#GoT

[hed184]

Jaime Lannister by EtceteraArt

[rabidworld]

PLEEEEASSEEEEEE GODS WHYYY

A Bath for the Hound

Masterlist | img source

Summary: Sandor Clegane is injured. And dirty. Some healers try to help him, but he's a gruff man who won't let anyone touch him. That is, until you show up at his door. Word count: 3200 Notes: Well! It ended up taking me more than a month to write this fic!! But here it is, and with an ending I didn't expect myself. Warning: Highborn f!reader x sandor clegane; Cocky reader; Grumpy Sandor; Beauty and beast vibes and reference; Nakedness and descriptions of underwear; Nothing explicit; Suggestive; Banter; Almost a kiss; Confessions of love; Sandor calls reader little dove. English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes I might make. Constructive feedback is welcomed, I am here to share and learn <3

You barely lifted your eyes from your book. Four burly men shuffled into the room, three rubbing their sides and the last running a hand over a bruise on his jaw.

"How is he?" you asked, turning the page calmly.

"I-I… don't know, my lady…"

You lifted your gaze and set the book on the silver tray beside you.

“You don't know?"

"No, my lady," the leader of the group answered. "He is… he's a…"

"A complicated man," Tyrion finished for him.

You knew that would happen. Not even a group of strong, experienced men was enough to deal with him.

"I'll go," you sighed, rising from your seat. Your two ladies-in-waiting stood up too, but you gestured for them to stay.

“Are you sure, my lady?” Tyrion’s small hand gently grasped yours. “I don’t think it is the most appropriate.”

“Tyrion,” you smiled at your friend, "I'm good with dogs, I know how to handle them," you added looking into his almond-shaped eyes.

The Hand of the King studied you for a moment. You were a stubborn woman. Nothing he could say or do would make you change your mind, and besides, he knew that you carried the weight of what had happened.

"Very well," he finally said, his smile tight as he released your hand.

You dipped your head briefly. Then, beneath the wary stares of your ladies-in-waiting, slipped out into the dim corridors of the Red Keep.

*******************

The king’s sword had his quarters in the same wing as the royal chambers. Close enough to reach the king in an instant should danger arise. But unlike the luxurious, sunlit chambers of the nobility, his were in the dark corridor reserved for guards and hired steel. 

You stopped before a heavy, dark door, flanked by two unlit torches. Almost instinctively, you smoothed down your crimson dress, adjusting its square neckline before tapping lightly on the wood with your knuckles.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OFF!!” a rough voice barked from inside.

You smiled to yourself. Exactly the answer you expected.

“Sandor…” you said, keeping your voice calm.

After a moment of silence, heavy footsteps approached the door, stumbling over something metallic that rolled across the floor.

“Fucking seven hells…”  he cursed, and you smiled again.

One, two, three locks clicked open, and the large door moved just enough to reveal a nearly seven-foot tall man scowling down at you. His face was stained with dried blood and dirt.

“Gods, you look awful,” you said. 

The Hound pushed the door open further so his body loomed over yours.

“The little dove shouldn't be here,” he rasped. His gaze roamed unabashedly over your neck and collarbone, just as he always did.

“I know,” you lifted your chin at him, unbothered, “but you kicked out the healers, and someone has to take care of you.” 

His dark eyes darted between yours with a special shine, but his mouth twisted reluctantly. 

“I don't need help.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed the door and tried to slam it shut in your face, but as he did his bulky body staggered to one side. You reacted quickly and caught him by the shoulder. He was a giant of a man, you could not carry him, but at least you gave him some support until he found his balance.

"Let's go inside," you whispered. To your surprise, he bowed his head in a silent nod, letting his black hair fall over his eyes to hide his shame.

Sandor Clegane could afford better as the king’s sworn sword, but he was no man of luxury. In his room, there was little more than a simple wooden chair, a table cluttered with bloody bandages, and a fireplace that looked like it had never been used. You stepped around his battered armor scattered across the floor and helped him sit on the chair.

"Let me see the wound," you said as you lightly tugged at his linen tunic. It was the same he usually wore under his chainmail.

With a grunt, he pulled it off and threw it aside. Before you, a broad chest came into view, strong and covered in dark hair. But it was the blood-soaked bandage around his abdomen that caught your eye. You peeled it back and had to force yourself to stay composed. Jagged cuts tore through swollen, reddened flesh, the crude stitches binding the torn skin in a hasty, careless job. He had lost a great deal of blood, which explained his weakness.

"It’s not infected, but we need to clean it,” you said, so focused on examining the wound that you barely realized you were alone with a man in nothing but his breeches. What would your father say?

The man just grunted, staring straight ahead while you bent down to take a closer look at the wound.

"I’m going to bathe you," you added with all the seriousness the moment allowed.

