whole house hot idccc

ASOIAF Sideblog. 20+ Grace! she/her 💝

[vhagars-dementia]

Hi! Grace here. This is my ASOIAF Sideblog.

Fics I've read are tagged as "[character] x reader" or "[character] fic" for non pairings

Sent me something? Answered here

My edits

Concepts (hey if youre a writer and feel inspired by my concepts, please feel free to write the fic and tag me so i can scream about it with you!)

[thechristmasgirl25]

[stardustrider]

I'm not afraid of a bit of progress.

James Norton as Mr. Sean Rafferty HOUSE OF GUINNESS

[violaobanion]

JAMES NORTON as SEAN RAFFERTY in HOUSE OF GUINNESS (2025-), episode four

for @harrisonforded 💋

[thirstingseason]

Scenes From a Marriage (Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader)

Request 

A/N: I know it was selfish of me to keep this in inbox and keep rereading it, but I am gollum and this is my fucking ring. Like I felt this somewhere in my heart and in my- anyway. Sorry for keeping it in my inbox for so long but I have finally gotten around to it! 

Summary: Soft, sweet, and smutty scenes in your marriage to Maekar 

Word count: ~3.9k

Tags: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), mostly just fluff, a hint of smut (but brief), never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not claim to own any of the ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You believed you had figured out your husband by the time your marriage ceremony had finally occurred. You had spent a rather long time in the betrothal stage, likely longer than either your father or mother had hoped. They had become agitated by the end, desperate to see you in the Sept, draped in the Targaryen colours and finally out of their house. Not for any sinister reason of course, they loved you dearly and only wanted the best for you, but the best only came from marrying a prince, and the longer it dallied, the more they worried that the temperamental prince would change his mind. 

You had all been surprised when the raven arrived proclaiming that Prince Maekar, fourth son of King Daeron the Good, wished to marry you. Though you had later found out the truth of the matter from your dear husband, at the time you had frozen with shock. You had only met the man once before, at a rather lovely feast thrown in the gardens at Summerhall when much of the royal family had made their way there for the latest occurring summer months, bringing the hubbub of court with them. 

Your parents had rejoiced of course, though not without commentary at how odd it was that it was this particular prince. They did not wish to demean you by any means with this comment, but only to suggest that he had already gained a reputation for being surly and grumpy, that no one thought he would remarry after the death of his first wife, and that he already had a brood of children and an heir, so he did not necessarily require a wife of your age to provide him with more. If anything, they thought perhaps one of his sons would be the one coming for a look, but neither ones of age had even a sniff in your direction. Instead their father won the lot. 

You and your family were all invited to stay at Summerhall during the length of your betrothal, and that you would only be given leave once the wedding had occurred. You had been giddy with excitement, remembering how lovely it had been the last time, remembering the luscious gardens and pools and surrounding nature, remembering the lovely decor - unique tiles and mosaics and tapestries and everything so full of colour. You had already begun planning the wedding in your head, wondering if it would be possible to request that you be married in the gardens rather than in the Sept. It was not tradition, but why waste such a lovely space? 

You and your entourage arrived to be greeted by the King and Queen, the Crown Prince and his wife, Maekar’s other brothers and wives, his sons and daughters, and of course, the man himself. You had felt instantly intimidated, heart spiking in your chest, but kept on, hoping the tremble in your hands was not too obvious. To each you curtsied, spoke well wishes, smiled as best you could, and then moved on while they still smiled in return. When you finally ended up in front of your betrothed, you had beamed at him, offering your trembling hand for him to kiss and blinking like a lovesick fool. 

He was handsome. You had known this already, remembered from your last meeting, but it struck you again in his presence. You longed to feel his beard yourself, to touch his hair and cheeks and lips. At the time it had made you hot with bashfulness, but now filled you with immense fondness. You had simply been excited that once you were married, you could do as you pleased in that regard. 

He had lifted your hand, bent his head, and pressed a fleeting kiss to your knuckles, barely there. His second son had snorted, an amused yet cruel sound, but he paid him no mind. You could not precisely tell what had been going through your betrothed’s mind at the time. His face was blank, if a little frowning, and you had not come to know the microexpressions of his just yet. 

Maekar had grumbled a “my lady”, then turned away to follow after his father and brothers as they led you all into Summerhall and to your chambers. You had been a little taken aback at his gruffness, a little downtrodden, but you had not let it deter you. Perhaps he was simply shy, you had thought, or unaccustomed to wooing a woman after so much time alone. You would not let it get to you, you had decided.

On each day after that, you had been adamant to spend as much time in his company as you could. He would not even have the option to ignore you, you had made sure of it. You invited him to walks in the gardens in front of people so he would feel too guilty to deny you, begged him to show you around the palace in front of his daughters so that they might egg him on as well, seated yourself near him when everyone took time in the afternoon to recline in a solar or simply conversed with him at the dinner table, poking and prodding him for topics that would interest him. 

And you could see him softening. It was wonderful to watch. You could see the way his eyes began to soften when you hurried up to him, just shy of running, clasping his arm and begging him for another walk to the lovely flower garden you could never figure out how to find on your own. You could see the way his lips twitched when you laughed at a joke, full and unabashed, glancing back to him to see if he found it funny as well. You saw the way he reached for you when you tripped in your enthusiasm or the way he already bent his elbow, ready for you to thread your arm through before you had even reached him. 

