#sigilsins

[roguecrown]

@sigilsongs / @sigilsins asked: [ strip (in a brothel) ] - KAEYIRA SNOW performs a striptease for yours / before she's claimed herself to be a dragonseed, i loosely HC she might find some work in the brothels when she gets to KL so, ... *serves daemon a pretty silver-haired girlie*

Mysaria   often   worked   the   extra   mile   for   him.   Somehow,   she   often   knew   what   he   desired   before   he   did   and   that   night,   when   he   arrives   at   Flea   Bottom   as   he   often   did,   into   the   private   chamber   that   had   been   arranged   for   himself,   he   does   not   find   his   paramour   but   rather,   a   young   woman.   Instantly,   he   observes   her   hair,   long   and   silver   and   what   seems   to   have   recently   been   untied   from   a   braid.   He   sees   the   resemblance,   and   what   the   intentions   are.   "You   are   new."   The   Prince   spoke   with   a   simple   matter   of   fact,   pouring   two   glasses   of   wine   but   only   leaving   one   on   the   table   for   her   and   the   other   for   himself,   taking   seat   in   a   nearby   chair   and   exploring   the   young   woman   with   his   eyes.

  "I   do   not   do   this   with   the   unwilling.   So   if   you   wish   to   leave.   .   .do   so."   Because   Daemon   is   aware   that   he   is   a   man   with   particular   tastes   and   sometimes,   rougher   than   others.   But   the   girl   has   a   defiance   that   causes   him   to   halt   and   wonder   if   she   is   one   of   the   dragonseeds   that   were   spread   around   the   realm.   His   family   had   been   notorious   for   doing   so.   Regardless   as   she   began   to   strip,   he   adjusted   himself   on   the   chair   and   observed.  

"Very   well.   Tell   me   your   name."   Eyes   fall   the   path   of   uncovered   shoulders   as   she   strips   sheds   of   clothes   for   his   entertainment.   "And   come   closer."   The   man   speaks   in   a   gentle   but   commanding   tone,   leaving   the   cup   of   wine   on   the   side   at   last   and   adjust   himself   by   the   edge   of   the   chair.   He   toys   with   a   loose   strand   of   the   dress   she   had   been   made   to   wore   for   tonight.   "I   shall   give   you   a   proper   dress.   Mysaria   sometimes   forgets."   Only   natural   of   course,   but   she   needs   a   good   fine   dress,   of   good   silks.   Red   and   black   if   he   must   too,   to   fuel   that   particular   fantasy.

[harezaldrizi]

@sigilsongs / @sigilsins asked: send ( kiss ) : sender grabs receiver by the chin to kiss them / what if my orys and ur rhaenys?

For   Rhaenys,   it   was   not   something   she   was   bothered about.   Her   husband   has   two   wives   after   all,   and   those   nights   he   spends   without   her,   he   is   with   Visenya,   or   now,   it   sees,   with   Orys'   own   wife.   She   does   laugh   at   the   oddity   of   it   all.   Aegon   had   rejected   Argella's   hand   in   marriage   but   will   accept   it   between   his   legs   and   with   his   cock   inside   inside   her.   Orys   had   learned   shortly   after   because   the   realm   was   small   to   them.   Aegonfort   was   for   htem   a   private   place   to   be   and   behold   and   she   soon   learned   the   truth.   If   anything,   Rhaenys   is   hurt   that   her   husband   had   not   told   her.   Still,   what   does   come   as   a   surprise   is   Orys   reaching   for   her   and   kissing   her.  

A   pleasing   sound   comes   from   her   lips   at   the   aftertaste   of   wine   she   feels   on   his   mouth   and   she   lingers   on   for   a   moment   before   lilac   eyes   open.   "You   think   Aegon   will   be   vengeful   if   he   found   out   you   did   this?"   Rhaenys   points   out,   hands   moving   to   the   shape   of   his   muscles   and   a   smile   appearing   upon   her   lips   as   she   continues   to   lean   closer.   "I   tell   my   husband   everything."   And   she   was   truthful   about   that,   though   she   leans   in,   kissing   Orys'   earlobe,   pulling   at   it   between   teeth.   "I   can   tell   him   you   taste   like   Reach's   wine.   I   wonder   if   all   of   you   taste   the   same."  

