#Got x reader

[snow-blower]

Can we get jon and ghost as personal heaters now?

Absolutely!! 🤭🤭

❥ Jon, whilst he doesn't run as hot as Robb, especially after his death, still runs pretty hot. It's a comforting warmth, a warmth that easily melts away the cold of the North that tries to bite at you.

❥ Whilst he's not big on PDA, he will pull you into his side or take your hand in his own if he notices your so much as shiver. Would also probably put his own gloves onto your hands (thinks it's cute how big they are on you)

❥ Like Robb, I think Jon would definitely let you sit on his lap whilst he works. He'll keep a hand on your waist or hip whilst he writes letters with his other. Also occasionally pressed a kiss to the crown of your head or your temple

❥ Jon would 100% let you warm your freezing feet under his thighs. Wouldn't even flinch as you do it either

❥ when he's not there to keep you warm? Ghost is. That direwolf has warm skin and soft fur for days. It's like having a heated blanket or pillow. Jon often comes back to find you already snuggled up with Ghost by the hearth or on the bed.

❥ Ghost also follows you whenever you go on little walks by yourself incase you sit down somewhere like by the Westwood tree in the Godswood. He just wants to keep you warm 🥹

❥ Jon wraps himself around you at night. Though, you'll both fall asleep with him on his back with you tucked into his side, your head resting on his chest. And then during some point in the night, Jon will have wrapped himself around you

❥ Lwk hates getting up in the mornings because he knows you'll be cold. Makes Ghost stay with you in the mornings to keep you warm

Gods, I love him 😩

[maisy1111]

pov: you’re scrolling trying to find a cute little fluffy fanfic to read but everything you get is smut 

no smut hate, i just want to giggle :(

[hauntedfictionland]

#Alicent you are the father.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (since 2022) alicent hightower + jacaerys velaryon.

[sorcerousundries]

Spoiled rotten

Being greywinds favourite

Warnings: everything’s fine AU

A/N: a lot of these scenarios are inspired by my dog

Robb was being replaced

He knew it plain and simple. He first started to notice it when he’d saunter into your shared chambers, eager to strip himself of his leathers and nestle under the furs with you while the fire crackled something fierce.

He had been thinking about it all day in fact. The only thing keeping him motivated while he pushed through seemingly endless council meetings and letter responses alike.

Yet when the time had finally come and he pulled the covers back he was not greeted with the empty space reserved just for him, instead a great big direwolf was cuddled into the space with your arms wrapped around him.

He swears he could even see him smirking as if taunting him.

To rub salt on the wound you even giggled at him as you told him “I have a new cuddling companion now” it’s like you wanted him dead.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

After weeks of carefully planning greywinds mealtimes so that he’d be able to sneak under the covers before the wolf padded into your quarters as if he owned the place, Robb though that would be the end of the business.

How wrong he was.

The chances he was granted to be able to come visit you during the day were slim but not impossible, most days he was able to slip away and sit beside you while you read.

You would chat to him about anything; the topic of your book, the dream you had that night, what you had for lunch. Anything.

But after walking into the library and seeing greywind pressed at your back like a sentinel pillow, his victory was lost yet again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When night fell and the castle fell silent, the winds blowing strong outside. You could always count on Robb to keep you warm at night, aswell as the thick furs that sat heavy on the bed.

Yet when a chill started to curls round his shoulders and he tried to pull the covers up to shield himself from the cool air, the fur wouldn’t move.

No matter how much he yanked and tugged, the fur refused to move.

As he looked down to try and identify the source, he was greeted with the happily snoozing face of his canine companion, sprawled over your legs with his head happily resting in the dip of your waist.

That morning Robb woke up with a stiff neck as he gave in and shuffled down the bed in order to completely cover himself, neglecting his posture as his head was denied the privilege of resting on a pillow.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The evening air was crisp and cool, with the gentle crackle of the fire filling the room with warmth. You sat on a plush fur rug in front of the hearth, wrapped in a soft blanket, feeling the flickering flames dance across your skin. The atmosphere in the great hall of Winterfell was cozy, a welcome contrast to the chill outside.

Robb entered, shaking off the cold as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. His cheeks were flushed from the brisk air, and a smile broke across his face when he spotted you. “I thought I might find y’ here” he said, his voice warm and inviting thick with his Northern accent.

You smiled back, patting the space beside you.

Without hesitation, Robb settled down next to you, the soft fabric of his cloak brushing against your side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The heat radiating from the fire mixed with the warmth of his body, creating a perfect cocoon of comfort. resting his chin atop your head. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, soothing and strong.

As you nestled into his side, Grey Wind padded into the room, his fur a dark shadow against the flickering light. He sniffed the air for a moment before making his way over, his golden eyes bright with affection. With a soft whine, he settled down beside you, leaning against Robb's leg.

Robb had to resist rolling his eyes as your hand came down to scratch greywinds ears, running your fingers through his thick fur. “He always knows when we’re havin’ a moment.” He groans.

You sent Robb an incredulous look before giggling at the ridiculousness of the situation. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and you settled deeper into his comforting hold, feeling safe and cherished. As you gazed up into his eyes, a playful spark ignited between you. You nudged your nose against his, a silent invitation that led to a soft, lingering kiss. In that instant, time seemed to stand still, and the world outside Winterfell faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and affection.

But even that blissful moment was gently interrupted by Grey Wind’s piercing whine, a sound that sliced through the tranquility like a sudden gust of wind. You pulled away from Robb, chuckling softly at the absurdity of it all.

“Alright, alright,” you coo , shaking your head as you leaned down to meet Grey Wind’s expectant gaze. His dark eyes shimmered with a mix of longing and playful annoyance, and you couldn’t help but smile. You pressed a kiss to his wet nose, the familiar gesture eliciting a soft huff from him, as if he were grumbling about being neglected.

With the fire crackling and Grey Wind’s soft breathing filling the room, you felt utterly content. The warmth of the hearth, the closeness of Robb, and the gentle presence of Grey Wind created a serene atmosphere. It was a simple moment, but in that cozy space, surrounded by the two beings you cherished most, Even Robb had to admit he wouldn’t actually mind being replaced.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥, 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after your husband returns from battle in the riverlands, you share a rather passionate moment together.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robb stark x baratheon!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut with fluff, lots of teasing and sweet banter, robb is a chronic yearner, hint of dirty talk, making out, hair pulling, wet robb (he was in the rain), unprotected p in v sex, obligatory stark breeding kink, missionary position + prone bone, scratching, biting, robb is horrendously down bad.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I wrote this because I was rewatching S2 of Game of Thrones and got hot & bothered. End of story. I have a lot of smaller works like this in-progress! I feel like this is not good as my usual stuff but y’know! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Tides of thunder echoed over tempestuous skies, darkened by a deluge, lightning piercing wisps of veiled cloud, akin to slicing steel. Rain fell in gray sheets, bathing the Riverlands in a bitter chill, encampment blanketed by an assailing squall.

For a sennight, the weather had raged, weeping icy tears onto both Stark and Lannister armies.

Murky were the marshlands of the Riverlands, the Green Fork’s banks now laden with silty earth and sunken grass; still, the deluge persisted without any end in sight.

Despite the sour conditions of the outside world, you were fortunate to remain within the sanctuary of your tent, one shared with your husband, Robb Stark. The King in the North valiantly took to the battlefield, blood hot with the surge of war, desiring to sink his fangs into Lannister footsoldiers.

Worry often stirred within your heart, concerned for his wellbeing — it didn’t begin that way. At first conception of your betrothal, you and Robb began as acquaintances, a Baratheon and a Stark, a byproduct of Robert’s longstanding relationship with the late Lord Eddard.

Sometimes, the sting of discomfort lingered; two youths spouting oaths thrust upon them by their forebears. Now, you often prayed for Robb’s safe return, pleading to the Seven that he would be unscathed, his safety paramount.

Without Robb, you had nothing — no allies, no friends, and no family.

Robb had treated you exceedingly well, his gentleness disarming yet gallant when it came to you, his heart honorable yet steeped in vengeance. He had grown fond of you, if not adoring, and you grew rather attached, in turn.

Thunder snarled at your doorstep, an ugly rippling that shook the skies, made them tremble in terror. A shiver passed through you as whistling gales shrieked outside, your tent well-fortified, but the torrential downpour proved to be a relentless beast, drenching any who stood within its path.

With the hour of the wolf upon you, exhaustion had not yet nipped at your heels, nervousness keeping you awake. It became difficult to seek true respite when Robb was away, and you feared that if you closed your eyes, he would slip from your grasp while you slept.