He shot you a glacial glare. 

"No bloody chance you’re bathing me.” 

"You stink like a dead horse, Sandor. I’m going to bathe you whether you like it or not."

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could you had already stepped into the hall in search of a servant.

"Hot water, towels, and soap," you instructed.

Several men and women dragged in a wooden bathtub and hurried to fill it with hot water. The tub was large, made for someone of his height, and it took several trips for the servants to finish preparing it. As they worked, you helped Sandor remove the rest of the bandage, stuck to the dried blood. He did nothing but grumble and curse the entire time. Once the steam and the pleasant scent of lavender soap filled the room, you were left alone again.

"I’ll help you get in," you offered him your arm.

"This is nonsense," he stared at the bathtub like a dog refusing to go into the river. "I can fucking wash myself."

"You could if you could stay on your feet," you retorted.

You thought he’d grumble again but instead, he let out a loud huff and pulled his breeches down. You quickly averted your gaze, keeping your arm steady to support him. The fabric crumpled around his ankles, and you felt the weight shift as he stepped into the tub with a soft splash. Yet, for some reason, he didn’t lower himself.

“Sit down, please,” you said, still politely looking away.

“Water’s bloody hot,” he rasped.

“It’s warm,” you said.

“It’s too damned h-”

“JUST SIT IN THE BLOODY BATH, CLEGANE,” you snapped. Your neck was turned so far away it might snap, and you couldn’t take this ridiculous standoff another second.

A brief silence followed your order until, with a reluctant grunt, the towering man relented and lowered himself into the wooden tub. Once the water was up to his waist and the foam concealed his nakedness, you knelt next to him. Moisture clung to your neck, so you gathered your hair into a high knot before taking the cloth and soap left at the tub’s edge. Then, you lathered the fabric thoroughly, dipped it into the warm water, and pressed it lightly against his wound.

“Seven hells, woman, warn a man before you start poking at his guts!” The man cursed and flinched, sending water sloshing over the sides.

You frowned.  "If you held still, it wouldn't hurt so much."

He leaned toward you, teeth bared. 

“If the little dove hadn’t run off, this never would’ve happened.”

“Well,” you squeezed the cloth, “if you hadn’t scared the little dove, she wouldn’t have run!”

Your eyes met his, and his scowl deepened, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away. As you held his gaze, you took a small bottle of ointment and applied it to his wound, more carefully this time. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head forward, jaw so clenched it might break.

"How many were there?" you asked, trying to distract him from the pain.

“Six,” he muttered.

“And where are they now?” 

“Dead.”

You clicked your tongue in silent reproach.

“Seriously?” He turned to you. “They were going to rape you bloody. Would the little dove have preferred I brought them back for supper?”

A chuckle left you, but you didn't answer. You just got up, walked behind him and knelt at his back while he stared ahead, more sullen than ever.

"Here," you curled your fingers around his unshaven chin, gently guiding his head upward. He allowed it, but the moment you poured clean water over his head, he jerked back dramatically.

“Sandor, it’s just a bit of water," you laughed, "I doubt it’ll drown you." 

He was ready to strike with something sharp again, but the words died in his throat as your fingers sank into his hair, tracing slow and soft circles over his scalp.  

His dreadful scars became even more visible beneath his soaked hair, and the man hunched forward, embarrassed. But you had long since lost your fear of his ruined skin. Your fingers ran through his hair, raking through his locks and gently untangling each knot they found. An almost imperceptible, shaky breath left him, and you could almost say he was enjoying it. But when your hands pressed too close to his scarred flesh, he stiffened and pulled his head away.

"It's alright," you reassured him, carefully guiding his head back.

He remained still like a rock while your fingertips slowly wiped away the dried blood from his burned cheek, treating the folds around his deformed ear with the utmost care. Then, you brushed his hair aside and pushed his shoulders forward. The gesture made his muscles tense under your touch, accustomed only to blows and punches. His back was painted with bruises, stiff with countless knots. You pressed your thumbs where he needed it most, kneading until the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened. Unconsciously, he leaned forward to grant you better access. When you traced his spine from top to bottom, a low moan escaped him. He quickly cleared his throat in an attempt to cover it up. The effort only made you smile. 

There he was, one of the most dangerous men in the Seven Kingdoms, crumbling beneath your touch.

"All done here," you said as you moved around him. 

His eyes followed you as you knelt beside him again and reached out to wipe his chest. But he was so broad that you had to bend over, wetting your sleeve and the front of your dress.

"Sandor, turn toward me as much as you can," you asked.

He didn't. 

His mouth twisted into a grin as he shot you a defiant look that you recognized instantly. It was the same one he wore when a man tested him in the training yard. He was trying to regain some control after his previous moment of vulnerability, and you knew he wouldn't give in this time.

