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themotherofblood · 1 year

Note

I saw you opened your requests again, so to finish off my series of requests inspired by Bollywood songs, can I please get Daemon x poc fem reader inspired by "Laal ishq" with lots of angst and nsfw please? (feel free to ignore)

you asked and I shall deliver!! I love the song, even though it’s melancholic. So to go with the theme of estranged lovers. Reader and Daemon have been friends for years, that eventually blossomed to love. Daemon is being forced to marry Rhea. There is no age gap since both have grown up together (also a really disgusting twist, fuck Jaeheryes!) THERE IS A PART TWO WITH SMUT I PROMISE!

Daemon Targaryen x Reader | WC: 5003

Masterlist

tw: mentions of incest, pregnant people and crass language

Daemon’s blood boiled anew since he was knighted the year before and was handed his ancestral sword. Dark Sister. He flew Caraxes faster, he trained harder. While one-half of his time was spent being a more valiant warrior than he already was, the other half was spent with you. Head in your lap, as he fawned on your beauty over and over again. It wasn’t right, you were a noble lady - a princess at that; you were to be chaste and untouched. Yet the walls of the Red Keep often turned a blind eye to your and Daemon’s ongoings. Everyone expected it so, seeming how Daemon always got what he wanted. The court expected that you would be wed to the young prince before Baelon would sit on the throne.

The door to the Godswood slammed open with a thud, and gruff sounds of huffing followed by clanks of armour filled your ears as you smiled to yourself. Almost enjoying every time your lover, pouting and broody demanded your affection after a long day of being consumed with his knighthood. You looked up to find Daemon placing his helm on the wooden table of refreshments before yanking out a leather flask of Flea Bottom’s finest moonshine, growling from the back of his mouth as the burn coated his sore throat. He huffed before plopping down next to you. The stench of mud and sweat filled your nostrils, much used to the muck as you kept working on your embroidery. Lip tucked between your lips as you passed a red string through the fresh patch of linen.

Daemon’s demeanour shifted, without having said a word as his attention was drawn to your nibbled fingers working over the delicate patches of thread. The designs of a story rather than the simple florals most ladies wore at court.

“Who bested you this time?” your voice caught his attention, your eyes still fixated on your work and yet the frustrations bubbling within him were apparent. Daemon narrowed his eyes at you before taking three large swigs from his flask.

“No one, every one of them has tasted dirt by my hands today,” he quickly replied, his mind toiling with a different malady altogether, like a plague. Clinging to the crevices of his head. How does one ask a lady such a thing?

“Then what’s got you pouting today?” you mused at him, this time placing the cloak down and turning to look at his defensive expression. His faded brows pulled to a tight-knit and his mouth parted with no words dancing over his lip. You raised your brow at him, knowing him far better than he realised.

Back in the yards, young lords with Daemon sparred away their mornings. Determined and raging as they charged at one another or dummies. Sparking conversations of bloody war fantasies and of comely girls at court. Out of the few closest to Daemon, five were already married - even his brother. Not that the notion of marriage had him praying like the fanatics at the Sept but even as stories of Old Valyria painted his dreams. He pictured his sweet lover, you in the grab of his house. Muttering words of Valyrian as his love for you would be legitimised by the eyes of dragons and the Fourteen Flames. Perhaps as his own sister-by-law, Aemma swelled full of her first child. He pictured little white-haired children of his own, perhaps enough to put his grandsire’s abilities to shame.

Daemon was sure if he would bring the matter up with his father. That perhaps his Jahereys would offer his hand to your father. There was much to be gained politically, and he would soil the sheets with his blood to cover for the lack of your maidenhead. The plans in his mind were crystal, already insistent of you becoming his lady wife. Though it was a matter of if you’d wish it so, or if your family would approve it.

“I- I asked father to have your hand in marriage,” he replied in one quick breath, his ears ringing from the silence that followed. A blank expression that spread through your features didn’t help his turmoil either as he waited for you to say something or refused him outright. “Fuck’s sake, say something?” he frowned, taking hold of your shoulders and shaking you.

The words wouldn’t reach your lips as you blankly stared him down, blinking profusely back to reality as his worry turned into disappointment. You straightened yourself, folding away the cloak on your lap before gently laying in on the grass, your chest pushing against your corset from how hard you were breathing. Abruptly, you launched yourself at him, knees catching at your gown uncomfortably that you didn’t care for as you straddled his lap to kiss him. There was a fire in how your lips connected, Daemon was truly taken aback for a moment before chuckling and giving into the onslaught, hands caressing each other’s cheeks. You rested your forehead against Daemon’s, “You want this? Marriage?” you had to ask to be sure, that perhaps this wasn’t another one of his spurts of passion.

