-`♡´- Dragon Stone Cigarettes (Sandor x Fem!Reader - NSFW - Collab with @pamurpamur) ˋ°•*⁀➷ Sandor is set on aggravating you in every which way possible, what could be the reason?
-`♡´- Alphabet (SFW) ˋ°•*⁀➷ AU; married life;
-`♡´- Good boy (Sandor x Fem!Reader - SFW) ˋ°•*⁀➷ you find out your husband likes being called a good boy
-`♡´- Good boy || (Sandor x Fem!Reader - NSWF)ˋ°•*⁀➷ you've just found out your husband likes being called a good boy, so you decide to tease him about it in bed
-`♡´- Cockwarming (Sandor x Fem!Reader - NSFW) ˋ°•*⁀➷ you confess to your husband, Sandor Clegane, that you want to try cockwarming
-`♡´- Tavern's daughter (Sandor x Fem!Reader - NSFW) ˋ°•*⁀➷ after seeing the Hound protect the king during the riot at Flea Bottom, the tavern's daughter convinces Sandor to teach her to fight
-`♡´- Warrior's rest (Sandor x Fem!Reader - NSFW) ˋ°•*⁀➷ on the night of the Battle of the Blackwater, in the dead of night, you find Sandor Clegane, the Hound, drunk and passed out in your yard
⋆｡‧˚ʚThe Walking Deadɞ˚‧｡⋆
✩₊˚.⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾Daryl Dixon☽⋆⁺₊✧⋆⁺₊✧
-`♡´- Not made for love (Daryl x Fem!Reader - NSFW) ˋ°•*⁀➷ you and Daryl can't help but love each other, even though you're married to his best friend
-`♡´- Pathetic (Daryl x Fem!Reader - NSFW) ˋ°•*⁀➷ Daryl comes home stressed, there's too much pressure on him, so you ask him to fuck your throat
⋆｡‧˚ʚMarvelɞ˚‧｡⋆
coming soon...
As I've said before, requests are open, so if I haven't mentioned it, feel free to ask me anything. Also, if you want to be tagged in any of my following fics, please let me know on the comments!
After winning the Hand's Tourney, Sandor gets back to his chambers stupidly drunk and horny. You, his maid, have to turn into his babysitter for the night.
Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader
Tags: mentions of violence and blood, no use of y/n
Word count: 1.5k
A/N: first time writing from sandors pov omg / not tagging anyone cuz it is really just a drabble, just thought itd be fun to write and maybe yall'd like to read it
Every once in a while, the gods smiled upon the miserable, doomed souls. Just to remind people of how little they had, and how cruel the cunts could be. Today was one of these days, a day where Sandor had it all: as much wine as he could drink, all the food he could eat, a big fat bag of gold.
The best part? He got it all by fighting his brother. And winning. Technically.
The feast and the wine and the food were meant for the king to celebrate a tournament made for nothing other than spilling blood just for the sake of it, but if king Robert raised his goblet and cheered for him, than everybody else joined, even if they were all holding their breath over Sandor and Gregor’s fight. Or The Hound and The Mountain’s fight, and all the history behind it. Sandor knew the whispers and the twisted stories people liked to tell.
None of it mattered now that he was so drunk he barely stood up on his own feet. Sandor had stayed on the feast just long enough for people to stop coming to congratulate him, just long enough for the king to get drunk enough to forget about him, which was conveniently long enough for him to get drunk himself. Pushing the servant boy aside, Sandor got a wineskin full of the good wine they were serving and exited the room. He half remembered someone putting a flower crown on him, or trying to. Were he in his right mind, he would’ve growled at them, but his head was so drowned in alcohol he just slapped the crown away. He might have stumbled on a wall or two before pushing open the door to his chambers, only to find you, a maid, inside it.
You were the same one from every other day, the one who swept his floor and cleaned the hearth. The one with the tight apron and the tits he wanted to suck on. Again.