"Fine," you huffed, standing up. You weren’t going to waste more time. 

Your fingers reached for the front laces of your dress and tugged furiously until the gown slipped from your shoulders and fell at your feet. Sandor's eyes widened, but you paid him no mind. You clutched your undershirt in your fists, tore it over your head, and let it fall carelessly to the floor too.

The man was now fully turned toward you, watching with keen interest how your delicate corset cinched enticingly around your waist. His piercing stare didn't stop you. You yanked down your underskirts, lifting one leg to step into the bath. Only white thigh-high stockings with silken ribbon garters covered your thighs. A foolish choice, perhaps, for that day.

"Gods, woman…” the man leaned forward, thick fingers tugging at your garters as if unwrapping a present. “…a true little dove…."

"Sandor!" You slapped his hands away. But he ignored you. As you shifted your appetizing thighs in front of him to get into the water, his large hands cupped them.

“No! Hey!” You seized his wrists and pushed him back. “No touching, alright? Behave.”

"Must be fucking kidding me…," he gave a sharp, annoyed huff, eyes still glued to your thighs as he let his back fall against the bath.

You lowered yourself onto the opposite side, trying not to be intimidated by the sight of the sturdy, soaked chest before you. The steam pressed against your skin, and you ran a hand over the back of your neck, dampening a few stray strands that fell down your back.

You retrieved the cloth and dipped it back into the foamy water. Your hands found his calves, hard as rocks, and you started to scrub them. You kept your gaze down, perhaps because you felt a little vulnerable as he drank in the curve of your neck and down your cleavage. You continued rubbing his knees and began to slide it up his thighs. Higher and higher. Until you stopped abruptly halfway.

“Scared of what you might find?” he taunted, voice rough as sandpaper.

“Oh, Sandor, I know exactly what I’ll find,” you said, pulling the cloth from the water to repeat the process on his other leg.

His chest shook with a deep, throaty laugh that you were sure could be heard from the hall. You rolled your eyes and sat on your ankles, steadying yourself with one hand on the tub’s rim. As you leaned in to scrub his chest, the soapy water slid slowly down his ribs. He leaned back in the tub, arms resting on the sides. You could feel his pupils fixed on you, hungrily.

"Stop looking at me like that," you grabbed his chin and turned his face away.

“Ah, no," his deep voice rasped. "You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Let this beaten dog enjoy a bit.”

You clicked your tongue at his words but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. Gods, who would have thought The Hound’s flattery could make you blush?

“Sandor…” You said, running the cloth over his neck, thick with dark hair that climbed up to his beard.  “Yesterday, when you were chasing me through the woods… why?”

“Following orders,” he said, voice flat. 

You hummed, your touch drifting over his collarbone without thought. He exhaled, long and slow. 

“You were meant to go meet your future lord husband. No one told you?” His eyes sought yours, but you kept them downcast.

“Is that what you want?” You asked, fingers idly toying with the soap. ”For me to meet him?” 

“That’s what highborn ladies do, ain’t it? Marry fine, proper lords.” The scorn in his gruff voice made you look at him but something in your gaze made his own soften. “No, little dove… I don’t want you to meet him,” he sighed.

“Why not?” you asked with round, innocent eyes.

He stared right into you. 

“You fucking know why…”

Silence followed his words, so heavy that you feared he might hear the wild hammering of your heart. 

What a foolish thing to ask.

You tore your eyes away from his, gripping the cloth so tightly that the soapy water ran down your wrists and forearms. His fingers brushed against your wet skin, trying to wipe it away. You shuddered. 

No touching, you had said

"You’re not mine to have, are you?" He continued, his hoarse voice weighed down with the same sadness that darkened his eyes. "Damn foolish of me to have even thought of it."

Your hand clasped his and pressed it against your flushed cheek.

No touching. 

To hell with that. 

Water spilled over the edges of the tub as you rose onto your knees. Your trembling hands found support on his shoulders. His own wandered roughly over your back, sliding up your neck until his fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it in fistfuls. His heavy-lidded eyes flickered down to your mouth. Your parted lips throbbed with want. You weren’t sure if you had leaned down or if he had pulled you in, but there was nothing between you except unsteady breaths and heat. A rough hand glided through the back of your neck. His dripping beard hovered close, almost grazing your chin.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“My lady?” 

You both jolted as a voice called from the other side of the door. You turned your head toward the sound, while Sandor dropped his own forward in defeat.

“Yes?” You raised your voice so the servant could hear.

“Lord Tyrion sends word, asking if all is well.”

You swore you’d strangle Tyrion the next time you saw him.

“E-everything is perfectly fine, thank you!”