And   her   suggestive   tone   reaches   the   mischief   in   her   eyes   before   kissing   him   again,   a   hand   on   the   back   of   his   neck   to   pull   Orys   closer,   letting   her   frame   press   against   his   own   so   he   felt   the   shape   of   her   body   against   him.   Rhaenys   often   wondered   if   he   had   spy   on   her.   She   was   never   shameful   on   her   body   or   herself   in   general,   and   Orys,   honorable   as   he   might   be,   has   dragon   blood   and   something   else   inside   him.   He   runs   warm,   and   the   sight   of   a   body   might   do   much   to   anyone.

[myrc3lla]

@sigilsins / @sigilsongs asked: 13A / for Cella and Däthedr

Court   was   a   dangerous   thing.   Upon   her   return   from   Dorne,   she   had   felt   lonely.   Trystane   had   joined   her   but   her   brother,   now   king   and   perhaps   influenced   by   her   mother,   send   him   away.   She   is   not   sure   what   her   plans   are   but   regardless,   the   Princess   is   now   alone   in   a   foreign   land,   more   foreign   than   Dorne,   where   she   spend   years   of   her   life.   She   finds   a   kindred   soul   in   Däthedr   Xo   Joraq,   a   Prince   of   the   Sweet   Lotus   Vale   and   she   spends   days   learning   about   the   Summer   Isles.   They   sound   like   Dorne,   although   chaotic   and   she   in   turn,   teaches   him   about   what   she   learned   in   the   foreign   land.   Something   else   brews   when   he   spends   more   time   in   her   chambers   than   he   should.   Her   cousin   Rosamund   is   loyal   to   her   and   would   say   nothing   and   if   she   did,   she   would   say   they   talked   all   night.

  Except   if   one   were   to   listen   close,   they   would   hear   the   muffled   sound   of   a   moan,   stiffled   by   his   hand   on   her   mouth.It   had   started   with   gentle   kisses   and   touches,   tonight   was   different   though.   Her   skirts   had   been   shifted   away   as   his   hand   had   sought   inside   them   for   her.   She   knew   what   he   wanted,   from   Arianne's   whispers   of   men   and   women   and   pleasure.   When   he   touches   her,   her   body   feels   so   limp   and   delighted,   pressed   to   her   bed   with   a   gentle   creak   and   how   he   opens   her   legs   with   his   own   as   fingers   push   inside   her   walls   and   she   squirms,   feeling   him   how   he   made   her   feel.   "Gods.   We   shouldn't-"   but   she   cannot   speak   any   longer   when   another   finger   joins   in   and   she   feels   herself   grow   wet.  

The   hardness   of   his   cock   by   the   side   of   her   leg   where   she   feels   him,   and   as   he   moves   his   arm   with   her   hips   grinding   against   him,   one   of   his   hands   muffles   her   moans,   unsure   how   to   lower   her   own   volume,   while   her   hands   come   to   his   chest,   holding   on   to   his   hips   and   encourage   him   to   grind   against   her,   wanting   to   feel   his   cock   grow   beside   her.   She   does   not   bite   into   his   hand,   but   instinct   causes   her   to   move   her   mouth   and   press   his   fingers   inside   her   mouth   and   lick   them,   imagine   them   its   the   ones   inside   her   at   that   moment.   "Is   this   how   you   do   courting   in   Sweet   Lotus?"

[khalesci]

♛ ⊱ @sigilsongs / @sigilsins ⊱ ❛ look at how well you take me. even though it's been so long. ❜ from rodrik forrester

ㅤㅤㅤIT  HAS  BEEN  SO  LONG.  FAR,  FAR  TOO  LONG.  She  didn't  realize  the  full  depth  of  her  need  until  she  found  herself  in  Lord  Forrester's  arms.  A  private  meeting  between  a  lord  and  a  queen  that  has  crossed  more  lines  than  it  ever  should  have.  But  she  fits  so  well  in  his  lap,  and  his  mouth  works  wonders  at  her  neck,  down  her  collarbone  to  her  breasts  as  Rodrik's  hands  strip  away  the  layers  of  her  coat  and  dress.  She  does  not  stay  idle,  hips  swaying,  riding  and  grinding  upon  his  thigh  with  a  growing  pace,  working  her  body  into  a  mess  of  arousal.  It's  not  a  question  of  what  is  going  to  happen  next.  They  both  know  without  having  to  speak  it,  well  aware  of  the  path  they  have  set  themselves  upon.  They  barely  make  it  to  the  bed;  not  that  it  makes  much  of  a  difference.  She  would  have  had  him  on  the  floor,  too.  Instead  his  hands  capture  her  again  just  as  she  reaches  the  frame,  bending  her  body  over  the  edge.

