asa-writes

[asa-writes]

i loveddd ur mermaid!reader x theon fic!! do you think you’d ever continue it? i’d love a part 2 where he sees her after a few months or something ^_^

Hi dear! I feel so guilty, I have posted it already on AO3 but forgot do so here!!

Swim to me; let me enfold you II

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x F!SelkieReader 4.5 k Warnings: smut, drowning, death, afterlife-ish?, P in V sex, porn w/o plot, soft smut, the selkie is definitely changing the plot

The Myraham creaked loudly as it dove through the rough seas. Theon Greyjoy and the Mallisters had left Seagard a few hours ago and he had finally finished settling into his cabin on the fat-bellied trading cog. He wanted nothing more than to step out of the dingy room and breathe the salty air once more. The thought of going to the Captain’s daughter was enticing; yet his cock did not stir and he was sure that letting his hair gather some salt would surely impress his Lord Father once they reached Pyke.

He donned his thick, dark cloak and strode out, trying his best to walk confidently through the ship’s decks without stumbling as it rolled from side to side. Pyke. His home. Though, was it? He could scarce remember it, really. He faintly remembered the way his room had been; the way his brothers Rodrik and Maron used to torment him, the way his mother had held him.

The upper deck was awash with sea spray, yet to his surprise, the waves were much smaller than he thought them to be. Hells, how should he have known their size? The last time he had been on the sea was on the trip to Bear Island with Lord Eddard Stark. Shuddering, Theon held onto the railing and looked out into the darkening sky and sighed. That was the night where he had gotten so drunk, that he thought he had fucked a selkie.

As a way to amuse himself, to cast his thoughts away from Pyke, Winterfell, the beheaded Lord Stark and his mission from Robb - nay, King Robb - he let his eyes wander over the waves, trying to see if there were any seals swimming about. Whoever that woman or girl had been - she could not have possibly been the creature his mind had dreamt up - did leave a lasting impression on him, on the way she spoke about the sea, the way she had spoken to him.

Seagulls screeched overhead, as if mocking his thoughts, while the other passengers began to make their way to the lower decks. The first man to leave nodded in Theon’s direction. “Best get some rest, lad. Won’t do to go to your Lord Father looking like death.” Then another man, older, with a beard that bristled like a broom, added, “Aye, it’s getting late. You ought to turn in.”

Theon waved them off. “I’ll stay up a while longer. I’ve seen enough of cabins.”

They shrugged and disappeared below, leaving him alone with the sailors. The darkness grew thicker, swallowing the sea and sky until they were all one shadow. He leaned against the rail, letting the spray soak him. The salt air stung his eyes and lips, and he felt alive. A true son of the Iron Islands, he thought. A true Greyjoy. Yet the name felt as strange on his tongue as a foreign word, as if he were trying to convince himself of its meaning.

The ship creaked and groaned again, a voice of its own speaking to him in the night. The lanterns bobbed and swung, casting wild, flickering shapes across the deck. He watched the sailors work, a dance of muscle and rope that he had never learned. They moved with the swell of the ship as if born to it, unlike himself, who still stumbled with each roll.

He wondered what his father would say when he saw him, this stranger from the green lands. Would he laugh? Would he be pleased? He wondered if his father would even recognize him. Would he care? The wind picked up, whipping his hair across his face. The ship pitched wildly, and the waves grew taller, like dark, angry hands clawing at the hull.

“Storm’s coming!” one of the sailors shouted, but the words were snatched away by the gale.

Theon gripped the rail with both hands, laughing at the fury of it all. He leaned out into the wind, daring it to take him. The sea roared back, a beast awakened, and he felt a kinship with it, as if it mirrored his own wild heart. He squinted into the spray, and there, just beyond the bow, a shape moved in the water.

A seal.

It bobbed in the waves, sleek and silver, its eyes shining like black pearls. A laugh burst from him, a howl of disbelief. It was just like the one he had seen on Bear Island, like the one he had imagined the girl to be. He slapped the rail, eyes watering with laughter, his body shaking with it.

“Selkie!” he shouted into the storm, finding the joke so uproarious that he had to gasp for breath.

A wave slammed against the side of the ship, exploding in a spray that soaked him to the bone. The deck tilted violently, slick and treacherous, but Theon was still laughing, so caught in the absurdity of it all that he barely noticed.

“Watch out!” a sailor yelled, but Theon didn’t hear.

The next wave hit harder, a wall of water that swept across the deck, a cold, crushing weight that knocked the breath from him and sent him sprawling. He reached for the rail, but his fingers slipped on wet wood. The ship bucked beneath him, and he felt his feet leave the deck, felt the world spin, felt the icy fingers of the ocean close around him as it pulled him under.

The rush of the sea filled his ears, a sound too loud to be heard, a silence too deep to be felt. He thrashed, arms and legs moving wildly, fighting the water that held him, the water that wanted him, that claimed him. Up was down and down was up, and for a moment he was sure he would drown.

Then the sea spat him out, and he broke the surface, gasping at the air, clinging to it, clutching it like a drowning man clutches driftwood. The night was a storm of wind and waves, and the ship was nowhere to be seen. He called out, his voice a hoarse, ragged cry, but the storm swallowed it. He was alone in the water, alone with the sea that was now his world.

A piece of flotsam bumped against him, and he seized it, his hands raw and numb from the cold. He pulled himself onto it, shivering uncontrollably, choking on salt and a desperate cry for air. Theon Greyjoy, he thought. The sea tried to take him, and it was almost a comfort. Better the sea than his father. Better the sea than shame.

The storm raged around him, and he clung to the wreckage, his only island, his only hope. The night stretched out, timeless and endless, and he was adrift in it, a speck of life in a vast, dark ocean. The flotsam tore itself away from him; he closed his eyes, letting the ocean rock him, cradle him down into his depths, lull him into a panicked sleep where he dreamed of Pyke, of the sea tower rising from the spray, of longships and saltwives and sons who would never be him.

There was only one thought on his mind as his lungs burnt, desperate for air. A snippet of a conversation where he had laid next to her, his ‘selkie’ girl. "You have pleased me well, my iron prince," she had murmured, her voice purring softly like that of a cat. "The sea will remember you fondly." If he could, he would have snorted at that. Yet there he was; laying under the soft blanket of the waves crashing over him, as his cloak and leathers draggeed him ever further down.

Theon had chuckled weakly then, catching his breath, after he had fucked her. "I don't think I'll ever forget this night," he had said. "Or you." That much was still true; out of everything he could have thought of in his last waking moments before the Drowned God took him in, he thought of the strange, darling, wet girl that had taken him into her shack by the sea on Bear Island. The selkie had smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Perhaps," she had said . "But the memories of men are often as fleeting as seafoam on the shore."

He drifted, lost in a bitter and frigid world. The sea surged over him, and he felt himself loosen, felt himself let go. It was almost easy. There, in that moment, he thought he felt the warmth of hands reaching down, pulling him up from the dark, holding him. The feeling was so soft, so impossible, that he let himself slip into it, let himself believe it, let himself fall. And then there was nothing.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to dim light and the crackle of fire. He lay on a rough wooden floor, and his clothes were gone, replaced by a blanket that smelled of salt and smoke. His body ached, his skin stung, and for a long, disoriented moment, he wondered if he had died, if this was the afterlife the Drowned God promised. He half expected to see the shadow of his father, the shadow of defiance on his face.

But the shadows that moved here were not those of gods or ghosts. They were the shadows of a small, cramped room, a room not unlike the one on Bear Island. A shack. He blinked, the world a blur of grey and gold, and tried to sit up. Pain shot through him, a reminder that he was still flesh and blood. Still alive.

He fell back, gasping, and a figure appeared above him, blurry and indistinct. A woman. She watched him with calm, dark eyes, eyes that seemed to know him, as if she had pulled him from the depths of the sea before. Theon felt a shiver run through him, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Where am I?" he croaked, his voice thin and foreign in his throat.

"Somewhere between," she said, her voice low and steady, though he could not place the accent. Although… "Somewhere the sea left you."

The words were strange, yet there was a familiarity to them that made him shiver again. She pressed a warm cloth to his brow, and the touch sent his mind spinning back to Bear Island, to the wild night and the wild girl who had claimed him. Was it her? Could it be?

He tried to ask, tried to make sense of the whirling thoughts and memories, but the room began to dim around him. He was so tired, so heavy with fatigue, and he felt himself slipping again. The warmth of the fire, the warmth of her hands, wrapped around him like a cloak, and he closed his eyes, letting it take him, letting himself fall back into the deep, dark sleep where there were no questions, only the soft, lulling promise that he was still remembered.

“I told you that the sea would remember you fondly, Theon,” a whisper woke him, purring and almost snorting, something wet touching his cheek. “Yet fondness means pain, if need be. My iron prince, I was afraid for you. You are not dead; I am relieved.”

Not dead was not alive; Theon surely felt as though he wasn’t alive. He was still naked, save for the blanket, but this time around he was lying on a soft bed. Not daring to open his eyes, he tried giving her a cheeky response, yet that all that came out of him was a terrible coughing fit.

“Theon of the Iron Islands, you cannot speak! I had to pull you into the sea, it hurt you, cease your talking!”, the voice exclaimed, and soon he tasted a warm, disgustingly kelpy liquid dripping into his mouth. Even though he felt as though he might retch anytime soon - this was no roasted venison - it did, indeed, soothe the fire in his throat.

There was a shuffling, then hands again against his skin, rougher this time, insistent. She made him drink, cupping his head with a gentleness he remembered, and guiding the foul liquor down his gullet while she whispered to the darkness. He could not understand the language, but the rhythms of it were familiar: the litany of old wives, the keening of mothers, the curses of the sea.

Theon drifted through a fever-dream of memory. He saw the winter sky spreading like a bruise above Bear Island, the crackling wood of the hearth, the green shimmer of pelts, the girl’s face pale as foam and her hair coiling wetly down her spine. She had moved through the world like she belonged to another, and he had believed, in the bottomless drink of that night, that she was some changeling, some daughter of the sea. It was a romantic fancy, the kind a boy would have, before fathers and crowns and loss made men of boys.

The room was close, the smell of moss and brine heavy in his nostrils. Her hands returned, working to dry him, to wrap him in kelp and furs and the strange touch of her mouth at his temple. At last he found the strength to open his eyes, to see the flicker of inhuman eyes blinking down at him with worry. She was other than he remembered, or else other than any woman he’d ever dared kiss. And yet… it was the selkie. Crouching nakedly over him, her long, dark hair draping over him as if they were a forest of kelp by the shore.

“It… it is.. you,” he muttered and studied her closer. “Why… afraid?”

The selkie hushed him with a kiss, before she wrapped him even tighter, even warmer. “You shall know why, my Prince, when I return you to the living, to your world. I am sorry to have caused you pain; but this pain is nothing against the one your world would have caused you if you had returned to whence you were born. You are of the sea, aye; I have felt so as you stuffed me with your seed. Yet your place is among wolves, I fear, not krakens. You shall suffer, and suffer more, should you return to the krakens. No, my prince; the sea promised to reward you, and that it did.”

“By… making me dream of you? Where am I?”, Theon whispered, his throbbing headache and the pressure in his lungs subsiding. “How is drowning me a reward? Seeing you is, yes, but…”

She laid a webbed finger over his lips. “You shall know. The sea takes nothing but what it owns, and you are only half ours.” It had a ring of accusation to it, her tone, and Theon felt as if he had insulted her; as if he had impregnated her and left her for dead. Or was it the other way around? Was it the Selkie who had fucked him, courtesy of the sea, to leave him so he could awkwardly stagger back to the Starks?

The thought stung more than the icy water had, and he spat, “So you shall have me drift and suffer?”

She laid against him, her strangely warm body so close, so real, that he knew she could feel his heart beat; feel the small pulse of hope that was alive in it, still, despite himself. “I told you, Theon Greyjoy; the sea will remember you fondly. Fondness means pain, if need be.”

He wanted to struggle, to grab her as she touched him one last time, but something held him back; something made him as weak as a babe against her, and he felt himself falling asleep, felt himself thrown back into the darkness of the waves and the cold, bitter night of his world.

The next time Theon woke, he felt as though he was born anew; it might’ve been because the selkie has slipped into his arms at a point, snuggling up to him, her little wet nose bumping against his chest. Gently shaking her, he glanced around the hut once more, yet it was dark, pitchdark outside and he could not make out where he was.

“You, uh, Lady Selkie, wake! Where am I? I feel good, I need to go, I need-”

“Oh hush, you,” the Selkie muttered and pulled herself up to him, her pitch black seal eyes looking up at him, her little, soft hand on his buttocks. “You are alive and well. You need for nothing. I shall return you soon. You are a selfish man; may I not be a selfish creature too? I can not posess you, my iron Prince, yet savour you… Do you wish to deprive me of this small pleasure of getting held by you?”

Theon huffed, a half-laugh that was almost a sob. He remembered the taste of her from Bear Island: salt and wind and a wild, briny undercurrent that made him feel, just for a moment, less alone. “No,” he said, softer than he’d meant. “You may have me for a little while, if you wish.” He stroked her hair—real hair, though damp and heavy, as if she’d just climbed from the sea. He thought about the hands that held him afloat, the warmth that had cradled him when all the world was black and devouring. The selkie made a pleased sound, somewhere between a purr and the bark of a harbor seal, and curled tighter against him.

The air in the hut was thick with their mingled breath. Their bodies, pressed together, made little islands of heat under the coarse wool blanket. He thought he felt the steady, drowsy thrum of her heart. Did selkies even have hearts, as men knew them? He let his mind drift, the border between waking and sleep soft as sunlight across a cove.

She spoke at last, her chin angled up so her lips brushed his ear. “Will you remember?” she asked. “Or will you forget me, as men always do?” There was no accusation in her voice, only the faded sorrow of someone acquainted with the endless forgetting of men.

It took him a long time to answer. “I remembered,” he said. “I remembered you. Even when I didn’t want to. Even when it hurt.”

That seemed to please her. She nipped his shoulder, gentle and possessive. “When you return, the sea will hunger for you again. But not yet. Not tonight.” She rolled atop him, her skin cool where it was not warmed by their bodies, the movement as natural and artless as the rolling of the tide. She kissed him again, and this time he tasted brine and the faintest trace of blood, the proof of lives spent biting and being bitten, living and dying in a world where the sea took what it willed.

After, he lay awake while she slept in the crook of his arm. The wind rose, rattling the ancient planks of the walls and throwing spray against the low, fog-blurred window. Theon stared at the ceiling and tried to count the cracks, but he lost track. He closed his eyes, clutching the selkie to him, savoring the small, selfish pleasure of being wanted by something, even if it was only a creature of sea-magic and old grief.

Dawn came slow, with pale lavender light seeping through the chinks in the walls. Theon’s head ached, but his body felt whole for the first time since Winterfell. For the first time since ever, maybe. The selkie was gone from his arms but busy at the small hearth, humming as she poked at a pot with a stick. She was clothed in nothing but her own wet hair, and when she noticed him watching, she grinned wide, her teeth white and sharp.

“I made broth for you, sea-prince.” Her accent was less subtle now; gazing out of the window, Theon slowly realized why. She did not lie; it really did seem like they were neither here nor there. There was nothing outside of the window; a sort of mist stopped him from seeing anything. She was as close to a seal as she could be.

“I will return you today, for your King needs you. No more sea for you, my Prince, for a long time, which saddens me. Yet, who am I to interfere in the plans of the things that guide your world?”, she said and plopped down next to him, giving him the broth, before languidly stretching out on her bed. “Your world wished not for your seed to take, for which I am saaaad,” she stretched out theatrically, purring drolly.

Theon chuckled and ate the kelpy soup, its taste not nearly as bad as it had been the first time. “You’re the only woman that’s ever wanted my child. Most are glad to be without.”

The Selkie propped herself onto an arm and flicked her long hair over her shoulder. “But my Prince… I am no woman!”, she said, half annoyed. She climbed atop him. “And yet you remember me? Will you? Or shall you forget when your wolves take you in?” Her voice was a song of sea-foam and longing. “It seems you are destined to drift,” she said, her eyes dark and knowing. “But I will find you when you’re lost. As long as you’ll promise me to go to your King, where you belong.”

Theon drew her down and tasted the salt of her and the promise of her, and her body, light and knowing, was a seal’s sleek form against him. He shut his eyes and kissed her, groaning loudy as he felt her hot, moist slit resting on his flaccid cock, which grew harder with every one of her movements. “You can order me about afterwards, girl. I - you said you needed to be filled once more?”

"You are so greedy," she purred, the laughter in her voice flecked with delight and something a little savage. "Let me taste if you truly are a wolf prince, or only the kraken’s leftover." And she took him in her hand, and in the close warmth of the hut, nothing mattered—no father, no King Robb, no succession or war or shame. Only the iron Prince and his selkie, and the sounds of the sea above and around and always, always within them.

She rode him like the waves themselves rode the shore, relentless and inventive, and when Theon came, it was as much a yielding as a victory—a surrender to the one place that had ever truly wanted him. The selkie folded around his shuddering body, the salt of her sweat and his joining in some briny alchemy. She held him as the sea had, with both strength and mercy.

Afterward, she curled again to his chest and wet his lips with her tongue, anointing him with the promise she made: "I know not what happens when krakens betray their nests, prince. I only know what happens to the men I take. You are not lost, but you will always be lost, and the sea will never stop searching for you." She looked at him then, her gaze so direct that Theon felt the ancient thing behind it, older than House Stark or Winterfell, older even than the castles on Pyke. "Do not ever come to me again as an envoy," she said. "Come as a man, of the North. Or as a monster of the Iron Islands."

He wondered which he was. “Kraken, wolf, or selkie’s child. I’ve filled you up proper now; it’s for you to say if it takes this time,” he muttered, feeling lightheaded and almost happy, while she gave him a kiss.

“I hope it does, my Prince.” The selkie pulled herself away from his warmth, away from him and the bed, her movements almost shy. “It is time,” she said. “You have a long journey ahead, and the boy King needs you before disaster strikes. Should you not return in time, I fear you shall not get to hold me, or any other, ever again.”

Theon shook his head, confused. “What disaster?” He thought he understood women, but this one was as mysterious as the sea itself. “Why is it me who needs to go to the Winter King? He should be the one sending for me, not the other way around.”

She crouched beside him once more, patient as a wave lapping at the shore. “I have told you. Fondness means pain, if need be. I can not keep you from it. The wolves… They need you. Or you need them, if there is to be a man when I come for you again.”

Theon sighed, a sound of exasperation and longing. “Why Seagard, then? Is that where you’ll leave me?”

“Yes. You must rejoin the boy King. Your place with him is strange, but I will not claim what is not yet mine.”

Theon frowned, trying to piece it together. “How far? Will I—”

“You will live on land,” she said softly. “And in your heart, in the place men do not like to speak of, you will remember. There is no forgetting the sea.” And she smiled at him, the sea writ plain across her face. She touched his cheek with her palm as cool as water, and the world dissolved into white and sky, and the noise of a hundred gulls rose up to mock him.

He awoke naked and wet in the shallows near Seagard, the slow waves licking him with a lover’s familiarity. The shore was rocky, and the sand stung him as he pulled himself upright. He looked around, dazed and dripping, but there was no sign of any ships, nothing at all but the wide grey sea and the wider grey sky and the tracks where something had dragged him to land. Seals. Strangers to land. Or a selkie.

It took him half the day to stumble along the coast, but then he saw the black sails of the Myraham. He saw the lanterns bobbing and heard the excited shouts of men he had thought would never see him again. Theon paused at the edge of their lamp-lit world, his heart sloshing in his chest with a mix of fear and certainty. She had kept her promise. He was returned.

“It’s a fucking miracle, is what it is,” the first mate said, clapping him so hard on the back that the breath nearly went out of him. “A true Greyjoy!”

“Fuck the Greyjoys and fuck Pyke,” he grumbled, tugging a pair of rough-spun hose on. “We ride to the King in the North, and we ride hard.”

[asa-writes]

refined ways

18+ MINORS DNI Margaery Tyrell x OMC ¦ Margaery Tyrell x OFC 2.9 k Warnings: smut, medical examination, nipple play, cunnilingus, anal fingering, rimming, orgasm denial, overstim, realtively lighthearted though, dom/sub dynamics

“Oh, but do not worry, my sweet Rose,” Renly said with a smile and gently squeezed her hands. “You know that this is but a formality. Your Grandmother said so herself, didn’t she? The Maester’s just going to take a look and you’ll be out of there in no time.”

Margaery tried suppressing a small huff. “I am of age, am I not? I have bloomed and we are wed. Are your subjects really in such a hurry to be assured that I am fertile?” she asked. And it is not like you wouldn't know why I am not pregnant, she thought, seeing as the only place you deposit your seed in is my arse, for it resembles Loras’. “Besides, what is there to see for a Maester? The quickest glance from the septa could suffice as well.”

Gently rubbing her arm, Renly guided her further down the hallway in Storm’s End’s southern tower. “Maester Tytos, even though he is new, can probably be trusted. Doesn’t seem the scheming type and I’ve only heard praise about him from the citadel. Septa Ronelle, who will spread the word, does not know anything about… well, what it means to be a married woman.” He grinned down at her and playfully intertwined his arm with hers. “Why, I never thought I’d see Lady Margaery Tyrell being afraid of something.”

Scrunching up her nose, Margaery rolled her eyes and sighed. “Not afraid - annoyed. But if Lady Grandmother, you and Loras of all people tell me to do it, so be it then. I just hope he won’t put dung on me or whatever it is that he thinks would help my ‘fertility’.”

Renly laughed and kissed her on the cheek, his breath warm and cloying with the sweetness of wine. “Dung is not the method of Storm’s End. We have more refined ways for that sort of thing.”

They had reached the top of the stairs now. The door to the Maester’s study was ajar. Margaery could already hear the muttering of the Septa and the Maester, interspersed with the soft rustle of parchment. Renly led her inside, his presence light and unconcerned, as if he were taking her to a feast.

The room was larger than Margaery had expected, and nearly empty. Its stone walls were bare, save for a single tapestry depicting the sigil of House Baratheon. A raised pedestal stood in the center, where a sort of reclining chair was being set up. It looked formidable, like a throne for a woman in labor. She tried her hardest to stop her eyebrow from rising.

“Ah, my lord and lady!” Maester Tytos turned towards them, his grey robes fluttering around him, his chain clinking with each step. He had a thick mustache that twitched when he talked, and his eyes were the pale blue of a winter sky. “Welcome, welcome. We were just preparing for you.”

Septa Ronelle, who was helping him, gave a small curtsey. She was so young that she seemed almost like a child, her figure slight and her face round, with the darkest eyes Margaery had ever seen. Almost like a cow, Margaery thought lightly.

“It is an honor to serve you, my lady,” she said, her voice high and earnest. Margaery noticed that the Septa’s hands were stained with ink.

Renly squeezed Margaery’s hand once more. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Don’t let them put you in chains!” he said with a wink, and was gone before she could protest.

Margaery felt strangely uneasy, despite their kind faces. She watched as the Maester and the Septa finished their work, arranging the cushions on the chair with meticulous care. The whole thing seemed ridiculous, but she knew it was important. She knew what was expected of her.

“Now, my lady,” Maester Tytos said, turning to her with a smile that was meant to be reassuring. “Shall we begin?”

Margaery hesitated. “And what exactly will you do?” she asked, trying to keep her tone steady and unconcerned.

“Only what is necessary,” the Maester replied. “You will find that we are most discreet. The Septa will take your word, and I will make a quick examination. Nothing more.”

Septa Ronelle nodded, her eyes wide and trusting. “And I will be there for you, my Lady. You shall not feel any discomfort with Maester Tytos’ examination, I am sure of it.”

Margaery forced a smile. “Very well,” she said. She let them guide her to the chair, her heart beating faster than she wanted to admit. “Let us get it over with, then.”

Much to her surprise, as she was about to climb on the contraption, Septa Ronelle quickly stopped her. “Your clothes, my lady!” At that, the Maester quickly turned around, almost as if to give her a sense of modesty.

“Indeed, my Lady,” he said calmly, “It is easier for us to work, if you are undressed. As you can imagine, we need to examine your chest, your stomach and your… nether regions. Do not worry; we shall be quick about it, even if I have to be thorough.”

Relaxing, Margaery nodded quietly and gave the Septa a small smile over her shoulder as she quickly untied her dress. “‘Tis so much easier with you, my Lady,” Septa Ronelle said as she gently pulled off Margaery’s upper dress. “The little Ladies I had been minding for Lord Cerwyn always ran and wiggled around when I tried to undress them, before I became a septa.”

Septa Ronelle finished undressing her, folding each garment neatly and placing them in a small pile on the floor. Only in her stockings now, Margaery sat back onto the contraption. She felt almost ridiculous, like a child playing at being a grown woman, but the Septa’s calm made her more at ease. She helped Margaery put her legs onto the contraption’s stirrup-like attachments.

“There, my Lady,” Septa Ronelle said with a smile, patting her knee gently. “Comfortable?”

Margaery nodded, her cheeks warming slightly. “I suppose,” she said, trying to sound more assured than she felt.

Maester Tytos turned around, his face a picture of professionalism. “Let us proceed, then,” he said, stepping closer. He moved with a sort of detached grace, as if his body were merely a tool for his intellect. “I shall begin with listening to your heart and lungs.”

He placed a cool metal tube against her bare chest, and Margaery flinched instinctively. But the Maester’s touch was gentle, almost impersonal. She let herself relax, focusing on the intricate patterns of the stone ceiling above her.

“All seems well,” Maester Tytos said, peering into her eyes next with a small glass. She could see her own reflection in it, fragmented and strange, like a puzzle of herself. “A fine specimen, if I may say so.”

Margaery resisted the urge to laugh. “I should tell my husband,” she said lightly. “He might finally believe me.”

The Maester chuckled as he moved down to examine her stomach. “He has no reason to doubt you, my Lady. You are healthy and strong. The rest is up to the gods, as you know.”

The gods, Margaery thought. Or husbands who do not prefer the company of other men. “And the examination of my… nether regions?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Maester Tytos adjusted the spectacles on his nose and gave her a placid smile. “I shall be quick, my Lady. You have my word. I need rule out some other things before that.”

Septa Ronelle squeezed Margaery’s hand reassuringly. “You are doing so well, my Lady,” she said. “I knew you would.”

Margaery let the tension slip from her shoulders. It was not so bad, she thought. A nuisance, but one she could endure. She was Margaery Tyrell, after all, and there was nothing she couldn’t endure if she put her mind to it.

As Maester Tytos walked back to a desk and scribbled something on parchment, the septa put her hands on the swell of her breasts. “May I begin?”, she asked the Maester, who nodded, and gave Margaery a sweet smile, as her cold fingers touched her nipples, pebbling them almost immediately.

Somehow… this feels nice, Margaery thought and looked at the seven-pointed-star dangling from Septa Ronelle’s neck. This wasn’t supposed to feel nice, though, so Margaery tried to look at whatever the Maester was doing. He was preparing something on a tray - the Septa rolled her nipples and pinched them, before cupping her whole chest once more - and was putting on thin, black leather gloves.

Gods, Margaery thought once more and bit her lip, what is wrong with me? This was but a medical examination, why was she feeling so sensitive? Maybe because no-one had touched her for too long. Yes, that must be it, she thought, gently clearing her throat to conceal something resembling a groan. Why else would the touch of a child-like septa of all people arouse her? Gods, I can’t let the Maester know that I’m aroused, shot through Margaery’s head, he’ll see my leaking cunt and think I’m desperate!

“How is she responding?”, asked Maester Tytos, rubbing something onto his gloved hands, before making his way back over to Margaery.

“Very well, Maester,” Septa Ronelle replied without hesitation. “She is responding as expected.” Her simple, medical tone was almost reassuring. Margaery felt a flicker of relief. Maybe she was overthinking it. “You are doing so well, my Lady,” the Septa continued. “Keep your head high and look at me.” Her dark eyes were steady, kind.

Then she felt it, an oily finger on her pearl, slipping and deliberate. She gave a startled gasp and closed her legs instinctively.

“My sincerest apologies, my Lady,” Maester Tytos said, his voice calm and unaffected. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. Septa, if you would kindly tie her legs down.”

Margaery nearly protested, but the way the Maester said it was so matter-of-fact that she found herself nodding instead. “Of course,” she said quietly, her cheeks burning with shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be, my Lady,” Septa Ronelle said and gently pushed Margaery’s head up, so that she couldn’t see Maester Tytos anymore. “But you understand that the Maester has to examine you?”

“Yes,” Margaery said and took a deep breath as she felt her lips being opened and the Maester’s glove, oily finger on her pearl once again. “I- I complete- completely understand.”

“My Lady,” the Septa said softly, “the Maester will want to see if your point of pleasure is working correctly.”

A jolt of heat ignited in her, shame and desire twining together. “My what?” she asked, her voice catching.

Margaery felt the Maester shift his attention, his finger slick on her again, this time more insistent. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Your point of pleasure,” Septa Ronelle repeated, her words clear and unwavering. “The Maester has to make sure that everything is in order,” she added and gently stroked Margaery’s cheek.

Margaery shut her eyes, too overwhelmed to respond. Her body trembled and arched against the restraints. She felt her wetness and knew that they must be seeing it, the Maester’s finger slipping over her rosebud in a way that was too precise to be accidental. She was wet, embarrassingly so. She knew the Maester must feel it. She knew the Septa must see it.

“Please open your eyes again, my Lady. I need to be able to observe you. You’re not feeling uncomfortable, are you?” The Septa asked sweetly.

She was supposed to be the one in control, the one giving them orders. I am Margaery fucking Tyrell and I get horny from a Maester’s medical exam, her mind taunted her, and I want nothing more than to kiss that doe-eyed innocent little septa. Hells, she continued, I wish it were her on this chair, and I would be the one toying with her. But then again, the Maester isn’t toying with me, he’s examining me. He’s precise and touches me without emotion.

“Are you, my Lady?” the Septa asked once more, and Margaery opened her mouth, unsure what would come out, when the Maester gave her nub a soft, rolling twist that made her almost lose herself.

“N- no! No, I am not!” she cried, stars blooming behind her closed lids.

“Marvelous,” Maester Tytos said, measured and even. “I shall complete your examination now.” His pressure intensified, and whatever he’d rubbed onto that finger was heating her up even more.

She was so close. She wanted to collapse into it, but she couldn’t. She had to maintain control, had to keep her composure. If she did, if she could manage that, they would tell the realm of her dignity and resilience.

“Ah… Please… Oh…!” she whimpered as the Maester rubbed against her nub faster still, relentless, merciless until he stopped abruptly, standing up with excrutiating slowness to scribble something down again.