“He also asks that you come to the Great Hall with all due haste. Your betrothed has arrived and is eager to meet you.”

You closed your eyes and drew in a deep breath before answering.

“Very well, thank you.”

When you opened your eyes again, Sandor’s mask of indifference was barely holding together.

"I should leave," you said, quickly brushing your hand over his wet beard. He nodded briefly without looking at you.

Stepping out of the bathtub, your eyes lingered on the discarded clothes on the floor. Your silks tangled with his rough garments felt strangely complementary. You gathered your gown and pulled it over your moist skin.

"Can you finish on your own?" you asked, fingers quickly tying the laces.

"Aye," he muttered, still not turning to face you.

You swallowed hard and moved toward the door, leaving him to brood in silence. But just as your fingers brushed the handle, his voice stopped you.

“Little dove.”

You turned. His gaze was fixed on the water.

“I'm going to kill him. I'll rip out his guts in his sleep and strangle him with them.”

Your lips twitched. 

"Tyrion?"

"No..." He lifted his eyes to yours. "The fool who thinks he deserves you."

You left the room before he could see your smile fade. Leaning your back against the wood, you placed one trembling hand on your chest. Your heart raced frantically. You needed a moment. A moment to breathe and calm that wildness that gripped you inside. But they were waiting for you. As much as you wanted to go back to that room, you couldn't. You had to do what you were supposed to do. In that, even a highborn lady was no different from a hound. So you squared your shoulders and pushed yourself away from the door.

Beneath your dress, your soaked stockings stuck uncomfortably to your thighs as you made your way to the Great Hall.

...............

Thanks for reading! <3

What do you think? A comment would give me life, and encourage me to write more :)

[0zeeraa0]

I will defend them with my life

[joygrey]

SANSA STARK

GAME OF THRONES S1 E10

[minswriting]

PAWN - DAEMON TARGARYEN X READER

About: Reader doesn’t care about her father’s endeavors to take over the iron throne with his own blood. He tried using her as a pawn in his game. Too bad she’d rather be a pawn in the Targaryen’s game, a double agent of sorts. And her reward? Being railed by the Rogue Prince himself.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, Hightower!Reader, oral (f), rough sex, spanking, praise, hair pulling, porn with little to no plot, nor proof read like at all so ignore any spelling errors lol

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader. This is my first time writing for the HOTD/GOT fandom so I hope you guys enjoy! Borders are made by @/cafekitsune. Don’t like, don’t read!

Your father had always expected you to be a pawn in his little game. You were his eldest daughter, in your mid-twenties, and unmarried. Being unmarried was merely by choice as you did not want to be shackled down by the weights of a man who would do nothing more than use you to pop out heirs to take on his lordship once he passed. While Otto Hightower had been adamant against it at first, as time grew in King’s Landing and tensions arose, he became alright with it. Because then, he could use you to help gain his flesh and blood onto the Iron Throne.

It had helped that he already whored his youngest daughter out to the King. Might as well use you to gain information amongst those in King’s Landing that may know about the true succession to the Throne upon the King’s death.

Little did your father know, however, that your loyalty to the House of Hightower diminished the day he manipulated Alicent to seducing the King. You felt strongly about that as your younger sister had been nothing more than a child, she didn’t deserve to be treated like an object. Since that fateful day, your loyalty has lied with House Targaryen. And you’d do anything to ensure Rhaenyra got her proper place on the Iron Throne whenever King Viserys’ passing is to come as she was and will forever be the rightful heir to the throne.

One day, after learning something of your father’s plans, you had taken it upon yourself to tell someone, anyone that could figure out what to do. And the first person you had bumped into had been the Rogue Prince himself, Daemon Targaryen. Daemon may be many things but he was always loyal to his family and to his house. So you had told him everything you knew in the privacy of his quarters to ensure no one had been listening.

To say he rewarded you would be an understatement. He basked you in pleasures that you hadn’t known could be possible for a woman. Fucking had always been something only men could gain from. And yet, when Daemon was on his knees, eating you out like a starved man deprived of the finest wines of Westeros, he showed you that women were deserving of pleasure as well.

A routine was formed after that fateful day, one that allowed you both to maintain your lives while maintaining each other.

There were no feelings involved, there hardly ever was in such situations anyways. But it was mutually beneficial and that was what you adored about it. You gave information, Daemon showed all of the ways to be pleasured. And so, a routine was formed. You’d spend your days being the perfect daughter to your father, doing anything and everything he said. And then, once a week, you’d go behind your father’s back and tell Daemon absolutely everything, ending your night with moans of his name as he does whatever he wants to your cunt all in the name of pleasure.

Very fair balance in your professional opinion.

