Want Me

Want Me

Ser Harwin Strong x Female Reader

Summary: You're Rhaenyra's lady in waiting, by her side at all times and thus leading you to spend many hours within Ser Harwin's company, drawing the two of you together

Warnings: Smut, mentioned violence, swearing, angst (if you squint), fluff

A/N: Hi, small warning, haven't written a full smut scene for a while so I'm a little rusty, but I hope you enjoy :)

"Want me to kill him?" You absentmindedly offer to Princess Rhaenyra. 

She chuckles from behind you, her fellow ladies attempting to hide their smirks and smiles whilst they finish up her hair. "I know how much you crave violence, but I can not allow you to kill him. Besides, how would you even do it?"

You pause in the mirror, your eyes flickering to find Rhaenyra's. "Seduction is a woman's greatest strength." You whirl around to face her, a cruel expression etching into your face at the thought. "A simple poison into his drink and during the night he'd cease breathing and the Maestor would declare a heart attack. An easy kill, if I say so myself," 

The princess raises her eyebrows, her lips pursing together. Tonight is her name day feast, celebrating another year of her youth and thus drawing in all the potential suitors wishing to offer themselves. One of the Lannister twins made a fool of himself, offending Rhaenyra and thus resulting in you plotting his death, should your princess command it. 

As her lady in waiting, you take your role very seriously. Though, you are oft referred to as her sister, the two of you becoming close at a young age and growing up together. It has solidified your relationship with her, and in turn, you know each other inside and out. 

Your sharp words and cunning nature are a breath of fresh air as opposed to the customary expectations of Rhaenyra's fellow ladies. 

You glance over yourself once more in the mirror, your attention spanning over the finer details of your gown and the excellent work of the seamstress. The dress accentuates your frame, the embroidery and accessories dating back to your House and heritage. 

You look like a woman, a woman grown and of power. 

"Are you ready?" Rhaenyra pulls you from yourself, twirling around to give you a full look at her. 

"Indeed, and must I say my Princess, you look divine." You tell her honestly. 

She smiles, the two of you making your way to the great hall. Heads turn at the sight of you both, the heir to seven kingdoms and her fierce lady, who would protect her more so than a knight. 

Your stomach begins to twist as you near the hall, your teeth grinding together to keep the nerves at bay. You feel a reassuring squeeze on your hand, your dear friend sensing your change in behaviour. 

"If he doesn't fall at your feet and beg for your hand, I'll feed him to Syrax myself," she whispers. 

You bite your tongue, though a small smile creeps out. In the past moons, you've become acquainted with a knight, the two of you sharing passions and dreams. Nothing more of talk has happened thus far, but you can't help but think that maybe he will ask for your hand in marriage, as the two of you spend most days side by side. 

He makes your heart beat rapidly, with the small gestures and whispered words when no one is close. Not to mention, the way he looks at you, like no one else exists but you. 

Yet, you can't help but think that you're in way over your head, too consumed to see the reality. 

You have no time to ponder Rhaenyra's words, as the two of you arrive at the hall, the chatter dying down instantly. Swallowing, you hold your head high, following Rhaenyra down the stairs and toward the high table where you veer off to your own. 

His eyes were on you the moment you appeared, refusing to leave even as you sit down. You look absolutely breathtaking. 

Of course, you avoid his gaze, even from across the room, as you begin to fill your plate. Your skin ignites under his heated stare, your desire overweighting your sense of propriety. Glancing up, you meet him, his deep blue eyes burning into your darkest depths and tearing down every wall you've ever built. 

Ser Harwin Strong, renowned for his strength throughout the seven kingdoms and his proud house. 

Your cheeks heat up under the intensity, neither of you daring to break contact. You admire how he's dressed, his fine threaded clothes making him look regal, his unruly curls neatly pulled back into a bun. Gods.

The grumble of your stomach brings you to your senses, your head bowing down to begin consuming your food. You feel him continue for a heartbeat longer, before he diverts his attention elsewhere. 

As the night begins to progress, you drag Rhaenyra to dance, moving with the music and enjoying yourself. You change partners throughout, making yourself known and extending yourself to the other lords and ladies currently attending for the princess's name day. 

For once, Harwin doesn't grace your thoughts, until he becomes your next partner. 

Your eyes widen for a moment, your breath catching. "Ser-" you start, not expecting to see him. 

"My lady, you look exquisite." His rasps, his body feathering your own. 

His heat wraps around you like wild vines, pulling and tugging you closer, enticing you to become lost. You hit your chin out, refusing to fall prey. 

"And you, good Ser," 

Harwin smiles, a hum of satisfaction rumbling within his chest. His hand brushes your own, a part of him needing to touch you, his resolve almost snapping from the softness of your flesh. His fingers itch to press firmly, to warn off any man or lord that dare think they have a chance with you. 

"Are you enjoying yourself, this evening?" He asks, his lips close to your ear as to make sure you hear him over the loud music. 

You turn your head, his breath fanning your cheek. Heat pools within your stomach, want gnawing at you and demanding to be free. "I'll enjoy myself once I've had my dessert," you dare. 

His eyes narrow, assessing the situation. Little minx. Before he can conjure his own smart remark, a fellow knight of the city watch approaches, pulling him away from you. You watch him go without a word, a sense of humiliation washing over you as you continue to dance alone, searching for Rhaenyra. 

You find her with her uncle, enjoying themselves. 

Biting your lip, you move off the dance floor, standing on the sideline. You feel deflated, watching your friends enjoy themselves and even sneak out of the hall with their suitors, and your heart's deepest love couldn't even excuse himself. He just left you. 

You see him, surrounded by his companions, and more so with an older woman hanging off him. Now you feel stupid, your usual confidence and ego a ghost. The woman wraps an arm around his waist, much like a partner, and him not moving. 

Of fucking course, I'm just the plaything to keep him entertained whilst his lover is elsewhere. 

Grinding your jaw in anger, you inhale deeply and begin to make your way through the crowd, ignoring Harwin and his group as you have to pass them to ascend the stairs out of the hall. Your hasty exit catches many people's attention, especially the one you were hoping wouldn't notice. 

You don't realise he follows you, until you almost reach your quarters. His boots hit the ground harshly, as he tries to catch you, going as far as calling out your name. You pause in front of your doors, whirling around to face him once he draws near. 

Fire dances within your eyes, making Harwin pause momentarily. "Ser Harwin?" You snap. 

"I wanted to make sure you're well, you left in such a hurry," 

"I'm fine," you start, your thumb running over your fingers anxiously. "The hall became too much, so I'm retiring for the evening." 

Harwin tilts his head. He calls bullshit. He knows you, he grew up alongside you and knows that you are one of the last to leave the party, oft enjoying yourself too much to notice the sunrise and thus requiring an escort, usually him. 

He reads your body language, depicting your sudden mood change has something to do with him. He chuckles lightly, amusement etching across his features at your frustrated glare. "You're jealous." 

"Jealous?!" You repeat in disbelief, your raised voice echoing the corridor. "Me? Of what?" You ask him incredulously. You naturally begin to step closer, "of that woman? Why would I be jealous of some wench when I am the Princesses lady in waiting, I can have almost any suitor I want, I have sway within these walls and no one quite realises the extent I'll go to if I'm pushed, not to mention," you stop just shy of him, your chest heaving. "One word to my Princess, and I can have whatever I want." 

Harwin peers down at you, a small smirk gracing his lips at your outburst. "I never said what you were jealous of," he says lowly, almost inaudible if not for your closeness. "I'll be sure to tell my sister you think she's a wench." 

Your world crashes and burns. Sister? That was his fucking sister?! Your heart ceases beating, your breath catches in your throat and your skin clams up. Realisation and dread wash over you, embarrassment etching into your cheeks. You become a wounded animal, and respond much as they do, 

"Fuck you." You don't know what compels you or who takes over your body, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out and sending them straight at Harwin. 

He blinks. 

Quickly you spin on your heel and make haste to your door, pulling the handle to only have it slammed shut, and a large body pressing against you. Your throat constricts, feeling Harwin's entire front against your back as his hand looms over your head, keeping the door closed. 

One small movement, and he could bury his nose into your hair. "Say that again," his chest rumbles, his mouth angling down to press on your ear. To make sure you hear him loud and clear. 

You're frozen, your body shutting down. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. "Go on, don't go shy on me now, my lady," he presses, pushing you. 