ㅤㅤㅤThe  cold  Northern  air  chills  the  skin  of  her  rear  and  thighs  as  he  pulls  her  bottoms  down  to  her  knees,  but  she  is  not  left  to  the  cold  for  too  long,  his  own  hips  pushing  forward  against  hers,  drawing  a  moan  from  the  queen.  Her  legs  spread  apart,  angling  her  hips  towards  him  as  she  feels  his  trousers  fall  away,  his  length  rubbing  against  the  wetness  of  her  folds.  Then,  with  one  hard,  forceful  thrust,  he  is  inside  her.  ❝ Fuck,  ❞  Dany  cries  out,  her  voice  echoing  against  the  walls  of  Rodrik's  chamber.  Legs  shift  and  widen,  welcoming  more  of  him  as  her  body  is  pressed  into  the  mattress.  ❝ You  feel  so  good,  ❞  she  whines.  Half  of  her  face  buries  itself  into  the  bed  beneath  her,  feeling  it  rattle  with  every  thrust  of  Rodrick's  cock.  Her  fingers  clench  the  sheets,  clawing  at  the  linen,  moaning  as  she  feels  her  walls  stretch  around  him.  ❝ Harder,  Rodrick,  ❞  Dany  dares  to  say  his  name,  all  titles  discarded  in  a  moment  as  intimate  as  this.  ❝ I  need  this.  Gods,  I  need  this.  I  need  you  ─  ❞

[roguecrown]

@sigilsongs / @sigilsins asked: 21B from Gannica 👀

Gannica   Grimm   is   not   the   type   of   woman   he   goes   after.   It   is   known   around   the   realm   he   has   a   very   particular   taste   when   it   comes   to   it.   Silver   or   Blonde,   always.   But   her   dark   hair   feels   different   when   it   falls   over   her   shoulder,   when   he   takes   her   one   night   after   a   banquet   to   the   awful   room   he   was   given   in   the   Keep   for   his   to   stay   while   he   visits.   She   takes   him   well,   and   he   is   utterly   amused   when   upon   reaching   between   her   dress,   purple   as   it   often   is   around   him,   finds   no   smallclothes   and   already   wet.   His   mouth   aches   to   taste   her   first   and   so   he   does,   tasting   sweet   juices   like   her   cunt   was   the   finest   wine   of   the   Reach.   This   is   a   victory   for   her,   he   is   sure.   He   had   noticed   how   he   is   seen   as   a   prize   by   many,   but   of   all   of   those,   not   many   are   rewarded   with   his   attention.   When   she   finally   sinks   into   him,   she   is   fully   seated   and   he   squeezes   her   thighs   in   encouragement.

  "Come   here."   And   he   does   not   wait   for   her   to   move   until   a   hand   wrap   around   her   neck,   pressing   over   the   sweet   line   there   and   bring   her   close,   as   the   other   keeps   on   her   hip,   circling   it   with   his   arm.   As   she   slowly   begins   to   move,   he   pinches   one   of   the   nipples,   harden   and   salty   with   his   hand   before   he   slaps   her   rear   in   encouragement.  

"Don't   soften   on   me   now,   my   lady.   You   have   wanted   to   be   a   dragonrider   for   a   while   now,   have   you?"   He   whispers,   nibbling   her   jawline,   aware   he   will   leave   a   branding   there,   holding   her   head   to   the   side   with   his   hand.   "Now   ride,   and   if   you   get   tired,   say   so,   because   I   am   not   done   with   you."   Not   for   the   whole   of   the   night   at   least.   He   is   hungry   for   battle   and   when   war   is   not   near,   this   is   what   he   needs.

[reinerose]

@sigilsongs / @sigilsins asked : 'your oath re-pledged. so too shall be our flesh. you are mine.' from big daddy drogo

The   light   of   the   tent   threw   wild   shadows   across   the   rich   fabrics,   the   scents   of   strange   oils   and   smoke   heavy   in   the   air.   Margaery   stood   tall   before   him,   her   silk   robe   falling   open   at   the   shoulders,   the   weight   of   the   Reach   and   the   future   pressing   against   her   spine   —   but   she   met   it   all   with   a   smile   touched   by   daring.

