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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 11 months

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Mine First, Mine Last, Mine Even in the Grave

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, minors keep away!, innocent MC

Words: 2797

Summary: Even at such a young age, Ramsay was proving a difficult and willful child. He was somewhat twisted in nature that sometimes disturbed his mother. However once he laid eyes on the little baby, he immediately grew attached to her.

"You mean she’s all mine?” A little Ramsay peers over the crib at the little bundle that fussed around in her blankets. He was standing on his tippy toes just so that he was barely able to peer over the side.

“Not exactly. . .” His mother informs him a bit hesitantly. How was she to tell him that the baby was left on their doorstep? That she had debated on letting it freeze to death had Ramsay not opened the door and found her. Even at such a young age, Ramsay was proving a difficult and willful child. He was somewhat twisted in nature that sometimes disturbed his mother. However once he laid eyes on the little baby, he immediately grew attached to her.

Now she was stuck raising two children. It was the last thing she wanted. At least Roose Bolton was kind enough to give her money and ways to make a living for her and their child. She now had to split that money three ways now since Ramsay just refused to let the little babe go.

With a gentleness that his mother had never seen before, Ramsay brushes a little finger along the curve of the baby’s chubby cheek. “You’re mine, (y/n). You belong to me.”

*Several Years Later*

He had insisted that you come along with him to the Dreadfort. That there was no other place better for you than by his side. At least that’s what he always told you. You were his constant companion since the day you could remember. Ramsay had always been in your life. Hovering over you and sometimes smothering you, but it was the only thing you had known.

Ramsay was happy to be at the Dreadfort, his rightful home as he had always told you. It had taken his father this long to request his presence. You knew how much this meant to him. How much being part of the Bolton family meant. Yet he still held the surname of Snow. His father hadn’t quite accepted him that much yet. So he would work hard to earn the name Bolton. And he would make sure you would be by his side.

You hadn’t seen Ramsay in days. You were excited that he was finally to return home from his hunting excursion with his father and brother. Peeking from your window, you try and go further on your tippy toes but it’s no good. All you could see are the Bolton banners being abused by the northern winds. With an impatient huff you turn on your heels and throw open the door of your room. Rushing down the hall, the excitement in you bubbled out of control as you grinned. Oh how you had been so bored without Ramsay. Maybe he would take you riding!

Taking the stairs two at a time you practically fly up to the balcony that faced the gates to the Dreadfort. The loud groaning and rumbling of the gate alerts everyone to their arrival. Containing your giddiness was nearly impossible. You had to wait until he was in eyesight though. You lean forward over the edge a bit.

“Excited?”

Freezing you turn to see Myranda standing right next to you. For the life of you, you couldn’t think of what you did for her to dislike you so much. Her face held a sneer as she looked at you.

“O-Of course. Ramsay’s home. Why wouldn’t I be excited?” You ask hesitantly. She was always mean to you so of course you were standoffish with even speaking to her. Myranda always made fun of you, commenting on how you were way too innocent for Ramsay to keep an interest in you. What did she mean by that?

The clopping of multiple hooves made you turn away from her. You didn’t want to hear what she had to say anyway. Your smile returns. Cupping your hands to your mouth you scream out “RAMSAY!!”

You had only been able to see the crown of his dark hair, but once your voice rang out he immediately lifts his head to the balcony. His grin was unmistakable.

Carefully moving around Myranda you hastily pick up your skirts and run to meet Ramsay at the bottom.

You didn’t give him much time to settle down onto the ground before you threw yourself at him. Ramsay was always ready for you though. He swoops you up in his arms and spins the two of you around.

“Did you miss me (y/n)?” His cold nose nuzzles against your neck making you squirm.

“Of course! That’s such a silly question to ask!” Burying your face in the pelts of his coat you take a deep breath in. You missed the smell of him. Something caught your eye though behind him. You lift your face to get a better look. “Ramsay. . . Who are those people?” They were bounded by chains, bloody and beaten.

Ramsay quickly puts you down, blocking your view. “Oh, no need to worry about them. They’re bad people.” His hands go to caress your face and bring your gaze back to him but you’re still trying to get a look at them.

“Why have you brought them here then?” A kiss to the crown of your head brings you away from the question though and you smile up at him.

“I missed you too (y/n).” Ramsay’s voice was always sweet like honey when he spoke to you. Sweet and full of adoration. You knew there would never be a man who loved you as much as Ramsay did. He even told you so and you felt it to be true. “Let’s get out of the cold. Tell me what you did while I was gone.”

He leads you back inside of the castle, listening patiently as you told him how bored you were and that you really hadn’t done much. But one of the stable boys had helped you get onto your horse and even walked around the courtyard with you with the reigns in his hand as he made sure your horse didn’t get out of hand.

His hand froze on your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Yes, he was very nice to me.” Nodding, you notice nothing out of the ordinary and continue on. “He even told me why horses need shoes on just like people! Did you know that the nails don’t actually hurt the horse? It would hurt me if someone put nails on my feet.”

“(y/n), do you remember the name of the stable boy?” asks Ramsay nonchalantly.

You think for a moment, index finger on your chin. “I believe his name is Joenn.” That’s when he stops you mid-step. You look back at him. “What’s wrong Ramsay?”

There’s dark foreboding on his face, even his pale eyes speak of a warning. “(y/n) you must be more careful next time.”

Scrunching your brows into a furrow, you tilt your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t be talking to men so freely like that. You can’t trust them. They’re all evil. Except for me, of course. I would never hurt you (y/n). They will though. Once they see that you’re guard is down they’ll try to hurt you. All of them.”

“W. . . Why would they want to hurt me?”

Seeing the clear fear on your face, he returns to being more softly and pulls you closer to him. “Because you’re sweet. All men want a taste of the sweetest fruits. Promise me you won’t talk to any other man unless I’m with you. I can protect you.”

“O-Okay.”

Ramsay wiped his hands clean of Joenn’s blood. It wouldn’t do for his precious (y/n) to see any speck of blood on him. Bad enough that she saw the prisoners that they had brought in. He wouldn’t dare expose her to that side of him. She was far too sweet for that world. Always smiling so easily at him. Yes, she was the one thing that solely belonged to him. That much Ramsay can confidently say; (y/n) was his.

“Are you done then?” Ramsay hears Myranda’s purr from the doorway of the dungeon.

Myranda had been fun to play with, but she could never truly replace (y/n). As much as he wanted (y/n) to remain sweet and pure there was a hunger in Ramsay for her. It was hard enough for himself as it was to control such urges. Everything she did made him want her even more.

The rag still in his hands he looks up at her. “Yes. Just had to take care of a pest problem.”

Myranda eyes the boy still hanging on the large wooden X. “A pest problem?”

“Yes. He got to near (y/n) for my liking.”

Immediately her dark eyes narrow at the mention of her. “You were jealous. You never get jealous when it comes to me.”

Ramsay offers her a carefree laugh. “I don’t have to worry about you. (y/n) however is too innocent. She doesn’t know how much she attracts men with her sweetness. She’s mine. I have to make that a point to the other vermin that skulk around her when I’m gone.”

“She’s a sweet idiot. Why waste your time on her if you don’t plan to fuck her?” She asks haughtily. The green venom of jealousy eating away at her. She couldn’t stand how much Ramsay adored the girl. Whenever she thought she had the upper hand (y/n) would always do something to take Ramsay’s attention away from her. What did that idiot have to offer? Surely not sex. That girl seemed like one who didn’t even know what her cunt was truly for. Ramsay had kept her sheltered. So why? Why was he so. . . in love with her?

“I’ll not have you speak about her in such a manner.” warns Ramsay, the glint in his eyes making Myranda press her lips together. Normally she would’ve gotten excited. When he used that tone it usually always led to rough sex. Not when it concerned (y/n) though. “Unlike you she’s precious and delicate. She requires nurturing before I take a bite of her.”

Yes, eventually he would taste her. Eventually he would make (y/n) his in every way possible. No man would ever be able to lay a claim on her once her marked her. Eventually. . . Eventually he would make her a Lady. It wasn’t just conquest of her that Ramsay aimed for. He would truly make her is. Ramsay would give her his name, a title, and eventually, his child. (y/n) would make an outstanding wife and mother. In due time. He just had to wait until his father truly claimed him as a Bolton.

She was the only one to ever make him breathless.

There he stood in her doorway as she stood nude in her room, appraising the massive fur pelt that Ramsay had given her. Fresh from the animal he had taken it from. The light of the candles highlighted her curves ever so perfectly as she swayed her hips unconsciously, smiling and running her hands in the fur before turning her attention to Ramsay. Her eyes widen a bit in surprise before she goes back to smiling. (y/n) reaches for her robe. “Hello Ramsay! I was just about to go take a bath. Would you like to join me? It’s been forever since we’ve bathed together!”

And there was a reason for that. Every time he caught sight of her naked body his cock would spring to life. It was against his nature to refuse his carnal desires. For (y/n) though he would.

Ramsay could feel his hand twitch, urging him to touch her. He wanted that damn robe off of her. Already he could feel his cock swelling from the peek he had received.

(y/n) cocks her head expectantly at him with a hopeful smile. “Come on Ramsay! We used to take baths all the time when we lived with your mother!”

Damn

Ramsay couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the distance between them, the heat in his groin becoming unbearable. He wanted what was his. Such sweet lips she possessed. Ramsay cupped her face roughly and smashed his lips against them. (y/n) jerks a little bit from the surprise. Wordlessly he pulls away to gaze down at her flushed face. (e/c) eyes dewey and half lidded, her lips parted from the loss of Ramsay’s. Hand snaking down her neck at past her robe to feel up her breast. With the slightest tug he slides her robe off of her to expose her once more. Grinning he he cranes his neck so that he could take soft nips against her slender neck. Shuddering, (y/n) bites down on her bottom lip and tilts her head back as she releases a shallow moan. Good. She was incredibly receptive to his touches.

With a shove, she lands on her pelt with stunned eyes staring at Ramsay. Utterly divine. Ramsay runs his tongue against his lips and starts to crawl on top of her. Brushing his lips along the length of her torso. “You’re mine (y/n). You understand? You’ll be my wife someday. Mother of my children. Lady of the Dreadfort.” Front teeth bite down on to her pert nipple making her wince a bit. To make up for it Ramsay rolled his tongue over the abused bud and gentle sucked at it. The sound of her breath growing shallow made his cock strain against his pants. It begged to be let out. To be between her legs and pulsate inside of her. As a substitute Ramsay slides his fingers inside of her making her back arch and her mouth gape wide. She’s barely able to groan out his name before he starts pumping them in and out, curling them inside of her and making her start to whimper.

“Does that feel good (y/n)?” Concentrated on her contorting facial expressions, Ramsay moves his fingers slower giving her enough time to answer him.

“Y. . . Y-Yes. . .” (y/n)’s eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed as she instinctively thrusts her pelvis to the rhythm of Ramsay’s ministrations. She wanted more. She wanted more of him. “Please. . .”

“Please what?”

“More. . .”

He feels his own heart racing at the fact that she didn’t know what she wanted more of. “Say that you want my cock. That you want my cock inside of your sweet cunt.”

As if her cheeks weren’t red already they were now beaming brightly as she turns her face away with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you what you want. You just have to say it (y/n).”

Her lips part several times, trying to form the words. She struggles even more when Ramsay stops his movements all together. “I-I want your cock. . .”

Immense pleasure fills him as he lets his thumb graze her clit. As if electricity jolted through her, her body clenches at the foreign feeling. “And where do you want my cock?”

“In my. . . I-I-In my s. . . sweet c-cunt.”

Who was he to deny his beloved (y/n) anything?

Within seconds his britches were off and his cock was finally free and prodding at (y/n)’s soaking cunt. Rubbing the head along her slit made (y/n) squirm incessantly, her thighs twitching with anticipation. Ramsay lifts up her thighs, fingers digging into them as he props her legs against his shoulders. One thrust of his hips and Ramsay was balls deep inside. She yelps at the intrusion, her maiden’s head having been penetrated. There’s no letting up now that Ramsay was finally inside of her. The one place he had longed to be since they had both come of age. Incredibly warm and tight, Ramsay continues to drive into her mercilessly. Her moans are torn and scattered as she can barely catch her breath. Every carnal instinct and desire spilled forth. He wanted to consume her entirely. Teeth bit down harshly on her fragile skin, enough to draw blood. Tongue lapped at the sweat that beaded on her temple. Fingers digging desperately just to get her closer despite them already being as close as two bodies could get.

More.

In that lustful haze Ramsay hardly registered (y/n) coming to her climax until the walls of her cunt tightened in revenge around his cock. That was the last thing he needed to come undone himself. The very breath was stolen from him as his body locked up, spilling his seed inside of her that would guarantee him an heir.

Exhausted, his face drops to the crook of her neck. Gingerly her hand goes to his shoulder to press him closer to her panting form.

“Mine. . .” He pants. “You’re all mine.”

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bamsywrites · 1 year

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Guilt (Tyrion Lannister x Reader)

paring: Tyrion x Reader; Tywin x Reader

summary: Tyrion is consumed with guilt as he sees just how his actions have affected you

word count: idk but sure as fuck not 13.k Idk where I got that number from 🤦

tags: pregnant! reader, mentions of miscarriage/infant loss, pretty fucking huge age gaps mentioned. tywin doing tywin things. angsty with some hurt/comfort. there's a lot of plot building as i want to attempt to make this into a series. pining. future friends to lovers.

AN: this is my first time writing in a loooong fucking time. I am open to constructive criticism and feedback. I have plans on making this into a series so let me know if that would interest you. this scenario has been in my maladaptive daydreams for so long lol. Please let me know how you like it!

Tyrion watched you from his spot overlooking the river where the women were doing the washing for the day. An older woman was showing you the best methods for getting stains out from the fabrics of sheets and clothes, you watched with a furrowed brow and genuine curiosity from your seat on a large boulder. Tyrion had noticed this was a new behavior trend of yours. You'd go to the kitchens, the stables, the rivers, all to try and lend a hand or learn. Your noble birth made it so you never had to wash your clothes or clean your rooms or make your food. He'd observed that since arriving in Mereen, you almost seemed to be trying to repent of the sin of being born a noblewoman by doing the chores and duties of those most would consider beneath someone of your birth. Not that you ever thought that way.

Tyrion's eyes drifted down to your swollen belly which you were stroking softly as you watched the woman and he scoffed with a quick swig from a flask of whatever wine he was able to get his hands on. You were nearing the end of your pregnancy, evident by your size and the waddle to which you walked. Dany had been accommodating to your state by having someone around to assist you if need be and keeping a midwife on standby for the impending birth. The queen had been more forgiving than he could have hoped for when it came to the two of you. You had given a rather convincing speech when you had arrived after fleeing Kings Landing. He could still hear the words ring in his mind.

"Your Majesty, I was but a child when your father was overthrown and family murdered. I was a child still when I was betrothed. No choice in my life has ever been my own. I was sold like cattle to the highest bidder and forced to have his children so he could in turn ship them away and form alliances with lords and kings. Everything I have done has been to protect me and my children. All I ever will do is to protect my children. I want them to live a life better than mine and from what I have seen here you would be able to provide that more than any man in Westores currently fighting for the throne. For that, you will have my loyalty."

It was well-spoken and you stood tall while you said it, but he could see the fear in your eyes. How could he blame you? A pregnant woman far from home in the territory of someone who wanted her dead simply because of who she was forced to marry. Staying in the Red Keep wouldn't have bode well for you either, his sister had never been fond of you and with the death of his father, the castle suddenly became very dangerous for you.

Tyrion understood why Tywin wanted to make an alliance with your house. Your father was lord of a southern house that was known for its impressive feats on the field of battle, no one had ever defeated House ____ on the battlefield and most were met with devastating defeats when they were on horseback. The best tacticians Westores had ever seen either came from your house or were mentored by the lords of your house. Tywin wanted that alliance and he was always looking to further his family line but Jamie had made vows and Tywin would rather die than give Tyrion any claim to Casterly Rock. That left him to marry you, which he did. You were young. Very young. He remembered how scared you looked on your wedding day as his father covered you in a robe of Lannister Red.

You'd done your duty as a wife very well. 6 years since your wedding to his father and you'd had several pregnancies and two living children - daughters much to Tywins dismay. You bore him a son named Tytos but he fell asleep one night never to wake again. Tyrion remembered that day very well, he walked into the hall to see his father holding you as you sobbed, pressing a kiss to your head and looking as vulnerable as Tyrion had ever seen him. Tywin always seemed to respect you and held some possessiveness over the fact that you were his lady wife. You were spoiled by him as was expected, always in the finest dresses and jewelry. Tywin made an example of anyone who dared to disrespect you, even if that person was the boy king himself. He seemed to value your intellect and wit, finding bragging rights in your brains and beauty. A fact that drove Ceresi mad. Though Tyrion supposed, the way Tywin treats your daughters was an even bigger slight to the Queen Regent.

Trysta and Nataria.

Tywin doted on them more than he did you. It was made known behind closed doors that Tywin would keep putting babes in your belly until you gave him an "heir and a spare" but there was a light to his eyes when his youngest daughters were around that made it known he cared for them too. There was an affection there that Tyrion did not remember his father showing Ceresi or Jamie as children. A fact confirmed by the jealousy his sister had for the two young girls, Jamie had never made a comment on it but he enjoyed the company of your daughters very much.

