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butterfl1ies · 4 months ago

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sukuna likes a lot of things about you.

he likes the perfume you wear, and how recently his sheets have started smelling a bit like you even on the nights you don't spend in his bed. he likes the sound of your voice when you first wake up and how you're fairly slow to rise, so you tend to walk around first thing in the morning a little groggy and disoriented. he likes that you're intelligent—far more intelligent than someone like him deserves—but that you're also clever and quick witted. he likes that you're gentle but can still be headstrong, and aren't afraid to talk back to him sometimes. he likes how well you get along with his nephew. he likes how much his family likes you.

he does not, however, like what you just said to him.

"did you just say... my brother... is hot?"

you blink at him, seemingly taken aback by his horrified tone.

"no," you say with a little shake of your head, but sukuna has no opportunity to feel any sort of relief about the miscommunication. "i said he's kinda sexy."

sukuna feels every artery, vein, and capillary in his circulatory system throb in the wake of your words, and it's as close to a miracle as a man like him can hope for that he doesn't drop dead where he stands from the pure shock of it. his eye twitches at the corner as he continues processing what you've said, his gaze sliding from your blithe expression to his older brother on the other side of the apartment.

jin is in the kitchen with yuuji, washing up the last few plates from dinner. his six-year-old son had just soaked him with the spray nozzle on the sink a few seconds prior, and the two of them laugh together while jin uses the hem of his ugly knit sweater to wipe his face. he'd taken his glasses off after the unexpected drenching, and his damp hair is slicked back from where he ran his hands through it.

sukuna looks back at you, and finds your attention had followed his own into the kitchen. you're watching jin and yuuji interact with a little smile on your face.

sukuna snaps.

in what feels like the blink of an eye, the man scoops you up in one arm—tossing you over his shoulder as effortlessly as he might a half-empty bag of rice—and snatches up your nearby coats with the other before spinning abruptly on his heel towards the door.

"sukuna!" you gasp, calling his name shrilly as you beat your fist weakly against his back. "put me down!"

the spectacle unfolding in the living room draws yuuji and jin's attention towards it, watching in confusion as sukuna stomps in the direction of the genkan.

"ji-chan!" yuuji calls out in dismay, hopping down off the little red step stool he uses to reach the sink and running after him. "where're you going?"

"home," sukuna grunts out tersely, still clutching you in his grasp as you squirm, stuffing his feet into his shoes in the genkan and grabbing yours with the hand not pinning you in place. he keeps his back to his nephew as he reaches for the door.

"but why?" yuuji asks, a lilt of sadness in his little voice.

"sukuna..." jin laughs awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen, just behind his son, trying to diffuse the situation at hand—the situation he doesn't even properly understand himself.

"papa," yuuji starts to warble, his voice pitching up and breaking sadly in the middle of his cry of protest. "ji-chan's stealing my friend!"

sukuna freezes. you stop squirming.

it goes quiet for a moment.

there's a bit of shuffling and a sound of exertion as, sukuna assumes, jin scoops his crying son up into his arms.

"it's okay, yuuji," you say forcing a gentle, comforting tone. sukuna feels your hands press against his back, and assumes you've propped yourself up so you can meet his nephew's teary gaze. "i'm not feeling very good, so ji-chan's gonna take me home now, is that okay?"

yuuji sniffles a little. "you don't feel good?"

"no," you tell him, "i'm feeling a bit sick."

"are your legs sick?" yuuji asks after considering your words, a bit less distraught than before but still sniffly. "is that why ji-chan has to carry you?"

sukuna feels your fingers twist into the back of his t-shirt.

you hum in agreement to the little boy's question, but the sound is notably strained.

yuuji sighs. "it's a good thing ji-chan's so strong."

"well, say goodnight, yuuji," jin—clearly a bit bewildered—cuts into the conversation as sukuna opens up the apartment door.

"goodniiiiiight!" yuuji calls to sukuna's retreating frame. "make sure you don't drop my friend, ji-chan!"

the door swings closed behind you both with a final dull thud.

the two of you are halfway down the sidewalk outside of jin and yuuji's apartment, still draped over sukuna's shoulder as he carries you, before either of you says anything. you're the first to speak.

"if you don't put me down i'm gonna start screaming," you say, and your voice is shockingly even considering the circumstances.

"you wouldn't," sukuna grunts dismissively.

"i absolutely would," you reply, and sukuna pauses in his stride when he hears the sincerity in your voice.

he just stands there for a moment, in the middle of the sidewalk, the quiet residential street thankfully deserted at this time of evening. he hesitates for a moment, wondering just how loud of a scream you'd be able to muster, and just how quickly it might draw a crowd on a street this silent.

he sighs, the sound resentful and defeated all at once.

"shoes," you order.

sukuna sets your shoes down on the ground, making sure they land upright.

"me, next."

carefully, sukuna lowers you down to the ground, holding you up long enough for you to navigate your feet into your waiting shoes. once both have safely been slipped on, he releases his hold on you and steps back. you turn to him with your expression pinched in irritation, your arms crossing over your chest.

"so, what was that about?" you ask him with an eyebrow raised.

"i'm takin' you home," he replies flatly.

"why?"

sukuna stares down at you, his arms crossing over his own chest to mirror your defensive stance. "you're lucky i'm not taking you to the hospital to get your head checked out after you called my lameass dweeb brother sexy."

you let out a long, world-weary breath, lifting a hand to your face and holding it over your eyes. sukuna just watches you, still pissed off but slowly regaining his senses as the cold evening air bites at his burning cheeks.

"you are..." you pause momentarily, spreading your fingers so you can glare at him weakly. "an idiot."

sukuna's jaw clenches. "you're the one lusting after a four-eyed old man who cries during kids movies."

"i'm never said i was lusting after anyone," you say, letting your hand drop to your side in exasperation. "i said he looked kinda sexy with his hair pushed back because he reminded me of you!"

there's a long, excruciating moment of silence that stretches out for miles between you.

sukuna... must have missed that part.

"oh."

"yeah," you bite back. "oh."

sukuna looks up at the streetlight overhead, if only as an excuse to avert his gaze from your withering stare. he squints his eyes like he's straining to see something far away.

"guess i might've... overreacted a bit."

"a bit," you repeat flatly.

a strong breeze rushes past, rustling the leaves on the trees that line the street and sending a shiver through you. sukuna looks down again, watching as you clasp your arms across your chest for warmth, and wordlessly takes his jacket off his arm to wrap it around your shoulders.

"i've got my own coat," you mutter sullenly as sukuna tugs the two sides of his jacket closed around you like a cocoon. you burrow your face down into the collar in spite of your words.

"you don't want mine?" sukuna counters, knowing fully well how much you like it when he puts his coat on you—and very much using it to his own advantage.

you purse your lips, the tips of your fingers appearing from inside the jacket to clutch sides of the zipper, pulling the garment protectively around your frame. "i never said that, either."

sukuna laughs, rolling his eyes.

"you owe your nephew an apology," you tell him. "we were supposed to read a new book tonight."

"yeah, yeah," sukuna says, waving his hand dismissively. it's of little concern to him, at this point. the kid's not particularly hard to make it up to; it'll only take a couple of chocolates and a trip to the park before the incident is forgotten entirely.

might be a little harder to clear it up with his older brother, though.

"jin faints when he gets needles, you know," sukuna tells you, his tone shockingly serious. "he only uses kids shampoo because he hates when it gets in his eyes and likes the fact it smells like strawberries. and he got so scared in a test of courage in high school that he pissed himself."

you look at your him with a look of absolute shock on your face.

"why are you telling me this?" you ask him incredulously.

sukuna leans down in your space, practically nose to nose with you, his expression stern.

"him and i share DNA—we're gonna look alike, and I can't do anythin' about it," sukuna says, something boyishly petulant in his tone. "i'm making sure you never think of that loser as being anything even remotely close to sexy ever again."

sukuna watches from up close as your expression shifts, a glimmer of mirth swirling in your gaze underneath the glow of the streetlight overhead.

"you really are an idiot," you breathe, half-way to a laugh, the sound is entirely too fond to have any of the bite you may have hoped.

sukuna smirks, shrugging indifferently. "he got the brains, i got the looks."

"he got the personality, too," you add pointedly.

sukuna leans forward, a hand slipping behind your back to pull you close, slotting his mouth to yours in a slow, searing kiss. as your lips part to welcome him, your head tipping back, he feels your grip on the jacket around your frame slacken. when your fingers twist into the material of his shirt to pull him closer, he grins triumphantly into the kiss.

pulling away, he revels in the slightly dazed look on your face. at the sheen of his spit spread across your lips. at the faint smell of your perfume that will cling to his coat just like it does to his bedsheets back at home.

"oh well," sukuna breathes, blissfully indifferent, leaning in close to kiss you again. and on the quiet street outside his brother's apartment, wrapped in his coat against the evening chill, you let him.

it doesn't matter what his brother has, sukuna decides, because he's got something much, much better.