Licking your lips, you hesitantly shift on the spot, leaning your back against the door and tilting your head to hold Harwin's gaze. He pins you down, the entirety of his body caging you in, almost like a shield protecting you from peering eyes. 

"Fuck you," you whisper. 

Reflexively, his other hand snaps to your jaw, his fingers digging into the skin. Your lips part, your muscles relax and your body becoming a rag doll. He could very easily suffocate you like he was bunching up a piece of parchment, he wouldn't even feel your bones snap. Yet, in this very moment, your thighs press together, your garment becoming soaked with each passing second. 

You know he won't hurt you. His hold on you is firm and delicate, the pads of his fingers gently holding you in place. He tilts his head, assessing you like he would an opponent, his dark eyes roaming your face and his brows twitching in thought. 

You test the waters, standing straighter and in turn bumping your nose into his cheek. Harwin exhales shakily, his grip tightening if only a smidge, in comparison to his self-restraint. You nudge your nose against his, his hooded eyes following your every move. 

Your breath tangles with his own, desire and hunger transpiring. Harwin's jaw clenches, his palm against the door closing into a fist. You want him, he wants you. Swallowing thickly, your lashes feather your cheeks and you take the plunge, pressing your lips against his own with uncertainty. 

For a moment, you float, your body becoming weightless and your mind lost. His lips are softer than you imagined, despite his harsh reputation, soft and plump on your own. Harwin responds, before suddenly pulling you away by his grip still on your jaw. 

A bucket of cold water drenches you, his sudden cold demeanour creating a crack in your heart. Not so much that he pulled you away, more how forcible it was, after he began to lose himself under the taste of you. That hurts. 

Your eyes flash. You move to release yourself from his grip, but he tightens it, his head turning slightly as though to check for any movement within the corridor. With precision, he pulls you flush to his body and opens the door in one movement, shoving you inside to your quarters and locking the door behind him. 

"You naïve girl," he starts, running a hand over his beard. 

You scoff, creating distance between the two of you by standing at the window sill. "And they say romance is dead." 

Harwin narrows at you. "You have no idea what you've just done, what if someone had seen?" His voice raises, his hand gesturing to the doors. 

Confusion swirls within you at his sudden change of behaviour, at his switch from intimacy to frustration in an upsetting kind of way. "I don't see the problem," you cross your arms, raising a brow. "I want you, and I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks." 

"Well, you should!" You're taken aback by his sudden outburst, a sliver of fear creeping up your spine. "I am not good for you," he says your name with such emotion. "I have enemies at every turn, I can't be at your side protecting you every day and not to mention what would happen to your reputation-" 

"My reputation?" You cut him off, your voice low in disbelief of what you're hearing. "You think I give a fuck about my reputation! About your enemies? Gods Harwin," you begin to pace, your hands running over your head and falling against your neck. "How fucking dense are you?" 

He attempts to ignore the hiccup in his heart rate at the way his name rolls off your tongue. "I'm more than capable of protecting myself," you start after calming down a notch. You cross the room, standing before the brute and taking his large hands in your own. "Is it that hard to believe that I want you? That I don't care about everything else, about your history and reputation, about the fucking court gossip and your enemies? All I care about is you, your health and well-being, and that I know you'd never hurt me, physically and emotionally. I know you'd die protecting me, and you'd make me feel so loved, despite that shield you put in front of yourself every day." 

Harwin brings your hands to his lips, brushing them over your delicate fingers whilst he closes his eyes, relishing in the moment. His coarse beard caresses your skin, planting the idea of how it would feel between your thighs. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you drop your hands down, beating him to it. "You want me Harwin?" your voice pulls to him, lulling him in. "I am right here, otherwise there's the door," you gesture. 

Your chest clenches at the thought of him turning his back. You wonder how he could kiss you back, then cough up some bullshit about him being bad for you. It confuses and wounds you. 

His lips part, the cogs turning in his head as he makes his decision. He surges forward, gently taking your head in his hands and angling you upward to capture your lips in a searing kiss. 

He walks you back until you hit the pillar, careful not to slam you into it. His lips move against yours hungrily, his tongue begging for entrance and his breath meddling with your own. Your fingers curl onto the front of his jacket, squeezing out any air left between you, your fronts pressing tightly. 

Your lungs burn, your actions becoming erratic as you move up to his hair, tangling his curls and removing the band keeping it back. You pull at the roots, emitting a deep groan from Harwin, his own hands gliding down your body to find refuge on your waist. 

You pour all your emotions into the kiss; the hunger, lusting, anger and need. He dominates you, his mouth slowly moving down your jaw, his teeth nipping along your bone and travelling to your neck, unknowingly finding your sweet spot. 

You bite your lip at the sound you release, a small sense of embarrassment flooding your body. Harwin immediately comes up, holding you still with his hard stare. "Don't you dare quieten on me." 

"Like your girls loud, Ser Harwin?" 

He chooses to ignore your comment. You smirk, your usual demeanour washing into the shore, a calculating look flashing in your eye. Before he can do anything you shove him back, pushing him down onto the lounge. 

Surprise is evident on his face, his eyes watching you curiously. You crouch between his spread legs, your palms sliding over his thighs in a soothing manner, slowly making your way to his waistband. 

You quite like this image; his unruly dark curls free and framing his face, his intense eyes swallowing you whole and his knees bent outward. He looks casual, yet so fucking handsome you have to restrain yourself from fucking him there. 

"Don't look at me like that," you scold, tugging on his pants. 

"Like what," he grumbles, lifting his hips. 

His pants pool at his feet, his hardened cock free from restraints. "Like I don't know what I'm doing." He eyes you suspiciously, waiting for you to shut down his thoughts. "I've been fucked before, if that's what you're wondering." 

He hums in dissatisfaction. 

"I'll decide if you've been fucked, my lady." You raise a brow at the title. 

He opens his mouth to say something more, but only a loud groan escapes, your lips wrapping around his cock. His hips reflexively jut, his hand moving to your head in response to your movements, your tongue flattening along the underside. 

Harwin shudders, his chest rising in deep pants under your ministrations and his fingers flexing in an attempt to hold himself back from face fucking you. You work him steadily, glancing up at him through your lashes and feeling a sense of pride roll down your spine at his dishevelled state, his head lolling over the back of the lounge. 

"Fuck," he curses, tilting down to hold your gaze. 

You move a hand to work the rest of his cock that you can't fit in his mouth, momentarily pausing when he grabs your wrist, and quickly heaves you off him. "You do that, and this night ends very quickly." 

"I find it hard to believe that Breakbones finishes in under twenty seconds," you muse, slipping out his grip easily and situating yourself on his lap.

He groans quietly, both in frustration and need. "Believe me, my lady, that when I cum, I intend on cumming in you and filling you up." 

"Good." 

You begin undoing his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and down his arms before moving to his shirt, heaving it up and revealing his toned stomach. Your fingers splay across his chest, feeling his hard-earned muscles and scars from various fights. You pause on a particularly large wound along his abdomen, feathering the pink tissue. 

"Don't worry about it," he whispers your name, reading the emotion on your face. 

"This is an assassination attempt, Harwin." You press, flickering up to hold his stare. "Someone almost succeeded in fucking killing you." Unwanted tears spring in your eyes, raw emotion thick within your voice.

The thought of Harwin being killed, frightens the fuck out of you. 

He cups your cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping a tear. "This is what I meant," he refers to his previous statement about his enemies. You still, your features hardening. 

"Don't you dare, Harwin. Don't you fucking dare." You spit. 

He stays silent, observing you whilst your fingers continue their path along his torso, grazing each other his scars. "Seven Hells help the next man that makes an attempt on your life," you vow, your hand splaying out over his heart. 

"My little warrior," he rasps, pulling you down to him. 

Your lips collide, the taste of him invading your mouth and stealing your breath away. You whimper at the feel of his hands sliding up your arms and resting on your collarbone, toying with your dress. Blindingly he reaches for the lace tying it together, pulling it apart and loosening the top section. 

Goosebumps rise along your flesh as Harwin gently tugs the dress down your arms, exposing your breasts and stomach once it pools around your hips. You rest your forehead in the crook of his neck, gasping under the ministrations of his hands along your breasts, his thumb tweaking the bud. 

You thread through his curls, your nails scraping his scalp and your lips seeking out his neck. 