They were very sweet girls, with your eyes but the signature Lannister hair. Trysta was the eldest at five years old, she was smart and sassy, a combination that always brought a smile to Tyrion's face. There was nothing like watching a noble lord be put in their place by a small girl in a pink dress, knowing that they dare not comment back for fear of facing her father's wrath. Nataria was younger, still not quite speaking in full sentences yet, and always wanting to be picked up by anyone who would take her. Tyrion would never forget walking into the tower of the hand to see her sat on Tywins lap with her head nuzzled into his chest as she napped. Tywin informed Tyrion that the babe you were carrying was making you ill and the handmaids were unable to get her to stop crying. He didn't look up from the papers scattered across his desk and his voice was as stern and emotionless as it always was. It was almost alien to see it, to see how much Tywin was capable of some form of care for his children. Tywin often made the comment that his first three children were disappointments and that he was going to make sure his next turned out differently.

You had made the smart choice to send the two girls to stay with your family after Jofferys murder. Kings Landing was not safe for them and both girls adored Tyrion. You had not wanted them to witness his trial or execution or to be brought into the middle of dangerous court politics. You probably would have joined them if Tywin had allowed it. Tyrion was sad he never got to say goodbye to them. He loved them as much as they loved him, always reading books or buying trinkets for them. He missed them dearly but knew you missed them more.

Especially today. It was Nataria's second name day.

Tyrion was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your laugh as you watched the children play in the water and their splashes of water soaking your dress and hair. He noticed that your laugh didn't quite reach your eyes and the guilt panged through him.

It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.

You were distracting yourself, he realized, from the pain of what today meant. The pain of not being with your children. The pain of not knowing when you will see them again. He couldn't imagine the pain in your heart. Almost like you knew what he was thinking, your eyes locked with his and he gave you a curt nod before standing and heading away from the river.

---

Later that night he saw you again, sat in the gardens of a courtyard lit by the stars, and a few torches spread over the area. There was a piece of parchment paper in your lap and your fingers were playing with a necklace around your neck. Tyrion noticed your beauty in the light of the stars. The way the flames from the torches flicked across your features. He always knew you were beautiful but it was dawning on him that you were more than beautiful. He sometimes found the air leaving his lungs if the light hit you right. The sound of your laugh, your voice, when he heard you sing it was like the whole world stood still. It wasn't fair, he thought, that someone as kind and smart and witty as you could also be so beautiful.

The sound of a muffled sob brought him out of his thoughts and he felt that searing guilt tear threw him once more.

It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.

His feet moved him through the courtyard and he sat next to you in silence. You quickly wiped at your eyes and shoved the paper, what Tyrion could now see was an old letter from your father about how your daughters were doing, into your dress. The two sat in silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say. You'd always treated Tyrion with such respect and kindness and he'd returned the favor to you. You never let Tywin taint your view of him.

"You've been avoiding me," your voice cut through the silence.

It was true. He hadn't spoken more than a few sentences since defending you to the Queen when you were brought to her throne room. "And yet you have been watching my every move."

He nodded, eyes fixated on a particular patch of grass in the courtyard. "Always observant aren't you?" His voice was soft.

"You'd think someone of your size would be better at hiding but alas....."

Your comment made him laugh. The first laugh in a long time.

"Spying is not my strong suit, I must admit. Drinking, books, and whores are my real talents." His eyes traveled over to you and he noticed your small smile.

Your smile shouldn't cause him to feel the way he was.

The two of you sat in silence for a long while after that. It wasn't an awkward silence, neither of you seemed to know how to get the thoughts flowing through your head to form into words. There was so much to say, so much to explain. You broke first.

"I miss them," Your voice wavered and your lip trembled. "I miss them so. It feels as though my heart has been ripped out of my chest." The tears started to fall all at once, Tyrion swore he could hear them hit the ground like rain.

It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault

"Every time the babe inside me moves, I remember how it felt to feel them move too. I think of them from the moment I wake to the moment I sleep and then I dream of them. Are they happy? Are they safe? Where are they? When will I see them?" You rambled through the thickness of your tears, your fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of your dress.

Tyrion hesitantly grabbed your hand in his, afraid you'd hurt yourself and gave it a small squeeze.

"Your sister...Oh, your sister...she hates them. She hates me. She'll have them killed. I can't...I can't.." you choked on sob after sob

He said your name softly and moved to stand in front of you so he could look into your eyes. The tears falling down your cheeks and hitting the skirt of your dress broke his heart.

It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault

"Ceresi is many things. A hateful bitch is among one of her most prominent attributes. But, she is not stupid enough to wage war on your family. Her hatred for me consumes her. Last I heard they think I kidnapped you." He almost laughed bitterly at the thought. Remembering how he rushed you out of The Red Keep, it wasn't too far from the truth. "And despite even with all of that aside. Do you think Jamie would let her? Let her kill your children? Our sisters?" In truth, he had no idea what would happen but he had to hope. He had to have faith that his choice wouldn't lead to the fatalities of you and your daughters.

Your arms quickly wrapped around him and your face nuzzled into his neck. For a moment he just stood there in shock, this was the closest you'd ever been to him and he found himself enamored with how you smelt and soft you felt. But soon he ran his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. Tyrion could feel your hot tears on his shoulder and the mantra repeated in his head.

It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.

"I'm so fucking sorry," He whispered into your hair. "I'm so sorry."

You pulled away and he found himself missing your warmth. He told himself it was because he wasn't used to such interaction, which wasn't a lie, but there was a stirring deep within him that he had to push down and hide. That would only bring him more shame and heartbreak and insult you further than he already has.

"All my life, my father hated me for killing my mother and for being a dwarf. He loathed my very existence. The only thing that kept me alive was my name. I was a Lannister. And then he lets me be led like a lamb to slaughter for a murder he knew I didn't commit. My only option is death or going to The Wall, there's not much difference there as people seem to think. He takes the woman I love and turns her against me, having her lie to all of Kings Landing. And then I find he's fucking her..." Tears were starting to well in his eyes now as he remembered Shae and how it felt to find her in his father's bed. "I didn't think about the consequences. Not for you or the girls until after it was done."

He remembered how the lamp light flickered across your face as you stood there, hand on your belly and mouth agape as he held the crossbow. He remembered how it felt to have the realization slap him in the face. Tywin had become fond of using you to belittle Cerasi, often saying you were more worthy to be a Lannister than she was. Cerasi was jealous of how Tywin seemed to care for and respect you. You wouldn't last long at The Red Keep. Tyrion remembered the scared look in your eyes as he took your wrist in a harsh grasp and led you through the corridors to where he was to meet Varys.

He was pulled from his memories when he could feel your fingertips lightly brush away his tears. "It's my fault," Tyrion's voice broke as he said those words to you, "and I can never express how sorry I am."

You swallowed thickly and looked at him for a moment before your eyes drifted up to the night sky. You were quiet again and this time the silence was thick and heavy. Tyrion could see your brain working hard to formulate thoughts and feelings into words.

"I was 15 when I was betrothed to Tywin," You said softly, your eyes still on the stars. "My father was so excited. The Lannisters would make a great ally and I was the only daughter he had to offer. For two years I waited, knowing that I was to be married to a man who rode into battle with my grandfather. It was the day after my 17th name day that we were wed. Within a year I had Trysta." Your tongue peaked out to wet your lips. "Tywin was not a moral man. He was not a good man. He was a smart man. An ambitious man. But not a good one. I know he respected me, I think he may have cared for me in his own complicated way. I know he cared for our children. But he was old and mean and arrogant."

Tyrion was silent as you spoke, you two had talked in the past for hours about books and history but you never quite opened up about your relationship with his father. Your eyes fell down to your lap and you picked at a loose string.

"I may be cursed for thinking it but I do not miss him. I miss my home. I miss Casterly Rock. I miss the sea and the beach. I miss Trysta and Nataria. But I do not miss Tywin. I am not naive enough to think that I will ever experience what it's like to be loved...to marry for love. That's not a reality for high-born women but I do hope the next time I'm married off it's to someone who is less of an ass."

Tyrion stood there for a moment and then took your face into his hands, "I promise you by whatever Gods are listening that I will get you back home. Back to your children. Or I will die trying." And he meant it.

You simply nodded. He took his seat next to you, his hand resting atop yours. The two of you sat there in a peaceful silence looking at the stars with his hand on yours and you weren't sure how long for. It could have been 15 minutes or two hours. When Tyrion noticed your head starting to bob and your eyes struggled to stay open, he stood up and silently offered you his arm.

The walk to your room was quiet. He had more he wanted to say to you but he knew this was not the time to say it. Once he got to your door he didn't know what to say, he didn't know if he should say anything. He cleared his throat and rested his arm at his side.

"If you, uhm, if you need me...." His voice trailed off.

"I know," you nodded, "thank you." You placed a soft kiss on his forehead before disappearing into your room.

Tyrion stood there for a moment, frustration rushing over him like waves. It was happening. He could feel the feeling creep into his heart: he was falling in love with the woman he widowed and he wasn't sure how to stop it.

#tyrion lannister x reader #tyrion x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #tywin x reader #tywin lannister x reader #game of thrones reader insert #reader insert

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enibas22 · 1 month

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from IG schulzenern._ - 17th March 2024

anke #tomwlaschiha für diesen wunderbaren Exkurs nach #westeros 🌎 Deine Stimme hat zum Träumen und verweilen eingeladen. 💭🤍 Wir kommen gern wieder und du hoffentlich auch 😄 Valar Morghulis . . .burgstolpen #Lesung #tomwlaschiha #gameofthrones #got #dermannohnegesicht #arya #valarmorghulis

IG bibi_blubb_

#tom wlaschiha #game of thrones reader insert #lesung #burg stolpen #march 2024 #video #german language

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summervale · 1 year

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「The Hound and The Vulture 」

Part 5 (and a half)

Third person reader-insert! After weeks—or had it been months now?— on the road north, the Hound and the vulture can finally withstand the cold rain no longer and turn to an inn for a single night of reprieve. And, of course, there is only one bed.

Contains: Reluctant pining, teasing, mature situations

Words: 4,871

Tags: @lunnybunny12 @supervalcsi

Notes: The overused, cliché, worn-out trope of “and there was only one bed.” Let’s have it one more time, then, once more from the top.

This is half of Part 5. Parts of the second half are already written, but I wanted to go ahead and get this finished, edited half out for everyone who has been so supportive and so patient! Thank you all for your kind words.❤️

The town was dismal at best. But still, there was an inn. Any respectable person from any respectable keep would have spat on both the inn and the town, but neither the Hound nor the vulture were in any position to turn away a warm bed. Even the thought of a damp straw mattress and a bowl of dubious brown stew warmed the vulture inside—just a little.

They plodded their way down what they could only assume was the main road of the town, though it was currently little more than a bog. The mud sucked at their horses’ hooves as they went; gods forbid the northern reaches of Westeros go more than a day or two without getting rained, snowed, or sleeted on, or any miserable, abysmal combination of the three. Sometimes they were met with all three in one day–those were the worst days, soaked to the core and chilled to the bone–but still, Sandor would not let them rest.

The rain had let up to a cold, ever-present mist when they reached the village. Everyone is staring again, thought the vulture. They’re always staring. She had half a mind to run the staring people down from time to time. Everywhere they went, the Hound drew stares. Children often fled, sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they asked questions. The adults were no better, and often the vulture found herself wondering how many times the Hound had been recognized. She half expected to be seized by the white cloaks themselves in the middle of the night. Sandor could fight them off, no doubt. She’d seen him do some serious damage in their time together.

And though he could defend himself blindfolded with one arm tied behind his back (of this the vulture had not a doubt), it was the people who stared who bothered her the most. The brute of a man was somehow too nice to send the staring children away with a “fuck off,” easy as it may have been. The vulture was less nice in this regard.

Wait. She turned in her saddle to look at him. He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing—an expected interaction by this point. When did I start caring if they laugh at him? Why would I want to defend him? She’d had her moments of weakness, it was true. But she was not one to chase love unrequited. Especially not from a mongrel like Sandor Clegane. It had been the cold and the dark and the rain that had gotten to her before, or so she could tell herself. She would have wanted any man. And he saved her, too. No matter who he was, he had saved her and he had not forced himself onto her. It was a noble act. Of course she’d wanted him, it was almost instinct.

And yet…

“Boy, get over here.”

She was wrenched from her thoughts by Sandor’s voice. There was a boy a few strides away from the stables of the inn, shirtless and shoeless even in the cold, and dirty, too. Had he not had such a nasty look of revulsion on his face at the sight of the Hound, the vulture might have pitied him. But she didn’t.

“You the stableboy?”

The little cretin’s face twisted further. “No, I’m here for fun,” he japed.

Sandor paid the comment little mind. “Take these horses. See that they’re brushed and watered. And that they have oats.” Sandor began to dismount as he spoke, and the girl followed suit.

The ground was miserably soft and wet below, mud from the rain and muck from the stables. Her nose wrinkled as she swung one leg over the saddle to dismount, bracing herself for the ankle-deep plunge into the filth. Please hold, please don’t come apart, she prayed silently to her boots. If there was any place for her only pair of boots to be ripped apart by the mud, it would be this hole of a town, though, and the vulture was anything but optimistic.

“Easy there.” The Hound was aside her, suddenly, and before she knew what he was doing, the mountain of a man had lifted her from her horse. He took her with the ease an average man would use to lift a child.

The sudden act of kindness caught her off guard so badly that all she could think to say was, “What are you doing?” He held her, navigating the muck of the stables with the small woman in his arms. Without thinking, she draped one arm over his shoulder and held fast to his chest with her other hand, holding onto him as if for dear life.

“No point in both of us getting fuckin’ muddy,” he grumbled. It was, it seemed, to be the most begrudging act of kindness ever. But still, it was an act of kindness nonetheless, and the vulture found herself oddly fond of the Hound in that moment.

Said moment was cut short when the Hound unceremoniously all but dropped her back onto drier ground. The well-packed earth beneath the overhang of the inn rose up to meet her boots, and when she was no longer entwined in his arms (his big, strong, protective arms…) the young woman snapped back to reality.

“Thank you,” she said, still dazed. All she received in response was a grunt of acknowledgement—not that she’d expected anything more.

The inside of the inn was significantly better than the outside of the inn. Hells—it was better than the whole town. Or maybe it had just been that long since they’d lived like civilized people, sleeping in barns that had been put to the torch with only their cloaks for comfort, hiding out beneath crevasses in hillsides. The inn smelled of rabbit stew and hot spiced wine, and within moments of standing in the doorway it was undoubtedly the warmest the pair had been in weeks.

The woman behind the bar eyed them suspiciously. “What do you want?” she asked.

Before the Hound could answer, it was the vulture who stepped forward. “Two rooms, please. And two meals, and some wine.” She thought for a moment. “And two baths as well.” They had the coin to spare, after all, having sold their third horse to the farmer and selling the bits of armor the vulture was so good at scavenging from the many dead soldiers they encountered. Stark, Lannister, Frey…it was funny how the houses they died for didn’t matter anymore when they laid dead in the dirt with a woman ripping the armor from their bodies for whatever coin it might bring. A futile fight with a fitting end. Often it sold for a few coppers at best, but the stew and ale it would buy was worth a hundred gold dragons to the pair.

The innkeep eyed the Hound. “It’ll be double the cost of the bath for him,” she said. “I’ll have to heat and haul twice as much water.”

“Done,” the vulture answered for the Hound. She could feel the scowl he was boring into her head behind her.

“I’ll get you your food, have a seat. But there’s one problem,” said the woman, who was already shuffling off to the kitchens.

“Seven hells. What’s the problem?” The Hound finally found his voice, it seemed, and joined the conversation.

“There’s only one room. Big bed, though, even for the likes of you,” the woman never looked over her shoulder. “I’m sure you can share.”

Beside the vulture, the Hound huffed. “I’m sure we can share,” said the small woman, half-mocking the innkeep, half-teasing Sandor.

Her traveling companion, ever silent, said nothing. He strode off for the dining area, no doubt in anticipation of the promised wine. The vulture scowled. They’d shared a bed once at the farmhouse. Something inside of her fluttered at the memory. It hadn’t gone anywhere, though, and she’d be a fool to expect he’d feel any differently about her at an inn than he would in a farmhouse or a cave or a barn or anywhere else they had been or ever would be. It was cliché, to be sure, having arrived at an inn with only one bed vacant in the whole damn place. But it made no difference. The vulture could strip herself of her clothes and present herself before him bare; she could climb on top of him, she could do and say whatever she wanted. The Hound would not have her.

The small talk they made over their dinner was as bland as the stew. The Hound wasn’t one for conversation, much less when other prying eyes and open ears were nearby. The stew was thin and watery and the cook had skimped on the rabbit. But the radishes and potatoes were cooked well, at least, and though the wine was more brown than red, it washed the stew down all the same and warmed them to their core. They mopped at their trenchers with bread that was not quite stale but would be soon. Yet, they cleared their plates. By the time they’d finished, a serving girl appeared at their table’s side.

“A bath for the lady?” asked the girl. She seemed nervous, her eyes darting back and forth from the Hound to the vulture to the floor, then back again. “It’s ready. The bath. For the lady.”

“A bath for the lady.” The vulture nodded in agreement. She drank down what was left of her wine in one swallow and replaced the cup to its original spot on the table. “Hear that? I’m a lady,” she said to Sandor.

He grunted. “Could have fooled me.”

She didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead she stood and followed the girl, who led the way up the flight of stairs and to a store room where a copper tub had been half-way filled. The water was tepid, as mediocre as the meal they’d been served and the wine they had drank, but just like the meal and the wine it served its purpose, and for that the vulture was grateful. The girl helped the traveler out of her clothes and into the tub. The vulture allowed herself to relax the slightest bit; the serving girl dutifully and silently washed her hair (a pity, as the vulture would have appreciated a good conversation) while the vulture set to scrubbing her body.