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butterfl1ies · 4 months ago

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more than friends?

things they do that make you second-guess your friendship featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - being touchy.

you’re used to gojo’s touch.

the way he drapes himself over your shoulders like a human scarf, pulling you into his side without a second thought. the way his hand finds the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, his palm pressing firm against you, like he’s staking a silent claim. you’ve grown accustomed to the way he plays with your fingers absentmindedly—twisting your rings, tracing circles over your knuckles—while he rambles about something completely unrelated.

it’s always been like this.

that’s what you tell yourself, at least. that it doesn’t mean anything. that he’s like this with everyone.

but lately, it’s been getting harder to believe that.

because his touches have started to linger. his fingers don’t just graze your wrist anymore—they rest there, warm and grounding, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate strokes against your pulse. when he reaches for something above your head, he doesn’t just stretch over you; he presses his chest against your back, close enough that you feel the heat of him seep into your skin.

and then there’s the way he looks at you.

like right now.

you’re both sprawled out on his couch, half-watching some random movie he insisted was a classic (it’s not), when you feel it—his fingers, absentmindedly tracing shapes on your wrist.

you try not to react, try to focus on the screen, but your breath catches anyway. if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. he just keeps going, slow and lazy, the pads of his fingers skating along your skin like he’s mapping out something only he can see.

your pulse jumps when his fingers move up—tracing the inside of your forearm now, featherlight. it’s not accidental. you know it. he knows it.

but he doesn’t stop.

you sneak a glance at him, expecting that usual smug grin, but he’s still staring at the screen. too casual. too relaxed. he’s testing you.

like he’s waiting for you to do something about it.

you should move your arm. you should pull away. you should call him out.

but you don’t.

because the way he’s touching you now—it’s not friendly. it’s not casual. it’s not something he does with anyone else.

and the worst part?

he knows you know it.

GETO - never correcting people when they assume you’re his partner.

you don’t think anything of it at first.

you and geto move through the grocery store like you always do—bickering over which brand of cereal is better, tossing random snacks into the cart, laughing when he makes fun of your terrible attempts at balancing fruit on top of an already overflowing pile of groceries.

it’s easy. it’s comfortable. it’s just you and him.

and then you get to checkout.

the cashier, an older woman with kind eyes, watches as geto effortlessly lifts the heavy bags before you can even reach for them. he does it without thinking, just like how he had taken the cart from you earlier, just like how he always opens doors for you, just like how his hand had rested on the small of your back when guiding you through the aisles.

she smiles warmly.

“you two make such a lovely couple.”

you freeze.

your brain short-circuits for a split second, mouth already opening to correct her, but then—then you hear nothing from geto.

not a single word of clarification. not even a chuckle or a shake of his head.

nothing.

instead, he just hums, tilting his head slightly as if considering the statement. he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t laugh it off. just lets the words sit there, completely unbothered.

your head snaps toward him, eyes wide.

he meets your gaze, entirely too calm, a slow smirk forming at the corner of his lips. and then—because he’s absolutely insufferable—he leans in slightly, voice smooth as silk.

“you hear that?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “we’re a lovely couple.”

you want to strangle him.

your reaction must be obvious because the cashier just beams, clearly convinced she was right. “oh, young love is so sweet. you take good care of them, dear.”

geto chuckles, and before you can protest, he effortlessly places a hand on the back of your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some flustered little thing.

“always,” he says smoothly.

you don’t remember the rest of the transaction. you’re too busy contemplating whether it’s legal to strangle someone with a grocery bag.

as you’re walking out, geto leans in again, voice dripping with amusement.

“you could’ve corrected them,” he muses, lips dangerously close to your ear. “but you didn’t.”

your stomach flips. you hate that he’s right.

NANAMI - always taking care of you.

you don’t plan on staying this late.

but time slips away between deadlines and last-minute emails, and before you know it, the office is nearly empty, the sky outside painted in deep shades of navy. you sigh, rubbing your temples, already dreading the long commute home.

by the time you step out onto the quiet street, the city lights glowing around you, your phone buzzes.

you don’t have to check to know who it is.

nanami: where are you?

your stomach flips.

you: just leaving work. why?

the message is barely delivered before another one comes in.

nanami: stay there. i’ll be there in five.

you frown at your screen. he was nearby?

true to his word, exactly five minutes later, a familiar figure approaches.

nanami, dressed in his usual crisp attire, looking entirely too put together for this hour. he doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, scanning you over like he’s checking for any signs of exhaustion.

“you should have left earlier,” he says, voice even, but you catch the slight furrow of his brow.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, well, i got caught up.”

“hm.” he exhales, the sound bordering on exasperation, before tilting his head toward the direction of your apartment. “let’s go.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’ll walk you home.”

you huff a laugh. “nanami, it’s fine. i can handle walking alone.”

he gives you a flat look, as if the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t even warrant a response. Instead of arguing, he simply starts walking, fully expecting you to follow.

and—of course—you do.

it’s not the first time he’s done this. You know it won’t be the last.

he doesn’t hover, doesn’t lecture you about staying late. but his presence is solid beside you, steady and unwavering. his hands stay in his pockets, but you know—if anything were to happen, if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way—he’d be on them in a second.

as you near your building, you sneak a glance at him. “you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’re the one giving him a headache. “i know.”

“…then why do you?”

he stops walking. turns to face you, studying you for a long moment.

then, with a sigh—like he’s so tired of explaining the obvious—he simply mutters:

“because you don’t take care of yourself.”

and that’s that. no room for debate. no further explanation.

your heart stumbles in your chest.

because he doesn’t say i worry about you. he doesn’t say i do it because I care.

but he doesn’t have to.

the truth lingers in the quiet, in the way he watches you, in the way he makes sure you’re safe—every single time.

and when you step inside your building, looking back one last time, you catch him still standing there. waiting.

making sure you’re okay.

like he always does.

SUKUNA - being unreasonably jealous.

it starts off as nothing.

a passing comment here, an unimpressed scoff there. sukuna has always been blunt, always had a sharp tongue and an even sharper glare. but lately, you start to notice a pattern—one that becomes impossible to ignore.

it happens again tonight.

you’re out with friends, the atmosphere light and easy, laughter filling the air. you’re mid-conversation with some guy—a friend of a friend, nothing special—when you feel it.

that presence.

it’s not loud or obvious, but it’s there. a weight lingering at your back, pressing into your skin before you even turn around.

and when you do—

sukuna is already watching.

seated across the table, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his gaze locked onto you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. bored. blank. irritated.

you try to ignore it. you keep talking, keep laughing at whatever the guy is saying, but it doesn’t matter. because every time you sneak a glance in sukuna’s direction, his eyes are still on you.

unwavering. unrelenting.

you swallow, trying to shake the weird tension creeping up your spine. but then the guy leans in slightly—just slightly—and that’s all it takes.

there’s a sharp scrape of a chair against the floor.

and then sukuna is there, standing beside you, a hand dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

“alright,” he drawls, voice slow, lazy, but carrying something unmistakably sharp. “this conversation looks thrilling.”

the guy stiffens. you do, too.

you glance up at sukuna, narrowing your eyes. “what are you doing?”

“listening.” his fingers tap idly against your shoulder, his weight sinking into the space beside you like he belongs there. “should i join? or is this, what—special?”

your brows furrow. “are you serious?”

he tilts his head slightly, feigning confusion, but you know that look. the glint in his eyes, the smirk barely tugging at his lips—he’s enjoying this.

the guy across from you clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “uh—i was just—”

“no, no,” sukuna interrupts smoothly, finally dragging his gaze away from you to look at him. “you were just what?”

the guy hesitates, then shakes his head. “never mind.”

and just like that, he stands, mumbling something about needing another drink before walking away.

you whip around to face sukuna fully, shoving his arm off your shoulder. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t move, doesn’t even pretend to be remorseful. if anything, he looks amused. “relax,” he hums. “didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

you scoff. “oh? and how exactly was he looking at me?”

sukuna shrugs, completely nonchalant. “like he could have you.” his head tilts, eyes flickering over your face. “and he can’t.”

your heart stumbles.

you open your mouth, then close it. because what do you even say to that? what does he even mean by that?

he smirks at your silence, reaching out to flick your forehead lightly before leaning in—just close enough that your breath catches.

“relax, brat,” he murmurs, voice deep, low, too much. “i’m just looking out for you.”

you should shove him away. roll your eyes. call him out for acting like an overprotective asshole.

but instead, you just sit there, pulse unsteady, second-guessing everything you thought you knew about this friendship.

because you know sukuna. and you know damn well—

this wasn’t just him looking out for you.

TOJI - flirting with you consistently.

it starts small. barely noticeable at first.

a lazy smirk here, a lingering touch there.

you don’t even think much of it in the beginning. it’s just toji being toji, right? he flirts with everyone—cashiers, waitresses, random people in passing. it’s just how he is.

except… it’s different with you.

because when he leans in close, voice dropping lower just for you to hear— “that color looks real good on ya, sweetheart. what, tryna drive me crazy?”—his eyes don’t leave your face. because when his fingers skim the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, they stay there a second too long to be casual. because when he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth, he’s comfortable like he belongs there—like he’s claiming that space.

and then there are the compliments.

not just the casual you look nice or that suits you. no, never that simple.

“bet guys lose their damn minds over you.” he says it so offhandedly, like it’s just a fact—just something everyone knows.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah, sure.”

“i mean it,” he murmurs, and you hate the way your stomach flips when his gaze settles on you, something dark and unreadable in his eyes. “if i were them, i wouldn’t let you outta my sight.”

you tell yourself you’re imagining it—that he’s just messing with you. that’s what he does.

but then it keeps happening.

every single time, without fail.

you’re just trying to grab something from a high shelf? suddenly, he’s behind you, reaching over your head, his chest nearly brushing against your back. he doesn’t have to get that close. he knows it. you know it. but he does it anyway, voice low in your ear as he hands you whatever you needed.