He nodded “Would you? Be my lady wife?” his eyes, wider than the Septa’s when she heard crass remarks. Bursts of anticipation flooded Daemon’s heart. You would be his, to have and to hold. The colours of his house staining the mustard silks adorning your skin, there would be no reason to conceal such ardour for one another, a flame concealed by forbidding it air. Young souls afraid of its fire would see all but the world, perhaps diminished before it could swallow you whole. The embers would finally take flight, burn anyone who would question Daemon’s affections for you. It was way past time that the two of you should have been wed, every lord was afraid of approaching you from the fear of being eaten by Caraxes, and the ladies stood ten breaths away from the fear of being poisoned by you.

You, a Princess of House Martell, Darmon a Prince of House Targaryen and yet your names for one another held not houses or titles but otherworldly, cosmic - cathartic titles ones of adoration and the rest, not High Valyrian, Ryonish or the Common Tongue could describe. Oftentimes than not it felt unreal, fabricated that perhaps it was the joy of having another, the thrill of breaking statues or perhaps it was finally a sense of home. You saw him for who he was and he, you, not within the wild inclinations but perhaps the calm hidden behind the mirror.

The elation of your supposed oncoming betrothal spread cheek to cheek, the corners of your eyes crinkling (even be fair to say teary-eyed) yet you purse your lips. Still lingering on the question on Daemon’s lips, it was yes - such agreement you could scream your throat sore from Rhaenys Hill - mischief however clouded your mind as you pulled back from him, scrunching your brows in deep thought. A look of offence adorned Daemon’s sharp features; a minx through and through. “Fly a piece of the moon back to me and I shall think about it,” a mere jest, followed by a giggle to seal the line. Daemon’s eyes flickered with another opportunity but for now his work was done.

The tunnels in the Red Keep had stood witness to the damning celebrations that followed after, sneaking baskets of blankets, spiced wines, lemons, and plum cakes being carried from the kitchens to your solar. Even if you were caught, there wasn’t a fret or consequence. You were to be married. Far too intoxicated to do anything by the end of the night, as the vulgarities whispered by Daemon against your ear as his fingers rested against your blushed lips, feeding you pieces of purple grapes to muffle the deep bellied giggles pouring out of your mouth.

The morrow bloomed in with you sprawled atop furs by the dying embers of the hearth, skin sticky from no doubt the sweets consumed last night as your chambermaids poured in to tidy your chamber and you make princess-like once more for the respectable court. Though comely and courteous charm oozed out of your every pour, you let out dishevelled groans and grumbles as you pulled yourself awake. Finding an indent in the furs where your lover had nestled with you the night before and now he fluttered away like every morning. Pristinely dressed in your riding clothes, your schedule today consisted of visiting Lady Aemma, avoiding the snarky air headed ladies and court and paying your precious steed and visiting the Kingswood.

Aemma Arryn, already swelling from her first babe, wore her discomfort with much grace. Hoping to birth a boy for Viserys but in her heart she knew the babe to be a bumbling girl. “I’ve heard something about you… and Daemon,” her lips curled in a sly smile. Yet you being devoid of romantical theatrics, heat still evaded your composure and flared across your cheeks. You shuffled onto the chaise next to her, giggling as you hesitantly held your arm out. She meekly nodded at your gesture, grabbing your palm to place over the bump, the skin firm yet softer under your touch. Living with dragons mere breaths away from you and yet an entire person being inside your friend fascinated you, perhaps such would be your fate without the lemon heads in your environs while engaging in the salacious acts with Daemon.

Your eyes crinkled at the corners, much aware of what Aemma had heard - from Viserys no doubt - the older Targaryen brother hid not one thing from his sweet wife. Both brothers were highly hen pecked by the women they took as lovers. “What could you have possibly heard, I swear I poisoned no one,” your lips curled to a wry grin making her tap your thigh mischievously with her foot. You pulled them onto your lap, kneading your fingers into the mass of her foot, alleviating pressure from her overbearing weight.

“Viserys overheard Prince Baelon talking with the King… Can you imagine us, sisters!” her smile widened cheek to cheek, already pictured dressing you in ivory herself like you did her.