The   alliance   had   been   sealed   with   words,   with   blood,   with   promises   bold   enough   to   shake   Westeros.   And   now,   with   the   Dothraki   chanting   into   the   night   and   the   Reachmen   singing   their   own   drunken   hymns,   she   would   seal   it   with   flesh.   Khal   Drogo   towered   before   her,   bare-chested,   his   dark   hair   woven   with   bells   that   sang   with   the   slightest   movement.

His   voice   rumbled   low,   thick   with   an   accent   she   had   come   to   recognize   —   dangerous,   commanding.   "Your   oath   re-pledged.   So   too   shall   be   our   flesh.   You   are   mine,"   he   declared,   in   the   Common   Tongue,   voice   like   thunder   rolling   over   golden   fields.   Margaery’s   lips   curved   slowly.   She   let   the   robe   slide   from   her   shoulders,   pooling   at   her   feet   like   a   slain   banner.   Her   heart   raced,   not   with   fear,   but   with   fierce,   reckless   exhilaration.   This   was   no   timid   bedding;   this   was   conquest   of   a   different   sort   —   and   she   would   not   be   conquered   entirely.

He   spoke   again,   rough   words   in   Dothraki   she   only   half-understood   —   words   of   possession,   of   devotion,   of   something   more   primal   —   but   she   understood   the   meaning   in   his   eyes.   Margaery   approached   with   slow,   deliberate   steps,   unafraid.   When   she   reached   him,   she   pressed   her   palms   flat   against   the   hard   plane   of   his   chest,   feeling   the   strength   beneath   his   skin.   He   smelled   of   earth   and   fire,   of   leather   and   open   skies.

With   a   sudden   boldness,   she   pushed   him   —   lightly   but   firmly   —   back   toward   the   furs   laid   for   them.   As   he   fell   back,   she   straddled   his   hips,   her   hair   falling   like   a   veil   around   them   both,   green   eyes   glinting   with   the   same   hunger   that   tightened   low   in   her   belly.   "sek.   anha   zin   yeri   Khal,"   she   murmured   against   his   ear,   her   hands   roaming   his   skin.   "And   we   will   win   it   together."

Tonight,   she   would   give   him   her   body   —   and   soon,   she   vowed,   a   son   —   but   she   would   also   give   him   something   far   rarer:   a   queen   who   would   not   kneel   unless   it   was   her   choice.   She   leans   to   kiss   him,   the   shy   flirtacious   bride   she   been   only   but   a   facade.   At   least   in   here   she   does   not   need   to   fake   she   is   a   maid,   or   a   meek   woman.   But   she   also   needs   to   prove   she   won't   be   made   a   broodmare.   Margaery's   hips   roll   against   his   own,   feeling   him   grow,   throbbing   and   hard   against   her   smallclothes.   "sek."   She   repeats   again   the   affirmation,   for   him   to   take   her,   as   it   was   promised.

[dcviline]

@sigilsins / @0hsansa ⊱ FF  #31,  SABITHA  and  SANSA

▐║  ᯽  ┊  𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋  𝐈𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐄𝐄  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊  𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘  𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋,  to  see  the  woman  they  call  half-dead  become  so  alive,  if  only  for  a  night.  This  bright  blush  upon  her  ivory  skin,  the  heat  and  sweat  that  beads  upon  her  body  in  motion,  and  oh,  those  precious  moans  and  whimpers  that  rise  from  a  mouth  most  known  for  its  silence.  It's  Sabitha's  pride  that  she  is  the  one  who  knows  the  true  softness  of  Sansa's  lips,  all  these  lusty  little  sounds  she  can  make,  the  beauty  of  the  body  that  hides  beneath  her  dresses.  And  how  warm  and  wet  her  cunt  becomes  around  her  fingers  once  they  slip  between  her  thighs.  ❝ Do  my  fingers  feel  good,  pretty  wolf?  Do  you  like  being  touched  like  this?  ❞  Sabitha  says,  leaning  lightly  against  Sansa's  back.  She  lets  her  set  her  own  pace,  patient,  knowing  she  is  still  learning,  but  she  helps  by  letting  the  movements  of  her  own  body  encourage  the  Stark's.  ❝ That's  it.  Keep  moving  ──  just  like  that.  You're  doing  so  well,  Sansa.  ❞