“next time, just ask me, yeah? don’t gotta strain that pretty little neck of yours.”

you push him away, muttering something under your breath, and he just laughs, all smug amusement.

he’s always touching you, like he can’t help himself. a hand grazing the back of your neck when he adjusts your hoodie. his palm resting against your thigh when he leans in to say something. he doesn’t cling to you, doesn’t make a big show of it—but it’s there. subtle. constant. a quiet, unspoken thing.

and then—then, there are the moments that really get to you.

like when you’re out with friends, sitting side by side, and his fingers find the hem of your sleeve. absentmindedly playing with the fabric, rolling it between his fingertips. he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, just listening to the conversation, relaxed and completely at ease. like touching you is second nature to him.

or when you’re waiting in line for something, standing close, and he leans in just slightly, dropping his voice low.

“keep looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second. “gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’ from me.”

your breath catches.

and the worst part? the absolute worst part?

he sees it. every damn time.

sees the way your pulse flutters at your throat. sees the way your fingers twitch, like you don’t know what to do with them. sees the way you avoid his gaze, pretending like your entire body isn’t reacting to him.

and every time, without fail—he just smirks.

like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s enjoying it. like he’s waiting—patient, unhurried—for you to break first.

and the thing is…

you think he knows you will.

eventually.

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butterfl1ies · 5 months ago

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Needy - Obanai Iguro x Fem! Reader

In which Obanai makes you squirt for the first time.

"Oh?"

Warnings: squirting, rough sex, clit slap, overstimulation, crying, intense orgasm, mean obanai kind of??? sorry its short, saw him in the new season and couldn't get the idea out of my head of obanai and his needy princess. Word count: 0.8k NOT PROOF READ

You can feel the slick coating your inner thighs, can hear the squelch it makes as your lover pounds you into oblivion. The essence of your previous three orgasms makes you embarrassed and you're thankful for the pillow your heads dug into, muffling your dazed moans and whispers.

His hand travels along your back, looping under your stomach to come in contact with your aching clit. Your body jolts, he hasn't started rubbing yet but your clit has already been vigorously rubbed into your last two orgasms and can't take anymore. You try to push away when he starts the tantalising circles, the only thing that does is piss the serpent hashira off and force you into an even deeper, more punishing arch, causing his length to hit further inside of you.

You choke on air, hands fisting the pillow even tighter as you try not to scream into it. There's a coil inside of you, it's getting tighter and tighter and it's bordering on painful. It feels different. Your eyes are squeezed shut in concentration, droplets of sweat racing each other on your tense body. You've never needed to concentrate so hard before, your usual babbling was exchanged for silence, teeth biting down on your lips harshly, trapping the sounds. The pressure is making you lightheaded and dizzy and you're struggling to breathe.

Obanai was intrigued. He's never seen you so silent. So still. So obedient. "You okay?" He asks after studying you.

You turn your head to the side so you can breathe, gasping out an airy yeah between panicked breaths. This feeling is consuming you, it's taking over your body, a sensation you've never felt before. Your in conflict with yourself, your back is arching further, pushing yourself back as far as you can go to feel him hitting you deeper, but your hand moves like lightening to grab your lovers wrist, weakly trying to get him away from your poor clit.

Obanai tsks under his breath, clicking his tongue in disappointment after. He bats your hand away, reattaching himself back to your clit to circle it with more pressure. His other hand, that was on your hip, cages both of yours and forcefully pulls them behind your back, causing his body to hover over yours and his thrusts to become more bruising.

"Never do that again." He warns in a low voice, right next to your ear, finishing his statement with a harsh slap to your clit that has you choking on a sob.

"Ob-Obanai! Don't! I- I can't. Dunno what's happening — fuck!" Your voice sounds watery, like you're going to cry any second. Your body stiffens, a coursing flame travelling throughout you until you're completely alight. "G-god Obanai! I cantttt!"

Obanai's two toned eyes widen in interest when he feels a spray of liquid hit his thighs and coat the futon, dripping from your legs as the spray continued. "Oh?" He whispers in your ear, before dragging you up to hit the back of his chest. He splays four of his fingers against your clit, prolonging your orgasm and forcing spurts of cum from you with so much force that they push him and his seed out of you, all the whilst his other free hand settles on your throat, squeezing lightly.

You're crying now, you'd never been so overwhelmed before in your life. A few more weak spurts follow and then they stop and he cups your soaking heat after letting his thumb brush over your clit. A cry tears from your throat, salty tears cascading down your flushed face. Your shaking, convulsing, muscles spasming.

"You're okay, princess," he whispers, voice as smooth as silk, deep and inviting. His cold hands slither around your waist to turn you around in his hold, two toned eyes observing you with intensity. He watches how your hands eagerly wrap around his neck, your shaking body collapsing in his embrace whilst you snuggle into his neck. Needy. You're so needy for his comfort, for his praise, for him to bring you back to reality after the brutal, overstimulating sex you both had. You were needy and he loved it. Adored it even, because you needed him. Couldn't possibly be okay without him. You were his. Only his.

"O-Obi," you whimper into the crook of his neck, dampening his skin with your tears.

"What's wrong, princess?" He rasps, his hand instinctually rubbing soothing circles into the soft skin of your back.

"Dunnooo," you whine. "J-just need you, Obi."

He smirks in response, kissing your head as he comforts you, relishing in your neediness. Music to his ears.

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butterfl1ies · 5 months ago

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when the fandom is so small that everybody knows everybody

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butterfl1ies · 5 months ago

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the lion and the stag; jaime lannister

pairing jaime lannister x baratheon!reader

contains set in robert's rein, non canon events, enemies to lovers, f!reader, reader is robert's younger sister, slowburn, swearing, mention of incest, mention of brothels, age gap, tw slight grooming

word count 2k

note i must admit this story has consumed me idc if this gets no read i can't wait to finish it

intro

chapter one

“I hear Lady Baratheon’s still refusing suitors,” a voice interrupted, sharp and direct. It was Lord Mace, always quick to make his opinions known.

Not this again.

Somehow the topic of the conversation always seemed to steer its way to you, no matter how hard you tried to avoid it. Heads turn to your direction upon hearing your name. You instinctively raised a hand to your face, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks at sudden unwanted attention.

Every gaze felt like a silent judgment behind their carefully crafted smiles, you could sense their curiosity and concern around the unbetroth daughter of Storm’s End. Whispers of your unwed status clung to you like a heavy cloak, and though you sat there, poised and calm, the weight of their eyes was almost suffocating.

“Quite a shame, really. A match with one of the great houses could benefit both your family and the realm.” His words stung; your jaw clenched.

Benefit to your family and the realm? Was that all you were? A prize to be won, a pawn to be moved? Never once did they consider what it might mean for you. Wed off to random men, paraded through bedding ceremonies, and expected to squeeze out little heirs like some kind of breeding mare. It certainly wasn’t the life you envisioned.

“Perhaps she’s waiting for the right one,” beside you, your brother Renly came to your defense.

He noticed the shift in your demeanor, how your body tense up uncomfortably, your gaze darting from side to side, searching for an escape every time this sensitive topic arises. He clinks his cup to your long-neglected one to signal his attempt at comforting you, you flashed him a smile in response. He understood you most.

“She’s grown too picky” one lord grumbled, tearing off a hunk of bread.

“How much longer must we wait before you take your pick, my lady?” Another lord questioned; his tone meant not to rush you but more out of concern.

Robert let out a scoff, shaking his head as he took another swig from his goblet.

“She can take however long she damn needs!” His voice echoed through the room with a force that demanded the end of this discussion.

Robert had grown weary having to hear the rants and rambles surrounding his sister’s marital disputes that’s been going on for years, it never seems to perish. Bothered by the constant pressure from the members of the court to secure a marriage for you, as if they were questioning his authority. Here he was, The King of the Seven Kingdoms, yet unable to keep you in line.

He saw no real significance rushing you to marry, what political benefit is there if you were already part of the most powerful houses of all Westeros. A love for marriage? you weren’t pruning up, your beauty far from leaving you any sooner, finding a man wouldn’t be difficult.

To no surprise Cersei was expecting Robert to come to your rescue. As always taking you under his wing. He won’t be able to protect you for much longer, she thought.

You caught her sharp gaze as she drew the goblet to her lips, you knew she was agitated.

“A risk to be carried waiting too long-” You stiffened, caught off guard by the sudden voice of Jaime Lannister that pierced through the tension. As if he had come to advocate for his sweet sister, or perhaps to stir Robert after he had made it clear, he wished for the conversation to end—but most definitely, to get under your skin.

Your gaze snapped up. For a moment, you had completely forgotten he was even in the room—standing guard in the corner, as always.

Your eyes met his calculating ones, darkening as you caught the glint within them. He had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike with a clever remark. Then he did.

"-even the most sought-after prizes lose their shine if left on the shelf too long." A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His remark earning an amused smile from Cersei- almost an approval even. The murmurs around the table dying down, all eyes suddenly on you.

"If waiting makes me less desirable, then let me be overlooked," you protested, your pulse quickening at the jab. Your gaze hardened, refusing to let him see how deeply the words had stung. He’d struck a nerve, but you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing.

“Are you certain waiting is the only reason?” he bit back almost too fast. A few hushed gasps and murmurs rippled through the table, eyes darting nervously between the two.

Hands painfully gripped on the sides of your chair as you barely held yourself back from bolting up right. You faltered; your words caught in your throat. Before you could fire back-

“Enough! Both of you,” Robert’s voice sliced through the rising tension like a knife.He growled, slamming his fist down on the table, rattling the cups.

His eyes swept between you and Jaime, his patience thinning. You slowly sank back to your seat, giving Jaime a sharp glare before looking away, you caught his proud smug from pissing you off.