Suddenly he lifts you off him, placing you down on your feet. You raise your eyebrows in surprise and a little confusion, unsure of his next motive. "Take it off," he commands softly, the low rumble in his chest making your heart rate spike. 

The dress falls to your feet and you step out of it, mindful of taking off your shoes and being left bare before him. He slowly takes his boots off, never breaking contact even whilst he removes his pants. 

You watch him stand, tilting your head as he comes near. He doesn't speak, nor does he kiss you again. Instead, he hooks his hands under your thighs and hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and your arms coming to the back do his neck. 

He walks toward your bed, gingerly laying you down. You stare up at him with adoration, every fibre of your body knowing you're safe with this man. Despite his reputation, you could almost laugh, knowing that there is a softer, more caring side to him than anyone realises.

No one has ever touched you like you're glass, like you could shatter and slip through his fingers. He kisses you with so much passion and care, in stark contrast to his daily goings. You've witnessed him in a brawl, smashing the men to the ground without a worry and pummelling them to an inch of their life. 

Yet you know, these hands handle you with love. 

You slide up to the head of the bed, brushing the hair from Harwin's face when he comes to hover above you. He descends, missing your face entirely and planting kisses along your neck, slowly travelling south. 

Airy breaths leave you, your body responding to his attention, more so as he pauses over your breasts, taking an erect nipple into his mouth and tugging. Fire pools within your stomach, threatening to pour out. In a way it does, your head falling back into the cushions and your lips parting to release sounds of pleasure. 

Harwin continues his way down, his eyes flickering up to you through his loose curls, intently watching your reaction as he nears between your thighs, softly blowing cool air on your sensitive region. You grit your teeth, glaring down at him. 

"Hurry up." 

"As my lady commands," he chuckles. 

Your flush at the incredibly loud moan, not exactly expecting him to dive right in. Harwin drags his tongue up your slit, finding your clit and sucking. He switches between flicking your clit with his tongue and sucking, groaning lowly to himself at watching you writhe under him. 

He draws more sounds out of you, snaking a hand up to tease your opening, carefully entering a finger. "Fuck!" You arch your back, your hands reaching for his hair. 

He slowly pumps it out of you, enjoying the way you feel around him. He can only imagine how tight you'd be around his cock. The thought almost makes him fuck you right here. 

Your stomach twists, your knuckles turning white. No man has made you feel like this, even with just his mouth and finger, the two bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

He adds a second finger, wanting to properly prepare you for him, and enjoying watching you lose yourself to the pleasure he's giving you. 

He can feel you get close, teetering along the edge as he begins to increase his pace. You whimper at the ache, rutting your hips upward. "Harwin," you whine at the contact of his lips enclosing over your clit and sucking, hard. 

The fire burns brighter, scorchingly hot and desperate for a release. 

"Let go," he murmurs, gently nipping your clit. You do, your orgasm crashing down like a wave, engulfing you. 

He slowly continues to move his fingers through, allowing you to experience your high as he draws it out. He can't help but clean you up before he even thinks about moving away from the safety of your thighs. 

With ease, Harwin climbs back up, claiming your lips. You taste yourself, rummaging your hands through his hair and down his back, his muscles rippling under the pads of your fingers. 

He pulls away from you, question shining in his eyes; do you still want this?

You nod, leaning up to kiss him again, solidifying your answer. He hums, guiding his cock to press against your slit, teasing you for a moment before he nudges your opening. You gasp on his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders at every inch. 

Harwin falls into the crook of your neck, groaning at the sensation. He stops moving once you've taken all you can, pausing to make sure you're comfortable. You clench around him in reflex, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest, his beard grazing your neck. 

"Harwin," you pant. "If you don't move in the next five seconds," 

He chuckles at your warning, slowly pulling back. You bite your lip, closing your eyes at the high pleasure rocking throughout your body. Harwin lifts his head, his forehead brushing your own. He intends to watch you complete shatter underneath him. 

He slams home, somewhat slow but hard, rutting into you like wild waves against a rock, your back arching and pressing your chest to his. You can't help but rake your nails down Harwin's back, ignorant to the fact that you're close to drawing blood, desperate for a way to show how easily he's unravelled you. 

"Gods Harwin," you cry out at each thrust, harder and deeper than before. 

He grins, his lips on your ear, "I know quiet isn't exactly in your nature, but maybe don't alert everyone in the Red Keep of our rendezvous." 

"Oh fuck off."

Harwin reaches for the headboard, his knuckles turning white from his harsh grip, using it as leverage to pound harder. You chant his name, subconsciously clenching and unclenching around him, causing him to falter each time. 

That burning ache brews within you, gradually growing with each slide into you. His free hand comes down to your clit, playing with the bud and drawing you closer to the edge. Overwhelming sensations spark up your body, your legs starting to shake from the pleasure. 

"Harwin," you whine. 

"I know," he grits, picking up his pace. He hits parts of you that you never knew existed, fireworks erupting each time he enters you deeper, if that were possible. "Good girl, you're taking me so well, hmm?"

Your head is tilted up by his hand leaving the headboard to cup the side of your face, forcing your eyes on him. You struggle to keep your eyes open, a drowsy, drunken look coming across you. 

Without warning, you let go, bursting around him. "Gods, fuck!" Harwin calls your name, following you over. He couldn't last any longer, not after feeling you come undone from him. 

You gape in a silent moan, relishing in the feeling of him fill you up, his hips slowing but not yet relenting. You shiver from the sensitivity, thankful for when he stops. You struggle to hold contact, fatigue seeping in. 

You sigh at the feeling of him remove himself, your muscles relaxing and your spine calming. You don't see where Harwin moves off to, until he comes back and murmurs for you to spread your legs, gently wiping his seed from your thighs. 

For a moment, you wonder what happens now. Does he just leave? Does he stay? What happens between the two of you? Thoughts rummage, ruining your come down. 

"Hey," he brushes your forehead. "Come here." He pulls the sheets back, indicating for you to crawl underneath. All those thoughts are momentarily thrown out the window when he slides in beside you, pulling you to him. 

You lay in silence, your head on his chest and your hand playing with his loose curls. "What happens now?" You can't help but ask. 

"Now?" He hums, his chest vibrating. "You become my lady wife, and I fuck you whenever I please." 

You laugh, rolling further into him. "You better, now that I've given you my maidenhood." 

He pulls away slightly, making you look at him. "What? You told me that this wasn't your first-" he stops, reading the glint in your eye and the expression on your face. "You cheeky girl, almost gave me a heart failure." 

You grin cheekily, not quite saying anything whilst you comb his hair. You've found yourself with an obsession. "Leave your hair like this," you say lowly, loving the way it frames his face. 

"But it gets in my way," he grumbles, swatting your hand away. 

"And I like it like this," you counter, going for his curls again, but this time running your nails along his scalp, smirking at his groan. "And I think you secretly like it too." He gives you the side eye, taking your other hand and bringing it to his lips.

TW: Somnophilia. Soft SMUT. Creampie

The stitches between the realm of dreams and reality haven’t snapped just yet, your consciousness is jumping from each side of the chasm as feather-like pecks pepper on your shoulders. A lithe finger tugs down the thin strap of your white sleeping gown as the caresses besiege more territory. “Levi…too early.” You’re right, the sun still dozes under its cozy covers, but Levi’s eagerness doesn’t stick to schedules.

Twirling a disheveled lock of hair around a finger, he brings his mouth to your ear and purrs, “it’s ok, sweetheart. You don’t have to do…, ah!” He winces at the blissful sensation spreading under his belly as he rolls his hips against your sleeping figure; you can feel his half-limp cock growing bigger and harder.

“I’ll do the job.” He finishes his sentence. You hum groggily, nuzzling your face in the fluffy pillow. A little smile quirks at the corners of his lips. He lifts the bottom of your nightie, and his fingers anchor at the hem of your cotton underwear, shimming them down your legs and tosses them away. Rimy air slaps your butt cheeks, and you pout but Levi warms you up with kisses, pampering the stretch marks he adores. He pinches here, and slaps there, tenderly so as not to cause any discomfort.

He takes his boxers off, giving a respite to his restrained erection. who knows what he was dreaming about to wake up like this at four am. He grunts and rubs himself on your ass.

You’re so beautiful when you’re asleep. So peaceful, little snores flee between your parted lips.

He lubes you up as well as his hardness and pushes you on your tummy, spreading your legs to access from behind.