When all was said and done, the serving girl provided the vulture with a shift made from plain, undyed wool and promised that her clothes would be washed and dried before the night’s end—a service the woman had gladly allowed herself to be upsold on for two extra coppers. Warm and clean for the first time in an undetermined amount of time (even the vulture had since lost track of how long they’d been traveling) she retired to the room they were given. The last room at the end of the hall was where they’d been situated. It was a small room with a large bed that took up the majority of the space. The bed was large and sturdy enough to sleep four, there was a small square table with a single chair, and an iron brazier in which the innkeep had so kindly started a small fire. The innkeep had been right: they could share without problem.

After a moment’s time warming her hands at the brazier, the vulture settled into the bed, choosing the side closest to the wall. It was heaven. The Seven themselves surely had a hand in crafting this wonderful, glorious room in this wonderful, glorious inn. Never before had the vulture been so relieved and comfortable as she was here.

That was an exaggeration. It was a dank inn in a shithole of a town. The vulture knew this. But she knew that she was warm and comfortable, too, and she knew that she’d spent months sleeping in caves and barns and open fields even, and that this was better than anything. She closed her eyes. She was safe and warm. She was comfortable. And soon Sandor would be at her side.

Sandor…

Beneath the covers, her body was warm. Her mind was fuzzy. Sleep was taking her. He’ll have a bath, and then he’ll join me. Soon, so soon. She, in the moments before sleep when the mind is both the most absurd and the most honest, anticipated the feeling of the mattress sinking beneath his weight as he climbed into bed beside her. She wanted the heat of his body beside hers. She wanted him to settle in and pull the blankets around them, to feel his chest rise and fall against her back with every breath he took. She wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him...

The door closed quietly, but loud enough to wake her nonetheless. The world was dark. Outside the small window the whole sky was black and starless, so the only light came from the single brazier on the opposite side of the small room. It was raining. The rainfall made a quiet patter on the roof, in the same peaceful way the wind whipped against the wooden siding of the inn in the night.

Sandor stood near the door he’d shut. “Were you sleeping?”

“Yes,” she said, though for how long she’d been sleeping she could not say. Long enough for the sun to go down, at least. She was comfortable, and though she couldn’t remember it now, she’d been having some sort of wonderful dream.

The Hound said nothing. He was just standing there almost awkwardly. The vulture sat up, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and in the dim light of the room she could see he was squinting back at her. She realized at once that it must have been a foreign sight to him to see her look so…not feral. On the best of days she could easily be taken for a wildling, like some creature who’d come raiding from north of the wall or an escapee from a hill tribe. He’d never known her as the maid who loved to sing and dance, who baked bread and had once wreathed her hair with summer daisies. He knew her as what she had become. He knew her as the vulture. In their time together she’d huddled beneath a mourning cloak of black with her hood drawn, changing between the two skirts she had (both of which were also black and worse for the wear) with her hair unkempt and her skin hidden from the cold beneath her many layers.

The woman staring back at him must have been a stranger. Her hair was soft and clean and dry, as was her skin, and she smelled of soap instead of horses. Her black cloak was replaced with a thin wool shift. And for the first time, her guard was down.

Sandor was still Sandor, though, just a little cleaner than usual. This is probably what he looked like when he was one of the white cloaks, she thought, studying him.

After a long moment of silence, he said, “Throw me a pillow.”

That struck her as odd. “What for?” she asked, and though she gathered one in her arms, she hesitated on passing it to him.

Even in the darkness he was looking at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which he punctuated with an impatient huff. “If I’m going to give you the fucking bed, you’re going to give me a fucking pillow.”

“Give me the bed?”

“Though I have my doubts about it, you’re a woman. I’m not making a woman sleep on the floor.”

She stared at him. He stared back. “Why would I sleep on the floor?” she asked. “Why would you sleep on the floor?” The question only resulted in more staring.

“So you can have the fuckin’ bed,” Sandor told her at last though it clarified nothing and was circular reasoning at best. “Now give me the pillow.”

“You’re being ridiculous. We’ve shared a bed before.” She clutched the pillow more tightly to her chest. “There’s no need for you to sleep on the floor when this is the first time either of us have had a good bed in—”

“Seven hells, give me the pillow.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

With a signature annoyed grunt, Sandor stomped the few short strides to the bed. “You’re a lady, you get your own fuckin’ bed. Give me that.”

“No!” She pulled back as he reached for it. “No, you beast!” He grabbed for the pillow, but she was faster, lurching backwards onto her haunches. Her win was momentary, though, as for the first time in their time together, he outsmarted her. He reached past her and around her, grabbing the pillow she’d previously been sleeping on.

He pulled away successful in his endeavor and tossed the pillow onto the floor. Sandor knelt, pushing the pillow against the wall and going to his knees to get comfortable.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she reiterated. “We’re paying good coin for this bed. There’s no reason for you to lay down there and catch a chill from the draft.”

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at her. “Do I have to tell you to go the fuck to sleep every time we go the fuck to sleep?”

If he wants to be ridiculous, we will be ridiculous. The vulture swung her legs from the bed so suddenly that even Sandor looked surprised. No sooner did her feet hit the floor than she pulled the other pillow from the bed. She dropped it on the floor with a muffled thump.

“What in the gods’ name are you doing?”

“If we’re wasting money on the bed, we’re wasting money on the bed.” She let herself fall back against the pillow. It really is cold down here, she realized, suddenly unsure whether she had the constitution to win this game or not. She didn’t want to be cold. She wanted to be warm in bed, but she wanted to be warm in bed with Sandor.

And seven hells did she hate admitting that.

“Get up there.” Each word the Hound said came out punctuated with evident frustration.

“No.”

“And you think I’m ridiculous?”

“Yes.” She was looking over at him, at his hulking form in the dark. The room was small save for the bed, so they were left with only two or three feet between them. Even with those two or three feet she could feel him thinking, scathing, fuming. If she was good at nothing else in this life, she was good at frustrating Sandor Clegane.

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if he’d care enough to join her in the bed. He might just let her lay there and be cold. Even on the floor with no blankets, this was the warmest they’d been in a long time. They were in no danger of freezing, and if she wanted to make herself miserable, no doubt Sandor would let her.

That’s why it came as such a surprise when Sandor first pushed himself back onto his knees, then stood.

She watched him wordlessly. He closed the gap between them until he was standing over her. And then he descended on her.

“What are you—oh!” The vulture’s objections were cut short when the great beast of a man stooped and lifted her for the second time that day. Though helping her from the horse had been almost graceful, this was unceremonious but equally effortless.

The bed rose up to meet her when he dropped her. “Get in the fucking bed and go to sleep.”

“You get in the fucking bed,” she told him. And quick as that, she was out of the bed again.

A game was afoot. He grabbed her, catching her in the ribs with his forearm. Her feet left the floor as she found herself tossed like a doll back onto the bed. In the brief pause that ensued, the faintest, most brief smirk played at Sandor’s lips. The vulture silently admired it. But the game was not so easily won, not for him at least, and in a blink she was up again. This time she anticipated his movement and ducked beneath his arm, dancing away from him. He whirled and grabbed for her, catching her by the elbows before she could take her spot on the floor again.

It was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous, she’d called it right from the start. The vulture didn’t even attempt to suppress the laugh that escaped her lips when he caught her. Though at first it seemed he was going to yell at her, her laugh changed everything. They stood there, Sandor holding her by her shoulders inches from him as she laughed and laughed in the darkness. How long had it been since she’d laughed like this? Had he ever seen her laugh? Had he ever seen her have fun?

Frustrated though he may be, he said nothing, instead lifting her again. He turned, and once more made to drop her onto the bed. This time she didn’t let go. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, a move he was not expecting, and he halfway toppled down with her when he dropped her weight. His knee buckled into the side of the bed and he caught himself with his arms, pinning one on either side of the small woman whose arms were still tangled around his neck.

She was laughing again.

“Fuck you, woman.”

And in the dark, with her face inches from his, with her arms around his neck and her chest pressed to his, she could hear her own voice ask, “Is that what you want? To fuck me?”

Why did I say that? A thousand thoughts rushed to her mind in an instant’s time. Why did she say that? Was it the wine? She could easily blame the wine. But the blame didn’t matter. He was him and she was her, and her attempts to sway him in the past had failed, and now she’d fucked up and he was going to pull away, and she’d ruined a perfectly nice moment, and—

And…?

He wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t moving at all, actually. He was still there, still so close to her. He stayed that way, too, studying her in the dark. Without thinking, she silently and gently—so gently—brought one hand to the unburnt side of his face. With her thumb she brushed his hair from his eyes. His hair was surprisingly soft, if not a little damp still from the bath, and so close together he smelled of soap and spiced wine. He didn’t stir, and she didn’t breathe. For a moment she thought he might kiss her.

“I’ll get in the fucking bed if you go to sleep,” he told her. He didn’t back away, though, and she watched his lips when he spoke.

You didn’t answer my question.

“Okay.” She’d been subdued. Don’t let me go, please don’t let me go, she thought as he let her go. He gathered their pillows from the floor and tossed them to her one at a time. She settled back into her spot nearest the wall, watching him move through the dark as he made his way back to the bed. Outside, the rain was falling harder as if to hush them.

Sandor’s movements were awkward but still somehow brusque as he found his way beneath the covers. The vulture remained still as he settled in, pulling the blankets this way and that to accommodate his size. When at last her companion was still too, she allowed her head to rest against her pillow. There were few ways to bother him now; the game was over and she had won. At this realization, she let her eyes close for a moment.

He didn’t pull away, she thought. He didn’t answer my question.

She kept her eyes closed, replaying their fight, however brief it may have been, in her head again and again and again. The way she’d laughed and spun as if dancing, the way he’d smiled, too. If her winning had meant the game was over, she’d rather have never won at all. When at last her fantasies were over and she could replay the scene no more, she opened her eyes again. Minutes had passed, but not too great of a time.

Even in the fading light of the brazier, she could tell he was watching her. Sandor was laid on his side facing her, which in itself was rare as he usually chose to sleep with his back to her when they huddled together beneath a cloak at night. She couldn’t see his eyes, as he was just a shapeless black silhouette in the night, but she knew nonetheless. She could feel it. She stared back.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

She was silent for a long time. You didn’t pull away. Try as she might, she did not have the courage to ask again.

It was Sandor who spoke. “If I want to fuck you?”

Her heart skipped a beat—or two or three or four—and she realized she was holding her breath, scarcely breathing at all. Had she not been laying down, the world may have gone sideways. “Yes.” Her face was hot, suddenly. Her whole body was hot.

“You think I look at you like some common whore?” That was not an answer to her question, though. He was avoiding it. Was that a yes? A no? What did that even mean? The answer frustrated her. She was not a whore, no, but she was no maid, either, and he knew that. She’d been married, however brief it may have been, so what did it matter now if it was a farmer or a hound whose bed she shared? She was no maid, no high lady, and no whore. She was nothing. She was a vulture, and he was a hound. And she wanted him, try as she might to suppress it.

This was not the time for anger; this was the time to get what she wanted. What she wanted, and what she knew he wanted, too. It was time to stop denying themselves.

“I wish you would,” she said. “Then you might give us what we both want.”

“Is that what you want? To be treated like a whore?” Through his aggression, the vulture couldn’t help but wonder if Sandor truly thought it was that unbelievable for a woman to actually want him.

“You’re making this awfully hard on yourself for someone with a woman trying to sleep with him.”

There was a pause. It was his turn to be at a loss for words, and she let him. After a moment, he asked, “Is that what you want?”

The question had been turned on her. “To fuck you?”

“Yes.”

Unlike him, she could answer. “Yes.”

He was still for a long time. Silent, too, saying nothing. He was silent so long, in fact, that the vulture thought he may have made the decision to ignore her. But still the tension festered, growing stronger and stronger as that one single word, “yes,” hung between the two of them.

Sandor’s movement was so quick and hard that it was over by the time she’d processed what was happening. He brought one arm up and around her, pulling her body to his with fierce strength. Her chest to his, her head craned up to look at him. Instinctively, she parted her thighs and draped one leg over his as their bodies were pressed so tightly together, their legs entwining, one of his hands in her hair. She shuddered when his lips grazed hers, and again when she felt his thigh press hard and deliberately between her legs.

His hand tightened in her hair when he finally kissed her–really kissed her, hard and rough, passionate; he kissed her with the fervency of a man who had been meaning to kiss her for quite some time now, who had been looking at her and thinking of kissing her, with all the passion of a man who laid awake at night at her side and wondered what it might be like to hold her this exact way and kiss her this exact way in the darkness. She kissed him back, too, and with her arms pinned to his chest, she grabbed helplessly at his tunic, as if she could somehow pull him closer than he already was, or never let him go at all.

When he finally pulled away, she tried to force herself closer, never wanting the moment to end. Sandor was unpredictable, and the possibility that he’d never kiss her again was real. But she wanted him, she wanted him so badly. At least he wanted her too, if nothing else.

With his lips brushing hers, he murmured, “Yes.”

“Yes,” she repeated dreamily. She would have said or done whatever he wanted in that moment; her Hound, her knight.

“I want to fuck you.”

She did not hesitate. “Then do so.”

He was on top of her before she finished her sentence.

#sandor clegane fic #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #game of thrones #the hound x reader #the hound #game of thrones the hound #game of thrones fic #game of thrones reader insert #romance #mywriting #the hound and the vulture

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chloeriversong · 3 months

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[Fluff] Daenerys Targaryen And Female Child! Reader A Mother's Care Part One

Daenerys chases a young girl with [Hair Length] [Hair Color] while she laughs with a smile on her face, playing tag with her adopted daughter. “I’m going to get you, my little sweet dragon princess.” She called out to her daughter, who giggled at her mother’s nickname for her. [Name] had been taken off of the streets in Meereen when Daenerys found her, taking the young girl in as her own.

[Name] had gladly accepted Daenerys as her mother and someone that she could look up to, the young [Skin color] girl would look up to her mother with her [Eye Color] eyes and would smile at her. “I got you, my princess.” Daenerys lifts her daughter from the ground and snuggles with her, both start to laugh and continue their snuggling with smiles on their faces.

[Name] let out a small yawn and covered her mouth with her hand, only removing it to snuggle with her mother. “Are you tired my sweet one?” Daenerys asked her young one as she held her, watching her nod her head softly. “Yes Mommy, I’m very tired.” She would answer her mother’s question as she rubs her eyes tiredly. “Come, dear, I think it’s past your bedtime.” The young queen carries her princess to her room.

Once arriving at [Name]’s room, one of the guards opens the door. Daenerys notices one of the dragons in her daughter’s room, it was hard to believe that one of her dragons would be in her child’s room, deciding to place [Name] on her bed as Rhaegal crawls over to her; lying beside the young girl to give her some company while her mother would be busy with the people of the kingdom.

Rhaegal would cuddle with [Name] while she slept, the green dragon would sometimes place a wing over her to give her some comfort if she was having a nightmare. Daenerys would have a smile on her face when she comes to check on her daughter, seeing both of them cuddling. It became a concern that she would allow Rhaegal to be near her daughter, and give her friend to keep her company.

Drogon and Viserion would sometimes come and keep [Name] company, but mostly Rhaegal would stay with her the longest time to give her some protection from any harm that may come towards her or their mother. “Rhaegal likes cuddling with the young princess,” Missandei asked as she came up to her queen and mostly her friend, watching as the dragon cuddled with the young child.

Missandei had been with Daenerys when she had found [Name] all dirty and bruised, mostly scared when they came up to her. “Yes, I believe Rhaegal is the only one that enjoys her cuddles. I can’t believe someone would harm such a wonderful and kind child, but I could tell that she had survived something worse.” Daenerys replied to her advisor and handmaiden.

Memories of finding [Name] had broken Daenerys’ heart when she first met her, the poor girl had cuts and bruises on her body, and wearing a rag-like dress had made her even more heartbroken. The mother of dragons had taken her in once she had fully trusted her, bathing the young girl and giving her clean clothes that Missandei had found in the temple.

-Skipping to morning.-

[Name] woke up to see Rhaegal lying next to her, placing her small hand on the green dragon’s head. Having a small smile on her face as she notices the dragon has woken up, only giggling when the dragon rubs his snout against her cheek. “Good morning to you too.” She continues to pat the dragon’s neck, only looking over to see her mother stand there.

“Good morning my sweet one, how did you rest?” Daenerys sat on [Name]’s bed she leaned into kissed her daughter on the forehead and pat Rhaegal on the head, it made her happy that one of her dragons was bonding well with her adopted daughter, even if she was not a Targaryen by blood; thus her dragons will never attack her allies or harm anyone in the kingdom.

Rhaegal let out a small chirp as he closed his eyes, staying close to his human sister like always. “I slept well, Rhaegal kept me company while I slept as usual.” [Name] replied to her mother’s question as the dragon cuddled against the young girl’s body, making both her and Daenerys laugh. “That’s good, I think Rhaegal has taken a liking to your cuddles.” She lays beside her daughter.

Daenerys knew that she had a kingdom to run but she wanted to spend time with [Name] as much as she could, asking Missandei to bring their breakfast to her child’s room so they could feast together, although Rhaegal shouldn’t be in the room while they eat due to his instincts; dragons follow their instincts of hunting and so forth. Once their breakfast arrived, the said dragon had taken off to join his brothers.

[Name] sat up from her laying spot and had her back against the wall as Missandei put a tray of food in front of her, while she had placed a tray in front of Daenerys. “Thank you Missandei.” Both had said in perfect harmony, making the handmaiden smile and nodding her head in a goodbye. “Mommy, is Valyrian hard to learn?” The young girl asked.

