. You were dressed in your riding leathers before heading to your mother's chambers.

Rhaenyra had taken to her bed, wallowing in her grief. She reached a hand toward you, your fingers laced through hers, while you sat at her bedside. "Are you going for a ride?"

"I wish to help Addam search for Lord Corlys," you said gently, slipping into the Valyrian tongue to continue the conversation.

She gripped your hand tighter. "How I wish to coddle you against my breast and keep you safe once more, sweet girl. I am hesitant, but I will give my permission. Please do not rush into something reckless."

"I promise, mother." You placed a soft kiss on her clammy cheek. "Shall I have the servants arrange a bath for you? Perhaps that might make you feel better?"

She shook her head. "I wish to be alone. Come and see me once you have returned, so I know you are safe and sound. I trust Addam will keep you out of harm's way." You hoped Daemon would arrive soon and be able to lift her out of such bad spirits.

"Thank you, mother. I will return soon."

Addam waited in the mont for you with Seasmoke and Aegarax, side by side.

"I have her permission," you smiled at him, squeezing his gloved hand before mounting Aegarax. Her purples scales gleamed once she emerged into the sunlight, appearing like a violet burst against the blue sky.

You took to the skies with Addam, circling over the Gullet. Returning to Dragonstone at evenfall, feeling a high from successfully finding Lord Corlys, Aegarax crawled into the mont with Addam and saw Caraxes slithering through the volcano. The heaviness of your twin's death that you carried on your shoulder and deep in your back began to lift when you discovered Lord Corlys along with the Hull brothers and your sweet-sister, Baela. Grief slowly peeling away in a thin layer.

"My mother will be distracted by Daemon. I'll have the guards inform her of my return. Mayhaps you'd like to bathe with me? While I can bear the dragon stench, the scent of salt and sea makes me a bit nauseous," you admitted.

There was a large bathing chamber built into one of the rooms, one that your mother and Daemon had spent a lot of time in early on in their marriage. One that had been designed and built during Queen Visenya's time. Mayhaps it provided a private abode for conjuring her blood magic.

"That sounds like bliss," Addam smiled, taking your hand. "Then you must eat a good meal."

"As must you," you smiled, squeezing his hand.

It was an odd feeling as you disrobed with him, your back turned slightly as you removed your riding leathers after Addam helped tug your boots off. When you spun around, you caught sight of his chiseled body. Lithe, toned, and gleaming. You had never seen such a defined stomach before, and the urge to trace your tongue over each taut groove. Quickly, you moved into the warm water and swallowed down your lewd thoughts. But you could feel Addam's gaze lingering on you as you descended into the built in stone tub. He joined you a moment later, groaning as the water soothed his aching muscles.

A pleasant silence enveloped the room, both of you marinating in the warm waters and fragrant oil. He leaned back against the stone lip, stretching his arms out and tilting his head back. The tips of his tightly woven black hair dipped into the edge of the water. You lounged across from him before slowly closing the space and pressing your hands against his slick, bare chest.

"Princess?" he questioned, fixing his gaze on you.

"Please, Addam, call me by my name," you whispered before pressing your mouth against his.

It seemed Addam had been harboring similar feelings, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. Your name rolled off his tongue, making it sound like the most beautiful word ever to exist. His mouth pressed against your shoulder before moving across your collarbone, then his tongue gathered against the hollow of your throat. Dragonfire spread through your body from his touch, and you whimpered when it broke. Addam reached for a sponge, taking his time to help you wash before lifting you onto the stones, out of the tub.

"Do you wish for me to stop?" he whispered, nuzzling his face against the swells of your breasts.

"No," you moaned. He kissed his way down your belly before spreading your thighs. Little droplets of water clung to your bare, tepid skin.

He moved you with a firm ease, as only a dragon rider could, and lowered his face between your splayed legs. His tongue teasingly lapped at your cunt, causing the dragonfire to bloom brighter and hotter in your lower belly. The gentle trace of his tongue over your swollen pearl was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, not even with your curious fingers.

"Oh Gods, don't stop, Addam," you mewled.

He chuckled against your flesh before suckling on the tender bud and making your legs feel like jelly. Your toes curled, your body twitched, and a sudden burst of pressure flooded your lower stomach, followed by a beautiful state of euphoria. It was so intense, making your belly tighten, then relax in its wake.

"You make such beautiful sounds, princess," Addam murmured against your thigh. Your palms pressed against the polished stones, panting softly as you met his dark eyes. A cheekiness clung to his handsome features, lips twisting into a playful smile.

"There you go, calling me princess again," you chided softly.

"It seemed fitting in the moment. Gods know you are my princess." The way he said it made warmth roll through you. It made your heart flutter.

Another layer of grief peeled away.

The day came when your mother took King's Landing and her rightful throne. As you wandered the halls of the Red Keep, childhood memories played through your mind. Jace and Luke chasing you through the halls, Ser Harwin's kind smile, your father presenting you with an amethyst necklace he had bartered from Pentos, Helaena placing a dotted butterfly in your hand, Aegon chuckling as he showed you hidden passageways, Aemond sulking in his bitterness and disappointment, and Joffrey's loud wails when he was born. You reached for your mother's hand.

"You feel the ghosts as well," Rhaenyra whispered, squeezing your flesh.

"Happy ones," you replied.

A small silence befell before your mother broke it. "He makes you happy."

"Addam? Very much so."

"He is a good man. He brought me hope when I thought it lost. Lord Corlys asks that I legitimize him and Alyn."

"And will you?"

"I am sure I will be criticized for it, though I'm sure I will be picked apart for many things. I have agreed."

You kissed her cheek, and her nose rubbed gently against yours. A soft gesture from your youth, her loving touch that lingered on your skin after she tucked you and Jace into bed.