“Whatever you have done to my brother, I applaud you,” Viserys’s voice chimed from behind you, leaning against the door frame, admiring his glowing wife with a graceful smirk on his face “The Street of Silk shall mourn his absence,” he teased making Aemma glare at his antics

“Do not listen to him,” she scoffed, “Have you told anyone yet?” You shook your head, wanting to keep this joy just between the people you trusted the most before the vultures found a way to make profit of such an event yet again.

“Do you know where he is?” you turned to Viserys who pointed out the window to the skies.

The air crashing against your skin as your hair followed free of its braided constraints, purple leather hugged your skin, shielding you from the chill of this day’s climate. The trees mere green shadows in your periphery blend all as one, just your own breathing echoing in your ears and the quicked hoof beats of your night black mare Nysa. While she couldn’t fly, her legs were no less than being afloat in the clouds, brushing past the dirt road at speeds incomparable to the naked eye. She neighed at a halt, right at the end of the meadow. The greenery reached as far as your eyes could see, you lingered in the quiet for a moment, the bird, the grasshoppers and even the leaves melodically sang a song for your ears.

The winds tore past the stink of the bustling livelihood of King’s Landing, amidst the rain that was sure to follow within the end of the week, the forest smelled of leaves, of warmth and damp. You shuffled off your horse, your own personal guard no doubt still catching up to the rampage that tore you through the thick tree lines. Deep breaths of fresh air flooded your lungs, you often dreamed of riding all the way home, to bask in the crisp sunshine at the Old Palace.

You walked holding onto Nysa’s reigns, finding a spot to sit with your legs over the rocks looking down into the ditch, while your marriage would bring forth much joy in your life. Perhaps a blissful life at Dragonstone, a cat, Caraxes and him. Mostly you’d enjoy being a royal lady-wife, perhaps it would make the ladies at court fear you more than a poisoning, Dornishmen - salacious varmints.

Higher above from where you were sitting, Daemon flew past the clouds, higher every moment. A feat encouraged by your jest but in reality a grace question, why hadn’t the Targaryens ever touched the moon? The dim witted Septons nor the droll Maesters had an answer for it. He took matters in his own hands, clipped to Caraxes as he rode the Red Wyrm to newer heights. The air around him was much colder and yet he kept climbing. Taking in large gasps of breaths, however lungs simply couldn’t get enough. A piece of the moon - he could do that much for his sweetest wife to be, a wedding gift better than any silk gown or golden necklace. What completely overshadowed the struggling mount underneath him was you. Caraxes fought to climb, the sky growing a deeper shade of blue, as Daemon’s mind fantasised his way through the journey; the lack of air in his lungs slipped right past.

Knocking him unconscious first, Caraxes yet climbed heights above than before until he realised Daemon slumped backwards on his saddle; severing any control the prince had on his dragon moments before. Such exhaustion consumed the Red Wyrm too, while still within his prime his wings tucked tight as he fell from the skies like the stories of angels the High Septon preaches.

The striking red of the dragon’s body clashed against the bright and clear skies that graced King’s Landing today. Just as you lounged at the edge of the meadow, a falling red figure wasn’t hard to miss. You stood to your feet immediately, fascinated at what it might have been. The Blood Comet in the scrolls wasn’t due for another decade or two. Only instead of gliding across the horizon of the sky, it grew bigger by the moment; until you saw the flutter (no book said anything about fluttering rocks falling from skies above). The dark membranes outline the red made you gasp “Oh gods,” this had been either a sick thrill Daemon had decided to partake in or he was truly falling from the heavens.

You mounted Nysa, rushing towards the falling figure from the skies. While to others the moment seemed fleeting but it felt ages as you neared the falling dragon. Caraxes spread his wings, in desperate attempts to halt the descent as he gained consciousness. Daemon, still attached to his saddle but nowhere near coherency. A loud crash accompanied a mushroom cloud of dirt blasting through the woods, Nysa nearly throwing you off her back as she neighed, startled to shit. You jumped off her, your personal guard merely catching you in time as Ser Alysen gripped your arms. Warning you of the dragon that laid huffing and curled, he would eat you, he would eat you.

You screamed from the back of your throat, pushing Alysen off your back and rushing towards Caraxes. “Do not fucking eat me,” your mind toiled, yet you had to know if your lover was alive or if you were widowed before you even had the chance to step on the alter. The red dragon’s nostril flared, low bellied chirps echoing through the settling dust, please - let me see him. You weren’t sure how you would fight a creature four times your size but perhaps his bigger mind sensed your harmlessness, putting up no protest as you pulled yourself onto Daemon’s saddle, him still slouched, breathing.