“It’s hard to learn at a young age, but I can teach you if you like.” Daenerys smiles softly as she stops eating her breakfast, looking over to [Name]. “Yes, I would very much like that.” The young girl smiles back at her mother, enjoying eating her meal with her mother. As the day goes on, both Daenerys and her daughter spend the rest of the time together. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is an old reader insert that I made for Game Of Thrones, I was very happy with this and didn't want to retype it, but I did have to fix some errors that I made, and I won't be able to edit any other errors that may be noticeable to some of you.

But anyway, I hope you enjoy this as I'm going through the second part and editing that one as best as I can. ^_^

As I mentioned, errors may pop since I can not fix them at the moment. Image belongs to its rightful owner Game Of Thrones and its characters belongs to George R. R. Martin and HBO

Reader belongs to whoever.

#Game Of Thrones Reader Insert #Daenerys Targaryen X Child Reader #Mother and Daughter bond #Dragons #Reader Insert #Old Work #Transferred from Google Docs #Can be found on Quotev #Found On Archive of Our Own #Can be found on Wattpad

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vikingstoner69 · 2 years

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Sandor/reader: After the Battle

Fandom: Game of thones

Parining: Sandor/reader

Summery: The battle is over and now at the party you try to see sandor but sansa beats you to him. what happens when he follows you to your room?

Smut!!!!!

I Your legs shook and your lungs burned from the cold. The war was over the night King was gone along with his army. Leaving behind a battlefield of fallen friends and family.

It was now time to drink and party. While drinking you see Sandor and head over there to him but Sansa beats you to him and you feel your heart drop. You sigh and go back to drinking. You look back at the table to see Sandor looking right at you.

Sometime later without saying a word you leave the party and head to your room. You sigh when you get in the room and close the door. You were finally alone, or so you thought.

"You've been avoiding me little wolf" you hear his voice and you look to where he sat.

"I have no idea what you mean, I'm just tired" you say without looking at him. You stand on the other side of the room.

"You're a shit liar, ya know that?" He grunts as he stands up and walks till he is in front of you. Your body tenses And you feel the tears sting your eyes.

"I'm sure Sansan will be missing you, maybe you should go back to her" you say softly but there was an edge to your voice. You were tipsy and you were hurt.

"Look at me little wolf" he says, you shake your head slightly and bite your lip.

"Just go back to the party" you tell him, your voice soft and shaky noting how it had been moments ago. You hear him growl and then you feel his rough fingers under your chin making you look at him. You tried to blink the tears away but it was too late some had fallen. He swipes them away with his thumb and sighs.

"I don't want her," he says, his voice rough. His brown eyes stare into yours making your heart speed up.

"Oh really? You two were looking pretty cozy to me" you snap moving your head out of his grip. Any softness you had was now gone, hurt and anger was what you felt. He growls and pins you to the wall. He shoves his knee between your legs and thrusts up so you are sitting on his knee and you cry out at the pleasure.

"You really think I want her? You really think she could handle me? I'd break her. Besides little wolf I don't- oh for fucks sake!" He snaps and pulls your face to his and he kisses you deeply his fingers tangle in your hair and you moan kissing him back just as deeply.

His lips travel down your neck and he bites your neck hard marking you as his. You moan your hips grinding down on his knee and you bite your lip.

Sandor rips your shirt off. You look up at him and reach for his shirt and he helps you pull it off. You lean up and kiss him deeply, your hands tugging in his hair. He growls and lifts you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist.

Your nails dig in his shoulders as he grinds hard into you as he sucks and bites your neck.

"Sandor please" you moan, you were soaking wet for him. He chuckles into your neck.

"What do ya want little wolf?" He growls in your ear making you shiver and your nipples harden. His one hand moves to your breasts and he rolls the hard nub making you moan.

"You! Please fuck me! Make me yours, so everyone will know" you moan out and he growls and your back leaves the wall and you are now laying on the bed with sandor hovering over you. You lean up and kiss him deeply. Sandors lips travel down your neck to your breasts and he sucks a nipple into his mouth making you moan. He bites your nipple as he tugs your pants off leaving you naked under him.

"You're soaking wet little wolf" he grins as he rubs your clit making your hips thrust up and you moan. He slips a finger inside your tight heat making you cry out and reach for him.

"Sandor!" You moan and bite your lip trying to keep quiet.

“Your so tight” he groans, as he fucks you with his fingers. You close your eyes as your head falls back on your pillow. Your eyes fly open as you feel his hot wet mouth on your cunt making you cry out and your hands tug his hair as he eats your cunt like its the best meal he had ever had. He holds your hips still his hold tight letting you know there will be marks in the morning.

“Cum on my tongue I want to soak my beard” he growls looking up at you from between your legs before sucking your clit in his mouth.

“Fuck! Sandor '' you cry out as he sucks and bites your clit you feel your climex crash into you like a wave and you scarem out his name. He grins up at you as you pant he kisses up your body till he reaches your liips and he kisses you deeply making you moan with your taste on his tounge and lips. You moan and reach down rubbing his covered cock making him groan. As you undo them and set his hard cock. You wrap your hand around his cock feeling his lenught and you lean up and push lightly on his chest for him to lay on his back.

“What ya doin little wolf?” he says looking up at you. You bite your lip as you tug off his pants and you grab his cock.

"I've gotten myself off thinking about sucking your cock so many times' ' you grin as you lick his balls to tip before sucking the head in your mouth and you moan around him.

"Seven hells!" He groans his big hand on the back of your head. You look up at him and take him even deeper. You suck hard and moan. Sandor holds your head still and thrusts up in your mouth fucking your throat how he wants. You moan at the filthiness of it all. He grunts and cums down your throat and you suck taking everything he has to give you. You pop up off his cock and lick your lips after you swallow his load.

"You taste so good" you smirk and he takes a deep breath. And looks at you.

"Bloody hell little wolf!" He pants and you grin and straddle his hips moaning as his cock rubs your soaked cunt.

"Fuck me sandor, please" you moan as you roll your hips. He was hard again. His hands go to your hips and he holds them tightly. He flips you onto your back and your head hits the pillow. Sandor kisses you deeply and bites your lip making you gasp. He kisses down your neck and he nips up to your ear.

"When I make you cum on my cock I want you to scream my name" he growls in your ear making you moan. Sandor grabs his cock and rubs it through your folds making you cry out.

"Sandor!" You cry out your hands going to his shoulders, your nails leaving little marks. Sandor grunts as he slowly slides in making your head falls back showing him your neck fully as he fills you full. Sandors head lands on your shoulder and he bites leaving a mark making your cunt tighten around him.

"Fuck! You're bloody tight! Look at me little wolf, look at me as I fuck you" be growls and thrusts into you hard. Making you cry out your nails digging into his back making him growl.

"Fuck! Fuck sandor, choke me" you moan he grunts as his hand gose around your throat and you moan and thrust your hips up. He growls and flips you to your hands and knees and thrusts back into you hard and deep. He slaps your ass hard and you thrust back into him taking him even deeper.

"You're mine!" He snarls as he pulls your head back pounding into you. He smacks your ass again making you cry out.

"Feels so good! I'm so close!" You moan loudly. Sandor pulls out making you whine at the loss of him and he flips you on your back once again. He thrusts back in and you moan. You lean up and kiss him, flipping him on his back, your hands going to his chest.

"You fill me up so fully, I love how your cock feels" you moan as you roll your hips, his cock fills you and you slowly ride him with a smirk on your face.

"It's not nice to tease love" he grunts through his teeth as you roll your hips slowly. Your hands grab your breasts and moan as he slaps your ass hard.

"Ooh but it's fun" you moan as you pick up speed and then slow down. He growls and pins you down, his hand going around your throat and he pounds into you hard and fast making you scarem out and cling to him.

"How fun is it now" he snarls fucking you so hard the bed moves with each thrust.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum!" You cry out feeling so close to the edge. He growls and rubs your clit.

"Cum on my cock!" He snarls as he rubs your clit hard and fast, sending you over the edge. Your cunt clamps on his cock and he cusses loudly.

"Seven hells!" You grunts as he cums hard deep inside of you. Sandor rolls onto his back panting and you look over at him.

"Better" you pant an roll to your side laying your head on his chest and he pulls you into him.

"What?" He grunts his heart beat finally slowing down and you look up at him then kiss his chest.

"This was better than I imagined it" you say his fingers run down your back making you shiver.

"You think about me often?" He smirks as he strokes your back and you bite your lip trying to hold back your moan. And in the blink of an eye sandor was back over type of you. Your legs wrapping around his waist.

"Yes!" You cry out biting your lip as he sucks marks into your neck.

"Don't be quiet little wolf, I want to hear you" he says, grabbing your breast with his free hand and you moan. As he slides his hard cock back into you.

"Sandor! Fuck!" You moan as he rolls his hips deeply into you. Sandors hold on you was hard and tight. Your hands reach and touch every bit of him you could.

"I'm no way near done with little wolf, we are just getting started" he growls in your ear making you moan. And he was not joking he didn't let you sleep till the early morning.

#smut #requests are still open btw #reader #please request #game of thrones #sandor clegane smut #sandor clegane #reader smut #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones reader insert #sandor clegane x you #sandor smut #sandor clegane fanfiction #sandor clegane fanfic #sandor clegane/reader #sandor fanfic

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vixemi · 2 years

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Anyone know what happen to peachysunrize? The blog that made those GOT imagines on Tywin? I went back to reread and it says deactivated…

#game of thrones reader insert #game of thrones smut #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fluff #game of thrones fanfiction #tywin lannister smut #tywin x reader #tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister imagines

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floatyflowers · 22 days

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Dark Male! Daenerys Targaryen x Baratheon Reader Part Two

Your marriage to the new king of the seven kingdoms came as a surprise to everyone.

Because Daeron is simply, marrying you, a Baratheon who descended from the house who ended the Targaryens Reign.

But with you, he will restore the Targaryen house and glory.

At first, you were frightened by him, but when he introduced you to his dragons, you fell in love with them, and ended up being called the mother of dragons.

Daeron decided to use your love for the beasts and make a cheeky deal with you

"If you call me Lord Husband, I will take you every morning riding"

And that is exactly what you did.

Through the years, you ended up giving birth to three daughters whom your husband adores dearly.

The oldest is Visenya, the middle is Rhaenyra and the youngest is Rhaella.

And no one dares to speak about you not providing the releam with male heirs.

And who dares to do so is considered a traitor who is trying to usurp his oldest daughter's right to the throne.

Your uncle Tyrion is good at snitching on such traitors.

Even if Daeron is possessive and has hints of madness in him, it's better to be his wife then be a captive.

#tw: toxic relationships #reader insert #yandere game of thrones #yandere daenerys targaryen x reader #male daenerys targaryen #daenerys x reader #possessive #headcanon #yandere headcanons

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pinkykats-place · 10 months

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Robb Stark x Reader

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

Stories are NOT mine.

Some contain mature content.

Readers are mostly female.

Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!

Bedtime story

(Child) Robb Stark x (Child)Reader x (Child) Jon Snow

Imagine being a child living in Winterfell with Robb and Jon, and falling asleep in Robb’s bed with him and Jon.

You’re Mine (female reader)

Warnings: Use of the word “Cunt”, smut, the usual shebang

you belong to me (female reader)

ANON REQUEST: Robb Stark smut with a reader that is someone's bastard. She and Jon are not allowed in the feast so they're alone together outside, too close to each other. Robb wonders where is the reader, he comes to find her but get jealous. So Robb is going to show the reader who she belongs to.

Couldn’t Wait (female reader)

Summary: Robb had been out all day, and you’ve been missing his touch. With what you thought was a few hours to go, you decided to take matters into your own hands…

Warnings: Language, smut, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex(wrap it, before you tap it)

United In Fear (Soulmate!AU)

Warnings: Angsty fluff, someone get’s punched but it’s not super dramatic

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Colors

Notes: fluff, fem!Reader

Summary: Colors highlight significant points in your relationship with Robb

The Singer

Description: Robb hears you singing to the wounded men after a fierce battle and immediately falls for you.

#reader insert recommendation #reader insert recommendations #game of thrones x reader #robb stark x reader #robb stark x female reader #female reader insert #tumblr recommendation #tumblr fic recs #got x reader #got imagine #game of thrones reader insert #fanfic recommendation #fic recs #robb stark

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

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Birth of Dragons

Pairing(s): Aegon i Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader, Aegon i Targaryen x Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon i Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: canon Targaryen sibling in*est

Words:2625

Summary: It wasn’t fair of him to choose a favorite between his sisters. Fearless Visenya, playful Rhaenys and loving (y/n). Above them all he secretly placed (y/n) close to his heart.

Part 2

It wasn’t fair of him to choose a favorite between his sisters. Fearless Visenya, playful Rhaenys and loving (y/n). Above them all he secretly placed (y/n) close to his heart. She was the baby, needed the most protection as she was the youngest. Visenya and Rhaenys agreed on this as well, for she was their favorite and most beloved. Many often speculated that Aegon married Visenya out of duty, Rhaenys out of desire, and (y/n) out of pure love.

With such a sweet demeanor it was a shock to all the day she mounted Balerion. The Black Dread wasn’t phased at all and allowed the third Targaryen queen to climb onto his back She was just a small speck among his black scales. Even he wouldn’t let Rhaenys or Visenya on top of him. He would bare his sharp teeth at either of the sisters if they dared try. Not (y/n). She coaxed him with a soft voice and delicate caress to his nose. (y/n) had her own dragon, an albino that she lovingly named Renoxa. The bond between rider and dragon was a strong one to begin with but (y/n) and Renoxa seemed to always be in such perfect sync with one another. Dragons couldn’t truly be tamed yet Renoxa was close to it. While even Balerion snapped at Aegon a few times, Renoxa would never dare do such a thing to (y/n). She was something different.

She had a way with all matters of beasts. Whether they were dragons or men, she was a beast tamer. In Visenya’s fits of rage, (y/n) was the only one to soothe her anger.

(y/n) was equally fierce though, determined to stay by her siblings’ side no matter what.

When she started showing signs of sickness, the other three Targaryen rulers were quick to forbade her from riding alongside them to conquer the north.

“Really, I’m alright. All of you worry too much.” (y/n) says and once again tries to reach for her armor, but Visenya pushes her aside and back down onto her bed. The youngest didn’t put up much of a fight since she had been vomiting all morning, her energy greatly drained.

Rhaenys shakes her head. “Look at yourself, sweetling. You’re in no shape to be riding.”

Aegon agrees. “She’s right. I’m not about to put you at risk.”

“What risk? We have four fully grown dragons. They’ll give up easily.” (y/n) tries to protest. Large violet eyes beg them to let her come. Normally they would have bent to the will of those lovely Valyrian eyes. No one wanted to risk (y/n) getting hurt though.

“No (y/n). You can barely even sit up. If you were to ride in your state you would fall off of your dragon and to your death.” Aegon firmly tells her. “You stay here and let the maesters tend to you. That’s final.”

Outside their fort they could catch the screeches of Renoxa and the other dragons as they leisurely roamed around their territory, loving the open air and freedom as dragons should have.

With the tone her brother had used (y/n) knew there was no way of making him budge. His rule was law. She looks away from her siblings feeling ever like the petulant child, her fingers fiddling with the dragon head ring she wore. Rubies in the eye sockets glistening in the daylight that crept through the window.

Unable to bear her sister looking so rejected, Rhaenys takes (y/n)’s face in her hands and gives her a kiss on the lips. “Don’t look like that. We’ll be back before you know it. Like you said, we have fully grown dragons on our side. What are direwolves compared to our beautiful dragons?” Her fingers brush away (y/n)’s silvery bangs and she places another kiss on her forehead. “Don’t be upset ñuha jorrāelagon.”

It was hard for you to not feel left out as your siblings donned their glorious black armor and set off on their dragons to finish taking over the rest of Westeros. You had been with them through it all, through every battle. You and Renoxa paving the way to Targaryen victory and conquest.

What else were you supposed to do? You could tell that even Renoxa was getting restless. You wanted to go outside and comfort her but the maesters that Aegon had put in charge of your welfare refused to let you out of your chambers. Any other time you would have tried to threaten them, stating that you were their queen and could not be kept locked up but in all honesty you were tired.

You spent most of the time sleeping. Any little thing made you so incredibly tired that you wanted nothing else but to take a long nap. You would sleep for hours and many times you wouldn’t even be aware that you had fallen asleep until you had woken up. It was then that the maesters had started bombarding you with questions. When was your last moon’s blood, when was the last time you had sex with Aegon; questions that had you blushing. You were still young after all. If they had asked the same thing to Rhaenys she would have just smiled and coyly replied without feeling any embarrassment.

When the third week had rolled in of your siblings being absent, the maesters gave you the news that you were pregnant.

The news was quite shocking to you. Of course you weren’t naive enough to not know what happened after sex. Pregnancy was a possibility. You just never thought you would be the first one out of your sisters to become pregnant.

To have a living thing growing inside of you was an odd thought. Your stomach was still flat and showed no signs of there being any baby. When you placed your hands over your stomach though you swore that you felt a heat that wasn’t usually there. Like a fire suddenly lit inside of you. You were going to be a mother. Your child, if they were to be born a boy, would be Aegon’s heir. His first heir.

Smiling slightly to yourself you grow even more antsy for your family to return.

The news that Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar had been spotted nearing Aegonsfort had you sprinting out to greet them. Maesters yelling after you, you slowed down remembering your condition but walk quickly.

Renoxa is already up in the air, almost as white as the clouds. Even from way up there she spots you and begins her descent. Your hair whips in the gusts she builds up as she lands on the ground, her mighty wings beating against the air as she steadies herself. Her scales were bright, almost to the point of blinding. It was a great contrast when she stood next to Balerion or any of the other dragons. Her blood red eyes gaze at you, unblinking as she gingerly nuzzles your cheek with her snout.