Her  gentle  hands  become  explorative  as  she  feels  the  other  find  her  rhythm,  unoccupied  digits  sliding  upwards  over  her  chest,  teasing  a  nipple  until  it  grows  taut  and  red.  Sabitha  cups  the  delicate  flesh,  feeling  the  shape  of  her  breast  against  her  palm  as  she  fondles  it  affectionately.  But  it's  her  other  hand  that  has  the  true  focus  of  her  efforts,  rubbing  attentive  circles  over  Sansa's  clit;  at  first  light  and  careful,  then  more  audacious,  claiming  every  silken  inch  between  her  folds  and  drinking  in  the  sweet  moans  that  she  elicits  from  the  Stark.  ❝ Listen  to  yourself.  That's  the  prettiest  sound  in  the  world.  ❞  For  a  moment,  she  tempts  her  with  more,  reaching  down  to  tease  the  edge  of  her  entrance  with  a  fingertip,  but  just  when  it  seems  she  will  slip  one  inside,  Sabitha  instead  retracts  the  digit,  spreading  the  slickness  gathered  between  her  fingers.  ❝ Gods,  do  you  even  know  how  good  you  look  like  this?  You have such an eager pussy, I  could  fuck  you  all  night  if  you  let  me.  ❞  Her  lips  meet  Sansa's  back,  placing  kisses  along  the  blade  of  her  shoulder.  ❝ Tell  me  what  you  want,  sweetling,  and  I'll  make  it  happen.  There's  so  much  more  I  can  show  you.  ❞

[dcviline]

@sigilsins / @sigilsongs ⊱ 115  for  DAARIO  and  ESRYIA  OF  LYS

▐║  ᯽  ┊  𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇  𝐁𝐄  𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃,  𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓  𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄  𝐇𝐄'𝐃  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐒𝐄𝐄  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍,  let  alone  that  he  would  find  himself  in  her  bed  once  more.  But  perhaps  Daario  should  have  known  better.  The  history  between  them  is  far  too  extensive  to  ever  be  put  aside  entirely.  She's  risen  in  wealth  and  station,  and  so  has  he;  no  longer  only  a  fighter  in  the  pits,  or  a  blade  for  hire,  but  a  loyal  captain  in  the  Dragon  Queen's  army.  He  has  not  returned  to  Esryia  as  the  nobody he once was,  a  castaway  slave,  but  as  a  man  with  his  own  worth.  Perhaps  that's  what  has  made  him  cocky  enough  to  come  to  her  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  knowing  they  hadn't  parted  on  the  best  of  terms.  But  whether  she's  forgiven  him  or  not  matters  little.  He  didn't  come  to  ask  for  forgiveness.  He  came  to  remind  her  of  what  she  once  had.

❝ Keep  going,  ❞  Daario  growls  in  demand,  arrogance  etching  the  corners  of  his  lips  into  a  grin  as  he  looks  down  at  Esryia  writhing  upon  the  bed  below.  She has  always  looked  beautiful  like  this,  her  body  laid  before  him  bare,  adorned only  by  the  blooming  red  marks  his  mouth  has  left  upon  her  neck  and  breasts and the rings in her ears.  ❝ Show  me  how  much  you  missed  me.  ❞  He  makes  this  as  torturous  as  he  can,  pressing  forth  as  she  glides  her  sex  against  his  length;  just  enough  to  make  her  feel  a tantalizing spark,  but  not  enough  to  fulfill  her.  What  a  cruel  enjoyment  it  is  to  make  her  work  so  hard  for  it,  but  he  tempers  her  efforts  with  promises  that  it  will  be  worthwhile.  And  for  as  well  as  he  once  knew  her  body,  he  will  certainly  make  sure  he  lives  up  to  that  promise.

Daario  takes  Esryia's  hands,  pinning  them  above  her  head  as  he  leans  over  her  body.  ❝ You  know  that  no  one  can  fuck  you  like  I  can,  ❞  the  Tyroshi  asserts  proudly,  his  hips  beginning  to  move  and  build  more  friction  between  them.  ❝ Ask  nicely  and  I'll  remind  you  how  it  feels.  ❞