Robert had witnessed enough shit you and Jaime whirled in the passing years, to know what would come if he hadn't stop you. If this keeps up, he knew you would’ve been tossing a whole pig roast at Jaime’s head.

From a young age, you were raised on stories of honor, loyalty and justice- ideals from your brothers, especially Robert, held in high regard.

Growing up, you were exposed to Robert’s seething anger toward the Lannisters—particularly Jaime, the Kingslayer, the Oathbreaker, all these terms you didn’t even know the meaning of, fed into your mouth by your brothers.

Once you were old enough to understand the cunning ways of your in laws—their endless pursuit of power, your distrust to the Lannisters grew even more. It settled within you.

To Jaime, you were just another noble girl, hiding behind your brother’s feet, spouting words too big for your mouth, parroting their opinions with no understanding to seek their validation. He dismissed your early disdain as childish mimicry.

But as years pass by, despite growing into a woman of strong-willed and fierce independence, your resentment grew more personal. With a mind of your own now, yet you still clung to the judgements passed down by your brothers. Bitterness clung to him like rust on an old blade, corroding him over time.

Jaime’s own distaste for you didn’t just stem from your last name or the words of others—it was earned. You were a storm, unruly and untamed, flaunting the freedom to do as you pleased like Cersei points out.

Your actions never questioned as Robert’s protection was always at hand. There were expectations set for women to follow, yet you paid them no mind. He enjoyed picking at your bones, thrived off the fury simmered just beneath the surface. It was easy to rile you up—one snarky comment from him and you’d puff up with ire.

Over time, the insults and snide remarks became a routine. And if the gods were feeling generous, sometimes it might even turn physical.

...

“You’re holding the reins like you’re strangling the poor beast,” Jaime called out, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and frustration crossing his arms.

“Loosen up. The horse needs to feel you, not fight you.” He watches a little Lady Baratheon struggling to control her horse. The animal becoming more skittish under her diffident grip.

You shot Ser Jaime a displeasing look. He was just finding every little issue in you out of spite. “You’re just being hard on me,” you groaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Jaime scoffed, ridiculed by your statement. He chuckled bitterly as his eyes followed you as you rode ahead. “Hard on you? I’m only trying to help you avoid making a fool of yourself.”

Your chin raised as your head tilted lazily, your grip tightening on the reins. “I’m not listening to you, Kingslayer.”

And just like that his body reacted before his mouth could snap back with a response; his arms reached out as he stepped forward. With a swift moment, he grabbed the reins from her hands, forcing the horse to a sudden stop. The horse cried out at the sudden intrusion, and you stumbled backward and fell into the mud with a loud splash, the horse trotting away fleeing the scene.

“Hey! W-why did you-” you quickly scrambled to your feet, your face flushed with embarrassment and anger. The pasty mud soaked your dress and splattered all over the many strands of your hair. “I’m telling brother about this!”

Jaime’s had enough, he knows he shouldn’t let himself fold over a child’s stupid petty taunts. You were doing what you always did— spitting out words your brothers taught you that you had no real knowledge of the weight behind them.

You were just an annoying, stupid little girl. He was already provoked having Robert ordered him to teach you horseback riding as you fight off his teachings. He had better places to be than to babysit a spoiled little brat.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, flashing a satisfied smirk. “I’m sure he’s busy drowning in his cups,” he exhaled, staring down at the mud splattered girl sulking before him.

...

“I hear your experience at court is still going nowhere,” he drawled, his tone half-mocking, half-amused. “No suitors good enough, or do you happen to take after your brother’s… unusual tastes? Perhaps something went wrong in the womb after Renly.” A lazy grin played on his lips.

You remained engrossed in the pages of your book, not yet giving in to his typical scourge. All you wished for the last hours of your day was peace and quiet after the long, grueling hours spent receiving suitors—each more uninteresting than the last.

And as always Jaime was there to ruin it.

“It makes sense doesn’t it? I’ve never-” you slammed your book shut, thud. The sudden noise cutting him off.

“Why do you always concern yourself with my matters? I don’t recall knights swearing oaths to keep up with gossip” you glanced up, eyes narrowing in mock disdain, searching for any sign of a crack in his self-assured mask.

Though he didn’t crack easily, his smirk only deepened as he catches the irritation in your expression.

“You know, I could give you advice,” he continued, his tone laced with a mixture of amusement and condescension as his fingers curled at the edge of your chair.

He leaned in. His precense hung heavy with a quiet mockery. Pressing pass your space as if to assert dominance. Your face remained unaltered, though you could feel your throat tightened.

He was getting too close..

“If you spent as much time working on your charm as you do on those books, maybe someone might actually find you… appealing” the words stung, your lips drew tight, stiff with annoyance as you tore your gaze away from the ember eyes glint with venom.

“But then again, beauty does tend to be more of a rare trait in your blood.” His eyes flickered over your features.

Her hair, black as coal, loose strands falling out her braids, untamed just like her. Her dull brown eyes lacked any spark of allure. Her skin, a touch too sun-kissed for his liking. She was nothing like Cersei.

...

Jaime, stationed at a new post tonight. He found the shift dull and remarkable as he was located in the forgotten corners of the castle, far removed from the action of the court. On the brighter side, it was a blessing not having to be galled by the boisterous moans of Robert and his whores.

From his distance, he caught a dark figure slipping into the alley, a figure he recognized. You. He leaned forward; his curiosity piqued as he watched you retreat from a—brothel?

His eyes followed as you ascended the stairs toward your chambers. A smirk creeped up his lips, the scene has entertained his shift just a little more.

Now, that was something to think on—another piece of dirt to torment you with. Jaime leaned back against the cold stone wall; your little escapade lingered in his mind.

I always wondered what kept her so stubbornly against marriage…perhaps she fears a man might find her past too much to bear.

tagged- @runawayolives @butterfl1ies

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butterfl1ies · 5 months ago

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Jaime’s always complaining that he’s so misunderstood as if anything he does or says ever makes any sense. That’s what you get for being a nonsense monger

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butterfl1ies · 5 months ago

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so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

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butterfl1ies · 6 months ago

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Jaime only started talking shit about Renly after he found out that Brienne had been in love with him… now what are we to do with that

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butterfl1ies · 6 months ago

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make a deal or play a game

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: guys im gonna be so fr with yall i legitimately dont know where this energy came from but here you go. this contains possibly the longest sex scene i've ever written in my entire history of fic writing and i did get a little carried away. like a little more than carried away. the keys just dont stop click clacking

summary: You find out Roose has been plotting against your King but you know the Northern cause cannot survive with the North divided between the King's loyalists and a Bolton-Karstark army backing their martyred liege lords. You and Lord Bolton need each other more than either of you would care to admit, grasping for power over each other.

warning: DUBCON!!!! as in the dubbiest of cons, power dynamics, forced marriage, roose bolton is secretly a perverted old man, EDGING like a LOT OF EDGING, wet humping??/thigh fucking, dacyrphilia, wait girl he's literally like obsessed with you eeeeeeeee

You were always Robb Starks most trusted advisor, and who was to question why. A ward, offered by one of the Starks most loyal vassal houses for the honor of have you join their family as a ward. Your father practically begged them to raise you when your Lady Mother succumbed to the failed birthing of your baby brother. He hoped one day you may reach a higher station that you'd have been afforded, and how better to reach that than through the Starks. Your father shared a great great, a few times over, great grand parent with Ned, and ever honorable, the Lord Stark agreed to take you in.

But its difficult for a woman to rise up in the world, even harder still, in the midst of a war. Men did not like to make room for women at war but Robb was like your brother. He trusted you. And he trusted your opinion on people. It's because while the Starks held that honor must be of paramount importance, you understood not everyone held that same principle. You make sure Robb doesn't trust everyone as he trusts you.

Trust is a funny thing because you could trust someone with your life but you may not trust them to cook a chicken correctly. You may trust someone to lead a garrison of ten thousand for you and not trust them with a knife in close quarters without a guard behind you. Trust was what you dealt in — advising Robb on deals that he was to make with other Lords, even so far as traveling on his behalf.

Deals, and diplomacy — charms, and words. That was your strength.

Robb Stark insisted that Catelyn take you to the twins to aid in negotiations with Walder Frey, he deferred to you to send letters to Renly and Stannis Baratheon, you were even the one who had sent out the rallying cry at the very beginning of his great war to all his Bannermen. Everyone knew it. He was the brain, you were the mouth. The pretty, cunning, biting mouth of the young wolf.

—————

One issue you were never able to resolve was Roose Bolton. He was cold, calculating, and distant. Though he seemed to care deeply for the Northern cause, you had little to believe he was truly as passionate about Robb as King.

It began with certain issues in which you would honestly take Roose's side instead of Robb's and since you saw Roose as an ideological ally, you would shoot glances at him after Robb declared he'd have his way after all. In those moments, a bitter gaze that lingered a few seconds too long on the King in the North roused suspicion in you.

It wasn't serious. You're sure its the frustration than anyone would feel being brushed aside so many times. But as the social tension within Robbs camp rose, you felt that you must do something about it.

You don't trust Walder Frey. He wouldn't so easily brush aside a slight as heavy as the King in the North refusing his daughter's hand in marriage. He wouldn't trade it so carelessly, not even for a claim in the Riverlands. The fact was that a young boy had made him a promise and quickly threw it all away the moment he got what he needed.

Frey's resentment of all the Paramount liege lords in Westeros already made any alliance between you fragile. Compound it with more insult and well, you just didn't know what you expected from this.

So when you saw a rave flying even in the general direction of the twins, you shot it down.

The Bolton seal, you noted, as you inspected the short scroll.