Sandor closed the door by leaning on it, then took yet another large sip of wine. His body felt too light for his many pounds, and he lacked all the discipline a warrior ought to have. To hell with it, he had just faced his brother, and won. Technically.
“You’re early.”you said, not even turning to see him. You recognized his heavy steps. “Was the feast not to your liking?”
He grunted, letting his weight down on a chair. “Fucking feast…” He muttered, not even himself understanding half the words leaving his mouth or why he was saying them. The sound of the gold bag being put on the table did not startle you who kept on changing his bedsheets, bending down, your ass drawing all of his attention.
“What?” You smoothed the sheets with your hands, then turned around to face him, your eyes getting every detail of it: his dirty armor, the bag of gold, his heavy eyelids, the petals clinging to his neck. “You won? I thought you were not even fighting today.”
“I’m a rich fucker now.” He sighed, sounding almost sober, almost resentful of his own words. No matter how many gold dragons he had, it was implicitly clear that coin, when possessed by people like him, was only meant for spending with whores, ale, maybe a good piece of fabric or shoes. His money did not mean much.
“Yeah? And what are you doing with it?” You went on cleaning, too used to him. It was no news to see the Hound drunk or covered in someone else’s blood. “You could buy anything. Maybe hire another maid? This here is too much work for a woman alone.”
“I’ll buy you a gag… noisy wench.” He rested his head on his hand, enjoying the silence and the darkness when he closed his heavy eyelids, then he turned his head just a bit, opened his good eye, looked you up and down as you went on cleaning.
You chuckled, as if the Hound was telling you a joke. You knew the noises of the tourney and the feast were probably still ringing in his ears, so you let that pass. “You scowl harder when you’re drunk.” With a wet rag, you started cleaning the crumbs and dust out of the table, forcing Sandor to sit up straight to stay out of the way.
“So, who did you fight?”
“My big brotha’.” Sandor scratched his beard, took another sip of wine, another look at your ass, then scratched his balls over his pants, which was not near enough. “He was going to kill the Tyrell boy.”
“So you played the hero, mn?” You stopped, a hand on your hip, leaning against the table. “You’re a real knight, Clegane.” He narrowed his eyes at the small smile you dared give him, the simple allusion of him being a knight making him disgusted enough to be repulsed by his dirty armor.
“Piss off, woman.” He cussed you out as he started fumbling with the straps of his chestplate, paying no attention to what he was doing because his eyes were still on your mouth. Then on your figure, your hips, your tits again. “You should giv’ me yer favor.”
“Favors are for knights… from ladies. And it should happen before the tourney, should it not?” You left the wet cloth over the table to come help Sandor with his steel. He just let you, shoulders slumped.
Another sip of wine, another droop of his eyelids, another look at your hips, another throb of his cock, another grumble, another cuss, though he was not sure if he was grumbling and cussing out loud or on his mind.
“(...) shouldn’t have changed the sheets until you've had a bath first.” You sighed, one strap untied, a few left to go. “You’ll have to get up.” He did. You tell a dog to sit, he’ll sit. And he’ll wait for a treat, which in this case meant his hands went straight to your hips. He saw you looking up at him, smirked, squeezed your hips, brought you closer, so closer you could barely reach the straps of his armor.
“What would you want as a token or favor, anyway? You should ask from ladies who have stuff to give away.”
That seemed to get him out of his drunken bliss.
“I’d get your apron.” He steadied himself, his grip turning a bit rougher. You laughed, pushed him back a bit, getting some room. Sandor pulled you right back in. He wanted to hump your leg like a dog, lick you all over like a dog, sleep for fifteen hours like a dog, fuck you like a dog. “Tie you with it. Gag you with it.”
“You’re drunk out of your mind, Clegane.” You pulled away, hung a piece of his armor, came back to pull out his gauntlets. “So drunk you would probably pass out and crush me to death.”