You kiss her giant nose, you could feel her hot breath from her nostrils. Lovely, smooth, scales like priceless ivory. She was a gorgeous creature despite her small size; she was as young as you were after all and was still growing. Renoxa was slightly larger than Vhagar but not by much and no bigger than Meraxes. Still she was perfect to you. Even though your siblings loved their dragons it was nothing compared to your adoration for Renoxa and it showed through your strong bond. You doted on one another. You were as protective over Renoxa as she was over you.

And now you hoped she would be equally protective over your child.

“You must know that I’m pregnant.” Smiling against her snout, a gentle sound vibrates from her barrel of a chest. Yes, she knew.

There’s a cry in the air of a dragon, Balerion’s cry to be exact. They were closer now and you noticed the Black Dread picking up speed as he tilted downward to the earth. Both him and Aegon must be excited to see you.

Renoxa cranes her head, opening her mouth to bellow out a greeting. To others it might have been ear piercing, a sound of horror, but to you it was the sound of utter joy. You grin when Meraxes joins in with Balerion in wanting to see you.

Soon enough the three dragons were shaking the earth as they landed. Normally there would have been a crowd to welcome back the king and queens, but people were still standoffish when all four dragons were together. They made for an intimidating sight. Bannermen cheered at the arrival, the good news of Torrhen Stark bending the knee had already reached Aegonsfort.

Balerion lowers down onto the ground so that Aegon could dismount him.

“(y/n)!” Aegon’s smile is big at the sight of you and you have to control yourself from yelling that you were pregnant. “You look much better! How are you feeling?” His fingers weave through your hair, slightly undoing the braid that the maids had spent a while in designing. His eyes were sparkling as he leaned down to pepper your face in kisses. Sometimes you forgot how young your brother actually was. Being a ruler made him act so much older, but his true age always came out when he was lavishing love and affection upon you.

You giggle and cling to him. Rhaenys was soon to join the two of you while Visenya chose to stand off to the side with her arms crossed yet holding a gentle smile on her otherwise harsh face.

“Oh my (y/n)!” Rhaenys sings and nearly pushes Aegon out of the way to hug you next. Aegon only chuckles and allows his beautiful sister to coddle you. When she took in all of you though her face changed. Not in a bad way, but in disbelief. “Your pregnant.”

Aegon’s eyes grew large at what his sister had said. It wasn’t even posed as a question but a fact. Even Visenya let her arms fall down to her sides. The news must have been a little upsetting to your older sister as she had yet to get pregnant despite being the first to marry Aegon.

Scared to jinx the news, Aegon asks with hopefulness in his tone “Is it true (y/n)? Are you really pregnant?”

Giddy you nod your head uncontrollably. “Yes!”

Rhaenys breaks out into tears. “My sweet (y/n) is going to be a mom!!” She hugs you, refusing to let you go or share you with Aegon.

Even though there was still much left to do, Aegon refused to leave your side during your pregnancy. That is why Aegon put Rhaenys and Visenya in charge of overseeing the rest of what needed to be done in order to truly construct a kingdom for the Targaryens to rule over for generations to come. And you were playing the part of beginning the future generations.

Aegon marveled as your belly grew larger and rounder. He loved showing you off to his new vassals at how much your child was growing and that surely they would grow up to be a strong leader of Westeros. Even other noblewomen who were pregnant as well didn’t have a belly compared to your’s. It worried you at first, the size of your belly. Wasn’t it too large? You would ask Rhaenys if it was normal but she had as much knowledge of being pregnant as you did.

“Perhaps it’ll be an actual dragon.” She teased. Her hands roamed all over your exposed abdomen, feeling the heat coming off of it. Rhaenys pressed her cheek against your swollen belly. “Or maybe you’ll be having two.”

You gawk at your sister. “Two?!”

Her laugh is as clear and tinkling like a bell. “Yes, women can have two at once. It’s not that common but it does happen.”

“Dear gods I hope it’s not two.”

“Regardless of how many you have we’ll love them all the same. Even if you do happen to pop out an actual dragon. It’ll just show the people how strong you and the Targaryen family is.” Quiet in contemplation, Rhaenys kisses your belly. “You have done our family much pride (y/n).”

Regret eats at you for your older sister Visenya. “It should be Visenya who is pregnant. She’s been married to Aegon longer.”

A frowning Rhaenys rolls onto her back next to you on your grand bed. She had forced Aegon away from you so that he could be part in building his kingdom. The only thing that soothed Aegon was the idea that she would be with you. “She has never been happy in this marriage, (y/n). A baby would have made no difference. But yes, I suppose it does sting her a little bit. She knows though, knows out of the three of us you would be the first one to be pregnant with Aegon’s child. He may warm my bed a few nights but at the end of the night he goes back to you.”

“He loves you too, Rhaenys.”

“Oh I know he does sweetling.” She taps your nose dotingly. “But there is one thing that Aegon and I can agree on and that is that we adore you above anyone else. He loves you more than me and I love you more than I love him.”

You curl up against her, you had always found Rhaenys’ heartbeat to be so soothing. Ever since you were a small child you ran to her for comfort. She would always embrace you with ready arms.

And Rhaenys stayed to comfort you during your labor. She never left your side and held your hand as you screamed in pain. Her hair had been braided and pulled back into a bun as to not get in the way as she was assisting with the birth.

Aegon and Visenya had been forced to wait outside and listen to your wails of agony. They had never heard anything like it. At first when you started screaming,

Visenya had gone for her sword with fear that something had happened to you. That maybe an assassin had snuck into the labor room. Aegon had stopped her with a hand to her shoulder and had her wait with him.

You had never gone through anything as painful in your entire life. Many times you had been wounded in battle but no wounds compared to the pain you were in now.

Finally after hours of screaming and pushing, your son was born.

A beautiful baby that screamed much louder than you ever managed to. Hair as fine as white silk. Even if he was covered in afterbirth you wanted to hold him close to you.

But he was taken away before you could even touch him.

“M-My baby. . .” You reach out imploringly to him.

Rhaenys scowls at the midwife. “What’s the meaning of this. Give your queen her baby.”

“I-I’m sorry your grace, but she isn’t finished yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“There comes another baby.”

“WHAT??!!”

“Visemarys and Baelyx Targaryen.” Aegon smiles down at his newborn sons. Rhaenys held your firstborn Visemarys while Visenya awkwardly held onto Baelyx. You were exhausted from giving birth to not one, but two babies and had no energy to continue to hold them.

“How will you tell them apart?” Visenya asks skeptically as she looks from one scrunched up face to the other. “They look the same.”

Right then Baelyx started shrieking out of nowhere, startling Visenya. His older brother merely looked at him, puzzled as to why he was crying. Switching from his crying brother he looks back up at his Aunt Rhaenys and gurgles in delight.

Aegon chuckles. “Well that could be one way.”

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the conqueror #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire fanfic #asoiaf fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf fandom #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones reader insert

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lis-likes-fics · 7 months

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The Dragon's Wife

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x bride!Reader Word Count: 4k words Kink: Breeding Warnings: NSFW, noncon, dark content, fingering, p in v, slight cum eating, first time, humiliation, crying kink, biting, multiple force orgasms, forced breeding, creampie, A/N: Happy Kinktober, everyone! I think this may be the darkest thing I've ever written, in terms of this is my first noncon. If you catch any warning I missed, please let me know. Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this and the rest of my prompts for kinktober! Find the main masterlist here. Also A/N: I had to respost this shit twice but Tumblr fucking sucks and is hiding it. I hate this website sometimes... Enjoy!

The large doors of Daemon's bed chambers shut behind you with a damning thud. Still wrapped in your wedding gown, the events of the night were still very fresh in your mind.

You were angry, outraged by the dishonor done upon you. Like some broodmare, your father gave you away to the Targaryen prince in need of a new wife after the last had passed "suspiciously".

It was humiliating, to say the least. You had produced no heirs for your house and "talked too much for your own good". Your father jumped at the chance to have this brute of a prince tame you. Perhaps you would be a "respectable lady".

But you would give neither of them the satisfaction.

"Are you going to stand there and stare at the door all night?" Daemon's voice spoke behind you, exhausted by you already.

You sighed. "Better than looking at you, dear husband."

You could hear his footsteps against the hard floors as he stepped closer to you. "Someone ought to teach you some respect."

You turned to face him so he could see the way you rolled your eyes. "Apparently, that's meant to be your job…seeing that I am now wed to you."

He gave you a hard look, his gaze dark and dangerous as his eyes rake up and down your body. A long silence filled the space between you as you stared one another down.

"Come here," he commanded, his tone stern but his voice quiet. yet

"No."

He tilted his head and a wicked smile took over his face. Amusement lit up within his eyes as a new goal took over him. He took a couple more steps toward you, stalking closer like some predator to its prey as he sized you up.

"Perhaps I will teach you some respect."

A chill ran down your spine, but you refused to stand down as you glared at him. He stood before you, raising a hand to touch your cheek. You smacked it away. "Don't touch me."

He breathed a laugh, looking you up and down. You moved to take a step back, to put more space between the two of you as an unsettling feeling settled into your skin.

But before you could lift your foot, his hand was wrapping firmly around your throat and pulling you close to him. You gasped out of shock, bringing your hands up to his own to pry it off of you as you stared wide-eyed at him.

"Such strong will you've got," he said, sighing deeply. "I wonder how easy it would be to break it." Your breath was shallow as you clenched your jaw. He hummed, moving his hand up in a harsh trail to your jaw, where his thumb and fingers dug into your flesh and made you hiss from the pain. "Your job is to produce my heirs, little cat, nothing more. You will do as I say."

You huffed. "I am not a whore."

"No," he said. "But you are my wife now…and you will breed if I say you will."

"I will not."

He laughed, a loud one deep in his chest as he pulled you closer by your neck. You were trembling in his grasp, the stubbornness turning to fear as his eyes trailed your face and stopped at your lips.

"You don't have a choice."

He shoved you away, and you stumbled to the ground. You stood quickly, trying to put more distance between you. But you had nowhere to go. You watched as he slowly advanced.

He backed you against the large table in his chambers, the wood digging uncomfortably into your back. He trapped you, grabbing roughly at your waist and regarding you with a primal grin.

"Wait," you begged, leaning back as you grabbed the table for support. "Wait, please. I'm sorry." He pulled back slightly, looking over you as he took in this new sense of fright. You swallowed thickly, staring at him as you trembled, tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. You sighed shakily. "Please don't."

You received no sympathy as a wolfish grin took his face. "Look at you," he teased, laughing again as his hand found your neck again. "Not as strong as I thought then."

His lips crashed down upon yours, a bruising kiss that had lips mashing with teeth, breaking skin and filling your mouth with the taste of blood. You tried to push him away, grabbing at his arms and peeling them off you only for him to grab you again in a rougher grip than before.

You whined against his lips, still trying and failing to push him away from you. He lifted your chin, his hot breath enveloping your neck as he bared his teeth, burying them in your throat and making you yelp.

You grabbed at his hand uselessly. The adrenaline coursing through your veins made your blood pump furiously beneath your skin. Desperate to remove him from you, you managed to shove him away with your foot. He stumbled backwards. You took no time to catch your breath as you turned to run. You didn't know where you were going, but you ran.

Daemon watched with an amused smirk, wiping his mouth and advancing toward you again. You hardly got far before his hand was hooking around your neck and pulling you right back against him, your back flush against his front as his hot mouth and breath lingered at your ear.

"I stand corrected," he purred, biting your earlobe.

You shuddered under his grasp. "Please," he watched a tear slip down your cheek. "Don't hurt me."

"Oh," he breathed, pressing his lips against the crook of your shoulder and savoring the way you closed your eyes and whined. "Where's the fun in that?"

He held your body against his own with a tight grasp around you, his arms wrapped around your body and over your arms as his hands roamed your figure hungrily.

It all happened so fast. And he was so uninterested before, you admit, you had become a little cocky with your words the more comfortable you became with your detest for him. You never expected anything like this to happen—although you probably should have.

His hands found the neckline of your dress, and with a monstrous tear, he ripped it down the middle until it pooled in rags around you. He removed each layer from you like some beast tearing the flesh from a quivering animal with its sharpened tooth.

And when you were bare, another rush of adrenaline filled your veins and built another fight in you, a fire that would soon be overcome by a larger, more furious one.

"Daemon, stop!" you shouted in false bravado, kicking your feet to get him away, only to feed his hunger for this enticing hunt you created.

His large hand groped your breast, and you clenched your eyes shut at the sensation of it. You were trapped, and you couldn't do anything about it as he walked you to the table and shoved you to lay on it. Your cheek pressed against the wood, and you could almost swear you felt splinters poking at your skin. But the wood was so smooth, you could have been imagining it.

He bent down, confining you once more as his lips and tongue and teeth clashed with the skin of the back of your neck, your shoulder, your back. He licked and sucked and bit until you were sure you'd be covered in bruises, the marks of his claim coloring your skin red and purple by morning.

"You taste magnificent, little cat," he purred before biting your earlobe once more. A cold tear ran down your cheek as you shuddered, and a dark chuckle slipped from his chest. "Such beautiful tears you've got. Like crystals."

You yelped as his hand smacked down on your ass, gripping the flesh immediately after in a vice grip that burned.

Your whole body jerked when you felt his fingers press between your thighs to feel your cunt, baring your teeth and biting back another whimper. "Oh, that's no good," he remorsed, acknowledging the lack of slickness between your thighs as his crude fingers continued to feel you. "We'll just have to fix that. You do not want to take this dry, I'll tell you that. Especially not when you're this tight. You've needed a good fucking, haven't you, little cat?"

You could hear the smirk on his voice, and it made your skin prickle, a chill running down your spine that soured and turned to fire in your belly when he shoved two fingers inside of you. You clenched around him and tried to hide your face away on the table.

"Daemon, please," you begged. "Please, please, please."

He thrust them deeper, exploring more of you as he listened to your stifled moans and cries. "I know, little thing. You don't want my fingers inside of you… you want my cock, don't you?"

You shivered as another cry shook you at that. He continued, "You do. I can see it. You want my hard cock inside of you, you need it." He shoved his fingers in deeper, adding a third that curled harshly inside you and allowed waves of arousal to coat his fingers. "You need my thick cock in your tight little cunt to fill you with my dragonborn sons and daughters."

He kept thrusting, his pace picking up faster and harder as he set a cruel rhythm. You couldn't help clenching around him, opposing the invasion as the searing pleasure tore through your body.

"You were so confident," he said, his voice suddenly right next to your ear, "until I got my hands on you. You were just begging for someone to put you in your place."

You gripped the edge of the table, wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear, let the Stranger take you away from this cruel world and deliver you to sleep.

"Look at you," he snickered, pulling his hand from you with a sickening squelch. "Wetting my hands like a common whore. Perhaps you needed this more than I realized."

Your legs trembled, and you wrapped your arms around your head to cover your face, to hide away from him. You startled when you felt his hand reach out and comb through your hair, starting from the beginning of your scalp and working his way back until he suddenly gripped a handful of your hair at the base and pulled. He made you look at him, you closed your eyes and whimpered at the pain.

"Open your eyes," he said calmly, staring at your face as you refused. His grip in your hair tightened as his voice lowered to a dangerous register as he nearly growled. "Open your eyes, little cat."

You followed his orders, afraid of the consequences otherwise. He watched another tear join the rest of them streaked along your cheeks, your eyes wet and pathetic as he fed off your misery. "Well, you needn't worry," he whispered, faux sympathy poisoning his tone. "I'll fuck you like you need to be fucked."

He yanked at your hair again, pulling you up to stand and ignoring the way you cried at the pain. He led you to the bed, letting you go with a small shove so you stood in front of it. He gestured to the bed. "On your knees."

You stood frozen, covering your body as you hung your head. You were shaking. He didn't care.

"On your knees."

You bit your trembling lip, moving slowly as you set your knee on the edge of the bed and slowly moving forward until you were sitting as he told you: on your knees, humiliated and cold.

He pressed his hand to your back, and the rest of his body followed to hold you as he harshly kissed the back of your shoulder again, more teeth than lips. Then he pushed you forward so you held yourself on your hands.

"Look at you," he remarked again, another chuckle echoing in his chest. "I shall make a bride of you yet."

You listened to him strip, taking his sweet time to remove every piece of clothing he had from his body and let it drop to the floor like sacks. You waited, hating the suspense. And you flinched when his hand found your dripping cunt, slipping through your lips and leaving just as quick.

There was a quite suckling sound, and then he spoke again. "Mm, you should taste yourself. Such sweet nectar."

His fingers prodded at your lips, you sealed them closed as you tried to move your face away, but he wasn't having it. He smeared your slickness all over your lips and down your chin and cupped your jaw with his cruel fingers. "Taste it."

You let out a choked sob as you slowly opened your mouth. His fingers invaded your mouth the same way they did your pussy, thrusting harshly in and out between your lips as you tasted yourself on them. You breathed heavily around his fingers as he pushed down on your tongue, spread them apart to make your tongue lick between them, adamant on making you lick every drop of your arousal off of his hand.

He finally removed his hand, and you could breathe again as you hung your head and gasped. You felt your blood run cold at the sound of wet skin on skin, a steady shlick making you clench, rejecting what you knew was coming, what you knew you couldn't fight.

You expected him to say something, to whisper in your ear to make you shiver, to taunt you as he fed off your humiliation and loathing.

Without warning, he shoved his cock into you, burying himself to the hilt in one deep thrust. It was much worse than if he had warned you beforehand. You'd found safety in his predictability, his need to tease you gave warning to what he intended to do when he intended to do it. He'd taken even that from you.