Busying yourself with menial tasks, you took to reading, swathed in his cloak, one given to you nearly a moon ago; a woodland scent clung to thick pelts. A silken nightgown accentuated your frame, hidden beneath wolf’s fur, your bed something of a refuge.

Candlelight flickered, wavering in the midst of the storm’s fury, an orange glow spreading warmth throughout the pavilion’s interior. A sharp clap of thunder made you lurch forward, gooseflesh icing your spine, grip tightening upon your book.

Concern festered violently within your belly, a volatile sensation, one that brought you not a shred of comfort. It made you sick, worrying about Robb to such an unhealthy degree, but you couldn’t help it — war was cruel, as unforgiving as it was callous, culling sheep to the butcher’s block.

As you turned the page, parchment proved to be a rather uninteresting diversion, more vexing than it was intriguing. If it weren’t for your current state, swaddled comfortably within the furs, you might’ve been pacing, restlessness akin to some plague, haunting your every step.

Rest eluded you, until it didn’t.

Unable to recall when you had drifted off, book splayed open within your lap, your position indicated that you had fallen asleep amidst your worrying. You kept yourself angled toward the tent’s mouth, hoping to see Robb emerge at some point during the night.

The Young Wolf’s victory was hard-fought, an ambush through the thick of dusk, effectively dismantling Jaime Lannister’s host entirely, the Kingslayer now taken captive. Men had been taken in the process, such was the heavy toll of war, a burden he now shouldered as King.

Eager to return to you, Robb moved through the pavilion’s burlap flaps, shouldering past the canvas as he stepped inside, auburn curls plastered to his skull. Soaked to the bone, the warmth of his quarters was a welcome relief, chest heaving with a soft exhale.

Cerulean hues waded through his surroundings, finding your slumbering form huddled within his cloak, brows furrowed even as you slept. Affection swelled within his heart, a sentiment he did not think himself capable of, many moons ago.

With hushed footfalls, Robb silently rustled about, desiring to let you have your rest. As much as he longed to rouse you, he knew the toll this war had taken on you, as much as it did him. Unburdening himself of damp furs, he stepped closer, within arm’s reach of you.

Calloused fingertips lightly traced your crown, as soft as a doe, a threadbare smile painting his rugged countenance as he lowered himself onto the feathered paillasse. In a wordless rapture, he ogled your visage, a thing of true beauty, tresses somewhat mussed from sleep.

Fingers remained tense within his cloak, as if you clung to it even when dormant, cheek pressed against the pillow. He found you enchanting, beguiling — if it weren’t for your Baratheon blood, you might’ve made a bewitching sorceress.

Robb’s warm gaze shifted toward the book, nestled comfortably beside your lap, parchment parted to reveal the page you’d left off on. Each shallow sigh you took exuded sweetness, visage worn with inklings of worry, the rest of it somewhat peaceful.

Beyond the tent, the tempest screamed into the night, washing away the blood of both Stark and Lannister into the Green Fork. Dampened leathers clung to him, soaked through coarse linens beneath, the feeling a touch discomforting.

Auburn curls remained slick with rain, droplets continuing to roll from his temples; carrying with him the scent of petrichor and firewood, tinged with faint copper. As his fingertips graced the soft plane of your cheek, he lightly brushed aside locks of hair, relieving them from your brow.

Stirring from hibernation, a low hum tumbling past your lips, limbs aching with the heaviness of sleep. Robb did not intend to wake you, though it seemed much too late for that, his caress rousing you from what appeared as a deep slumber.

“Robb?” With a groggy croak, your lashes fluttered in rapid succession, brows still creased as you readjusted to your surroundings. To your complete surprise, there he sat, soaked as if he’d been wading through an ocean.

“I didn’t intend to wake you.” Robb’s Northern timbre hung heavy with an apology, thumb gingerly caressing your jaw as you moved to sit. Before another remark could escape him, your arms flung around him, drenched or not, clinging to him in an embrace as hot as fire.

“I don’t care,” Breathless, you refused to yield, nearly crushing him against you, if there were plausible. One palm settled atop the small of your back, the other cradling the base of your skull, calloused digits perusing through your satiny tresses. “I prayed for your safe return.”

He missed you terribly, more than he truly thought possible — Robb yearned for your presence, away on the banks of the Fork, dreaming of returning to you with each clash of steel.

Rugged lips peppered your temples, foreheads brushing against the other as he held you tightly. With each inhale, you breathed him in, fearing he might dissipate from your grasp.

“It was a hard-fought victory,” Ice-laden breath plumed across your brow as Robb exhaled, brow stalwart. “A blow hard enough to knock the wind from Tywin Lannister.” A pang of venom snaked through his words as he mentioned the Lannisters.

It was Joffrey’s head he wanted — golden crown mounted upon a spike, Lannister dead littering the South, wolves howling. The death of Eddard Stark was still an open wound, its sting evergreen, heart continuing to bleed in the wake of such atrocities committed against his family.

Empathy wept from your being, understanding of Robb’s plight, of his desire to purge the Lannisters and avenge Lord Stark’s passing. “I am thankful that you returned safely — unscathed, I should hope.” A sigh creased with worry left you, palms splayed across his chest.

A bemused chuckle escaped him as you surveyed for any injuries, only to find an endless sea of wet clothing and taut muscle — he must’ve been caught within the storm for hours. Caged beside him, you felt such relief, knowing that he was safe. “I am unharmed, I promise.”

“Gods, Robb — you are completely drenched,” An ebullient laugh spilled from your mouth, a heavenly sound that caused his breath to hitch. He smirked in the wake of your innocuous observation, azure hues dancing precociously. “You must be freezing.”

“Better now, thanks to you.” A twinkle of mischief sparkled within his gaze, the adrenaline of battle beginning to dissipate, leaving only a blossoming sense of triumph. Mouths gently sought another, tangling together for a soft kiss, one that roused a flame within his heart.

Wreathed in a thinly-veiled desire, Robb’s kiss echoed wantonly through your marrow, culling desire to the surface. Hands steadied themselves against your hips, reveling at your body, the way you molded yourself to him without a shred of hesitation.

Droplets of dew trickled onto your nose, the remains of the deluge still rolling from his tresses. He felt your smile, tangible against his mouth, thumb drawing circles to the swell of your waist. Still, his lips did not falter, growing with fervency.

It was you who withdrew first, fingertips ghosting over his countenance, over the light dusting of freckles beneath his eyes. From the first glimpse of your husband, you found him captivating, more handsome than any before him.

“You smell of wet wolf,” Tinged with amusement, the gentle lull of your cadence set his nerves ablaze, a huff leaving him as he playfully nipped at your bottom lip. “Robb! You must change!” Weak protests did little to deter your husband, who planted a kiss to your throat.

“As my lady commands.” Teasingly, his teeth scraped over your flesh before he departed, amusement clinging to his expression. It was comforting to return to you this way — despair nonexistent, with a sense of reprieve.

Moving from your bed, Robb went about unfastening his breastplate, prying leather aside, hoping to let it dry sometime on the morrow. It was the dead of dusk, the wolf’s hour, and yet he remained unburdened by exhaustion, instead replaced by exhilaration.

In rapturous silence, you sheepishly ogled your husband from where you sat, wandering eyes finding favor in his toned musculature. Robb was lean and hungry, a man turned wolf, tossing his tunic over the back of a wooden chair.

A generous smattering of freckles blanketed his back, pale flesh like marble, carved from stone. Dusky-auburn hair peppered his chest, like kisses of fire, broad shoulders turned a sculpture through smoldering candlelight.

Even from where he stood, your smitten hues pierced through him, as sharp as any blade, though it lacked such malice. Pearlescent teeth flashed in your direction, a knowing grin as he searched for a dry doublet, bare above the waist.

“You lack subtlety, my Lady.” Robb scoffed, catching you in the act, wolfish teeth around your throat. Words turned to ash upon your tongue, any retort smothered within your mouth, then and there. Instead, your features warmed as if it were a midsummer’s day.

Floating from the bedstead, you stepped forward, retrieving a cloth as you placed it atop his head, attempting to dry his soaked curls. “Perhaps it wasn’t my intention to be subtle, but for you to know that I find you painfully handsome.” With a sweeter remark, he found it difficult to tease you.

Allowing you to lavish him in plentiful sentiments, his frame shook with laughter, attempting to remain lighthearted in the wake of such a monumental victory. “Painfully handsome,” He parroted, a coarse tunic hanging between his fingers. “Is that so?”

As you dragged the swath of cloth over his crown, Robb stilled, chest reverberating with a subtle grunt. He found solace in your embrace, one that remained endlessly gentle, collecting rainwater from his tresses. Thumbs traced circles near his temples, swiping droplets aside.