He grumbled about not being drunk, and even though he did not remember closing his eyes, when they opened, he was sitting on his bed and you were kneeling in front of him. Your apron was still on, but his boots were coming off. He reached for your face, held your chin, pressed his thumb over your lips. He really just wanted his balls as empty as his mind was.
Eyes closed again. Just for a second. This time, he remained conscious as he said “Won’t crush you. I’ll fuck you against the wall.”
“You can barely stand up.” But he did, just to prove you wrong. “Well, you still stink.” You mirrored him, helping him out of his sweat-smelling shirt. “And you’re such a bad flirt.”
Sandor really needed some sleep. He wanted a warm bath first, and another sip of his wine, and the feel of you on top of him, and every time you worked another button of his shirt, he imagined your hands around his cock. Gods, he wanted to fuck you.
“‘M not flirting.” He only registered what he was saying seconds after he already did. But the moment he got a handful of your ass, he felt it then and there. He felt himself lean in, closer, he felt your smell, he felt your lips on his, he felt you pulling back and he cursed. Maybe out loud, maybe in his head again.
“Sit down, Clegane.” He obeyed, hoping to get a treat this time. Eyes closed, open again, and you were having a sip of his wine. “Lay down. Close your eyes.” He did, grumbling about wanting to smell your cunt on his beard.
Sandor let out a big, deep sigh. When he felt you kiss him, he lifted his hand to pull you closer. Or maybe he just thought of it, imagined it. Or dreamed of it. When he woke up the next day, his room was clean, his armor hung on a corner, bag of gold safely tucked away on his chest, shirt hanging on the chair, boots by the bed… Everything in place, and you were not there.
im trying so hard to write a one shot (epilogue) for my fic timing where carol and reader have their first time but i can't because i start imagining it and ITS CAROL and i start giggling and kicking my feet and i need a pause then another then another because uuuuuuggghhh
Summary: a horde knocks down alexandria's walls, and carol works herself to exhaustion, helping rebuild them. after the work is done, all you want to do is to take care of your woman, give her a massage and make sure she relaxes.
Pairing: Carol peletier x Fem!reader
TW/Tags: smut; fingering; oral sex; implied age gap; wlw; lesbian sex; carol is a pillow princess
Word count: 1.8k
A/N: this wasn't supposed to go THAT far also it wanst supposed to end this way i just got carried away then i got sleepy and ended the fic like that then this morning i kinda felt like i wanted to change it but i kept running in circles so im sorry yall i know the ending sucks but i hope you can still enjoy it
also special thanks to @youmakethelight @cpxletier and @idkwthgoitmww for giving me ideas and keeping carol community alive
Post-apocalypse life was made almost entirely of cycles. Gardening was made of cycles, so that people could eat and compost the scraps so that they could plant and tend to the plants and eat them again. Everyone helped so they could work to keep their community working, the ones who didn’t work on the gardens helped with the kids, the sick or hurt ones, scavenging, everything that helped keep the place running. People did it so they could fight walkers and other people so they could stay alive to keep doing it. So, when a horde knocked down a great part of Alexandria’s wall, all the free hands had to help.
You and Carol included.
Your hands grew calluses from hauling those heavy pieces of metal and wood, using hammers and such, but you were not worried about them. Carol, who had gone through too many losses already, felt like each minute of having any gaps in the walls, no matter how small they were, meant more walkers would come in and more people would die. No one worked on those walls harder than she did. Whenever you or Daryl or anyone notice how tired she was getting - because she didn’t seem to notice it herself - and asked her to take a break, she’d comply for long enough for you to turn around, then she’d go work somewhere else, on another section of the wall or separating the nails, anything to keep her hands moving.
It took a few weeks for the work to be done, but it finally was. You sat in bed, curled with a book you paid no attention to, your eyes fixed on the stripe of light coming from under the bathroom door. You could hear the shower running, making your eyelids want to drop, your body desperate to curl into Carol and just shut down for a few hours.