“Are you sure that everything is alright? Maester Tytos said that his patients usually chatter with their septas. You… you’re sweating, my Lady,” Septa Ronelle said, concern on her face. “We can always stop, but I’m afraid the Maester won’t be able to define the status of your fertility.”

“Indeed,” Maester Tytos said, barely looking up from his parchment. “But if you wish to postpone, we will have to start again. From the beginning.”

Margaery swallowed her frustration, her humiliation, the throbbing need that pulsed through her. “No,” she said, her voice trembling, but firm. “I will continue.”

“Very well, my Lady,” the Maester said, as if she were a child who needed to be indulged. He sat back at his desk, his quill poised. “I shall require you to inform me of what you feel. Be as detailed as you can. The more you speak, the better.”

Septa Ronelle gave her a small smile, as if to say that she was proud of her, before reaching down again. Margaery gasped as the Maester’s slick finger returned, and the Septa cupped her face with both hands. “Yes, my Lady,” she said, as if to a child, “you’re doing wonderful.”

Margaery's mind splintered, the sensation consuming her. Her body surged, hips lifting. She felt decadent, lost to the touch of strangers. “Oh… oh gods!” she gasped, surrendering to the public shame of it. “It’s so good… I…” Her words tangled, and she felt the Maester’s touch again, insistent and precise.

“Good, my Lady,” came Maester Tytos’ cool, measured voice. “What else?”

The pressure built, like a storm gathering just out of reach, and Margaery’s nerves threatened to shatter. “Faster!” she cried, before she could stop herself. “I need…”

The Maester obliged, as if her plea were merely another symptom to record. The tight coil within her wound tighter still. He moved against her in a steady rhythm, never faltering, until she was nearly mad with it, until every part of her ached and strained. She felt herself reaching for it, reaching and reaching, her body taking over where her dignity failed.

But just as she was about to burst apart, the Maester stopped again.

Margaery lay panting, on the edge of ruin, a keening sound escaping her lips. Her whole body trembled, and she felt dizzy with need.

“This is truly strange,” the Septa said with curiosity, bringing forth the arrangement of strange, phallic-shaped objects in all sorts of different sizes which the Maester had prepared previously. “No one has ever reacted this way, have they, Maester? And oh! My Lady is leaking!”

Margaery felt her cheeks burning, her slickness obvious to them all. “I…” she started, shame and anger twisting her words. She couldn’t even trust herself to speak anymore.

“Indeed, a most unusual case,” Maester Tytos said, seemingly unfazed. “We might have to try again. From the beginning.”

Margaery’s head spun, her body singing with the need for release. She couldn’t bear the thought of going through it all over again, but the Maester’s cool certainty told her they would.

Septa Ronelle gave her a gentle look, her eyes wide and dark. “Do you think one of those will work, Maester?”

“Yes,” Maester Tytos said. “Proceed with a different method, Septa. I think Lady Margaery will find your examination to be more comfortable. I will leave the room.”

Margaery stared at the objects in the Septa’s hands, her breath catching in her throat. Septa. He said Septa. Her chest tightened and she watched, panting, as the Maester picked up one of the objects and put it in Septa Ronelle's small hands, before standing in front of Margaery’s weeping cunny.

“I will distribute your secretions over the tool and then slowly insert it. I will leave it in you and check upon your pleasure point once more, before also observing how your back muscle works. If I deem both to fuction properly, I will begin to move the tool and angle it in different ways. I will begin now. If you object, you shall do so now, my Lady, for Maester Tymor told me that I should stop under no circumstances until I have tried everything and hit every angle. Do you understand?”, she said with a small smile, blinking slowly.

Margaery felt a horrifying pull in her cunt. Septa Ronelle would not stop, even if she came… Posessed by her need, Margaery nodded. “Yes, septa, I… Understand.”

Septa Ronelle knelt between Margaery’s legs, and the Maester turned away. Margaery tensed as the Septa pressed the object into her, its strange new fullness tilting her towards madness. The Maester was leaving the room. The door was closing. She let out a sobbing gasp, and the Septa’s small fingers found her clitoris, ruthless and sure.

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods...” Margaery cried, her body shuddering. Her mind went white and blank, her voice choked to silence. She didn’t know how long it went on, only that she couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

It felt like an eternity, and then a sudden absence. Margaery opened her eyes, panting, her muscles trembling. Septa Ronelle had paused, her fingers resting lightly on Margaery’s thigh. “My Lady,” she said, looking up at her with a surprising tenderness. “You are quite exceptional.”

“What… what are you doing?” Margaery asked, her voice hoarse and weak.

“Helping you calm down,” the Septa replied, a peculiar smile on her lips.

Before Margaery could even process it, she felt the warm, wet touch of a tongue against her pearl. She bucked against it, shocked and unable to contain the moan that escaped her.

“Please! What… what is this?” she gasped, her chest heaving.

“Easing the tension, my Lady,” the Septa said. Her voice was almost soothing, and what she did next made Margaery’s head spin.

Crouching lower, Margaery felt her tongue move down further, until it was on her asshole, licking slowly, deliberately.

Margaery’s mind went blank, her body a traitor to her sense. She had never imagined anything like this, never thought she could feel so wanton and wild. She was supposed to be in control, supposed to be the one with the power and the poise.

But here she was, at the mercy of a young Septa, and the shame of it only made her want more.

“Please… oh… oh please!” she moaned, beyond caring, beyond reason.

“Does this feel better, my Lady?” Septa Ronelle asked, her tone innocent and curious.

“Yes… yes… gods, yes!” Margaery cried, her body arching, her breath ragged. She felt the object inside her moving again, the Septa’s hands unrelenting, and then the sweet, maddening warmth of her tongue on her clit once more.

She came and came again, shuddering and gasping, her cries echoing off the stone walls. Margaery’s world dissolved into heat and light, and she didn’t know where she was or who she was, only that she was coming apart and never wanted it to end.

The waves of pleasure rolled through her, and she was helpless against them, her voice breaking into incoherent sounds. She felt the tool slipping out of her, felt the absence of it as another kind of fullness, until all that was left was the soft, insistent touch of the Septa’s tongue.

When it finally stopped, Margaery lay breathless and undone. Her skin was slick with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead. Every part of her felt raw and alive, and she couldn’t believe what had just happened. She couldn’t believe she wanted it again.

Septa Ronelle stood, her cheeks flushed and her lips glistening. “Are you well, my Lady?” she asked, “I still need to move the object in you in different angles. Oh! It must’ve slipped out. My apologies.”

“I… I don’t know…” Margaery said, trying to catch her breath. Her voice was unsteady, and her whole body felt liquid and strange.

“We can start again,” the Septa said, her tone gentle and almost teasing. “You did say you wanted to be thorough.”

“I did,” Margaery agreed, her heart racing with shame and exhilaration. “But I didn’t think…” She trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“That you’d enjoy it so much?” Septa Ronelle said, studying her with a bemused expression. Margaery couldn’t tell if she was teasing her or simply stating a fact.

“Perhaps you should stop,” Margaery said, though the words felt false in her mouth. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to know what else this young Septa would do to her. She wanted to feel that wild abandon again.

“Only if you wish it, my Lady,” the Septa said, wiping her mouth with the back of her handher holy robes stained. Her eyes were on Margaery’s, dark and expectant.

Margaery hesitated, her mind warring with her desire. Her body ached with the need to continue, and she knew she should feel humiliated, but she only felt alive. She looked at the Septa, at the confident way she held the object in her hands, and made her decision.

“We should finish,” Margaery said, her cheeks burning with the admission. “I want it to be… complete.”

Septa Ronelle’s smile widened, and Margaery couldn’t help but stare at her as the Septa stood up, her knees slightly wobbling, as she retrieved a bigger tool with a grotesquely bulbous head. “Then I shall work to my best abilities, my Lady.”

The room seemed to close in around her as Septa Ronelle began again, and this time Margaery was determined to feel every moment, to savor the exquisite, dizzying rush of it. She watched the Septa kneel between her legs once more, her hands sure and practiced, the tool gleaming in the candlelight.

When the Septa spread her open and pushed the tool into her, Margaery groaned with relief, her body greedy for more. The sensation was overwhelming, almost too much to bear, and she arched against it, every nerve alive.

“Oh, fuck!” she moaned. She felt like a woman possessed, unashamed and glorious.

“Please, my Lady,” Septa Ronelle said, her breath hot against Margaery's skin. “Tell me all of what you feel.”

Margaery let out a ragged cry as the tool filled her, more than before, and the Septa’s fingers worked her relentlessly. “I feel… I feel…!” she gasped, her thoughts fracturing and disappearing.

“Is it good?” the Septa asked, her voice unwavering beneath the lewd sounds of Margaery’s wetness. "Am I doing this correctly?"

“Yes!” Margaery cried. “So good… so full… oh…!” The tool moved inside her, stretching and pressing in ways that made her mind spin. She could hardly breathe, hardly think, and it was all she ever wanted.

“Keep telling me, my Lady,” Septa Ronelle said, almost a command. "You've been so good."

The Septa moved the tool faster, angling it with expert precision. Margaery’s world narrowed to nothing but the unbearable pleasure of it, and the words poured from her without restraint. “I’m... I’m coming!” she screamed, her body convulsing and breaking apart. “Oh gods, I’m coming!”

“More,” the Septa said, her voice fervent and demanding. She did not slow, and Margaery felt another wave rising, impossibly, within her.

“Ahh...!” Margaery’s voice was hoarse and desperate. She had never known she could be so wanton, so undone. “Don’t stop!” she cried. “Make me… make me…” She didn’t know what she was asking for, only that she needed it more than anything she had ever wanted.

“Make you fertile, my Lady?” Septa Ronelle asked, her words fierce and almost mocking. She moved the tool with a ruthless intensity, and Margaery felt the Septa’s tongue on her again, hot and slick.

“Yes… yes…!” Margaery screamed. She was losing herself, abandoning every shred of decorum. She came again, harder than before, the climax ripping through her with violent brilliance. She felt as if she were coming for the first time, as if everything before this had been only a pale imitation. She lost track of how many times she came, of how many times she choked out the Septa’s name, her body thrashing and wet beyond shame.

Then it was over, and Margaery lay spent and open, her limbs too weak to move. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so bare, so fully exposed. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You are quite extraordinary, my Lady,” Septa Ronelle said, her voice gentle and admiring. She stood, brushing her robes smooth, her eyes warm.

Margaery swallowed, her throat dry and raw. “I never…” she started, unsure of what to say. She had never been so thoroughly pleasured, so utterly undone, and she didn’t know how to explain that to herself, let alone to anyone else.

“My Lady?” Septa Ronelle said, puzzled but amused. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” Margaery said breathlessly, her laughter a little wild. “Very well.”

“Then we did not hurt you, I hope?” She tilted her head, her innocent curiosity almost teasing.

“Not at all,” Margaery said, and this time it was true.

Maester Tytos returned with a roll of parchment, his cool detachment a strange comfort. “All finished, then?” he said, as if they had merely been rearranging furniture.

“Yes,” Margaery said, her voice more assured than she felt. “Quite finished.”

“Excellent,” said the Maester. “We will draft a report for Lord Renly. It will be most satisfactory.”

Margaery sat up, surprised at how light she felt. “And what will you tell him?” she asked, reaching for her clothes.

“That Lady Margaery Tyrell,” Maester Tytos said with a twitch of his mustache, “is in perfect working order.”

Septa Ronelle helped Margaery with her dress, her touch efficient and gentle. Margaery wondered if she would ever look at the girl without wanting to laugh again. Or kiss her. Or…

“You’re not going to tell him anything, are you?” Margaery said, almost daring the Maester to tease her.

“Only what he needs to know,” he said, and she thought she saw something like a smile touch his lips.

Margaery stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirts. “Thank you,” she said, with a graciousness that surprised even her. “For your… discretion.”

“It is our pleasure, my Lady,” the Septa said, her voice as sweet and earnest as ever.

Margaery left the room, her head high. She felt like a new woman, and she wondered what Renly would say when she told him. He would probably laugh. He would probably pout and joke that he did not want to trade places with her. Margaery found she didn’t care.

It was not so bad, she thought, as she walked quickly down the hall to find him. She would even want to do that again.

[asa-writes]

Ser Duncan the Tall ¦ NSFW Alphabet

NSFW warning, obviously. Also to add; these are my headcanons, if you disagree, please be civil about it.

AFAB!Reader. This Alphabet is for around the time when the Novella take place.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If you're in bed; he will absolutely cuddle you to sleep. If you are some place else, he will try to help you clean up as well as he can and waits together with you, until you're ready to go on again, silently kissing the top of your head and hugging/cuddling you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It's beyond obvious that Dunk loves your hair and your tits. He'll always be happy when he can touch and caress your hair while fucking you and he adores watching your tits bouncing around. He doesn't really have a personal favorite body part, but feels quite secure in his appearance. If you admire him and gently touch his muscles, he'll be putty in your hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Because of who he is, Dunk will be more than extra careful not to cum in your cunt. Most of the time he'll even pull out of you when he feels like he could be close, and fists himself above you. If you swallow after sucking him off he'll be a bit embarrassed at first, but will find it incredibly hot. He won't ever ask you to do it, though, and will never confess to loving it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He would love to be woken up by you with his cock in your mouth. Would he ever tell you? Probably not, even though that's what he jacks off to most of the time.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dunk's experience is limited to the one time where he'd been taken to a brothel by Ser Arlan. He will likely fumble around in the beginning and needs a bit of guidance. He's a relatively fast learner, though.

F = Favorite position 

Missionary, especially if he can then lift your legs and then practically fold you in half. Oh, and if youre somewhere comfortable, he loves being on top of you while you're lying down on your tummy with closed legs.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Dunk is not the goofiest, but will definitely appreciate some smiles. Oh and he'll definitely tickle you while you're adjusting around him, just to see you wiggling around, grinning and enjoying the moment before he 'lets himself go'.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's hairy and doen't mind it at all. I mean, he's a hedge knight journeying through Westeros... He won't mind it when his partner is hairy too.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It's difficult to descibe it with him. He will want it to be as intimate as possible, yet not posessive. He will kiss you and worship your body, yet he will probably be quiet, not quite knowing what to say. The closeness and ability to just savour you are his way of enjoying intimacy.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When Egg's away doing some tasks or fast asleep, he's 100% stroking his cock, thinking about you. He'll feel ashamed afterwards; but you just won't leave his mind. When he's with you, he holds off, preffering to be with you - in you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Begging!! He loves to hear you begging for more, out of breath, moaning, struggling to form a coherent sentence. Dunk generally loooves hearing you. (Gentle) Overstim - there's nothing sweeter than your twitches and mewls, when he knows that he's given you all he could. Maybe a tiny bit of a size kink? Esp. when you're really short and have small hands... If you maybe even need two to be fully able to stroke him...

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

A bed, specifically your bed, will always be nice (As long as it's big enough for him). He will also have absolutely no qualms about fucking you in the open, as long as there's no one around to catch you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Anything really. When you are being feisty, when you are tipsy... He doesn't need much to get him going, other than privacy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation and humiliation are definitely not his thing. He's also very careful with you, so impact play and choking are probably also a no no for him. He's also quite private around his sex life, so anything where people could catch you is out of the question.

O = Oral 

Dunk's rather shy about giving and would probably only start doing it if you ask him to. When he gives you head, he's very sloppy with it and will probably go on even after you came, just because he'd be too afraid not to please you properly and because he loves your moans. He looooves receiving, even though he'd never admit to it. Especially if he's sitting/standing and you're on your knees, looking up at him. He will never push you, yet holding your head / hair is a must for him and will get him over the edge in no time.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He will always start slowly, just to feel you stretching around him, taking him in, up to his balls. But after you've gotten used to (or rather, his size) he likes it quite fast, unless you're on top or sucking him off. He loves watching you bounce under him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Dunk will be down for a quickie if you are, especially if you haven't got a lot of time together. Then he will probably take you somewhere hidden and fuck you up against a wall, his hands holding you tight and his mouth silencing any moans. But if you've got the time, he will want to please you as long as he can.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Getting caught is a turnoff for him, so he will always rather want to be safe than to start anything. Experimenting - if you lead him and enjoy it, while pleasing him, why not? Just don't forget that he gets carried away quite quickly.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

At the beginning of your 'relationship' he'll probably not last too long, but it gets better the more you practice. He's very much a one and done man though, which is no problem, since he tries to get you to come as many times as you can.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't own any toys and doesn't really feel comfortable with using them. Dunk very much holds onto the belief that anything they could do, he could to just as well. Handcuffs? He can just hold you down. A gag? You'll suck on his fingers.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He will absolutely tease you, but he's quite bad at it, giving in to your puppy eyes. Oh, and by the way, remember the whole blowjob thing? He loves how you toy with him, as long as you stay gentle and sweet with it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is a quiet kind; but when he groans, you know that he's going to come, and soon. He's a heavy breather and will probably only talk after sex.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dunk will go crazy if you are a sub. He will start off thinking that he's a bit of a sub himself, but really? He is quite dominant. He's never really been allowed to decide for himself, so when he knows that he can finally do what he wants... and when you give yourself to him willingly and obey his nonverbal commands...

Plus he loves it when you call yourself 'his'.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Let's be real. He's a tall guy... with big hands... He's packing. But not uncomfortably so; it probably reaches his navel when he's hard.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

You're always on his mind, one way or another. So when he finally sees you, he feels as though he should carry you off as soon as he can. He's polite about it, though, and waits until you have the chance to be alone (at last...).

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He pulls out of you, cuddles you and boom, he'd fast asleep.

[asa-writes]

beware the woods at night

18+ MINORS DNI Robb Stark x Margaery Tyrell 4.6 k Warnings: Monsterfucking, shapeshifting / werewolf / skinchanging, p in v sex, doggystyle (heheheh), cunnilingus, as always no beta no nothing written for @fandomeventcenter 's fan frankentober <3

Margaery sighed and turned aroud once more, grumbling and sticking a leg out of the furs that covered her. Sleep seemed to elude her tonight; Renly’s death still laid heavily in her mind and the slow travel up to the Riverlands in disguise had been gruelling as well. Sleeping on the ground like some peasant had been humbling, if not humiliating.

She could not complain though, for whatever she has heard of King Robb was far better than what she had heard about Prince Joffrey… she only hoped that her Grandmother’s gamble would pay off. Staring up onto the dark wooden ceiling, she tried to find a comfortable position to lie in.

Atranta was where the King and his closest, most loyal men would collect her - well, that was the plan, at least.

Lord Norbert - an old, frail man with close to no eyesight - had merely shrugged and pointed out into the wilderness. “My sons are in Riverrun and are accompanying him, but there is still a war going on. You’re important, yes, but the gods only know what is going on around here in these times,” he muttered and held out a plate with salt and bread out for her to chew on.

Her retainers (as many as she could take with her without giving away her true identity until they reached Atranta) had immediately tried to correct him - she was THE Margaery Tyrell, who would marry their King and supply their army with thousands of men - but Margaery made them stand down. What use was it to antagonize and old man who had no love for their sort, strange ‘southerners’ from the Reach?

Grumbling, she stood up and slipped into her silk robe, trying to find a passage to a place where she could catch some fresh air. Thankfully, she thought, the Riverlands were still relatively warm compared to whatever would await her in the North once this blasted war was over.

Margaery stepped out into the cool night air, the gentle breeze caressing her face and rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. The moon cast a soft glow over the land, illuminating the rolling hills and distant forests that stretched out before her. She breathed deeply, savoring the sweet scent of wildflowers and the earthy aroma of the damp soil beneath her feet.

Despite the beauty of the night, Margaery couldn't shake the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. The uncertainty of her future weighed heavily on her mind. Would King Robb accept her as his bride? Would the North welcome her, or would they view her as an outsider, a southerner unfit to be their queen?

She thought of her grandmother, the formidable Olenna, and the calculated risk she had taken in arranging this marriage. Margaery knew that her family's fortunes rested on the success of this union. If she could win the heart of the Young Wolf and secure an alliance between the Reach and the North, it could turn the tide of the war in their favor.

But first, she had to meet her betrothed.

The journey to Atranta had been long and arduous, and now that she was so close to her destination, Margaery found herself growing increasingly anxious. What if King Robb was not the man she had heard him to be? What if he was cruel or indifferent, like so many other men in positions such as his? Picking at her nails, she sighed.

Acting, surviving - those were her great talents, though they drained her beyond belief. Marrying Renly had been a good idea, yet… it made her tired. Tired that even though she played her part magnificently, Renly barely even tried.

Margaery's heart raced as she hurried back inside the keep, her silk robe fluttering behind her in the cool night breeze. The ancient stones of the castle walls seemed to close in around her, their rough surfaces casting eerie shadows in the flickering torchlight. She quickened her pace, her slippered feet padding softly against the worn flagstones.

As she reached her chamber, Margaery hastily closed the heavy wooden door behind her, the iron latch clanging loudly in the stillness of the night. She leaned against the door, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The room was dimly lit by a single candle, its wavering flame casting a ghostly glow across the sparse furnishings.

Margaery made her way to the bed, the old frame creaking under her weight as she lay down upon the musty furs. She pulled the covers up to her chin, her eyes wide and staring into the darkness. Despite her exhaustion, sleep continued to elude her, her mind racing with thoughts of the uncertain future that lay ahead.

As the night wore on, Margaery's eyelids grew heavy, and she finally drifted off into a fitful slumber.

In her dreams, she found herself wandering through a dense, misty forest, the trees towering above her like ancient sentinels. The air was thick and heavy, filled with the musty scent of decaying leaves and damp earth.

Suddenly, the snap of a twig behind her made Margaery whirl around, her heart pounding in her chest. Through the swirling mists, a figure emerged - tall, almost as big as a horse, with fur that was as grey as stormclouds and eyes as golden as her grandmother’s clothes. As he drew closer, Margaery could make out the sharp planes of its face, the sharpness of its fangs. This dream wolf looked so familiar, and yet… she couldn’t quite place it.

"Lady Margaery," he said, his voice deep and resonant and unbelievably captivating. "You should not wander around such forests."

Margaery curtsied low, her eyes downcast. "My Lord Wolf," she murmured, unsure about how to respond. This was a dream, was it not? Talking, threatening wolves were never a regular occurence in her sleep. "I… I do not know how I came to be here."

The wolf stepped closer, his gaze intense as he studied her face, slowly but surely pushing her against a tree with its massive body. "I must admit, I had my doubts about you and still do. There have been rumours that you’ve killed your husband and have laid with half of King’s Landing. Is that true?"

Nervously looking around the dark forest, she tried to get herself to wake up and tripped over her robe, tearing it, as she tried her hardest to get away from the beast. “I- what do you want of me? Are you the same demon that killed Renly?”

The wolf's golden eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat. "I am no demon, Lady Margaery. I am the one who seeks the truth. Answer me plainly - did you have a hand in your husband's death?"

Margaery's heart raced as she pressed her back against the rough bark of the tree, the torn fabric of her robe fluttering in the chilly breeze. "No, my Lord Wolf," she said, her voice trembling. "I swear it. I loved Renly, and his death has brought me nothing but grief."

The wolf studied her intently, his hot breath ghosting over her face.

After a long moment, he seemed to relax, his massive form shifting slightly as he stepped back. "I believe you," he said, his deep voice softening. "But the rumors of your... indiscretions in King's Landing. Are they true?"

Margaery felt a flush of shame rise to her cheeks. "They are not, my Lord," she said firmly, meeting the wolf's gaze. "I have always been faithful, in both body and spirit. Those who spread such lies seek only to tarnish my reputation and undermine my family's position."

It felt like somethign was pressing the air out of her longs, yet it was not the wolf - it seemed like the mist punished her for her lie. “Alright, I might have laid with one or two people, but what could I have done when Renly was busy ramming Loras?”

The wolf nodded slowly, a glimmer of interest in his golden eyes. "And he did not attend to your needs, did he not fulfill his duties?”

Huffing, Margaery tried to straighten herself, but the wolf would not budge an inch. It even had the gall to sniff her - although, was that not what most dogs and wolves did?

“I even offered him to take my brother into our bed if that would have helped, but he declined. I swear upon my Grandmother’s soul, Lord Wolf, I tried all I could, I even offered him my other hole even though I knew it would not have been conducive to conception, but even that did not change his mind,” she muttered, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

What filth was she spewing, to a figment of her imagination, no less?

The wolf's eyes widened slightly at Margaery's frank admission, a hint of amusement playing across his lupine features. "It seems your husband was a fool, Lady Margaery, to neglect a woman of your charms and willingness to please."

Margaery felt a strange flutter in her stomach at the wolf's words, a mixture of indignation and something else, something darker and more primal. She lifted her chin defiantly. "And what would you know of pleasing a woman, my Lord Wolf? You who stalk these misty forests, far from the warmth of hearth and home?"

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped the wolf's throat. "Do not presume to know the desires of beasts, my Lady. We too have our needs, our hungers." His golden eyes seemed to glow in the gloom, fixed intently upon her face.

Margaery swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The wolf's presence was overwhelming, his powerful form radiating a heat that she could feel even through the thin silk of her torn robe. "And what hunger is it that drives you, my Lord?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The wolf leaned in closer, his muzzle mere inches from her face. "The hunger for truth, for loyalty, for a mate who will let herself be pleased by me and that will yearn to be round with my pups." His words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Was she… was she seriously dreaming of an improper encounter with a wolf?

What on earth was in Lord Vance’s dinner? Or was this just beccause her maid chattered about meeting the ‘Young Wolf’ so many times that Margaery’s mind had conjured this nonsense up? But she knew it was not fully nonsense. Somehow, the dampness of the moss and leaves under her feet felt too real to be classified as ‘nonsense’. “Pleased by you and round with pups…? You’re a wolf and I’m, what, I cannot-”

The wolf gently licked across her face, effectively shutting her up. “Of course you can.”

Margaery's breath caught in her throat as the wolf's rough tongue rasped across her cheek. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, a strange mixture of fear and fascination. She knew this was madness, that she should push the beast away and flee, but some primal part of her yearned to see where this dream would lead.

"And how would you please me, my Lord Wolf?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "With tooth and claw, like the wild creature you are?"

The wolf's eyes glinted with a hint of mischief. "Oh, I have far gentler ways, my Lady. Ways that will leave you trembling and aching for more." He pressed his muzzle against her neck, inhaling deeply. "I can smell your desire, your need. Let me satisfy it. Take off your clothes - let me see you."

Margaery's heart raced as the wolf's words washed over her. She knew she should resist, that this was nothing more than a fevered dream brought on by the stresses of her journey and the uncertainty of her future.

And yet, the promise of pleasure, of fulfillment, was too tempting to ignore.

Slowly, hesitantly, she slipped out of her robe and her shift, before tangling her fingers in the wolf's thick fur. It was softer than she expected, like silk spun from moonbeams. The wolf rumbled approvingly, pressing closer until she could feel the heat of his body seeping into her skin. "Lie down, my Lady - you are beautiful, so beautiful,” it whispered, nudging her with its wet nose.

Slowly lowering herself onto the ground, she shivered and almost yelped as she felt the beast pushing her legs apart, its tongue lolling out as if it would devour her in the next moment.

The wolf's rough tongue dragged slowly along the inside of Margaery's thigh, its hot breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. She gasped at the unfamiliar yet exhilarating sensation, her fingers tangling deeper into the beast's thick fur. The damp earth and moss pressed into her bare back as the wolf settled between her parted legs.

"My Lord Wolf," Margaery panted, barely able to form coherent words as the creature's muzzle brushed against her most intimate places. "This is madness, utter madness..."

A low rumble emanated from the wolf's chest, almost like a dark chuckle. "Madness, you say? Nay, sweet Margaery. This is nature, pure and untamed. Let yourself feel it. Embrace it."

With that, the wolf's long tongue delved into her slick folds, lapping at the nectar that flowed freely from her body. Margaery cried out, arching off the forest floor as jolts of pleasure raced through her veins. She had never known such sensations, not even in her most wanton imaginings. The wolf's ministrations were relentless, driving her higher and higher until she thought she might shatter from the sheer intensity of it all.

"Please," she whimpered, though she knew not what she was begging for. "I cannot...it is too much!"

The wolf paused, lifting its great head and licked its teeth, before nudging her to turn around onto her knees. “You don’t know what too much is, my Lady,” it growled.

Gasping, Margaery turned around and closed her eyes, slowly counting down numbers in hopes that she would wake up and forget this foolish, lusty memory. “I can’t, this is madness, this is… I am too wanton for my own good,” she mumbled, shivering as she felt the beast looming over her.

Suddenly, Margaery felt the wolf's weight pressing down upon her, its powerful form covering her like a warm, living blanket. She trembled as she felt its hardness nudging insistently between her thighs, seeking entrance to her most secret place.

"My Lord Wolf," she gasped, half in fear, half in desperate anticipation. "Be gentle, I beg you..."

The wolf nuzzled her neck, its hot breath stirring the fine hairs at her nape. "Fear not, my Lady," it rumbled. "I shall be as gentle as the spring rain, as tender as a newborn pup."

With a slow, deliberate motion, the wolf began to press forward, its thick length parting her slick folds and delving deep within her body. Margaery let out a long, low moan, her fingers scrabbling at the damp earth as she was stretched and filled beyond anything she had ever known. The sensation was overwhelming, bordering on pain, yet shot through with such exquisite pleasure that she found herself pushing back against the wolf's steady thrusts, craving more.

"Yes," she panted, all thoughts of propriety and decorum fled from her mind. "Oh, yes, my Lord..."

The wolf's pace increased, its powerful haunches flexing as it drove into her again and again. Margaery could feel a great pressure building within her, a coiling tension that threatened to snap at any moment. She ground her hips against him and slowed as she felt her buttocks grinding against… skin. Skin, not fur.

Her head flew up as the wolf, or whatever her mind had conjured up, pulled her up by her dark locks. It was then she realized, moaning wantonly, that it was not a wolf that was above (or behind? Margaery was too far gone into her own realm of pleasure to know anymore) her, but a man, a man with beautiful, broad shoulders and auburn hair.

The revelation sent a fresh wave of shock and desire coursing through Margaery's body. She twisted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had taken the wolf's place, but he held her firmly in place, his strong hands gripping her hips as he continued to thrust into her with a steady, relentless rhythm.

"Who are you?" she gasped, her voice ragged with need and confusion. "What sorcery is this?"

The man leaned forward, his muscular chest pressing against her back as he nipped at her earlobe. "No sorcery, my Lady," he murmured, his voice deep and rich, with a hint of a Northern burr. "Only the magic of the wild, the primal force that flows through all living things."

Margaery's mind reeled as she tried to process this strange turn of events. Had the wolf been a man all along, some shapeshifter or skin-changer out of the old tales? Or was this all just a fevered dream, a product of her overwrought imagination? She found she no longer cared, lost as she was in the exquisite sensations that were building to a crescendo within her.