“I may revoke my compliment if you continue to vex me,” Despite the playful lilt of your warning, Robb withheld a grin, curls now disheveled, partially dampened even still. Draping the cloth over the back of his neck, your wrist became ensnared within his grasp. “Robb.”

“Vex you? I dare not evoke your scorn,” A hint of a smirk betrayed his stony countenance, pearlescent teeth glinting, catching upon a sliver of dwindling light. Calloused digits stroked your flesh, gaze softening as you hid beneath your lashes. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

A smile as gentle as springtime warmed your features, visage glittering with a thinly-veiled jubilation, heart fluttering beneath your breast. It was the very same smile he’d become enamored with in the beginning of your betrothal.

Robb brought you closer, able to catch your saccharine scent, an amalgamation of honeyed florals. “Is that so?” The tenderness of your cadence was unmistakable.

A low huff rippled through his throat, lips parting in incredulity, admiring both your charming wit and beguiling appearance. Songs would be sung of your beauty, regaled by those you glimpsed you; he found himself to be exceedingly fortunate.

Bewitched, Robb’s lips bridged the distance, already worn thin after he’d coaxed you closer. Mouths became immersed in a mutual heat, a dance of hearts — you succumbed so very quickly to it all, hands clamoring to hold fast against his nape.

A muscled arm slithered around your hips, caging you in against him, physique still damp from soaked garments. Even then, he warmed in your presence, exuding heat of a different breed, one born of desire that lingered within your heart and his.

His mind neglected to linger upon the hardships of war, with little desire to tarry within battle — instead, losing himself within your lips seemed a better fate than many. Awe glistened within your hues, a gaze that held an immeasurable affection, fingers interlaced between his shoulders.

Whatever frustrations he had coiled themselves into his muscle, anguish turned into action, crushing it all beneath the weight of your adoration. It was difficult to maintain any shred of propriety, throat rippling with a grunt as his teeth snagged across your bottom lip.

Steady hands knead eagerly into the swell of your hips, blood singing wantonly as the two of you unceremoniously clamor for your shared bed. Furs kiss flesh, nightgown still concealing your body from him, though it doesn’t seem to last for very long.

“Robb,” A gasp of startlement slips from you, thoroughly enthralled by his sudden blaze of furious desire, mouth as ravenous as a wolf. Kisses trail from your jaw to throat, jugular blanketed in passionate pecks and teasing nips. “Whatever is the matter?”

He knows you tease him, but he’s relentless, burrowing between your thighs as you welcome him with a thinly-concealed glee. “You,” Robb huffs, fire etched into your collar as he lavishes you in endless kisses, hands wrestling with silk and velvet. “A pretty distraction, you are.”

Lacking any malice, you feel his physique quiver with laughter, countenance alight with lascivious amusement. It eases your nerves, giggles tapering off into delighted sighs as he unburdens you of your nightgown, swatting the gaudy fabrics aside.

Gossamer curls around your frame, material dangerously transparent, candlelight casting you waning embers. His breath hitches, a subtle sound that fades as soon as it occurs, cerulean gaze beset by a fervent ardor.

The soft peaks of your breasts pebble beneath your shift, though it is of little consequence to your husband, who eases it down to place his mouth against your chest. A moan draws from your lips, gooseflesh icing your spine.

A strong, firm hand palms at your thigh, roughened digits grazing beneath the hem of your shift, guiding the fabric toward your hips. As Robb lovingly caresses the length of your leg, your hands tangle against his nape, raking through damp, auburn curls.

The scratch of his beard prompts you to gnaw at the flesh of your cheek, a sensation that leaves naught but ash in its wake, arousal beginning to stir within your belly. A wolfish hunger claws at Robb, lips descending upon your breast, lavishing satiny flesh in countless kisses.

Legs shift against him, thighs haplessly squeezing at his leather-clad hips, nails sinking into his skin. A blissful whimper erupts through your diaphragm, taking with it each wisp of air, lungs stinging with exhilaration.

“Robb!” A moan, strangled within your throat; desire screams within your marrow, as violent as the crash of a tidal wave, heat flooding your insides. He has only been with you, and yet he seems well-versed, practiced in navigating your body.

Lips release your breast from his maw, mouth raking fiery kisses through your sternum, teeth piercing soft skin as he trails towards your mouth once more. Hands fly to the leather ties of his breeches, swift and needy, aiming to cement this heated tryst.

Arousal warms your nethers, belly rolling into taut coils of excitement, bodies flush, the space between all but nonexistent. It is all done in some frenzy, nerves crackling with fire as you keep your legs parted, shift disheveled, fabric wrenched in all directions.

The hotblooded fervor of youth prevails, wanton need exchanged between your flesh, all heat and desire. Through the brief clamor of Robb wrangling against leather trousers enough to free his cock, you coax him in for a kiss, his smile palpable through joined lips.

Outside, the deluge continues its torrential assault, winds whipping against sturdy canvas, the onslaught of the tempest providing ample ambiance. A strangled moan pierces your lungs as his cock presses against your petals, swollen head dragging through a time or two.

A breathy ‘fuck’ spilled from his lips, caught between wanton sighs and groans of rapture. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips, evoking a growl from your wolfish paramour.

Translucent fabric pools around the swell of your hips, cunt growing slick with your nectar as Robb briefly dips his hand between you, a chuckle resonating through him. As deft fingers rake embers over your nethers, you writhe, unable to mask the choked whine that splits your diaphragm.

“Already?” Robb taunts, more loving and mischievous than cruel, pressing a hot, sharp kiss to the sensitive flesh beneath your jaw. “Didn’t have to touch you for it.” The naked reality of his amorous truth makes you flush, with no retort to make the embarrassment any less.

There is no place to hide from his smoldering stare, merely averting your gaze instead, but he’s swift to intercept, mouth reaffirming its hold upon you. Each kiss is a shockwave, rattling through your bones, bringing with it a fire that demands to be squashed.

“You are cruel.” Your words hold no bite to them, spoken through a partial moan that makes him yearn, ravenous lust festering within him like a plague. Teeth capture your bottom lip briefly, your eyes doelike and permeated by crystalline ardor.

Robb chuffs, the noise possessing a playful lilt as his thumb briefly circles the pearl of your cunt, toying with the clutch of nerves. “Am I?” His Northern timbre fills your stomach with molten heat, coalescing between your thighs as you suppress a hapless whimper.

Through half-lidded lashes, your gaze falls upon Robb with incredulity, lips parting as bliss unfurls from your visage. Any jocular feeling seems to dissipate, giving way to a sudden neediness, his cock incessantly urging against your nethers with wanton desire.

Azure hues burn with lust intermingled with adoration, no longer veiled as it sits heavy upon his rugged countenance. Lips hungrily capture your own, his position readjusting as a firm hand parts your legs, kneading over the plush flesh of your thigh.

Hips lightly rut forward, the friction crackling between flush bodies, evoking a sharp moan from your mouth. A grunt stirs from his chest, akin to the feral snarl of a wolf, ensuring that you’re comfortable before he begins to tilt forward.

A sob of delight wracks through your frame, a shiver slithering along your spine as Robb groans, burying his mouth into the hollow of your shoulder.

As he moves forward, his cock beginning to sheathe itself within your cunt, your nails dig crescents into the nape of his neck, back arching forward.

Carnality consumes you like some blistering fever, sinking its talons into you, as sharp as knives that stab at your belly. Robb’s passion is one you revel in, knowing his appetite is often an insatiable thing, one that you gleefully partake in.

Everything is heated, desirous — flesh to flesh, hearts clawing for one another, limbs entangled. A well-fought victory made his blood run with adrenaline’s cry, coupled with his own ardor for you, something that he no longer is shy in sharing.

Canines nip at the satiny flesh of your shoulder, hot breath pluming over your skin, causing you to shudder as he adopts a sluggish rhythm, allowing you a moment to relax. Digits grip at the auburn curls of his nape, countenance flourishing with inklings of bliss.

“Robb,” A breathy sigh tumbles from your lips, clinging to him as if you were drowning, body aching for him in every way imaginable. His ministrations are deliberate, rhythm drawn-out, intended to torment you. “Please.”

Foreheads brush against one another, his chest stinging with an incendiary want, brows creased in concentration. It is a slow incline, hips rutting against yours, friction simmering, akin to a flame roaring to life.

A low, animalistic groan tears through his maw, sending a cascade of shivers throughout your body, born of a tantalizing excitement. With each sluggish rut of his hips, you feel everything, his cock rocking into you with a rhythm that only seems to climb higher, higher still.