“Daemon, Daemon wake up,” you cupped his cheeks. Shaking him profusely, the behemoth he was growing into. You couldn’t carry him off the dragon even if you wanted to. “Come on now, wake up!”

Most of King’s Landing already witnessed a mythical creature falling from the heavens. Half of them ran for the Grand Sept, howling of the end times and the people in the Keep knew it to be Daemon. Within minutes more riders arrived with aid, the others contemplating the possibility of an attack. They found you on top of the Red Wyrm. Distraught and holding the young prince’s body hugged onto you, getting him off the mount proved a far harder challenge than anything the Stranger would ever test them to. A crying princess and an unwilling dragon.

You had raced behind the wheelhouse carrying Daemon back to the Red Keep. Maesters were already alerted and awaiting the prince in his bed chambers. While you had no business being in his quarters, even you had found him. You paced like a mad woman outside his bed chambers, if he died you swore to torment him in the afterlife as you counted every brick placed in the wall you were staring at.

Prince Baelon soon after burst through his quarters, hearing about his son as his conversation with father seemed to have turned quarrelsome. Both him and Viserys had raced down the corridors, the sight was none for relief but you sat on the floor. Knees bobbing in anxiety as you chewed through your nails. Having realised what Daemon might have been doing as dread and anger was replaced with guilt. You made him do this.

The questioning look on the princess’ faces was replied with one meek sentence “I asked him for the moon,” your eyes welling once more. Yet for the sake of your dignity and name you turned away.

After much waiting, yet not having left Daemon’s quarters. You waited patiently for him to awaken, for reasons other than to either press grateful kisses all over his face, or grovel at his feet for his blessed romanticism. Flattered (truly - completely) for broken bones set straight, and bruising along the side of his shoulders and two fat sheep, the cost of the moon on land. When Daemon grumbled awake, his family were the first to receive him until Baelon - being the true supporter of your union - ushered you in after demanding that the Maesters and attendants all leave. The father in him refrained from yelling at his son’s recklessness but you dutifully performed that right for him.

Daemon grinned, loopy from the milk of poppy no doubt. “Princess!” he dragged, very likely expecting an embrace or a pat on his shoulders for his efforts as he sat perched by pillows against the stone headboard. He instead was met with a swift and ringing slap across his cheeks, your eyes and nostrils flared.

“Have you lost your fucking mind!” the rage of a true Dornish woman radiating through your words, unbothered that the Heir to the Iron Throne stood witness to the crisp smack you had landed on his son’s face. You tilted your head, demanding an answer - palm stinging and yet itching to land another sharp smack on his other cheek as he grinned once more. While his cock nearly twitched seeing his sweet princess so ferocious about his life, your eye would soon begin to twitch as he kept up his antics.

“You asked for the moon,” he trailed away, clearly aware of the blunder he had created.

“A joke Daemon! A joke!” you dug your fingers into his cream tunic as you climbed on his bed “If I asked you to jump off Maegor's Holdfast, would you?” you scolded, Daemon’s mischievous glint now turned soft as your anger gave way to your concern. He nodded in agreement, nodding away like a spring headed doll. You smacked him on the shoulder once more, your bottom lip trembling as you remembered the terror you had felt as he laid unconscious in your arms “I thought - you moron,” your voice broke. “I thought you were dead,” you whimpered, making Daemon shuffle up higher.

He pushed stray hairs away from your face, his eyes soft as he glanced over your scrunched face. His thumbs caressing your cheeks before pulling you into him. You sobbed, near incoherent as relief washed over your fright. Daemon shushed you, apologising for scaring you, he looked up to where his father stood in his receiving chambers with a sheepish yet apologetic smile on his face. Baelon’s eyes glinted with knowing sadness, smithing Daemon wrote as disappointment for the stunt he had pulled. Baelon nodded knowingly at Daemon, reassuring him that you and him not to be disturbed before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Daemon milked his injuries for all they were worth, the warrior in him laid to rest as he demanded care from you at all times. From having you snuck through the tunnels to lay with him curled under the furs to insisting that you change his bandaging for him, read for him and braid his hair. The reality that Daemon was the younger sibling had never been more apparent than these past two moons as his bones realigned themselves, even Caraxes shared Daemon’s temperament during this time. Refusing to hunt and gobbling through the horde of sheep the dragon keepers would bring for him.

