5sos tumblr smut

Game of thrones *calum*

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x3

You took a deep breath trying to compose yourself as the shout came down from the city walls announcing their approach. You didn't think you were ready for this, not that anyone cared to ask you what you were ready for. Your own father didn't even care; he was just trying to save his own skin. Though, he would likely voice to everyone that this was necessary to save the whole city.
Your father was the High Magister of the Free City of Norvos, not that the city was very free today. You had gone to bed last night excited at the prospect of going down to the river with a few of your sisters and your maids, only to wake up to the unfortunately familiar warning calls from guards outside. A Dothraki hoard had been spotted on the horizon.
You had been dreading those sounds more than anyone else in Norvos. The last Dothraki hoard to attack the city had come nearly a year and a half ago, and Norvos was still trying to recover. Your father had only just become High Magister at the time, and he was very dismal in his handling of the Dothraki. His gift to their Khal had been meager at best, and the insulted Khal had pillaged much of the city for payment. The pillaging and gift had left Norvos short on cattle, short on food, short on guards, and short on slaves. You knew your father would have little left to give to the Dothraki approaching now... little left except for you.
By most men's standards you were incredibly beautiful, some would even say the most beautiful they had ever laid eyes upon. You were also very smart, not that most men cared about that in a woman. As an advisor, you had taken over much of your father's diplomatic negotiations in the past year. You understood the languages and cultures of the other cities of Essos, and they greatly appreciated your consideration. As a result trade had increased, speeding up the rebuilding process. The people, both in Norvos and the rest of Essos, loved you.
You knew now, standing beside your father as the city gates swung open, that those very things that earned you love were about to become your downfall. Messengers had already confirmed that it was indeed the same Khal who had last attacked, and everyone knew that he would have to be presented with something truly grand to avoid attacking again. Something as grand as, say, a wife.
"If I could have this any other way, (Y/n)," Your father whispered under his breath as a small group broke off from the Dothraki hoard and approached the gate.
"You wouldn't," You cut off your father, unamused by his flattery. Whether you cared to admit it or not, you knew your father did not care for you. The only emotion the man had ever regarded you with was envy as the people praised your efforts and berated him for the last attack.
"High Magister, might I present the Great Khal Calum." One of the messengers called up to where you and your father stood as the approaching Dothraki raced through the gates and dismounted their horses.
"My greetings to the Great Khal Calum," Your father's eyes were directed at the Khal, while spoke to the translator. "We look forward to his presence in our city. If there is..."
The young Khal cuts your father off with a venomous glare and a loud growling noise before he opens his mouth to speak, "Tell the old man if he wishes to speak to me he can do it himself or not at all." He spoke to the translator in Dothraki, a language your father had no knowledge of, nor did he care to learn. You, however, were all too familiar with what the khal was saying, having picked up the language from countless trade partners.
"The old man does not speak the Dothraki tongue, only the tongue common to his people." You spoke up before the translator could.
The Khal diverted his gaze to you and for the first time since his arrival you observed the man. He was young, but he was certainly a man. His chest and arms were bare to show of the lean muscles rippling under the skin. The skin itself was a gorgeous tan from years of riding in the sun, littered with dark tattoos all along his arms and shoulders. His hair was quite long as well down to his mid-back, a Dothraki tradition you knew meant he was a warrior. No doubt he had never lost with his hair so long so young.
"Well then," The Khal murmured, eyeing you with a wary but intrigued expression, "Tell him I will not make a deal if I do not understand who I'm dealing with."
Your eyes never left the dark orbs boring into yours as you spoke to your father, "He says he won't make a deal through a translator. He doesn't deal with people he can't speak to directly."
Your father spluttered away, but before he could coherently form words the Khal was speaking again, "Who are you?"
"I am (Y/n) of Norvos, daughter of the High Magister," You gestured to your father as you spoke.
"You? His daughter?" The Khal's eyes roved over your body, "That is simply not possible."
You bit back a laugh at his words, "I find it as impossible as you, yet here we are... If you will not make deals with my father, perhaps the two of us could make a deal."
"What is she saying?" Your father hissed under his breath to the translator, whose mouth started moving a mile a minute to catch him up.
The Khal chuckled at your suggestion, "Oh, I am certain the two of us can make a deal."
"Our people are short of slaves. There is food to be had, but not plenty of it. Much of the city is still in tatters after the last raid. We do not have much to offer you by way of goods."
"That doesn't exactly sound like a fair deal to me." The Khal pursed his lips, waiting for your offer.
"My father's intention was to offer me to you as a wife, or whore or slave if you so choose, he doesn't care which, along with a few of his... personal favorites from the local brothel," You tried to put it as delicately as possible, knowing your father was being translated every word. "The brothels are about the only thing that are fully repaired in the city."
The Khal thought this over for a moment and took a step towards you. Your eyes fell to the floor in anxious anticipation. Everyone watching tensed. The Dothraki guards behind the Khal rested their hands on their blades; the guards around the city walls stood at attention, and your father put a few more inches between the pair of you while the Khal began to circle you in a very predatory manner, like a hawk ready to swoop down and catch its prey.
"Now why would I have need of his whores," The Khal put a finger under your chin and tilted your gaze back up to his, "if I had a woman as beautiful as you in my bed?" His thumb gently stroked over your cheek, and the only sound in the place was of quiet whispering as the translator spoke in hushed tones to your father of what Khal was saying.
"Men tire easily of having the same things every day," You pointed out quietly under your breath.
The Khal chuckled, clearly amused by your observation, "Boys tire of the same thing every day." Slowly, the Khal trailed a hand down your arm to your waist. With a sharp jerk of his wrist, you fell forward into him, palms splayed out on his chest and his arm tight around your waist, holding you to him. "Men know how to keep things interesting."
"Well then," you said breathlessly, "It would seem I don't know many men."
The Khal smirked, "I'll just have to show you, then." His eyes diverted away from you for the first time since you spoke, turning on the translator with a harsh glare. "Tell your master he can keep his ruined cities and his used whores for now. She will do just fine."
The Khal released your waist and walked back to his horse without as much as another glance in your direction. The translator was a flurry of words the second the Khals back was turned, but you didn't hear any of them. Your eyes still focused on the retreating back of the man you would soon call your husband.