In the wake of war, it is you he dreams of, thoughts constantly torn asunder, between the mantle of an unwanted leadership and being your husband. It is not an easy task, this balance — yet, he finds himself wishing to forsake his kingly duties, if it meant a second spent within your presence.

Sighs tangle together in a heated snare, flesh joining, a fervent heat slithering between bodies. One hand departs from his tresses, reaching for his forearm, muscle taut beneath your fingertips as digits intertwine, now pressed into the furs.

Robb’s grunts are strained with pleasure, intensity building as he seizes your leg, hitching it further around his hips, angle deepening. A blissful cry emerges from your lips, visage contorted into one of ecstasy as the newfound position makes your heart shriek with desire.

“I thought of you, while away,” The husky cadence of his lull stokes a volatile fire within you, belly coiled into knots of excitement. Words plume against your collar, whispered like some fiery brand, emblazoned upon your heart. “Wanting to feel your body.” A growl sent shivers through your spine.

Awestruck surprise rippled through your brow, gaze briefly locking with his own, subservient to the starving rapture that lingered within his eyes. A darkened, auburn beard scratched ragged against your countenance, lips marred by another kiss, enough to rip the air from your lungs.

Candlelight wavered, casting pools of an ember glow across his flesh, now dappled with perspiration and remnants of rainwater. Mouths clashed in a passionate duel, poured with a thinly-veiled desperation, thigh quivering within his grasp.

Rooted within you, Robb’s hips withdrew, enough to rut forward with a sense of urgency, filling you to the brim with his cock. Lewd, crass noises reverberated in the haze of heat that enveloped you, his thrusts gathering in rhythm, becoming more invigorated, ardent. Hands squeezed another, anchored firmly beside your head.

“Gods, I need you,” It was nearly forced from you, choking upon a delighted sob that wretched from your lips, which clamored for his own. A low whimper left you as he snapped forward, letting passion and want pour into each ministration, cock sheathing itself inside of your aching cunt. “Robb!”

Heat persisted even still, gazes meeting with such ardor, causing you to shiver beneath his stare. Arousal permeated between your thighs, slick and ambrosial, the scent of coupling invading your senses.

A shudder wracked him, as sharp as steel as your nethers clenched around him, taking him perfectly, as if you were molded entirely for him. Nails pressed crimson indents into his back, nearly scratching at his pale flesh as he continued to urge forward, cock kissing your womb.

“Turn over.” Filled with a strenuous impetuosity, an urgency that is nearly a whine, you obey with a sudden swiftness, clamoring to move onto your stomach. He does not take you callously, blanketing your body with his own, chest flush to your back.

Fiery lips brand themselves to your shoulder, forehead brushing over your dampened flesh, a moan tearing through your throat as he enters you once more. It is laden with haste, actions done in a flurry of passion, your legs spread apart as he thrusts with a wanton vigor.

Still, your hands are interlocked at one side, the other fisting at the sheets, Each rut of his hips are drawn-out, deliberate; it is a lascivious torture that torments the both of you, cunt tightening pathetically around his length.

It was this intense pace that you so adored, craved — it kept you grounded, made you understand the depths of his growing devotion. A breathy string of expletives flutters from your lips, joined by his cacophony of low grunts, steaming sighs pluming over your shoulder.

Within your belly, a fire stirs, billowing into a blissful oblivion — arousal coalesces between your thighs, a slick ambrosia that only seems to grow. Robb groans, pressing a string of kisses to the space between your shoulders, teeth grazing over unblemished flesh.

Grunts continued to spill beside your ear as he reached his peak, but you were already there. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens. A sharp moan punctured your lungs, lips agape as your hips erratically rocked into the furs.

Calloused digits flexed against your own, and you met your release with a haze of white, a blinding heat that nearly dazed you. It was sticky and desirous, a union of bodies that had craved another, come to find their respite in such salaciousness.

“Robb!” A sweet moan left you as you reached your pinnacle, and he joined you, hips thrusting forward once more, gentler and steady. A coil of heat began to unfurl within the both of you, bodies constantly shifting against the other, an amalgamation of friction.

With an incessant throbbing, he released his seed within you, painting your insides with a wave of warmth. He kissed your shoulder even still, visage momentarily buried against the crook of your neck, beard scratching ragged along the hollow of your throat.

Lungs burned as the both of you gasped for air, caught within the aftermath, an afterglow so satisfying that it brought some semblance of light to your shared tent. Robb allowed himself to stay sheathed within you for a moment more, lips curling into a smile.

Clinging to composure, he sluggishly tumbled to his back, propped up against the pillows, allowing you to be absolved of his weight. As you reached for your shift, he canted his head to one side, unable to suppress his bemused grin.

“Getting dressed already?” Teasingly, he reached for you, arms caging in around you as he tugged you backward, though the garment was already halfway settled upon your frame. “Hiding won’t change anything.”

Laughter spilled from your lips, tapering into squeaks of amusement as he planted messy kisses all over your neck. “Stop it!” Despite your numerous protests, they seemed to fall upon deaf ears as he eased you against his chest.

With a warm chuckle, Robb decided to let it rest, tugging you into the expanse of his body, feeling your cheek press along his collar. “You are so beautiful,” He murmured, hand moving to idly massage your hip, inhaling a gust of your scent. “Very beautiful.”

“Hm,” A gentle hum fluttered from you, head canting upwards, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Do you think that this deluge will pass?” It was an idle inquiry — this raging tempest had struck a sliver of fear into you, the rain howling outside, a clap of thunder piercing black skies.

“Soon, I think,” Robb’s eyes began to crinkle. “Why? Does it frighten you, my wife?” His teasing was endearing, a persistent banter that had always felt so effortless between you, something lighthearted to remove the edge of frustration. If he did not jest often, he became overwhelmed with anguish.

“No,” You mumbled, wincing at the flash of lightning that pooled through the burlap canvas, earning you a warm laugh from your Northern paramour. “A little, perhaps. That is why I have you to shield me from the storm.” Lips curled into an ebullient smile, and Robb was enthralled.

Beguiled, the Young Wolf planted a kiss to your brow, a comforting gesture. “I’ll keep you safe — I can promise you that.” It was a solemn oath made in the throes of youth, a determination that Robb wore as a cloak.

When the first splinter of dawn had struck down the black tides of the storm, bringing with it glitters of daylight, he kept you safe, even still.

[littlejoels]

𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 - f!reader x robb stark

♰ this long winter war was tiring, to say the least. even as a noble in a expensive tent it still was much. the 'king of the north's' tent was warm, lit heavy with foreign candles and the scent of leather oil, yet the real warmth comes from robb; fully lined fur cloak and calloused hands.

♰ he’s supposed to be checking maps, speaking with bannermen, and counting swords; preparing for war. but you’re sitting in his lap, and your bodice’s come undone—just enough for the lace edge to sag below the tops of your breasts—and suddenly he can’t remember a single thing about tactics or flanks. he can't help it, his mouth is on you again.

“you are hopeless, my love,” you whisper, threading your fingers into his hair as he nuzzles into the soft swell of your chest. “you can not possibly need comfort this often.”

“i do when it is you.” his voice is muffled, lips trailing lower, tongue flicking the underside of your breast where the skin’s softer, making you squirmy. “you are the only thing keeping me sane.”

♰ you laugh, trying to catch your breath, because he’s suckling now—suckling, like he’s starving and you’re milk wrapped in skin. “robb, you’re going to leave a mark.”

“good, let them see it.” he kisses over your nipple, then latches on again, smiling against it.

♰ your hips subconsciously move you to roll your hips in his lap. he’s still in half his layers, tunic open, cloak fallen off one shoulder, his family sigil half-swallowed in the twist of his collar.

♰ your royal dress is bunched up around your hips flowing around his own hips—one hand, of his, at your lower back, the other sliding up to cup your breast, getting ready to hold and suck and leave wet with spit.

“is this how you calm down before battle?” you tease, moaning softly as his tongue teases around your nipple.

♰ he hums, in agreement, “mhm, 'tis better than prayer. a lot softer, too.” you tug his hair gently, making him groan again, rutting up against you like a dog in heat.

“the men will start to wonder where their king’s gone.”

♰ he pulls back his eyes half-lidded with pure love shining in them, “they will know exactly where to find me.”

“suckling at your betrothed like some desperate pup?”

♰ he grins, wicked and boyish all at once, “like a man in love.”

♰ your heart flips sideways in your chest while continues to rub slow circles over your nipple with his thumb, watching your face. “what?”

♰ he kisses you again, this time his tongue drags over the swell of your other breast, causing your skin to pebble, “you think i am only doing this because we are promised?”

“i think you are doing it because you like my tits.” you remark, glancing down at him to watch him.