She came out of the bathroom just a few moments later, hair wet, dripping on the shirt she put on, her skin pink and warm from the shower. You pushed the book aside before she even sat on the bed, sitting on your feet behind her as you reached for a towel forgotten on a chair to dry her hair gently.
“I feel like I was run over by a truck.” She muttered, eyes closed, shoulders slumped, leaning some of her weight into you. You wanted to blame it on her stubbornness, but you also wanted to just keep her close and comfortable, so you did it.
“Well, you’ve never looked prettier to me.” Her hair was dry enough, as dry as a towel would get it, but the expression of pure surrender on her face told you she liked your fingers were they were, so you kept them massaging the back of her head, the short strands of silver hair tickling your fingers.
“Oh, shut up.” She almost chuckled, and her hand came up to tap your naked thigh. If she had a little energy left, it’d have been a playful slap. Your nose was buried in her nape before you could stop yourself, muffling your laughter, the smell of soap and Carol making you realize how much you had missed her.
Your hands slid down, just a little, finding her shoulders. Her shirt was thin enough that it didn’t get in the way of your fingers pressing into her muscles, kneading them, easing her tension. You had no clue how to give someone a massage, but Carol sighed, her eyes closed again, and a little moan escaped her lips. It was enough to make you keep going, chasing the next sigh, the next moan, the next sign of her relaxing under your hands. You could feel the knots, tiny and tight, spread all over her back. Your fingers went down her spine, rubbing the knots, then back up to her neck, pulling at the base of her head gently. She was like a puppet, completely limp, and you laughed, a soft, low sound she barely heard.
"Mmmh." She hummed, her face soft and serene. "Don’t you dare stop, sweetheart." Her head fell forward, her neck completely relaxed when you moved your hands back to her shoulders.
“I’ve got you, love.” She hummed again, then turned her head around so she could kiss your fingers, her own hand now on top of yours.
“Do you?” You didn’t answer, barely registered her words, focused entirely on the feeling of her hand guiding yours down her shoulder, down the curve of her collarbone until it stopped on her breast. You could feel it perfectly through the thin fabric, warm and soft and fitting perfectly on your hand.
You pressed your hand against her breast, moving your hand in a circle before you squeezed it. Carol sighed and leaned her weight against you again, both relaxed and expecting, and your other hand circled around her middle, securing her in your embrace. It had been weeks since you got any time for sex, and god, you missed her.
As your hand found its way under her shirt, your lips found her neck. You didn’t feel tired anymore, and her sighs didn’t sound like exhaustion. You nuzzled your nose on her neck, randomly taking turns between biting and kissing and nuzzling her neck. Carol’s hands were on your thighs again, squeezing.
For a moment, you just caressed her skin, her ribs, her belly, her sides. Not teasing, just feeling, feasting on the feeling of Carol in your arms.
“Sweetheart…” She breathed out, the way you kept kissing and biting her neck messing with her head as it always did, making her blush and her eyebrows twitch. “I don’t have the patience for teasing like that.”
You laughed, a breath through your nose. “Yeah?” You lowered your hand further, the tip of your middle and ring finger slipping under her panties, feeling her hipbone.
“Yes…” She squirmed. “... that’s for people your age.”
“Liar.” You both knew Carol loves to tease you, to make you blush for her.
You’ve had Carol beg for you before. Kinda. Whenever you had your head between her legs, she’d beg you not to stop, but it usually sounded like a command. You never had her beg you to touch her, and right now you were insanely tempted to. She was so given, so yours, so… expectant. She just wanted you.
So you held back.
“Kiss me.” You half asked, half told her, but your voice was soft. You kissed her before she could do it, her hand leaving your thigh to find the back of your head and pull you closer.
You melted into it instantly, pulling her closer, her lips moving against yours, then parting so that her tongue pushed past your lips, making you gasp at the feeling. You played with her nipple after squeezing her other breast, then moved your other hand from her hipbone to feel her underwear.