You can feel his weight and warmth over you, his heartbeats drumming on your back. He pushes in, and both mewl in unison. You love it when he takes you like this, with your tummy flat on the bed, you can feel the tip of his cock reaching your depths, and when he moves, he strokes the right place, giving full attention to your g spot.

His hips rock back and forth at a languid rhythm, taking every inch of your tight channel, letting the heat swaddle him. You feel so good clamp around him, always taking him so well.

“Levi…” you breath his name like honey. “Love you.”

“I-ah!” He throws his head back, “love you too.” He leans and kisses your head. “Can I… can I come inside?”

“As you please.”

Shit.

His cock twitches at the thought of filling you with his seed. Him leaving his mark inside you. He increases the pace just enough, beads of sweat making his forehead glow. His harsh breaths tangle in your hair, and you know you won’t make it before him. He’ll find a way to make it up to you later.

Waves of come crash in your cervix; a low growl follows, and he pushes deep into you, pressing his pricking balls between your thighs.

But he doesn’t pull out when he’s done. He stays there, with a huge smile plastered on his face, shifting your entwined bodies a bit to the side, and little by little, Morpheus casts his magic on him too.

(18+) More Than Our Servitude - Part II

NSFW | (TV!) Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader | Requested | Oneshot turned Multi-Part

Trigger warning: Canon-typical violence, sexism, the implied threat of sexual assault, the reader becomes a victim of physical assault. The reader is wounded: cuts. Contains explicit scenes of sexual nature.

Summary: Your journey with the Hound continues. It doesn't matter how fast Stranger takes the both of you. The Hound cannot outride his past. Emotions reach a peak after a dangerous encounter, and you do not escape unscathed.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the canon material, but nothing that changes the plot line of the show or established canon from either source material. Spending time with the Hound should make you able to get to know him better, right? ☺️

It looked wrong. After days of riding past deserted farms, standing like blackened skeletons with their fields scorched, the small village in the middle of the forest felt like a dream.

"Trust me."

Clegane shifted in the saddle. "Not happening."

"You are the famed Hound. People would recognize you. Me? I could be anyone, just a wanderer."

"Think it normal for lone women to travel the countryside?" he countered.

"More so with the Riverlands burning," you answered and looked up at the face locked in a scowl. "I can do this. We need to eat."

Clegane nodded towards the village. "None in there would dare bother you if I'm with. We'll be far gone when someone finds out there's gold on our heads."

"Your head," you corrected. "Isn't it better if we don't leave any trail, be a needle in a haystack?"

The hand at the small of your back made your heart race. How of all things was this what finally-

"Wait!" 

A push, gentle yet firm. 

Sliding down, Stranger whinnied out as your feet hit the ground. 

"Get then," Clegane spat. "Grown tired of your bickering. Would serve me right to take off while you're gone and be rid of you."

You had already begun to unfasten the empty satchel, shaking out the crumbs left by the rations, and fished out the leather pouch with his coin from the saddlebag.

"Then you would be hungry, penniless, and alone," you replied. "If you wish I could remain silent from now on."

Clegane's mouth twitched, pressing to a thin line, and for a brief moment, something else flickered in those angry eyes of his. With a last smile and a curtsy, you turned on your heel and began the walk down the hill, counting his silver.

There were necessities: salt, hard biscuits, and hopefully cured meat. Perhaps the tavern even had a cheap warm meal, it wouldn't serve well as a ration, but tonight it would do both of you good. Looking out over the village, fruit trees dotted its surroundings. Plums, apples, and pears. In one of the fields grew bundles of green turnips. Those usually were cheap. Roasted with some herbs, salt, and butter, even the Hound wouldn't be kept frowning. Wine, you couldn't forget the wine.

The soft thuds of hooves against dirt made you peer back. Clegane didn't offer you as much as a glance, his dark eyes fixed on the tavern. Keeping to silence, you only squinted up at the man.

"Don't trust it," Clegane pushed through gritted teeth.

Freshly baked bread, mulled wine, and hot cider. All pleasant scents one could expect from a tavern, even unpleasant ones of vomit and urine wouldn't have made you frown as Clegane pushed the door open. It wasn't wholly unfamiliar. Thick and musky, the scent of bodies in heat was soon joined by its sounds. 

The stalls that ran along the walls of the tavern had been fitted with drapes. Moany breaths and pleads left those closed, while women laid on the seats of the ones still open, watching you both, their dresses nothing more than loosly draped cloth tied with string at their waists.

A plump older woman stood by the bar, her breasts barely fitting in the bodice and when her eyes landed on you the smile on her lips grew a bit warmer.

"Looking for a night's stay?" she asked.

"Food," Clegane only said and signed for you to step forward. 

"I-I thought this was a tavern," you stammered.

"Oh it was, love, but it is what it is," she replied, shrugging. "Better to entertain soldiers this way than for them to think of a way themselves, no? Their games can be rather harsh. So what shall you and your husband have? Got some pie, no meat I'm afraid, but it'll get you filled up."

You glanced up at Clegane but he gave no tell of approval. 

"He's not my husband." 

"A contender?" the woman giggled.

"None of your concern," Clegane rasped and the smile on the inkeeper's face grew tense.

"He's helping me travel to Highgarden, I have family there." And hopefully that lie would send any persuers in the wrong direction.

"Where you travelling from?" she asked.

"Riverrun," you said, continuing the lie. 

"The lions taken it?"

"I don't know, didn't stay there long enough to find out," you replied and looked to your feet.

Had it already been taken? It wasn't like washerwomen were invited to the war table and you didn't have a great many places to pick from. You knew every street of King's Landing and which areas of Flea Bottom were the safest to walk. Outside that, was a world you'd only heard in passing. Seats belonging to one lord or the other. 

"You a King's man?" the innkeeper asked but Clegane kept silent, still stewing in his anger but her smile didn't waver. "Those that serve the good of the realm have our girls for free."

With a whistle, one of the women left the open stalls, the dress undone, bundling at her waist and the bare skin oiled. You fixed your eyes on the satchel filled with food as she jumped up on the counter to sit.

He wasn't your husband. Made no promises, sworn no vow. You knew he had visited brothels in King's Landing, Clegane never boasted of it, but you knew it just as you knew that almost every man did. One thing to know it and another to see it.

"I'll go and water the horse," you mumbled, emptying the coinpurse and darting out with your rations.

What would even the protest be? Don't? Because you're there? Because you wanted him to come to you instead? When he became Kingsguard, you had hoped. He would have been far from the first that went to a washerwoman for comfort, but the man never came and you never saw the women he went to instead. It left room. Room for your fantasies to make the world something it wasn't, make you the woman in one of the winesinks he tapped on the shoulder.

Stranger stood tethered by a wooden post, but this time the black stallion didn't whinny out as you came close.

"Would serve me right to take off and be rid of him while he's gone," you said and rolled your eyes.

Even if that had been a plan, Stranger was a warhorse and you had heard the talk of stablehands. They weren't trained to be pleasant and amicable like a palfrey. The only ones that could safely ride them were their masters, not even all squires could take to their knight's horse.

"She was very lovely," you said and fastened the satchel. "Bet she can make him in a good mood."

As the tears started to well, you hit your head against the side of the saddle making Stranger stomp down.

"Could you let me pity myself for a moment please?" you whispered.

The door to the tavern struck open and you didn't even need to turn to know it was the Hound. He was quick at least. For the first time your heart didn't race as his hands caught your waist and hoisted you up in the saddle.

"Never been in a whorehouse before?" he asked, you only shook your head in response. "Not too grown for a silent treatment?"

"You were tired of my bickering."

Clegane swung up behind you, snorting. "True. Left to me to make a new plan then."

You twisted in the saddle, "We had a plan?"

"Thought going east would be good, doubt they've heard about any Clegane there. Gold to be had in being a sellsword," he replied and grimaced. "Slavers. The eastern shore is full with them, ain't taking you there."

"How is that any different from bands of broken men?"

"It's different," Clegane said but as the village started to grow distant behind you he continued, "A broken man fights to stay alive. Killing, theft, some turn rapers. A bandit with better arms."

"How is that different from slavers?"

"Smarter. Already forgotten the Greyjoy Rebellion?" he asked.

Waiting for Stranger to bob down his head, you kicked over your leg, so your side was to him. It was rare for him to be this talkative. If the woman in the tavern had gotten his warmth, you'd at least savor the rest.