♰ he chuckles, “i love your tits.” kissing your sternum. “and your laugh.” kisses your collarbone. “and the way you always get snippy when you are flustered.”

♰ he cups your ass in both hands suddenly and grinds up into you as you clutch at his shoulders with an audible gasp.

“i love how you sound when i touch you.” another kiss, between your ribs. “and how you pretend you are not just as obsessed with me.”

“i am not—”

“you are.”

♰ you pout, and he leans back just far enough to look at your face fully. gods, he could truly melt with those dark eyes. “tell me you don’t want me to bend you over this fucking map table and take you like a true stark. right now, before the drums start.” you bite your lip, contemplating.

♰ he laughs fondly, and then drags your hand down to where he’s straining against his trousers. “feel that? that is what you do to me. every time you walk past with your skirts swaying. every time you kiss my cheek like we are still pretending this is all duty and not the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to either of us.”

♰ you shudder as his fingers slip between your thighs, grazing your slit. “you are wet, sweetling.”

“you are unbearable.” you purr out fondly.

♰ he kisses you, then he’s back at your breast again, sucking greedily. you reach between your bodies, working at the laces of his trousers with trembling fingers. “just for a few minutes,” you whisper, breath hot against his ear. “do not make me walk funny through camp, robb stark.”

“no promises, my lady,” he growls, flipping you beneath him in a rustle of fabric and fur, already kissing a trail down your chest, between your thighs. “i need all the luck i can get. so let me worship my bride before i go kill for her.”

special tags: @inbred-eater , @carmysdoll

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Forgiveness

Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: Cregan begs for his wife’s forgiveness when he accidentally injures her.

Warning: no use of y/n, dirty talk/mentions of smut, injuries, i'm pretty sure that's it

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

Cregan sat in his study, buried in letters and decrees that claimed they required the utmost attention. They all said that even if they truly did not require that level of priority. However, everyone wanted their Lord’s approval and signature, leaving him to sort through what was a priority and what could wait. In some ways he missed the war, at least he was fighting and protecting his realm then. He felt like a true lord then. Now, he may as well be a bureaucrat locked in some tower of the Red Keep, imprisoned by his own position.

As he moved on to some sort of land dispute, there was a harsh knock on his door. “Enter,” he called, not even looking up.

The large, heavy door swung open, revealing a guard. “Lady Stark, my lord,” he announced.

Interest piqued, Cregan looked up just in time to see the guard step aside, revealing his lady wife. Without having to be dismissed, the man exited, shutting the door behind him to leave the couple alone.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” his wife explained her presence, approaching his desk.

For the first time that day, the Warden of the North took a break from his work, setting his quill down and leaning back in his seat. Sparing a glance out the window, he realized that it was dark. It had only been mid-afternoon when he sat down to begin his bureaucratic duties. “I suppose you’re right,” he confirmed, recalling that he had gently pressed a kiss against his sleeping wife’s head when he woke before disappearing for the day.

Opening his arms, he invited her to approach. Taking his cue, the lady of the north took a seat on his lap, easily slotting into his body. It was a well known fact that the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were unusually affectionate for a pairing of such high status. Typically, love was reserved for those who did not marry for status, or for extramarital affairs. But it seemed the Stark couple had been quite lucky in their match.

“The day has ended, we should go to bed,” Cregan’s wife asked in a soft voice, her fingers trailing through the hair she swept away from his face.

He smiled, finding his tension soothed by her mere presence. “Aye, I wish that I could but this has to be done,” he sighed, gesturing to his desk still covered in documents.

Observing all the work, the lady sighed, leaning her head against her husband’s for a moment. “But you, my lord, are the Warden of the North. Who is to tell you when things must be done?” she asked suggestively, knowing what calling him ‘my lord,’ did to her husband.

Cregan let out the faintest growl, wanting to dive into his wife right there but he restrained himself. “Why I thought that was your job,” he teased.

Fortunately, she laughed, throwing her head back in a way that made Cregan want to mark her neck in the way he so loved. “Please,” she dismissed, “I can hardly get my own husband into bed. How can I tell you what to do?”

He chuckled. “Fortunately for no one, my discipline is strong enough to withstand your temptations. Although, I admit they are barely capable. I swear to you,” he began, gently lifting his wife from his lap, “that I will be in our chambers within the next hour,” he said, eyes flickering to the candle on his desk that was nearly at its end. “I expect you to be ready for me,” he uttered darkly.

His wife blushed like it was their wedding night again, despite hearing far more vulgar things from her husband. “And how shall you expect me?” she asked teasingly.

Cregan bit his lip. As adorable as he found his wife when she was shy and coy at the mere inclination of sex, he loved when she was daring and teasing. He thought for a moment, staying silent for longer than necessary only to create an illusion for his wife. “Naked. On our bed. With your fingers between your legs.”

~

Once again Cregan found himself locked away in his office, buried in endless paperwork. He was deeply entrenched in some matter of land disputes when the door suddenly burst open. Cregan looked up in astonishment, his mouth open to reprimand them for their dismissal of protocol.

“My apologies, my lord,” the out of breath guard interrupted. “But a wildling has attempted to enter Winterfell. Says he wants to be a southerner, like us.”

Cregan quirked a brow, utterly confused as to why this required so much urgency and why someone had dared call him a southerner. “And why does this require so much urgency that you have broken protocol?”

“The gatesmaster believes this may be some sort of ruse to breach the walls of Winterfell.”

Cregan nodded, standing up. As he exited his office, he found a group of guards standing outside, seemingly waiting to follow them outside. He did not say anything about the waste of manpower at his door but headed outside. “Which gate was it?” he asked.

“The north gate,” his guard answered.

Nodding, the Warden of the North headed out to the northern courtyard. As he exited the walls of the keep, he intended to greet the gatesmaster who stood talking to another sentry. But catching sight of the supposed wildling made him freeze. Standing there by the gate was a disheveled man, looking as if he had spent his entire life in the woods. And talking to him, unguarded, was the Lady of Winterfell.

Cregan abandoned his path towards his gatemaster to get his wife away from the wildling. Who would have possibly thought it would be wise to leave both the wildling and his wife unguarded, even more so to let them meet? He was not thinking clearly as he reached the pair, grabbing his wife’s arm to wrench her away from the vile man before her. He must have pulled harder than intended because she let out a yelp as he did so. Still, he did not comprehend it as he whirled around to face his men, still clutching her arm.

“Who left them unguarded?” he demanded, his voice booming so loud it silenced the entire courtyard. He watched in rage as the crowd of men all sent glances to one another.

The spell was only broken by his wife’s cry. “Cregan, you’re hurting me,” he heard his wife whimper. Finally looking at her, he realized just how tightly he was gripping her arm. He relaxed his grip a bit, but still held on tight enough to push her so she stood in front of him, making himself a barrier between her and the wildling. She let out another cry as he jerked her, her free hand reaching for the hand clutched around her arm. She grabbed his wrist in a futile attempt to get him to let go. “Cregan, let go,” she cried again.

Seeing his wife’s face twisted in pain, the Lord of Winterfell realized what he had done. Quickly, he released his grasp, her arm falling into her own grasp. The cold air that whipped through Winterfell became biting as Cregan watched his wife cradle her arm against her chest, backing away from him as if he were the threat. As she backed up toward a guard, gesturing for him to escort her away, Cregan’s heart broke as he realized that in that moment, she felt safer with a guard than with him.

His jaw clenched as he leveled a glare to the men that had followed him, realizing that they had all run to tell him what was happening rather than do their actual jobs. He turned to his gatesmaster who had approached them by now, the few guards who had remained now taking hold of the wildling. “Take him to the dungeons I will deal with him later,” he gestured to the potential threat. “As to this lot, see to it they have nights watch for the next week.” He leveled one last glare at the group of men before heading back inside, intent on finding his wife.

Cregan was already planning his apology to his wife as he reached the hall that housed their chambers. As he walked down the hall, the guard that had escorted her earlier exited his chambers before taking his post just outside the door, sparking some level of unfounded jealousy.

As Cregan walked up to the door, the guard gave him a slight bow. “My lord,” he greeted. He did not reply, simply continuing toward the door, waiting for the guard to open it. But rather, he just spoke again, “The lady has asked me to inform you that she wishes to be left alone.”

Cregan stopped, looking incredulously at the guard. His words stung to hear. He had sworn an oath to protect his wife and had promised her parents that he would be a good husband and never hurt her. Yet here he stood, being barred from his wife by her own wish, with a man of his employ guarding her against him. The sentry looked deeply uncomfortable under his lord’s glare. He truly wanted to honor the wishes of his liege lady but her husband’s orders came first. Reluctantly he reached over, opening the door for the Lord of Winterfell.