Tomorrow the white sun will illuminate the darkness clouding your castle. We will dine on fishes and the hour of the wolf will drown out in history. Ensure final preparations are made.

R.B.

As you read it, you could feel blood draining from your face and you really should have gone to Robb immediately but the need to find out what plot was brewing overtook reason. When the men were drinking and dining, you snuck into Roose Bolton's tent.

—————

"Letters, letters..." You muttered. You had already checked his desk but of course the man isn't dense enough to store proof of treachery in the drawer of a desk where any young squire may stumble upon them. So you were rifling through everything, casting aside bulks of chainmail, furs, coats, anything.

As you did, your mind ran endlessly about what might happen. So the Boltons and the Freys. Eliminate them and you're forced to then castrate your own army. We were already outnumbered greatly. Losing the Boltons is a blow we may not survive even if we survive this bloody wedding.

And the reference to the white sun illuminating the darkness was not so easily lost on you. You weren't sure, but coupled with the rising tensions with the Karstark men who currently stood one third of Robb's entire army, you could take a gander to why the white sun of their sigil was mentioned in Roose Bolton's death letter.

"Looking for something?"

Roose's voice cut clear through the room, it even felt like it sliced right through your heart. Well die tonight or die tomorrow night it makes no difference to you. But it makes all the difference to the North.

You should have gone to Robb first. Your foolishness.

You straightened up and flattened the blankets on his cot down. "Just tidying up. Waiting for you, my lord," And you took a deep breath, braving a sultry look on your face before turning around.

"Me?" Roose asked, pure amusement in his voice. You'd have to work to really get him to believe you.

"All this talk of weddings, it's all I hear now. Everyone, everywhere," You hoped your hesitation wasn't visible as you draped your arms around Roose's neck and stared into his eyes.

"And why are you here, my lady, waiting for me."

You sighed, careful not to drop the ruse. Of all men why did it have to be Roose Bolton. Any other man, after not touching a woman for years, wouldn't have questioned the logic of your seduction and you'd at least have a chance to hit him over the head with a lantern, maybe a knife if you're lucky. But Roose hed his gaze with you evenly. Challenging you.

How to get him to trust you...

"Isn't it obvious?" You tilted your head, staring with the biggest pleading eyes you could muster. And you looked at his lips, just a moment of hesitation overtaking you before you leaned in and slowly molded your mouth to his.

Your heart went wild as he kissed you back, a mix of emotions forming. You were still scared for your life but you were also happy that your trick seemed to be working. And under the two dominant emotions, there was a slight hint of something else at play. You chalked up to the scandalousness of it all. It wasn't your main worry, but as a proper lady you were raised to not be caught in close quarters with another unmarried man, especially if you were doing salacious things — or if it looked like you were about to. It was also the first time you'd ever kissed a man.

Not the greatest conditions, but alas, you could care less about a tender kiss or even a few. You just need a distraction and its working. Roose kissed you back so fiercly it made you dizzy. So dizzying that you hadn't realized he reached into your pockets.

When the kiss broke, you stared up at him, his face composed and hard as stone, almost as if it hadn't affected him at all. But his lips were swollen and he stared at you, eyes betraying him to look down at your equally puffy lips and you smirked.

You made sure to hold his gaze and you let your hand trail down his front, teasing just above his crotch. "Celebrate the happy betrothal with me?"

Roose cracked a smile and nodded, a sarcastic hum rumbling from him, "Your nerves give you away, my lady." Your heart sank. "You quiver like a virgin playing at being a whore. It was almost convincing, but..." He held up the letter that you had stolen from the raven.

You let the dread overtake your face and you ran.

But you couldn't even make two steps before Roose pulled you by your wrist, back into his chest.

You struggled for a few seconds but stilled as soon as you felt cool metal under your chin.

"A deal," You spoke quickly, equally as quickly deciding you really didn't like the feeling of a cold blade pressing against the neck, that you very much did like.

"A deal?" Roose breathed the question into your ear. He was so obviously not scared or even wary of you. And you scrambled to keep the upper hand.

"I could always scream instead. You could kill me, make some excuse to cover yourself up, but that excuse wont pass, not for our King's childhood friend. You could run. You'd be dead within the fortnight if they caught you." You hoped that you weren't just spewing bullshit, "The camp is so dense. How likely are you to make it to Frey before one of Robbs catches you first? And your plan would fail. Robb would know something's wrong."

He was permitting you to continue, so you did. He wasn't so much as urging you to continue but rather, watching, knowing you would.

"I could offer your head to our king. But I imagine you wouldn't enjoy that very much. So many options but I propose the best one — you could turn on Frey, tell Robb. Warn him about Karstark, too. Wouldn't you much rather become the new Lord of the Twins than deal with a petty mess?"

Roose considered it for a couple seconds before releasing you. You're right that making you disappear would be a little more annoying that simply a petty mess. He knows he can't just let you go either. He doesn't trust you.

Whats to stop you from running to tell Robb as soon as he let you go anyway? Then he remembers that his soldiers make up the largest portion of Robb Starks army aside from the Karstarks. And that there was his leverage. That's why you were trying to reason with him. Which really means, despite everything, he could even go as far to say that he's the one with the upper hand in this situation.

You, apparently unwilling to inform Robb of his treachery, asking him to warn your King and continue to fight by his side, all you had was a secret that only the two people in this room know. Not a very good hand. You don't even have proof anymore. Roose walked over to his bed, pulling a stack of letters out from a slit in the mattress.

You sighed, kicking yourself. You were so close. And you watched him, walking to the fire at the foot of his bed with his eyes trained on you. You watched helplessly hope was scorched in the flames.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest and only now had you permitted yourself to notice it. Sitting at the edge of his bed, You wiped your forehead.

Roose chuckled. Clever girl, weighing logic and strategy, no trouble following the shifting power between you two. You knew you needed him. You knew Robb needed him. You knew the odds of winning this war was slim already now that the Tyrells had joined the fray. You knew if you gave him a reason, he might slit your little throat tonight. And sure that meant Robb might get the hint not to attend the wedding, but the Northern army would still be crushed within half a year.

And perhaps you valued that pretty little head of yours above all else.

Now, Roose took interest, evaluating you with a new eye, "What is your proposal?"

"You go, tell Robb of the plans but tell him you intended on being a turncoat this entire time."

"And what do I receive in exchange for this act of mercy."

You chuckled, "My many thanks, redemption in the eyes of the Gods," you offered sardonically, knowing the answer would come as too dismissive. You could tell Roose wasn't impresssed, "I can still tell the King, my lord, if it pleases you.

Roose, ever perplexed by your mind, drew closer but stowed his knife back in his holster, behind him. He made it so that you had to tilt your head up to look at him. "Do not think for a second that you might have the upper hand in this position, my lady. I say that, not as a threat, but as advice. Know when you do not have the upper hand. Know when to serve."

You glared up at him, scanning his eyes, baffled by his audacity. You are— "I am a—"

"Stark Ward. But not a Stark. If you go to Robb, you have no proof. I might have my own story. You and Greyjoy, bitter that you'd never truly be accepted into the Stark family plotted the demise of the King in the North, who I so faithfully served up until now. There is no reason for Robb to view me with less trust than you... The King may grow weary with paranoia. First his brother... then he doesn't know to trust his closest advisor or his sister. "

"But you---"

"I am guilty. And you have no evidence. You are asking for a favor. Tell me, what difference does it make if the King dies tomorrow or three months later on the Battlefield without my men to back him." he questioned, enunciating each word clearly, staring down at you.

You cursed yourself for sitting. The scare was not over, you should have realized. Even if the cold blade was no longer physically at your neck, Roose Bolton still had a knife to you.

"What do you want?"

He chuckled, "One day I will have a need for you. And that day, you will obey. You owe me your life, my lady. And the King's life."

You glared at the ground, wishing you could say something of his arrogance, "And Robb?"

"I will tell him of the plans. And you will not tell him the truth. Any time you think you want to tell the young wolf what we discussed in these chambers remember that it is your pretty neck and your reputation that may be in my hands." Roose gave you one last look, then whispered, "Go on now. Back to your tent."

You stood, meeting him with one last glare.

He smiled sweetly at you, nodding, "I thoroughly enjoyed the display."

—————

Your promise to Roose Bolton loomed over you every day for a month. You spent your days watching his actions closely to know when he was plotting anything, but he's yet to step blatantly out of turn.

He was showered with honors for being savior at the Red Wedding, not only becoming the official Lord presiding over the Twins, but he was given a large portion of the remaining Karstark forces, which thankfully very few deserted the King in the North after the victory at the Twins. Roose sent his Bastard to serve in his stead at Karhold, which was now under close surveillance for their treachery.

You paled to hear these developments. Because in truth you still failed to trust Roose Bolton though you hoped these gifts from the King in the North sweetened the pot enough for him to follow through with his promise to you. You simply shivered at the obscene amount of power that was showered to him.

So long as he retained the upper hand you would continue to be unsettled. You wish he would just tell you what he wants from you quickly so that you may get it over with. Really, something you think he just enjoys watching you squirm.

"Milk of the Poppy," Talisa said calmly.

And you moved to argue with your queen but hearing the screams of agony of the man being tended you, you decided there was a time and place.

The queen finished up with him quickly and turned back to you. That's when you started, "My Queen, I'm sure you're tired of hearing. And I, more than anyone else here understand your concern for the wellbeing of unnamed Lannister boy-soldiers."

Talisa, laughed, ducking her head in preparation for your words.