The man's thrusts grew harder, faster, his breath coming in hot, ragged pants against her neck. Margaery pushed back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, her body singing with a pleasure she had never known.

Margaery felt the man's thrusts become more urgent, more primal, as he drove into her with a force that made her toes curl. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he pulled her back against him, impaling her deeply on his thick, hard length.

"Yes, my Lady," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Take all of me, let me fill you utterly..."

With a final, powerful surge, the man hilted himself fully inside her, his release pulsing hot and deep within her body. Margaery cried out, her inner walls clenching around him as she teetered on the brink of her own climax. But even as the man's movements slowed, he did not withdraw from her. Instead, he reached around, his calloused fingers seeking out the sensitive pearl at the apex of her thighs.

"You have pleased me greatly, sweet Margaery," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "But I would have you find your own pleasure as well."

He began to stroke her, his touch deft and sure, circling and teasing the swollen bud until Margaery was writhing beneath him, her body wound tight as a bowstring. She could feel him still hard inside her, filling her so completely that she thought she might break apart from the sheer intensity of it.

"Please," she whimpered, barely recognizing her own voice, so wanton and needy. "I need... I need..."

"I know what you need, my sweet girl," the man murmured, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder. "And I shall give it to you. Come for me now, let me feel your pleasure."

With a final, deft flick of his fingers, the man sent Margaery hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. Her body convulsed around him, her inner walls fluttering and clenching as wave after wave of pure, unadulterated bliss crashed over her. She cried out, a wordless, primal sound that echoed through the misty forest, mingling with the man's own grunts of satisfaction as he thrust into her, prolonging her climax until she thought she might faint from the sheer intensity of it.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the tremors subsided, leaving Margaery limp and panting in the man's embrace. He held her close, his strong arms encircling her as he pressed tender kisses along the column of her neck.

"You are a wonder, Lady Margaery," he said softly, his voice suffused with warmth and admiration. "So responsive, so eager to please and be pleased in turn. You will make a fine wife, a perfect companion to share my bed and my life."

Margaery's heart leapt at his words and as she tried to fully turn around she woke up with a start in her chamber in Atranta, her maid shaking her.

“M’Lady, wake! The King will arrive in less than an hour, Lord Vance has instructed me to wake you!”

Gulping, Margaery nodded and tried standing up, yet her legs buckled beneath her, almost as if she’d really just lain with a lover.

Margaery's heart raced as she hurried to compose herself, her mind still reeling from the vivid, almost tangible dream that had consumed her. The sensations had been so real, the pleasure so intense, that she could scarcely believe it had been nothing more than a figment of her slumbering imagination.

With trembling hands, she smoothed her rumpled clothing and ran her fingers through her tousled hair, trying to erase any evidence of her nocturnal fantasies. Her maid bustled about the chamber, chattering excitedly about the King's arrival and the preparations that needed to be made.

"They say he's a handsome one, the Young Wolf," the girl babbled, laying out a fresh gown for Margaery to wear. "Tall and strong, with eyes like the summer sky and hair kissed by fire. And so gallant, so brave! They say he rides into battle on a great grey direwolf, fearless and fierce..."

Margaery's breath caught in her throat at the maid's words. A great grey direwolf... just like the one that had haunted her dreams, the one that had transformed into a man and brought her to such dizzying heights of ecstasy. Could it be mere coincidence, or was there some deeper meaning to the visions that had plagued her sleep?

She had little time to ponder the question, however, as her maid was already urging her to dress and prepare herself for the King's arrival.

Margaery took a deep breath to calm her nerves as she made her way down to the great hall of Atranta. Her emerald green gown swished around her ankles and the delicate golden rose necklace rested cool against her throat. She had taken extra care with her appearance, wanting to make the best possible impression on King Robb when they finally came face to face.

The ancient stone walls seemed to pulse with energy and anticipation. Servants scurried to and fro, making last minute preparations. The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meats and fresh baked bread. Minstrels tuned their instruments in the corner, getting ready to play fanfares heralding the king's entrance.

Margaery's stomach fluttered with nerves and something else, something that made her skin flush as she recalled flashes of her incredibly vivid dream - the powerful grey wolf with golden eyes, morphing into a wild, passionate man with auburn hair who had ravished her so thoroughly in the misty forest.

It had seemed so real, his rough hands on her body, his hard length inside her, bringing her to shuddering ecstasy...

She shook her head, trying to banish the wanton images. It was folly, letting a mere nighttime fantasy affect her so. She needed to focus on reality, on charming and winning over the King in the waking world, not pining for an imaginary dream lover.

Lord Vance and the other nobles were already gathered in the hall, talking in hushed, excited tones. Margaery took her place among them, head held high, a serene smile gracing her lips. She would not let her inner turmoil show. She was a Tyrell, a rose of Highgarden, poised and confident and ready to do her duty.

A sudden fanfare of trumpets silenced the murmurs. The great oaken doors swung open. "His Grace, Robb of House Stark, First of His Name, King in the North and of the Trident!" the herald announced.

Margaery's breath caught as the king strode in, surrounded by his bannermen. He was every inch as impressive as her maid had described - tall and powerfully built, with a mane of thick auburn curls and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight into her soul. He wore simple leathers and furs rather than rich silks and velvets, a snarling direwolf embroidered across his broad chest.

As he drew nearer to the assembled nobles, those striking eyes met hers. Margaery's heart stuttered. Though his face was new to her... those eyes... she knew those eyes. Those were the eyes of the man from her dream, the eyes of the passionate man he had become, boring into her with the same primal intensity as he moved inside her, bringing her to the peaks of pleasure.

It couldn't be. It just couldn’t. Margaery curtsied and kept her head trained on the floor, not wishing to look up at him and blush.

King Robb approached the assembled nobles, his steps sure and purposeful on the stone floor. Margaery held her curtsy, not daring to look up, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, intense and penetrating, just as it had been in her dream.

He stopped before her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her bowed head. "Lady Margaery," he said, his deep, rich voice sending a shiver down her spine. "Rise, please. Let me look upon the face of my future queen."

Slowly, Margaery straightened, lifting her eyes to meet his. Up close, he was even more striking - chiseled features, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, those remarkable blue eyes that seemed to see straight into her very soul. He regarded her intently, a small, almost knowing smile playing about his lips.

He extended his hand to her, and she placed her trembling fingers in his warm, calloused palm. He bowed over her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles in a gesture that was both courtly and strangely intimate. "Welcome to the Riverlands, my lady," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

As he straightened, he leaned in close, his mouth barely an inch from her ear. "I hope I did not wear you out too much last night," he whispered, evidently trying to suppress a grin. "In the forest.”

Margaery's eyes widened in shock at Robb's whispered words. Her heart raced and her breath caught in her throat. How could he possibly know about her dream? Unless... unless it wasn't just a dream after all. Had some strange magic truly connected them in the night, allowing them to share that wild, passionate encounter in the misty forest?

She searched his face, trying to read the truth in his expression. That small, knowing smile still played about his lips, and his blue eyes danced with a mix of mischief and heat that made her knees feel weak. There was no denying the intense connection that crackled between them, the same primal energy she had felt with the wolf who became a man in her dream.

Robb straightened, still holding her hand in his. He turned to address the assembled nobles, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "My lords and ladies, I present to you Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, a true rose of the south. She will be my queen and the Lady of Winterfell, a shining light in the North."

The hall erupted in cheers and applause. Margaery smiled graciously, curtseying to acknowledge the accolades, but her mind was reeling. What happened was now undeniable and made her want to rub her thighs together once more.

She was marrying the right man, she thought with a small smile, even if he was a bit… furry sometimes.

[asa-writes]

my entry for Fan Frankentober by @fandomeventcenter <3

from left to right:

Sansa Stark, Elia Martell, Arya Stark, Myranda Royce, Olenna Tyrell, Cersei Lannister, Ygritte, Margaery Tyrell, Jeyne Poole

Val, Pretty Pia, Obara Sand, Tyene Sand, Myrcella Baratheon, Shae, Gilly, Ros, Lysa Tully, Ashara Dayne, Melisandre

Catelyn Tully, Nymeria Sand, Missandei, Daenerys Targaryen, Mya Stone, Roslin Frey, Shireen Baratheon, Asha Greyjoy, 'Fat' Walda Frey, Dacey Mormont

Disclaimer: I know I must've still forgotten so many women! I tried to fit everyone. <3

[asa-writes]

Helloo, could you do a Theon Greyjoy smut were the reader is a mermaid? Ty ♡♡

Swim to me; let me enfold you

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x Selkie!Reader 5.8 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut, oral sex, kind of orgasm denial? soft smut, theon's a bit of a misogynist but that was to be expected, sub theon thank you for the ask, I couldn't fall asleep so I had to write this, I hope you like it <3 oh and I might've gone overboard with the sea alliterations. whoops!

Leaning against an old oak, Theon shivered and took another sip of his mead, staring off into the distant darkness on Bear Island. Lord Stark had something private to discuss with Lady Maege Mormont, leaving him to his own devices. Robb, ever the good heir, had decided to go to bed early and the Mormont ladies - if one could even call them thusly - had fun with their friends.

Sighing, he slowly walked closer to the sea, watching the dark waves crashing and gurgling menacingly against the slick, black stones of the shoreline.

The sea… Something he used to see on a daily basis but now was as strange to him as the concept of being close to Mother, talking to Asha, being on Pyke.

He kicked a small stone into the dark waters and turned, cursing Lord Stark for choosing to come to this desolate place. Why couldn't they have gone to White Harbour? There, he could have his pick of whores without any worries. But here, he had to be careful not to get picked up by one of the women and dragged into their makeshift huts.

"What a pretty boy," one had said with a wide grin and strong arms, eyeing Theon up and down at the feast. "His hair looks so soft, and I'm sure he moans just as softly."

Theon shuddered at the memory, quickly draining the last of his mead to wash away the taste of disgust that lingered in his mouth. The empty horn dangled from his fingers as he cast one last glance at the churning sea, its inky blackness now seeming to mirror the void in his chest. With a resigned sigh, he turned and made his way back to the Mormont's hall, his footsteps muffled by the damp moss beneath his feet.

The hall was mercifully quiet as he slipped inside, the earlier revelry having died down to a low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of cups. Theon's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the she-bears that had made him so uncomfortable earlier. Seeing none, he quickly made his way to the large oak barrel in the corner, filling his horn with fresh, golden mead that glowed warmly in the flickering firelight.

Clutching his prize, Theon hurried back outside, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffy interior. He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to readjust to the darkness, before making his way back towards his earlier perch by the old oak tree. As he approached, however, he noticed a slender silhouette standing where he had been just moments before.

Drawing closer, Theon's breath caught in his throat. There, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon, stood a young woman. Her long, slick hair looked strangely damp and her skin had the same light colour as her strange cloak. Squinting, Theon could make out that it was a sealskin - what was this girl doing here with a skagosi coat?

“If I knew you would return I would have asked for a horn as well,” she whispered gently and turned around, giving Theon a small, shy smile. “I’ve never seen such a man as yourself here.”

With an overexaggerated bow, Theon offered her his horn. Gods, she was stunning - Theon did not know if he had ever seen a woman with such a natural beauty as her, even if she looked as if she just came out of a bout of rain, her plain dress clinging to her. “Take it, my Lady. I can always just get myself a second one.”

Studying her closer, he raised an eyebrow and leaned against the tree once more, his arm above her. He had not seen her during the feast, yet she looked far too gentle, too soft to be a servant or a fisherman’s wife, not to mention being a warrior. “So you’ve been watching me then, huh? Then how come I haven’t seen you?”

The woman's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed to gleam unnaturally in the moonlight. She accepted the horn with a graceful nod, her fingers brushing against Theon's as she took it. A shiver ran through him at the touch - her skin was cool and slightly damp, like the mist rolling in from the sea.

"Perhaps you weren't looking in the right places," she replied, her voice as soft and alluring as the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "I prefer to keep to the shadows, away from the noise and chaos of your feasts."

Theon found himself drawn in by her mysterious aura, unable to look away from her mesmerizing gaze. Her eyes were the color of the sea at twilight, deep and unfathomable. Whatever did she mean with ‘your feasts’? Surely such a lovely thing could not be low-born. She didn’t look like she was from Bear Island either. Was she a bastard? Maybe Jorah Mormont’s?

"And what brings a lovely girl such as yourself out here on a night like this?" Theon asked, his usual cocky grin spreading across his face. "Surely not just to admire the view? The winds are cold and the feast is almost over. Or are you waiting for someone…?"

The woman took a sip of mead, her eyes never leaving Theon's. "I come here often, to listen to the sea and feel the wind on my skin. It calls to me, you see."

She gestured towards the churning waters with her free hand, and Theon could have sworn he saw webbing between her fingers for just a moment before she lowered it again. Although… didn’t the Sistermen have that as well?

"But tonight," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I sensed something different. Something... foreign. I was right,” she said, giving him the horn back. “You are of the drowned islands, are you not? Your sharp face tells me so, ‘tis a handsome one. It would have been wrong of me not to find you tonight.”

Theon laughed and gratefully took a sip of mead to try and calm his beating heart and the hardness in his breeches. She spoke plenty strangely, surely, yet she was so beautiful and spoke so frankly, yet so sweetly… and it seemed like she was truly eager to spend time, if not even the night, with him.

His laugh faded as he studied the mysterious woman more closely. Her words stirred something deep within him, a longing for home he usually tried to bury beneath bravado and drink.

"Aye, I'm from the Iron Islands," he admitted, his voice rougher than he intended. "Though it's been many years since I've seen those shores."

The woman's eyes seemed to glimmer with an otherworldly light as she stepped closer to him. The scent of salt and seaweed clung to her, intoxicating and familiar.

"The sea never forgets her children," she murmured, reaching out to trace the line of his sharp jaw with cool fingers. "Even when they're taken far from her embrace."

Theon shivered at her touch, desire and an inexplicable sense of danger warring within him. "And what of you?" he asked, trying to regain his composure. "You're clearly not from Bear Island. Where do you call home?"

A sad smile played across her lips as she gazed out at the dark waters. "My home is everywhere and nowhere," she said softly. "Wherever the tides take me. Like… what do you call them… a salt wife, but I have no master. My mistress is the sea. "

She turned back to him, her hands searching his. Something about her made him so wild, he did not even know what it was. Her quiet confidence? Her Beauty? The mystery in her voice? "But tonight, I'm here with you, my Theon of the Iron Islands. Would you like to feel the sea's embrace once more? My hut is not like the Lord Bears’ big one, but it is warm and the sea is oh so near.”

Theon hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. This woman was unlike any he had ever encountered, and something about her both thrilled and unnerved him. But the mead coursing through his veins and the ache of loneliness in his chest pushed him forward.

"Lead the way, my mysterious lady," he said with a roguish grin, offering her his arm.

She smiled, a secret dancing in her eyes, and took his arm. As they walked along the rocky shore, Theon noticed that her feet seemed to barely touch the ground, moving with an otherworldly grace over the uneven terrain. The sound of the waves grew louder, drowning out the distant noises from the Mormont hall.

Soon, they came upon a small hut nestled among the rocks, so well-hidden that Theon would have missed it entirely if not for his guide. It was a simple structure, made of driftwood and covered in seaweed, looking as if it had grown organically from the shore itself.

The woman pushed open the door, revealing a cozy interior lit by the soft glow of thick, brown candles in jars. The scent of the sea was even stronger here, mixed with something else Theon couldn't quite place – something ancient and primal, but drink and fatigue made him careless, so as soon as she closed the door behind herself, he pressed her against it and kissed her hungrily.

He could feel her smiling against his kiss. "Welcome to my humble home," she said, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves just outside as she broke away. "Would you mind if I take my coat off first and light a fire? It would be a bit more… comfortable.”

Theon reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in short gasps. "Of course, my lady," he said with a playful bow. "Allow me to start the fire for you. It's the least I can do for such gracious hospitality."

He moved to the small hearth, gathering driftwood and kindling from a neat pile nearby. As he worked to coax a flame to life, he couldn't resist stealing glances at the mysterious woman. She stood with her back to him, slowly unfastening her sealskin coat.

"So, tell me," Theon said, his voice husky with desire, "do you often lure handsome strangers to your hidden abode? Or am I a special case?"

The firelight danced across her pale skin as she carefully folded the coat and placed it on a nearby chair. Theon's breath caught in his throat as she began to unlace her simple dress, the fabric sliding off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

She laughed softly, a sound like waves lapping at the shore. "You are indeed special, Theon of the Iron Islands. It's not often I meet someone who understands the call of the sea as I do."

She turned to face him, now clad only in a thin shift that clung to her curves like sea foam on the shore. The flickering flames cast a warm glow on her features, softening the otherworldly quality that had first captivated him.

In this light, she looked more human, more real, yet no less beautiful.

Her long hair, no longer seeming damp, cascaded down her back in waves that rivaled the sea itself. Her eyes, which had appeared so dark and fathomless outside, now shone with a warm, amber hue that reminded Theon of the mead they just drank.

"And what of you?" she asked, turning to face him. "Do you often follow mysterious women into the night?"

Theon grinned, rising from his crouched position by the now-crackling fire. "Only the exceptionally beautiful ones," he quipped, “and ones that do not wish for my gold before they have even spoken to me.”

The girl laughed and stepped closer to him, untying his own cloak and unbuttoning his black doublet. “Gold means nothing to me.”

“Really? I think you are the first woman I’ve ever heard saying something like that,” Theon muttered, trying to keep his breathing calm as her hands came to the bottom buttons of his doublet, accidentally brushing over his hardness.

“Hm,” she muttered and looked up, giving him a grin that was as coy as his own as she slipped it off him with almost unnatural grace, before she stood before him once more, gently pushing him onto her bed so she stood over him, her chest dangerously close to his face.

“On the drowned islands they also do not talk of gold. They talk of iron, my Theon. Although… it seems like you know the hardness of it. So, in turn, for tonight, I shall wish for it to mean something to me. Do you think you can do that?”

Theon's breath hitched as he gazed up at the mysterious woman, her beauty almost otherworldly in the flickering firelight. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer as he leaned in to press his lips to her stomach through the thin fabric of her shift.

"I think I can manage that," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and husky with desire. "Though I warn you, my lady, I may ruin you for all other men."

She laughed softly, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh, my sweet Theon," she whispered, "I don't think you quite understand what you've gotten yourself into."

With surprising strength, she pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips in one fluid motion. Theon gasped as she ground against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He reached up to caress her face, but she caught his wrists, pinning them above his head.

"Tell me," she purred, her lips brushing against his ear, "do you know the old stories of the sea folk? The ones who lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom?"

Theon's heart raced, a mix of excitement and unease coursing through him. "Aye," he managed to say, his voice strained. "But those are just tales to frighten children."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his. In the dim light, they seemed to shift and change, one moment they were human and the other… bigger. Darker. Just like a seal’s. “At first the tales will scare you, then they will make you long for us, before you forget them. But, my dear Theon, we exist,” she whispered, grinning widely, her hand reaching down to untie the laces of his breeches.

“Do not fear, though… I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to, at least,” she mumbled, pushing them down, freeing his hard member, on which she sat down with a wicked grin, rubbing her moist slit gently against him, sighing contentedly. “You are of the sea - you are sweet. I will not hurt you, no, you’re too pretty for that.”

Theon's mind reeled, torn between desire and a growing sense of unease. The woman atop him was unlike any he had ever known, her beauty both alluring and terrifying. As she moved against him, he felt as if he were being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, helpless against the tide of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

"What... what are you?" he gasped, his hips involuntarily bucking upwards, seeking more contact, seeking to enter her, yet he was under her, he was trapped.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. "I am the foam on the waves, the salt in the air, the call of the deep that echoes in your blood," she whispered. "I am what your people call a selkie."

With nimble fingers, the selkie tugged at Theon's breeches, sliding them down his legs and tossing them aside. Her eyes roamed over his body, drinking in every detail as if committing him to memory. Theon shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable under her intense gaze.

"Beautiful," she murmured, her voice like the whisper of waves on sand. "You are a true son of the sea."

She rose gracefully, her movements fluid and hypnotic. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her shift over her head, revealing skin as pale and smooth as polished seashells. Moonlight from the small window danced across her curves, casting her in an otherworldly glow.

Theon's breath caught in his throat as she crawled between his legs, her hair cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall of dark silk. Her cool fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him with a touch both gentle and confident. He gasped, his hips lifting involuntarily off the bed.

"So responsive," she purred, her eyes gleaming with approval. "Your body remembers the sea's embrace, even if your mind has forgotten."

Her thumb circled the tip of his manhood, spreading the moisture gathered there. Theon moaned, torn between the pleasure of her touch and the lingering fear of the unknown. The selkie continued her ministrations, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing caresses.

"You're even more desperate than I am,” she muttered, glancing up at him before slowly, almost shyly, licking a stripe over his cock, taking it carefully in her wonderfully soft, warm mouth.

Theon gasped as her mouth enveloped him, warm and wet like the sea itself. His fingers tangled in her hair, silky strands slipping through his grasp like water. The selkie's tongue swirled around his length, teasing and exploring with an expertise that left him breathless.

"Gods," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming, yet there was something else - a strange tingling sensation that spread from where her lips met his skin, flowing through his veins like the tide.

She hummed in response, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. Her hands caressed his thighs, nails lightly scraping against his skin. Theon's hips bucked involuntarily, driving himself deeper into her mouth.

The selkie pulled back slightly, releasing him with a soft pop. Her eyes, dark and fathomless as the deep sea, met his. "Patience, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice husky with desire. "The night is young, and I wish to see if you understand."

She crawled up his body, her skin cool and slightly damp against his. Theon reached for her, pulling her close and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. He could taste salt on her tongue, along with his own musk.

As they kissed, she laid down next to him, evidently waiting for his next move. But what was he he to do with a girl, a woman, a being like her? Whores usually quickly satified his needs but with her… he just couldn’t bring himself to use her in such a way.

Theon hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly over the selkie's body. She was unlike any woman he had ever been with, and he found himself at a loss. Her otherworldly beauty and mysterious nature both thrilled and intimidated him.

"What's wrong, my iron prince?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to caress his skin. "Are you not used to a woman who knows what she wants?"

Theon swallowed hard, his pride stung by her words. "I... I've been with plenty of women," he said, trying to sound confident. "But you're different. I don't know what you want from me."

The selkie's laugh was like the tinkling of sea glass in the surf. She took his hand in hers, guiding it to her breast. Her skin was cool and smooth, like polished stone worn by the sea.

"I want you to touch me," she murmured, her eyes locked on his. "I want you to explore me as if I were uncharted waters. Can you do that, Theon of the Iron Islands?"

Her words ignited something within him, a mixture of desire and curiosity that overwhelmed his hesitation. Slowly, reverently, he began to caress her body, marveling at the way her skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

His fingers traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breast. She sighed contentedly, smilig into the dimness of the hut. “More, Theon, I will not break… Show me your strength…,” she whispered.

Emboldened by her words, Theon's touch became more confident. He cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm, his thumb brushing over her nipple. The selkie arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Theon leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. He could taste salt on her skin, reminding him of sea spray on a windy day. His kisses trailed lower, across her collarbone and down to her breast. He took her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak.

The selkie's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. "Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with desire. "Just like that."

Encouraged by her response, Theon's hand slid lower, tracing the curve of her hip and thigh. He hesitated for a moment before dipping between her legs, finding her already slick with desire. The selkie gasped as he explored her folds, her hips rolling against his hand.

"You're so wet," Theon murmured against her skin, his fingers circling her most sensitive spot.

"I am of the sea," she reminded him, her voice breathy. "Always ready to embrace those who seek me."

Theon groaned at her words, his own desire mounting. He kissed his way down her body, pausing to nip at the soft skin of her inner thigh, before he parted her soft curls with his fingers, settling between her thighs just as she had done before.

Her scent - gods - he had not even fully tasted her, yet he did not wish to part with her already, his tongue slowly touching her cunny.

The selkie gasped as Theon's tongue made contact with her most intimate place. Her fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. Theon obliged, his tongue exploring her folds with growing enthusiasm.

She tasted of the sea - salt and brine mingled with her own unique flavor. It was intoxicating, and Theon found himself lost in the act, his world narrowing to the sound of her soft moans and the feel of her beneath his lips and tongue.

His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he worked. He traced patterns with his tongue, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her most sensitive spots. The selkie's hips rolled against his face.

"Oh, Theon," she breathed, her voice thick with pleasure. "You truly are a son of the sea. You know just how to please me."

Her words sent a thrill through him, spurring him on. He redoubled his efforts, sucking gently on her pearl while his fingers teased her entrance. The selkie cried out, her back arching off the bed.

Theon could feel her trembling beneath him, teetering on the edge of release. He quickly sat up, kissing her like a starved man, before pushing himself into her.

The selkie's eyes flashed with a mixture of pleasure and frustration as Theon entered her. In one fluid motion, she hooked her leg around his waist and flipped him onto his back, pinning him beneath her with surprising strength.

"Tsk, tsk," she chided, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "So eager, my iron prince. Did you forget that the sea demands patience?"

Theon gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation of being sheathed within her. Her inner walls pulsed around him, cool and slick like the embrace of the tide. He tried to thrust upward, seeking more friction, but the selkie held him firmly in place.

"I... I'm sorry," he managed to stammer, his hands instinctively moving to her hips.

The selkie caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with surprising strength. "Oh, you will be," she whispered, a wicked gleam in her eye. "The sea is patient, Theon of the Iron Islands. And so am I."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she began to move. Her hips rolled in a hypnotic rhythm, rising and falling like the swell of waves. Theon groaned, his hands grasping at her hips, trying to urge her to move faster. But the selkie was unyielding, setting her own pace.

She rode him with the patience of the eternal sea, each movement precise and deliberate. Her skin gleamed with a faint, otherworldly luminescence in the dim light, like moonlight on water. Theon watched, mesmerized, as droplets of moisture beaded on her skin, rolling down her body like rivulets of seawater. He longed to taste them, to run his tongue along the curves of her body, but she kept him pinned beneath her, at her mercy.

"Please," Theon gasped, his voice hoarse with need. "I need... I need..."

The selkie smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "What do you need, my iron prince? Tell me."

"More," he groaned. "Faster. I need to feel you."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "The sea gives and takes as she pleases," she whispered. "And tonight, I am the sea."

With those words, she began to move faster, her hips undulating in a rhythm that matched the crashing waves outside. Theon moaned, lost in the sensation of her around him, the cool silk of her skin against his, the intoxicating scent of salt and sex that filled the air.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her breath coming in short gasps. She released Theon's wrists, bracing herself against his chest as she rode him. Freed from her grip, Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her hips, her thighs.

"Yes," she hissed, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Touch me, Theon."

Theon's hands roamed the selkie's body feverishly, tracing the curves and dips of her otherworldly form. Her skin seemed to ripple beneath his touch, as if tiny waves were coursing just beneath the surface. He could feel the power of the sea thrumming through her, wild and untamed.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her hips rolling and crashing against his like storm-tossed waves. Theon felt himself being pulled under, drowning in sensation. His entire world narrowed to the feel of her around him, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the sound of her gasps and moans mingling with the distant roar of the sea.

He was close, so close. The pressure built within him like a tide ready to break. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her down harder onto him. The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart.

"Oh gods," Theon groaned, his back arching off the bed. "I'm going to-"

Suddenly, the selkie stilled. In one fluid motion, she lifted herself off him, leaving Theon gasping and desperate. He reached for her, but she evaded his grasp with a teasing smile, instead laying down on her stomach with a wicked little smile.

"Now you know what it feels like," she purred, her voice low and husky. "I am not done and neither are you."

Theon groaned in frustration, his body aching with unfulfilled desire. The selkie's eyes glimmered with mischief as she looked back at him over her shoulder, her hair cascading down her back like dark seaweed.

"Come, my iron prince," she cooed, arching her back invitingly, wiggling her full buttocks. "Show me the strength of the storm."

Theon didn't need to be told twice. He moved behind her, his hands caressing the smooth curve of her hips. The selkie sighed contentedly as he positioned himself, teasing her entrance with the tip of his manhood.

"Don't make me wait," she breathed, pushing back against him.

With a low growl, Theon thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt. The selkie cried out in pleasure, her fingers gripping the furs beneath them. Theon set a punishing pace, driven by his earlier denied release and the intoxicating power of the creature beneath him.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh mingled with their gasps and moans, creating a primal rhythm that seemed to echo the crashing waves outside. Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Every touch sent sparks of pleasure through him, as if her very skin conducted the raw energy of the sea.

The selkie met him thrust for thrust, her body undulating like the tide. She turned her head, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. Theon kissed her back hungrily, tasting salt and desire on her lips. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he continued to drive into her. The selkie moaned into his mouth, her body trembling beneath him.

Breaking the kiss, she gasped, "Yes, Theon. Just like that. Be good for me, please… give me… just like…."

Her words ignited something primal within him. Theon's thrusts became more forceful, more desperate. He could feel the pressure building again, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, her body shuddering with each thrust. She buried her face in the furs, muffling her cries of ecstasy. Theon could feel her climax approaching, her muscles tensing beneath his hands.

"Look at me," he growled, surprising himself with the command in his voice. "I want to see your face when you come undone."

The selkie turned her head, her eyes meeting his. In that moment, Theon saw the vastness of the sea in her gaze - deep, mysterious, and utterly wild. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

With a final, powerful thrust, Theon felt himself tipping over the edge. The selkie cried out, her body arching beneath him as her own release crashed over her. Theon groaned, burying himself deep inside her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It felt like he was being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, drowning in ecstasy.

As the intensity of their shared climax began to ebb, Theon collapsed onto the selkie's back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel her heart racing beneath him, her skin cool and slightly damp against his chest. For a long moment, they lay there, intertwined and breathless.

Slowly, carefully, Theon rolled off her, falling onto his back beside her on the narrow bed. The selkie turned to face him, her eyes now soft and warm like the sea on a calm summer day. She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with gentle fingers.

"You have pleased me well, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice rich with satisfaction. "The sea will remember you fondly."

Theon chuckled weakly, still trying to catch his breath. "I don't think I'll ever forget this night," he said, turning his head to meet her gaze. "Or you."

The selkie smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Perhaps," she said softly. "But the memories of men are often as fleeting as seafoam on the shore."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before rising from the bed. Theon watched, mesmerized, as she moved about the small hut, her body glowing faintly in the dim light. She retrieved her cloak, fastening it around her shoulders, and gave him a sad, sorrowful little smile. “Go back to the bears now, my kraken. I’m sure you are missed.”