Addam's days were long as he was sent on countless patrols, circling the kingdom on Seasmoke. You would see him off every morning, watching Seasmoke disappear into the clouds and turning into a misty streak. One late night when he returned, weary from the day and his red cloak dragging the ground, he discovered you in his chambers, and an immediate smile spread over his face. A steaming bath and a hot meal waited for him, along with you in a silken violet robe, hair cascading down your shoulders.

"Come," you instructed, extending your hand toward him.

His palm was rough, but you had grown to love his touch. You undressed him from his armor, taking care with the pieces, and draped his scarlet cloak over one of the chairs. The two of you were no longer shy around each other, and he stood proudly before you, in all his glory.

"Into the bath," you hummed, and he climbed into the tub. You sat on a stool behind him, lathering the sponge before scrubbing his back.

"A man could get used to this," he sighed, flexing his toes in the warm water.

"Duly noted," you grinned, continuing to wash him up until the dragon stench faded.

He looked handsome draped in the dark blue robe, his russet skin gleaming from the bath. You ate with him, listening to the details of his day and overindulging in the lemon cakes. It turned out you both possessed a sweet tooth. You drained your cup of Arbor Gold before straddling his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"You will no longer be Ser Addam of Hull, I am told. Soon you will be Ser Addam Velaryon," you smiled.

His large hands settled on your hips. "I never thought I'd ever bear the name Velaryon."

"You and Alyn have earned it," you whispered before kissing him.

The robes tangled together on the floor while Addam placed you on the bed. His cock protruded stiffly from his strong thighs, your soft palm stroking him until frothy beads clung to his tip after the fleshy hood retracted. You gathered them over your tongue before guiding him under you.

"You have ridden enough for today; allow me to do the work," you smirked as you mounted him, sinking slowly onto his hard, velvety cock.

Addam groaned, lust drowning in his dark eyes while his hands roamed your naked body, squeezing your tits, hips, and arse while you rode him. When he took you a second time, he moved on top and wrapped your legs around his waist, sinking deep inside you with each powerful thrust. Your head rested on his chest while he rubbed soothing circles over your back until you fell asleep in his arms.

Another small layer peeled away.

Addam and Alyn were now styled as Velaryons, and so you carefully broached the topic with your mother during a private dinner with her. "I wish to marry Addam."

An amused smile tugged at her lips. "I thought as much."

"The great Valyrian houses united, just like you and Father were," you said before biting into a bit of quail. While you knew the truth of the matter, you never wished to lay it before her. Laenor had been the man who raised you; he had been your father for all intents and purposes. "The people will look fondly on a crown princess who is married." You prepared for her to say no. You were the future heir, and your marriage alliance could be used as a great bargaining tool.

"My father allowed me to choose, and I will allow you the same, sweet girl. Truth be told, many in this realm will find fault with a woman ruler even if she is perfect. You may as well be happy with a good man by your side."

Lord Corlys was overjoyed with the news; another son to serve as a royal consort. You understood the crown was under stress from the stolen gold and insisted that you did not need such a lavish wedding.

"But you are heir to the throne; you should have a wedding befitting a crown princess," Daemon scoffed.

"My only desire is to marry on Dragonstone in the old tradition of Valyria," you replied, knowing that would appease him and broker no further argument.

"Ah. Very good," Daemon chuckled. You remembered your mother's wedding to him, dawn creeping over the horizon. It had been a confusing time; your father and aunt not long in the ground, but you remembered the passionate heat between your mother and step-father. There was no doubt that they were meant to be. Fire meeting fire. Twin flames. You loved the ritual, the blood exchange, and the words spoken in the ancient tongue.

Truth was, you were eager for it to happen sooner rather than later, and a simpler wedding assured you that. Addam's child grew inside you.

From beneath the layers of grief, a hard center of hope began to emerge.

The tang of Addam's blood lingered on your lips and tongue, the pungent incense making your eyes water as you recited the vows in High Valyrian. Addam had worked diligently with Maester Orwyle to master more of the language, and you could see the pride in his face as he repeated the words. The scarlet slashes on palms, his rough and yours soft, mingled together, signifying you were one with him now. Seasmoke and Aegarax circled overhead, braying and chortling. As Dragonstone was yours by rights now, you and Addam stayed there for a week after the wedding, in a bliss of relaxation, fucking and dragon riding. You waited two turns of the moon before visiting Orwyle, who confirmed you were with child and your grief was but a mere layer of gossamer tucked under your skin.

Jacaerys was born in your mother's first year on the Iron Throne. A tumultuous year that brought on a new dawn and fresh clutches of dragon eggs. Addam had chosen a green one with orange swirls for his son, one that reminded him of Vermax. One that you hoped would hatch soon. The mornings were started with Jacaerys tucked against your chest and Addam by your side, gazing lovingly at the two most important people in his life.

"Your uncle never lived to take the throne, but you will be king someday, my little Jace," you whispered in his ear. Already he looked like a smaller version of his father, and you hoped he possessed Addam's nature as well. He seemed to have inherited Jace's dark curls; the tightly coiled ringlets decorated his small head.

"He will be a good one with two strong queens paving the way for him," Addam smiled as Jace's small hand grasped his finger.

"I wish to feel your embrace, husband," you murmured.

"How can I refuse, wife?" he grinned, gently shifting you into his arms, holding you and Jace against him.

Addam had been your light in the darkest hour. He had kept you from drowning in the abyss, and he had helped create this most precious life with you. Your sweet son, whom you loved more than anything. Grief stripped away and replaced with a renewed purpose. Now, you had a man to love, a son to raise, and soon you would have a kingdom to rule.

[sallymaywritings]

[sallymaywritings]

Roddy, you're next.

[helaenasfavoritechicken]