"But truly... Milk of the Poppy?" You pleaded, "I know it may seem cruel but it's really more of a luxury in wartime than anything. Perhaps that can be saved for the men fighting for our King."

Your queen met your eyes again but then at something behind you. Turning, you saw Roose speaking with Robb. Robb glanced at you, spoke something back to the Dreadlord and patted his arm before making his way to you. Roose spared you a glance before walking in the other direction, toward his tent.

"I'll take your words into consideration, my lady," Talisa reassured, "I understand. Thank you for stating your opinion calmly and without judgement."

You smiled in sympathy, knowing the men in the army could be quite rough around the edges with their opinions.

Talisa started again, taking some time to gather her tools "My husband is coming. I think he wants to speak with you."

Robb came up to the two of you, placing a hand on the small of Talisa's back, pressing a kiss to her cheek and whispering something short in her ear.

"I'll leave you to it then," Talisa said sweetly and left to find more sick to tend to.

As soon as she did, Robb's features were cast with a stern seriousness. You evaluated it, wondering if it had anything to do with Roose Bolton's conversation with him just moments before.

"What is it?" You asked.

Robb sighed, "You don't have to agree. You can think on it for a while. I know it can be daunting seeing as I'm almost sure he's older than father."

"What is it?" You pressed urgently.

"Roose Bolton asked for my blessing to take your hand in marriage."

Your heart sank, the full weight of the deal you made with Roose falling on your shoulders.

"I gave him my blessing as I have no reason not to. But I warned him that I cannot force you to be amenable." With a laugh, Robb tried to cheer you up but to no avail, "I even warned him you shared Arya's disdain for marriage from a young age."

You simply nodded, expressionless and quickly muttered something to dismiss yourself and you ran straight for Roose Bolton's tent.

—————

The route to Roose's tent felt quick, like you had stormed off from Robb and landed right at his door. Your anger bubbled at your throat and you could hardly wait before storming in and yelling at the man sat at his desk.

"So that's it?" You asked, bewildered, "That's how you aim to make me repay my debt?"

Roose didn't even look up at you as he continued to write on a small strip of parchment. "It seems with my sudden acquisition of the Twins, even if I legitimize my bastard, it will not be enough to sustain my achievements. I'm in dire need of heirs. You owe me a favor."

You were speechless for a second and you felt a laugh be punch out of your chest, the mere ridiculousness — the scale of this favor. "A favor, my lord, usually doesn't include a lifelong bind. A favor, I would imagine is a one and done type of deal." Marching to the side of his table, you attempted to command his attention, "Was the twins not enough? Was having your bastard installed as acting Lord of Karhold not enough?"

Roose looked up at you, calmly speaking. "I'd like to remind you, my lady, that had I not warned the King in the North of the Freys and Karstarks treachery, I'd have been named Warden of the North by the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Closing your mouth, you huffed, amazed by this mans blatant selfishness. Titles.

"The Twins, and temporary reign over the Karstark maneuvers pales in comparison to what I had abandoned."

"Well you our deal wasn't for me to make that loss up to you, it was so you could keep your head and remain loyal to King Robb." You shook your head, "I wont do it. If you're the pragmatic, power hungry man you claim to be, why don't you plot your way into some other lady's bed — someone who could give you another stronghold to place your seed upon? I'd just be a cow to breed, nothing else to gain from there"

"A pretty cow to breed with a respectful name and no brothers to take your family home. I'd say you're as good a match as any."

You gasped at his blatant disrespect, blood rising to your head, and you landed a firm slap to his face. You even went for seconds but he grabbed your wrist firmly. You tried to pull it away but he wouldn't let you.

"Of course, we'll have to do something about that temper of yours once we are wed," He warned, pulling you a little harshly — not too rough but enough to make you fall forward and catch yourself on his table. He stood, circling around the table, as casually as he could managed but he did adjust his jaw from the slap you landed on him. "Your spirit and smart mouth have done you well in the past but only when they are in company with your wits. Don't go losing those wits and getting yourself in trouble. As I'm sure you are aware, there are dangerous men lurking in times of war."

"Dangerous men like you," You pushed yourself off the table and faced him again, crossing your arms, "I owe you my life. What happens if I decide I'd rather die than marry you?"

"Then what will be protecting your King, if not your life?"

That took any retort out of your mouth, as this was not an avenue you'd expected him to take. You stuttered dumbly for a moment. "M-my King? What of him? They—... House Frey and the Karstarks have been dealt with. You—"

"I can still betray him. He trusts me now more than ever. If I write to Tywin Lannister detailing how the plan had been spoiled and I explain that I'd counted our losses and regained the trust of the King so that we may try again well, that'd be easy enough," He stared down at you and said the next part clearly, "You are the only thing stopping me from doing so. If you'd rather die..."

You shook your head at him, scowling. The entire North, dependent on what you say to this man. "I don't want to marry you," you stood your ground as well as you could, "Anything else, I'll do."

Roose looked to the ground next to you, "Well then," He sighed.

Then he glanced back at you, giving you a lazy once over.

He sighed again, this time more sure, straightening his back and that's when you knew he'd had an idea.

You didn't like him getting ideas. You don't like his mind and the thoughts he spins.

"Another deal. A game, more like."

You didn't trust the slight tinge of a smile. Really you just didn't trust or like this man. Every moment you're in his tent feels like a gamble. "What game?" You especially hate the idea of playing his games. Right into the bear trap, it felt like.

Where you excelled in proposing deals that suited the interests of both sides perfectly, the Boltons were infamous for creatively constructing games that were rigged from the start, in their favor.

"Part of it is that you have to figure out the rules," He smiled.

You should have known the odds were against you. They always were when it came to Roose Bolton. How does one negotiate with a man like him?

Your attention was drawn back to him when his hand came up to the pin that secured your cloak to your shoulders. He undid the on on the right, then the one on your left. And you could do nothing but watch it fall to the floor, heart racing, because suddenly you understood.

Why did you have to say "Anything"?

Of course... You watched him, his clenched jaw, barely holding back from just ripping your clothes off, and you realized: Roose Bolton is just like any other man. He only wants one thing. Married to you or not.

One and done, you wondered, Is that better?

He pulled the laces securing your dress in the front, watching his eyes greedily take in your chest as more of it was exposed. Soon, your dress hugged your waist and shoulders, barely covering your top half.

You smacked his hand away as it reached under the fabric draping at your shoulders.

The silent question in your eyes was What the fuck do you think you're doing?

Roose simply chuckled softly, “Letting me see your tits is not as bad as marrying me, is it, my lady?” Dark intentions coated his syrupy smooth voice and it made you shiver.

Breathing a long, angry sigh, you looked up at him, “I could just kill you.”

“Even if you managed, your king desperately needs Bolton men. They'll only follow a Bolton,” He spoke matter of factly, tugging your sleeves so they fell off your shoulders.

He's right. The Starks and the Boltons had no love for each other. Centuries of hate. Many Karstarks remained loyal to Robb because of the history of love between the houses. There was no such history between the Starks and Boltons.

The cool air hit your exposed skin. “Trust me,” Roose smiled satisfied with the sight before him, taking a firm handful of your breast, caressing over it and pinching the nipple as he let go, “You’d rather handle me than deal with my bastard.”

You shivered and took several steps back from him and his touch, and moved to cover your breasts with your hands as well as you could.

You’d definitely heard about his bastard. From what you knew, he was a more unhinged, less predictable version of Roose, more willing to get his hands dirty, more eager to act. You stood and let Roose’s eyes rake over your body, disgust bubbling at your throat.

“So conveniently, my best option is to either marry you or let you fuck me and ruin any marriage prospects in my future?”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Roose raised his brow, playing innocent, “I just want to see you, touch you... feel you touch me. I wont put anything inside your cunt unless you ask me to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, you dont trust his mercy, especially the last clause. Unless you ask him to. Why in seven hells would you ask him to? “What do you want me to do?”

Roose smirked widely and the look should have terrified you — you’ve never seen such twisted joy on a persons face before, especially not stoic Roose Bolton.

He stepped closer to you once more, hands coming to cradle your face and neck gently. Your hands instinctively followed, grabbing his wrists cautiously. Though a hint of that devious smirk lingered, he looked at you with gentleness between his eyes, “Lets start with another kiss,” He said, condescension lacing his voice, “seeing as my lady was so eager the last time we saw each other.”

You couldnt help but fall a little under his spell, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to figure out why you felt dizzy with him so close to you, cold eyes darting all over your face. Why your mind whirred with the memory of how hungrily he responded to you last time you were in his tent. You wondered if perhaps you had sparked something in him. If that was why he was so insistent.

You nodded softly, so soft that upon thinking on it, you wondered if it was even noticable. But Roose had been watching you closely for any sign of submission and he closed the gap between you before you could move to do anything else.

He noted how you tensed just as his lips met yours and he carefully took your hands, guiding them to wrap around his neck. You tried to relax into it as much as possible and kiss him back, but it proved difficult until his arms came around and pulled you closer to him.

His bare hand on your back made you jolt and he chuckled deeply, the rumble of it making you shy away. "Roose," You started, unsure of what you would say. That you already need a break?

Roose ignored you, hands coming back up to cup your breasts, "Fucking gorgeous. And you've been right in front of me this entire time," He spoke so lowly you almost thought he was muttering to himself. But his eyes trained on you told you different.

He leaned down the few extra centimeters to meet your lips again, this time toying with your hardened buds as he did. Your hand shot up to grab his wrist but he just pinched in response. You squealed, lips parting from his but he kept you held close.

"Behave."

You whined, glaring at him, your dignity clinging to any sliver of hope it had of remaining intact.