"You fought in it?"

It earned you another snort. "Gregor fought in it, I guarded. Kept to the shores of the Westerlands dealing with raiders," he said and his eyes looked to the road ahead, beyond it and his voice grew distant. "Sure, they'd kill a few men, torch some houses but they'd scurry off the moment one came riding. For every man killed, twice the number of women and children were taken."

"The Ironborn took slaves?"

"Aye, but they didn't keep all of them. Some they gave to their Drowned God." Clegane returned to you, the dark eyes meeting yours. "Tyroshi wouldn't sacrifice you to the waves."

"If any of them win, the Lannisters, the Baratheons or the Stark? Would any pardon you?" you asked.

"Fat chance of that. The King in the North might send me to the Wall if he's anything like his Lord Father. At least that one would take my head himself."

"No slaver is taking me and no King in the North is taking your head," you spat and Clegane cocked his brow. "What?"

"First time I hear you growling," he said. 

The camp for the night was made by a small brook, birch trees rising high around the meadow. The sky had gone purple. It was a luxury to be able to roll out your bedroll before dusk was claimed by night. Watching as the water in the kettle came to a boil, you pulled it off the fire. The rabbit, skinned and gutted, sizzled on its spit, and the turnips had been buried into the earth by the edge of the campfire, baking away.

"I'm not making poison," you swore as the Hound's eyes fell on you, steeping birch leaves into the water, "it's good for you."

"A cunning woman now too?" he asked.

"It's just what I've been told, I've drunken it myself so I know it won't kill us. If you don't want to try it then there's just more wine for you to drink."

The Hound returned to sharpening his sword, running the whetstone along the blade, and when satisfied he took to his dagger.

"It's good you caught the rabbit," you said after a while.

"Leave it be."

His voice didn't sound any different, no more angry or tired than before, yet that distant gaze returned. There wasn't even any anger in his face, the scowl was there, but it was a fixture. Hollow.

"We'll figure out a plan," you tried. "I'd rather stay here in Westeros, it's not like I'd be comfertable in a land were there's slaves, regardless if I'm one of them or not."

Rising, you stepped into his view but his eyes didn't catch you. "Clegane?"

The wind made the tops of birchtrees sway, the leaves rustling and wood snapping.

Snapping?

Your gaze left the Hound, peering out amongst the trees. He had been correct, being so scrutinous of the pick of campsite. There were no shrubs, no trees thick enough for them to hide.

One after the other they appeared, eight in all. Their faces gaunt and hunger had made their clothes hang loose to their bodies. 

"Clegane," you breathed but the man did not rise, he didn't as much as peer back.

Their eyes, while everything else seemed to have wilted away, what rested within the eyes of those men made every fiber within your being scream out, plead for you to run.

You were nothing more than a lamb that had wandered into a den of lions. Hadn't Clegane heard you? But he always heard you? Why couldn't he hear you?! You opened your mouth to speak, mouthing his name, yet no sound came. Steel gleamed in their hands.

"Sandor?"

A flicker of relief, he must have heard you but when your eyes darted down the Hound sat unmoving. Was this a nightmare? The dark eyes were so distant, like he was stuck somewhere far away.

They'd kill you.

They'd kill him.

You saw everything else in those eyes of theirs too, how slow your death would be. You were more than a threat. A treat. A plaything— until they'd grow bored of you.

"Dog!" the scream rang through the forest.

You stepped back as Clegane shot to his feet, breath catching in your throat as he spun around. The sword was already drawn, and the Hound's helm that had rested beside him quickly came over his head.

"Stranger. Now."

"Leaving?" one of them spun, the blond hair matted into thick clumps. "You be clad in plenty of steel."

"And that told you this was a good idea?" the Hound snorted.

"More of us than you," another spat, an ax ready in his hand.

"Who you serving?" the first man asked. "Lions?"

"Not anymore," Clegane replied, backing up until his hand caught your arm, squeezing. "Stranger. Untie him."

"A broken brother!" the first man laughed and held out his arms, but the sword was no less sharp in his grip. "Do not fret, we ain't here to judge kin! You look strong enough, why not join us? We see to our share of fun and keep each other's backs far better than some lordling twat. That's a good sword."

Silent you turned around, the stallion stood by one of the birch trees already pulling at the reigns that bound it but as you took a step towards it, a third man darted into the path. A gapped grin flashing on his face, the cheeks scarred by pox.

"You cooked that, love?" he asked, nodding to the rabbit beginning to charr by the fire, but you couldn't will yourself to answer. "Cooks and keeps her mouth shut, her cunt tight too?"

"We share in our little brotherhood. Fairness and all that," the first man said.

"I don't," the Hound replied.

"Manners," the man sighed and nodded back, the youngest among them stood with his bow knocked and drawn. "The boy's rather good with that one, been feathering birds all his life. Not so different from feathering men, ain't it so, Tip?"

"Aye," the boy Tip replied.

"I like your helm," the first man continued.

"Do I look like a fucking merchant?" the Hound growled.

"Looks like a dead man to me," another called out.

A stillness laid itself over the meadow. You didn't see what started it, but in a blink of an eye, everything happened all at once. A clang. From your right, a shadow dove in, and the man that had stood before you with his gapped grin disappeared behind the Hound. A spray of crimson shot through the air as Clegane thwarted his sword. A howl. You spun only for the shadow of the Hound to leap from your back again. The next death you saw fully, Clegane cut off the first man's hand, and the sword hit the ground with a thud, the fingers still curled around its hilt. The wail was cut short as the dagger buried into the man's eye. You watched as steel met steel until it hit the softness of flesh, sending up blades of crimson. The Hound was fighting four at once, or rather, he took great care not to. Never staying long enough in one place, his sword veining through the air, but it wasn't a desperate flailing. An arrow buried itself into his shoulder, but Clegane didn't even seem to notice. Cursing, the boy knocked his bow once more. Four became three, three became two, two became-

Four.

You began to twist, to search for the fifth, but a warmth hit your back. You opened your mouth to scream, but fingers clawed at the back of your head. The blade pressing against your throat.

"Shut your mouth," a stranger's voice hissed.

The boy no longer stood with his bow, aiming at the Hound. Taking flight amongst the birch trees. Clegane ripped the ax from the hand of one of the dead and you looked on with the last survivor of the brotherhood as it veined through the air. The boy's shriek made the dagger press even harder at your throat.

"Enough!" the roar made your ears ring.

The Hound's chest heaved, blood clinging to his brigandine. You had seen anger in his eyes before, but never like this, a wildness, a bloodthirst that could make anyone shrink

"Should have run," the Hound rasped.

"Like him? Drop your sword," the stranger said, the boy still wailing, crying for the aid of gods and his mother. "You deaf? Want the bitch to live then drop that fucking sword!"

It slipped out of his hand, and without the stranger having to make any demand the dagger followed.

"So you're not deaf. Now get on that horse of yours. If you ride hard and long enough, I might just leave her here alive."

He wouldn't. Perhaps he'd not take his time with you like his brethren, but there was no mercy in that voice, in the blade that pressed against your throat. So this was it, how you died. Dog. The last word you ever spoke to him, what you had heard echoing through the Red Keep as the King had yelled for his Hound to come. A title, only spoken in contempt or ridicule, was your final word. Not. like. this.

The pain burned bright in your hands. You couldn't see your murderer's face, just his arms, free from steel and wool. He wrung around you, cursing and roaring. The taste of metal filled your mouth. The next had no pain, just a warmth seeping down your throat. The Hound lunged, bodies clashing, and you flew to the side. One hand catching grass and the other, the still twitching leg of a dead man. Away. You just needed to get away.

The fingers trembled, red and slick. Your hands, your blood. Deep gashes ran along your palms. It couldn't have taken that long, you didn't stare at the bloody hands for an eternity before your fingertips brushed over your neck. Whimpering as the pain shot out and without thought, you pressed against your throat.

"Clegane?" your voice weak, frail, but behind you could hear grunts, a heavy thud that grew wetter and wetter, and the cracking of bone.

The world had begun to spin and the boy's cries, you could hear them again, "Mother, help me! Please, help me! MOTHER!"

Why? You would have given them food if they were hungry. It wasn't fair.

Tipping onto your side, Clegane straddled the man, his fingers had dug into the man's face and each time he brought the head up you could see the back, its shape long gone.