It was when this began that a wedding date was finally set, two weeks from when it was announced. Seamstresses hurried, cooks rushed, and though you still held the initial ceremony in the Sept, the reception afterwards was situated in the gardens, exactly as you had wanted. It was perfect. No, more than perfect. It was everything you could have wanted. 

It was later that his truths were revealed to you. That the King and Queen, in their ever-present worry that he was lonely, that a woman was required to run his house and mother his young children, had pressed him into finally agreeing to remarry. They had told him he could choose, that whoever he wished to marry, they would accept, be it a commoner or a queen from another land, just as long as he was finally married, and the only tolerable person that came to mind was you. 

He had remembered you from that feast the year before, you and your pretty smiles and kind words, the way you had danced jovially with Daella and Rhae despite not being an acquaintance, despite having no responsibility to keep the children company when you could have been off drinking and gossiping with your gaggle of ladies. He had remembered your bright smile when he had come to break up your little trio, telling the girls that if they did not go up to bed right that minute then he would tell the cooks to never buy even an ounce of sugar again and that their beloved lemon cakes would disappear for the rest of their lives. 

What had truly endeared you to him though had been the gasp you let out at the news, the way your eyes had widened and you had acted so terribly frightened for them, the way you had aided his mission by telling them that it was too serious a threat to be ignored. And though the girls had giggled (for even at his most serious moments they never took him or his threats of punishment seriously) they had ultimately listened, if only to ease you of your overdramatic worry, promising you that they would go to ease your mind and to appease their father. He had grumbled a rough thanks once they were back in the arms of their maids, and you had simply laughed and smiled brightly, telling him that it was rather good fun for you. 

So it was this moment, seemingly small, that had sealed your fate in his heart. He had not forgotten it, and when it had finally come time for him to remarry, he could only think of you. The letter was written, the raven flown, and the rest was history. But you had prodded him even then (physically too, your finger digging into his ribs as he huffed and twitched with annoyance), asking him why he delayed the wedding so long, why the betrothal carried on if he was so sure of you. 

His answer rather broke your heart. He did not look at you as he said it, his arm tightening over your shoulder where he had been holding you close in bed, and his eyes had fallen almost closed. He told you that he had been giving you time. He said that he had wanted you to be sure as well, that he had believed that, if he delayed long enough, you might finally realise that you did not love him, or that you were far too good to be trapped into such a marriage, or that even if you did somehow manage to love him, that you would not want all the other weight that he came with. He had simply thought that if he gave you enough time, you would rescind your acceptance and fly your way out of his life, as he still sometimes thought you ought to have done. 

You had stared at him with a serious frown, sitting up and extricating yourself from his arm. You had leaned over him, cupping his cheek firmly and making sure that he was looking you right in the eye as you told him what utter nonsense that was. You loved him, most thoroughly, most ardently, and to even think that you would wish for any other life was to commit blasphemy. He had huffed a laugh at that, but the amused pinch of his lips had disappeared when you had stared at him with the utmost seriousness. 

He had kissed you then, a hand speedily placing itself at the back of your neck and yanking you down until your lips met his. He had devoured your mouth, kissing hurriedly, sticking his tongue into your mouth, moaning and groaning in such a way that your legs trembled at it. He had urged you onto him with his hands at your waist, pressing and supporting until you were straddling him, palms shoved under the pillow that he laid his head on, heels of your hands digging into the mattress to keep you upright. Neither of you bothered much at all, he had scrabbled his breeches down just enough to pull his cock out, gathered your shift onto your hips, and you had done the work from there. 

And so a marriage of love, of care and utter devotion, was born at Summerhall, left to flourish most beautifully. 

There was a knock at the door to his study, answered only by a grunt and the continual scratching of a quill on parchment as he attempted to answer a distant lord’s query on the Crown’s tax on grain. He did not enjoy such work, but every so often, the lot did end up falling to him, and he was happy to lift some of the burden from Baelor where he could. 

The door opened and you entered, the sounds of your sweeping skirts following you in, and he glanced up to see you smiling, a plate in hand as you made your way over to his desk with a small hum of greeting. You placed it down just in front of where he worked, within arm’s reach still, then rounded the desk to stand just beside him. 

“How does the work go, husband?” You asked him, draping one hand gently on his shoulder and using the other to touch his chin and gently tilt his head in your direction. He sighed, long and low, and slumped back into his chair, eyes fluttering shut as you scratched lightly at his beard and moved your hand upward to begin caressing his hair. 

“It remains unending,” he grumbled to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you closer to the side of the chair until he could lean his head against your stomach. Another sigh worked from him, more contented this time, and you slowly ran your fingers through his hair, cradling his head to you and simply humming in response. 

“You have been sequestered here a rather long while,” your voice was quiet, just above a whisper, and he only made an ‘mm’ sound in acknowledgement. “I know you have not eaten, for I have made sure to ask if anything has been brought to you other than ale or wine and the resounding answer has been that you would ‘think about such nonsense later’.” You raised an eyebrow, tilting your chin down to look at him, but he did not open his eyes or make any attempt to look up at your face, huffing once and nothing more. 

You only sighed after that, caressing his forehead, tracing the lines where his wrinkles deepened when he frowned (as he so often did). He allowed you to do this a while, your fingers stroking through his hair, over his cheeks and beard, until you bent down and carefully pressed kisses to his lips, soft little things so full of love that they made his chest warm and tight. When you finally pulled away, you were smiling once more and stood to your full height, placing the plate of roast and bread and stewed vegetables in front of him, luckily still steaming. 