He groaned as he settled deeply within you. "Ondoso se gods…" he muttered under his breath, taking your hips and pulling you back as he ground inside of you. "Now I know why you were so eager," he breathed. "This is a virgin's cunt."

You gripped the sheets of the bed and clenched, wanting to force him out but unable to. He was bigger than you, faster than you, stronger than you. He was carved by war, bled and seasoned by it. If you thought there was a chance you won this fight, you were dumber than he thought.

He pulled out of you, an agonizingly slow drag that emptied you out until he suddenly thrust back in with a harsh thrust. The pleasure burned. As his patience began to wear thin, he was rid of all his slow, tempered thrust and resolved to piston inside of you like a hungry beast.

His hips snapped into your ass with every thrust, in and out was his fast rhythm that split you apart on his cock. You gripped the sheets and squeezed his cock and cried as the ecstasy of his intrusion tore you apart.

You whimpered and moaned, unable to help the way your sobs left you as he grunted and groaned about how good he must be making you feel.

His hand snaked around your waist and between your thighs to find your clit, and he pressed down harshly as he moved to make you cum. The pleasure spasmed when he touched you and you hated it.

His relentless thrusts ached as he built you up. When you came, your whole body shattered and you cried out, your arms giving out as you fell forward into the bed and muffled your sob. Your thighs shook and it took far too long for the shocks of pleasure to simmer. You hated yourself for letting it feel so good.

A hand cracked down on your ass once more as he pulled you close again by the waist. "You fucking loved that, I could tell," he breathed. "You clenched around me so tight. Even now your cunt is sucking me in."

You pulled weakly at the bedsheets. "Daemon, please…"

"So sweet… begging for me like some cock-drunk whore," he smiled. "Oh, my little cat… I'm going to fuck my cum so deep inside of you, you'll feel me dripping out of you for days."

He pulled out of you, and you let out a breath. In the same breath, he flipped you onto your back and spread your legs wide with his calloused hands. You fought to close them, but to no avail—not to your surprise.

He spread you open and sunk into you once more, grasping your jaw with his hand shaped into claws as he made you look at him. He thrust into you, deep and fast, his breath almost like a groan in his chest. "Look at me," he ordered. You obeyed, albeit hesitantly, on the first command.

"Such obedience," he praised. "You love it when I fuck you like this? When I force open your legs and take what is mine?" You wanted to shake your head and throw your hands and shove him off, but you were trapped and already broken in enough. His free hand grabbed at your thigh and clawed into your flesh, tearing you apart like he was doing to you now.

"Of course, you do. I know you do," he continued. His hips continued to snap into yours, shoving deeper and rougher into you in a way that made it hard to contain moans that came from the sick pleasure curling within you, burning in your belly and fueling the tears in your eyes. But you were quieter than before, your sobs realizing they were getting you nowhere and accepting that this would be your life now. You could do nothing but lay there and take it as he fucked you, taking his pleasure from you like he would the spoils of war.

And he lasted too long. He held you down and kissed and bit and sucked and clawed at your flesh. He taunted and teased you, made you cum at least twice more with his insistent fingers as the pleasure seared in your belly like a corrosive flame ruining you from the inside out. You winced and whimpered and could do no more.

You didn't know how long you were there. It felt like forever, his relentless thrusts becoming numb to your sore body as you let him use you.

He sat up, pulling you into his lap as he fucked you in a newer, deeper angle. "I'm going to breed you now," he smirked, his strong hands keeping you close as he impaled you on his cock with a new determination. His white hair had fallen messily in his eyes by now, his lips pink and his eyes blown wide with lust.

"Would you like that? Would you like me to plant my seed in your quivering little cunt and make you an heir?" You stared up at him, your eyes tired as you watched him taunt you. Apparently, the question had not been rhetorical as his hand grips your jaw again and sets your head straight. "Answer me, little cat."

A war went off in your mind. If you said no, he'd likely to subject you to more horror, drag out the moment longer than he needed just to make you endure this torture a little while longer. If you came again, the shame would be so thick and so deep, you likely would not survive it.

But if you agreed to him, you would be admitting defeat. You would officially be his little plaything for him to use whenever he felt a little too pent up one moment or bored the next.

But another moment of this would bring more emotional turmoil than you have the heart for right now…

"Well?" he wondered, grinding his hips deep within you as he continued to claw your face, barely holding on enough as his head bowed with his thrusts. You whispered, but he just tilted his head to listen closer to your barely audible voice. "What?"

"Yes…" you whispered.

"Yes, what? What would you like, little cat?" he smiled wide, triumphant in his ability to break you so easily.

You swallowed thickly, your saliva like syrup at the embarrassment. "Yes, Prince Daemon… I want," a new, tiny sob choked out of you as the words stuck in your throat, "I want you to…to breed me."

The pride shone in his gaze like the sun, harsh and bright. "That's a very good girl, you are. I'm so very proud of you," he said as he kissed you roughly again. His hips began to snap harder into your once more, and you felt the unsteadiness of the rhythm, the desperation of the chase for his release hot in your belly.

And when he came, he pulled you down by his hips and pushed so deeply inside of you, it hurt. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, reaching his peak with a roar as he spilled his hot, fiery cum inside of your cunt and fucked it in to stay. You mewled and grabbed uncomfortably at his arms as you lay through the whole ordeal, hating his grabby hands and his thick, pulsing cock and his depraved sounds above you. The warmth filled you like tar.

He cursed under his breath in a language foreign to you. After grinding his hips for longer than he needed, he finally pulled out of you and put an end to your misery. You sighed in relief, laying back as he sat up and removed his heavy weight from your body.

He stared down at you, completely flustered and spent but well enough to tease some more. "Look at you," he shook his head. "Pathetic whore hungry for my cock."

You didn't look at him, turning your head to the side and laying there as he kept your legs open with his body between yours. He chuckled deep in his throat and smacked your side, earning little more than a near silent yelp.

You flinched when his hand found your cunt again, this time filled and smeared with both your cum and his. His long middle finger shoved inside of you and then back inside. With no warning, he placed his hand at your mouth. Another fight kicked through your veins, though noticeably less fueled than the last.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Open your mouth and see how well we taste together, little cat. If you don't, I have other things I can do with that little mouth of yours."

His threat was clear as day as you obeyed. Cracking your mouth open, he smeared your mixed release over your lips again and finally delved into your mouth to make you lick every single drop from his fingers. It was salty and sweet, and you hated it.

"Such a good, pathetic little girl, you are." He pulled his fingers from your mouth and sighed longingly. "Was that so hard?"

He shoved you off his lap, discarding you like trash as he stood to tidy himself once more. And once he finished, he blew out the remaining candles in the room and spared you not a single glance and not a single word more. He rolled over on the bed beside you and eased himself to sleep.

You lay there, staring at the sealing as the soreness in your limbs spread deeper and deeper until it reached your very soul. A heaviness took you, weighed down your heart until you were naught but a body on a bed next to a dark prince. A numbness ate away at your toes, at your fingertips, until the even numbness disappeared and was replaced by a terrible grief when the thoughts of the night flashed behind your eyes like a terrible dream.

And you began to sob. Softly, as not to wake Daemon and invoke him into another frenzy, you cried and hated the way it did not cleanse your soul. You belonged to him, his little wife, his little cat to prey on. You were just a dragon's whore now. Nothing more, nothing less.

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#daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #dark content #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #dead dove do not eat

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enveine · 4 months

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when doves cry - s. clegane: chapter one (pilot)

pairing: sandor clegane x f!eldest stark reader summary: your loyalty to your family is unwavering, a steadfast commitment that defines your character. however, navigating the turbulent waters of newfound, intense emotions for a man devoted to a family starkly opposed to your own will challenge the foundations of this loyalty. as you stand on the precipice of conflicting allegiances, the question looms: what sacrifices would you make in the name of love? rating: 18+ word count: 4.4k chapter warnings: smut, "we just met but I want to fuck you", kinda ooc sandor, language, story loosely follows the timeline of S1, semi-public sex- very risky, rough sex, reader probably cares more about what's happening then sandor does, hickeys in hidden places, unprotected piv sex, angst, "we just fucked and now we're practically going to be living together".

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The great hall of Winterfell buzzed with activity as the Stark family prepared for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon and his entourage. You were the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, so you knew all eyes were going to be on you; a young woman of noble birth, at an age desperate to be married well. You moved gracefully through the throngs of people, your eyes keenly observing the bustling preparations. You wore a simple but elegant gown, the Stark colors proudly displayed.

A little nervous, to be expected. Nothing a little ride couldn’t fix.

On the way back, you noticed that winter truly had begun its descent upon the land, the air frigid and the wind mighty. The crunch of snow beneath the hooves of your horse echoed through the trees as you headed back towards Winterfell. You were eager to greet the royal party.

As you approached the stable, you hear the unmistakable clatter of hooves against the cobblestone. The royal retinue had arrived. Intrigued, you watch closely to see the beautiful ocean of golden banners, curiosity piqued by the impending arrival of the king.

The gate swung open, revealing the group of visitors. Your gaze was drawn to a towering figure at the back of the party. A man of imposing stature, his face hidden beneath a twisted helm, and clad in dark, rugged armor. He radiated an air of danger that made the other courtiers instinctively give him a wide berth.

Still mounted, you took a step back, closer to your direwolf Nyx. You watched him with a curious gaze. As he sat there, a silent sentinel also mounted upon his horse, you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze met your own.

"Who's that?" you inquired, directing the question to a nearby stable boy.

The boy hesitated before answering, "That's the Hound, my Lady. Sandor Clegane, the King's dog."

You clicked your tongue, “King’s dog, huh?” a small laugh, “Interesting title.”

You watched as the man dismounted, your eyes narrowing with interest. He moved with a certain controlled grace, his movements deliberate and purposeful. An unexpected shiver ran down your spine as you observed the mysterious figure. There was something about him that defied the norms of courtly behavior, an untamed quality that set him apart. In a sea of polished knights and well-mannered courtiers, he was a dark anomaly.

You couldn't help but be intrigued by the mysterious figure. Your eyes lingered on him, studying the scars that marred his face. There was a hardness in his gaze that suggested a life of brutality, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the man beneath the armor.

Your eyes met for the briefest moment, a flicker of connection that sent a jolt through your spine. Quickly averting her gaze, you tried ignoring the heart pounding feeling in her chest. The Hound continued on, seemingly indifferent to the glances and whispers that followed him. After his eyes left yours, you couldn’t help but watch his every move again. That man, Sandor Clegane, he was beautiful.

And he was coming right towards you.

As you dismounted her horse, the Hound's attention shifted briefly to her. You felt a twinge of discomfort under his scrutinizing gaze, but being the strong-minded Stark you were, held your ground. Nyx, ever vigilant, growled softly at the Hound, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You a Stark girl?" he grumbled, his voice rough and devoid of warmth.

You nodded, a defiant yet humorous spark in your eyes. "Well I stand before you wearing Stark colors. I’d hope so. (Y/N) Stark. And you are?"

"The Hound. Sandor Clegane," he replied with a hint of mockery. "King's dog, they call me."

You arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "A dog, you say?” In a bold move, your eyes slowly moved up and down, taking in a good look of his entire figure. “I don’t see a collar.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a reluctant smirk. It was a rare sight, a crack in his stoic facade.

“Well, dog, I hope you’re house-trained.”

Your exchange was brief, but in that moment, something shifted. A connection, unspoken and unacknowledged, lingered between the two of you. The Hound turned away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you with a lingering sense of curiosity and an unsettling awareness that even though you’d just met that man—you wanted more of him.

Later that night, the great hall of Winterfell resounded with the clinking of goblets and the boisterous laughter of the guests. You found yourself drawn into the festivities, attempting to put aside the enigmatic encounter with Sandor Clegane. The feast in honor of King Robert Baratheon's visit was in full swing, and the Stark family showed they knew how to put together an extravagant feast.

As the night progressed, you caught glimpses of him across the crowded hall. His presence was ominous, and whispers of him still followed like shadows. Your curiosity mingled with a sense of unease, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that your brief exchange held a significance you couldn't fully comprehend.

You continued to mingle among the noble guests, trying to keep your eyes away from Sandor. But to no avail, you watched in-between pointless conversations as he stood at the outskirts of the celebration. His gaze fixed on the revelry with a mix of disdain and disinterest and you felt a peculiar pull, as if the currents of destiny were nudging you toward the enigmatic man.

An unexpected voice interrupted you in the middle of your thoughts. "(Y/N), you seem quite taken with the Hound," spoke your younger sister, Sansa Stark, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.

You raised an eyebrow and snorted out a laughter, attempting to conceal the obvious interest written in your eyes. "Taken? No, my dear Sansa. Merely curious. He is a formidable figure, after all." You put your arm between hers, nudging her body in the direction of the man who looked quite bored. “You know what mother always tells us. We are wolves, we must be the ones to pounce before the others.”

Sansa's gaze flitted between you and the man in question, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Well, just be careful. Rumors say he has a fearsome temper."

You chuckled at her, feigning nonchalance. "Rumors are just that—rumors. I'm sure there's more to him than meets the eye."

“Rumor has it that I think you’re full of rubbish.” She replied, a playful laugh falling from her lips.

“Oh Sansa, run off. Father needs you.” You nodded in the direction of your father, clearly enjoying his conversation with King Robert and his son, Joffrey.

Poor Sansa, you thought, that boy looks like nothing but trouble.

As the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were destined to cross again. And fate intervened sooner than expected. The King's squire, Lancel Lannister, approached you with a cup of wine.

"From the Hound," he declared, offering you the goblet.

You hesitated, fingers brushing against the cold metal. You glanced in the direction of the Hound, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. Taking the wine, you nodded back with a small smile, and Lancel retreated into the shadows.

As you sipped the wine, the rich flavor lingered on her lips. As you found yourself drawn once more Sandor, you wondered what he’d taste like lingering on your lips. As your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between the two of you—a forming connection, born from the flames of need for passion.

Eventually, after a few more cups of wine, you found yourself standing at the edge of the hall, watching the dancers twirl to the music. A deep voice behind you interrupted your thoughts. "You fancy dancing, Lady (Y/N)?"

You turned to find Sandor standing there, his burned face impassive. "I can dance if the occasion calls for it," you replied, your eyes meeting his with something you couldn’t describe, but you could definitely feel it.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s a wolf with claws, then."

You were undeterred by his nature, offering a playful smile. "You sure seem to enjoy lurking in the shadows, Ser Clegane. Is that where you find your solace?"

He grunted, a low sound that could be mistaken for a chuckle. "Solace is overrated. I prefer the edge of the firelight."

You tilted your head, curls cascading over your shoulder. "A mysterious man, I see. Are you afraid the light will reveal too much?"

Sandor's lips twitched into a half-smile, a rare sight on his scarred face. "Some things are better left in the dark."

Leaning in, you whispered, "But not everything. Some things are meant to be uncovered." You caught the glint in his eye, a flicker of something lustful beneath the rough exterior.

The conversation continued, the banter growing more flirtatious with each exchange. You teased and prodded, finding amusement in the unexpected connection you felt with the man. He, in turn, responded with a gruff charm that surprised even himself.

Eventually, he left you with short instructions, “Broken tower.”

At last, you found yourself in the quiet solitude with the idea of getting to know Sandor better. In a way you’d known nobody before. The anticipation of his presence weighed on you, and a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. The air was charged with a different kind of energy, one that held the promise of a connection that transcended the boundaries of right and wrong.

A soft knock on the door signaled his arrival, and when you opened it, there he stood, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over his scarred face, softening the harsh lines that had witnessed battles and hardships.

"I thought we might continue our conversation," he rumbled, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that caught you off guard, especially when he roughly grabbed your cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. Your heart raced as you welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, trying your best to close the door.

The room pulsed with palpable tension, igniting like a fervent flame, as your hands yearned to make contact with him in every possible manner. The warmth emanating from your skin created a contrast against the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. Restless and eager, your hands became a silent testament to the unspoken urgency of your desire.

Sandor's gaze remained fixed on yours throughout, ablaze with a passion you had long yearned for—a fervor you couldn't fathom experiencing with the man standing before you.

Your teeth sank into his lower lip, coaxing a resonant, primal groan from him, prompting his reluctant withdrawal. "She's a wolf with claws and teeth," he chuckled, wiping away the trace amount of blood that had emerged from the newfound wound.

Rather than offering a response, your body found itself pressed against the wall, his calloused hand gently mitigating the impact on your head. "Couldn’t very well carry our conversation with your lips against mine," you remarked at last, tilting your head to the side as his lips met the tender skin of your neck.

He stopped for a moment- another faint chuckle coming before continuing, “aye, that was the point.”

Sandor persisted in tracing kisses along your neck, momentarily pausing only to leave subtle bites in places known only to him. In this moment, he recognized that he was on the brink of losing all restraint, evident in the autonomy of his hands, which seemed to explore every inch of your body with a desire you willingly indulged. Oh, how willingly you would allow him to continue.

“Sandor, please, I need-” you were cut off mid sentence by him grabbing your right leg and wrapping it around his waist. The cold metal hid his hardening cock—the feeling of it against your warm skin made you anticipate his every move. “If we’re g-gonna do this.. we need to hurry..”

“You need to keep quiet.”

His lips descended, caressing the delicate fabric of your dress. His fingers deftly maneuvered to release you from its confines with a sense of urgency; there was an animalistic quality to his actions—rough fingers, accompanied by soft growls, responding to the rhythmic dance of your body against his determined hold. A silent plea resonated, a tacit acknowledgment that you craved everything he was willing to bestow upon you.