"Clegane?"

Another thud, another wet crack.

"MOTHER! MOTHER!"

"Sandor?" it left you nothing more than a pipe.

There they were, those dark eyes of his, a fury like no other gone in an instant, and the next, Clegane's hands were on you. Pressing at your throat.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you whispered, tears blurring your view. "I didn't mean to."

Cursing under his breath, Clegane ripped up the scarf underneath his bevor and pushed it into the hand pressing at your throat. How much time, how many words would the gods give you to make this right?

"He's dead. It's done."

"I would never have called you that. Never. But you were... it was like you couldn't hear me, I'd never... I'm sorry, please forgive me."

His brow furrowed before his free arm slipped in by your legs and the ground left beneath you. Carrying you to Stranger's saddle.

"The food," you said.

It was a ruin, the rabbit had fallen into the fire, and the kettle kicked over.

"Fuck the food," he snapped and steadied you on Stranger's back, taking your hand to where he pressed. "Keep that there. Press it down. Hard."

You offered no protest as Clegane turned around. The sword and dagger returned to his hands. The Hound ran between the trees, and the boy's cries finally stopped before he appeared again.

Worry writ across his face. It looked too close to sorrow.

"I'm sorry I called you that. I never thought of you like...," you said as he swung up in the saddle. "I'm sorry, Clegane."

"You're not going to die, so save your pardons for some other day," he replied but if that was a promise or a command, you couldn't tell.

A lone candle lit up the small chamber, the heavy scent of incense tickling your nose and the bed soft beneath you.

"Let's see if you can't lift that for me, love," the innkeeper hummed and tapped on your hand, still pressing the bloodsoaked scarf against your throat.

Reluctantly you obeyed.

"Aren't you lucky, any deeper and you'd be a goner," she said, "if you've not bled out yet, you'll not do it now."

Her hands cradled yours, sucking at her teeth. "These will give you more trouble, but better that."

Behind the woman, the Hound sat on a chest by the door, his gaze burning her back.

"The only issue will be if it festers, but I'll see if we can't make that less likely."

"No burning," the Hound's voice tensed.

"I treat my girls with honey," she replied, pulling out a jar from one of the pockets of her apron.

You bit your lip as she began to dab it along the wound of your neck before turning her attention to your hands. The innkeeper humming as she worked.

"Seeing as you said this was work of some broken men, you two can have the room for free for tonight," the woman peered back at Clegane, her hand closing at your wrist as if he was to pull her away, "and I know who you are. We're not busy tonight, no one here to bother you, but lions like to prowl here. I won't lie when they come, so the two of you best leave early. Have I made myself understood?"

Clegane only offered a nod. Rising, she brushed her hands off the apron and gave you another warm smile before handing you the jar of honey. "You should reapply it but keep some linen over the wounds, not so much that it cannot breathe but enough so you're not pestered by flies."

"Thank you," you said.

"I hope you safely reach your family in Highgarden," the woman replied and slipped out.

"It is kind of them to let us stay for free," you said as Clegane locked the door.

He stayed by it, his hand gripping the handle. It fumed out of him, filling up the room.

"You're angry," you noted, an ache forming in your chest. "I should never have called you that."

Clegane snorted, and the bed creaked as he sat by its end, peering back over his shoulder.

"Think that's what troubles me?" His gaze stayed on you, wandering down to the hands laying at your sides. "Good work I've done, keeping you safe."

"I'm alive."

"Barely," Clegane replied and looked ahead, starting to unbuckle his pauldrons. 

The brigandine slid off his body and the mail followed until he only sat in his undertunic. There was no red stain where the arrow had hit, the layers of steel had kept it from his body.

"Eight, you faced eight men alone and lived. How many can attest to such a thing?" you tried.

"There's no glory in killing rats. They had no armor and barely enough strength to swing their blades," he said and rose, pulling the cloak over his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

"Where are you going?"

"Seeing if killing broken men gets me wine," he muttered and the door slammed shut behind him.

You shuffled to the side of the bed, wincing as you pulled yourself up to sit, pain throbbing in your neck. The blood still clinging to your dress had begun to brown, and your fingertips traced the stains that ran down your breast.

Waiting, you came to know the small bedchamber well. The pattern of the bubbles that speckled the glass of the lone window, the scratches that ran along the wooden floor where furniture had been dragged and rearranged over the years. You wanted to be excited. The sole bed would only mean one thing, but what did it matter to lay beside him if he did not want you? If it wasn't your comfort he sought? The hurt of such a truth would have been easier another night, but the broken men's eyes hadn't gone. It didn't matter that they lay cold, gazing blankly at the night sky. Fear can't be waved away like some fly. It burrowed deep. If he could touch you, claim you. If you could be the one to allow it, for it not to be taken. The candle by the windowsill had all but burnt away when the door creaked open.

Clegane's voice was thick and drink had left it even more grating than usual, "Told you to sleep."

"I couldn't."

"Hard thing when sitting up," he replied dryly.

The floorboards creaked under his heavy footstep and you looked up, meeting his gaze, drunk and sullen.

"You did good," you said. "We're alive, surely that is what matters."

You smiled. Offered what the man had told you was the reason he had come for you at the Battle of Blackwater but Clegane winced as if you had just put a dagger in his gut.

"You heard the woman, she knows me. Won't be a place in the Seven Kingdoms where I'll go and not have some bugger that heard of me. This?" his hand shot out, but as it closed in on your face it slowed and the finger that traced down along the curve of your neck made your body tingle. "If I failed you a first time, I'll fail you a second time. I'm no fool."

"You did not fail me."

"Did that plenty today, done it for days now," he said and laughed as you frowned. "Not blind, woman. I see your face, how miserable you are."

"It isn't— I'm not miserable."

A small part perhaps, but it was loneliness, bitterness to not be wanted. But you didn't want his touch from desperate pleads or nagging, what sort of love was that?

"There it is," Clegane breathed. He lowered, looming above you. "Don't think I see it in your eyes, woman? Your lies might not be as rotten as the rest of them, but it's lies all the same. What woman wants a man that can't even protect her?"

"You're being cruel," you whispered.

"The fuck I am," Clegane hissed. "I've been plenty patient. Others take me, you think this a cruelty? You're that dumb? It's a kindness."

"You call me dumb and say it kindness?" you replied, a shrillness growing in your voice. "I think I have made it clear what I feel for you, if you do not want me then that is something I must come to terms with, but it is cruel to mock me for it."

As Clegane leaned forward, the pain in your neck made you tip back. Was this another one of his quips? As his hands found themselves on either side of your face, linens twisting as they balled into fists.

"Wanted to keep you safe. Unharmed. You'd never feel pain again. Look where that got me. Wanted you to never weep, and is this not your tears?" His thumb brushed by your cheek, wiping the tear away. "I can kill whoever tries to hurt you, but when you regret me and these are mine and not by some broken men? Can't offer you any comfort then."

"And you call me dim," you whispered. "These tears rest by your feet, Sandor Clegane." The tip of your fingers brushed over his stubbled cheeks, and the corners of your lips tugged. "Only you its comfort."

It was another cruelty, how quickly the man's eyes could change, for them to look down on you so intently. Leaving the rest of you to catch up, heart pounding in your chest, breath hitching.

"You could kiss me... if you like," the last words barely left your lips a sound.

Closing your eyes as Clegane lowered.

The lips you had only dreamed of didn't meet yours, his nose grazed your chin, and as his warm breath hit the nape of your neck, a sigh escaped your lips, "Please?"

Pain kept you bound, from hooking your arms around his neck and pulling up. He was near. The warmth traveled down and the tip of his nose brushed by your collarbone.

"You're being cruel."

A whole other than his first. It had hurt but this was torture, his mouth was so close to the laces of your underdress. If he just caught the string with his mouth and tugged, the dress could be gone. He could see all of you, touch all of you.

You squirmed as he moved up, whimpering.

"Not cruel," the rasp was a low hum in your ear. "Savoring something new."

"Please..."

"Never had a woman plead like this," he continued, and his face nuzzled in by the side of yours, gently as not to strain the wound by your neck.

It didn't matter. Your hips bucked up, but you couldn't reach him, his left hand sliding down and pinning you to the bed.

"Keep still."

Clegane pushed up, the scowl returning to his face as he inspected your throat. It wasn't until he looked at your hands that he sat up. Red splotched the wrappings of your left hand.