“Eat please, before you worry me more,” you told him, nudging your head in the direction of the food before moving to stand behind his chair and placing your hands on his shoulders. You massaged him there, along the back of his neck too, and he moaned quietly (though you weren’t sure if it was because of your ministrations or because of the food he was now inhaling). 

He grunted once before he finally said, swallowing down a mouthful, “you need not care for me so closely you know. I have lived long enough by my own hand.” But you only scoffed, tugging on a strand of his hair in reprimand before bending and kissing the top of his head. 

“Perhaps I do not need to, but I wish to do so. It makes me happy, gives me purpose to care for you. Someone ought to. You deserve love and diligent care, same as the rest of us, my prince.” You said it so seriously too, as if it was irrefutable, a simple truth. He only grunted in response, continued pressing meat and bread into his mouth (because he truly had not realised how hungry he actually was) but that pulsing warmth in his chest became stronger, flowed out into the rest of his body, filling him up in a way he had not known he was capable of. 

Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, at the base of his neck, clinging him ever closer. He was draped over you, his weight pressed into you, nothing separating you. You could feel his coarse chest hair against your nipples, sparking through you as he pumped his hips back and forth, sending those sparks into you, through you, right up your core and into your mouth and mind. The slap of it, the force, not too hard but not soft, permanent, a feeling to last for a long while after the coupling ended. 

One arm was wrapped around your back, clutching you tight to him, as the other gripped your hip, steadied you against the mattress so he could continue his motions. He grunted into your neck, sounds from deep in his throat, animalistic, true testaments to the pleasure he took from you. He kissed and bit at your neck, down onto your chest and over the swells of your breasts. 

“Feels so good, my love,” you moaned, eyes shut, face turned up to the ceiling, voice breathy and uncontrolled. “You’re making me feel so good!” You panted, eyes screwing even tighter as the pleasure coiled, and you could almost feel his own face pinching with it. His grunts became interspersed with moans, his arm around you tightened, his hand following suit. 

The heat of it was everywhere, in your core between your thighs, in your stomach and chest, in the sweat on your skin and his breath against you. You felt alight with it. “Yes, Maekar, yes!” Your leg twitched, your core tightened, your entire body seemed to throb with it. “Please, my love, it feels so good,” you panted, “kiss me, please,” and he obliged, pushing up at the last minute as the pleasure hit, pressing his mouth to yours, moaning there, tongues intertwined. 

The two of you writhed against each other, riding the waves together until your bodies collapsed against the sheets with finality. He rested his weight over you, just as you loved him to do after such activities. You told him it was like having your own personal hearth laid over you, a soft yet muscular hearth at the perfect weight in temperature. And he enjoyed the closeness too, did not wish to leave your warmth either. 

You caressed the back of his head, dragging your nails over the back of his neck and the planes of his shoulders as your body settled, as you went weak all over and melted into the mattress. He simply breathed, heavy washes of it over your neck and chest. You hummed, just a sound for the sake of it, before you tilted your head just enough and pressed a kiss at his temple. 

“I did not see much of you today,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering closed though the warm oranges and yellows of the candlelight and fire still played over your eyelids. 

“Mm,” was his answer, “not a moment’s rest.” You hummed as well, kissing the side of his head again, running your fingers through his hair. He rumbled, almost purring like a cat, his entire body vibrating with it, and you continued what you were doing. 

“How was it then?” You asked, wanting his voice a little longer still, and he finally shifted in your grasp, lifting his head up just enough to smirk at you before dipping down to press a kiss to your breast, just above your nipple where it still sparked with pleasure. 

“Would have fared far better if I had only been allowed to rest like so, just here, in my favourite spot,” and then he lay his head down on your chest again, using your breast as a cushion to his cheek, mouthing gently at the skin, kissing just around your nipple in a way that made you shiver. You laughed breathily, shaking your head before settling even further into the pillows and sheets of your bed, kissing at his temple and forehead. 

“Mm, and I would not object to you staying right here if you so pleased. You keep me sufficiently warm during these cold nights.” You felt his smile against you, heard the barest huff of a chuckle before he gently bit at the nipple he had just kissed, rolling it lightly between his teeth as you twitched and made a noise of surprise, slapping at his back as he continued to laugh. 

“Do you love me?” He asked, and you felt your entire body pause, stiffen, visceral in its reaction. 

“What?” You breathed out, eyebrows gaining a furrow, hands trembling. 

“Do you love me?” He asked again, voice low, grumbling as always, but this felt more trembling than anything. A man who had only the barest control left on his emotions. A man so utterly overwhelmed, shaken from the inside, attempting to be vulnerable in the only way he knew how. 

“Has that ever been in doubt?” You asked quietly, lashes fluttering, the sudden burn of tears, the welling of them at your lashline. He did not say anything, looked away instead, a harsh swallow bobbing at his throat. He hummed, neither a yes or a no. Your lips trembled and you stepped forward quickly, reaching out for him in desperation. Your hands landed on his chest, smoothing out over his tunic before clenching into it, dragging yourself as close as possible, until the warmth of you both was intertwined. As it was meant to be. 