Whatever announcements of nuptials were to be made were postponed until he healed whole. So here you lay in the Godswood with Daemon oddly chirped than before as Prince Baelon’s feast begins tonight, having him affirmed as heir yet again as Jahereys health began to decline. Barely being able to speak more than a cough or two. The Old King’s time neared to an end, something that had deeply bothered all the Targaryens in the family. Bringing nearly the end of the century of dragons, even Aemma near the end of term. Much was to grace House Targaryen in the coming moons, so sitting here under the red leaves in the glaring warmth of the afternoon - there was silence, there was tranquillity.

You mindlessly sectioned Daemon's hair, braiding it far better than the handmaiden did for him. “You are going to be the prettiest Prince tonight, have women drooling and what not,” you giggled, knowing very well he found your teasing amusing but it often came at the price of having your rear smacked out of the blue.

“I shall escort you tonight,” Daemon whispered, lost in the sensations of your finger tips fiddling against his scalp, consequences and rules meant little to him now, let the world know and have the bother be done with, you were his. What else was there to say about it

“No, you may not,” you shook your head, tongue poked out as you dismissed him. He moved his head to look up at you, you shook your head once more “We cannot, not just yet,”

This one dismissal would result in a knight of pawing and pouting, you were sure of it. A prince of six and ten and yet he couldn’t behave like one. Your gown for tonight already laid awaits in your bed chambers, a gorgeous mustard and gold gown to compliment the symbols of your house. While Daemon often insisted you wear black or perhaps even red, in his head the two of you were already wed; it was only a matter of formality. What courting a woman that has been with him since his toddlerhood.

The Throne room once more had been decorated to charm the guests travelling from all over the Known World, to pay respects to the Old King and to find allegiances with their soon to be King, Prince Baelon. Many noble ladies of courts far and wide, dressed in their finest gowns, hoping to catch the eye of a Targaryen prince, perhaps the heir or perhaps his son. Prince Baelon appeared mellow, almost irked as he made his rounds. You greeted him upon arrival but his usually courteous smile to you seemingly turned to a grunt of an acknowledgment. You found solace within your known friends as they gushed over each other’s gowns while feasting over candied apples and cake. Daemon arrived later, a quirk of his as he walked in head held high and nonchalant, lips curled in a smirk as ladies began to hound him with questions of his well being.

The Kingsgaurd made their presence known as the crowd simmered to whispered conversations, everyone resumed their seats on either side of the Throne room. You sat with a few Dornish delegates and your brother Quentel Martell, he was rather chirpy about being housed by Targaryens, and odd joy or perhaps understanding bubbling in his chest as he socialised with the other heads of houses. The grand titles of the king were read out as his silhouette crowded your vision, the Old King stood in his regalia. A dying dragon yet stood commanding an entire room, people erupted in cheers as he walked to his Throne, his heir and son stood by the spiking swords by the ground.

The grandeur of the feast continued through the elaborate evening, tables coated in food and spilt wine drying sticky. Daemon and you made your rounds, inquiring of the latest salacious gossip and giggling over the older maidens that swooned over his father,when in was unsaid yet apparent that no woman in all of this court would ever be what Alyssa Targaryen was, her fire: her passion were truly unmatched. Another round of announcements were to be made, a grand toast to proclaim Baelon Targaryen as heir once more.

“It is with great pride, I once again affirm,” Jaeherys looked to his son admiringly, Baelon shuffled uncomfortably where he stood and yet you held a sorrowful smile, he truly deserved to have Alyssa beside him, she would have been a far valiant Queen than Westeros had ever seen. “My son, Baelon Targaryen is Heir to the Iron Throne and to be the future King of The Seven King,” the crowd applauded in unison as you joined them, Daemon nudged Viserys as he would be King after his father. As the applause died down, Jaehereys continued “I also with great pleasure, announce the betrothal of my grandson Daemon Targaryen,”

Heat creeped onto your cheeks as you caught Daemon’s lilac eyes across the room, crinkled at the corner as he smirked at you; both of you already aware of the verdict. Daemon contained all his animalistic happiness within him as he mouthed “my wife” to you. For moments, the hundreds of nobles and servants around you disappeared, all the remained were your eyes and his, separated by the wall from the watching gallery where you stood, here where you would be married, anointed by the King himself or the High Septon.

“With the noble lady Rhea of House Royce!” King Jaehereys’s voice boomed through the hall following thunderous applause. The crowds either turned to direct their applause at Daemon or turned to find the bronze dressed house and clapped.