This week in particular had been a long week. Your father tried his hardest to keep up his plans, to manipulate the King into doing his bidding. You would spend nights hearing about your father’s plans, awaiting for any tasks he needed you to do. And when he did, you did them as the amazing daughter you were. It got particularly rough when one of the tasks he had sent you on was to infiltrate one of the brothels that Daemon frequented to learn information about the blond prince’s plans. It had ultimately led to you being groped by men you didn’t particularly care for.

And so, when your night with Daemon arrived, you explained everything to him. It had been clear from the moment you walked in that you were quite stressed from the week’s events. And when you explained everything to him, he had a sympathetic pout on his lips.

“You must’ve suffered greatly,” he exclaimed, making his way over to you. You stood near the fireplace, watching the fire as you had explained the mishaps of the week. “Especially on Silk Street.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, turning to look at the blond that was now standing beside you. “It’s been quite an…eventful week, I suppose,” you replied.

“Then perhaps you deserve to be rewarded for your troubles, hm?” Daemon smirked as he placed his hands on your hips. “What does the fine lady wish for tonight?”

You smirked back, biting your bottom lip. You shrugged your shoulders. “Do you have anything in mind, my prince?” You asked, tilting your head at the man.

Daemon let out a low chuckle as he pulled you close to himself. His hands went from your hips to your ass, gently massaging the flesh through your dress. “I may have an idea or two,” he responded, his breath fanning your face.

The fact of the matter was that he always preferred to give you pleasure as that was the agreement after all. But he craved to fuck you, to feel your walls around him, to hear you screaming his name as he pounded into you. And so, that was his plan for tonight.

At first, he went about his normal business with you. Daemon, a man of many talents, loved to use his tongue on you. The feeling of your thighs clenching around his face while his tongue was covered in your juices, selfishly, did not fail to make him practically cum in his pants. He spent many nights jerking himself off after the endeavors with you because he couldn’t help but wish to die between your thighs. You tasted like the gods themselves blessed you so that he could devour you.

You laid on the bed, completely naked with your legs spread, as Daemon ravished you. His arms were wrapped around your thighs, his hands resting on your pelvis, as his tongue did its magic. He licked figure eights around your clit, lapping his tongue around your cunt. He took pleasure in hearing the whiny noises of pleasure you made as they sounded so much better than the whores he’s slept with. You were quiet, reserved, still careful to not ruin your innocent facade. He couldn’t wait to make you scream.

Daemon sucked on your clit, eliciting a loud moan from your lips as you tugged at his hair. “Oh my,” you gasped, throwing your head back in pleasure.

It didn’t take a genius to know you were close. With your chest heaving and whimpers getting louder, Daemon continued his ministrations on your pussy, ready for you to clench your thighs around him. If he wasn’t already married to his bitch of a wife, perhaps he’d be willing to take you as his with how much he adored making you cum. Even if neither of you loved one another, at least the sexual chemistry was more than good, perhaps he’d even be loyal to you with a cunt that fantastic.

And with a few more laps and a suck on your clit, you were moaning as you arched your back, clenching your thighs around Daemon’s head. He couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him, sending vibrations onto your cunt. After a few minutes, you relaxed back onto the mattress, eyes glazed with pleasure.

Daemon pulled away as he licked his lips and stood up, looking down at you with a heated gaze. You sat up, ready to get up and leave as you usually did after he made you cum. But Daemon simply shook his head. “We’re not done yet, darling,” he exclaimed, a smirk on his lips. “Tonight, I’m going to show you just how a man can fuck a woman and make it good for her.”

A whimper left your mouth at Daemon’s words. You bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him. He was already undressing himself, removing all garments. As his torso was revealed, you couldn’t help but stare. You couldn’t help but look, seeing the scars that painted his body in such a way that made him even more beautiful than he was. His battle scars, proof that he fought to protect King’s Landing. “Beautiful,” You whispered, unable to stop the word from leaving your mouth.

Daemon’s smug and confident demeanor softened just a fraction. He knew he was handsome, that came with the Targaryen genes. But to be told he was beautiful was something else. He quickly returned to the task at hand, not allowing himself to be seen as affected by something as pathetic as a simple word. He pulled down his breeches, revealing himself to you.

It was a bit surprising he wasn’t wearing underwear, especially as he was a dragonrider. But that thought was nothing more than a fleeting moment as you couldn’t help but look at his length. Daemon may act like he’s compensating for something with that attitude of his but in actuality, what is there to compensate for when he has a cock that big?