“If it has been in doubt, then it is entirely my own fault. And it is an injustice I have committed.” Your voice trembled. “For I love you so much that it rather terrifies me. I love you so much that even the thought of separation from you brings me to tears, brings a tremble to my hands and I must sit a long while or find your company to make the corrosive pain run from me. I love you so much that just the sight of your face can right all wrongs in my heart.” The words dribbled out of you so quickly now, hurried as if you were desperate for him to know the truth of the matter. “I love you so much that your pain is my pain, your love is my balm, your word my truth. I did not think it possible to love a person so, but here we are. I love you…” and your words trailed off as he pressed his mouth to yours. 

The kiss was salty with your tears, and though he did not cry, when he pulled back, his eyes were red limned and shined like glass. He kissed you like you were intertwined things, meant to be attached at the lips. His mouth was soft, wet, squished to yours, and you splayed both your hands along the sides of his neck, laced your fingers at the nape, pulled him in until his tongue too ventured past your lips and tasted all the love you carried. 

His arm curled around your waist, dragged you closer up against him, into the firmness of his chest and the warmth of his body, and you made a muffled sound into his mouth that he swallowed like wine. The tears on your cheeks smeared onto his, his other hand threaded into the hair at the back of your neck, cradled your skull and kept you that final bit closer. You wished to breathe him in entirely, and he wished the same of you. 

You did not know what had caused this reaction. You did not know what had caused him to ask, what rotten thing had appeared and nestled in his heart to make him feel so, but you knew that you would do everything in your power and then some, would do what must be done, whatever that may be, to make sure that he finally felt all the love that he deserved to feel. 

For Maekar was no one’s shadow, not a spare nor an afterthought, nor any other cruel name the court gave him for the crime of being born fourth. He was yours, and you were his, and that was what mattered most of all.

Taglist: @mxxny-lupin, @risefallrise, @gaminggirlsstuff,  @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @samthegreenapologist 

[vhagars-dementia]

[lucife56]

[vhagars-dementia]

Another W for casting department

[cestpasfaux24601]

AKOTSK GIF MEME: ↳ [1/6] Scenes

[faelinda]

hiya, not sure if you are taking request but I was reading your Maekar fics and they are so good! Was wondering if you might be able to write something about his wife taking up a separate bed from him because her moon bloods come for the first time since they wed and she assumes he doesn’t want to see her or be intimate during that time.

Going out on a limb here but I don’t imagine a bit of blood is enough to make the anvil turn away!

Thank you, anon! I really liked this idea, and Maekar doesn't strike me as someone to be bothered by a monthly cycle either. Hope you enjoy!

Maekar Targaryen x Tyrell!reader

WC: 955

Intended as a standalone, but can be viewed as a companion piece to this story.

TW: Hurt/comfort, blood, period sex, pain/cramps, cuddling, apparently menstrual cloths were called "clouts", no use of Y/n, no physical description of reader given

"Is there a reason you are hiding from me?" Maekar asked gruffly as he entered through the doors to your chambers, cloak billowing behind him.

You glanced up at him, snuggled up on the bench with warm stones wrapped in a sturdy cloth pressed against your belly to help soothe the cramps.

"I mean no offense, my good husband," you murmured.

"What ails you?" he demanded, and you ducked your head. A soft smile tugged on your lips. This was his nature, and it no longer troubled you. Not since the night he had protected you from two nefarious lords who wished to take advantage of you during the wedding feast. You had grown to love it. You had grown to love him.

"'Tis nothing, truly."

"Then it should be easy to explain."

You sighed. "My moonblood arrived. I did not…my mother said women should confine themselves from their husbands when it comes."

"I've never heard such fucking nonsense," he huffed.

"It does not…perturb you?" you asked.

"Why in the Seven Hells would a bit of blood bother me?"

"It is more than just a bit of blood at times. There are moments I feel rather like a stuck pig," you admitted.

Maekar gave you an incredulous look before laughing and sitting next to you on the bench. "I am no stranger to it. You needn't hide away."

Your cheeks turned warm. "I suppose that is naivety shining through once more."

He shook his head, patting your knee. "Your mother was raised with more old-fashioned beliefs; she taught you what she knew. 'Tis not your fault, but I enjoy you warming my bed. I hope you will sleep beside me tonight."

"I would like that. I also feared you might be disappointed," you admitted softly, gazing down at your fingers.

"That your moonblood arrived?" He gave you a curious look before the realization dawned on him. "Ah. There is no hurry. I do not lack for children."

This time, he could not ignore the look on your face, realizing his reply came out harsher than intended. He had only meant to lift your spirits and assure you that you were more than a broodmare to him. He cleared his throat and shifted closer to you, pulling you into his arms and guiding your head against his chest. "What I mean…the time will come. Usually, when it is least expected, we will have many opportunities to try."

"Thank you, husband," you whispered. One large hand settled on the small of your back.

"Are you in much pain, my little flower?"

"Nothing I cannot manage, the heat helps," you whispered, snuggling in close to you. "You feel rather nice."

"I suppose I will be attached to this bench the rest of the day," he teased.

"Your good lady wife demands it," you pouted.

"Ah, a man cannot refuse his wife's demands."

He called out for the handmaidens to bring in refreshments later. The cream cakes melted against your tongue as you consumed four and washed them down with a cinnamon tea. Maekar stoked the fire, pushing out a few coals and waiting for them to cool a bit before replenishing your heating cloth.

"I have to survey the lands this afternoon, but tonight I will find you in our bed, yes?"