A hushed stillness enveloped the space for the next few moments, broken only when he skillfully lowered your dress, unveiling your tits. Sandor's fingers delicately traced the contours of each nipple, his unwavering gaze captivated by their response. With each circular motion, they seemed to intensify in firmness, a testament to the heightened sensitivity your body exhibited in mere minutes of his touch. He reveled in the allure of your immediate responsiveness.

If anyone were to walk in they’d see such a pornographic sight: the beloved, eldest daughter of Ned Stark, nipples hard and swollen, dress hiked up to her waist while the Prince’s hound let her hump his armor. By this point, you'd wager that the burgeoning dampness in your silk panties had left its mark on the cool silver surface, a silent proclamation of your possession of the man. Yet, the mutual understanding between you both acknowledged that any unsuspecting onlooker venturing in would be treated to an undeniable spectacle.

If this were your first time, perhaps a hint of nervousness would have crept in, particularly as you sensed his hands gently sliding your panties down to your knees. Yet, even in such a moment, his adept handling imparted a profound sense of security. This man, bound by oath to safeguard his King, was now silently pledging to protect you with equal devotion.

But, fortunately, nothing could protect your body from what Sandor was about to do.

Seating himself on the ground after loosening his leather pants, he then drew you down to join him. As you settled onto his lap, he playfully grazed against your entrance with his cock, all the while continuing his descent of kisses along your neck. With a stern tone, he uttered, "My Lady, speak the word and I’ll stop."

Gazing into his eyes, you found them ablaze with desire, mirroring the fervor you sensed within yourself. His captivating eyes, the unsteady cadence of his breath, and the formidable frame enveloping you in its embrace—you desired nothing else in that moment.

“I don’t think such words exist.” You whispered.

At last, your lips met again with an intense passion, and as he slowly pushed his cock inside, his kiss carried a raw urgency that you eagerly reciprocated. Midway, a soft moan escaped as an indescribable sensation stirred in your stomach. Gazing down, your eyes caught a glimpse of your warmth enveloping him voraciously—a hunger akin to a famished wolf.

Sandor wasn’t even in completely.

His hips moved gradually against yours, a measured rhythm aiming to acquaint you with his full length. Pressed chest to chest, he sensed the rapid cadence of your intense heartbeat, but as his fingers traced small circles on your thighs, he felt it gradually subside. Sandor understood that in due course, he would sense the resurgence of your elevated heart rate, particularly when he ultimately filled you entirely. The connection was palpable, your pelvis intimately aligned with his.

He sustained a consistent rhythm, guiding your hips in a reciprocal dance of thrusts. The entire encounter was swift and purposeful, each thrust delivered with a sense of urgency, as if time were a constraint. In a sense, it was, considering the uncertainty of someone stumbling upon you at any moment.

Yet, beneath it all, an undercurrent of passion prevailed. The symphony of your gasps harmonized with his occasional groans, creating a melodic atmosphere. Your hand remained anchored on the back of Sandor's neck like a steadying handlebar, providing support as his thrusts intensified. It felt fitting that this was how Sandor Clegane fucked his women—clothed, he embodied roughness and intensity; how could one become tender and affectionate when undressed?

The familiar sensation of tightness formed in your stomach, and truth be told, there was a hint of disappointment in how swiftly the entire encounter unfolded. Yet, the lack of surprise lingered; he had proven to be the quickest in getting you into bed. The inexplicable allure he held over you remained a mystery, but in this moment, such thoughts were irrelevant—especially when you stood on the brink of blissful release.

Suddenly, a surge of sensation swept over you as his hand enveloped your throat. Sandor felt the subtle tightening of your walls around his cock, a telltale sign that you were teetering on the edge. He sought to bring you to that exquisite pleasure. Amidst the crescendo of your growing moans reverberating against the tower walls, his grip tightened, not to stifle your ecstasy but to cloak the sounds and shield the secrecy of your rendezvous.

As tears cascaded down your cheeks in response to the overwhelming pleasure, he spoke, "That's it, (Y/N), that's it…" It was as if he momentarily shed his usual demeanor, softening as he observed you in your vulnerable state. However, amidst the whirlwind that had your head spinning and everything fading to white, the only thing you could truly register was the profound impact of your orgasm.

Sandor wasn't far behind, withdrawing as you caught your breath, leaving your back adorned in ribbons of white cum. A soft whine escaped you as you felt it trickle down, accompanied by his heightened groans that surpassed those from when he was inside you. The aftermath left both of you in a hushed stillness, contemplating who would break the silence first. It was him, rising to his feet after moving your body off his lap and discreetly tucking his softening cock back into his trousers. He handed you a handkerchief, a gesture to cleanse the now drying traces from your back.

You wondered whether he would abandon you in the tower, retreat to his quarters, or perhaps rejoin the now dwindling party. To your surprise, he didn't. Instead, he extended his hand, helping you rise and assisting in the process of reclothing yourself. It was a considerate gesture, you acknowledged, yet it only added to the palpable tension that seemed to be mounting. You were certain Sandor could discern it in your expression—the subtle frown betraying your disappointment that the encounter had concluded. As you gazed at him, you searched for any sign of shared sentiment, any indication that he, too, would miss the intimacy you had just shared. Regrettably, you found nothing.

The air outside the tower was crisp, and the moon cast a silvery glow across the surroundings as Sandor led you down the winding path to your quarters. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the tension between you two lingering even in the cool night air.

The journey was silent, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft echo of your footsteps on the cobblestone path. Sandor's hand, firm yet strangely comforting, guided you through the dimly lit passages of the castle.

As you approached your quarters, a mix of conflicting emotions washed over you. There was a longing for something more, a desire to bridge the gap between the intimacy you'd just shared and the reality of the castle walls around you. The silence between you spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in.

Upon reaching your door, Sandor released your hand, and for a moment, it felt like a sudden loss. He stood there, his expression unreadable in the muted moonlight. You searched his eyes for any sign of what lay beneath the surface, but they remained enigmatic.

"Goodnight, Lady (Y/N)," Sandor gruffly uttered, breaking the silence. The words hung in the air, a simple farewell laden with unspoken complexities.

"Goodnight, Sandor Clegane," you replied, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of something unsaid. As you entered your quarters, the door closing behind you, the weight of the night settled in.

Alone in the hushed sanctuary of your quarters, the echoes of the night's encounter reverberated through the room. The emotions, like an unruly storm, swirled within you, and the dam holding them back began to crack.

As you stood there, the weight of what had transpired bore down on you. The tears, uninvited, welled up in your eyes and spilled over, tracing the contours of your cheeks. It wasn't just the physical intimacy that left you shaken; it was the tangled web of emotions that accompanied it.

Regret gnawed at you, and confusion settled in like a heavy fog. What had led you to this precipice, and where did you stand now? The vulnerability of the moment washed over you, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

Fumbling with the fastenings of your dress, you sought solace in the act of undressing, as if shedding the layers would somehow alleviate the burden you carried. The moonlight filtering through the window cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the isolation you felt.

Laying on the bed, your tears soaked into the fabric beneath you, a silent lament for the choices made and the uncharted territories navigated. The intimacy, though a fleeting connection, left a profound impact, and the aftermath left you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

As the night wore on, the tears eventually subsided, leaving behind a quiet ache and a lingering question of what the dawn would bring. In the solace of your room, you found yourself wrestling with the complexities of desire, regret, and the uncertain path ahead.

The morning sun painted Winterfell in hues of gold, casting a warm light over the courtyard. Despite the tender touch of dawn, the echoes of the previous night's emotions still sat within your heart.

A soft knock on your door signaled the entrance of your father, whose countenance bore the strength of responsibility. "(Y/N)," he began with a softness, "gather your sisters. There's something we must discuss."

Compelled by both curiosity and a lingering sense of unrest, you summoned Arya and Sansa to join you in the family chambers. As the three of you assembled, a somber atmosphere enveloped the room, foreshadowing the gravity of your father's impending words.

Ned stood before you, a stalwart figure. "My daughters," he started, his voice bearing both love and gravitas, "a change is upon us. I have been offered the position of Hand of the King by King Robert."

Sansa's eyes widened, Arya's skepticism palpable, and you exchanged a glance with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"We will be relocating to King's Landing," Ned continued, his gaze encompassing each of you. "It is an honor, but with it comes great responsibility. The court is a labyrinth of politics and intrigue, and I need my family by my side."

Arya's rebellious spirit simmered beneath the surface, while Sansa's excitement mingled with trepidation. As for you, the events of the night before lingered, making the move to King's Landing feel like an unexpected twist in the intricate tapestry of your life.

Amidst the familial exchanges, there was another silent dance occurring—one between you and Sandor. His eyes constantly drew your gaze. It was as if an invisible thread connected you, and in those moments, the world around you blurred as your eyes met his, wordlessly conveying a shared understanding of the complexities unfolding.

Ned Stark, seemingly oblivious to the subtle interplay, continued to outline the responsibilities that awaited the Stark family in the capital. As he spoke, your eyes frequently found Sandor's, and each exchange carried a weight of unspoken emotions. His gaze, normally guarded, held a hint of something that transcended the stoic exterior he presented to the world.

When Ned mentioned the unity of the Stark family in facing the challenges ahead, your eyes involuntarily sought out Sandor's once more. In that shared gaze, there was a recognition that echoed the uncertainties of the path ahead and the uncharted territories that lay before you.

The air seemed heavy with the weight of impending change as you sought out Sandor in the quiet corners of the castle. You found him in a secluded courtyard, the familiar hounds of House Stark milling about nearby. The atmosphere was tense, and the silent exchange of glances from before lingered in your mind.

"Sandor," you began, your voice cutting through the stillness. He turned to face you, his expression guarded but expectant.

The words tumbled out, the night before demanding acknowledgement. "What happened between us… it was unexpected, and now with the move to King's Landing, I don't know what this means."

Sandor's gaze, normally impenetrable, softened in a rare display of vulnerability. "It means nothing, my Lady. Just a moment in time, and we move on."

But you couldn't shake the lingering questions. "Is that all it was to you? Just a moment?"

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty. "It was more than that, but it's not something that fits into our worlds."

A surge of frustration mixed with a tinge of sadness swept over you. "Our worlds? What does that mean, Sandor? We're both headed to King's Landing. We're both a part of whatever is coming next."

His gaze held a complexity that mirrored the conflict within. "In King's Landing, there's a different kind of game being played. I’m not the one to bring into your world, and you sure as hell don't belong in mine."

The words stung, but there was a resignation in his tone, as if he sought to shield you from the harsh realities he faced daily.

You took a step closer, unwilling to let the unspoken linger. "I can decide what world I belong to, Sandor. And right now, I want to understand what this is between us."

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and reluctance. "We're just two people caught up in a storm. Best not to overthink it."

Before you could press further, the sound of footsteps approached, and the courtyard suddenly felt less secluded. Sandor's eyes met yours once more, a silent understanding passing between you.

"In King's Landing, things will have to change," he muttered, his tone a gruff acknowledgment of the challenges ahead.

The bittersweet taste of truth lingered in the air as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead. A silent understanding passed between you, a farewell woven with unspoken regrets and the inevitability of parting ways.

As the distance between your bodies widened, the courtyard seemed to stretch infinitely. The angst that clung to the parting moments left an indelible ache, a silent ache that would resonate in the chambers of your heart long after the echoes of Sandor's footsteps faded into the shadows.

"I don't want to lose you," you confessed in your mind.

#sandor clegane smut #smut #sandor clegane #sandor the hound clegane #the hound #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you #the hound x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #reader insert #got smut

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ladythornofrivia · 6 months

Text

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part One)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: modern!reader woke up in Westeros after getting drunk.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant but is secretly a softie, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, jealousy, stalking, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader).

a/n: it’s official! It’s here! I hope you enjoy my fanfic series of ‘Kingdom of Fire and Blood’.

Chapter One: The Dark Uproar

In a realm of dragons and knights,

There lays with conquer and fear, from scorching summer through bleak winters, through life of air and fire and ashes.

In a realm of nobility and law, in the halls of mountain and sea,

the green star has shed upon the dark, cloudless sky, wedged upon the shrouded waters of Westeros.

The green star has emerged.

“Seize her! Don’t let her get away!” the man pointed at you dashing away from the scenery.

It’s a dream. You were sure that it’s a dream. Dreams occurred in a blurry vision, not by transparency. Dreams are often—and easily—forgotten once awake after the newborn daylight arises.

In a midst of pursuit, you retraced back your steps. You went at your friend’s celebration, then eat and watched anime— you didn’t have much vigor to spare for removing your makeup due to sleepiness. The last thing you ever did was you resting on your warm bed without a change of clothing, now dry and shivering, laying down on a half-parched sand, half-asleep while unsure of what’s happening before your arrival. You were unconscious deeply in your sleep you weren’t aware of the commotion you have caused, awoken by the young knight, who found you in the brink of nightfall—who fled and carried you—travelled within distance for three days.

Under a huffed breath, legs and feet numbed as you carried yourself away to stray paths where band of guards weren’t able to trace you accurately. You’re much lighter and faster with sprinting; due to their armor, they couldn’t move they so desire. Even more so when some guards have horses with them. Or hounds barking with thirst for a good gnaw on your youthful flesh.

Until now, you’re steadfast with rush. Harsh wind blasted in your earholes at the stallion’s speed.

Your mind is raced with previous encounter, mind occupied with millions of panic inquiries.

~ before the chase ~

Previously, with your skin and bones beneath your tight crop top shirt and tennis skirt quivering at a spine-tingling weather, despite the lack of storming wind, you have no idea where to begin on what to say to the young knight but offering him a small yet timid smile to lessen the intensity of cumbersome fate that’s forcefully thrusted upon you, oblivious and frightened, shaking like a grumpy feline that despises water or anything that touches the feline.

Upon the yearnings of a weeping locked inside your heaving chest, of begging and wanting to go home was futile, estranged within a foreign land. As the vexed fate of anxiety clambered into your heart, the staggering breaths and rasps in your voice and your loud thoughts has been noticed by a young man in fancy armor, bestowing you with a relieved grin etched on his weary features. You’re certain that Halloween is over.

“You have awaken,” he said with a brightened grin, though you weren’t focused on the sound of his voice, but saw his lips shifted.

Noticing the young man’s eyes, you were positive that no one wouldn’t rescue a stranger such as yourself. Groaning, you leaned your back against over the bulkiness of a tumbled tree. Fire flickered and crackled like bones snapped to pieces.

“Can you hear me, my lady?” he asked, alarmed yet almost as quiet; he didn’t wish to see you alert under his aid.

“My lady,” you repeated, lifting your heavy-numbing head, confused as you were shaking with your eyes sealed with bursting pink stars flowing in your black vision, ears, head and heart pounded against you wakened state. Sighing, you resumed with, “How long have I been unconscious?”

“For three days,” he said, the soft outline of his lips curled upward, as if he was relieved to see you alive and well. Your eyes examined him, spotting the clean armor and a long sword carried in his sheath.

“What happened?”

“I saw you lying unconscious, so I have to come and save you, hoping that you’re alive.”

Everything was bizarre at this point.

“Save me?” you asked the boy, subconscious, coughing out the thick, salted water, clutching your chest tight, pounding for the leftover to drain.

“Yes, my lady,” the young man said with a kind smile, but his glassy eyes beamed against your frightful ones, covered in soot, despite being drenched. “I was sent by my father for a further alliance with another house, but as soon as I left the castle, I found lying you unconscious in the midst of the ocean. I have swam my way to rescue you.”

“Where did you find me exactly? I’m all wet,” you commented, lips curled in disgust your clothes are caked in black sand and puddle.

“I found you by the shores, and took you in quick before anyone could search on the grounds.”

Your head was pounding.

“Shores?”

“At Blackwater Bay,” he explained.

Blackwater Bay, you thought as your fingernails scraped onto your wet scalp. That name sounds familiar.

The back of your head was pounding. “Are we still at Blackwater Bay?”

“We travelled within three days while you were in your subconscious state. A fewer miles ahead and you’re already in the kingdom.”

Then the skies filled with an animalistic roar, screeching like nails on a chalkboard.

Your ears covered and shoulder blades flinched at the long, grating sound.

Your shoulders flinched as you said, “What the hell is that?”

The young man still grinned, remaining silenced from your projected inquiry.

“They’re still frightened of the sound,” is all he said. “Of the light.”

You eyed on him with perplexed expression resting on your features.

“What light?” you wondered. “What did you mean when you ‘they’re still frightened of the sound’?”

“Dragons,” the young man said, eyes twinkled. “You came down here with the light, and that’s what’s causing the uproar.”

You found his cryptic statement alarmingly bizarre due to his faint enthusiasm.

“We’re reaching close to our destination,�� he said, but you still don’t comprehend.

Bewildered, before you could ask another, the clanging sounds of metal and flickering flames on a torch and countless heavy stomps dashed on its way to your direction.

“Allow me to escort you to safety. These guards are brutal than ravage beasts,” he said to you. “I can’t let a young maiden die in vain.”

Your breath held in shortly.

“Which way should I go? Is there a safe spot for me to hide?”

“Take the nearest path down on a pebbled road and hide. From there, you’ll see the narrow passage, one where no one uses. Traitors and spies lurking about the lower grounds.” and kept heading The young man pushed you, guided you and instructed you to conceal behind the large and sharp boulder, while your legs shaken, air colder than ice. However, another realization dawned upon your wake. You have nowhere to go. Not in this foreign land.

Thoughts conjured and slice your numb mind open. Death is near me; I’ll be killed if I don’t have something with me.

“Where am I heading to?”

“Somewhere far where they can’t reach you or trace your steps. You’re heading to a place where the crown’s might is still strong.”