"It's nothing, I swear I'm fine," you said but the hands were already sliding in underneath you.

"You need rest."

Leave it to him to even make this a haggle.

"We could be gentle," you tried as he placed you back on the bed, no longer laying on its short end.

"Had too much wine for that and my patience is strained thin as it is," he grunted and walked to where his armor rested.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

Why? It was perfect, he was perfect. His back turned to you, Clegane slid on the mail shirt, and the brigandine returned to his shoulders.

"Where are you going?"

"You need rest," he repeated, "I stay, that won't happen."

Turning to put on his cloak, you saw it, the fabric of his breeches straining. He... he was... you had done that? Clegane came closer, walking around the edge of the bed. Had he changed his mind? But you couldn't look away as he lowered, his breath tickling your neck.

Rasping into your ear, "Hear me now, woman?"

"What?"

The snort made you wince, rearing back your head.

"Pardons, never had my cock make a woman lose her hearing," Clegane said, his voice even thicker than before.

"Did you say somethi-" But the question turned to a whimper as Clegane's teeth caught your ear.

The bite made the tingling inside grow to a throb.

Your hands shot up, trying to latch onto his shoulders but he caught you by the wrists. "Such pretty sounds you make."

Clegane released you, staggering back, a grin spread on his lips. The last of his cups had caught up with him. The wildness, so similar to what had been in his eyes as he had killed the broken men met you.

"I'll taste those lips come morn," he swore and the grin grew wider as you failed to hide your disappointment.

"If this was done it mocking, then you are beyond cruel," you whispered.

"Drunk too much. I'll not have my first kiss forgotten."

With that, he yanked up the pauldrons and walked out, locking the door behind him. Watching from the window, you saw the Hound slink into the stables. The cuts in your hands didn't even allow you to deal with what he left behind. It wasn't until your body had calmed that you recalled his words.

First kiss.

The Hound had never kissed a woman before?

Thanks for reading!

Listen, getting into the emotional iceberg that is Sandor Clegane takes time. If you wish for more spice, I'll gladly provide it. But like culinary spice, text spiciness comes in levels🔥🔥🔥 So, if you have a pitchfork and wish to point it my way? En garde muthafucka!🤺

i can totally picture ser harwin being a softie in bed. reading your fic made my 😼 feel 🦋🦋🦋 😻

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, creampie mention.

etc: but just imagine those nights where he wants to go soft, like yeah he loves being rough with you because he knows you can take it. knows you can’t be broken and love bending at his will in any position. BUT those nights where maybe he’s had a rough day or things just feel like too much and he needs you. needs that slow soft sex to really make him feel better 😩

“Thought about this all day,” he whispers against your skin. His mouth at the shell of your ear, his heavy breaths and low grunts making your skin prick and body push up into his; molding yourself to his front so there’s no room left between the two of you.

His heavy weight against your chest should make it hard for you to breathe, to catch your breath as he bares his weight over you. As he brackets you inside of his arms, keeps you close to him. In place and against his skin, your softness a sheer contrast to the hair and scars from battle he has speckled around his chest.

“Needed this—you.”

It’s almost worse when he’s slow like this, like he is hitting every nerve, every pleasure point. Every part inside of your cunt that has your legs tightening against him, your face pressed to the crook of his neck as you try to keep quiet. Try to muffle the gasps and whimpers.

“Harwin,” you grip at his chest. Maybe it’s a plead, maybe it’s praise for how good he’s making you feel; how much you can’t get enough of him sneaking into your room late at night, needing you. Only you.

He could just as easily go to a pleasure house.

But he comes to you. Needs you to be what’s missing in his days, his life. To give him pleasure on days of misfortune.

He brings his lips onto yours, swallows down your moans as he pants his onto your tongue. Your name mixed somewhere between breaths. A relief released once he finishes inside of you and rests his head upon your chest, your fingers running through his sweaty curls. A calming silence shared between the two of you.

Since you mentioned Harwin… (smut pleek)

Princess | Harwin Strong

i had no idea what you wanted other than *harwin* so i hope you like this!! (tho the title sucks so bad but i’m too lazy to think of a better one)

warnings: smut, 18+, mentions of loss of virginity?, bits of fluff ig, fem!reader (?) x harwin but other than that there’s no specifications!

idk how to do this warning shit ngl. also my first time writing smut and you didn’t really specify so… also it’s not proof read at all so read at your own risk

summary: the morning after ser harwin breakbones carries his princess to safety and has his way with her

word count: 1.2k (ish)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Whispers of dawn kissed her cheeks, bursts of gold rallying against the dark of her closed eyes, and the Princess smiled against the softness of her pillow as she registered the warm weight slung over her bare hips.

Harwin’s calloused hand was splayed against her stomach, holding her close throughout the night and break of day. Her smile grew wider as he grumbled unintelligibly and his grip tightened. She could only spare half a thought for her dear sister - poor Rhaenyra stuck with a heartbroken Laenor on her wedding night - as she felt her new found lover stir.

“Good morning, Princess.”

His voice, deep and still cloaked in sleep, was laced with a sense of smug satisfaction she would have found insufferable on anyone else. Luckily for Ser Harwin Strong, she found him far too endearing for her own good. “Good morning, Ser.”

She could feel his lazy grin against her shoulder as he peppered gentle kisses along her smooth skin. “So proper,” he teased as his kisses reached the slope of her neck.

“I’m a Princess,” she sniffed, tilting her head.

He smirked and bit her neck lightly, “A dirty Princess, what would your father think?”

Holding in her whimper, the Princess arched a brow despite knowing he couldn’t possibly see it. “I’d rather not think of my father at all, thank you.”

Harwin hummed as he nuzzled her jawline. His heated breath made her shiver and his grin widened. Last night felt like a dream - one he’d had many, many times over the past few moons. A dream that was often accompanied by his hand in his trousers after. King Viserys would have his head on a spike if he ever found out just what the knight had done to his precious daughter, but Harwin couldn’t find it in him to care much. He had the most beautiful woman in Westeros in his arms and he wasn’t about to let any man - King or not - stop him from relishing this moment.

She turned to face him and his heart stuttered at the softness in her eyes as she smiled. No one had looked at him like that before, certainly not a Princess.

“What?”

His own smile turned just as soft. “You’re beautiful.”

She snorted lightly and he had to stop himself from looking like a complete idiot and confessing his love and adoration at the sound. “Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight.”

He couldn’t help himself; he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and grasped her chin delicately in his large hand. Gods when had he last been this gentle with anyone? She seemed so small compared to him - although most people were small to him - and his chest felt tight in the best possible way as he looked at her. “You are the most breathtaking woman I have ever seen.”

A blush crept up her neck and Harwin smiled smugly at the sight. She had been so confident the night prior, seeing her uncharacteristic shyness before him now made his cock stiffen and, judging by her deepening flush, she could feel it too. “You’re the first man I’ve lain with,” she admitted.

He didn’t tell her that he hoped he’d be the only man she’d ever lie with. Instead he opted for the safer choice, “Well one union had to be consummated, Gods know your sister’s wasn’t.”

She gasped indignantly and slapped his chest. “Ser Harwin!”

Clasping her hand to his chest, he leaned over. “Yes, Princess?” He was lying fully on top of her now and he felt his pride swell as her eyes flickered to his lips.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I figured that having fucked the King’s daughter, a few jests on his heir’s behalf couldn’t make things much worse.” He grinned as she gaped up at him and took the opportunity to finally kiss her lips again.

She moaned quietly as she parted her lips for his tongue. Harwin made her feel a thousand things at once. She couldn’t tell if she was excited or scared or shy or offended anymore, all she knew for certain was the very obvious effect he had on her body.

The Princess had resigned herself to admiring the knight from afar until he had carried her to her rooms during the commotion at Rhaenyra’s wedding. Having him in her rooms after saving her like that… how was she meant to resist him?

She was no damsel in need of saving like in one of the stories her mother had told her as a child, but being tossed over his strong shoulder after he had immediately stepped into the fray to save her set off the butterflies in her stomach.

It was wrong. Her father would lose his mind if he found out, especially after the recent rumours of her sister’s indiscretions. But she couldn’t ignore the thought that he might consent to a match between them and her groan as Harwin slipped his hand between her thighs was far louder than she had expected.

“You’re so wet for me, Princess.”