Daemon's betrayed frown turned to his grandsire and his father, this couldn’t be - he was told otherwise, he wished otherwise. Lady Rhea, the great brown haired beauty she was - had already approached the makeshift altar, shuffling her way past the chairs to the Iron Throne; she stopped by Daemon, waiting from him to approach her. Daemon stood his ground, a deceived scowl began to tear through his princely composure and yet he had no choice over the demanding glare Jaehereys had fixed upon his grandson. Daemon felt the urge to empty his contents right onto the stone floor as Lady Rhea and him bowed in honour. Rhea, unaware of Daemon’s inner discomfort began to soak in the outpour of love for the new Targaryen wife to be.

While Daemon began to contemplate ways to weasel his way out of this, he found you standing at the gallery. The wine cup in your hand king dropped as you stool colourless and frozen. Not a blink nor a twitch as you stared at the window behind the throne, bile covered tongue as the sweet wine in your mouth turned bitter. The night was far from ended.

“With such auspicious news, my son, Baelon Targaryen presents you with your future Queen. To secure another reign of dragons, the Prince is betrothed to the Princess of Dorne!”

Another round of shivers jolted you from your trance, this time your reddening eyes shifted to look at the King - he who searched for your mustard clothed figure in the sea of people. Baelon had sooner caught your eye than him as he approached the stairs leading up to the gallery. People all around you are cheering and you hear muffled chatter. His hands tucked behind his back as he waited for you to come to him, how do you marry a man who held nothing but fatherly admiration for you wit, how do you marry the father of your lover. You eyes hadn’t dared meet Daemon’s just yet, refusing to look at the woman that stood next to him as you pulled away from the steel railing of the gallery. Your feet mindlessly carrying you to the unchosen prince, your palms shaking as you took his hand. Any lady in your position would quake with blushed prospects, “she’s just shy” you were terrified, betrayed and above all bleeding.

There will be a part 2 :)

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oosleepyfaeoo · 11 months

Text

Royalty Fucked

Baelon Targaryen x Maid!Reader x Alyssa Targaryen

Summary: You catch the eye of a certain couple.

Warning: 18+| SMUT, Reader is a female, threesome, p in v, oral sex (f/receiving), fingering, creampie

Words: 2k

A/N: English is not my first language.

You were one of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa's servants. You start working in the Red Keep after your parent's death, leaving you with your two little brothers to raise.

Since you had skills in caring for babes and children, you quickly became a nursemaid for the royal couple's children. Taking care of sweet Prince Viserys and the little demon prince Daemon was quite an easy and peaceful task, not to mention that their majesties let your little brothers play with their children. Make it easy for you to keep a close eye on your sweet brothers while working.

The first day you laid your (e/c) eyes on the royal couple, you were completely in awe of their love for each other and how kind and humorous they were. Always riding the skies together on the back of their dragons or sparring in the training yard, laughing freely and throwing silly jokes at each other.

Some people look at them with judgment, thinking how inappropriate the royal couple's actions were. Some look at them with eyes full of jealousy, wishing to have the same love and freedom that they have.

But you look at them with admiration in your eyes, delighted to see your Lord and Lady happy.

////

“Some day, you will fly with me on Meleys’s back.” Alyssa’s words made you stop, looking at her with wide eyes as she entered the bathtub.

Prince Viserys and Prince Daemon were already tucked in their beds, so you were helping your lady bathe.

“I-I... That would be unfitting of me, my Lady.” You say quietly as you begin combing her hair, untangling the knots that form when she rides Meleys. “People would talk.”

She let out a flashy laugh, her mismatching eyes looking at you with mischief. “Do I look like I give a shit about what people would say?” She says with a smirk. “Let them talk.”

As you were about to answer, Prince Baelon walks in. You quickly stood up and bow gently to him.

“My Prince.” You court him softly.

He nods and kneels beside the tub, giving Alyssa a quick kiss. “How’s my lady wife and my best maid doing?”

You blush faintly at his words as you resume your work on Alyssa’s hair.

“Good.” She says while playing gently with one of his long silver locks that escaped his braid. “I’m trying to convince Y/n to fly with me.”

“Oh! That’s an excellent idea, my sweet wife.” Baelon smirks, eyeing you as you comb his wife's hair. “I assume you would let me join you both, right?”

Alyssa chuckles. The two shared a look between them which made you frown in confusion. “Of course, Husband.” The smirk on her lips widens as she pulls him into a passionate kiss. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t let you join us.”