He stroked himself a few times, letting out a hiss of pleasure, while looking at you in the process. “Turn over,” he commanded. You obeyed without hesitation, turning onto your stomach. You held yourself up by your hands and knees, earning a hum of appreciation from Daemon. “Good girl,” he murmured before standing at the edge of the bed. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you closer to him.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, eliciting a small noise from your lips. You waited in anticipation for Daemon to line his cock up to your cunt. But instead, you felt his hand come down to your ass, slapping the skin. You hissed in pain, unable to help the moan from leaving your lips. You didn’t realize it would be pleasurable, being hit by a man on your behind. But it was and you couldn’t deny the way your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Liked that, didn’t you?” Daemon asked, massaging the flesh of your ass. “Naughty girl,” he said as he spanked you again. You once again clenched around nothing, a needy moan leaving your lips.

And without any further hesitation, Daemon gripped his cock and guided it to your cunt. The both of you made small noises of pleasure as his tip grazed your clit. “You’re so wet,” he breathed out, dragging his cock up and down your slit. He did it a few times, spreading your wetness along his length.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was really just a few seconds, the tip of Daemon’s cock teased your entrance before slowly easing himself inside of you. You gasped at the intrusion, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as you tried to adjust. Daemon let out a groan of satisfaction, grateful to finally be inside of your tight cunt. He allowed you time to adjust as he stayed still, not wanting to hurt you as this was about your pleasure after all.

It took a bit of getting used to. You’ve slept with others before. You thought of yourself as a rebel of sorts, not caring much for virtue or virginity. But the men you’ve slept with, which was really only two prior to Daemon, had not been as big as he was. After a few minutes, you relaxed, letting out a sigh of contentment. “You can move,” you said, your voice soft but shaky.

“With pleasure,” Daemon replied. He pulled his hips back and then thrusted them forward again, causing you to gasp as his cock moved inside of you. His movements were slow as he got you used to the feeling. “You’re no virgin,” he murmured as he gripped your hips. “My dirty girl,” he chuckled. The realization that you weren’t a virgin spurred Daemon on more as he began moving harder.

You gasped and let out a choked moan. The feeling of Daemon’s cock pounding into you felt so good. Each slight brush to your cervix, the way your walls wrapped around him so perfectly, it was as though the two of you were made to have sex with one another. “Oh,” You whimpered out, eyes closing as you basked in the pleasures.

“God, you feel so good,” Daemon grunted, moving his hips faster as he kept his harsh thrusts. “So tight, so wet.”

“Daemon,” You moaned as he put a hand on your lower back, pushing you down. You moved your arms out from under you, allowing your upper body to rest on the mattress. The slight change in position made Darmon hit that spot inside of you dead on, causing your moans to get louder.

Daemon was making his own noises of grunts and low chuckles as he fucked you. He kept one hand on your lower back while the other moved to your hair. He entwined his fingers with the strands as he pounded into you even harder, pulling your hair.

The sting from your hair being pulled added to the pleasure you felt. You let out a choked moan of “Oh fuck,” feeling that familiar heat building inside of you.

“You’re taking me so well,” Daemon exclaimed. He could feel himself getting close. His other hand moved around you, his fingers going straight to your clit. He began rubbing circles, causing you to moan even louder. “You make such beautiful noises, sweetheart,” he said, keeping up his rough pace. “You’re so close, I can feel how tight you’re clenching around me. Go ahead and cum for me, yeah?”

The feeling of Daemon’s harsh thrusts mixed with the pain and his fingers on your clit was more than enough to send you over the edge. And with a loud mewl of his name, you started cumming, thighs quivering as you buried your face in the mattress below you.

“Fuck,” Daemon moaned as he closed his eyes in pleasure, basking in the feeling of you cumming around his cock. It took only a few more thrusts before he was pulling out and cumming on your ass, groaning your name as he did so. When you both came down from your highs, you collapsed onto the mattress, still on your stomach. Daemon laid down next to you, breathing heavily.

There wasn’t any cuddling or sweet nothing whispered to one another. However, after a few minutes, Daemon had gotten up and grabbed a cloth, wiping his seed off of you. And while he did so, he pressed kisses along your back. It wasn’t much but it was something. And honestly, something that you hadn’t expected from the Rogue Prince.

The following week, you hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell Daemon anything because as soon as you walked into his room and closed the door, he had you sit on his lap and ride him until you’ve had your fill. You were his little pawn but in some way, he was yours too. Because Daemon, a man who preferred his whores, was so enraptured by you and your body.

[clarasimone]

Very cool to go back on all this 😁

I fight and die for your glory, oh glorious Queen.

[h0rny-junk]

[sunderingrivers]

ALICENT + COLLIER PAINTINGS [II]

The Child Bride (1883) Clytemnestra After the Murder (1882) Cassandra (1885)

[knight-of-flowerss]

OLD MAN!CREGAN STARK x JACAERYS DAUGHTER!READER

MASTERLIST

based on this idea I had

SUMMARY: Cregan's nearly fifty, married with many, many kids, but when his best friends daughter comes strolling through, he just can't help himself..