“But… can you not just… stay here? For a while at least?”, Theon asked, quickly gathering up his own clothing. Normally he would’ve left just as quickly as she was about to, yet she was no Ros, no Wintertown whore.

The selkie paused, her hand on the door. She turned back to Theon, her eyes softening with a mixture of fondness and regret.

"Oh, my sweet iron prince," she said softly. "Your words warm my heart, but I cannot stay. The sea calls to me, as it always has and always will."

Theon felt a pang in his chest, a longing he couldn't quite name. He stood, still naked, and took a step towards her. "Then let me come with you," he said impulsively. "Just for a while. I... I miss the sea."

The selkie's smile was sad and knowing. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her cool hand. "You are not ready for my world, Theon of the Iron Islands. Your path lies elsewhere, at least for now."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Theon could taste the salt of the sea on her breath, feel the pull of the tide in her touch. When she pulled away, her eyes seemed to shimmer with unshed tears.

"But know this," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves outside. "The sea never forgets her children. When the time comes, if you truly wish it, you may find your way back to us."

With those words, she slipped out the door and into the night. Theon rushed after her, but as he stepped outside, he saw only the empty beach and the vast, freezing waters, the selkie’s figure retreating into the waves.

Theon stood on the shore, the cool night air raising goosebumps on his bare skin. He watched the waves crash against the rocky beach, searching for any sign of the mysterious selkie, but she had vanished as completely as if she had never existed. The only evidence of their encounter was the lingering taste of salt on his lips and the slight ache in his muscles.

With a heavy sigh, Theon turned back to the small hut. The interior still smelled of sea and sex, and for a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the entire encounter. But no, his clothes were strewn about the floor, and he could still feel the ghost of her touch on his skin.

Slowly, he began to dress himself. His fingers fumbled with the laces of his breeches, his mind still clouded with the intoxicating memory of the selkie. As he pulled on his tunic, he noticed it smelled faintly of seaweed and brine. He wondered idly if Lord Stark would notice, then dismissed the thought. The old wolf rarely paid him much attention anyway.

Theon retrieved his cloak from where it had fallen, shaking out the sand before fastening it around his shoulders. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks that the selkie had so eagerly mussed. As he did so, he felt something caught in the strands – a single, iridescent scale that gleamed in the dim light. He stared at it and reverently tucked it into his satchel.

Stepping out of the hut, Theon took one last look at the sea. The moon hung low on the horizon, its reflection shimmering on the dark waters. For a moment, he thought he saw a seal's head bobbing in the waves, watching him with knowing eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone. The sea had claimed him, he thought, and he would honour it.

[asa-writes]

your dream will come alive

18+ MINORS DNI Aegon II x F!Reader 2.9 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut, mutual masturbation, kind of orgasm denial? soft smut this one goes out to my moots on the kink council <3

As the sun began to set over King's Landing, your maid lit candles throughout your room. The maesters had declared this the final month of summer, and you were determined to make the most of it. You lay beside your open window, relishing the warm breeze that tousled your hair as you sipped wine and waited for his arrival. He always came to you eventually; ever since he had caught you bathing, he made nightly visits.

Through your cousin, who served as Lady-in-Waiting to the Dowager Queen Alicent, you knew that she appreciated that you gave him your attentions instead of him causing trouble in the Streets of Silk. You were clever enough not to give yourself away yet, and you would do everything in your power to resist his advances until he rewarded you for your "service". Fortunately, King Aegon was easily entertained when it came to such activities.

“‘Tis alright, Lyra, you may leave for the night,” you mumbled lazily and gave the young girl an amused smile as she tried to look away from your barely-dressed form. She curtsied quickly and walked off, gently closing the door behind herself.

Now all you could do was wait. What would Aegon wish to do tonight? Have you suck him again? Or watch you slowly taking off your dress on the balcony so that all of King’s Landing could see your nakedness? Inevitably he would ask you to lay with him, yet as always all you’d do would be to sleep next to him, gently stroking his head whilst reassuring him that you’d let him do anything to you, as soon as he could promise a reward for your flower.

As the moon rose high, casting its ethereal glow over the sprawling city, your anticipation grew. The heavy silence of the night was punctured by the distant sounds of laughter and music from some tavern, but your focus remained on the imminent knock on your door signalling his arrival. Your fingers traced the rim of your goblet, the coolness of the silver contrasting with the warmth brought by your anticipation. In many ways, this nightly game had become as routine as breaking your fast or riding your mare, yet every evening it held a new form of thrill.

Abruptly, you heard the castle guards gathering outside your room in a flurry, and an undeniable sense of excitement fluttered within you. The King was here; his penchant for a grand entrance noticeable as always.

The door creaked open without warning, revealing King Aegon. His silver-white curls danced with an air of haughtiness around his shoulders, reflecting in contrast to his deep violet eyes that sparkled with amusement. His presence filled up the room as he sauntered in; a predator entering his den.

“Good evening,” he spoke; his voice resonating rich and deep like sweet Dornish wine.

You gave him a coy smile before responding, “King Aegon.”

He grinned wickedly at you before pouring himself a goblet of wine from the pitcher kept on your bedside table. He drank deeply from it before setting it down, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

“Well then,” he finally broke the silence, grinning wickedly as he advanced towards your four-poster bed where you lay sprawled languidly, the wind gently playing with your thin dress, “Who do we have here? A wicked little girl trying to get me to waste my seed once more?”

Smirking, you raised your goblet and drank a few sips. “You’ve never seemed to regret it in the morning, your Grace. You know what I require of you to let you take me properly, my King…”

He mirrored your smirk and slowly undressed, so that he was only left in a loose shirt. He lounged onto the bed, his violet eyes sparkling in the candlelight as he leaned over you. "And I keep telling you, darling," he retorted, the corners of his lips upturned mischievously. "You're asking for a pretty price."

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes meeting his. Your mind was clear, despite the wine flowing through your veins. "A fair price, for a fair lady, wouldn't you agree, my King?"

He chuckled; a low rumble that echoed through the room. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb running across your lower lip. "Oh, certainly fair, but also clever," he murmured softly. "Why should I not enjoy the fruits my garden bears without having to pay a hefty price?"

"Perhaps because this fruit wishes not to be plucked hastily and carelessly," you replied playfully, pushing his hand away and rising from the bed. You strolled across to the window, pulling back the curtains to reveal the moonlit cityscape.

"There is a difference between buying apples in the market and planting an orchard." You turned to face him now; your silhouette framed by the moonlight that streamed in through the window. "I know my worth, Aegon."

King Aegon watched you from where he lay on the bed; his body reclined lazily against its plush pillows. The flickering candlelight threw dancing shadows upon his rounded face; his expression remained unreadable, his violet eyes twinkling dangerously. "Is that so?" He finally spoke after a moment that seemed like eternity.

Instead of responding to him, you slowly took off your dress and tossed it to the side, sitting down on your settee, facing him with coyly crossed legs, while you gently rubbed sweet smelling oils into your long hair. “Just as I know your worth, my King, and I should hope that you know mine as well.”

Aegon regarded you intensely for a moment before a smirk spread slowly across his face. He allowed his eyes to travel languidly over your form, lingering in appreciation before finally meeting your gaze again. "I have been known to underestimate," he said, amusement lacing his words. His fingers traced the stem of his goblet as he spoke in a low voice. "Never had I thought I could be beguiled by such a maiden, cunning and clever."

"Indeed?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. You took your sweet time finishing with your hair, and then you rose again, moving back to the window to feel the warm night's breeze against your skin.

You could hear his soft chuckle from behind you. “You do not make it easy to resist," Aegon admitted, almost begrudgingly.

"Yet resist you must," was your simple reply as you turned back to him once more. Your lips were curved into a playful smile, yet there was an undeniable truth in your words.

Aegon let out a half-chuckle, half-sigh and shook his head, running his hand through his silver curls in amusement at your audacity. "Why must I resist when what we both want is in our reach?"

His words echoed in the silence of the room. You walked slowly towards him, the moon casting an ethereal glow on your skin. As you reached the bed where he lay reclined, you leaned down until you were just inches away from his face.

"Because my King," you whispered into his ear, "It's not about what we want now... but what we could have.” With that, you gently kissed him and quickly ran back to the settee before he could hold you down. “Just like you could have me.”

Aegon's eyes were wide, his breath hitched as he watched you make your way back to the settee. He sat up straighter in bed, a wry smile playing on his lips as he finally understood your game. “I see what you’re doing,” he murmured, admiration lighting up his gaze. “The fruit tastes sweeter when it’s been longed for.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you kept your face impassive as you looked at him. “Perhaps,” was all you said, leaning back into the plush cushions of the settee. The moonlight filtered in through the window, casting an ethereal glow on the velvet material of the furniture and bouncing off your skin in a soft haze.

Slowly, Aegon rose from the bed and took slow, deliberate steps towards you. His eyes never left yours, and there was something dark and tantalizing about his gaze that had your breath hitching in your throat. “May I?” He asked, stopping at an arm's length away from you.

“May you what?” You replied teasingly, knowing full well what he was asking but wanting to hear him say it. His smirk widened at your reply.

“May I join you?” A soft chuckle left his lips at your audacity; it echoed through the room like music to your ears.

“You may.” Your voice was barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears as he sat down next to you on the settee.

The room was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric as Aegon adjusted himself on the settee beside you. The tension grew significantly as you lazily lifted your leg onto the arm rest and slowly massaged the residual oil onto it, going ever higher, until your fingertips hovered over your sweet, moist opening, parting your curls so that he had a better view of you.

Aegon cursed under his breath at the sight, his fingers twitching to reach out and touch, but he managed to restrain himself. He was playing a game, and he intended to win it. "Bold," he noted with a smirk, running his eyes appreciatively over your exposed form.

"Only as bold as a Lady should be," you replied nonchalantly, though your heart was pounding against your chest. There was something sinfully delightful about teasing the king like this; about having him so close yet so far.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," Aegon muttered under his breath, turning his gaze to meet yours. His violet eyes flashed dangerously in the dim light, conveying his desire...and something else.

"Perhaps I do," you said softly, coyly arching an eyebrow at him. You moved closer to him on the settee, not touching him but just close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from your body.

"Is that so?" Aegon asked, his voice low and gravelly. He watched as you moved closer until there was barely any space between the two of you.

"It is," you confirmed, meeting his intense gaze with a teasing smile. Your hand came up to gently trace a line down his chest. "But you should know that Ladies aren't easily won over."

"I am well aware of that," Aegon replied huskily, his gaze trailing down where your hand rested on his chest. His hand came up tentatively to cover yours, not moving it away but just letting it rest there.

"Good," you whispered, letting your hands travel ever further down, until you had his hard length in your hand. You had no choice but to moan as you felt his squeeze his hand tighter around yours, instructing you how he wanted to be held. Following his command, you squeezed him harder and smiled as he bit his lip.

“Touch me, my King, just as I am touching you right now; please me, my King, just as I am pleasing you… Imagine me, bouncing on your large cock, whimpering…”, you whispered into his ear and quickly spat onto your palm before enclosing his hardness in your hand once more, stroking him softly.

Aegon closed his eyes and let out a growl, his grip on your hand tightening further. "You're playing with fire, my lady," he warned, voice low and husky.

"Perhaps I like the heat," you countered, your voice just as low and sultry. You looked at him through lowered lashes; your gaze was filled with desire and mischief. "Perhaps..." Your voice trailed off as you continued to stroke him, feeling him pulse and twitch in your hand.

Aegon watched you under heavy-lidded eyes, teeth gritted as he suppressed a groan. He moved closer to you, his hand leaving yours to trace a path over your body, exploring you as you had done to him earlier. His fingers moved slowly over your skin, dragging across sensitive areas and making you gasp in response.

His fingertips sparked with a mix of intense heat and refreshing chill. Every time he grazed your skin, it was like a scorching sensation followed by a soothing coolness. His moans were like sweet music to your ears, and your couldn't help but want to please him even more. The contrast of sensations kept you on the brink of ecstasy. You yearned for his touch, leaning into him and allowing him to pull you closer with every enticing movement.

As if under some unspoken agreement, both of you maintained eye contact throughout the ordeal; the raw lust evident in Aegon's eyes sent shivers running down your spine and his sweet groans pushing you further and further. There was something liberating about this back-and-forth game of seduction between a king and a lady.

Your hand stilled on Aegon’s hardened length when he unexpectedly found that sweet spot between your legs. He looked surprised for a moment before an understanding smile formed on his face and he applied more pressure there, making you squirm and part your legs even further.

“Ae-Aegon!”, you exlaimed as he slowly circled your nub, blushing at his thick grin. “I… oh… did not know… oh! That you enjoy this…”

His eyes twinkled in the dim moonlight, his grin never fading as he watched you squirm under his touch. "There are many things I enjoy, my lady," Aegon replied, his voice a low purr in your ear. His fingertips continued to tease your delicate flesh, loving the way your lips parted in silent pleasure.

Desperate for more of his intoxicating touch, you bucked your hips against his hand, guiding him further into your folds. He groaned at this new found access, prodding and exploring with careful precision.

A moan tumbled from your lips as he slipped a finger inside you, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You gripped his arm for support, pressing yourself further into his touch. "More," you gasped out desperately, moving your hand back to his length and giving it a squeeze.

Aegon's eyes fluttered shut at the dual sensations; he was just as taken aback by the intense pleasure as you were. Mirroring your actions, he inserted another finger into you, letting out a breathy moan as you squeezed him tighter in response.

Becoming bolder, he started moving his fingers inside you rhythmically, each thrust met with an equally fervent stroke from you on his length. The room filled with gasps and moans; the only sounds that mattered in this intimate game of give and take.

Your mind was consumed by pleasure, each touch and kiss pushing you closer and closer to the brink. The anticipation of what was to come had you teetering on the edge, and it seemed Aegon was feeling the same way. His movements became more frenzied, his jaw clenched tight, until he suddenly pulled away and lifted you up so that you were straddling him.

“I don’t care anymore, you’ll be Lady of somewhere, fuck this take any keep you want, I’ll make you Hand of the King for all I care,” he mumbled and gave you a hungry kiss before positioning his cock between your slick folds. “Kiss me, fuck me, just… do something…”, he rambled senselessly and grabbed your chest, squeezing and licking it hungrily.

You grinned and kissed him, before gently letting yourself glide down onto his girthy cock. Finally, finally you got what you wished for - your title, a castle and his cock.

Mutual moans filled the room as you rode him, your hips moving in perfect sync with his. Aegon's hands gripped your hips, guiding you to move faster. "That's it, ride me, my lady," he groaned, his eyes closed and head tilted back in ecstasy.

The sight of him, so lost in pleasure, only spurred you on further. You picked up the pace, your breasts bouncing enticingly with each thrust. "Oh, Aegon," you moaned his name like a prayer as the orgasm built within you.

Aegon’s hands moved up to cup your breasts, squeezing them roughly before finding his way back between your legs, where he started rubbing that delicate button again. "You little whore," he groaned in your ear before biting your neck lightly. “Thinking of nothing but my cock…”

With a loud cry, you came apart in his arms, your inner walls clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Aegon didn't last long either; with a growl he buried himself deep inside you and let out a strangled moan as he came too - his hot seed filling you up and marking you as his.

After catching your breath, Aegon leaned in and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. His breathing was rough, but he seemed content. "My lady," he whispered. "Do you realize that you will bear a dozen of my bastards for your future husband?"

You shrugged playfully and smiled, pecking the tip of his nose as you wrapped your arms around him. Despite trying not to shudder as your climax subsided, you couldn't resist teasing him. "Of course, Your Grace. My orchard is yours to ravage from here on out."

[asa-writes]

our reflection

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x F!Reader 1.4 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut, mirror sex, slight mentions of insecurities with one's body, doggystyle (I wrote this when I was tired and feverish, lol, forgive me please)

“D’you think you can hand me my ribbon if you plan on loitering in my chambers?” You asked Theon with a small smile, watching him intently as he leaned against the closed door. His features seemed even sharper through your looking glass, his golden earring glinting in the candlelight. “And might I remind you that Robb’ll lob your head off if he catches you here?”

Theon grinned even further and reached into your ribbon-basket, carelessly picking one out. “What’d you need it for, anyways? You look good without one, either way.” He sauntered over to you, trying to find the purpose for it, trying to tie it around your throat, then over the top of your head, before dropping it into your lap. He gave you a devilish smirk through the mirror and teasingly put his hand on your chest, teasingly drawing his fingers along your exposed flesh and under your shift, eliciting a gasp from you.

“For my hair! But, oh - Theon!”, you whisper-shouted at him, not daring to break your eye contact. “We can’t!”

You stood abruptly, the ribbon fluttering forgotten to the floor. Theon's hand still lingered on your skin, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. You turned to face him, your breath quickening as you met his intense gaze.

"Theon, we shouldn't..." you murmured, but even as the words left your lips, you found yourself leaning into him, craving more of his electrifying caress.

"Shouldn't what?" he replied huskily, his other hand snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him. "This feels right to me."

His lips crashed into yours, the kiss searing and demanding. You melted into his embrace, rationality evaporating like mist under the heat of the rising sun. Your fingers tangled in his dark curls as the kiss deepened, a soft moan escaping you.

Theon walked you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He lowered you down gently, never breaking the kiss, his weight settling over you. But the creak of the mattress jolted you back to your senses. You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.

"Theon, wait," you gasped, chest heaving. "I cannot, I do not… I don’t want you to see me naked, I don’t look…”

Raising an eyebrow, he gently turned you around, making you face the mirror. “That is the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he mumbled into your ear, gently kissing it. You could not stop the moan escaping your lips as he started untying your dress and slipped your shift off of your shoulders, making you look at your full chest. “Do you truly wish to tell me…,” he mumbled as he gently pinched a nipple, his eyes trained on yours in the reflection, “that you think that you do not look good?”

You couldn't tear your gaze away from the mirror as Theon's deft fingers continued their tantalizing exploration of your body. His touch set your skin ablaze, desire pooling low in your belly. You arched into his caress, head falling back against his shoulder, lips parted in a silent gasp.

"You are exquisite," Theon murmured, reverence and lust mingling in his tone, his usual cockiness almost gone. "A goddess made flesh." He punctuated his words with open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

Rational thought scattered like leaves in an autumn gale. In that moment, you couldn't remember why you had ever protested this. It felt so right, so inevitable, like the tides answering the moon's siren call.

"Theon," you breathed, his name a plea and a prayer on your tongue. Your hands reached back, relishing the firmness of his muscled thighs, the leanness of his stomach.

Spinning you around, Theon claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, devouring you like a man starved. His hands roamed your body greedily as he made you stand up, tearing your clothes off of you. “Fuck,” he groaned as he hastily threw his clothes off as well, “hold onto the back of the chair and lean over. And don’t you dare your beautiful eyes off of me.”

Blushing, you obliged and gasped way too loudly as you watched him spitting onto his long fingers and working the spit onto your cunny. “Theon… I… Oh!”, you managed to press out through clenched teeth as he lazily rubbed circles on your bud, slowly fisting his length.

Theon's eyes darkened with lust as he watched your face contort with pleasure in the mirror's reflection. "Gods, you're so responsive," he growled appreciatively. "I've barely touched you and you're already dripping for me."

He increased the pressure and speed of his fingers, relishing the breathy moans and whimpers falling from your lips. Your hips bucked instinctively, seeking more of that delicious friction. The coil of pleasure low in your belly wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Look at you," Theon purred, his gaze raking over your trembling form. "Wanton and desperate, ready to come undone at my touch. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this? How many nights I've lain awake aching for you?"

"Theon, please," you keened, knuckles white as you gripped the chair, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open. "I need... I need..."

"I know exactly what you need, love."

Withdrawing his fingers, Theon gripped your hips and positioned himself at your entrance. With one powerful thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt, a guttural groan rumbling through his chest at your tight heat enveloping him.

You cried out, hands scrabbling for purchase against the smooth wood of the chair. Theon set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you closer to the edge. Your eyes never left his and you were sure that by now the whole castle had been woken by the sound of your breasts slapping agaist your stomach and by Theon’s poorly concealed grunts as he buried himself in you, his dark eyes hungrily looking at you.

As you felt yourself clenching up, you closed your eyes, only to open them suddenly again as you felt him stilling. “Did I tell you to stop looking?”, he groaned and quickly clasped a hand around your neck, giving you an encouraging grin. “I want to see your pretty face scrunching up as you come on my cock and your big eyes widening as I take you over the edge.”

You forced your eyes open, determined not to disobey him again as he started thrusting once more. The intensity of his gaze, the exquisite fullness of him buried deep within you, the slight pressure of his hand on your throat - it was all too much. The pleasure crested and broke over you in crashing waves, your walls fluttering and clenching around him as you came with a hoarse cry of his name.

"That's it, love," Theon panted, his hips stuttering as your climax triggered his own. "Gods, you're perfect. So fucking perfect."

He thrust into you erratically a few more times before quickly pulling out, spilling his seed all over your back with a shuddering groan. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as you both fought to catch your breath in the aftermath of your shared bliss.

Slowly, Theon withdrew from you and turned you to face him. Strong arms enveloped you, cradling you tenderly against his sweat-slicked chest. "I never want to hear you calling yourself anything other than ‘utterly gorgeous’. Understood?”

You stood onto your tiptoes and kissed him slowly, smiling against his lips. “Understood, my kraken.”

Theon smiled and kissed you back, his hands caressing your cheeks. "Good. Now let me help you clean up before someone comes looking for us." He led you over to the washbasin and gently wiped the remnants of your lovemaking from your skin with a damp cloth. The tender intimacy of the moment made your heart swell. When he finished, he planted a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"I should go," Theon said reluctantly, reaching for his discarded clothing. "As much as I'd love to stay, we can't risk getting caught."

You sighed, knowing he was right but loathe to see him leave. "When can I see you again?" you asked quietly as you slipped your shift back over your head.

Theon paused in the midst of lacing up his breeches and flashed you a roguish grin. "Meet me in the godswood tonight, an hour after the last watch begins. I'll be waiting for you."

With a final searing kiss that left you breathless, Theon slipped out the door, casting one last heated look over his shoulder before disappearing down the corridor. You leaned against the closed door, fingers pressed to your still-tingling lips, already counting the hours until you could be in his arms again.

[asa-writes]

please tumblr don't delete this again

restraint

18+ MINORS DNI Roose Bolton x F!Reader 2.5 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut duh, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, blood, orgasm denial, humiliation/degredation ~ reupload due to technical issues ~

You sat as still as you could and watched your husband, Roose Bolton, as he carefully filled out ledgers and wrote missives. A shiver ran over your semi-naked form, your shift not giving you nearly enough warmth. Roose looked up and studied you with his pale eyes, the corners of his lips twitching into something akin to a smile. “Do you know how long you’ve been sitting there already?”, he asked nonchalantly.

You tried your best to look outside without turning your head, a small blush creeping up your cheeks. “No, my Lord, I do not. As long as you have wished me to sit here.”

“Hm, that much is true. And do you remember why you are sitting there, in your shift and stockings?”, he asked, putting his quill away and standing up to pour himself some ale, smiling coldly as he saw the way you gulped to relieve your parched throat.

A crack of thunder made you flinch and your blush spread even further. This was… well, you would’ve thought that you would have died of embarrasment, yet… you were enjoying this just as much as he was. You had seen the way he was constantly shifting in his seat, readjusting himself under his desk - your husband, who to others seemed like the coldest, eeriest man in Westeros, was unable to stay focused on his lordly duties, because he was as pent up as a fourteen-year old boy.

“Because I wished to walk around the Dreadfort in barely any clothes during this storm, so my Lord has decided to punish me for my childish behavior,” you whispered with a tiny smile. “And because I am just such a silly little girl, my Lord has instructed me to wait for him to finish his tasks, without moving from the spot.”

Roose walked towards you slowly, his gaze never leaving your face. He took a sip of ale and licked his lips. "And have you learned your lesson, sweetling?"

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The hunger in his eyes made heat pool low in your belly. If anyone knew the relationship, the dynamic you had with your husband… But then again, hadn’t your septa and your mother told you that the most important thing in your life would be to serve your husband?

He set the tankard down on a side table and came to stand before you. His fingers traced along your collarbone and down between the valley of your breasts. "I'm not certain you fully understand the consequences of your actions. Perhaps a more thorough punishment is in order."

Before you could respond, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back. You gasped at the sudden sting of pain that melted into pleasure as his lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss.

When he finally released you, you were both breathless. "To the bed. Now," Roose commanded in a voice that brooked no argument.

On shaky legs, you stood and made your way to the large four-poster bed, the cool air caressing your heated skin. You could feel Roose's eyes on you, tracking your every movement like a predator stalking prey.

"Remove your shift and lay on your back," he instructed as he began to methodically remove his own clothing.

With trembling fingers, you untied the laces and let the thin fabric pool at your feet before climbing onto the bed. The furs were soft against your bare skin as you settled against the pillows. This was always the most exhillarating moment - when you saw that Roose was thinking, slowly stroking himself. Thinking how to punish you, thinking about how he could claim you, and you’d only know once he started.

“Gods, you’re pathetic. Already dripping onto the furs,” he stated matter-of-factly and methodically opened your legs, opening them like the maester did when he had examined your maidenhead. “And there I was, trying to punish you. Now you’ll expect me to fuck you senseless so you can get rid of that burning desire?”

You whimpered and squirmed under his intense scrutiny, equal parts embarrassed and aroused by his crude words. "Please, my Lord," you breathed, unsure if you were begging him to stop or to never stop.

Roose chuckled darkly. "Please what, my little whore? Please fuck you until you scream? Please make you come undone on my cock?" He ran a finger teasingly along your slit, making you gasp and arch your back wantonly.

"Yes...oh gods, yes!" you cried, all sense of propriety abandoned in your desperation for his touch. Your mind was awash in a haze of lust, caring for nothing but the ache between your thighs.

"As much as I'd love to bury myself in your sweet cunt, you haven't earned that privilege yet," Roose declared, withdrawing his hand. You nearly sobbed at the loss of contact. He grasped your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach in one swift motion. "Up on your knees. Spread yourself open for me."

Humiliation burned through you as you slowly shifted into the degrading position, face pressed into the furs while reaching back to part your buttocks with trembling hands. Never had you felt so exposed, so vulnerable. The first sharp slap to your rear made you yelp in surprise. Roose rubbed the abused flesh almost soothingly before delivering another. Every slap came harder than the last and your pain became ever greater, but so did your yearning for your husband. “P-please, Lord Hus-Husband… I’ll… I want… I’ll be good, I’ll… control myself…,” you whimpered, your cheeks moist as his hand connected once more with your raw flesh. “Be your… good little… quiet wife…”

Roose's hand paused, resting heavily on your stinging backside. "Will you now?" he mused, his fingers trailing along the crease between your burning cheeks. "And how do I know this lesson will stick? That you won't be traipsing about the Dreadfort like a wanton harlot the moment my back is turned?"

You shook your head frantically against the furs. "I won't, my Lord, I swear it! I'll be good, I'll obey, please..." Your voice cracked on a sob, overwhelmed by the heady mix of pain and desperate arousal.

"Shh, sweetling," Roose soothed, his hand stroking up your spine and tangling in your hair. "I believe you." He used his grip to turn your head to the side so he could see your tear-stained face. "But I'm going to make certain you never forget."

With that, he shifted to kneel behind you, the thick head of his manhood pressing insistently against your cunt. You were so wet, he slid in easily despite the stretch. A broken moan fell from your lips as he filled you completely, your inner walls clenching around his length. Roose set a relentless pace, the harsh slap of skin against skin mingling with your whimpers and cries. One hand locked around your hip while the other was buried in your hair, holding you up cruelly but oh-so-sweetly at the same time.

It felt like heaven. For if there was one thing you loved most about your Lord Husband, it was his ability to make love to you. You knew in your hazy mind that most people would not consider what he did to you to be love, but strangely enough it felt like the highest reward to be treated as such by him. Because even if you were his toy in his chambers, he expected you to be a formidably cold and smart Lady Bolton outside of them.

Your impending release quickly dragged you out of your thoughts and you could do naught but to bury your hands into the furs, wincing and moaning as he pulled you closer onto his cock. Roose's thrusts grew more erratic, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise. You could feel your own peak rapidly approaching, your body tensing and quivering in anticipation. Just as you teetered on the precipice of ecstasy, ready to let the waves of pleasure crash over you, Roose suddenly stilled.

With a firm grip, he flipped you onto your back, his pale eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made you shiver. "Did you think I would let you find your release so easily?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm despite his labored breathing. "After your wanton display? No, sweetling. You'll have to work much harder for that privilege."

You whimpered in frustration, your body aching for completion. "Please, my Lord," you begged, trying to rock your hips against him, desperate for any friction. "I need..."

"I know exactly what you need," Roose cut you off, pinning your hips to the bed with bruising force. "But you won't be getting it. Not until I deem you worthy."

He slowly withdrew from your clenching heat, making you cry out at the loss. You felt empty, hollow, your body singing with unsatisfied need. Roose stood from the bed, leaving you sprawled wantonly across the furs, a sheen of sweat glistening on your skin in the candlelight.

"Clean yourself up and compose yourself," Roose commanded sternly as he began to dress. "I expect you presentable and in the Great Hall within the hour."

You struggled to sit up, your limbs trembling from the strain of your denied release. "But my Lord..." you started to protest meekly.

Roose fixed you with a piercing stare that silenced you instantly. "Do not make me repeat myself, wife. You will do as you're told or face further consequences. I will not tolerate disobedience."

With that, he swept from the room, leaving you alone with your frustrated arousal and stinging shame. Gingerly, you rose from the bed on unsteady legs and made your way to the wash basin. As you cleaned the evidence of your coupling from your thighs, you couldn't help but grin. He was mean, wicked even, but you knew that was exactly what he needed - a soft wife for himself and a strong partner, who supported him on the outside. The only thing that could not be convinced of your love and respect for your husband was your weeping, fluttering cunt that wished for nothing but sweet release.

After carefully pinning up your mussed hair and donning a demure gown, you made your way to the Great Hall as instructed. Roose was already seated at the high table, surveying the gathered household with cool appraisal. You took your place beside him, locking your eyes with his, curtsying and sitting down next to him, displaying your expected power and gave him a respectful kiss on his cheek. “Lord Husband.”

Roose nodded in acknowledgement but his eyes remained fixed ahead, not sparing you a glance. Throughout the meal, he engaged in discussion with his men, barely paying you any mind. You tried to focus on your food but found your appetite lacking, still keenly feeling the ache between your thighs.

As servants cleared away the dishes, Roose finally turned to you. "Walk with me, wife," he said, rising from his seat. It was not a request.