Satisfied with his influence, Cregan strolled into his chambers, intending to begin the apology when he stopped short upon seeing the room empty. He turned to look at the guard as if to ask where his wife was. “Some maids escorted her to the maesters,” he informed nervously.

Cregan leveled yet another glare at the man before clenching his jaw and exiting the room, storming towards the maester. As the lord of Winterfell left, his guard briefly considered alternative employment.

Although Cregan had stormed towards the maester’s turret throughout Winterfell, he slowed as he approached the structure. Despite the guards posted outside holding the door open for him, he paused before the building, taking a breath. His wife’s scared expression flashed through his mind and that was a sight he never wanted to see again, yet he knew he would never forget it. The image made all the rage evaporate from him as he slowly entered the turret.

Ascending the stairs, he reached the healing room that he had often visited as a boy. Always having his training injuries and general wounds of boyhood treated here. Sat on the bench in only her shift and skirts was Cregan’s wife, having her arm bandaged in a way that held it to her chest, just as she had chosen to hold it.

Maester Kennet noticed the lord first, slowly halting his movements to look at the man. His wife turned to see the reason for the maester’s pause. She turned, finding her husband standing at the top of the stairs looking like a hollow version of himself. His face looked crestfallen as if he were informing them of a death.

Before she could snub him with a turned gaze, Cregan fell to a knee, his head bowed. “My lady, I truly do wish to apologize to you. I truly never meant to harm you,” he began, his voice dripping with a desire to be believed. “I swore an oath to protect you, as that was all I was trying to do. But instead, I hurt you, and that is a failure I will carry with me until my grave. I understand if you are unable to forgive me, I was being brash and absentminded. But all I ask is that I may be near you.” He looked up slowly, meeting his wife’s gaze. He could not read anything from it aside from pain.

Cregan had felt the pain of wounds of war before, but nothing hurt more than when his wife turned to look at Maester Kennet. But she only whispered a dismissal before looking back to her husband again. Cregan stood eagerly as the man’s hands gently left his wife’s shoulder before he approached his lord. The aging man paused beside Cregan, patting his shoulder momentarily before continuing down the stairs, leaving the couple in privacy.

Cautiously, Cregan approached his lady, once again crouching before her. “I truly am sorry,” he repeated. His wife said nothing as her gaze fell to her lap. But she turned her non-bound hand over in her lap, inviting his hand in hers. Cregan took it eagerly, his other hand going to her face to brush her hair aside as he gently grasped it. “I love you,” he breathed.

“I love you too,” she cried, falling into him. Cregan caught her, careful of her shoulder as he held her close, even pressing a kiss to the injured area as if promising to care for her.

He continued to hold her and continued to apologize. “I truly did not intend to harm you. I just saw you standing with that wildling, unguarded and all I knew was that I had to get you away from him.”

A comforting hand in his hair soothed him, halting his words. “I know,” she assured. “Maester Kennet explained why you were so upset. I apologize for not being more cautious. I just felt he was being treated unjustly.”

Cregan pulled away only enough to look at his wife, nodding in understanding. “You have a large heart,” he commended. “And it is my job to protect it. Sometimes I get carried away with it.”

The lady smiled, “Well I don’t suppose I can fault you for that.”

Cregan smiled at her forgiveness, once again holding her close. With all forgiven, he gained a teasing lilt to his voice. “Did you send that guard to our chambers to intentionally mislead me?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, the teasing lilt finding her voice as well. But she attempted to distract from it with a stroke against his back. “I was quite irritated with you.” Cregan just chucked, the rumble of his laugh soothing his wife as they fell back into normalcy.

Masterlist

[catsteeth]

She's My Collar

Sandor "The Hound" Clegane x Baratheon Princess

+:✿ Request ✿:+ 

Request: “This request is for sandor of course!! I am all for angsty, yearning sandor clegane!! My train of thought is all over the place but heres a list of something I hope you could include in the one shot: •hozier level yearning •unrequited love/want •perhaps stark!reader or baratheon!reader •fleeting interactions like something small but it sticks with sandor •“im not a religious man but ill follow her” kinda vibe if that makes any sense!!" CW: MDNI, ANGST, afab reader, alcohol consumption, unrequited love, yearning, misogyny, arranged marriage, violence, joffrey being joffrey, mention of death.  A/N: He’s pathetic and I love it

Word Count: 5K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The girl was born a Baratheon, born to Robert Baratheon during a previous marriage. Her mother, born to some wealthy house. But her memory would be lost in time after she died in childbirth. Robert did not speak of her. Cersei despised the mention of her name. So not much was known of her. Though she must’ve been pretty, as the girl born to Robert Baratheon was a girl of beauty. And soon after her mother’s death, Robert married Cersei Lannister. 

Either due to jealousy or embarrassment Cersei would treat the girl with malice, and hostility. But unlike the King's eldest son, the girl was kind and good. 

The boy was born to a man who wanted nothing more than for his sons to be knights of the Seven Kingdoms. His ambitions blinded him, allowing his eldest son Gregor to commit horrid acts. So long as the boy was a knight, none else mattered. The man's youngest son was kind. He was just a boy, no more than six years old. 

The little boy dreamed of being a knight just as his father did. Dreamed on the good deeds he would do in the name of his king and the Seven Kingdoms. Though those dreams would be dashed and discarded once the boy's older brother showed him the cruelty the world is capable of. The cruelty he was capable of. The cruelty the world rewarded him for. 

The boy grew into The Hound, Sandor Clegane the second most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms. The girl grew into a princess, one hated by her stepmother and eldest half brother. But loved by her father, her half siblings, the realm, and by a Hound.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

The Hound and the princess grew alongside one another most of his life. He could remember when he and she were much younger. The Lannisters and the Baratheons were traveling across the Stormlands. It was a hard journey, soon food became scarce. Naturally the scraps of whatever the royals did not eat were left to the guards and any other member of the traveling crew. But the princess would offer a young hound the meat from her plate every night.  He always hesitated, but was too hungry to deny her charity. She never held her charitable act over him, never even mentioned it. 

He was not one to appreciate beauty, nor was he one to indulge himself in fantasies of love. But the princess’s beauty was one that haunted Sandor. His whole life he looked at her as though she were the maiden herself. And the princess did not look upon the Hound with grotesque curiosity. Nor did she flaunt his presence to others in a manner of threatening them. No, the princess was kind towards him, kind when she did not have to be. He often found kindness a weakness in people, but in her kindness he found a comfort. 

The girl was different from her father, different from her brother. She was kind, she was honest, and he would follow her as if she was a God.  

He could also remember the first time she bestowed her favor onto him. 

Sandor never feared the tourneys he fought in. He did not fear the joust, he did not fear the competitors. What he did not like was the tradition of asking a noble lady for her favor. 

Sandor never liked this tradition. Never liked having to speak to noble ladies much less ask them to favor him. Not only was it ridiculous to him, the ladies often grimaced at his gesture. But at this tourney, and every tourney after it, he would pick the lady he wished to have picked each time before. 

As he rode his intimidatingly large black ill tempered stallion around the tournament pit. He looked up at all the noble ladies above him, looking down at him. They all sneered at his gaze, wishing not to be picked. The noble men all snickered amongst one another. But there was one person who looked upon him with indifferent eyes. The Baratheon girl’s eyes were not filled with pity, disgust, nor anticipation for the violence he was about to insight for the high lord's entertainment. She simply watched him with her same kind eyes. 

He did not think much of it, it came naturally to him as he stopped his horse in front of the royal family's seating. “I ask the favor of the Princess.” He said begrudgingly. 

The princess rose from her seat with a smile. She grabbed a ring of florals and silk. The flowers were yellow and the silk ribbon was black, the colors of both her house and his. As she approached him, she smiled upon him and placed the favor upon his joust. “I wish you good fortune, Sandor Clegane.” Sandor, he did not know she knew his name. Her voice itself was gentle and hushed, only for him to hear. Her smile was gentle and warm, one that he would have killed to see each night. One that he won the tourney for. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once, Joffrey had decided that a servant boy had shot him a momentary disrespectful glance. If he had, it would not have been unwarranted, though who is to say if he even did. Joffrey, sometimes bored, would pretend small disrespectful gestures were made against him. Allowing him to justify any horrid act he found amusement in subjecting any poor soul to. 

“I am sorry, my prince! Please if you would give me another chance-” The servant boy pleaded on his hands and knees. His cheek red from the blow Ser Meryn had given him moments before. 

Sandor never liked being Joffrey's sworn shield. Never liked that blonde cunt at all. Whenever he wanted to feel powerful, wanted to hurt someone weaker than him for no good reason, it bored and irritated him. 