Roose glared right back and took your hand, leading you toward his cot. He sat you on his lap and again, turned his attention toward your chest after kissing you a few times. This time, his lips wrapped around the bud on your right while his hand toyed with the other.

You tensed as a moan threatened to escape you, especially with his tongue circling around the way it did. When he sucked and continued that technique at the same time it was difficult not to enjoy. To be honest, you didn't even know a man could enjoy a woman's body like this — so shamelessly lewd. But he promised no penetration. You assume that means he deigns to make use of your body in any other way.

It was quickly proving to be too much. You grunted a few times when moans caught in your throat, gutteral noises and sighs to keep the really embarrassing noises down. But even that was wearing thin. Your hand shot up to his head and tugged at his hair. Your back arched into him, body twitching when he'd trigger a sensitive nerve.

And before you could stop it, you sighed something a little too audible, too close to a full moan. You began trying to push his head away.

Roose grabbed your hands firmly, pushing them away and gave you a small nip as a warning. You yelped, staring at him incredulously. Then he switched to your more neglected nipple.

This same torture continued for far too long, but the result was worse than the torture itself, because you couldn't deny the pool forming in your small cloths. The pleasure of him toying with your sensitive buds just goes straight down there. You can't help it.

"My lord, h-how much more."

"I'll play with you until I'm satisfied, darling," He answered cooly, "Don't ask again."

You nodded, looking at his intense, watchful eyes. And he crashed his lips on yours again. This time, he reached beneath all the heavy layers of your skirts and pulled your breeches down. You helped him kick them off.

When the pads of his finger met your cunt, they circled around in search but he cut his search off, chuckling at what he found. You pulled away from his lips, hiding in his shoulder because you already knew what he was laughing at.

"Look at my little whore. Never been touched like this, have you? You're going to let me ruin you for your King?"

You groaned, feeling his fingers gather your slick, then he found a bundle of nerves. It felt like when he was licking your nipples— the way it tingled down there— but he was touching the exact source of it. Sometimes you'd cross your legs or gyrate your hips against a pillow and feel the same way but Wow you always thought that sensation was coming from something deeper inside you. Turns out its right there. Right at the front of your vulva.

And Roose knew. You gripped his knee and spread your legs for him as he toyed with you in ways you hadn't even known to toy with yourself. Your lips fell open but you wouldn't allow a single sound to come out, though you knew this would be far more difficult to bear than what he was doing previously.

Your body would twitch and tense up under his ministrations. Something was building within you. You'd felt this kind of feeling, grinding against soft pillows, but then the feeling would die after a little while. You'd walk away satisfied with the morsel of pleasure.

But with Roose, it wasn't going anywhere. It kept building and building.

Eventually, you thought that perhaps an end to the build was near but he diverted his fingers, playing with your opening instead, gathering more slick.

You calmed yourself, taking a few breaths to calm yourself. You looked down to see Roose staring at you, eyes hooded with a dark cloud of lust, lips parted, just taking you in like you were the most interesting, captivating thing he's ever seen.

His finger teased your entrance, pushing slightly and you ripped your gaze away from his intense eyes, studying you. Gods... Oh gods. You rolled your hips but he pulled his hand away finally.

Roose wiped his hand on your skirt. "Do you like being touched by me?"

You refused to answer, turning your head and looking anywhere else. Weakly, you shook your head no.

"Don't lie," he scolded.

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, brows furrowed, confusion behind your eyes, wondering how your body could betray you like this. But its just biology. Simple as that.

"You came close."

"Close to what?"

That made Roose smirk wider, a twinge of surprise and excitement, "Close to a release that some women can achieve while fucking." Roose took a second to compose himself before continuing, "A release that you won't experience tonight, unless it's around my cock."

Fear filled you, "You said you wouldn't."

"No, I wont," Roose cooed, a false comfort, "Not until you ask."

"I wont."

"We'll see, darling," He moved his arms from you and nudged your behind a little, "Up. Take off your dress."

You stood and obeyed, albeit hesitantly. He also took to stripping himself, but left on his small clothes. You, having already rid yourself of your breeches, were bare as the day you were born once you took off your dress.

Roose, with a hand to your waist, pulled you into him, standing in between his legs and he pressed a kiss to your stomach, trailing down to your dripping cunt. You shuddered at the thought of his tongue circling around that spot the way it circled your nipple. You don't think you could bear that.

Unfortunately for you, that was exactly what Roose had in mind. He lifted your leg so that your foot rested on the edge of his bed, which sat low on the ground. It's height provided the perfect angle for him to duck under and lick a flat stripe over your clit.

Your cunt convulsed and you were embarrassed for it because unlike your moans, you could not hide the reactions of your cunt as easily. His tongue dipped a little further, barely dipping into your hole to taste you and collect your essence on his tongue.

He groaned into you, the vibration making you bite your lip. He feasted on you like a starved man, wrapping his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves and gently shaking his head as he sucked. Each time he flicked his tongue sent shocks through your body and you'd buck your hips against his face.

Even just the image that you were met with when you looked down— Roose Bolton burying his face into those parts...

If him licking your nipples was considered lewd, you didn't know how to describe this correctly. You hadn't even realized that men did this in the first place. Frankly it felt like something a man like Roose would normally consider to be too debasing and submissive.

There was nothing submissive about the way Roose licked up your juices. This was a man who was confident he held all the power and you'd be stupid to underestimate him.

Whines, real wanton whines pushed through your throat, filling the open air of his tent and that only seemed to spur him on. You submitted to it, feeling his hand come under your buttock and his other wrap around your waist. He then hoisted you up in the air and gently laid you down on the bed.

Roose not so gently spread your legs and settled between them, continuing his treatment on you.

Again the coil in your core tightened impossibly tight and just as you thought you'd reach some higher pleasure. He pulled away, peppering kisses to your thigh to calm you. You breathed heavily, staring at the ceiling.

This time, having him stop was frustrating. You cant lie. And you had a feeling you were in for a rather long night. Your hand twitched, almost wanting to give yourself the pleasure that he refused but you knew Roose would not let you. This was his game.

The game where you win if you steel through and manage to out last him.

You whimpered, legs quaking softly when he carefully bent and flicked his tongue against your clit again. Even, at this point, the feeling of his stubbled cheeks brushing your inner thigh was almost too sensitive to bear. Your body was responding to everything.

Soon you were bucking against his face, cursing the gods, and repeating the process again and again.

He learned what you liked quickly and tried everything under the sun. Dipping his tongue into you, he brought you just to the precipice of something amazing by fucking you with nothing but his mouth.

Once you had settled from the near high a fourth time, Roose pulled your body closer to him and through his lustblown eyes. He whispered to you as his fingers came to tease your entrance again, "May I?"

You looked down at him, biting your lip and you wanted to say yes. Your entire being begged for it. But your pride told you to say, "Do I have a choice?"

He merely chuckled at the loss of any desire to argue within you, and he plunged two thick fingers into your cunt. You cried out, the stretch somewhat shocking to you. But you were so wet that it really just felt nice, despite being foreign.

The noise you made was something you didn't even think could be produced within you. You moved to cover your face, laughing into them neverously because holy shit you need to get a hold of yourself. You need to. You've never felt this weak in the hands of someone else.

His fingers filled you nicely but you dreaded to admit it wasn't enough. And you didn't like how stiff they felt inside you. Something softer might feel more like it belongs. something longer and thicker... Something like—

Roose growled and that noise brought you out of your trance. You stared at him for a second, his eyebrows knit together frustratedly. His fingers did their work inside your cunt while his mouth continued to torture your clit.

"Fuck! Ahhh... fuck fuck—" You groaned, gritting your teeth together as you tried to keep yourself up to watch him.

You breathlessly but sort of victoriously took note of his clear frustration. You were proving to be more stubborn than he bargained for, you assume. But he was persistent too. There was no mistaking who had the power here.

He groaned, pumping his fingers into you. It was difficult not to imagine how it would feel when you finally gave in to him. So he let you know, "Your cunt loves me, my lady. You feel it clenching around me. You're so desperate for more. All you have to do is ask."

"Eat shit," you choked out. You meant to say it more confidently, less weak and shuddery but it created the same effect within Roose as it would have either way.

His lips returned, doing only what garnered the strongest reactions from you. And you were tumbling back down the hill again.

Of course he stopped, again.

You needed more than a second to recover from that one. What was it? Five rounds of the same torture. Your body was sure to be feeling the effects of it. Your cunt continued to twitch around nothing after his fingers were unceremoniously pulled out.

You lay there, unable to do anything but watch him clean off his fingers with his mouth. And it was hot because he didn't necessarily make a show of it. Ever the practical man, he probably only used his mouth because it was the easiest, cleanest solution. But you'd never seen anything so salacious and wrong.

Well, you concede, perhaps its not wrong, just something you, again, wouldn't thought of doing. It made your hips wriggle involuntarily and your cunt clench around nothing again, missing his fingers stretching and making you feel a little closer to whole.

Roose made quick work, ridding himself of his breeches and shirt.

You barely had enough time to appreciate the defined lines of his body, toned, even at his age because he stayed active.

He's undeniably handsome. If he wasn't so evil you'd have jumped at the chance of marrying him. Even now, staring at him, the man in control of your pleasure, you wondered if being married to him would even be so bad.

And his cock... You glanced at it, then trained your eyes back on his icy gaze. He cant see you staring down there, he'll get the wrong idea like he's winning or something. But the image was burnt into your mind. You could end your suffering now and beg him to put it inside you. You could.

But then your pride jumped in and told you to stop acting a fool.