"Yes, husband," you smiled, and his hand wrapped around your chin, pressing a deep kiss to your mouth.

After supper with the children, you climbed into the bed you shared with him with a clean cloth pressed between your thighs. He tucked you against him, spooning you from behind while his hand rubbed soothing circles over your stomach.

"Are you still in pain?"

"A little," you admitted.

"Might I try to alleviate it for you?" he whispered, inching your shift up around your waist.

"I…are you certain? It will not disgust you?"

"Do you believe the Anvil pales at blood? Do you think a dragon runs from a bit of red?" The swell of his cock pressed against your bare arse.

You nibbled on your lower lip. "No, I am foolish to think so."

He gently swatted your backside, making you yelp. "Enough disparaging yourself, little flower."

"Apologies. Please, I wish for you to do this." A sudden heat lapped in your lower belly. His tenderness earlier had stirred such desire in you.

He removed the tightly folded cloth from between your thighs before slowly slipping his cock into you from behind, keeping you tucked against him. It was gentle, and you took him with ease. He stayed like that for a while before slowly rolling his hips. It created a pleasant pressure building inside you. His hand remained on your stomach, feeling his cock swell inside you, the soft bulge it created.

"Oh," you whimpered, trembling as your toes curved over his calf tucked between your legs.

"Shhh, just feel it and let go when you are ready. Do not force it." His voice was like velvet in your ears, sending shivers through your body while he continued the slow, deep thrusts.

Your lashes fluttered, your fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist from the hand still pressed agaisnt your belly. The pressure snapped like a tight band, sending you toppling into a sweet release. The cramps subsided, and all you felt was euphoria as the high swam through your body. The tenderness continued as he gently wiped between your legs with the damp cloth and tucked the clout back into place before fixing your nightgown. Your moonblood clung to his cock like a scarlet sheath, reminding you of your wedding night when he took your maidenhead.

"Sleep, my little flower," he whispered in your ear, holding you tightly in his arms.

Taglist: @deadonyouraccount @dixie-elocin @ghostlybfgf @samthegreenapologist

[ssoliswitchh]

Ormund x Lannister!reader - they are the same age and have been married for a while, have children together- but she is proudddd and does not care for the 7 like she pretends she does . She gets drunk and makes an offhand comment to a Lord/Lady about Ormund or something and they fight with angstttt

Tender like a bruise

Ormund Hightower x Lannister!reader

wc: 1265 

Even for a small gathering like this, you were expected to be loud and bright - the perfect wife.

It was a dinner to celebrate the recent harvest in the western half of the Reach. A handful of lords and ladies, at least those closest to the Hightowers, sat around you, cheerful drinking and feasting while you pretended to be their gracious hostess.

You didn't mind hosting. You were quite good at it, actually - a Lannister is supposed to be a good host, your mother always reminded you. Conversation came easily as breath, pleasantries easier still, and if the warmth in your smile didn't reach your eyes, nobody looked close enough to notice.

It was Lord Crane who rose first, cup in hand, his cheeks already red from the wine.

"To the Seven," he declared, hiccuping halfway through. "Whose grace has seen fit to bless the Reach with another bountiful harvest."

The table echoed him, heads bowed briefly before diving back into their cups. You lifted your own glass without hesitation, the gesture so familiar it required no thought at all.

To the Seven, you repeated quietly, but felt nothing in those words.

You never did. Not in a long time.

You'd never been truly religious, not in the way your mothers and sisters were. Even from a young age you'd question why the gods chose to strike down the innocent and keep the wicked alive, why women had to suffer when men flourished.

These reasons for your lack of faith were only fortified when you lost not one, but two babes within the early years of your marriage. One was a little girl, born too early, while the other, a boy, died in the cradle.

You'd sat in the sept after both losses, hands folded and head bowed, but felt nothing but the cold stone beneath your knees as you wept. Ormund had wept quietly beside you each time, his faith holding him together in a way yours never could.

You envied him for it, and soon enough, your envy turned to resentment.

Ten years of marriage taught you many things. How to love a man while never truly knowing him. How to smile when you wanted to scream. How to pour your fourth cup of wine at a feast and still stay composed.

The fifth cup, it turned out, was where composure went to die.

It had started innocently enough. Lord Ambrose had made some remark about Ormund's preference for the training yard rather than the halls of the Hightower.

Something in you had opened its mouth before you could stop it.

"He prefers the company of his men to most other people," you remarked, swirling your wine around in its cup. "Myself included, most nights. I'm often jealous of his squire."

You hadn't thought much about it at the time. It was a jest - a poor one, perhaps, but a jest nonetheless. Awkward silence filled the room before Lord Ambrose cleared his throat, moving the conversation along to this year's harvests.

You moved on, giving no more thought to it until you retired for the night and found Ormund sitting in your chambers.

He was still dressed, his green doubled slightly wrinkled as he crossed one leg over the other. His expression was incomprehensible, but that alone was enough to tell you something was irking him.

"Close the door."

You obliged. The latch clicked into place, filling the horrible silence between you two. Something prickled across your skin, leaving a cold feeling behind.

"Did you think your little jape at dinner was amusing?" Ormund's voice was cool and low; somehow worse than if he was yelling.

You only sighed, shaking your head in exasperation. "It was a jest" you retorted, beginning to pull the pins from your hair one by one. Anything to have something to do with your hands."Nothing more."