You paused in your tracks. Wait, that can’t be right.

The rumbled noise made it’s passage close to your location, causing for your heart and his sprung with immense fear.

Both of you reached in time as he hoisted your body up on the saddle. Before whipping the reins on the horse, the young man gave you the dagger with a symbol on his shining armor. The same sigil the knight has on his armor—or so it appears. “You’ll be in safer hands if you carry something with you.”

“If we meet again, I’ll return this blade back to you.”

His eyes gazed into yours with a sad smile.

“Still, I don’t even know your name.”

He grasped your hand shortly. He smiled. “Ser Remon Blackwood.”

The pounded hooves reached a louder noise, getting near to your direction.

“Thank you, Ser Blackwood,” you said.

Remon Blackwood had his hand reached out to yours. “You share kindness like no other. Not like the people in the realm with conquering dragons. It’s an honor to meet you, my lady,” he said, giving you a one last smile.

“Dragons?” you questioned in shock.

He gave a hard slap on the horse’s front leg, as he watched his given horse galloped with you giving one last look onto the despairing knight with a somber smile.

Your eyes darted forward, leaving your ears perceiving the traced sounds of sword clashed and rang, forest filled with raged shouts.

Afar, a young knight plea for mercy, then a long-produced sounds of swords slipped through cracked armor and bones, blood shed and slimed over the forest ground.

Then nothing; only the solid ripples of the heavy hooves and a rushed wind from a great stallion’s speed deafened onto your ears.

The good knight is dead.

And the nightfall became colder.

~ present ~

The horse nearly reached to a wide-ranged road when five of the men continued to pursuit you, eyes preyed on you at the back of your head, drilling and contain in unyielding desire of violence.

“Kill the bitch!” one man shouted.

Looking over to your shoulder, on your left, you saw the man on the right drew out a bow, and sent the arrow down at your back. But you managed to duck in time. With an irritated huff, the man sent another blow with the second arrow. You ducked your head once more, gazing back, then forth, then back again.

Heart pounding in your chest; the distance between them began to shrink.

“For fuck’s sake,” the first man bellowed, wrinkles on his forehead protruded, veins on his neck were visible. “Sent the arrow flying down on that bitch’s neck, you good for nothing prick!”

The second man’s face went pale. “I’m trying, sire.”

“Try harder, you useless fucktwad!”

Clutched fingers against the writhed reins grew tired, the steadiness in your breath increased tenfold in suffocation, heart rate escalated twice as strong—feeling hot and cold all at once. Cold sweat plastered to your clutched hands as you whipped the reins harder, indicating a sign for the stallion advance farther. The pace began to slow; you whipped the reins, but no to avail.

“Please, hurry,” you begged, head leaning against the horse’s ear, holding onto your dear life as death still awaits for you.

The man reload with the third arrow. His aim targeted to your face. For a second, he went still with his aim, but immediately shot at the back of the horse’s leg. The back of the horse’s limbs tripped and flipped in mid-air, sent you flying forward with a loud clash on the forest ground that nearly shattered your back and ribcage. Ears rang and eyes shut with gritted teeth droned a sharp hiss from your lips as the men dismounted down and marched their towered over you crumpled form.

Immediately, you gathered your shattered form and fled with your hidden in plain sight. The limp on your leg made a painfully deliberate pace as you attempt to go farther while the men with cloaks and big swords, following you, wearing a yellow and crooked teeth on their lips, sniggering at your flee. And by the time you reached at the centered road, nearly to the exit, your path has been blocked by two more men, who you unaware of the extra company. One man grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you down. Drawing the dagger out, your hand brought down on his foot, then his knee, then his thigh—never minding the hysterical noise. Loosening the grip on your head, while on your knees, with a support of your foot, you spun around and stabbed a knee from another man.

You couldn’t scream or cry for help anymore. After all, you’re drowsy from ocean water, still wet and lost, in an unwonted void of labyrinth.

“What shall we do of this little cunt?” the man with a thin beard said.

“We’re going to make a use of her, bore into her with my seed and carry the filthy bastard inside her,” the second man with a short, uneven bowl cut suggested confidently. “After that, I’ll eat her flesh.”

“Stupid cunt can’t even fend for herself,” the third man, who was shorter than you said, cackling. “Let’s all take turns then. Whoever makes her scream the hardest, will get to keep her as a toy.”

One man undo his armor on the half-bottom, the clanging armor bumped in haste rhythm, as all the men who towered over your sicken stature, shed their trousers out.

Before one could pull the long cock out, with a knife in your hand, given by the young knight, you sliced his cock apart, left him wailing like an infant, blood splattered like waterfall. The men hovered you with their grubby hands, but you dodged—rolled back and took a hard swing at the man on your left, chopped his hand off. With the knife on your hand, it felt more like a short sword.

Another man has struck.

The bulky man in the middle plunged a full swing on your belly. Yelping, your arms encompassed over your flesh as the man plunged another blow with his hardened boot. His eyes gaze over the blade and punted it over to the side, then stomped over your belly and breasts in repeated motion until he grows tired. Once his foot has grown fatigue, he grabbed your thighs and spread them apart.

“No…” you said, pleading and crying. “Please don’t!”

The man dragged your panties and your tennis skirt down in barbarous motion. “Stay still and be a good wench,” he said, muddy fingers traced over your skin. You bit his fingers, drawing hot blood.

Enraged, his hands strangled you. With quick thinking, you knee slammed against his balls and kicked his face, crawling away before retrieving the dagger back, the man stomped over your left wrist, your mouth opened, but no sound came except the twinge of pain searing in your bones.

“You should’ve listen and stay still like a dog,” the man sneering, pulling your hair back again. The blurriness in your eyes worsened.

With your bones and limbs have been shattered, the hope in you began to fade. No hopes of a savior or luck stayed in hand with your despair.

His boot lunched another blow struck against your face, only to be bled through your nose, your body is broken and immovable, you couldn’t find yourself speaking, or cry for aid. Nothing good ever comes.

Except you’re alive. In fact, you were letting your guard down—pretending to be dead, abiding for the enemy to make a hasty error. The squint on your right eye left a little gap, seeing the man, kneeling down on you as he took off his trousers merrily. But as he splayed his cock out in the cold air, you managed the seize the dagger, tackled him and slashed his throat, while alive, the dagger impaled him through one of his eyes, then nose, then cheek—spare vigor imploded under a last sheer of your quick anger. The man’s face and mouth flowed with warm blood, choking and plopped down back on the surface with a thunderous thud.

From there, you stood once more and limped your way through the exit from the forest’s road in so little steps.

Only remains are the trees billowed and rustled and swayed through a gentle, cool breeze, and with you exhaling with a cautious breath you held in your chest and limbs worn out and limped as your vision drown into darkness.

~~~

Ser Criston Cole accompanied the band of men through the forest, as for they ought to repose for a short while. Sundowns became long, and the dragons in the heavens unyielded through an unforgiving climate.

The dragons don’t bear the coldness of wintry-like air. In the old days of Valyria, centuries before the time of Viserys’s reign, none of the great dragons and its people survived the Doom of Valyria, and within the errored times, from moving Essos to Westeros, dragons hatched into a total of eighteen—mighty and proud and carnivorous and bloodthirsty, though tamed through the influence of their rightful owners—heirlooms and foundation of companionship and trust between those who have the blood of a Valyria and connections through history. For instance, Vhagar is the second largest dragon compare to the other dragon riders owned. Dragons are obedient when those who dialect in Valyrian tongue, if not some. Some takes a special gift to have certain trust with a dragon, and dragon shares it’s mutual respect to the owner.

But it can’t say the same to the recent owners. The Blackwater Bay boomed nearby the Dragonstone. And during the nightly hours, the dragons were deeply asleep, though fully awakened by the quiet whiplash of what it appears to be none other than the small green light yet brightly shot downward from the vast of great, empty sky. Two nights ago, Prince Daemon tried to appease his dragon, Caraxes, the red scaly beast, but it’s clear enough to sent the prince with hesitation. Prince Daemon reached Caraxes with his hand for reassurance but Caraxes nearly snapped Prince Daemon’s hand in half. Criston Cole has neither seen Prince Daemon or Caraxes in the verge of calamity. Prince Daemon, a rogue prince who tends be as brute yet reckless and composed has been caught off guard.

The dragons have startled the men—knights and royals alike completely—peasants, too. The green starry light has fallen into the thundering waves, almost as if it was the end of Westeros. The booming wave from Blackwater Bay still lingers the aftermath effect. None slept through the night. They were returning to King’s Landing from meeting the lord from the north nearby the Blackwater Bay. But Prince Daemon, as always, fled away without considering so much of a wait for the others.

Under the gentle moonlight floating from the clouds, Ser Criston and his men galloped through the forest with their horses, hooves stomped over the twigs and dead leaves and the steeped grounds. By the time they reached into the monumental of pointed, red structures and gold and white in the city, Criston Cole couldn’t wait to repose and serve the Greens, mainly Queen Alicent, King Viserys’s second wife.

The stallion neighed loudly as it thrown its front hooves up in the air. Criston Cole’s heart leapt, somewhat appeasing his steed as the men behind him halted without a warning, causing others to nearly fall.

“What in the Seven Hells…” the man beside Criston Cole, took upon the glance at the fallen men in the midst of their exit.

Criston took the man’s torch and investigated the scenery. The fallen men all have bled from their knees to their open crotches. Hardness of their cock had flung out from a sharp blade. Criston winced at the sudden imagery flashed through his head.

“What could’ve done this…” a scrawny man said, perturbed.

“It must’ve been the work of a demon,” another man commented.

Criston moved onward, his legs carried him far and examined the view before him long before he reached to a figure, laying down. Rushing to her side, he noticed that her attire was far strangely and strikingly unique and bright compare what other women in the court wore. Turning her over, Criston settled his palm over her visage, pushing the long locks aside.

“My lady,” he muttered, still calm. While carrying the torch, he removed his glove with his teeth and touched her face. It was warm. Then he traced his hand below on the center of her chest.

Her heart in fact, still beating. He heaved with relief and called out to his men.

“This girl is alive! We must take her back to King’s Landing!” He passed the torch to the man beside him, who was following Criston without Criston noticed, and ripped his cloak off and wrapped the cloak around you and carried your unconscious body back to the men. Instructing the man to carry you while mounted on his horse and retrieved you back, placing you at the front.

“What of the Targaryens?” the man asked, somewhat scared.

Criston gave a sharp glare.

His fellow comrades, knowing Criston’s reputation, has not said a word, and followed Criston back to the realm where dragons reign.

Taglist: @liannafae

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tinypnut · 5 months

Text

Hot take

Is anyone tired of smut? Like don’t get me wrong, I love a good smut filled oneshot but like. Why is it when I go looking for emotion comfort or angst it’s all just smut instead of genuine connection between characters or reader inserts?

Cause like, yeah we’re horny fucks but I just want emotional comfort with Astarion from BG3 cause he lowkey gives demisexual vibes cause of his trauma. Before his character growth I can see smut with him but like, that’s only act 1, the rest of his character growth has him not wanting sex because it makes him uncomfortable and or causes flashbacks for him.

Or like, Aemond or Daemon from House of Dragon, yeah, GOT is like half sex but there is so much more content that can be used to write fics other than smut.

Anyone else feel the same?

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vikingstoner69 · 2 years

Text

Sandor/Reader:Healed

heya! I know its been a bit since i posted but things got a bit crazy. Rhinking are getting better and i;m where i can post more. My ask box is open.

Fandom: Game Of Thorones

Pairing: Sandor/Reader

Summry: After he falls over the cliff you find and heal him and after its just smut with very little plot.

You slide down the side of the cliff landing by sandor. Tears run down your face as you see him lying there. You rush to him.

"I'm done for dove" he groans and coughs and a sob breaks past your lips and you reach for him.

"No! Don't you say that! I'll heal you!" You cry summon your powers, you could feel your energy drain as you started to heal him.

"Stop dove, you'll die" he groans as you look down at him, your world getting a little foggy you knew you would pass out soon.

"I don't care! As long as you live!" You snap your lips to his and push your magic into him. Your world goes black as the last of your energy goes into him.

------Later-----

You groan and slowly open your eyes to see a stone ceiling. You blink an slowly sit up and look around to find yourself in a cave.

"Easy dove" you jump at sandors voice and look to see him shirtless and fully healed. Tears spring back to your eyes when you see him.

"It worked, I didn't think it would" you cry siting up a bit more and your world started to swim. You had given all your energy to save him and now you needed to feed or you would die.

"It was stupid little dove you could have died" you bite your lip and look at him as he gets closer and leans down close to you.

"I am not going to live in this world without" you tell him and reach for the burnt side of his face and you stroke it softly.

"What you did was reckless little dove, what if you would have died!?" He snaps his voice turning cold and hard and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

"Yeah but I didn't! And if I had died you would have lived! You would move on!" You snap and in the blink of an eye his hand wss around your throat and his face is inches from yours.

"You really are daft" he growls and his lips crash down on yours. The feel of his lips on yours makes you moan and you reach for his shoulders and kiss back just as passionately. You moan as he kisses down your neck to your ear where he nips it.

"Sandor" you moan, his hands running all over your body. You felt like you were burning up every touch he made that drove you even more mad.

"What do you want, little dove?" He asks, his lips barely touching your neck making you shiver and try to pull him closer.

"You! I just want you" you moan your nails leaving little red marks behind. He nips your ear lobe and has you lay down, your legs wrapping around his waist. You could feel how hard he was making you moan and your hips thrust up.

"Fuck! Dove If you keep doing that and moaning I'm not gonna be able to control myself" he growls his hand going around your throat. You moan and kiss him deeply.

"Then don't" You say against his lips and bite his bottom lip making him growl and grind his hard cock Into your wet cunt. You moan and cling to him.

"Fuck! Are you sure about this lass? Once I fuck you, your mine" he growls into your neck. You look up at him, your legs tighten around him.

"Sandor, I have always been yours" you tell him honestly. He grunts and crashes his lips to yours and you moan. You cry out as he slowly enters you your nails digging in his back a bit. He made you feel so full.

"Seven hells dove, you're so tight" he groans, you moan your hands running up his back your nails leaving little sparks behind making his hips grind into you making you moan his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair and pull his face to yours and kiss him deeply as you clench your cunt around him making him growl. You pull back and kiss and bite his neck leaving a mark behind. His hold on you tightens and he groans when you bite his ear.

"Fuck me hard like I know you can" you moan in his ear and he growls. His hand going into your hair and he pulls your head back showing him your throat. He growls and starts pounding into you making you scream out in pleasure.

"Such a good dove, I bet I could fuck you anyway I wanted and you would let me" he grunts fucking you into the ground. You moan and cry out for him.

"Fuck yes! Fuck me! Use me!" You cry out and he growls. He flips so he is on his back with you on top.

"Be my good girl and ride me" he growls and smacks your ass making your hips move and your cunt clench.

"Please" you moan rolling your hips riding him deeply. Sandors hold your hips and groan.

"Please what dove?" He groans you hold on to his shoulders as you bounce on his cock.

"Touch me! I need your hands on my body" you moan his rough hands run up your body making you shiver his hands reach your breasts and he grabs them in his big hands. He groans and leans up and sucks a nipple in his mouth making your back arch and you cling to him. He grunts and moves you around.

"Hands and knees dove, I'm gonna cum deep in your pretty little cunt" he growls and you do as he said and he groans as he sees you bare and open and soaking wet, all for him.

"Fuck sandor" you moan as he enters you form behind. He groans at how wet and tight you were. His hands on your hips you push your hips back and moan. He grunts and starts to pound into you making you cry out.

"Mine!" He snarls pounding into you. You were so close.

"Please! So close" you moan and thrust back into him hard making him growl. He snarls, he pulls out making you whine and you're on your back. And he pushes back in making you both moan.

"I wanna see ya face little dove as I make you cum on my cock" you moan and cling to him. The feeling in your stomach is getting stronger and stronger.

"Sandor!" You cry out an cum hard, your cunt squeezing him tightly. He grunts as you cum hard taking him with you.

"Seven hells!" He grunts as his body stiffen as he coats your inside with his hot cum making you moan. You look at him as you both try to catch your breath. He leans down and kisses you. Before he flops on his back with a grunt.

"That was better than I ever dreamed" you say and roll to your side and lay your head on his chest and he strokes your skin.

"And just how often did you dream about me?" He asks, you grin up at him and throw your leg over him till you're straddling him and you moan as both of your fluids rush out of you.

"I feel so empty now, I would make myself cum to thoughts of you filling me full" you grin down at him. He groans his hands grabbing to your hips and he sits up till his chest rubs your breasts making you shiver.

"You think of a monster like me? A hound" he asks, his voice sounding more like a growl. You both were so close to each other.

"You're not a monster! I love you regardless of who or what you are! If you are a hound then you're mine!" You snap feeling a surge of anger when he talks like that. He grabs the back of your head and pulls your face to his kissing you deeply and you kiss back just as hard.

"Say that again little wolf" he demanded and you felt your stomach warm and your pussy ached for him. You bite his lip and grin.

"Make me" you tess and in the blink of an eye you are back on your back and he is over you.

"Your mouth is gonna get you in trouble one day love" he grins down at you. You look up at him bitinging your lip but not saying anything he growls.

"You'll have to make me, If you think you can" you grin and he bites your neck making you moan.

"You really need to learn when to stop talking love" he growls. An kisses you deeply before making you tell him what he wanted to hear.

#smut #requests are still open btw #reader #game of thrones #please request #sandor clegane smut #sandor clegane #the hound fanfic #got #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones reader insert #sandor clegane fanfiction #sandor clegane fanfic #reader smut

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