You followed obediently as he led you out of the Hall and into the torch-lit corridor. The stone was cold beneath your slippered feet. Roose didn't speak, the only sound the swishing of your skirts and his measured footsteps. He came to a halt before a heavy wooden door - the entrance to his study.

Producing a key, he unlocked the door and gestured for you to precede him up the winding stairs. Your heart raced in both trepidation and anticipation. At the top, you emerged into the study itself, the scent of parchment and leather filling your nostrils. Roose shooed the servant away and locked the door behind you with a resounding click.

"Disrobe and bend over the desk," he commanded calmly, as if merely commenting on the weather. “Don’t make me wait.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you untied the laces of your gown, letting the heavy fabric slide from your shoulders to pool at your feet. The chill air pebbled your nipples and you bent over, spreading your thighs for him. “Thank you…,” you whispered with a small smile and gasped as he wrapped his hand around your throat, silencing you. You could distinctly feel his other hand tugging his cock out of his breeches - gods, he didn’t even take them off - and positioning it against your entrance.

“One squeak and I’ll stop and then you won’t get anything at all, my girl,” he muttered, lust tinging his own voice. “Enjoy it.”

With one powerful thrust, Roose sheathed himself fully inside your aching core. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, but you quickly bit your lip to stifle any further sounds, heeding his warning. He set a brutal pace, each snap of his hips driving him deeper, stoking the embers of your arousal into a raging inferno.

The hand at your throat tightened just slightly, not enough to truly restrict your breathing but serving as a constant reminder of his complete control. His other hand gripped your hip, blunt nails digging into the soft flesh as he used the leverage to pull you back onto his cock.

You braced your hands against the sturdy desk, knuckles white as you struggled to maintain your silence. Each thrust seemed to hit that secret spot within you, sending jolts of electricity racing up your spine. Roose was not a vocal lover, but you could hear his breathing growing more labored, could feel him throbbing inside you as he chased his own release.

Despite the authority he wielded over you, in these intimate moments you knew you held a power over him too. The usually cold and stoic Lord of the Dreadfort, driven to base animal instinct by the heat of your body. It was intoxicating.

The pressure built inexorably, your inner walls beginning to flutter around his pistoning length. You were so close, balancing on a knife's edge, desperate for that final push to send you careening into ecstasy. Your teeth clenched as hard as they could and tears of desperate pleasure dripped down onto Roose’s hand. Please, you wished to mumble, please, I’ve been so good, but you restrained yourself and simply breathed deeply.

Roose could sense your impending climax, the telltale quiver of your walls giving you away. With a particularly hard thrust, he growled low in your ear. "Now, wife. Come for me now."

His command was your undoing. The coil within you snapped and your orgasm crashed over you in wave after wave of searing bliss. You convulsed around him, mouth open in a silent scream as pleasure radiated out to the very tips of your fingers and toes. Through the haze, you could feel Roose's thrusts grow erratic before he buried himself to the hilt, spilling his hot seed deep inside you with a guttural groan.

For a moment, you both remained locked together, chests heaving as you came down from your carnal high. Then Roose withdrew, leaving you feeling bereft and empty. On shaky legs, you turned to face him, seeing him tuck himself back into his breeches, his expression once again an unreadable mask.

"Clean yourself up," he instructed brusquely. "And make sure you're properly covered. I won't have my wife parading around looking like a well-used whore."

"Yes, my Lord," you replied demurely, even as a secret smile played at the corners of your lips. You knew that beneath his icy exterior, you held sway over Roose in a way no one else did. It was a heady feeling. So when you were dressed and presentable, you gently took Roose’s hand and gave him a small smile, drawing him closer and giving him a soft, gentle kiss with your bloodied lips.

Roose stiffened momentarily at the tender gesture, unused to such open affection directly after his punishments. But after a heartbeat, he relaxed into the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When you pulled back, he studied your face intently, his pale eyes searching yours for any hint of deception or manipulation. He found only genuine warmth and devotion reflected back at him.

"You are a strange creature," he murmured, thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips, smearing the blood. "Soft and yielding, yet possessing a core of steel. You would let me do the most depraved things to you, and still look at me with such...love." He said the word as if it were foreign on his tongue.

You leaned into his touch, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm. "I am yours, my Lord. In body, mind, and soul. There is nothing you could do to change that."

Something flickered in Roose's eyes, there and gone too quickly to identify. He lowered his hand and stepped back, putting distance between you once more. "We shall see," he said cryptically. "Now go, before I decide to bend you over the desk again."

You dipped into a curtsy, a secret smile playing about your lips. "As my Lord commands." With that, you turned and slipped from the study, feeling Roose's eyes boring into your back.

[asa-writes]

The Second First Time

18+ MINORS DNI Jon Snow x F!Reader 2.2 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut duh, virginity (kinda), loss of virginity, alcohol, fingering, cunnilingus, overstim, actually really cute and fluffy, as always no proofreading no nothing

When you told Jon about your idea, over a mug of hot, spiced ale in your shared apartments in Winterfell, he laughed out loud. “You had guarded your maidenhead like a hawk and now you wish to lose it again? Why?”

Of course, you could do naught but blush fervently, not quite knowing how to explain this need to your husband. “It’s… I want you to… Take me again, but just like the first time? As if I didn’t know a thing and you were seducing me?”, you mumbled and half-hid your face in your hands. You should have never mentioned this to him, he wouldn’t understand it…

Jon's laughter faded as he noticed your embarrassment. He reached out and gently pulled your hands away from your face, his grey eyes searching yours intently. "My love, there is no need to be ashamed," he said softly, his thumb caressing your cheek. "If this is truly what you desire, then I shall gladly oblige."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, anticipation already building within you. Jon set aside his mug and stood, offering you his hand. "Come, let us retire to our bedchamber. Tonight, you shall be my blushing maiden once more, and I your ardent suitor."

You placed your hand in his, allowing him to guide you through the stone corridors of Winterfell over to your old chambers. Your heart raced as you imagined what was to come - Jon's strong hands roaming your body, his lips trailing heated kisses across your skin, the exquisite stretch as he claimed you for the first time all over again.

When you reached your old rooms, Jon turned to face you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "My lady," he murmured, bowing his head. "Might I have the honor of your company this evening?"

Playing along, you ducked your head demurely. "Why, my lord, I hardly know you. What sort of lady would I be if I allowed a strange man into my chambers at night without any chaperone?"

Jon stepped closer, his fingers grazing your waist. "Ah, but I am no stranger, sweet lady. Have you not felt the connection between us these past moons? The longing glances, the accidental brushes of our hands that set your skin afire with desire?"

His voice was low and honeyed, making your knees weak. You swallowed hard, trying to remember the role you were meant to play. "I... I have felt it, my lord. But... but what you suggest is most improper. If anyone were to find out..."

"They shan't," Jon assured you, his hands now firmly gripping your hips, pulling your body flush against his. You could feel the hard planes of his muscled chest even through the layers of your gown. "It will be our secret - a stolen moment, just you and I, with naught but the old gods as our witness."

His lips were a hairsbreadth from yours, his breath warm against your skin. Your resolve was crumbling swiftly. "I am still a maid, ser," you whispered, one last, feeble protest. "I know not how to please a man."

Jon's mouth curved into a wolfish smile. "Then allow me to teach you, sweetling..."

And then he was kissing you, his lips hungry and demanding against your own. You melted into his embrace, surrendering yourself and gasped - were you still acting or was he indeed bolder this night? - as he gently took your hand and guided it to his hardness which strained at his breeches. Nervously looking up at him, you tried your best to untie them, but to your shame your fingers were trembling too much. “Do you wish me to…?”, you asked, quickly glancing down at his hardness. This situation - whatever this was - made you so giddy and shy at the same time, it truly did feel like it was your first time all over again.

Jon's eyes darkened with lust at your innocently worded question. "Aye, my sweet maiden. I would have your hands upon me, learning the shape and feel of my desire for you."

With a steadying breath, you tugged at the laces of his breeches until they loosened. Tentatively, you slipped your hand inside, marveling at the smooth, hot skin of his manhood as your fingers encircled him. Jon groaned at your touch, his hips rocking forward instinctively.

Emboldened by his reaction, you began to stroke him, reveling in the weight and size of him in your palm. He felt both familiar and new all at once, and the heady power of bringing him pleasure, even in your feigned naivete, was intoxicating.

"That's it, sweetling," Jon panted, his head falling back as you continued your ministrations. "Just like that... ah, gods, your hand feels incredible..."

You quickened your pace, tightening your grip, drawing more of those delicious sounds from his throat. But before you could bring him to his peak, Jon's hand closed over your wrist, stilling your movements.

"As much as I am enjoying your touch, I crave a sweeter pleasure," he rasped, his voice rough with need. He lifted your hand from his breeches and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm. "I want to be inside you when I spend myself.”

Slowly getting up and walking over to your bed - by the gods, your dollies were still there - you gave him a blushing look. “But… you cannot claim me… I’m a maiden… but if you must, be gentle…”, you muttered and slipped your dress off, laying there in just your smallclothes and your thigh-high stockings.

Jon's gaze raked over your partially clothed form, his eyes lingering on the creamy expanses of skin revealed to him. "Gentle, aye, I can be that," he murmured, stalking towards the bed. "But I mean to ruin you for all other men, sweetling. Once I'm through, you'll crave naught but my touch."

He knelt on the bed, crawling over you like a wolf closing in on its prey. His large hands skimmed up your legs, fingers toying with the edges of your stockings. You trembled beneath him, your breath coming faster as he settled his weight over you.

"These must go," Jon declared, hooking his fingers into your smallclothes and dragging them down your legs. Cool air whispered across your heated core and you squirmed with sudden shyness, instinctively trying to close your thighs.

But Jon would have none of that. He caught your knees, gently prying your legs back open. "Don't hide from me," he coaxed. "You're beautiful, every inch of you. Let me look upon what is mine."

His words made you flush, warmth pooling low in your belly. Slowly, you relaxed, allowing him to nudge your thighs further apart. Jon ran his hands along your inner thighs, the calluses on his palms creating delicious friction against your sensitive skin.

"I'm going to taste you now," he warned, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through you. "I want to feast upon your maiden's honey, drink down every sweet drop until you're shaking and crying out my name."

Your eyes widened and you swallowed hard, equal parts scandalized and aroused by his bold declaration. Surely he didn't mean to put his mouth... there? At least, that what you remembered from the first time it had happened. Your grip on reality faded slowly - it truly did feel like you had never been touched, like Jon was dishonouring you in the best way possible… "But my lord," you protested weakly, "s-surely that's not proper..."

Jon merely smirked, settling himself between your parted thighs. "Aye, mayhaps not. But I am going to do it all the same. And you're going to enjoy every wicked moment, aren't you, my innocent little temptress?"

Any further objections died on your tongue as he lowered his head, his breath hot against your quivering sex. The first swipe of his tongue through your slick folds had you arching off the bed with a startled cry. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark curls as he began to lap at you in earnest.

It was bliss and torment all at once, the sensations almost too intense for your ‘inexperienced’ body to process. Jon's mouth was relentless, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks against that little bud at the apex of your thighs that made you see stars. He gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as you writhed and bucked against him.

"Jon, oh gods, Jon!"

When he heard your cries, he instantly climbed all over you and gently swiped his cock up and down your slickness, grinning at your scrunched up face as you prepared yourself to feel him again. “Too much for my sweet girl?”

He teased the head of his manhood against your entrance, making you whimper with need. "Please, my lord," you begged, hardly recognizing your own voice, wanton and breathy. "I need... I need..."

"What do you need, sweetling?" Jon coaxed, his hips rocking gently, giving you just the barest taste of what you craved. "Tell me."

You flushed hotly, the words sticking in your throat. A proper lady should never speak of such things, but in this moment, propriety seemed a distant concern. "I need you inside me," you confessed in a rush. "Please, I'm aching for you..."

Jon's eyes flashed with satisfaction and he notched himself more firmly against your opening. "As my lady commands."

And then he was pushing forward, slowly sheathing himself in your tight, wet heat. You gasped at the intrusion, your nails digging into his shoulders as you stretched around him. There was no pain, not truly, but the sensation of being so fully claimed, possessed, was overwhelming.

"Gods, you're so tight," Jon gritted out through clenched teeth, holding himself still to allow you to adjust. "Like a bloody vice around my cock. Relax for me, love, let me in..."

You took a deep breath, willing your body to unclench. As you exhaled, Jon sank deeper, until he was buried to the hilt, his pelvis flush against yours. You whimpered at the exquisite feeling of fullness, of finally having him inside you where you needed him most.

"That's it, sweetling," Jon murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he began to move, establishing a slow, deep rhythm. "Just like that. Gods, you feel incredible. So hot and tight and perfect."

Each measured thrust sent sparks of pleasure radiating through you, stoking the fire building low in your belly. You clung to him, your legs coming up to wrap around his hips, drawing him impossibly closer.

"More," you pleaded, nails scoring down his back. "Please, Jon, I need... harder..."

A low growl rumbled in his chest and his thrusts grew more forceful, the gentle rocking of his hips giving way to a primal rutting. The bed creaked and shuddered beneath you as he drove into you relentlessly, chasing his pleasure and yours.

"Touch yourself," he commanded hoarsely. "I want to feel you come undone around me."

Sliding a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, you found that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. You rubbed in tight circles, gasping at the added stimulation.

The pressure inside you was building to a fever pitch, your inner walls starting to flutter and clench around Jon's pistoning length. "That's it," he encouraged, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Don't stop, let go for me..."

With a few more frantic strokes of your fingers and a particularly deep thrust from Jon, you shattered, crying out his name as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Your legs trembled and your back arched as the intense pleasure radiated through every nerve ending.

Jon continued to move within you, extending your climax, until your spasming sheath proved too much. With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and spilled his seed deep inside you, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself.

You clung to each other as you drifted down from the high, panting harshly, slick skin pressed together. After a few moments, Jon carefully withdrew from your body and rolled to the side, gathering you close. You winced slightly at the familiar soreness between your thighs, a delicious ache that served as proof of your coupling.

"Are you alright, my love?" Jon murmured, brushing sweat-dampened hair from your brow. "I fear I may have gotten a bit carried away..."

You smiled up at him, tracing your fingers over his stubbled jaw. "More than alright. That was... gods Jon, it really did feel like the first time. Thank you for indulging me…”

Smiling down at you, Jon kissed the tip of your nose. “And hey, at least this time I lasted longer than two pumps and you didn’t bleed… I must say, my love, that whatever this is… we’ll have to repeat this.”

Jon chuckled, pulling you closer into his embrace. "Aye, it was certainly an improvement over our true first coupling. Though I cherished that night all the same, for it was the beginning of our life together."

You nestled into his chest, basking in the afterglow and the warmth of his love. "As did I, my heart. But this... this was a delightful way to relive that moment, to experience it anew without the awkwardness and uncertainty."

"Indeed," Jon agreed, pressing a kiss to your hair. "And I must admit, your maidenly shyness and innocence, feigned though it was, stirred something primal in me. It was intoxicating, the illusion of seducing and claiming you for the first time. Now let us return, before the servants notice…”

[asa-writes]

The Game

18+ MINORS DNI Eddard Stark x F!Reader x Robert Baratheon 6.2 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut duh, virginity, alcohol, fingering, doggystyle, mmf, threesome, blowjob, cunnilingus, overstim, actualy really cute and fluffyas always no proofreading no nothing dedicated to @zaldritzosrose and @foxyanon <3

"Everything is fine," You assured Ned, your voice quiet as you looked over at him. He was holding your dress together at the back where he had accidentally ripped it with Brandon's shield. "It's fine, we can just wait here until my sister can bring me a new dress," you suggested. Robert Baratheon's tent was impressive in size - expected for someone of his status as head of House Baratheon.

Eddard Stark, the man you have long since felt affection for, stood in front of his friend and blushed as red as an overripe apple, and tried his best to look away from your exposed back. “Robert, I’m sorry, you know I couldn’t take her back to her family like that and I would dishonour her if I brought her back to my tent… Brandon sees everything and I couldn’t possibly harm her reputation…”, he rambled and looked apologetically at his friend.

Robert gave the two of you a wicked smile and wiggled his brows, before beckoning you to come closer. “Is that not the shy Lady you danced with yesterday, Ned? My, I did not think you to be so chivalrous. Or sly… it is not like I told you yesterday that the view of my tent’s entrance is obstructed…”

Your heart started beating rapidly as you watched the two handsome young men interacting with each other and felt the back of your dress drooping again, a cold draft passing over the tops of your buttocks. “Eddard, the dress!”

Eddard started, his gaze snapping back to you. He quickly gripped the torn fabric of your dress, drawing it together. "Apologies," he muttered, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Robert roared with laughter, slapping his knee. "Seven hells, Ned! I've known you since we were boys, but I never thought I'd see the day when you’d be flustered by a woman’s bare back." Even as he teased, there was affection in his voice.

Eddard shot Robert an irritated look but held his tongue. He turned to you again, still fumbling with your dress, and then dropped his hands and looked helplessly at Robert. "I can't hold this all day," he admitted grudgingly.

Laughter still dancing in his eyes, Robert stood up from his seat at the head of the table and ambled over to a chest by the side of his tent. He rummaged through it for a moment and then came back carrying a thin fur cloak. "Here," he tossed it over to Eddard who barely caught it in time.

"Thank you," said Eddard quietly as he wrapped the cloak around your bare shoulders, careful not to let any more skin show than necessary.

The fur felt warm against your cooled skin and you sighed in relief. You turned around carefully to look at Eddard who was now standing slightly away from you. His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the remaining length of the cloak and your heart fluttered at the brief contact.

Meanwhile, Robert sat back down, eyeing both of you curiously. “Actually… Now that I’ve come to think about it, I’ll send a servant after your sister and tell her to forget your dress. I think we shall spend a wonderful evening here, instead of having to prance around in front of Lord Whent’s daughter and that Targaryen Prince once more. I have a bottle of strongwine I’d wish to finish with you.”

You nervously eyed Eddard and Robert, slowly shaking your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “No, I shouldn’t… I…”

Robert held up a hand to stop your protest. "Barely half a week in Lord Whent's castle, and you've already attended more tourneys than I can count," he said, then waved around the tent with a flourish.

"What is more enticing? Another night of listening to Whent’s daughter prattle on about the virtues of housekeeping, or an evening of mayhaps too much wine, laughter, and stories from two charming men from Great Houses?"

Eddard looked up at his friend, his eyebrows raised in surprise at the sudden change in his tone. To you, it was clear that Robert had more to offer than just a simple drink; it was an opportunity to escape the stifling expectation of propriety.

He moved closer towards you, his eyes glinting in the candlelight and revealing a new depth of fondness. "I used to tell Ned that laughter is the best cure for everything - war, heartbreak, even frostbite." He paused, looking straight at you with a reassuring smile. "Perhaps it is time we tested that theory... together."

Silence hung heavy in the air as Eddard nervously rubbed at his neck. His shy, grey eyes met yours, pleading silently for you to consider Robert's offer. You saw not just affection from him but also a desperate desire for companionship - an appeal that tugged at your heartstrings. Your father would never have approved - this alone made you consider their offer.

Robert broke the silence by standing and extending a hand towards you. His eyes were warm as he waited patiently for your decision. "So?" he asked, his voice laden with anticipation.

You glanced over at Eddard one last time before finally reaching out and placing your hand into Robert’s, to which he softly made you shuffle over to a settee. “One evening won’t hurt,” you said with a small smile. “We already snuck around the tourney grounds last night, Eddard, and no one saw us. And you, Lord Robert, I’ve heard many good things about you. Some time with you and strong wine will not hurt, I think…,” you said softly, almost as if trying to convince yourself that whatever you were doing was, in fact, normal and alright. It would’ve been easier to do so, you thought, if the two of them did not make you feel giddy and if your dress - and to your horror, your shift under it - was not falling apart.

Robert’s laughter rang out again, hearty and infectious, filling the tent. “Ah, you underestimate us, my lady! We are far more entertaining than any tourney,” he declared, settling back onto the settee with an exaggerated flourish, his arm draped behind you and Eddard.

The evening passed in a whirl of stories and laughter, of shared glasses of strongwine and knowing glances. Eddard’s bashfulness was soon replaced by quiet amusement as Robert recounted tales of their childhood adventures — some heroic, some foolish, but all engaging. Eddard would chime in now and then with corrections or additions that made the stories even more enjoyable.

Your nerves slowly eased away as the night progressed. You found yourself laughing heartily at Robert’s boisterous jokes and charmingly exaggerated anecdotes. Eddard’s reserved wit added a refreshing touch to the cheerful atmosphere. The soft fur cloak provided not only warmth but also a sense of comfort and security amidst your unusual predicament, especially as you finally felt the last few inches of your dress and shift falling apart.

Robert had been right; this was indeed far better than another tedious evening at Lord Whent's tourney. The unspoken expectations for noble ladies like yourself were temporarily forgotten in the company of these two captivating men. And most importantly, you felt a strange sense of camaraderie with them, an intimacy that belied the short length of your acquaintance.

Eddard - no, Ned you were supposed to call him, Robert had said - looked at you then, a soft smile tugging at his lips as if contemplating an endearing secret. You met his gaze and smiled back, feeling a tenderness towards him that startled you with its intensity.

Robert interrupted the moment by raising his nearly empty goblet. “To unforgettable nights.”

You toasted back and finished your cup, your head body all warm and woozy. “This… this is the best I’ve ever felt. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Ned, much to your surprise, stayed quiet and eyed both you and Robert with a small smirk. His fingers gently touched yours as he looked deeply into your eyes. "You're welcome to stay longer, if you wish," he said softly.

“But… Lord Robert…?”, you asked quietly and looked at the big, muscular man with the beautiful blue eyes, who, just like Eddard, seemed to look better with every instant that passed.

“Oh, I won’t mind. Though… Actually, let us properly finish this bottle before we can even think about sleeping or leaving. My Lady, have you ever played truth or dare?”, Robert asked you with a smirk that mirrored Ned’s.

You blinked at Robert, taken aback by his proposition. “Truth or dare?” you echoed uncertainly. The game was something children played during frivolous feasts, not something that nobles such as yourselves indulged in. His smirk widened at your surprise, delight sparkling in his eyes.

“Indeed, my lady,” Ned chimed in, his grey eyes twinkling with mirth. “A chance to honor honesty or test courage. Both qualities we admire.” His gaze held a touch of challenge, daring you to accept their proposition.

A wary heart warred with a curious mind within you. But the boldness of the Baratheon and the comforting presence of Stark had already stirred a perilous thrill in you. This game could be terribly revealing and potentially jeopardizing. But it could also be liberating. You were never one to shy away from challenges.

“Very well,” you sighed dramatically, feigning reluctance. “I accept.”

Glee replaced the smirks on their faces as they hastily poured more strongwine into your goblet than was necessary, making you giggle at their eagerness. You raised an eyebrow at them suspiciously as they clinked their goblets against yours before gulping down their share heartily.

“As our guest of honor tonight, you shall have the first choice,” Robert declared after he set his goblet down with a loud clank. He was already halfway through his strongwine again and his cheeks reddened as he looked at you expectantly.

Your stomach fluttered nervously as you considered your options but seeing the anticipation in the men’s eyes only made you bolder. You wanted to prove to them that you were not afraid of their questions. Dares could easily be done - though the truth… the truth, in your opinion, could be far harder. “Alright, my Lords. I choose the truth,” you said with a small smile, not showing any reaction to Ned’s hand on your leg. You slowly understood what game was truly being played here, but to your own surprise, it only seemed to thrill you even more.

Robert, with a roguish grin, leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Very well," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Whom do you fancy more, Lady? Ned with his solemn eyes and honorable ways, or me with my charm and good looks?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as the words echoed in the air of the tent. The two men watched you expectantly, their eyes bearing into yours. This was indeed a tricky challenge, you thought with a soft smile. A truth that could possibly upset this delicate balance between you three.

"You're putting me in a difficult situation, Lord Robert," you said playfully, pretending to be distressed by the question. "Both of you have your charms."

Robert chuckled at your answer while Ned's grey eyes were unreadable but his hand on your leg tightened slightly in response.

“Very diplomatic,” Robert teased, swirling his goblet of wine around before taking another deep gulp. “But it won’t be that easy to evade our questions by being coy.”

“Agreed,” Ned added with a smirk that was quite uncharacteristic for him but suitably devilish for the situation at hand.

“Alright,” you said, sighing heavily for dramatic effect once again, “I’m drawn to both of you.” You paused for effect and looked at both men. “To Robert’s infectious laughter and bold spirit.” You turned to look at Robert whose grin widened at your praise while he nodded approvingly.

“And,” you continued, “to Ned’s gentle strength and handsomeness.” You then directed your gaze at Ned who seemed slightly taken aback by your confession, and blushed deeply. “That was… not so bad,” you mumbled with a small grin, “ and I choose you, Robert, next. Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Robert replied almost instantly, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You smirked mischievously as a dare popped into your mind. It was nothing outrageous but something that would surely entertain you.

“I dare you, Lord Baratheon, to sing us a song. A love ballad preferably."

Robert���s eyes widened at your words before he groaned loudly, much to Ned's amusement. "By the gods, woman! You truly are a sadist!" He complained, but there was a twinkle in his eye that was hard to miss.

"Those were the rules of the game," you retorted cheekily and gestured for him to proceed.

With another dramatic sigh, Robert started humming an old Westerosi ballad about a knight and his fair lady. His voice was surprisingly melodious for someone so gruff and brawny. The smile on your lips widened as he really got into it, gesticulating wildly and not missing out on even one of flourishes.

When he finished, he bowed low in front of you with a grand flourish causing both you and Ned to break into uproarious laughter. Your sides hurt as you tried to stop laughing while Robert feigned hurt.

“Your turn, Stark,” Robert said after everyone had finally managed to calm down from all the laughing. “Truth or Dare?”

Ned thought for a moment before replying, “Truth.”

Robert rubbed his hands together as if relishing what he was about to ask next. “So Ned… Is it true that you have ripped this fair maiden’s dress on purpose?”

Ned turned scarlet at the audacious question and apologetically pressed a kiss on your hand. “I… Fuck, Robert, that was mean! Y-yes, I did. I only wanted to rip it a bit, but my dagger must’ve slipped and I also nicked your shift and… I only wanted to be a gallant knight to maybe steal a chaste kiss, but now I’m here, with your clothes falling off of you…”

"Quite the confession, Ned," Robert boomed, laughing heartily at his friend's discomfort. "The shy wolf with lecherous intentions. Who would have thought?"

You smirked, looking at Ned whose blush went even deeper. "It was quite the sight to see you flustered, Ned," you confessed, keeping your tone light-hearted. "I must admit, it only added to your charm."

Despite the blush on his face, a pleased smile spread on Ned's lips at your comment.

"And since I've been putting you gentlemen to test so far," you continued, amusement coloring your voice and a wicked glint in your eyes. "I believe it is high time I got a taste of my own medicine."

Both Robert and Ned exchanged glances before Robert turned back to you with a deep grin. "Dare it shall be then," he declared, raising his goblet in a toast.

Your heart skipped a beat as you awaited their command – the thrill of the game alive and pulsating in your veins.

And then Ned spoke up, his voice slow and deliberate – enough to send chills down your spine. “We dare you to dance for us.”

The request caught you off guard - dancing did not seem like much of a challenge until you remembered that there was no music playing in the tent - no lute or harp melody to guide your movements, not to mention that you only had Robert’s thin fur coat to cover your body.

"How will I dance without music?" You asked, attempting to divert this dare to something easier. “My dress will fall of completely…”

Robert shrugged nonchalantly and pointed towards himself saying, "Oh, that won’t bother us. But if you won’t dance, I guess you’l have to kiss us, then…”

Your cheeks flushed with excitement as you watched the two of them exchange a sly look. "Oh, so that's how we're playing this game?" you whispered with a mischievous grin. You sprang up and blew out the candles, enveloping the tent in playful darkness.

With a twirl, you shed your garments and snuck over to Ned for a slow, seductive kiss before moving on to Robert for a quick, teasing one. Giggling, you hopped onto Robert's bed. “If you want more, I guess you will have to catch me…,” you whispered and giggled as they cursed and something clattered against the ground.

The next moments were filled with soft laughter and hushed whispers as the two men seemed to plot your capture. You held your breath, wondering which one of them would make the first move. Then suddenly, the bed dipped gently at the corner signaling that someone had made their move. Grinning wildly, you leapt off the bed just in time to avoid Ned's outstretched hand.

"Where are you?!" Robert's gruff voice echoed in the dark followed by a thump and his subsequent curse. It was clear that he'd walked into something and you stifled a chortle, pressing your hand to your mouth.

"Oh, come out! Come out! Wherever you are," Ned called out playfully after a moment of silence. You stayed hidden behind some draped fabrics which seemed like an enclosed pavilion within the tent. Their cautious steps were heard shuffling about in the dimness as they tried to locate you.

Suddenly, a hand brushed against your arm, and before you could react or run, you were being pulled into a warm embrace and gently lifted back onto the bed. You yelped in surprise and then giggled when you recognized Robert’s husky chuckle near your ear. “Got you,” he murmured triumphantly.

"Oh, well done," Ned's voice came from somewhere close by, accompanied by soft clapping. The smile on your face widened when he added with evident amusement, "Now I guess it's best we see how our lovely maiden plans on escaping this situation."

Robert laughed heartily at that but didn’t release his hold on you while you squirmed lightly in his arms trying to appear as if you were attempting an escape, only stopping once Ned’s hand softly gripped the top of your thigh, above the point where your stockings ended and dangerously close to your growing heat. “I… oh!”, you gasped and blushed.

Ned chuckled, a low rumble that made you shudder. "Oh, I like this game," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. You could hear the grin in his voice. You felt his hand squeeze your thigh before sliding away in an achingly slow journey.

"Now, now Ned," Robert's voice came into play. "Let's not be overly greedy, shall we?" His arms tightened around you again as if to doubly emphasize the fact that he was the one currently in control.

You squirmed and twisted around to look at him over your shoulder, giving him your best impression of an innocent doe-eyed gaze. "But if I can't move... how do I continue the game?"

Robert's laughter filled the tent once more. "That's the point, lass. We have you right where we want you."

A thrill ran down your spine at their words, the playful darkness of the tent somehow making their intentions all the more exciting.

Suddenly, Robert let out a groan followed by a muffled curse. Ned had managed to prod him in the ribs with his knee and taken advantage of Robert’s momentary distraction to pull you from Robert’s arms into his own lap. This new position offered no respite; Ned's form was just as hard and unyielding as Robert's had been, yet his hands started wandering once more, shyly cupping your breasts and rubbing your nipples with this thumbs.

"You're sneaky, Stark," Robert protested but there was no real heat behind his words. The tent quieted down as Robert moved from the bed - something clattered against the floor, probably his doublet - and you tried to calm your breathing, so as not to show them how much this… game excited you.