She groaned again and shut her eyes, unable to stop herself from grinding against the palm of his hand as he fucked her with his fingers. Harwin didn’t bother to disguise his own groan as he watched his fingers disappear into her over and over.

“Look at me.”

It took an embarrassing amount of effort for her eyes to open and find his. His intense stare alone almost pushed her over the edge.

“You’re going to look at me while you come undone on my fingers, Princess.”

She couldn’t hold back her whimper. “Yes,” she breathed.

Harwin grinned at her. “Good girl.” He added a third finger and watched as she struggled to keep her orgasm at bay. Gods she was stunning: legs spread wide just for him, hair wild against her pillow and her chest flushed.

“Harwin.”

“Princess?”

She could barely form a sentence. “Please.”

“Use your words.”

A brilliant shade of pink covered her cheeks. She’d never felt so submissive in her life. She was a Princess, she wasn’t meant to take orders from those beneath her, and yet here she was acting like a whore - on the verge of begging - for a mere knight. Gods she loved it. “I can feel it, please.”

“Such a good Princess,” Harwin murmured as his fingers found her clitoris. Her moans were so loud he almost feared the entirety of the Red Keep would hear but he didn’t stop and he didn’t dare tell her to be quiet. “Let go for me.”

He felt her shutter around his digits and he stared, transfixed, at the way her thighs shook and her bosom heaved. Her moans gradually turned to soft whimpers and Harwin made sure she watched as he licked his fingers clean. She tasted even better than she had last night.

It took a few minutes for his Princess to catch her shaky breath and Harwin swallowed roughly as he studied the glisten of sweat on her brow. “I suppose I ought to do the honourable thing now.”

The Princess looked at him in confusion, mind still clouded with pleasure. “Honourable thing?”

He couldn’t stop himself this time. “I’m going to love you, wed you and fuck you for the rest of your life, Princess.”

intrusion

it's not really a disturbance if you both enjoy it, is it?

warnings: minors/ageless blogs do not interact or you will be blocked, nudity (in general plus photos sent to vander), smut, fluff things, maybe dilf vander, ceo!vander, assistant!reader, boss x secretary

a/n: thank you for all the support and nice messages guys, there's more where this came from

received 3:49pm: Image Attachment

It’s late in the afternoon and Vander’s stuck in this conference room listening to Sevika go on about change and negotiating with a subdivision - namely Silco’s division - to strengthen this one. It’s unnecessary. A song he’s heard before and your name gently stirs his phone to life in his pocket.

received 3:40pm: i miss you :(

received 3:41pm: come home already?

He nearly grins. Vander can hear that honeyed tone in his ears. He can still hear you from this morning, insisting he stay with you for the day or go in late to work. He almost wishes he listened after all this drivel all morning.

“Vee.” You murmur, watching him draw his belt around his hips and fiddle with the buckle. A stinging ache on your ass makes your leg twitch from underneath these lukewarm sheets, much colder since Vander had gotten up to get ready for work.

He’s missing his shirt. Tufts of hair on his chest and your eyes rake over the corded muscle of his arms to his hands at his hips. Your eyes flit up to him and he shoots you a smile.

“Don’t look at me like that.” he muses, a brow furrowing as his lips curl upwards.

Your cheek is pressed to his pillow and he’s not sure if you know about your habit of unfurling from your ball in your sleep to roll onto his side in search of him - his heart swells whenever he notices it. How can he be sure when you beam at him like that?

“Like what?” Your voice is still thick from sleep, a little hoarse. It always is in the morning, but this one, he can hear the mischief in your voice.

Vander says nothing. He smiles as he picks up a shirt that’s hung over a chair and all you have to do to see him is turn your head, feeling the warmth of the pillow beneath your cheek as you watch him.

The right arm goes in first and you breathe out a heavy breath in your lungs when you watch his muscles stretch to bring the shirt over his shoulders. It’s crisp, but only from the dry cleaners. (He could never get those creases that slick even if he wanted to) and you laugh from it, making him peer over his shoulder to look at you.

You’re bare. Skin exposed and brilliantly radiant underneath the sun that’s dripping it’s syrupy light over the walls. It’s enough to make him stop altogether. His breath gets caught in his throat when you stretch still as you’re lying down and his eyes follow down your back to where the lows of your back disappears into the sheets that flow over you and bunch at your waist.

“Like what, Vander?”

The words are smooth this time, as if the sound of your voice doesn’t beckon him regardless.

“Come here.”

His legs feel weak. “Love-”

“I’ll behave.” you murmur as if it’s a secret between the two of you. “Please.”

Like hell you behaved. You didn’t let him leave this morning until he’d folded you over and pumped you full until you’d have his spend dripping down your legs, like he hadn’t done just that last night.

He knows what he’s in for when his phone stirs to life in his pocket. And stirs something else when he remembers this morning.

Grayson shoots him a warning look: pay attention.

Vander gives a sigh, a subtle nod on his features confirms his compliance as he opens up the attachment you sent him. His breath catches.

The picture’s taken in his study. It's a timed photo.

You’re kneeling in his leather swivel chair, dwarfed by it and the white button up he’d worn in light of the Medarda’s carouse the two of you attended last night. Only two buttons on the shirt are clasped and the rest is left open so that he gets a vague glimpse of the swell of your breasts and, between your parted legs, the dewy puddle of cream leaking onto it. One hand is holding the end of the shirt so it parts just right, so that you’re showcasing the curve of your legs and every bruise, bite, and crescent from your lovemaking. The other is pressed against the desk, a ploy to keep you from falling like the chair won’t already do that with the lock on its under side.

sent 3:55pm: don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you

Silco catches his eye and Vander says nothing, merely rubbing his palm over the hardness against his thigh as Silco seats himself and allows Benzo to take over, he’s wrapping up the meeting and has little to say on all the ‘pressing’ matters Silco brought up.

His phone vibrates softly in his hand and he’s obligated to look.

received 3:56pm: you’re not here so my options are limited.

Vander bites back a scoff. Cheeky little-

“Vander?”

He looks up and all eyes are on him. Shit. This hasn’t happened in a while.

“Nothing to add?”

Vander furrows his brows, a smart decision as he leans forward onto the table, “Nothing outside of the usual.” he says, standing and inhaling. It makes him look like a bear from how wide his body expands before he’s relaxing back to a fraction of what he was just before.

He clearly looks contemplative, like he’s got some master plan for it all and he does.

Your legs are hitched over his elbows and his pace is relentless as your ass hangs off the desk. Vander’s got his face buried in your neck, kissing open mouthed against your skin that’s sweet like it captured the honeyed rays that filtered into the room from this morning. Your fingers claw at his arms with the ache of his cock plunging against your sweet spot again and again.

“S-So, so good…” you warble as Vander takes your hips and brings them flush against him and his balls press against your ass, a promise that he’ll fill you up. You clench around him at the thought.

“Didn’t fill you up enough this morning, did I?” he jests in your ear, a rasp that makes you shudder and move with him like he’s not already using you like a cocksleeve. “My pretty little assistant’s supposed to be helping me-” A sharp slap to your already sore ass makes you shriek, fingers digging into Vander’s arms more. “But you need to be filled up every minute.”

Every thrust feels like it’s in your stomach and tough luck trying not to make any noise, because he’s forcing moans and these pitched gasps that are making him throb.

“I- ugh, m’cum- ming-” you hiccup quietly against his cheek before you throw your head back as his pace gets more brutal. “Oh fuck, cumming!”

Vander empties himself inside of you with a few slow thrusts, but they’re still punishing. Your lips are still wrapped around his cock as white pants at his reddening length. It stings to keep thrusting and he braces a hand on your lower back, the other on your hip keeps you flush against him so nothing drips out of you when he sits in the chair of his office.

He massages the cheeks, sore from his hands gripping and spanking them, courtesy of your photoshoot from earlier.

“You’re going to ride me til your legs give out. That alright, love?”

Your hands grip his shoulders and your voice rasps for an entirely different reason now that he’s buried to the hilt inside of your fluttering walls. “But Vander-”

“Till your legs give out.” he reassures as if you won’t be screaming for his everyone on his payroll to hear outside of this door. He kisses your sternum, your collar, your neck, then your lips. “This is your punishment and you’ll be taking it since my baby couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

You're sighing like you haven’t been rolling your hips this entire time.

He presses his lips to your jaw, smiling against your skin when your head tips back, “Good girl.”