"You didn't think?" Again, that horrible flatness. "Or you didn't care?"

You set a pin down harder than you intended. "Ormund-"

"Which is it?" He uncrossed his legs, his hands gripping the arm of his chair. "Because I have spent ten years being a faithful husband. Ten years. And in a room full of people who have known me since I was a boy, my wife saw fit to suggest otherwise."

"I didn't suggest-"

"You implied it plainly enough that Lady Celia pulled me aside to offer her sympathies." His jaw tightened. "Her sympathies, as though I were some poor cuckolded fool who didn't know what his own wife thought of him."

The word sympathies speared into your chest. You whipped around to face him, nostrils flaring.

"You want to know what I think of you?" You snapped. The wine was still warm in your blood, loosening your nerves. "I think you are a good lord. An excellent father. A man the Seven clearly favor, since they've seen fit to give you faith enough for the both of us while I've been kneeling on cold stones for years and given nothing!"

The silence that followed was worse than before. It was as though all air had been sucked from the room, leaving only a vacant cavern that couldn't sustain any life.

Ormund's jaw twitched, though any remnants of anger faded from his eyes. "So that's what this is about," he said quietly. "Still."

"It never stopped being about that," you said, and your voice came out quieter than you intended.

He stood then, keeping his hands behind his back. "You should have told me."

His restraint only infuriated you. Unable to look at him, you stared back into your reflection in the mirror, feeling your jaw clench.

"Told you what?" You laughed, the sound hollow. "That I sit in the sept every seventh day and feel nothing? That I wondered what was wrong with me when two babes died?" You press your fingers into the flesh of your arms, willing yourself to not cry. "What would you have done, Ormund? Prayed harder on my behalf?"

"I would have sat with you." His voice was closer now, coming somewhere behind your shoulder. You hadn't heard him move. "I... something would have been done. I swear it."

You felt him before you saw him in the mirror. His hands settled on your shoulders, his palms warm.

"I didn't mean it," you said, and your voice finally broke on it. "What I said tonight. I know what you are. I've always known."

"I know you didn't." His hands moved slowly, drawing your hair back from your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache. "But you meant something. And I'd rather have the truth of it than another ten years of pretending."

The tears came then, quiet and unwelcome, and you let them. There was no pretending left in you tonight. Or another ten years, for that matter.

Ormund turned you gently to face him, his thumb brushing the wet from your cheek.

"I don't know how to do what you do," you admitted. "How to believe in something you can't see or hold."

He said nothing for a long moment, just looked at you the way he sometimes did when he thought you weren't paying attention.

"You don't have to," Ormund murmured at last. "Not tonight."

He kissed your forehead first, then the corner of your jaw, and you felt the last of the evening's tension begin to unspool as his arms came around you fully, drawing you in until there was no distance left between you.

You tilted your face up toward his, and let that be enough of an answer.

--

Requests are still open! Not just for Ormund, but for any AKOTSK or HOTD character :)

[vhagars-dementia]

Egg and Daella's great spring sickness infomercial, filmed by Maekar 🤣

[fabienlaguna]

he is coming back in ep.3

[rhaenyras-crown]

sedate me, i am no better than a dog at this point

[vhagars-dementia]

i think it would be best for ormund's character development and storytelling if we get a full frontal scene

[vhagars-dementia]

Um hi

[vhagars-dementia]

Does anyone have anything decent to say, i sure dont

[lululaemond]

|| First Knight's Command

Pairing | Ser Duncan The Tall x Fem!Reader

Summary | Who would believe that a stop at the lonesome inn will lead the new hedge knight to be persuaded and seduced onto a stranger's bed.

Warning & Suggestions | NSFW (18+), Explicit Content & Language, Oral Sex, Sexual Acts, Dirty Talk.

Dunk looks up from the two large plates and the ale mug on his table, his eyes come to meet with a lady who pays him a sultry smile. “Do you have a name, good ser?” He observes the way you lean your elbows on his table, looking up at him to get a better sight of his face, your eyes all wide and starry.

“Oh my, what do they feed hedge knights these days?”

“Dunk.”

“Just Dunk?” He nods, and you seem puzzled by his answer but once you get another proper look at him from head to toe, you seem to abandon whatever thought is holding you back, even when his face is all dusty from the travelling, and his clothes all messy especially the rope he uses as a belt. “Are you here for the Ashford tourney, Ser Dunk?”

“Aye, I mean to be a champion,” He speaks so confidently, but the lady answers his boast with a laughter. “Well…Ser Dunk the Champion, wouldn't you like a favor from a fair maiden?” He has just taken a few sips of the ale so he can't be hallucinating now, can he?

“Are you ignoring me, ser?” You harshly pout. “Oh, how I thought you a better knight, you're so much taller, broader, and…” You giggle after mouthing something to yourself, he couldn't quite catch it.

“Hey! Don't mind her, she's one of the guests,” The voice of the older woman who had cooked Dunk a lamb and a duck makes the lady in front of him frown back immediately, although it seems you take it playfully rather than offensively. He takes this chance to get a good look at you, and gods, you are gorgeous, the fairest thing he's ever laid his eyes on if he could claim such title.

“Don't listen to her.” You turn to gaze his face excitedly, grinning as you take a seat next to him. The inn is quiet despite the good hours for all the hedge knights and their squires have travelled to Ashford meadow. In this lonesome inn, there's only Dunk, you, a drunk man fast asleep on the table, a bald stableboy outside, and the old woman who left after warning him. He is unsure if you're a girl from a village or what, but he tries to follow what the old woman had said, to not mind you.