"I learn from the best," Ned replied, pressing a kiss on your temple.

"You haven't seen my best yet," Robert retorted with a sly grin and let his hand wander over your body, stopping short of your mound making you inhale sharply.

“Your… best?”, you breathed and stifled a moan as Ned continued gently playing with your breasts, dipping down to kiss you every now and then.

"Yes, my best," Robert grinned. His voice was huskier than you'd ever heard it before and it sent shivers down your spine. The silence in the tent was only broken by the occasional mutterings of the two men and your small gasps as they touched you in places no man had ever dared to before.

Ned's mouth began tracing a path down your neck, nipping lightly on your collarbone before he moved lower. You whimpered at the feel of his mouth on your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, suckling gently. You clung tighter to him as you felt yourself being pushed back against Robert's equally demanding body.

Meanwhile, Robert’s large hand traveled up and down your thigh, slowly creeping closer to the apex of your legs. His touch was driving you insane, and you could only imagine what would happen when his hand finally reached its destination. "It really is an interesting game," he murmured into your ear, his hot breath washing over you.

"Ned...Robert..." you gasped out their names like a prayer, squirming against them, pleasure building within you like a flame ready to consume everything in its path. The world spun around you, everything focusing down to where their hands and mouths were on your body.

Ned pulled away from your breast with a wicked grin, leaving it wet and your nipple hard. He leaned over to whisper something into Robert's ear while his fingers continued their torturous dance over your body. Robert laughed heartily at whatever Ned said before leaning in to steal a rough kiss from Ned's lips.

Your eyes widened at the sight in the darkness but immediately closed your eyes as you felt Robert’s fingers spreading your moist lips open and after an instant, the warmth of his tongue on your pearl. You did not even notice that Ned took off his clothes, nor did you notice that he softly retuned to his spot behind you, holding you softly in his strong arms. All you felt was the warmth of Robert’s tongue, the pleasure it gave you as it swirled over your sweet spot and at the way his large fingers trailed up and down your heat, not daring to enter you yet, only laying them teasingly against your entrance.

“I think I’m in the lead, Stark, she’s so wet already and I haven’t even been inside her,” he said as he demonstratively patted his hand against your slickness, making the tent echo with your small, suppressed moan.

"Is that so?" Ned's voice was low, his breath sending tremors down your spine as he nudged your ear with his nose. "Well then, let's see where this leads us." His hand slid down your body, joining Robert's between your thighs, their fingers brushing against each other and creating an electric sensation that tickled the pit of your belly.

Robert paused to let out a gruff laugh, but didn't move away from you. Instead, he pressed a hot kiss onto your inner thigh, his stubble scratching delicately against your sensitive skin. "Where are you headed with this, Stark?" His voice was muffled as he continued his ministrations on your throbbing nub.

Ned didn't answer at first. He shifted behind you, moving closer until his naked body was completely pressed against yours, turning you slightly onto your side. You could feel his arousal pressed against the small of your back causing a gasp from you. He chuckled darkly, his hands moving on their own accord to cup your breast and massage it in rhythm with Robert's flickering tongue.

The pleasure coursing through you was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. Ned's strong hands expertly kneading at your breasts coupled with Robert's relentless assault on your wetness had you writhing and moaning in ecstasy between them.

"Ned... Robert…" Your plea came out more like a desperate whimper as Ned’s hands moved down towards your arsecheeks, spreading them, squeezing them, spanking them. Suddenly, the sensation of Robert’s mouth retreating caused a frustrated whine to escape from you.

"Patience, darling," Robert admonished gently as he leaned up from between your legs, pressing one final kiss on your warmth before moving up to your face, kissing you sweetly, his mouth tasting of your cunt, yet you could do naught but to kiss him feverishly, because Ned, in your moment of distraction managed to crawl between your opened thighs, and inserted his finger into your warmth, making you moan into Robert’s mouth.

“Let me… anything… oh…,” you muttered wantonly and let your hand explore Robert’s big body that loomed over you, before shyly closing your small hand around his hardness, your mind spinning as you noticed that you could easily hold his with your second hand as well. With a growing blush you moaned as Ned slowly inserted a second finger into your heat, slowly moving them, whilst pressing small, sweet kisses onto your rosebud.

"Ned...more," you whimpered, your hand tightening around Robert's length as the tension coiled tighter within you. The Baratheon lordling let out a low groan at your touch, his own hand nestling in your hair to keep you close.

"All in good time, love," Ned murmured against your heat, sucking your juices off of his fingers bore gently inserting them again, curling them inside you and sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your body. His other hand left your thigh, travelling up to tangle in your hair as he guided your head towards Robert's ready arousal.

Gods, they both made you feel tiny as they roamed their hands over your shivering body. Helplessly you did as he motioned, opening your mouth and tasting Robert for the first time. He was rich and salty and filled your senses completely. You heard Robert's sharp inhale as you took him in deeper, his hand tightening in your hair as you choked on his length, your tongue swirling around him.

Meanwhile, Ned had taken advantage of your distraction to press his thick digit further into your warmth, matching Robert's moan with one of his own. "I believe I have taken the lead again," he chuckled lowly, continuing his torturous pace inside you. His voice was ragged, filled with desire and anticipation that mirrored yours. You could feel him shifting behind you once more, and when you felt the blunt pressure of his cock against your entrance, it took everything within you to keep from crying out loud.

"Ned..." It was a plea this time, a desperate cry for release that he answered with a gentle thrust inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, filling you completely as he stilled inside you to let you adjust to him.

Robert's grip on your hair loosened and he pulled away slightly to meet Ned’s gaze, though all you could do was to suck him deeper again, unable to keep yourself from moaning and screaming at Ned’s length in your womanhood. You’d been a maiden, of course, so the feeling was overwhelming - the way he stretched you out, the way he grunted at the way you tightened around him. After a few moments of respite, he slowly began to move inside you.

“Are… are you alright, my girl?”, he panted and looked up at Robert, who quickly pulled back from you so that you might answer Ned’s question, his cock glistening with your spit as it loomed over you.

“Yes, yes! I’m… ah… please more… feels’s’good…,” you mumbled, trying to give him an encouraging smile, even though it didn’t fully matter - your mind had been tunred into jelly. You hyperfocused on the delightful stretch of his cock, before gently stroking Robert’s again. “D’you… want me to continue?”

"Continue..." Robert echoed your words, his voice brimming with desire. His hands once again found their way to your hair, tugging gently as he guided you back onto him, a groan rippling from his chest as your lips encased him once more.

Ned started to move again, a low grumble of pleasure escaping him as he sank further into your warm depths. The sensation of them both filling you was intoxicating, the taste of Robert in your mouth and Ned inside you causing a fevered heat to pool in your belly.

With that affirmation, Ned's thrusts began to quicken, each one met with a gasp or moan from you. His hands were everywhere - roaming your body, making sure no inch of your skin was left untouched. He took great pleasure in watching as you writhed under his touch, the sight of you taking Robert into your mouth only adding fuel to his flaming desire.

Meanwhile, Robert's hand tightened in your hair as your tongue worked him over. He watched as Ned moved within you, his chest swelling at the sight before him. He had to stop himself from reaching out and touching where Ned disappeared inside you, the sight so erotic it drove him wild.

"Gods... You're amazing," Ned murmured against your ear, gently picking up your legs and pressing them up against your heaving chest. Every inch of him attuned to every move you made, every gurgle that escaped your lips as Robert began wantonly fucking your mouth.

"Yes," Robert agreed hoarsely, "Perfect."

Emboldened by their praises you continued with newfound zeal, matching Ned's movements inside you with the rhythm of your lips around Robert's length. The tension built within your body, tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks. You grunted, desperately hoping for some fresh air as you felt your release creeping up to you.

"Yes, darling." Robert withdrew his length from your mouth and pressed a sweet, comforting kiss on your forehead, his hands cradling your face as he whispered words of encouragement. "Let go, love," he murmured, stroking your flushed cheek with his thumb.

Ned continued his relentless thrusting, each movement sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. His fingers dug into your thighs as he quickened his pace, his grunts and moans in sync with yours. "Can you feel it, love?" he breathed into your ear. "Are you close?"

Nodding frantically, you whimpered in response. “Please, Ned, please, please, I…” Your body was shaking under the pressure of their combined attentions; the tension building to an unbearable point that begged for release. And when Robert whispered a final command into your ear —"Now."— it was all you needed.

Your orgasm tore through you like wildfire, a scream escaping from your lips that Robert quickly muted with his lips, as every muscle in your body tensed and shuddered. It was all-consuming, blinding even, and for a moment all you could feel was the pulsating pleasure coursing through your veins.

Ned groaned at the feeling of your warmth clenching around him and with a few final thrusts reached his own climax moments after yours. His body stilled above you as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, sweat dripping off him onto the sheets beneath.

Anxious not to leave Robert unsatisfied, you reached out for him once more and gave his throbbing member a firm stroke. But before you could do much else, Robert swatted your hand away gently and gently pushed Ned to the side, turning you over onto your trembling knees and pushing our face down into the hot furs, so that you were practically on the same height as your previous lover, who gave you quick, sweet kisses.

“Be a good girl for me,” Robert muttered and spat down onto your throbbing heat, making you moan wantonly in response. You had thought that many things could happen in this tent - this was certainly not one of them. Your thoughts were quickly pushed aside as Robert, who had a thicker cock than Ned, slowly pushed himself into you, spreading your arse wide open with his hands, as if to amire the way your cunt was taking him.

Robert's entry was slow but relentless, easing into your tight heat bit by bit, his large hands spreading you even wider for him. You cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain as he filled you in an entirely new way. "Gods… So tight… So hot…" Robert growled lowly, his eyes closing in bliss at the feel of you around him. His pace was slow and measured, each thrust carefully calculated not to bring you discomfort, but to bring you maximum pleasure.

Your body convulsed as you tried to adjust to his size, your walls clenching around Robert involuntarily with each soft moan that escaped your lips. Ned’s comforting hand on your back steadied you, his gentle strokes soothing your trembling body as he watched Robert take you from behind.

"Relax," Ned whispered in your ear. "You're doing so well." His words were a balm on your heated skin, bringing comfort and reassurance amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

Robert took his time with you, savoring every tight clench of your walls around him. He groaned in pleasure as he felt every ripple of your muscles contract against his thick length. His fingers dug into the plush flesh of your ass, pulling you back onto him with every thrust.

As Robert continued his tantalizing assault on your senses, Ned moved to kneel in front of you. His soft gaze met yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you two. When you nodded slightly in acceptance, he smiled softly before leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

Their attention was too much - it felt like blissful agony as Robert impaled you on his length while Ned, sweet Ned, reminded you to breathe, kissed you, reassured you that you were doing perfectly well.

With each slow, deliberate thrust from Robert, Ned's kisses became more fervent, his hands sliding up to cup your face as they explored each other's mouths. His tongue traced your lower lip before delving into the warm recesses of your mouth, matching the rhythm of Robert's strokes. The intense stimulation from both ends had your head spinning - it was almost too much.

Then Robert's pace began to pick up, his fingers digging deeper into the sides of your hips. The pain was quickly replaced by pleasure as he hit a spot inside you that made your eyes roll back and a strangled gasp to escape from your throat. "That's it," he grunted, trying to hit that spot with each thrust. “Our pretty little girl, overflowing with our seed…”

Ned pulled away from the kiss to watch you, his gaze filled with adoration. The sight of your pleasure-painted face was enough to have him hardening again, but he held himself back, focusing on your needs instead. He stroked your hair gently, whispering words of praise as he watched you unravel from Robert's ministrations.

Soon enough, you could feel another climax approaching, and this time, it promised to be even more intense than the last. Your breath hitched in anticipation and your body tensed, signaling Robert that you were close. "I got you," he breathed against the back of your neck, quickening his pace. With a few final thrusts from Robert and a rough kiss from Ned, waves of pleasure washed over you once again - stronger this time. Your body tightened around Robert who groaned out his own release moments after yours.

There was a moment of silence as all three of you laid on the bed, panting as though you had just run for leagues. You shivered lightly and twitched, your mind too hazy to comprehend anything.

“Shh, it’s fine… we’ll take care of you,” Ned whispered and stroked your hair lovingly, motioning for Robert come closer and to hug you. “You did so, so well.”

"Did we go too far?" Robert asked, his voice hoarse and filled with concern. He positioned himself on your other side and pulled you in close, wrapping a strong arm around your waist. “We didn’t mean to fill you up…”

"No," you mustered a weak smile as your response, shaking your head as you sought refuge in the warmth and comfort of their bodies. "I... I enjoyed it."

A hint of relief passed over their faces and they both leaned in to press soft kisses to your forehead. "You were amazing," Ned whispered, his voice filled with so much awe and admiration that it made your heart flutter.

"You're ours now," Robert stated firmly but gently, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. His blue eyes probed yours for any signs of fear or hesitance but found nothing but acceptance.

The moment was silent as you all listened to each others' laboring breaths, the air heavy with pleasure and contentment. You were still trembling slightly from the orgasmic high, and the feeling of their naked bodies against yours only heightened your post-coital haze.

Sleep came easy for Ned first, the exhaustion of the night's activities catching up with him. His strong arm wrapped protectively around you as he snuggled into the pillow beside you.

Robert kissed the crown of your head lightly before whispering a sweet "Goodnight," in your ear, his voice hoarse from all the moaning earlier. His hold on you tightened just a bit more before he too succumbed to sleep.

In the quiet refuge of their arms, under the warm blanket of their affections, the three of you drifted off into a peaceful slumber — the game, or its victor, completely forgotten.

[asa-writes]

Set me on fire

18+ MINORS DNI Lord Eddard Stark x F!Reader 2.5 k Warnings: P in V sex,, por w/o plot, smut duh, virginity, wedding night, fingering, doggystyle, kind of dom/sub dynamic, Older man / younger woman, as always no proofreading no nothing

ok I had serious Ned Stark brainrot tonight, I needed to write something short and sweet

"Thank you my Lord, for this. For everything. And most importantly, for letting me kiss you, all these weeks ago," Emma said gently as they stepped inside Lord Stark's chamber.

Ned's eyes drank her in when she entered the room, his breath catching a bit at the sight of her gown and her wedding hairdo. She really was a vision, both now and as his wife. The thought of her being his wife now still left him in awe, thinking back to the past weeks... and how long and agonizing they had been.

“I am the one who should be thanking you...” He gave her a wry smile and stood next to the bed, waiting for her to get closer.

Emma giggled and slowly took off her new, Stark cloak. She would not make this - their wedding night - quick and easy for him. "Well, then, I guess that you are welcome. I was afraid that you did not like me at first and wanted me to marry Robb or Bran..."

When her cloak fell onto the ground, Ned's eyes could do nothing but trace the shapes underneath the wedding gown. He would never get enough of her, that much he had realized during all these weeks. All the cold baths in the world wouldn't have done any good.

“I admit I was uncertain at first, Lady Tyrell...,” he mumbled, his eyes still focused on her body.

"Lady Stark now, my Lord. I decided to leave my House in the South for good," She said and slowly took off her veil and took the ribbons out of her hair. She liked to play this slow game of seduction with him. "But now I know why Robb was so... desperate. You were this close to taking me against a tree on the day you had proposed to me."

Ned tried to give her a stern look, but was too distracted by her luscious curls to pull it off. He just couldn't help but imagine how they would look spread out on his pillows....

"I... was in a moment of weakness, Lady Stark.” A smile tugged at his lip as he said 'Lady Stark', the sound of her new name rolling of his tongue pleasantly. “Perhaps I will have to punish you for this insolence...”

"Oh! My Lord..." Emma blushed furiously and tried to erase the image of Ned bending her over his knees, instead gently stepping out of her dress and kicking off her slippers. "If that is my Lord Husbands wish, his command, then who am I to oppose it?"

The sight of her standing there in her stockings and her shift, so beautiful and willing, was enough to make the blood in his body boil and he could do nothing but drink her in with his eyes. He stepped closer to her and started to undo the buttons on his doublet, never once taking his eyes off of her.

“You would be happy to take my punishment... wouldn't you, my girl?”

Using her pet name only between the two of them intensified their intimacy. No one else referred to her as 'my girl' except for him. He used to worry about being judged for marrying someone over ten years his junior, but calling her his girl fueled his passion and desire.

“Yes, my Lord..." she breathed out, biting her bottom lip in anticipation. "I would even offer myself to you... if only you would come closer. But you'd be just as happy to dole it out, wouldn't you?"

Ned's breath was still shallow as she stepped closer to him. “Oh, definitely...” He stepped closer, closing the last of the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her hips, pulling her gently against him. “You have been a very bad girl, you know,” he said in a low voice, before leaning down and placing a kiss on her neck.

"Have I?" Emma whispered and gently untied his breeches, tentatively laying a hand on his hardness. "Tell me, lord Husband, what have I done?"

"You have been teasing me all these weeks, Lady Emma...” he said, burying his face in her neck. “And now, I think, it's my turn to tease you...” He said, before letting go of her and moving towards the large four-poster bed.

Emma was slightly taken aback but smirked as she followed him. He thought he could outsmart her? “Oh, my Lord Husband, I am up for any challenge you might throw at me.” A blush spread over her cheeks, knowing that she was still a maiden and that Ned must’ve had so much more experience, but she decided to squash her nagging thoughts before they could form earnestly.

“As… as long as you are gentle,” she added quietly before letting her shift fall, so that she was left in her thigh-high stockings.

Ned hesitated when she mentioned him being gentle, a twinge of guilt forming at the back of his mind. He had been with other women before, but she would be his second wife... and her first ever. He turned around, looking at her with tenderness in his eyes. “I... I will be as gentle as possible, my girl.” He said, the endearment coming out tenderly as he removed his doublet and breeches, revealing his hardened state.

“I... I trust you, my Lord.” Emma moved closer to their bed, her heart hammering in her chest. “I am yours. I... I know that it might hurt..."

"Shh..." Ned said soothingly, joining her on the bed and pulling her close to him. "I will be as gentle as I can be... but it might still hurt a little at first, I'm afraid." He admitted, toying gently with her hair. "However... after that it's over and I can, well...” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid but the smirk on his face said enough.

Emma nodded gently and spat on her hand and guided it to his length, just like she had been told to do and Ned groaned instantly. “Do… do whatever you wish, Ned, I… I trust you,” she whispered with a blush, before she laid down, her curls falling around her pale, freckled, bare skin.

Ned's hands trembled slightly as he traced her body with his fingertips, following the soft contours of her hips and stomach before resting on her thighs. He watched as his wife parted them, giving him access to her most intimate place. He could feel his pulse racing as he looked at her shapely legs and the soft curls between them. The scent of lavender filled his nostrils, mixing with the natural musk of arousal that came from her body. He leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips against her, tasting their combined essence. His hands moved slowly upwards, teasing every inch of her skin as he moved closer to her core.

Emma arched her back, wanting him to touch her more forcefully but she held herself back, knowing he would take the lead. "Please..." she whispered, wanting to beg for him to continue but not wanting to sound like a needy bride.

His fingers circled around her entrance and dipped inside gently, feeling how wet she already was for him. He groaned softly against her skin and slid his middle finger inside her slowly, feeling the tightness that surrounded him. Ned watched as she closed her eyes and bit down on her lip, trying to contain herself. The sounds she made were creating a symphony of pleasure and pain that resonated within him. Her body was warm and inviting, opening up for him slowly as he pressed deeper into her, stretching out those untouched folds.

“You’re mine, only mine… I’ll fill you up with my children… Fuck you over and over, making your pretty, perky tits bounce around…,” he whispered gently into her ears and felt her clenching around his fingers, evidently close to her release, to which he quickly pulled his fingers out and rested them on her hot, sticky mound.

Emma pouted and continued her strokes with her small hand around his cock. “Is… unfair…”

Ned chuckled lightly and kissed her, moaning quietly at the way her hand squeezed him. “You’ve teased me all these weeks, my girl. Be patient…”

He guided his length to her opening and gently pushed inside, feeling the resistance as he entered her for the first time ever. He could feel her tightness around him, like a vice gripping him as he pushed further, inch by agonizingly slow inch. Their breathing was ragged, heated, intertwined with the soft sounds of their moans when he finally buried himself completely within her.

The pain was immense, but Emma bit on her lower lip to not cry out. It hurt so much, more than she thought it would, but she also felt a strange impulse to feel him move inside of her and know that she was now officially his.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Ned panted out and rested his forehead against hers. “I want this to be… special.”

“I… I’m alright... more…” Emma encouraged him softly, before wrapping her legs around him, her inner heat practically screaming for more. “More, my Lord… I can take more. Please…”

It was so lewd, but Ned loved it. Ned loved her, loved her youthful glow,, the way she called him ‘my lord’, her fervour, and most importantly the way her cunny gripped him. “More? My, I haven’t even… started, my girl,” he mumbled and slowly started moving, groaning at the way a beautiful blush spread over Emma’s cheeks and chest.

Emma tightened her legs around him, gripping his waist firmly as he began to move, and she couldn't help but moan his name softly into the dimly lit room. The pain ebbed away, replaced by a different kind of fire, one that she craved more of. His hand found her breasts, cupping them roughly as he continued to thrust into her, taking her virginity boldly, aggressively.

Ned was lost in the moment, somewhere between sanity and reality.

He never thought this day would come, that he would be here, with her, on their wedding night, consummating their marriage. But here they were and he couldn't be happier. The feel of her walls clenching around him sent jolts of pleasure through his body and he knew that their children would feel at home here. He would fill her up so much that she wouldn't want any other man but him. He would show any- and everyone that she was his. Ned groaned, picking up the speed as Emma arched her back more for him to take.

Her nails dug into his back as she clung to him for dear life, feeling herself on the brink of something monumental. "Ned... I... I'm close," she panted out breathlessly before he claimed her mouth once more in a messy kiss. He angled her hips upwards just a little bit more and hit a spot within her that made her see stars behind her closed lids.

"There we go… there... just like that… come for me, my girl…," Ned encouraged her and gently laid his thumb on her impossibly soft, warm pearl, stroking it gently while continuing to hammer up into her. “My beautiful… beautiful…. girl….”

She saw stars.

Emma tensed up and tried her best not to scream too loudly, but with the new, added stimulation, it was hard not to. Though not long after this blissful feeling had subsided, Ned pulled out of her and gently turned her around and pulled her up onto her elbows and knees, gently spreading her buttocks up for him to admire. Not long after, she felt the familiar heat against her entrance, though he waited. A gentle, yet hard slap against her arse pulled her out of her reverie.

“Fuck, you’re so tight…”, Ned whispered as he slowly pushed himself inside her, trying not to come too quickly. Her buttocks wiggled too beautifully, to perfectly against him - it was perfect agony. “M-may I?”, he asked quietly as he wrapped his hand around her throat, but her broad smile and small nod answered his question for him.

“Yes, please… I-I want… more,” Emma moaned out, feeling him hit places she didn’t know even existed, yet she wanted more and more of him. “Fill me up…”

And so, he gave her more - rough, explosive thrusts that had them both moaning and gasping for air. His hand tightened around her neck gently, not enough to asphyxiate but just enough to create a heady rush of pleasure and power.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her back, slamming himself into her over and over again, his grip on her neck tightening with each thrust. The mattress creaked from their vigorous mating, but they didn't care. All she could feel was him, all he could think of was her as they both rode each other to completion.

Ned came first, with a roar, spilling his seed deep inside her womb. Emma felt every drop of his warmth escaping into her and knew this was it. This was where she belonged - with him, in their bed. She followed suit moments later, screaming out loud as her walls clenched around him and she experienced her second orgasm of the night - mind-blowing and earth-shattering. Her legs trembled as she tried to regain control of herself, breathing heavily against the pillow.

Ned carefully pulled out of her and laid next to her, not quite ready to let go of her just yet. He gently wiped the sweat off her brow and kissed every inch of skin he possibly could before resting his head on the crook of her neck.

"I love you..," he whispered softly in her ear.

Panting heavily, Ned lowered himself down to rest his forehead against her head once more, still buried deep inside of her. Their heartbeats drummed in unison. "Welcome to our wedding night," he breathed out between kisses on her neck. He pulled out slowly, watching as a small pool of blood formed where he'd taken her virginity. It was both beautiful and terrifying in its own way, knowing that this moment would forever be etched into their shared history.

As he moved to lay beside her, he grabbed a damp cloth from the bedside table and cleaned them both up gently before tugging a fur over their naked forms.

The air was cool against their now heated skin as Ned held Emma close to him, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. "You did well today, my girl. You were perfect, just like I knew you would be.”

Emma hummed and snuggled closer to Ned. “Thank you. Let us hope that I can give you a pup soon.”

Blushing, Ned pressed another kiss on her head. “I… yes. Of course.” He did not regret marrying her, he thought retrospectively, and gently held his small wife up against his chest. “As many as you want.”

[asa-writes]

Mine is the Vengeance

18+ MINORS DNI (Dark)Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader (/OC, hair colour is mentioned), mentioned Aegon x F!Reader 3.8k Warnings: DEAD DOVE I REPEAT DEAD DOVE, dubcon, noncon, blowjob, cunnilingus, P in V sex, smut duh, derogatory language, sexism, parent-child incest mentioned, as always no proofreading no nothing

Time had seemed to slow around you. Biting back tears, you flinched every time Queen Alicent Hightower took another section of your dark locks to braid them sweetly up onto your head, creating a beautiful updo. Two moons had passed since you’d been married, and it was common knowledge that Prince Aemond Targaryen had only ever touched you on your wedding night, refusing to interact with you more than he had to, only the two of you and Queen Alicent knowing why.

It was not your fault, you thought to yourself and sighed. You were not to be blamed. Though still, you had to be grateful that he stepped up the way he did. A true Prince, you thought with a tiny sneer.

“‘Tis alright, my dear, he can be peculiar about your… previous duties to King Aegon. It is now in your responsibility to give him a son, seeing as… the realm does not have a clear successor. To keep the peace, you’ll gift Prince Aemond a little son, so that Jaehaera can marry someone befitting her position,” Alicent whispered soothingly, yet the frigid coldness of her voice did not soothe you at all.

Ah yes, having to give your husband your body, because your rapist is burnt and broken beyond repair, so no heirs may follow. Wonderful. Wonderfully splendid news indeed. Though, with a resigned nod, you accepted the Queen Mother’s dubious advice and flinched as she pinned your veil into your braids.

“Now you look beautiful enough for him. Go now, child, and do what must me done. And oh, before I forget it - do give him one of the smiles that enraptured King Aegon so. You know, he told me that that was the reason why he… payed you such attention. He always used to ramble on abou your smile. Now go, child, go, and show Aemond how pretty you can be.”

With a lingering trace of hesitation, you rose from the stool, your royal dress rustling softly against the stone floor. The reflection on the grand mirror struck you; you were a vision of pure elegance and regality, every inch the consort of a prince. As you walked towards the door, Alicent's words rang in your ears, "...show Aemond how pretty you can be."

The long hallway leading to your marital chambers seemed like an endless path. It was as though each step echoeed back into the silence, reminding you of your duty and what had to happen for you to walk this shameful path. Aegon, drunk. Aegon, sobbing. Aegon calling you ‘Mother’ while he held you down onto the mattress. Aegon, who had screamed at you. Aegon, who after having received an earful by the Hand, Lord Otto Hightower, rashly betrothed you to Prince Aemond. Aegon, who caused all of your and Aemond’s misery. Though… it was your misery, first and foremost. Aemond never had to cry because Aegon had ripped him up because he was too frunk and eager. You clutched the delicate fabric of your gown, feeling knots in your stomach. Swallowing hard, you lifted your hand to knock on the door.

Prince Aemond sat his desk, engrossed in scrolls bearing news of the current situation across Westeros. Alliances, Troop movements and such things. He looked up as you enter, his violet eyes betraying surprise before he quickly masked it with hateful indifference. His gaze travelled over your form, taking in your carefully arranged hair and the gown that fell around you like a dark green waterfall.

"Are we receiving guests?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm in his cold voice. Your heart fluttered uneasily but summoning all the courage you had left, you flashed him a radiant smile - one that was reportedly fondly spoken about by King Aegon himself. Maybe… maybe he’d play along, just this once…

"No," you replied softly, moving closer to where he sat. "I just thought... perhaps..."

You trailed off, aware that your cheeks are red with embarrassment. He regarded you for a moment longer before sighing and setting aside his papers. He stood to his full height and stepped closer to you, glowering down from his not insignificant height.

“Did the Queen Mother send you?”

Clenching and unnclenching your fists, you nodded gently. “Yes, my Prince. I was to, well I still am to… fulfill my duty.”

The Prince looked down at you with a blank face, before disgust took over his fine, Targaryen features. Stepping ever closer to you, he held you by your wrists and looked you over, like cattle in the markets. “Hm. Wouldn’t it be the greatest way to show my dear brother, the King, that I despise what he had done by just not touching you? Hm? So that I’ll be the next in line? Hm. I doubt that the Queen Mother really wished for me to bed you. Maybe you are just such a harlot that you’ve decided that you neded to get your fill again, now that my darling brother is burnt and crippled?”

His words stung, every syllable colored with venom. Your eyes welled up, threatening to spill over with unshed tears. Your heart clenched as he let go of your wrist. You turned away from him, unable to bear the scorn etched on his face.

“No,” you whispered lost in the silence of the room. “I am not a harlot,” you affirmed more firmly, turning back to him, your chin held high even as your eyes betrayed an ocean of hurt. “You know I am not. You know exactly what the King has done. Does that truly make me a whore? And I came here because it is my duty. Whether you choose to fulfill yours or not is up to you.”

Aemond crossed his arms over his chest, appearing unmoved by your heartfelt plea. But you saw something flicker in his eyes, a spark of understanding perhaps? It was quickly extinguished by a cold hardness that made you shiver despite the warmth of the room.

“Your duty?” he echoed, his tone laced with mockery and bitterness. “What a pleased duty it must be for you – first my brother and now me?”

He began pacing around the room, looking more like a caged beast than a prince. You watched him quietly, feeling small and insignificant beneath his irate gaze.

After a long silence that felt like ages, Aemond stopped before the hearth, its flames casting ominous shadows on his face making him appear more dragon than man. He finally said in an eerily calm voice, “I will take you, then. Take you in every way known to man. You’ve been a whore once, so why not be a whore now? Give me my damned son and then you can go and fuck my corpse-like brother again for all I care.”

The words hit you like an ice-cold gust of wind in winter's heart. The world seemed to crumble around you as you grappled with the gravity of his words.

“My Prince, Prince Aemond,” you implored softly. But a single glare from him stopped your protest. “As you wish, my Prince.”

Silence between the two of you spread as the two of you stared at each other, not quite knowing what to do now.