Though it hardly ever embarrassed him, until she stepped into that room.

“Brother stop this!” The Baratheon princess commanded with a look of disgust. Sandor, though he’d not laid a hand on the boy, swallowed hard and stood straighter at her sudden presence. He worried how she’d look at him now, would her kind eyes fade for him?

“Why should I?” Joffrey asked her back with a raised brow.

The girl, bravely scoffed and took a few steps closer to her younger ‘brother’, “Because I commanded you to.” She said with angry eyes, an expression Sandor rarely saw from her. She looked beautiful even when she was angry.

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at her, “Who are you to command anything of me?” he stifled a laugh which only enraged her more. And only enraged Sandor more.

She took another step closer to him. Her hand gently trailed along the extravagantly dressed wooden table. “Your elder sister, the Kings first born-” 

“First born daughter.” Joffrey finished her words for her. “Daughter. You are not heir to anything. I’ll be king one day and you, a princess for a lifetime.” He said laughing as if he were amused by some great jest. “And as your king, I could have anything done to you that I like.” He walked closer to her, with a threatening gaze. “In fact, as heir to the throne, I could do anything I like. I could have Ser Meryn hold you down and-”  And with that the girl's temper got the better of her. She grasped a glass goblet from the table she stood by, and threw it with great force at her brother’s feet. The goblet shattered into a hundred pieces. Bits of it flew and cut Joffrey’s right hand. And some other bits cut Sandor’s cheek, not deeply but enough to bleed. “You cannot do that!” His shrill voice cracked as he grasped hold of bleeding palm.

“Clearly I can.” The girl said with little emotion. It would have made Sandor laugh if he didn’t have to worry about the other royal guards. He worried that they would put their filthy hands on you, or would be foolish enough to draw their swords. 

Though none would. The guards were shocked by the scene. This princess had never done so much as raised her voice, and now she was assaulting their future kind. They had to think of defending one of the King’s children from the other. They stood, unsure of how to act.

Furiously Joffrey shouted, “I’ll tell my mother!” Knowing his father would do nothing but ridicule him.

The princess raised her hand, and slapped the boy across the cheek, “Tell her I did that as well.” She added. 

Her slap was enough to leave a red imprint across the boy's face.

In a fit of anger, the young prince grabbed hold of his sword. Prepared to draw its blade and point it at the princess. Just before Sandor could grab the prince, a different Kingsgaurd stepped between the two royals. “Stop this!” the man commanded. Joffrey let go of the sword's hilt and the girl began to walk away, ready to face whatever punishment her step mother desired. 

With her back turned, and the guards' attentions divided. Joffrey ceased his moment, and drew the thin blade of his sword and readied himself to strike the princess. 

“Boy!” The princess turned back as the Hound’s loud voice boomed out through the dining hall. She was stunned by the sight before her. The prince’s attack was stopped by the Hound ceasing the blade with his bare hand. Blood from his hand trickled down the blade of the sword.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Soon the two royal children were brought before their father the King.

“How the fuck did any of this happen? You are meant to protect my blood!” King Robert questioned the KingsGuard furiously. 

“Never had to protect a princess from a prince.” Ser Meryn attempted to explain, “Or a prince from a princess.” He said in a lower tone that angered Joffrey.

“Shut up!” King Robert angrily shouted, sick of hearing whatever excuse they had. He sat back in his chair, and huffed loudly. He looked between his two children. “Well done, my girl.” He said in a gruff low tone.

Joffrey looked surprised his father would congratulate her on striking her brother. “But look what she-“ Joffrey began, holding up his cut palm.

Though Robert interrupted him, “How could you ever be a king if you cannot win a fight against a woman?” 

“Father!” Joffrey’s shrill voice shouted, 

“Leave!” Robert shouted back. With an infuriated huff, Joffrey left accompanied with two guards by his side. Though Sandor stayed in the room. “Girl, come ‘ere.” Robert commanded much softer to his daughter, waving his hand, beckoning her to come closer. 

She did as her king commanded. Stepped closer to him with her head lowered. Robert stood before her, and held her chin up with his fingers. “You’re more of a man than your brother.” He said proudly. He meant it as a complement, it was a rare thing to receive as a child of Roberts. With a sigh he patted the girl on the back, “Go on then.” He said softly dismissing her. 

She nodded and took her leave as her father requested. 

As the girl left, Sandor turned to follow her out. Though the King’s voice beckoned out, stopping him in his steps. “Dog.” Sandor stopped, and turned towards the King, “If that yellow haired shit lays a hand on my girl you beat him.” The King commanded. Sandor needed no other instruction. He was quite content to do so. “Understood?” The King pressed.

Sandor nodded, “Aye.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As the Hound walked down the Halls of the keep, he saw the princess walking in the opposite direction. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, not looking at her at all. 

Though his illusion of disinterest did not deter the girl, “I beg pardon, ser.” Her serene voice called out gently. It felt like a cool breeze on a hot day, a relief. 

Sandor looked up at her, hoping she was not speaking to him. If she was, he knew whatever words she spoke to him would haunt his thoughts. As he looked at her, he knew she was speaking to him. He swallowed and then croaked out, “I’m no ser.” 

The Baratheon princess shook her head, “No. You are more true than any knight.” He knew her words would haunt him, but now they would torture him. The girl stepped forward, making him almost flinch, “All the knights in that room were content to let my brother kill me. What you did today-“

The girl began but the Hound interrupted her, knowing if she thanked him, his stomach might turn. “It’s my duty to protect you.” He grumbled, attempting to not look the girl in the eyes. Her beautiful eyes.

“I’d call it brave.” She chimed, making him stop and turn to face her once again. He was about to tell her it was not brave but she continued, “But I know you’d not. You are a hard man with many scars. You needn’t courage, nor praise. But I thank you for what you've done.” 

Fuck.

He was never thanked for doing his duty. Never thanked for anything. He was commanded and he did as he was told. 

Her eyes wandered over the Hound’s face. It made him feel weak, for the first time in a very long time. “I am sorry-” She said, her voice sickeningly sweet. Sandor looked at her with confusion, “Are you hurt?” She asked as she reached her hand towards the cut on his cheek. Her sudden movement made him flinch. 

“No.” He rasped quickly. 

The girl however was scared of the Hound. She continued forward and placed a hand on the Hounds shoulder. Even though her hand was separated from his skin by his thick armor, he still felt a chill run over his body. “Oh but you are-” She began, concerned for him. A feeling that was new for him.

“It’s a scratch.” Sandor interrupted the girl.

She shook her head, “Still, I caused it.” The girl reached into the neckline of her gown, making Sandor almost blush. Such a strange thing, a man who had seen every part of a woman, and every sexual act no matter how deviant in almost every brothel in KingsLanding would blush at such a thing. She pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with her name, “Take this.” She said holding it out to him.

He could not take it. He could not, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Don’t need it-” 

“I command you to take it, as your princess.” The girl said without hesitation. Reluctantly Sandor grabbed the cloth, “I am sorry.” She said once more before continuing on and walking past Sandor. 

She did not know that he would worship that cloth. Keep it in his armor, and keep it in his rooms when he slept. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

When Robert mixed drinking and hunting too often, a boar attacked him. Leaving him so injured he was on a deathbed.

The princess visited her father each day, morning, noon, and night. And when he died, she stayed confined to her chambers. Her only company she’d allow was her Septa. Though the girl was grown enough to be without a Septa, hers was closer to a mother. Since the girl never had one, her septa was there for all her girlhood. So she insisted on keeping around. 

Sandor often checked on the girl, though of course she was not wise to this. 

He would open her door, just a crack. He would listen in just to be sure she was alright. One day when he decided to open her door he heard her and her Septa speaking plainly. 

“Do you think the boar was the Gods doing?” The girl asked as she stared out her window with a stoic and dazed expression.

“Hm?” Her septa responded, looking up from the needlepoint she mindlessly toyed at.

The girl did not look at her septa. Simply continued to stare out her window into nothingness. She paused for a moment, not speaking, “I’d a dream the Stranger came to those woods. He changed into a boar and killed my father for his deviance.” She spoke of such morbid dreams with no emotion attached to it at all.

“How awful.” Her septa gasped, throwing her needle point down onto the table in front of her. “No dear girl I don’t think it was.” She said more gently, “You dream too much.” 

The girl shrugged, still not looking at the old woman. “I suppose I’m trying to find the Gods in everything I do.” 

“Prayer is best for that. Not such morbid dreams.” The old Septa said, picking her needle point back up. 

The girl did not respond for a moment, still simply staring out into nothing. “Do you think they’re real?” She asked softly and without shame. “Do you truly believe it? Never did you doubt it?” She asked, finally looking at the Old Septa.