AN: I haven't wrote properly in over a few months so I'm so sorry if it's bad 😭 I've been going THROUGH IT irl so 🥲💔

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI! smutty smut smut, doggy, scratches mentioned once, a bit chubbier reader (love handles), involuntary creampie, deflowering, age gap (Cregan is nearly fifty (probs like 48/49) and reader can be whatever age you want but she's young and has a few older siblings so if that helps whatever age you want to make her). Uhh idk what else to add..

OKAY SO.

Cregan hadn't always been a pervy old man. he was normal, respectful, honourable, al things his best friend used to describe him as he shook hands with some random southern Lord and kissed the hand of their Lady's.

but everything changed the night he saw you in that dress, that fucking dress.

it was wrong in every sense of the word. wrong, wrong, wrong. but he couldn't help himself.

that damned gown hugged your curves, as if the gods themselves were trying to strip you of your garments to show off your beauty in the most raw way possible. the way nature intended it.

"oh, does she not look beautiful.." Lynara muttered next to him, her hand moving to her heart as a small reminiscent pout graced her face, "you must be so proud Jacaerys.. she is practically your double. it's as if the gods graced you with her themselves.."

his eyes still trail after you while his wife praises the ground you walk on, Jacaerys looking on with a sense of pride. "don't you agree my love?"

those words snap Cregan back to his reality. his head moves towards her before his eyes do, painfully dragging away from your pretty tits which are practically daring him to lick. "pardon?"

Lynara sighs, her hand moving from her chest into her lap, "i said, don't you agree that she has grown into such a poised young woman?" Cregan hesitates, the cogs and wheels in his brain malfunctioning as they process her words, "oh- uhm, yes, indeed… you should be proud Jace."

Jacaerys smiled at him, "thank you Cregan, Lynara, but now i really must go and see my daughter." Jacaerys nods his head at them both as a small goodbye, departing from the married couple and strolling towards his youngest child, engulfing her in a fatherly bear hug.

oh, Cregan knew he was screwed.

Cregan loved his wife, of course he did… maybe.. but at the end of the day, he's just a man… and if a young, pretty thing walks by and practically has her whole body on display, what else is he supposed to do?

it was wrong. just as he had repeated to himself earlier that night. but when his favourite 'niece' looks up at him with those big, 'fuck me' eyes of hers, he just can't help the thoughts that run through his head.

on your knees, taking his cock down your throat until you're choking on it. fucking you while he watches your tummy bulge with every thrust. bending you over your fathers desk while you scream his name- now that one he had to excuse himself before something became a lot more prominent to the other Lords he was 'conversing' with.

before the night was over, Cregan's disgraceful dream became a reality. one moment you're greeting him on the long stone balcony of the Red Keep, the next you're begging your 'uncle Cregan' to fuck you silly.

and what kind of uncle would he be if he didn't make his favourite little niece happy?

"shit." it was a quick quip, under the breath, quiet. His large, calloused hands dwarfed your hips as he grabbed onto your love handles in order to fuck you just the way he wanted to.

it was risky. too risky. there were hundreds of guests at the princesses nameday, your nameday. but what is life without risks?

a soft whine escaped your lips first, then another.. and another and then it quickly morphed into loud moans and begging like a whore. "uncle! yes! yes- uncle Cre-" a loud cry cut you off as he slammed into you harder.

it's obvious, even in the moment, that you'll have large scratches across your tummy and tits as soon as this was over. large scratches that your handmaidens will discover when bathing you tonight and no doubt report to your father.

what will your excuse be? "but, daddy!.. uncle Cregan likes my breasts!"

his hips jackhammer into yours, the unruly patch of hair on his pelvic bone scratches your backside over and over again, something that would surely drive you crazy if you didn't have his monster length shoved up your cunny.

his breath comes out in quick pants, Cregan's body not wanting to compete with his libido but his brain says otherwise. he'd fuck you until his cock stayed permanently soft and even then, he'd make you sit on his lap as those thick fingers of his pumped you full, bullying your clit until your juices coated his callouses.

soft whines clawed its way out of your mouth, scraping the back of your throat as you tried to listen to him, to his harsh words as he ordered you to keep your mouth shut. don't get Cregan wrong, he would fucking love to hear those noises, but he'd rather not get caught deflowering the kings daughter.

his grunts engulfed your brain, his whole entire being fucking you mind, body and soul. Cregan's cheek press against your hair, his grumbles and pants pouring into your ear.

pained growls came from the man, he was almost fifty and fucking his best friends youngest daughter on her nameday. but even if he wanted to leave, he doesn't think he can.. that sweet cunt sucking him back in each time.