“Take off your clothes, but be slow. With every piece of clothing that you lose you shall tell me what my brother had done to you. Tell me all about yourself and your wonderfully wretched body, my dearest Lady Wife,” he murmured and sank into a chair with a small smirk, pouring himself a cup of wine.

You felt like a deer caught in the glare of a predator, frozen and terrified. But this was your duty, as painful and degrading as it was. Each slow inhale and exhale felt like a shard of ice piercing your lungs as you reluctantly began to unlace your dress from the back. As the fabric loosened, you began to speak, each word echoing sharply in the silent room.

"His hands...he was rough with them," you started, trying to keep your voice steady. "He tore at my clothes with an eagerness that scared me."

The room was silent except for your voice and the soft rustling of fabric. The first layer of your dress fell to the ground, pooling around your feet. You could feel Aemond's gaze on you, cold and unyielding.

"He pinned me down in the council chambers...," you continued, paling slightly at the memory. "His breath stank of wine... he didn't even look at me... not really. I was two and ten, I’ve not even flowered then."

As you spoke, another layer fell away. You stood before him shivering slightly, feeling naked despite being partially clothed, your veil tickling you softly.

Your eyes met Aemond's gaze and for a moment, there was silence - a tense void filled with resentment, hatred – but also a seed of understanding that seemed to have sprouted from his icy demeanor.

“He didn't care about me... I was just an object to him,” you whispered, stepping out of your last dress, standing there like a doll, which some girl used to dress up, as you stood there in your shift, your hose and your luxurious headdress. “He always wanted me to tell him that I loved him. All while he was fucking me, scraping my face against stones, letting me bleed.”

Aemond’s eyes widened slightly at your statement while his jaw clenched tight. He downed the rest of his cup in ane go and sat onto the bed, motioning you to come forth.

“That sounds like you were not a whore at all… but your gasps and moans were heard all through the Red Keep. Why did I always have to listen to your moans, never your sobs? Why did I even have to see you bouncing on his cock, tits out as if you were on the street of silk?” He asked slowly and bent you over his knees, methodically rolling up your shift to bare your arse to him.

All the heat rose to your face in embarrassment and anger as you tried to lie down in a more comfortable position, or, preferrably, to wriggle out of his grip completely. All you got, in return, was a hard slap against your supple arsecheeks. “Aemond! My P-prince! What are you-?”, you yelped, but were cut off by another rough spank.

"That's 'Prince Aemond' to you," he said, his tone firm. "And you will speak to me respectfully or you won't speak at all."

You bit your lip, forcing back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes as your face burned with shame. But under his gaze, you found the strength to continue.

"My... my moans," you choked out, swallowing dryly. "They were not of pleasure but of pain. The King... He... He enjoyed making me cry out..."

Another slap made you gasp with surprise, your body jerking under the sudden pain, your headdress jangling at the sudden motion. You glared at him, your eyes aflame with anger and hurt. But he remained stoic, his face impassive as he stared back at you.

"You were there in the shadows, watching... listening," you said bitterly. "Did it bring you pleasure too? Hearing my cries? Seeing my discomfort? Pumped your fist while I bled?"

Aemond didn't respond but his grip tightened on your wrist and for a moment his face hardened.

"Am I expected to believe that?" he asked softly. "You expect me to believe that it wasn't consensual? That you weren't enjoying yourself? You looked so serene. Like the statue of the maiden in the sept…"

His words were like a knife in your heart and you jerked away from him only to be pulled back into place by a strong hand on your shoulder.

"Look at me, woman," he commanded, forcing your head up so your eyes met his. There was a strange look in his eyes now – not quite apologetic but no longer filled with rage either. “Tell me that you’ll look at me the same way and that you will not be complaining, chattering or crying. I want you to be as serene as you were back then.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat but you nodded slowly, getting up, but yelped as Aemond ripped your shift off your body, leaving you there in your bejewelled veil and your stockings. Not for long though - he pushed you down onto his bed with a force that knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Tell me you want me too. Tell me that you’ll be as wanton for me as you were for him,” he whispered into your ear, his long silver hair brushing over your shivering, naked form. “Don’t deny it, I know you liked it, just as you’ll like this… But I’ll be gentle, I’ll treat you like a Lady…”, he mumbled on as he fumbled with his doublet.

Was he… was your sick, twisted husband truly trying to get himself to forget that you were her against your will? That you would never truly give yourself to him or his brother? You did not immediately reply and received another slap, this time against your mound, making you yelp. “I… uh… yes?”

"Good. That's a good girl," Aemond purred, his eyes flashing dangerously in the candlelight as he worked the buttons of his doublet. "Remember, you're here to please me. You're here to make me feel like the king my brother is."

His words stung, but you chose not to respond. Instead, you lay stiffly on the bed, your eyes fixed on an intricate pattern on the ceiling, trying desperately not to think about what was about to happen.

"What happened with my brother... It doesn't matter now," Aemond said softly, interrupting your thoughts. He dropped his doublet onto the floor and moved to unbuckle his pantaloons. His eyes ran down your exposed form greedily. "I will make sure that it is different. I will make sure you enjoy this."

His hands roamed over your body — fingertips barely skimming your skin, followed by gentle caresses and soft strokes that made you shiver despite yourself. He was true to his word: he was gentle — at least so far.

"Stop it," you whispered, your voice breaking as you pulled away from him and covered yourself with your arms. "Please."

Aemond's brows furrowed in confusion — or perhaps frustration — as he looked at you questioningly.

"I said I want... I want you too," you lied through gritted teeth, forcing a smile onto your face. You had to keep him appeased — keep him from hurting you any further. "But I want you... naked too. Show me how I should touch you."

Your plea seemed to surprise him as he quickly rid himself of the last articled of clothing. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a wanton little wife I have. Laying there with Jewels in her hair and a modest veil covering her hair… wanting to touch me. Alright then, Lady Wife, touch me,” he tutted and pushed you back up onto your knees, his finger pressing against your chin. “And do keep your wonderful smile while you try and take me with your mouth.”

You looked down at Aemond, the glow of the draping curtains casting shadows along his chiseled body. Forcing a shaky breath through your lips, you nodded and gently wrapped your hand around his hard cock. The contact made him hiss and you glanced up through your lashes to see him watching you intently, a peculiar look in his eyes.

"Well? Don't just sit there," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair, playing with your veil. You swallowed hard against the knot in your throat before you lowered your head down onto him, his swollen, leaking tip staring at you teasingly as you wrapped your lips around him, quickly bobbing up and down along.

But Aemond had different ideas. He guided you at a leisurely pace, drawing out the experience as he muttered deeply under his breath. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hadn't fallen yet.

"Slow down," he murmured. "I want to enjoy this." The way he spoke to you was as if he truly believed that this was what you wanted too. It was like he was coaxing you along, encouraging you like one might a timid horse.

You could feel the heat radiating off him as he pulsed subtly under your touch, his fingers relaxing their grip on your hair as if he was trying to fight against the pleasure coursing through him. His other hand fumbled for something on the side table - a small vial of sweet smelling oil - and tilted it into his palm.

"Open," he commanded softly. As much as you didn't want to obey him, fear of punishment had you complying immediately. He slowly poured the warm liquid into your mouth before pulling back slightly to watch it run down your chin and onto your heaving tits. It tasted nice, at least, you thought. At least he hadn’t hurt you too much. At least, you thought with an embarrassed blush creeping up your cheeks, it felt… okay. Not good, not great, but there had been a certain head between your thighs. MAybe it had just been the lewdness of the situation.

"That's a good girl," Aemond purred in your ear, his voice thick with lust as his cock twitched against your cheek. "Now, back to it."

You swallowed him deeper this time, taking him all the way down, your nose brushing against his pubes. He moaned approvingly, his grip on your hair tightening again as he started bucking his hips into your eager mouth in short, shallow thrusts. Your mind drifted away as you thought of anything but what was happening: the feel of sea breeze on your face, the smell of wildflowers blooming on the hills of your home, and the sound of your mother singing one of her lullabies.

Aemond's breathing became ragged and uneven above you. "I'm close," he panted, warning you just before hot, sticky seed shot into your mouth. You didn't stop until he told you to pull away, gasping for air as you wiped your face and chest with the edge of the bedspread. There was a tense silence between you both before he finally spoke up again.

"Get on all fours and spread yourself for me," he said simply. “I wish to taste you.”

As you were unpinning your veil, you felt Aemond’s big, sleek hands on your shoulders as he shook his head. “No, keep that on. I want to fuck my little doll - the doll Mother has dressed, the doll my brother has played with. But now you are mine. My pretty doll. Taking me so innocently…”, he rambled once more as he lowered himself between your trembling thighs.

Were men not supposed to be spent after their release? What was he doing to you?

You braced yourself as best as you could against the intrusion, trying not to whimper as he spread your lips apart. His tongue lapped at your clit, teasingly at first, then firmly, compelling you to arch your back and cry out in both pleasure and pain. His fingers plunged inside of you simultaneously, stretching you impossibly wide while his tongue continued its ministrations on your overly sensitive button.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked smugly, his voice full of satisfaction. "Tell me you like it."

"I... I-I," you couldn't help but moan as he pressed his face against your core harder, his tongue leaving a trail of fire along your sensitive folds.

"Say it," he growled against your thighs, his cock hardening once more against your thigh.

"I... I like it," you panted. "Oh.. oh Gods Aemond - I like it. Just like - mmph!”

His finger pushed into you to the hilt, curling and stroking inside until you were trembling on the edge of climax. "Say my name again, whore," he demanded low.

"Aemond," you gasped out, panting for breath. "I - I like it Aemond!"

He chuckled darkly against your core, his tongue flicking over your clit furiously as his fingers moved in and out of your wet channel. The waves of pleasure crashed over you like a tsunami, rendering you helpless underneath him until your back arched from the mattress and you cried out his name once more, clenching around his invading digits.

He pulled back just as quickly as he'd started, leaving you panting and drenched with sweat. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his forearm before capturing your lips in a searing kiss, forcing his tongue roughly into your mouth. As much as you hated to admit it, your body responded to him regardless of what your mind thought of him; juices slicked between your thighs as he ground against your core, hardeness poking your soft flesh.

You hated it. You loved it. You hated him. You loved him. You -

"Now let's see how tight that cunt really is," he growled against your ear before roughly rolling you onto your stomach, spreading your legs apart and plunging his length inside with one smooth motion, placing your veil over your hair in a way his mother used to do in the sept.

You could do naught but squeal and moan, trying your hardest to push him out with your cunny while tears formed in your eyes. Did he not promise to be gentle? But if you were to complain, what would he do then? What was he doing now? Your mind raced incessantly. Would he also want to call you Mother? Suckle on your teats after he was spent? Or was he different to Aegon? Aegon would’ve finished minutes ago, you thought nervously. Why was Aemond toying with you like that?

He pulled back, almost fully before slamming in again, mercilessly repeating the motion until you were begging for mercy. "Aegon was right," he grunted as he pounded into you, grunting with each thrust. "You are tighter than a maiden!"

The mention of his brother's name sent daggers through your heart and spurred you onwards. Your walls clenched and unclenched around him, desperately trying to force him out.

"Yes," he moaned, interpreting your actions as pleasure instead of pain. “That's it my pretty doll, squeeze me tighter... tighter! Show your husband how good you can treat him!”

With a final grunt, he released his seed inside you, collapsing on top of your trembling frame. "You're mine now, doll," he panted, spent but still hard inside of you. "Mine and only mine. Put on a cloak and go show yourself to Aegon in his sickbed. Show him my dripping seed. Tell him that you’re mine." A few seconds passed before he pulled himself out of you and turned away. “I’ll see you in a month, if your blood has come again. If not, well… Fare well, until you can hand me my heir. Good night.”

[asa-writes]

Release

18+ MINORS DNI Jacaerys Velaryon x F!Reader 2.6k Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, innocence / corruption kink ig, as always no proofreading no nothing

You always knew that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had a special fondness for you, and as you grew older, his feelings grew stronger. The Queen, his mother, seemed to approve of this and promised your father that a suitable marriage would be arranged. However, she failed to mention that this would only happen once Jacaerys married his cousin, Lady Baela.

Despite thinking of Jace as your closest friend, you came to realize that there were other reasons he wanted you around. He may have been too proper to admit it directly, but something was definitely going on between the two of you. Even during thunderstorms like this one, he couldn't resist reaching out to touch you or offering to hold you close in the dreary castle where you played these games together.

“Jace, I… I am not a child anymore, I don’t think I need to sit in your lap…,” you mumbled, playfully trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “And, Oh! Jace! You’ve such cold hands, I…!”

The sound of the thundering storm outside filled the room as Prince Jacaerys chuckled, his warm breath gently caressing your ear. His arms were like steel bands around you, pulling you closer to him as he settled comfortably in the overstuffed armchair beside the fireplace.

You felt your heart racing in anticipation - not just from fear of the storm but from the electricity that seemed to crackle between you both whenever he got this close.

"Oh come now, my dearest friend," he teased, his voice low and seductive. "You know that sitting on my lap is exactly what you want." His hot breath sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps across your skin as he nuzzled his cheek against yours. "And isn't it better to be warm and safe inside with me than out there, shivering in the cold?"

He held you tighter, almost possessively, and it was impossible not to notice the way his fingers danced along your arms, tracing patterns on your skin that sent delicious chills down your spine. You found yourself squirming under his touch, trying desperately not to let him see how much you enjoyed it. Your heart raced faster when he leaned in closer and whispered against your neck, "I've missed you these past moons." His words sent a wave of heat through you that was only amplified by the gentle breeze from the fireplace fanning against your skin. “King’s Landing is boring without you.”

You blushed and batted your eyelashes, feigning ignorance of the growing pressure under your buttocks. “I missed you too. You've missed the warmth - it was finally warm enough to go swimming. I went with your mother the Queen’s ladies’ maids. But then again… I don’t think you would’ve come with us, for we were all in the thinnest of shifts and they all turned see-through… No, right, you would probably just have trained with your uncle and your brother. What a foolish idea, you, swimming with us…”

There was a brief moment of stillness, and then you had to maintain a neutral expression as Jace moaned quietly into your hair. He placed his hand on your clothed thigh and gave it a squeeze, his arousal evident by the way his hardness twitched. It was amusing to act like an innocent maiden, and it clearly turned him on immensely.

Prince Jacaerys's eyes glinted with mischievous amusement, and he leaned in to nip at your earlobe. "Oh, really? And what were you ladies doing while I was gone?" His hand began to move up your thigh slowly, teasingly tracing patterns on your skin as he waited for your response. You could feel the anticipation building between you both as his fingers grazed closer and closer to the edge of your damp fabric.

"We swam in the warm sea," you replied coyly, trying not to squirm too much under his touch. "The waves were rough and salty, and the sand was warm and comforting. We splashed around and tried to steal each other’s shifts." You let out a momentary giggle, grinning to yourself. It’d been much tamer, of course, but you were playing expertly into his fantasy. You knew there was nothing he wanted as much as to make you his, to corrupt his favorite ‘little Lady’. "It felt so refreshing!"

"Mmm, I bet it did," he purred, and you could practically hear the wicked grin in his voice. His fingers had now reached the top of your thigh-high stocking, his fingertips tracing patterns along your bare skin. Goosebumps erupted across your body as he continued to tease you, inch by agonizing inch. "Tell me more…"

You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as you continued with the charade, embellishing the details to please him. "Well," you began, slightly breathless, "the sun was so hot that day... and we were all quite flushed from our swim. We laid out on the sand to dry off, letting the breeze dry our damp hair... and... and our shifts." You let out a little gasp as his fingers brushed over a particularly sensitive spot behind your knee, just where the lace that held up the stocking was, sending shivers down your spine.

"Oh Jace! That tickles!"

The room was heavy with desire now, the only sound between you two becoming the crackling fireplace and the steady patter of rain against the windowpanes.

The tension was palpable as you both danced around what neither of you wanted to admit out loud - that this game had gone on long enough. You decided to finish this slowly, to tease and torture him just a little longer, seeing as you have wrapped him around your finger whilst he thought the same about himself.

“They told me some stories about what their Husbands were doing to, and uh… with them. I could hardly believe what they were saying… I… Oh, I wish I could talk about it with you, but you’re, well, you. It would be improper.”

The look on Jace's face was priceless - a mix of lust, desire, and determination to know more about your imagined trysts. His hand had stilled its ministrations, replaced by a feverish grip on your thigh as he leaned in closer. "Tell me. Please, I want to know."

You bit your lower lip, playing the part of the coy maiden to perfection. "Well, if you insist…" You leaned in closer to him adjusting your seat on his lap, all the while letting your hand sneak behind his neck, gently playing with his locks. "They… they said their husbands were... touching them... there," you said, blushing and pointing to your lower abdomen.

"And that it made them feel... quite nice. But... But I don't understand why that would be pleasant, Jace... They also said that they, when their husbands wished it, opened their mouths wide and did this to… well…," she mumbled and slowly licked her finger. “That sounds… so scandalous. Against walls, in the sea, over tables… In the mouth, in the lady parts and even… buttocks…”

The vulnerability you exuded, the innocence you presented, melted away as you allowed him a glimpse at the cunning woman underneath. You wanted this too, and by the Mother, did you want it now. An involuntary moan escaped your lips.

He growled low in his throat, his breath fanning over your heated skin, and you knew that the line between reality and fantasy had blurred for him. His hands were no longer playful but demanding as he cupped your bottom cheeks and pulled you closer to him. "And what do you think about that, little one? Do you want to experience such scandalous things? To feel the touch of your Prince?"

Your eyes locked with his as you ran your tongue along your lower lip. "I… I don't know, Your Grace," you purred, grinding slightly against his hardness through your petticoats. "Only you can show me…"

His eyes darkened as he stared into yours before he leaned in closer and pressed his mouth to yours in a hungry kiss. His lips were soft yet firm as they moved against yours urgently, desperately, as if he was trying to devour every part of you. His tongue slipped between your lips without waiting for permission and explored every inch of your mouth, tasting you like a man starved of water in the Dornish deserts.

You moaned into the kiss, unable to control yourself any longer. Your hands tangled themselves in his silky black hair as you pressed yourself closer to him seeking more contact between your bodies – desperate for something... more...

"You're such a tease," he murmured in your ear, lifting you up and carrying you to his bed. "I'll show you everything, I've been waiting for this moment for so long."

As he carefully laid you down on the bed, he assured you, "I won't hurt you, my dear. I just..." His words trailed off, mumbled like a drunken confession as he pushed your skirt up and reveled in the sensation of your wetness.

"Gods, I want you so badly." He dropped down onto his knees and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, sloppily kissing your thighs up to your sweetness. “Tell me you’re mine, I want to hear you screaming my name… My perfect little Lady…”

You didn't hesitate in your response. "Yours, Jace. I'm yours and only yours... please... I need you... now..."

He didn't need any more encouragement as he pulled your hiked your skirt, exposing your core to him completely. You gasped as his hot, wet tongue found your bud, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

He was as good with his mouth as he was with words, you realized, and you moaned louder, arching your back. This wasn't how Ladies spoke about it in stories, it was so much better... so much more intimate.

"You are so wet for me," Jace murmured between long, languid kisses and licks up your slit, his tongue working its magic as he tasted your arousal. He grinned against your folds, the hungry look in his eyes making him seem even more wicked and dangerous. His fingers found their way into your stockings, tracing up your thighs and teasingly skimming the sensitive skin beneath them, making you gasp and shiver.

"And how do you like this?" he asked, his rough voice sending shivers down your spine. You couldn’t help but whimper in response as he dipped a finger inside you, stretching your tight entrance, filling you with delicious pleasure. "Do you like feeling how wanton you are for me?"

His other hand slid underneath your shift to caress your bare stomach before trailing up to cup one of your breasts. His nails scraped lightly against your sensitive nipple, making you arch into him and made you let out a needy moan.

"Oh yes," he breathed against your skin, "Let me see how much you need me." With that, he pulled back the soft fabric of your chemise to expose one breast completely and took it into his mouth with a growl while his fingers continued to work their way inside of you.

His lips and tongue circled around the sensitive peak while his fingers thrust deeper into you, pushing against that wonderful, aching spot inside.

The sensations were out of this world and increased with each push of his fingers, though every time you came close to your undoing, he stopped what he was doing with a small smirk. “You really think I’m letting you finish so quickly? No, little one, you’ve teased me long enough. It’s my turn now…”

With a final, lingering suck on your nipple, he stood up and undid his trousers. His manhood, long and hard pressed against his trousers, could no longer be hidden. His eyes bored into yours as he removed the last barrier between you two. He positioned himself at your entrance and looked down at you expectantly, "Tell me you want this."

“Yes,” you breathed out, your voice unsteady with desire. “I want you, Jace. I want all of you... inside... now...”

He smiled a devilish grin before he entered you roughly in one go, stopping only momentarily to let you adjust to his size.

"Jace, oh..." You couldn't help but moan out loud as he filled you completely, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. The slight pain quickly dissipated as pleasure took its place. Panting for air, pearls of sweat began to form on your brow as Jace continued to thrust into you relentlessly - slowly at first then picking up speed with every moan that escaped your lips until your bodies were slapping against each other like the waves in the Narrow Sea during a stormy night.

“Mine… Mine, all mine, so perfect, such a beautiful cunny, all mine, so tight I…”, he rambled and held onto both of your shoulders to push himself deeper into you as you folded your legs around his handsome, muscular torso. “Only mine, so beautiful… Fuck, open your mouth, darling,”, he groaned and blushed when you wantonly opened your mouth, letting your tongue hang out. He gathered some spit and let it drip down into your mouth, shuddering at the feeling of your walls tightening around his hard cock.

“Is this what you wanted, Little One? To be used like a whore? A common whore with her legs spread wide for any man who would have her?”

Your hips bucked against his, meeting him thrust for thrust as you rode out the waves of pleasure crashing over you from his words and his cock. “You’re so wet, so slick, just for me… No one else, only me… no one can have this… this tight cunny…”

Tears of pleasure streamed down your face as you neared the precipice, not caring about decorum or anything else but the building fire between your legs. "Yes, Yours… only yours..." you panted, barely able to form a coherent sentence anymore. "Only yours... I want you... to... to... fuck me... make me yours forever... oh Jace...," you whined, clenching your fists and biting down on your lip as you convulsed in pure extasy.

It felt beautifully cruel as Jace continued chasing his high before pulling our at the last second, spraying his hot seed over your stomach and your hitched dress.

His groans of pleasure filled the room as he collapsed onto the bed next to you. His chest heaved, sweat pouring down his bare torso. After a moment, he turned towards you and you were met with a sight that rendered you speechless. His dark eyes shone with a mixture of satisfaction, lust, and something deeper, something tender that sent sparks fluttering in your belly.

"Forgive me," he whispered, his voice rough from the aftermath of his climax. "I was too rough." His hand moved up to trace lazy circles on your inner thigh, making you shiver at the touch. "I promise to be gentler next time," he murmured, his fingers moving higher until they traced the edge of your sore entrance.

He moved closer to you as his other hand cradled your cheek, his thumb lightly brushing against your lips. He leaned in and planted a light kiss on them. It was so different from the fierce and passionate ones you had shared earlier; this one was soft and gentle like a fleeting promise.

"From now on, I will treat you like a princess," he told you, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. "I hope you enjoyed it," he added gingerly. You nodded in response even though there was a sudden lump in your throat that made it difficult for you to get any words out.

"I'm not a princess," you protested weakly.

"Well," he smirked down at you, "you are my princess."

[asa-writes]

Among the ferns

18+ MINORS DNI Halsin x F!Reader 2.6k Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, size kink, fluffy smut as always no proofreading no nothing this is for you bby :3 @foxyanon

As the night grew colder, your companions retired to bed one by one. All except for Halsin, who had made a promise to stay up with you. He didn't mind avoiding Lae'zel's loud snoring; he preferred talking with you anyways, and sleep wasn't coming easy for him this night.

“Tav, may I ask you something?” he asked gently, looking down at you with a small smile. The full moon illuminated the small clearing in the woods where you had set up camp and a soft breeze played with the undergrowth.

The fire that had once crackled and danced with life was now reduced to glowing embers, casting a warm, orange glow on Halsin's face. His eyes twinkled with curiosity and earnest sincerity, making them as captivating as the night sky above.

"Well, Halsin," you responded, cradling your cup of warm cider between your hands. "You can ask me anything." Your tone was light, playful even. This was not the first intimate conversation you’ve had with him, nor would it be the last.

His brow furrowed slightly under his tousled locks. "It's just..." he hesitated, looking slightly unsure of how to phrase what was on his mind.

You chuckled lightly to yourself, finding his uncharacteristic shyness amusing considering that he was normally so confident and outspoken. With his muscled frame and towering height, he was often mistaken for a brute by those unacquainted with him. But you knew better than most that there was a lot more to him than met the eye.

"Why have you never spoken about your romantic partners before?" he finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. A breeze rustled through the leaves overhead, adding a symphony of soft whispers to the stillness of the night.

A hush fell over you both as you considered his question. The forest around you teemed with life – crickets chirping in the underbrush, an owl hooting in the distance – yet all sound seemed distant as you pondered your answer.

"Truthfully?" You start, shifting your gaze from the dying fire up into the night sky, blushing gently. "I suppose that is because I've never… had a romantic partner before.”

The revelation hung in the air, ungraspable as moonlight. Halsin took a moment to truly absorb your words. His head tilted slightly, the glow of curiosity was now replaced with surprise. "You mean…" he stumbled over his words, a rare occurrence for him indeed, "You've never…?" He didn't need to spell it out; his meaning was clear.

You found yourself shaking your head in confirmation, your cheeks heating up. The confession had left you feeling lighter somehow, liberated even.

"I know it's unusual," you admitted, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your cider cup. The warm ceramic felt grounding against your skin amidst the otherwise ethereal atmosphere of the night.

Halsin, still overwhelmed by the revelation, defaulted to silence as he stared at you with intense concentration, as if trying to understand an enigma. His gaze seemed to penetrate beyond your skin through to the very essence of who you were. It was a gaze that could make anyone feel seen for perhaps the first time in their life.

The silence lingered but didn't feel oppressive; instead, it held a certain comforting intimacy that carried an odd tranquillity with it. Perhaps it was due to understanding that sometimes words were superfluous and that silence spoke volumes more than any spoken language ever could.

Finally, as if breaking free from a trance, Halsin shifted his gaze away from yours and stared into the almost extinguished fire. His fingers absent-mindedly picked up a stick and prodded at the glowing coals – it seemed like he wished to say something, but held himself back out of respect.

“Halsin, I… Look, it’s not like I have no desire for… it, it’s just that no-one ever, uh… invited me for…,” you stammered out and looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

"I see," he finally answered, his voice just above a whisper and filled with an understanding that you hadn't expected. He looked back at you, the light from the dying fire dancing in his eyes. “Well, under any other circumstance…” he trailed off, looking at you with a softness you hadn’t seen before.

His gaze held yours as he continued, “I would have invited you for...” he paused as if searching for the right words, “a quick, intimate encounter.”

Your cheeks heated up further at his admission. The mere thought of it sent a jolt through your body, making your heart flutter.

"But," he quickly added, seeing your reaction, "given what you've revealed... I think I would be entirely satisfied sharing just an innocent cuddle." His words settled over your ears like a soothing balm, calming your anxious thoughts.

It was a simple offer — one of warmth and companionship without any expectation or pressure.

You felt a burst of adoration and gratitude for him. It was as if Halsin was offering to meet you at your pace, to hold space for you in a world that often demanded too much too soon. He understood, perhaps better than anyone else ever could.

“Halsin…” You couldn’t help the soft smile that graced your lips. The tension that had been building dissipated into the cool night air.

He smiled back at you then – not his usual mischievous grin but something far more genuine and tender.

Together, you sat in silence once more, the crackling embers providing a warm glow to your faces.

“Actually, I… uhm… wouldyouliketoteachme?”, you pressed out and immediately looked away, afraid that he would reject you.

“I mean, everyone’s asleep, you know this forest well, you are a gentle man and as far as I know you you are a very good teacher and I’ve liked you for so long and you’re good looking…,” you rambled, sure that your cheeks couldn’t heat up even more than they did in that moment.

Halsin blinked, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Then he laughed, a rich and warm sound that echoed softly in the quiet of the night. “Easy,” he said, his voice gentle yet laced with amusement, effectively cutting through your rambling. His gaze softened even further as he reached over and took your hand into his.

"Thank you for the compliments," he said, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. His touch felt like a spark in the darkness, both startling and comforting at the same time. "And for trusting me enough to ask."

There was an earnest sincerity in his eyes that made you feel seen – really seen – for perhaps the first time in your life. It was as if he truly understood the depth of what you’d asked him. That he grasped how much courage it must have taken you to let down your walls and bare a part of yourself you’d kept hidden away for so long.

The silence that followed was pregnant with anticipation, each moment stretching on as you waited with bated breath for his response.

“Alright,” Halsin finally said, breaking the silence. His tone was somber now, filled with a level of gravity that reflected just how seriously he was taking your request.

“If this is what you want... If it’s something that feels right for you…” He paused to give you one last chance to change your mind. However, seeing no hesitation in your eyes, he simply nodded and continued, “Then yes, I’d be honored.”

A sense of relief washed over you at his words. It was as if a weight had been lifted off your chest - a wide smile spread over your cheeks and you hugged him, losing yourself in his warmth and scent.

Gently, he cradled your head against his shoulder, the rhythm of his heart a soothing lullaby as you relished in this newfound intimacy. It wasn't long before he scooped you up into his arms, rising from the bed of moss and ferns to carry you further into the forest. Your heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness as pine needles rustled beneath his feet, creating a symphony with the nocturnal creatures singing their songs.

The forest that had seemed so intimidating before now felt like a safe sanctuary under Halsin's guidance. He deftly navigated through the complex labyrinth of towering trees, guiding you through dappled moonlight that slipped through the rustling canopy above.

Eventually, he came to halt in a hidden glade awash with soft silver light. It was an enchanting spectacle - fireflies danced in the air while a gentle brook murmured in the distance, providing a harmonious backdrop to this still moment. Here, beneath the vast expanse of stars, Halsin laid you down gently on another bed made of moss and ferns.

Halsin hesitated for just a moment before beginning to remove his clothing, piece by piece. His movements were unhurried and deliberate, affording you enough time to adjust to each new revelation of skin and muscle underneath. He was beautiful in all senses of the word – not just physically but in his vulnerability too.

Once he stood undressed before you, it was his turn to ask for permission. His voice was low as he asked, "May I?" His respect for your comfort evident in that simple question.