“So where are you from?”

“King's Landing. But I’d been a squire since my young age and I've been to all the seven kingdoms except for the North.” It is true, Dunk was born an orphan or a bastard, he's unsure of, but he certainly never met his mother nor his father. And during a decade long of travelling from region to region, he never crosses anyone who he could believe is his parent. Perhaps if he got a chance to see the North, there might be some tall hoary man who looks just like him.

“A man of venture then, how brave, and which place did you enjoy the most?” Dunk notices the way you are dressed in a thin shift, as if you had just woken up or about to slumber, showing a slightly revealing part which he immediately turns his head away from. He answers stiffly, “Lannisport.”

“Ooh…the Den of the Lion, I can't remember if I've ever been there but I bet the amount of mountains you climbed must've been the ones that give you these big strong arms.” Dunk is confused, are you seducing him? At Lannisport, he had shared his first kiss but he had never laid with a woman before. Is this fair maiden suggesting him to a kiss? He chooses not to answer, returning to his food before it turns cold while you continue to feast your eyes by tracing it down his body.

“Will you be travelling right after? It's no good to mount a horse after supper, ser. I once saw a man puke a full mile because of it.”

“I'd walk,” You chuckle at his answer before looking around to make sure no one is listening. “How about you take a rest from these sore muscles, aye? Let me pay my respect for all the good deeds you've done.” You whisper, eyes all wanting and voice all craving.

Dunk feels as if you are converting these desires to him through the words you tempt him in. He wanted to say yes, but no, he already paid his silvers for the food and the ale. If it's the coins that make you run to flatter him then he must shutter you away for he has none of it. “No, I ain't got no silver to pay for the night, I must take my horses and find me a shelter.”

He thought you would leave at the mention of coins but instead you just laugh, louder than the ones before, “I'm not here to sell you anything, ser, I am asking if you'd like to share a warm night with me in my room, or by the stream outside if you like it cold.” Gods, what are you saying to him? No one’s ever been this forward with him before, Dunk grips the ale mug tightly. Ser Arlan likes to remind him that his brain is thick and his mind is dull, but perhaps this will be the one time where Ser Arlan is wrong.

“Shush!” You take a hold of his hand before leading him to a corner room, Dunk feels his face all flushed and his ears all red at the thought of what you are leading him to. The excitement of trying to not waking up anyone in the inn, fearing they will chase him away and rob him of this once-in-a-lifetime pleasure for eternity, it got his cock swollen but he has to calm, to compose and let you take him as you please.

He stands almost seven feet tall in your room, it is larger than he had expected. There's a wooden bed twice his size, a closed window, and a table which he immediately takes a seat on before he lowers down to take off his boots and struggles with his rope belt, darn it. Dunk heard the sound of you closing the wooden door as the darkness fills the room.

“Now that we're in my room, you must follow my command,” Dunk nods as you pace around to light the candles, he continues to untighten his rope, relieved that it finally breaks free then he puts it on the table. “You must not make a sound and we must not be caught.” Dunk certainly can control his sound but he's not so sure about not getting caught, still he nods once more.

He notices how you didn't light all the candles, only two beside the bed and one on the table. All the lights form in the midst of the room where he can see your shadow moving on the stone floor. You did not invite him to the bed but instead, walked to his seated form, before starting to caress his rough face with your soft hand. He closes his eyes and leans into the gentleness completely before he aims his hand to hold your waist while his other one discreetly fists the tightness in his pants.

His seated figure and your standing one doesn't require much bending as you begin to lay kisses on his cheeks many times, each slow and all sensual. He wants to taste your lips but he fights to stay patient, letting you trail down to his neck, you gently suck into it, and gods, the sensation makes him pull you down to sit on his lap while your hands travel to squeeze his biceps. It's not until he lets out a moan that you stop to look at him, “Hush now, follow my command or I'll make sure you endure a fitting punishment.” You whisper, “You're a good knight, are you not?” He nods hurriedly. Confused by how every word you utter manages to affect his mind like no one has before.

Rising from his lap, it didn't take much for Dunk to understand that he must follow you to the bed. You stare deep into his eyes as you unfasten his cloak before allowing him to sit on the soft mattress. You place the cloak next to his sword, returning to open your legs wide as you seat comfortably on his clothed lap, “I'd kiss you for as much as I'd like,” he hums in response as you gently lift his tunic up, “And I'd ride you for as long as I please.” You pause at the sight of his naked form. Dunk wanted to explain that his body is rough and scarred from all the training, the fighting, and the working he endures his whole life. But when he gazes into your eyes, he realises he needs not to defend it because the way your gaze gleams of lust already says it all. You must've liked it, he thought.

“I would have wanted us to play the roles of a sweetling maiden and a braving knight, but no, I waited long enough,” You push him to lay on the mattress with all your might but once you come to kiss him, he notices how gentle it is, polite even, completely different from the way you had just pushed him. You stop to look at his face, and seemingly take offense that he is amused. “All beaming, huh?” You said, before lifting your weight from him. Dunk thought he's about to get send away until he feels you tugging his pants down.