He climbed up the bed, staying to one side of you, then wrapped his arm under you, kissing you briefly. Very briefly. So briefly that when he pulled away, you felt trained to chase after his lips, expecting more. The very accidental admittance of submission was not lost on either of you, an approving chuckle leaving him as he flipped your body on its tummy.

He crawled over you, snaking a hand under your stomach to pull you up and your entire backside felt his bare skin upon it. You bit your lip to stop yourself from whimpering at that feeling alone, again your cunt whined and begged you to just give in. Its right there, hard and pressing against your ass.

It was dizzying, the entire experience. You'd been denied so many times.

"Remember the rules," he murmured in your ear before taking a small bite and kissing down it. "Keep your thighs tight. Until you're ready to spread them like the good little slut you are." And with that, he used his free hand to slip his cock between your damp thighs.

You'd been so stripped of any and all resistance that the dominant emotion filling you was pride at his praise, calling you a good little slut. Something so debasing shouldn't stir you this much.

You were shocked at the warmth, initially scared that he was trying to slip it inside your cunt without you noticing, but Roose stayed true to his word. He wasn't going to put it in unless you asked, unless got to the point of wanting to beg him to. That didn't mean he couldn't put it right next to the entrance to tempt you.

It took him all but two seconds to begin slowly thrusting into the crack of your thighs and you wondered if it was supposed to feel like anything for you because it felt really amazing.

It wasn't as intense as his lips on your cunt but it was more tempting. The head of his cock, when his hips would slap against your ass, would grind deliciously over your clit. You whimpered each time it happened. It was all so wet and warm down there, his cock doing nothing but spreading the mess between your thighs.

His hand came around you to grab your neck, pulling you up so that he could fuck your thighs, using you as leverage. Your cunt pulsed with desire again, wishing he'd angle his hips incorrectly on accident and it'd just slip inside.

Please just slip inside. Please, please. Please slip in.

"Fuck, Roose, It... Its so... please," You said without even thinking

A dark chuckle vibrated right next to your ear. He chewed your lobe and kissed the top of your jaw. "Tell me."

"I... mmm nothing, nothing. I..." You growled frustratedly, burrying your face in the pillow.

Tears pricked your eyes.

The frustration was really getting to you.

Five times denied.

Your hips met him, rolling back to make his thrusts easier and he growled, landing a firm smack to your buttock. You cried out into the pillow.

Having had enough of your muffled cries, Roose pulled you up, situating your neck in the crook of his arm and he hoisted you up to your knees, cock still pumping drenched between your thighs.

It was pure debauchery. Unadulterated debauchery. You felt dirty and you couldn't even bother to be embarrassed by it. You just wanted him to have an accident and slip in. But you knew Roose. You knew he was too careful.

You had to give in first.

Your heart sank, realizing this could go on for so much longer. If he really wanted to, he could release right now, between your thighs and toy with your body mercilessly until he's ready to try with his cock again. He could go on for much much longer than you could ever dream of.

Especially in this position, it was difficult not to imagine him spearing you, your walls clenching and welcoming him instead of your thighs.

Gods, the way he was just using your body. Any part of your body. You were dizzy with pleasure and longing.

“Roose just do it, you win. Fuck me, please,” You spoke through sobs. Frustrated tears trickled down your cheeks.

Roose slowed his movements but that only made your wanting worse. Your thighs literally quivered for him. He took one look at the tear streaks on your face, not having noticed the fact that you were fucking crying for his cock, since your face had just been buried in the pillows a second ago. Roose's heart nearly had a tender little lapse, but it instead, swelled his pride to see you so desperate.

He wiped your tears away with his free hand and kissed your cheek. He wasn't completely done toying with you. He had to make sure you understood what it meant to be fucked by him. Truly understood. “And take my lady’s maidenhead? Will any respectable man take you to be his bride then?”

Your heart sank deeper than it ever had, real dread filling you. You finally understood his play here.

“Of course, as an honorable man, It’d be my duty to inform them of your compromised purity. Tell them this little whore's been tainted.”

He'd riled you up this far. You thought naively that he simply wanted you to admit defeat that you desired him as much as he desired you before taking you passionately.

In reality he wasn't going to let you go even after you gave in. The second another lord comes along for your hand in marriage, Bolton will reveal this little tryst you've had.

This was his goal since the beginning.

Marriage to you has been his goal since the very beginning of this little parlay.

You whined, stomach twisting because your dignity has become a whispered scream within you, telling you not to give in. But your psychology, your biology, everything else was screaming for him. He wanted not just to fuck you but to own you.

Your thighs tightened and you grinded against his long shaft. Still in the weakest attempt to remain stubborn, you stuttered, “Just… only a little, my lord. Only the top part. If you must. But please dont put it all in. Not far enough to break the… m-my maidenhead.”

That was the moment both of you knew you lost. You'd say it was stubbornness. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe you just liked feeling helpless under him, knowing what was inevitable.

Roose reached down, the strain that his smirk had on his cheeks being felt against yours. You're happy he's happy. Truly, you are. It twists your stomach again. You think if your stomach twists again you'll just melt into Roose Bolton. Completely at his mercy.

You whimpered as he used his hand to guide his cock to your entrance and pushed in, only far enough for the tip. Breathy moans tumbled out of you, all effort to hide them completely foregone. You threw your head back against his chest, eyes closed, enjoying the teasing feeling of just his cockhead stretching you.

He alternated between faster pumps and slow ones where you could feel his tip just barely broaching your entrance before pulling away again. He liked to feel your cunt try to suck him into you. Could you get any wetter? Any more ready to take him?

You tried to cheat, you'll admit it. Bucking your hips back, but he always managed to follow your movements, not giving you a single bit more than what you asked for. Tears pricked your eyes again but your heart soared from it. You're at his mercy completely.

“Whats wrong, my lady, you seem distressed.” He wiped a tear away from the corner of your eye, threatening to fall. And the way you whined at that moment, so frustratedly, almost like you hated him, like you might kill him if you had the chance... it actually managed to crack Roose’s composure and he laughed a good hearty laugh from the bottom of his chest.

Still smiling, he tilted his head, giving a condescending hum of mock sympathy.

Roose took your chin in his hand so he can get a good look at you as he continued to tease the tip of his cock in and out of you. Your big eyes looking up at him and begging, begging. He would love to give in but you have to say it.

“I am but your loyal and humble servant. I only do what is bid of me.”

“Fuck me,” You crack, the words coming out not as intelligible words but as part of your moans.

He hummed a deep and clear “Hm?” Pretending he didnt hear but he did. You know he did.

“Please, fuck me.”

“And...”

“Please fuck me and marry me," You forced out, you cringed at the way your voice sounded, so whiny you would have thought it to be annoying and too high pitched. But it deepend the clouds of lust behind your lord's eyes. It made you keep going "Please, my lord, take me as your bride. Fuck me and then save my honor from ruin.”

Your eyes fluttered close, shutting tightly. You expected more taunting from him, anything, but you forced your eyes back to him when you felt his hot breath on your cheek, then his nose ghosting over as well. He pushed his cock in a little past the tip and you whimpered, grateful, melting into him. Your stomach twisted again. Your legs were so so so weak.

Roose tilted his head, leaning in closer and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. When he parted, you blinked, looking up into his striking blue eyes and you whimpered again because he thrusted back in, deeper, only slightly, but he met the little barrier within you and you braced yourself for the striking blow.

He captured your lips more roughly this time as he pushed through, claiming you as his. Your soft squeaks of pain and pleasure getting lost in his mouth. Roose pumped his cock in and out, slowly, waiting for you to stop tensing.

When your ass twitched upward against him, he took that as the permission. Your lips disconnected from each other, both of you left gasping. You stopped trying to hide your pleasure long ago.

Your husband to be let go of you, letting you fall down back to the bed and you caught yourself on your elbows. He grabbed your hips, using your body mercilessly as you damn near sobbed from pleasure.

The view of you bent over for him, the side of your face pressed into the sheet and submissively crying out for him was almost too much. Roose braced himself to last longer but it seemed you were also tumbling embarrassingly quickly to your release after having been denied the pleasure five times over.

"Perhaps tonight," Roose paused to grunt and in his deep, baritone, it was just too good, you whined in response, "Tonight, I will put our first baby in you. A bastard, but no one else but you and I will be privy to that technicality."

"Yes," You shook beneath him, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. And as your cunt tightened around him, Roose knew you were close.

"Beg," was the one worded command, and having learned your lesson, you obeyed nearly immediately.

"Please, let me release. Please, let me carry a son for you, husband. Whatever you need from me, please."

Roose could not deny such sweet words, he came inside you with a few purposeful jerks of his hips and you shuddered for it, the pleasure feeling as if it could blind you if you were even the slightest bit more wound up than you were in this moment. You were unaware of the fact that your pussy, having a mind of its own, continued to pulse, milking Roose Bolton for everything he had to offer.

The sizable load immediately spilled out onto the sheets after your intended slipped out of you. You laid there afterward, with your ass up, desperately attempting to recollect yourself as quick as possible.

You moved to get up but Roose landed a firm but not too painful smack on your ass. It wasn't too hard but in your state, it succeeded in knocking you back down to your hands with how weak your legs were.

"That's for striking me earlier," He said, icily, then he handed you a cup of water, waiting for you to take it before he started to wipe away at the mess he'd left between your legs with a spare rag of his.

The act was more tender than you'd have expected from Roose, especially when he pressed a small, short kiss to your buttock and gave it another playful smack.

"Stubborn little wife."

That brought a pleasant little heat to your cheeks.

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