“Y-yes, you may,” you muttered and gasped as you felt his hands working on the laces of your dress and the feeling of his lips on the nape of your neck. “You may do anything you wish, as long as you… are gentle,” you whispered, drawing in a big breath as he bared your breasts, gently tracing his hands over the gentle curves.

"Yes," he murmured against your skin, "always gentle." His voice was a soothing rumble that reverberated through you, making your heart flutter in response. His hands were warm against your cool skin, his touch so tender and careful it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He guided you to recline on the mossy bed, his strong hands supporting your back as you did so. The moss was surprisingly soft underneath you, nature's own cushioned bedding. Halsin continued to worship your body with his hands and mouth, his every touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You gasped as he traced kisses down your neck, over the valley between your breasts, and then lower still.

You gasped and blushed at the sensation and bit your lip as you felt his big finger gently slipping between your wet folds. Gods, it felt so good, and the longer you looked at him pleasuring you through half-closed eyes, you felt your inner fire burning hotter and hotter. Everything about him drove you wild. From the way he loomed over you, to his strong, yet gentle hold on you, not to mention the way he caressed you - it drove you to the brink of insanity.

“Let go, my love… moan for me, my sweet thing… let nature hear your call…,” he muttered, alternating between rubbing your pearl, licking and kissing it gently.

Gasping, you struggled to breathe as the pleasure coursed through you like wildfire. You'd never felt anything like this, and it was all too much and not nearly enough at the same time. His touch was electric, igniting every nerve ending in your body and sending sparks of ecstasy ricocheting along your spine. Moans tumbled unbidden from your lips, mingling with the chorus of the forest around you.

"Halsin," you whimpered, arching your back off the cushiony moss beneath you. "Oh gods, Halsin... it feels... it feels..." Words failed to do justice to the sensations he evoked within you.

He chuckled against your damp core, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. "That's it, darling. Let it out. I want to hear every little sound that escapes those pretty lips of yours."

Emboldened by his words, you did just that - moaning louder as he continued his ministrations. His tongue flicked and swirled over your most sensitive spots, teasing and taunting you until you thought you might combust from the aching need building within. Every stroke of his tongue or caress of his fingers seemed to send you higher and higher still, until you were certain your heart would beat right out of your chest.

"Halsin... Halsin... I... I'm..." You panted, but could not finish your sentence, as a huge wave of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out in unadulterated bliss as your body shuddered and arched beneath his touch. Halsin continued to caress and kiss you, milking every last shudder and gasp from your body until at last, your cries subsided into satisfied pants.

“You did perfect. Now… are you ready for me? Or should I let you rest?”, he asked sweetly, pulling himself out from between your thighs and up to you.

It felt like you were dreaming - and could do nothing else but to shake your head and hold your chest, gazing wantonly up at him. “No, no rest, I… I need you, I want you, but… are you sure that it is going to fit?”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Oh, my love, I've imagined this moment for so long... and I assure you, I will fit. Just…” He leaned in to replace his words with a fiery kiss, his tongue teasing yours as he gently slipped his hardness between your wet folds.

It felt like he was right - it stung for a second, but it was a perfect fit, and he filled you up completely as he entered you inch by inch, stretching you to the limit, even though he was still holding back from plunging completely into you. "Feel how perfect we fit together?", he whispered into your ear, gently kissing the top of your head.

"Y-yes," you panted, arching your hips against his. "Halsin... please... don't stop." You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him onward.

He obliged, slowly and steadily, surging into your depths as if he had all the time in the world. The sensation was unlike anything you'd ever experienced - a delicious friction of stretching and heat that bordered on pain but was oh so exquisite. His every movement sent waves of pleasure crashing through you anew, his length hitting places inside you that had never known such stimulation before.

As he rocked his hips against yours, a primal, animalistic growl escaped his lips, and his grip on your hips tightened just enough to leave marks. You didn't mind, though - if anything, it spurred you on further. Your hands tangled in the moss beneath you, nails clawing at the ground as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

"You feel so good... so tight... around me," Halsin groaned between gasps, the pace of his thrusts increasing marginally with each breathy moan that escaped your lips. "I... I've wanted this... for so long... You, bouncing under me… in the woods…"

The way he spoke to you - so guttural and raw - was enough to send you over the edge a second time. Your climax washed over you like a tidal wave, hot and consuming, leaving you reeling in its wake. "Halsin!" You cried out his name as your body clenched around him, contracting around his hardness and milking him for all he was worth.

"Gods...," he panted, his thrusts growing erratic as he too lost control. "I... I can't... much more... So tight…"

With one final, earth-shattering thrust, he stilled inside you, his essence welcomed within your depths as you both shuddered through the climax together. Halsin collapsed atop you, his breathing ragged in your ear.

"That…" He finally managed between breaths. "Was… better… than I ever imagined."

You smiled up at him, your insides still convulsing and hugged him tight, not minding that he squished you under his large, shuddering body. “You’re… you’re a good teacher. The best.”

[asa-writes]

Faileas

18+ MINORS DNI Cregan Stark x F!Reader 5.6k Warnings: SMUT, blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mentions forced marriage, dom / sub dynamics as always no proofreading no nothing

Hi guys! you wished for some Cregan action, here you go, some wintery woodsy and very sexy scenes for you <3

The eerie silence of the snow-covered forest was suddenly shattered by a loud thump, jolting you out of your sleep. The sound echoed through the thick trees, sending shivers down your spine. You knew that snow never fell silently, but this was no gentle snowfall.

Someone or something had disturbed the peacefulness of the night.

Hastily pulling on your fur-lined boots and throwing on your warm cape, you grabbed your trusty ax, ready to defend yourself against any unwelcome visitors. The only light came from the full moon, casting elongated shadows across the ground. Your heart raced as you crept towards the door, unsure of what awaited you outside in the frigid darkness. Whoever was lurking around at this hour was most likely not a friendly soul.

Breathing deeply, you pushed open the door just a sliver to peer outside. The sight that met your eyes was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The snow lay pristine and untouched, beautifully illuminated by the silver glow of the moon. Each tree stood tall and heavy under its snowy blanket, the crystals shimmering with infinite variations of blue and silver under the celestial light.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught your attention. It was far off in the distance but distinct against the untouched snowscape. Fear surged through your veins, but courage stemmed from your noble upbringing spurred you on. As you stepped out into the winter night, the crisp air stung your face and the snow crunched under your boots. Your fingers tightened around the handle of your ax, its familiar weight offering some measure of comfort.

As you trudged deeper into the forest, it became clear that you were not alone. Footprints imprinted on the previously untouched surface told a tale of stealth and intention. A creature of some sort had indeed passed this way, disturbing the tranquility of your sanctuary.

You had sought solace in this barren place to offer your prayers. A giant Weirwood tree stood beside your modest dwelling, and you made offerings to it every day, seeking guidance. Your parents, who ruled House Knott, were determined to marry you off to an elderly Lord from the Stormlands. Desperate for someone to intervene, anyone at all, you turned to this sacred spot for help, but as it seemed, you were not entirely safe here.

Through gaps in the trees where moonlight penetrated, you saw it; a figure, cloaked in darkness paused momentarily at a clearing futher down. Its silhouette was hunched over as if peering at something in the snow.

Silently, like a wolf stalking its prey, you advanced cautiously towards it. Your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum as each breath became shallow and measured under stress. As you moved closer, an unexpected gust of wind swept through the trees making them groan under their icy load.

Spooked by the sudden noise, you gripped your axe tighter and lifted it up high, expecting the figure - a man in a cloak with fur over his shoulders - to jump up and attack you as soon as he thought you had let your guard down. He was most likely a poacher, trying to hunt down a skinny rabbit or a winter fowl.

“Poaching will get you hanged. Know that you are on the lands of House Knott and I shall bring you to the Lord if I catch you stealing from us,” you said calmly, your ax hanging over the man’s head. “And if you wish to attack me, I’ll lob your head off clean.”

The man quickly turned to face you, his eyes wide with surprise. He rose slowly, hands lifted in a placating manner. The man was tall, towering over you, and the moonlight revealed a wild shock of black hair and stormy grey eyes that seemed to carry a certain depth of experience and wisdom. There was something captivating about the way he looked at you, an intensity coupled with an unexpected warmth that was unlike any stranger you've encountered before.

“Easy there, m’lady,” he said, his voice resonating in the windless night. He cocked a small grin, his teeth white against his rugged features. His northern accent only added to his charm. “I’m no poacher, nor do I seek to harm you or rob your lands. I’m merely looking for shelter.”

His cloak billowed as he moved away from you towards a loneset tree nearby. In the dim light, you noticed a direwolf sigil stitched onto his cloak - the sigil of House Stark. An unexpected chill ran down your spine as realization hit.

"Lord Cregan Stark?" You questioned aloud, disbelief tinting your voice.

The man - Lord Stark - turned back to face you, giving a small nod as he surrendered jokingly with a chuckle. “Indeed," he confirmed in amusement, "Didn’t mean to startle you.”

A thousand questions danced in your mind as your grip on the axe loosened but did not let go completely. The Warden of the North standing before you in your family’s sanctuary in the Woods was something straight out of legends and ballads sung by minstrels at feasts.

“I… I can give you shelter, my Lord. Though it is only a small hut… It surely won’t live up to your expectations,” You mumbled and courtsied, trying to suppress the blush that formed on your cheeks.

Your mother has told you about Lord Stark, but seeing him there, in the moonlight, made you doubt her words. He was strikingly handsome, not at all boorish and violent like she had told you.

“Though, my Lord, if I may be so bold, I would’ve appreciated it greatly if you would have just knocked. I was prepared to hack you to pieces.”

Lord Cregan eyed you over. “Your hut? Are you Lady Knott? I thought she was an old hag, sitting and scheming around in her Keep. You’re decidedly younger and prettier.”

Approaching you slowly, he laid his large, gloved hand on the hilt of his sword. “If you aren’t Lady Knott, then what are you doing here, in the Knott’s Weirwood grove?”

You narrowed your eyes, straightening your posture as you met his gaze. "I am Lady Knott...the younger one," you clarified, feeling the corners of your mouth quirk up in a small smile.

"You might be confusing me with my mother." You watched as the hint of surprise crossed his features before transforming into an appreciative chuckle.

"Well then, that would explain the confusion," Lord Cregan replied, leaning against the tree he had been approaching earlier. He looked at you with renewed interest. "And as for knocking, I thought no one would be occupying this place at this hour. A slight miscalculation on my part."

Your smile widened as you stepped forward, crossing your arms over your chest. "Next time, my lord, take the time to knock. Or better yet, send a raven ahead of time."

His laughter echoed through the grove, a rich and deep sound that resonated within you. "Noted, Lady Knott."

Looking back at him composedly, you added: "But if you're still suspicious of me, Lord Stark, then by all means go back into the forest and sleep there..."

Lord Cregan raised an eyebrow at you. His eyes danced with a playful gleam under the moon's glow. There was a moment of tense silence before he let out another hearty laugh that vibrated through the grove.

"I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to turn away from such generous hospitality,” he answered warmly.

His words filled you with warmth even against the cold wind. He was not what your mother had made him out to be; he was far from it.

"Speaking of hospitality, my lord, would you care to step inside the hut?" you asked, tilting your head towards the entrance of the small dwelling. "I promise I won't hack you to pieces. At least, not tonight."

Once more, his laughter echoed through the trees, creating a symphony with the rustling leaves and nocturnal sounds.

"Lead the way, Lady Knott," Lord Cregan instructed, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he followed you into the hut. Inside was an array of family relics; old books, carefully crafted tapestries depicting ancient tales from their lands, and one prominent weirwood table where you had been preparing for your moonlit prayers.

You began to explain yourself, your hands nervously fidgeting as you gestured around the sacred space. "I come here often,” you admitted. "A little strange perhaps, for a young noble lady to find solace in such a... rudimentary place. But I find it peaceful."

Lord Cregan's eyes roamed over your treasured sanctum with evident respect. "And tonight?" he asked, glancing back at you as he leaned against one of your stack of books.

A sigh escaped your lips as you braced yourself to confide in this stranger who felt oddly trustworthy. "Tonight... Tonight I came here to pray against my marriage," your voice wavered toward the end.

His brows furrowed curiously and he inclined his head slightly sideways in question. "Against?"

"My parents have arranged my marriage," you clarified hastily. An uneasy laugh escaped your lips as tried to lighten up your confession. "To a sixty year old widower. A Lord from the Stormlands. Lord Symon Dondarrion, they said.”

Shrugging quickly, you put another piece of wood into the hearth and watched the embers reddening. Why were you rambling so? Lord Stark probably did not care.

His silence was unsettling. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he finally broke it with a soft, "I see." His gaze softened, empathy seeping through his glacial eyes as he watched the dancing flames of the hearth reflect in yours.

“And what does the young Lady wish for?" Lord Cregan asked, taking hesitant steps towards you. His sturdy voice echoed in the tight confines of the hut.

Despite his status as a powerful lord, he appeared genuinely interested. You drew in a shaky breath before managing to voice your deepest desire out loud. "To stay in the North," you answered honestly. "To stay where I have grown up, not having to go to… well, almost Dorne. And not having to marry an old man…."

A thoughtful silence fell between you both. Outside, the wind had picked up and was causing the leaves to rustle and twigs to snap under its force. Stark's gaze drifted towards one of your family small tapestries, where large, rugged old men sat next to sour-faced women, wolves and bears at their feet.

"In Winterfell," he began turning his steady gaze back to you, “we have a saying: ‘The lone wolf dies but the pack survives’. At times, alliances made are for survival not just for one individual, but for their kin and their people."

He paused for a moment and sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his head with his gloved hand, before taking it off. The warmth was catching up to him, it seemed. The seriousness faded from his face and he offered you a small smile. "But it doesn't mean that it has to be so bleak.”

The warm fires of the hearth flickered across his rugged features as he stepped closer to you. You could feel your heart drumming louder in your chest as he neared.

"For now, you’re here in the North. Isn’t that… good?”, he said, seemingly trying to cheer you up.

You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you stumbled out of your sodden boots and removed your drenched cloak. It was only then that you realized the inappropriateness of your attire for hosting the esteemed Warden of the North. The topic of your impending marriage also felt uncomfortable to discuss with him.

"Um, yes...I suppose so," you stammered, at a loss for words.

"But...that's not really important right now." Your awkwardness only seemed to grow in his intimidating presence. “If I may be so bold, what were you doing here, north of the Wolfswood, without any guards?”

The corners of Lord Cregan's mouth twitched ever so slightly, as if he was amused by your audacious question. He stood from the stack of books and began pacing the hut, each step measured and silent. "You have a keen sense for observation, Lady Knott," he began, the moonlight streaming through the window to highlight his stern profile.

He paused, leaning against the old ironwood table, his fingers gently brushing over a worn out book that lay there. "In all honesty," he admitted, not looking directly at you, but at the memorabilia scattered across the space. "I'm here on kind of...a pilgrimage."

"A pilgrimage?" you echoed, brows furrowing in confusion. You weren't sure what you expected, but that was certainly not it.

"Yes," he answered simply, before turning to face you properly. His eyes glowed with a certain intensity that made your heart flutter. "In my early youth, I often wandered these woods; it gave me a sense of calm that nothing else could."

"Even though Winterfell is known for its peace and tranquility?" you couldn’t help but jest lightly.

A deep chuckle echoed through the room as Lord Cregan nodded in amusement. "Even then," he confirmed. "Sometimes even the peaceful walls of Winterfell can feel suffocating."

You couldn't help but relate to his confession; even amongst your own family and kinfolk, there were times when you felt bereft of inner peace. It was one of the reasons why you often sought refuge in this secluded hut.

Lord Cregan sought your gaze again, the playful light replaced with a slightly darker one, although not completely sinister. “I think that the Gods have answed both of our prayers, though.”

Sitting down onto your bed, you offered him your chair and gestured towards a large bottle of wine, wordlessly inviting him to pour himself some, if he wished to. “My Lord?”, you asked, not quite knowing what he meant, cocking your head to the side.

Sitting down with a sly smile, he shrugged. “Well, I’m looking for a wife that is not a simpering flower. You’re looking for a strong, young, northern Lord. Or am I wrong, Lady Knott?”

His words hung in the air, creating an electric tension that you could physically feel. The preposterousness of his proposition was too absurd to believe, and yet his confident demeanor suggested he was entirely serious. You hesitated, eyeing him cautiously as if expecting him to erupt into a fit of laughter, revealing it to be a cruel jest. But the man before you remained grave and composed.

The silence stretched out between you like a yawning chasm. His question echoed in your mind, circling around like an insistent buzz. A desperate urge bubbled within you to provide a witty response, anything to alleviate the suffocating heaviness, but words failed to formulate.

Your mouth went dry as dust and for a moment, you worried that you had lost the ability to speak. All you could manage was a weak whisper of "What?" that surely Lord Cregan didn't even hear.

To your surprise, he didn't repeat himself or elaborate on his shocking proposal. Instead, he simply leaned back into his chair and studied you intently as he took a slow sip of the wine you offered him earlier.

A long moment passed before he finally broke the silence, a faint smile gracing his lips. "It's late," he stated simply, standing up from his chair and setting down his cup. You blinked at him in surprise, suddenly realizing how true his words were. The hourglass on your desk indicated that it was way past the hour of the bat.

Lord Cregan made his way towards you, his every movement graceful and measured. He paused, sliding his cloak off, quickly and gently holding your chin in his large hands, making you look up at him. “Tell me if you oppose this. Say the words and I will leave.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as his gaze bore into yours. The fiery intensity, the sheer command in his eyes was insurmountable. His words, though spoken softly, echoed thunderously in your ears. You had always considered yourself a strong-willed woman, not easily swayed by men and their games. But at this moment, looking up at him, you felt a strange fluttering sensation inside you.

The silence extended between you both like a spectral hand reaching out. His statement hung in the chilled air of the room, as if it were suspended on invisible threads. Your heart pounded in the hollow of your chest like a war drum echoing in an empty battlefield.

"Oppose what?" you found yourself asking, your voice barely above a whisper. You held his gaze, your mind racing to comprehend his proposal. Was he suggesting... matrimony? Surely not. The mere suggestion was preposterous.

Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell would never consider someone like you for a wife... would he?

He held your gaze steadily, yet there was a deep gentleness in his eyes that seemed to melt away the icy chill of the room. "Our union," he said simply, his voice quiet yet full of gravity. You blinked up at him incredulously.

Although his words were laced with an undeniable seriousness, you couldn't help but chuckle nervously at the absurdity of it all. "You are jesting." Your words came out as more of a statement than a question.

But the Warden of the North merely shook his head slightly, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Are you suggesting that I am a fool?”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. “Of course not! It’s just… how? How will you tell my parents? What will you tell Lord Dondarrion if he would protest?”

“Your father, Lord Knott, has sworn his allegiance to me. He will do as he is told. And Dondarrion… Do you really think that an old Stormlord will ever wish to come up to the North to fight me?”, he said confidently.

The certainty in Lord Cregan's voice was enough to squelch any remaining doubts swimming in your mind. His magnetic confidence had a way of drawing you in, making you question the foundations of your own thoughts and beliefs.

Still, you couldn't help but let out a dry laugh, leaning back against the bedpost with a hint of incredulity in your eyes.

“Cocksure and audacious. I suppose these are traits that I should expect from the Lord of Winterfell,” you commented wryly, crossing your arms over your chest. A soft light danced in his eyes at your words as he rested his hand on the wooden table, leaning towards you ever so slightly.

"And yet, here we are," he began, his tone mild as he absorbed the weight of your words. "In this secluded little hut, far away from prying eyes and the judgmental gaze of society."

He paused slightly, his gaze softening with an emotion that was too complex to decipher. "Should we not take this opportunity and consider what happiness we could find in one another?"

Your breath hitched at his question, a dull ache spreading through your chest as his words sunk in. The thought of marrying Lord Cregan Stark had never crossed your mind until this moment; it was simply a dream too far-fetched and distant for someone like you to entertain.

And yet, here he was - proposing just that.

A mischievous smile then took over his face, as if he had realized something amusing. “Though I must admit,” he said, moving closer to you till his face was just inches away from yours. “If I wouldn’t have known of your predicament, I wouldn’t have minded your company either. You’re a pretty one, Lady Knott.”

His eyes twinkled in the flickering candlelight, his usually stern facial features smoothed and made softer by the intimate atmosphere. The warmth that radiated from him was infectious, causing an involuntary blush to creep up your cheeks.

“Lady Knott, you're blushing,” he observed, a triumphant smirk etched on his face as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze playfully inspected your flustered form before he quickly masked his amused expression with a serious one. “I believe I have chased away all your doubts?”

The faintest hint of uncertainty still lingered within you, yet the way Lord Cregan looked at you made it seem like everything was possible. You nodded at him, mustering a small smile. “I suppose you did.”

He gave you a curt nod in response before pushing himself from his chair, a determined gleam in his wolfish eyes. “Then we waste no more time.”

Tension filled the air as he took your hand, guiding you out of the hut and into the dense underbrush. Despite being bundled in cloaks which you had hastily thrown on, both of you shivered from the cold winds that whipped around you. You led Cregan through the towering forest, feeling his steady and confident stride on the snow-covered terrain. It gave you strength knowing he trusted you blindly, following your lead without question. The howling northern wind only added to the intensity of the moment.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, you stopped abruptly in front of a gigantic Weirwood tree; its bark white as snow and leaves blood-red. There was an air of solemnity around it that commanded respect and awe.

“We are here,” you said simply, turning to look up at him with shaking hands reaching for his. “Are you sure?”

The wind whistled hauntingly through the trees, as if nature herself bore witness to this tremendous decision. Cregan Stark returned your shaky grip and looked deep into your eyes. His gaze was dark and stormy, an echo of the northern lands he led. Yet beneath that cold exterior was a layer of profound certainty, an unwavering resolve that was comforting in its strength.

"More sure than I've ever been," he finally said, his voice carrying the weight of the moment. He turned towards the old Weirwood tree, a symbol of his heritage and upbringing. “May the Old Gods bear witness to our oath.”

With your hands still wrapped in each other's, Cregan led you to the base of the ancient tree. You paused in awe at its size and majesty, feeling both insignificant and profoundly special at the same time. The Weirwood's face seemed to stir with an ancient wisdom as if acknowledging your presence.

Taking a deep breath, Cregan started speaking in earnest. “Before the gods, I declare my intent to wed Lady Knott,” his voice echoed through the silent forest, every word carving itself into existence as it lingered in the air.

He then looked at you, his gaze warm yet intense. "Do you willingly accept this union, Lady Knott? If so, speak your vows before the Weirwood."

For a moment there was silence, you gulped down the lump in your throat before speaking up softly yet firmly, “I do accept this union.” You took a step closer to him, hand slipping out of his to rest on his chest over his heart. “Do you willingly accept this union, Lord Stark?”

A silence fell over the eerie forest, the air seeming to hold its breath as if the trees themselves awaited his answer. Cregan Stark studied your face, a mix of love and solemnity in his gaze. He placed his hand over yours, his heart thudding steadily beneath your touch.

"Yes," he finally replied. His voice was a hushed whisper that nonetheless echoed through the silence, sending flocks of distant birds into flight. "I accept this union willingly." His hand tightened around yours. "With all my heart, Lady Knott."

The Weirwood seemed to shiver in response; its leaves rustling softly against the backdrop of the still night. His vow hung potent in the air, mingling with the soft rustling of leaves and echoing in the distance until it seemed to become one with the heartbeat of the very forest.

Humbled by his words and bearing witness to this union, you felt something in you stir. It was an intoxicating sensation, a heady mix of fear and excitement that made your heart pound in your chest like a war drum.

You both knelt before the Weirwood then, dipping your heads in reverence to the Old Gods. Shivering from more than just the frigid cold as snowflakes kissed your cheeks while they fell delicately from above. “May our lives entwine as tightly as our hands are now,” Cregan said softly, squeezing your fingers gently.

“May we grow old together under their watchful eyes,” you added, holding Cregan’s gaze with a bright smile on your face. The warmth radiating between you two belied the biting cold of winter.

He pulled you up, brushing the powdery snow off your backside. With an impish grin, he hoisted you into his arms and you couldn't help but blush.

"I'm your husband now, my dear. Let's save the 'Lord' title for when you are bouncing on my cock." He planted a playful kiss on your forehead before strutting back to the hut. It was clear he couldn't wait to fulfill his marital duties, making you blush and giggle at his eagerness.

With the Weirwood's milky bark glistening under the moonlight as a silent witness to your secret union, you clung onto Cregan as he carried you back to the hut. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest, every beat echoing the promises of love and devotion you both had made under the ancient tree.

Warm light spilled from the narrow slit of a window, illuminating the path leading to your shared domicile. The wind whipped frosty kisses against your cheeks, but entwined securely in Cregan's arms, you were in a cocoon of warmth that dulled the bite of winter.

He pushed open the door with his foot and set you down gently on the thick fur rug next to the smoldering hearth. His eyes danced devilishly over your body as he shrugged off his cloak, allowing it to fall carelessly onto the floor. He then proceeded to help you out of yours, his fingers lingering on areas he promised himself he would explore later.

While his hands were busy undressing you, his mouth claimed yours in an intense battle of dominance. You responded eagerly, matching his fervor and intensity. His mouth tasted like fire and mulled wine, a heady combination that sent shivers down your spine.

His hands found their way up your body, exploring every inch until they landed on your breasts. He kneaded them gently through your dress, eliciting a small gasp from you. The sound only served to spur him on as he moved swiftly and purposefully, undoing the lacing of your dress before sliding it down around your feet.

You stood naked before him, feeling both vulnerable and powerful as you watched him admiring you. “Having any doubts?”, you asked cheekily, enjoying his rapt attention more than a proper Lady should have.

“Doubts? Ha! Never. I shall thank the Gods every day henceforth for making us meet,” Cregan mumbled huskily as he pulled his clothes off, desperate to be rid of them as soon as he could. “Sit on the bed and open your legs for me. I want to see you… All of you.”

You blushed immensely and did as you were told. When you saw Cregan standing in front of you, just like the Gods had made made him, you couldn’t help but blush. You had never seen a man that made you feel the way he did - everything from his muscular shoulders to his hairy chest down to his big, throbbing member made you go crazy. Was this a dream? It had to be.

“You are stunning,” he whispered reverently as he joined you on the bed. His hands traced over your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he moved upwards to cup your breasts. He teased your nipples lightly before parting your folds with his other hand.

“Cregan,” you moaned as his fingers found their target, sending sparks shooting straight to your core. His digit slid across your wetness before dipping inside, and you couldn’t help but arch your back in response.

“So wet for me already," he rasped, a smirk playing on his lips. “I knew you were a naughty girl from the first moment I saw you.” The teasing continued as he angled his hips, pressing the head of his cock against your cheek, before gently guiding it towards your moistened lips. “Do you want to prove me right, my pretty little wife?”

"Cregan, I… yes,” you mumbled senselessly, gently letting him enter your mouth as he continued stroking your pearl, though as soon as you let your tongue glide around his tips, his movements started becoming more and more erratic.

“Gods, that feels good,” he groaned. Encouraged by his reaction, you continued your ministrations, sucking him deeper into your mouth as he thrust in and out.

It wasn’t long before your moans mingled with his own, creating a symphony of wanton lust and desire that echoed off the walls of the hut. He pulled away abruptly with a groan. “No more," he panted heavily. "I won't last much longer like this."

With one smooth move, he flipped you over onto your stomach, spreading your legs wide apart. You felt him nudge against your entrance, hot breaths fanning over your chest, sending shivers down your spine. “Are you ready for me?”

“I… I think so, Yes…,” you mumbled, shaking in anticipation.

“Wait… Are you still a maiden?” Cregan asked incredulously, gently lowering himself next to you, kissing you and holding you close to him so that you would not get cold. Not being able to do anything else than to nod, you blushed and closed your eyes as you felt his arms wrapping around you and lifting you onto him.

“Oh… I, ah…”, you muttered and blushed as you saw this large, handsome man lying underneath you and grinning up at you.

“Hush, you needn’t say anything. Just do whatever feels good for you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered and laid his hands onto your hips.

Your heart was racing as you felt Cregan's strong, calloused hands slip you onto him, giving you the control over the situation. Blushing, as you felt the heat of his skin against your own, you braced yourself for the slight pain that would come, yet breathed it out before sinking onto his cock with a small moan, your cheeks heating up even more.

The bed dipped under your combined weight as he grasped your waist and thrust gently upward, pushing himself further inside. Your body reacted instinctively, latching onto him with every inch until he's buried to the hilt inside you.

“Good girl… Fuck…” Cregan mumbled and gently held you down, gazing up at you with incredulous eyes.

You tried to focus on something other than the sensation, but it was impossible. His muscled, hairy chest rose and fell with each ragged breath beneath you while his hands roamed down your back—smooth skin meeting soft curves—and grasping your ass cheeks firmly. He held you there with one hand while the other slid between your legs, pushing against that sensitive spot between them that made your toes curl just from the touch.

“Oh G-gods…”, was all you managed to stutter out as you felt yourself tightening around him.

You let out a tiny moan as you began to move, rocking your hips gently back and forth as he groaned and shivered underneath you. Each thrust sent wave after wave of pleasure through every nerve ending in your body, making it impossible not to squirm. His cock was long and thick inside you, filling you completely as you took control of the pace. As he raised himself up on his elbows and took one of your breasts, gently pinching your nipple, you squealed and felt your release washing over you, barely able to hold yourself over him.

“Just like that, my girl… You’re perfect…”, Cregan mumbled as he gently guided you under him, kissing you with great fervour as he repositioned himself, gently pressing your thighs down onto your stomach, lifting your feet onto his broad shoulders.

Before you could wonder what he was doing, he pushed himself inside you, making you moan loudly. This angle felt even better than before and you felt giddy at him looming over you, fucking up into you as if you were a dirty harlot and it made you tighten around him even more.

“Cregan, my Lord, I… ah…”

“Shh…” He silenced you with a hungry kiss, grinding his hips against yours in a primal rhythm. The air was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans as he continued pounding into you, each thrust harder than the last. “You're so fucking tight, I can't...”

His words spurred you on, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go even faster and harder. He obliged, his cock brushing against your insides in all the right places. It didn't take long for the sensations to build up again, but this time it was more intense than before - like a ball of fire deep within your belly that grew bigger and bigger until you couldn't take it anymore.

“Cregan, I… I can’t...”

“That's it, my girl… let it go,” he growled as he thrust one last time, filling you with his hot seed, making your orgasm explode inside of you like a supernova of pure bliss. Your screams echoed through the hut as you shook uncontrollably, both gasping for air as your heartbeats slowed down.

“Well done...”, he panted out. “I knew you'd be... perfect. My Lady Stark.”

[asa-writes]

my first finished fic aaah :D