“Oh…” You cry out, looking back and forth between his face and his cock. “Oh, my good knight. Tell me, would you like to have the prize for your good deeds?” Dunk feels your finger tracing up his thigh, teasing him while he tries to mutter out his answer, “Yes, please.” Your finger leaves his thigh as your kisses come to replace it, and then, you take his cock into your palm, stroking it so gently. Dunk dares not look down, this feels too good, he chooses to close his eyes and embraces whatever you want to bless him.

“You're all hard and swollen, ser, I must help you, right?” What a provoking little thing, Dunk thought. You moan out these sentences as if you've been rehearsing it a thousand times. All he could do is keep quiet and tighten his fists, it just started yet the pleasure already overwhelmed him. “I’ll help you with my mouth first and if you're good to me, I'll reward you with my cunt, how'd you like that?” Yes, please, just please. He wants to shout it loud but instead, he nods silently and willingly. And you giggle, as if getting back at him for smiling after the kiss.

All his thoughts end when your tongue licks his hard length hungrily. You seem hesitated at first but once you swallow in his taste, he feels as though it possesses you with the way you quickly return to lick him more eagerly, one after one, your face darken in thirst and hunger as you begin to suck him now, you do it at your own pace, shyly at first but once you see that you can indeed take him, you're all bold and gallant.

“Are you still with me, sweet Dunk?” You return to the licks and the kisses, beaming proudly at the sight of him falling apart. “Speak to me now, but quietly, wouldn't want anyone to know now, do we?” His mind burns at the thoughts you keep feeding him with, a hum is all he managed to let out. He feels you climbing atop of him, before lowering your face down and whisper, “Stay strong for me, my braving knight. Do you know how soaked you got me, huh?”

“Please, take me, take me all you'd like.” Dunk realises he is truly dull with words, but still honest at least. This lady brews his thoughts with endless visions, but instead of a sweetling maiden, you are tempting, teasing him and mocking him as you please, maybe he is not the braving knight as you had wanted but a craving knight who is more than good enough to obey at every command.

“Of course, my good knight,” You sink the head of his cock into your cunt, slowly and cautiously, and Dunk holds all his breath back before you fully take him. Gods, gods, gods. You feel so warm, he believes it could forge a thousand swords and still lit the harsh winter away for another thousand years. His thoughts run wild and hands wander to hold your hips, he chooses not to guide you but to do as he promises, letting you ride however long you'd like. And you sway, sway as you had always wanted. The pleasure seeps through every second, larger and longer everytime. “I- I want to ride you, but I also want you to ride me.”

Dunk is more than pleased to hear those words, “Whenever you please, my tempting maiden.” It seems he is trying to charm you back, he's unsure if his words affect you as much as you had affected him until he feels you tighten around his length, making him grip your hips tighter and rougher. Who knows how hard it is to just stay quiet, then, he hears the sound straight from the seven heavens, you let loose and begin to moan loudly. “Oh, what are you doing to me?”

“Hush now, my tempting maiden.” His words make you bite down your tongue. The hours are dark and quiet, these stone walls surely can't contain it well. “Please, I can't, ser, you must ride me now, take me hard and don't be shy.” Your command makes the tall knight turn obediently. Amidst the chaos of changing position, you gather one of the soft pillows with you before settling on your hands and knees, your gaze facing the bottom of the bed where the three candles’ light unite. Dunk notices the way you immediately lie your face down and arch your back eagerly, using the pillow not only to rest but also to moan into as loud as you wanted. “Quick!” You turn to look at him.

Dunk pulls you closer with ease, he notices you haven't taken off your robes or your thin shift, perhaps you were wary of intruders, he thought before gently gathering them up to your waist. He lets your cunt swallow him once more. Even at his second chance, he still can't compose, he has to bend down to distract his moan by kissing your clothed back and your warm neck while continuing to move back and forth, he feels like in this position, he is falling even deeper and faster.

He opens his eyes to look at you holding onto the pillow tightly, you squeeze and moan into the soft feathers but he notices that your eyes are wide open despite the intense pleasure. Dunk follows your gaze to the center of the room, where the candle lights gather and both of your shadows meet, although it is hard to make the shape out of it but it seems you enjoy watching it so much you refuse to blink even once. “Please, ser, spill your seed deep inside me. I give you my warmth, now bring me yours.”

Gods, where did you learn to speak like this? Dunk gives out all his strength as he takes you harder and faster. You turn to face him instead of watching the shadows, knowing both of you are so close to release. “Please, my good knight, fuck me hard, claim me before it's too late,” And so he did, his breath quickening as his pace brutally took its final rhythm, he wanted to follow all your command, to let his heart beat off your order and claim his prize like you offer.

“Gods, what are you doing to me?” He mutters helplessly. Dunk suddenly feels you fighting hard to still your arching body, he keeps chasing the movement, he must not disappointed you now. “Ah! Yes! Yes! Oh my, oh my sweet knight, oh…” He carefully drops all his weight to hold you close as he spills deep inside your cunt, living up to your command even in his very last movement. It was long minutes before he trails his eyes up to see the sultry smile blooming across your face. “Thank you,” You softly said, “For your good deeds.”

masterlist for more

notes: I've posted this long ago on ao3, it's a matter of times I finally posted this on tumblr. Cheers to the first good 2 eps!!

[vhagars-dementia]

Omggggg

[targlocket]

ormund rides like its SO HEAVYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

[crayonbug]

[oscarspascal]

Sam Spruell in Father 2009