"shit.." he grits his teeth as he grips your hips tighter than you even believed he could. his balls kept on slamming onto your lips, the slick connecting the both while his thick cock bullies its way into the tightest cunny he's ever felt.

oh no.. no, no, no.. your hand moves behind your body, clawing at the furs of your 'uncle', trying to push his large body away. "please! uncle! no-" you may have been an untouched flower but you could tell Cregan was close, so close to his release in fact that he had started to wrap his arms around your belly, shoving your hand away and hunching himself over your body.

a few pumps of his hips later and a pained groan came from his beared lips. he was still hunched over you but his strong arms hand managed to pick you up in his moment of bliss, your feet dangling in the air as his thick seed infiltrates your womb.

it was an unusual feeling, the sticky substance filling you up, nice and full. the old wolf of the north breeding the little pup from down south…

soft sobs wrack your limp body as he softly rocks his hips into yours, shushing you softly while pants infiltrate his voice. "you're alright pup… i have you.. you're safe.."

his wife, children, your brothers and sisters, father and mother, they're all inside enjoying the celebrations as the most honourable man of the seven kingdoms indulges in infidelity with the pretty young princess.

tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @cryinonthefloor553 @visenyablackwood @velaryyon @targaryenprincess1 @blablablablabla06768

[rabidworld]

La la la la *skipping in a circle while tossing flower petals everywhere*

Period problems

Sandor Cleagane x female reader

Being a woman in Westeros was hard, especially when your companion was often described as a heartless man, a monster, and you just started your period and you had a long day of horse riding in front of you. How unlucky. Right after waking up, she noticed the blood on her clothes and, while Sandor was still sleeping, quickly cleaned it and used a cloth to put in her underwear to stop more blood from dirtying it again. 

Now sitting in front of Sandor, riding Stranger for the past 2 hours, she could feel the cramps intensifying. Shifting to try to find a better position, she could feel Sandor’s gaze on her. 

“You’re okay?” He asked in a low voice.

“Yes, just trying to find a better position”.

He hummed in response, focusing back on the road ahead of them. She definitely couldn’t tell him what was happening, it was mortifying. Hell, she didn’t even know if he knew what periods were, afterall he was a man of battle and wasn’t really close to any woman. She wasn���t about to explain to a grown man what menstruations were while having cramps. 

The new position did nothing to ease her discomfort. The slow movement of riding a horse combined with the cold and lack of sleep didn’t help the situation. She could feel her stomach muscles contracting, the pain spreading to her legs and back, making everything painful. 

Slowly shifting again to rest more on her companion, she felt him wrapping his arm around her waist, securing her against him. 

“If you keep moving like this you will fall and I will not turn around to pick you up”.

Such a gentleman. As she was about to reply to him, she felt a new wave of cramps coming over her. Her pain must have been evident on her face because she felt Sandor’s arm wrapping tighter around her. He didn’t comment on it, which made her believe that he might in fact know what was happening. As much of an asshole as he was, he wouldn’t let her be in pain without making sure she wasn’t injured. She felt him reach for something in his pocket, taking out a flask. 

“Drink”. He ordered. 

She saw him drink from it in the past, but it was the first time he offered her some. As she opened the bottle, the smell of strong wine hit her. Drinking until she passed out seemed like a good solution to her problem. As she sipped on the liquid, she felt warmth spreading through her body, easing the tension and  the cramps. Giving him back the flask, she settled back against him. After putting it back in his pocket, he moved his arm a bit, holding the reins of Stranger in the hand close to her waist while the other settled on her stomach. 

He definitely knew what was happening. The wine affecting her body combined with the heat emanating from his hand, eased her pain and made her sleepy. She could feel her eyes closing, making it harder to stay awake. 

“Rest now, I will find us a room in the next village we see”.

Later, she will definitely ask him how he managed to know what caused her pain. But for now she let sleep take over, knowing she will feel better after letting her body rest for a bit. Starting to fall asleep, she felt his hand softly massaging her stomach. Her last thought before letting sleep take over was that maybe she wasn’t as unlucky as she thought. With Sandor by her side, she might actually be the most fortunate woman in all of Westeros.

[gameofthronesdaily]

#whore behaviour

[hed184]

Ned Stark by EtceteraArt

[nerivlyrn]

I finished the reekbubu

It is garbed in its house colours with its gold price necklace and its bow… bless…

I am literally Ramsay Bolton sorry

[dedalvs]

Hello, Mr. Davison, I was wondering if you had already thought over the Valyrian glyphs for Older Sister and Younger Sister? It's for research (a new [sort of] matching tattoo with my best friend).

Have a wonderful time of the day! 😊

Yeah, those are mandia "older sister"

And hāedar "younger sister":

But so help me if you EVER call me Mr. Davison again, I will take those tattoos BACK.

[vintrage]

least broody 14-year-old, actually