TRUE.

TRUE.

We forgot about him far too soon…

Where are the fanfic writers?!? No characters ever needed you more!

please, i beg for some hugh the hammer smut. that's it.

I'm better as a concept, aren't I?

"we need more unlikeable female characters. more complex female characters. more toxic yuri. we love insane women" yeah right i'm still not over the fact that some of you couldn't even handle misty quigley. rip you cowards but i literally can't relate. there's not a single thing that woman has made on this show that i haven't enthusiastically clapped and cheered for!!!

i wish that was me omg

IMAGINE: having Hugh the Hammer desire you, carnally.

One-sided!Velaryon!Reader x Hugh the Hammer

MDNI!

CW: One-sided pining, mildly sexist, infidelity ideation, s-xual fantasies, dub-con sorta?? reader is described as POC!

As you walk with your Queen to the council room, eyes follow you. You feel them on you and turn your head. There, standing still as a statue in the corridor is Hugh. He stands over you by a near foot, his shoulders wide and his expression always severe. You smile at him gently, and carry on with your dear sister.

Beneath the stoic facade is a man vexed. His world has changed violently over these last few nights. What’s more odd, is this feeling within him. A desire that he has never felt before.

Hugh knows it’s wrong. His wife waits for him at Kings Landing. How dare he look upon another woman with such lust. A Lady of House Velaryon, at that. He must leave to his rooms. Shameful, it is. That he flees to relieve himself of his desires so often these days. Hugh knows he should be disgusted.

Yet… when you smile at him so sweetly, something within him stirs. You speak to him with admiration, you call his bond with Vermithor, “A sign from the Seven.” It is unreal to him that a Princess would insist on calling him “Ser.” You are virtuous. You are tender. You are beauty beyond his imagination. Silky umber skin, eyes of pale violet, your hair a brighter silver than his hammer has ever touched. He could not construct from jewel or iron something comparable to you.

Beyond your charm and looks, you are kind. Not once have you spoken ill to him. You see in him everything he had ever wanted to be. In your eyes he sees a hero reflecting back at him. And he wants that to be true. Hugh once tried to tell you that, “I am no knight, your ladyship. I cannot read, nor write. I have never seen battle. I will rise to the occasion, but I have done nothing to earn your respect.”

You took his hand, fingers covered in jewels, and replied, “Your humility is a good thing, but… Vermithor has only had one rider, and he was one of our greatest kings. If he allowed your claim over him it is because he saw you equal to his last rider. I know you will bring greatness to our cause, Hugh.”

His wife never spoke to him like this. She probably thought he was dead, one of the many fools who were roasted and devoured by The Bronze Fury. And was it so vile of he, a man of Valyrian blood to want a wife of the same descent? After all, Targaryen Kings had two wives…

It became easier and easier for him to make peace with his feelings for you.

When first your face came to him in his solitary pleasures, he told himself it was his loneliness. Over time this thought passed. Hugh would lay on his back, submit himself to the softness of his bed, and think of you. The pouting of your lips. The swell of your breasts. The touch of your hand on his.

Tonight, Hugh’s hands untied the laces of his breeches and grasped his length. Already so painfully hard. As Hugh starts to stoke his cock, the fantasy truly begins. All sense leaves him as the world melts away.

His favored fantasy is of you on his bed, wearing only your jewelry. Hugh crawls over your eager body. First, he claims your lips. Your hands trail over his back and grip his shoulders before digging into his hair. Against his mouth you sigh his name. So pretty. So womanly. So… His.

“You looked beautiful today, My Lady,” he groans. “I had to take you. You understand that, do you not?”

Hands wander down your body, caressing your curves with reverence that verged on sacrilege. “You say that every time,” you say as you kiss him again. Hugh’s teeth nip at your bottom lip, as soon as your lips part his tongue pushes in. The kiss deepens with the tilt of his head. His tongue rubs against your shyer one. Both of you moaning as his hands continue to rub and squeeze you, grasping your soft buttocks in each hand.

He breaks the kiss, panting. Gripping your ass hard, he raises you to bring your wet cunt closer to his cock. You gasp and grip his hair by the root. He hisses in pain but bucks his hips at the same time. Pain and pleasure.

The head of his manhood rubbed slowly against your warmth, “So wet. Do you think of me as I do you? Petting your sweet cunt, wishing it was my mouth?”

You give no answer, whimpering in pleasure and embarrassment. His mouth latches to your throat and his right hand slips under your knee to raise it. The fat head of his cock is prodding your opening. Teasing. He won’t enter though. It’s all to make you gasp and beg— “Not yet, my love! T-Too big… I need more of your touch.”

He laughs darkly as he drops your knee to cup both of your breasts. Kissing and sucking each one he says, “You will adjust, My Lady.”

His hips thrust and he fills you. You throw your head back in ecstasy and he gives you no room to breathe. As a fantasy, he can forget your pain or your maidenhead. In reality, he is alone in his bed— fucking his fist with a blanket between his teeth to stifle his grunting. All that matters is the vision of you taking his cock. Nails digging into his shoulders and legs wrapped tight around his waist. Both of you sweating, moaning, lost to pleasure before he fills you with his seed.

It’s only when he feels that seed cooling against his own hand that the fantasy ends. And once more, he is alone. A man of middle-age, his wife alone in Kings Landing, pleasuring himself to a woman who will never have him.

Hugh cleans himself weakly and falls asleep with guilt heavy in his gut. He would like to pretend that this will be the last time he does this, but he knows the truth. All it will take is to see you again, to hear your laugh, to smell your perfume… and he will be mad with his wants again.

It’s a ruthless cycle.

need an older man to hold me like this…