Baelon hums, letting his wife thrust her tongue into his mouth. He moves his hand to cup her neck gently which made her purr in delight.

You try to ignore the show before you, focusing on your work but you found it hard when you notice Baelon’s hand slowly going down Alyssa’s body. Observing how his large hand kneaded her breast gently, gradually moving down to cup her core.

Alyssa lets out a pornographic moan as his fingers thrust inside her.

You made the mistake of looking at Baelon, gasping in shock when you lock eyes with him. His lilac eyes burned with lust and desire. His gaze goes down, locking on your parted lips, and then meets your eyes again. Sending you a sensual wink as he grabs Alyssa’s hair, his fingers lingering around yours.

Quickly standing up, you put the brush down and bow. “M-My work here is done... I will leave you be, my Lord and my Lady.” You whisper, your cheeks burning from embarrassment and desire.

The evidence of your lust running down your thighs and your hard nipples peeking through your simple dress.

Not wanting to give them time to reply, you ran off.

///

Since that night, you can barely meet Baelon and Alyssa's eyes. Feeling ashamed for your acts when you finally got your room. Lying down on your small bed, legs spread apart with your hand between them. Trying to imagine that Alyssa and Baelon are touching you, whispering praises in your ear while they make you fall apart.

“Y/n! Y/n! Look what I did during my class with maester!” Viserys runs to you as you walk into the room, coming to collect him and his brother Daemon.

You smile and kneel down to see the small wooden dragon figure in his little hand. “It’s beautiful, my prince! You’re talent.” You say while kissing his head.

“Thank you! It’s Balerion!” He gives you a cheeky smile, a tooth missing in the front. “One day, I will be his rider!”

Taking his hand in yours, you pick up Daemon and walk toward the room. “I’m sure you will, my sweet prince.”

In the room, you give them a bath and dress them in their sleeping clothes.

As you were helping them eat their dinner, Alyssa and her husband walk in, hand in hand.

“My sweet children! How was your day?” Alyssa goes and picks up Daemon, filling his face with kisses, and making the boy giggle.

Viserys jumps from his chair and runs toward his parents with his dragon figure in his hands. Both Baelon and Alyssa bend down to look in awe at their son's work, praising him vastly.

You stood there awkwardly, eyes fixed on your fingers as the family laughed in joy at in being each other company.

Grabbing the empty trays, you walk to the door but a large hand stops you. Looking back, you were met by the same lilac eyes from the other night.

“Astrid, can you put the children to bed? I need Y/n's help to bathe.” Alyssa says while she hugs her husband from behind, her mismatching eyes shining with excitement while her husband gives you a smirk that almost made your knees give out.

“Of course, my Lady.” Astrid grabs the children and took them to their chambers.

The three of you stood there in silence, you afraid to meet their predatorial gaze while Alyssa walks towards the fireplace and Baelon stood behind you, studying carefully your curvy form.

“S-Should I start the bath, my Lady?” Your voice trembles a little, making Alyssa’s gaze soften.

She walks to you and cups your cheeks gently, making you look at her. “There’s no need to fear us, little flame.” Her thumbs move softly against your skin, forcing a shiver to run down your spine. “We only wish to please you.”

Your face twisted in confusion, not knowing what in seven hells it was happening. “P-Pleasure?”

You feel Baelon pull you into his front, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. “Yes, sweet little maid.” He mutters against your ear and coerces a whimper from your lips. “It seems our little show might have fright you a little but be reassured that we won’t force you into anything you don’t want.”

Are they asking you what you think they are?! They want you to join them in they festivities?!

Alyssa push forward and gently press her lips against yours, kissing you like you were made of glass. “Please say yes.” She murmurs against your lips.

You look into her eyes, seeing them burning with extreme lust. You knew this was inappropriate. That someone like you, a low-born, shouldn’t indulge in royal affairs. If the King or the Queen found out, you would probably get fired and forced to go back to the streets. Doing works that would only bring you shame.

But your body betrayed you, not listening to your morals as you crash your lips against Alyssa. Whimpering as she bites your lower lip, her firm hands grabbing gently your breast. Your body felt like it was on fire, your core already dripping from arousal.

Baelon’s lips found your neck, kissing and nipping on your sensitive skin. His hands begin to undo your dress, letting the cheap material fall down, pooling around your feet.

Alyssa pulls back, her eyes ranking down your naked body. “A true beauty.” She looks at her husband and nodded towards their shared chambers. “Let’s continue this in our bed, shall we?”