Carol was soaked, and she made a pathetic, needy sound, when you pressed your fingers slowly down the wetness of the fabric, then dragged your fingers back the same way. She pulled back from the kiss, breathing heavier, then looked at your hand. You were killing her, and you were loving it.
“Faster.” She breathed the word out, a plea you chose to ignore. You moved your hand again, pushing her panties to the side before you returned to her, your hand now fully touching her, your fingers parting her lips, smearing her own wetness all over her before finally touching her clit. "Please, sweetheart." The soft moan turned into a breathy plea, and her hand clutched your shirt with surprising strength.
God, she needed this. She desperately needed to cum, so much she was grinding against your fingers, rolling her hips pathetically. It made you want to squeeze your thighs together to relieve your own need for her.
You leaned in, kissing and biting her neck again, your lips finding one of her sensitive spots right under her ear. She gasped, her hands moving from your hair back to your thighs, her back arching against your chest. Your love for her overflowed your heart into your lips and you smiled. She let out a frustrated, needy sound, a whine that you made your ambition to hear again. You pulled your hand away, her hips immediately following it in a futile grind.
“Sweetheart-” You shut her up with your lips on hers, your hand grabbing her jaws to pull her mouth to yours, only pulling away to lay her down on the mattress, your body on top of hers.
“I’ve got you.” You repeated, kissing her a peck then another, your mouth trailing down her neck to find her breast. You didn’t take long on them this time, knowing that you couldnt spend another second with your fingers or your mouth away from Carol’s pussy.
“You better finish what you started…” She threatened, looking down at you, half sitting up. Carol loved the sight of your head between her thighs just as much as you loved being there. “or I’ll have to put you in your place.”
You laughed, a low rumble in your chest, before burying your face in her stomach, kissing your way downwards, one of your hands sliding up her body to squeeze her breast under her shirt. Carol propped up on her elbows and watched you with a heated look in her eyes.
Her hand was immediately on the back of your head, guiding you between her legs, but you resisted, kissing the inside of her thigh instead, then dragging your teeth up until she gasped. You made it all the way up to her hipbone, then back down, kissing and nipping at the soft skin, savoring how soft her skin felt and how good she smelled, your hands moving up and down her thighs, spreading them open wider and wider before one of your hands slipped inside your own panties.
Carol sighed, not impatient, but in surrender, a small noise among her moans. And despite your focus on her, you heard a distant noise, a door closing, steps downstairs. “Wait.” You got up, only then noticing the bedroom door open. “I ain’t having Daryl walk in on us again.” You pushed the door closed and Carol chuckled. Neither of mentioned that it was your fault for being too desperate to care about getting to your room first.
“He’d hear us long before he saw us.” She kissed you a peck, tugging down your bra, her eyes never leaving yours as you kneeled again, then going all over your body once you did. She bit her lip the way she always did to hold back a curse.
“I ain’t sharing…” you said “not even the sight of you.”
And you didn’t. For the rest of the night, you both caught up on the weeks you spent too tired to touch each other like that, and you made sure your woman was thoroughly taken care of.
carol grieving henry x reader grieving tara post the spikes event or carol who just broke up with ezekiel x reader who just broke up with tara? i kinda want to go with the first one but grief is such a delicate topic to write especially a mother losing her child so i really dont know im scared to mess up
how do yall feel about sandor clegane x black!female!reader? cuz i really wanted to write one but not an au and i talked to some people about it but been discouraged because skin color was never a subject in the series (talking ONLY about game of thrones cuz i didnt and have no interest in watching the other series) and we know damn well why they dont and for me that's exactly why it'd be interesting to explore it but also skin color and racism and such not being a topic ever on the series makes me question if it'd be well received here and if it'd make sense to yall?
there’s only three fics under the sam wilson x reader tag and we as a society need to do better. but I can’t think of any ideas so if you have any pls yeet them at me. i wanna do my part.