With that, Baelon picks you up and strolls to their chambers. Alyssa is hot in his heels. He throws you into the bed, making you yelp in surprise. Alyssa starts to undo Baelon’s clothes, kissing every spot of his body.

Your eyes widen when he finally gets fully naked, your mouth watering at the sight of his perfectly muscular body. Alyssa stood beside him, gently stroking his massive erection.

“It seems someone likes you, Husband.” She says with a smirk, giving a small squeeze at the base of his cock.

Baelon chuckles and moves toward you, his lilac gaze focus on your flushed naked body. “It seems so... and I intend to show her how much I also like her.” He growls.

You suck a deep breath when he pulls you to the end of the bed, spreading your legs apart. Shivering in anticipation, your pussy spasms around nothing. Wanting nothing more than be filled by his massive cock.

Baelon spits down to your core, makes you jump in surprise, and brought his fingers down to your needy clit. Rubbing gently on it while his other fingers play with your entrance.

“So wet already.” He groans, slipping his long fingers in and out of you. Loving your lewd moans. “Who owns this pussy?”

You gasp in shock as he slaps your cunt when you don’t reply. “You, your Grace!” You whimper pathetically.

He bends downs, capturing your lips with his. The kiss was completely the opposite of what you shared with Alyssa. His kiss was full of passion, teeth and tongue clashing against each other.

He rubs the tip of his large member against your entrance, coating it with your own arousal.

“Ready?” He asks.

Biting your lower lip, you nod. Eyes widened as he thrust fully into you, the sting of his rough intrusion creating tears in the corner of your eyes.

“Relax, sweetie” Alyssa appears on your side, fully naked. She puts her hand on one of your breasts, slowly pitching your nipple between her slim fingers. “I know he’s big but you will get used to it.” She gives Baelon a wink.

Baelon groans lowly as he gave a first thrust, his beautiful face twisting in pleasure from how tight you felt around him. “Shit! You’re so tight.”

Alyssa takes your nipple into her hot mouth, sucking it harshly, while her hand moves down on your body. Her finger rubbed lazily on your clit.

Your back arched in ecstasy, mewl as Baelon’s cock brushed against a spot that made you see stars.

“Gods!” you cry “I-It feels so good!”

Alyssa hums, the vibrations making you moan loudly. You move your hand down her body, your fingers finding her needy pearl. She pulls away from your nipple and captures your lips with hers, drinking all your moans.

Baelon smirked and gave a rather rough thrust, making you both jump. “What a lovely view.” He growls.

Grabbing your hips, he pulls you up, making you straddle him while he lies down on the bed. He kisses Alyssa as he starts driving furiously into you.

“Sit on my face, my love.” He snarls at his wife, making her giggle.

“Who am I to say no to that?” She straddles his face, her front facing your way, and sat on his face. Sighing in delight when he begins licking and sucking her cunt.

Grabbing your neck, she pulls you into another passionate kiss.

The familiar feeling of pure bliss begins to form on your lower parts, whimpering and mewling into Alyssa’s lips. Your walls squeeze tightly around Baelon’s cock, yearning you a rough slap on your ass.

“Close already?” He chuckles beneath Alyssa. “You want to come on my cock? Want to soak my cock with your lovely nectar, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly. “Y-yes! Oh God... Please! I want to come!” You cry.

Baelon’s grip on your hips tightened as he set a brutal pass, forcing a loud wail from your bruised lips.

“Come for me, little maid.” He growls, making Alyssa moan as he eats her cunt like a starving man.

Your eyes roll back as you finally come on his cock, your body tensing as waves of ecstasy roll through you. Tears run down freely from your eyes.

Baelon nipped Alyssa’s clit, triggering her own orgasm as he comes inside you. Painting your walls with his seed.

You rest your head on Alyssa’s chest, nuzzling your face into her breast. Baelon pets your hips gently while he kisses Alyssa’s inner thighs.

She grabs your chin and gives you a gentle kiss. “Congratulations, little flame. You finally rode a dragon.”

Giggling, you both fell on the bed beside Baelon, who pulls you two into his arms. Your eyes begin to fall shut, feeling suddenly tired after all the adrenaline and ecstasy start fading away.

But you quickly woke up as Alyssa pitched your nipples, giving you a wicked smirk.

“Do you think it’s over, little flame?” she mused. “The night is still young. Let us enjoy it until both of us are carrying little dragons inside us.”

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