“They are real.” She asserted sternly, “You believe they aren’t?” 

The girl sighed, not wanting for a lecture, “I know the Gods are a necessity for people. Like food, water. I know they must exist. But I also know they don’t.” She said calmly. Her words stuck with Sandor like a knife driven into his back.

“What a terrible thing to say.” Her septa said shocked.

“Is it?” The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion, “It’s just my thoughts.”

The septa shook her head looking back to her needle point. “You think too much, dear girl.” 

The girl sighed and went back to looking out her window, “Seems I do too much and not enough.”

Without many words at all, this lonely girl would consume Sandor’s every thought. She was smart and kind. Two things Sandor did not think of himself. 

He did not believe in the Gods, because if there were Gods, why did they punish this girl? Perhaps she was his punishment. Perhaps he was hers. Perhaps it was the world that was their punishment. 

This girl should be queen. She’d be a good one, a better one then her cunt brother. She’d be loved by the small folk and no doubt able to keep some kind of peace, even with the war. She’d not let her pride keep the seventh kingdom. If they wanted independence they’d have it. Clearly they could fight well enough on their own. But she was not queen. But she was his. 

How her hair laid against the delicate fabric of her pillow. She was all too precious for his affections. He couldn’t help it really, he felt drawn towards her. Felt a stronger pull towards her than he felt towards anything, even food or water. But he’d never subject her to his presence. 

He simply needed to see her, needed to know she was safe.

She slept sweetly, her breathing though loud was the calmest noise he’d heard. It was like the sounds of waves meeting the sands. 

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes he would fantasize about what it would feel like to sleep beside her. For her to invite him into her bed. To sleep in his arms. He’d feel her heartbeat against his own. He’d smell her scent, and feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. He never slept well, but he believed if she was in his arms, perhaps he could. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As time went by, the royal family debated what to do with the girl. She was not a Baratheon Lannister, she was the reminder of Robert's first marriage, a reminder that Joffrey was not the true king. 

Sandor stood guard by the small council’s chamber door as he heard the girl’s step mother Cersei say, “She’s as wild as the boar that killed her father. No man would want her, she is too difficult. So give her to the Tyrell’s, a poisoned gift.” 

Overcome with a myriad of emotions, anger, sadness, and grief, Sandor rushed to the girl's chambers. 

Sandor stood behind her door. His hand firmly grasped the door handle, and his forehead rested against the wood of the door.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity. 

He wanted to open the door, ask- no beg you to run away with him. He wanted to tell you all the things he felt for you. Wanted to protect you. 

But he was a second son, a kingsguard, he had no land, and no money. He had nothing to offer you, he didn’t even have a handsome face to bargain with. 

And so, he let the handle of the door go, and he walked down the hall. He considered it mercy. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Instead of subjecting that poor girl to his company he decided to subject tavern dwellers to him instead. That night, as her marriage was announced, Sandor sank into his cups.

Though even there he was not protected from talks of her betroval. 

Beside Sandor at another table were four men, 

“Say what you will, I think it’s a perfect match! Loras Tyrell loves a Baratheon!” Some oaf shouted as he slammed his cup onto the table laughing. 

“Aye but she’s missin’ a cock now isn’t she!” A shorter guard shouted out.

Sandor wanted to break the fool's jaws for speaking of her situation with such amusement. “Too bad for Loras, and too bad for all the other men in the realm!” A bald guard added,

The shorter guard raised his cup, “Hear hear. I’ll miss seeing that girl… Miss seeing her bend over to pick flowers.” 

The bald guard nodded in a facade of sadness, “Aye that ass will be missed-”

“No, her pair of tits will be missed!” The fatter guard spoke up.

“Nay her cunt! Ah and what a waste she’ll be giving it to a boy whore.” One of the men said, it was enough for Sandor to slam his cup onto the table in anger. He was trying with all his might to hold onto his restraint.

Though this did not go unnoticed by the men at the table. The oafish one spoke up again, “What of you Clegane?” He said getting closer to the Hound, “You guard that sweet stag so loyally. Surely you’ve thought of what her cunt tastes like-” 

Without another thought, Sandor took the man by the back of his head and slammed it into the table. His nose broke and his teeth cracked. Sandor took his dagger out and stabbed it through the man's hand. His blade took one of the man’s fingers. 

Sandor stood, taking his drink with him, “You speak to me like that again, I’ll take more than a finger.” He warned as he left the tavern in a huff.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Against his better judgment, that night Sandor checked in on that girl. 

She was with her Septa again. He hoped that she were alone, if she were perhaps in his drunken state he’d have actually begged her to run off with him.

“My father would never have allowed this.” The girl said with a scared and sorrowful waiver of her voice, “Though I suppose it will be a relief to be gone from this place.” She sniffled, “I just don’t want to be forgotten.” 

“You’ll not be forgotten, dear girl.” Her Septa said petting her hair. 

“I suppose if I were to marry anyone in this city it would be him.” She shrugged, “But, I am unsure of how I could please him. You know of his nature. Know of his relationship with my uncle. I care not for any moral righteousness and I hold no judgment of it. But how could I ever make him happy?” She asked desperately, frightened by the prospects of her future. 

Her Septa grasped the girl by her shoulders tightly, “You will make him happy by giving his children royal blood.” 

“And how can I even do that?” The girl put her face into her hands,

“You are familiar with the act, I have explained it-”

The girl interrupted, “I won’t want it.”

Her Septa sighed, “A dreadful duty for some wives. Just lay there. Look at the ceiling and memorize the pattern of the trim. Count the seconds. Anything to let your mind wander away from your body.” She tried her best to comfort the girl, but clearly was doing nothing to help the girl’s fear.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As Sandor took leave of his duties. He threw off his armor without caution, and nearly ripped his clothing off himself. He was angry, no, he was enraged. 

This girl did not deserve this. She deserved none of the shit those blonde shits put her through. And the words of ‘advice’ given to her by her septa only enraged him more. She should have told her to slip poison in his wine. 

Sandor sat down on his bed in his small clothes with a huff. His weight made the bed creek and bow. He drank from a wineskin as he thought of it all. Soon his anger subsided, replaced with a defeated sorrow. 

Naught could be done for her. This much he knew for certain.

So, after his wineskin ran dry he laid down. Finally allowing his body to rest even though his mind could not.

As he laid there, stripped of his armor and steel. As his sensitive skin laid against the rough material of his bedding he was reminded once more that he, and his body were punished. Punished by both too much, and not enough.

Too much combat, too much drinking, too many tourneys, too many cuts and bruises. So much he endured, and his body was punished for it. He ached and felt pains all over his body all the time. His scars were sensitive and hurt in warm bath water. 

But as he laid there he was again reminded how he had not enough. Not enough gentle touches, enough love and care. Though of course he’d never admit it to anyone. His body felt truly alone in his bed. He wished he could have felt her around him. He’d fucked before, that would not shock anyone. But he’d never made love to anyone. And Gods did he need to. 

He thought of it often, kissing her. He’d do it gently. He’d be gentle with her. She deserved gentleness. He’d kiss her while he held her face in his palms. Kiss her neck, press his lips against her skin and lick where she was most sensitive- wherever those spots were. Gods he wanted to know where they were. 

He felt shameful for thinking this way, he really did. He was no better than those men in that tavern. But, he’d be good to her.

He’d make her his wife, in the eyes of The Seven. He’d build her a home. It wouldn’t be like the one she’d been brought up in. Not a castle, but a house made of stone and wood. He’d give her safety, love. And as his hand began to wonder his punished body he thought of how he’d give her children.

He wished to know how her body would feel in hands. How it would feel to have his hands caress her breasts, the curves of her body, the soft plumpness of her belly. He wondered how it would feel to be inside of her. How his cock would feel to slide in and out of her slick, warm, inviting cunt. He did not know, but he did know it would have felt oh so much better than his calassed hand that was wrapped around his length now. 

Though his actions were vulgar and sexual, he did not think of it as that. He couldn’t think of her for long without feeling the need to have her. To be close to her. To please her. To hold her close and make her feel safe under his touch, to make her feel loved and desired with his body, his hands, and his mouth. 

He thought of what her septa told her. That she’d have to lay down and take it. If she was with him she’d want it, she’d never be forced. Bedding would be a pleasure not a duty.

His groans loudened, and his breathing quickened as he thought of how she’d ask him for it. How gentle her touch would feel on his ruined skin. 

Soon he was awoken from his day dream as the hot splash of his release jolted his mind back to reality. 

He did not have her, and she for all he knew, did not want him. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

And so the Hound was left with nothing to do but sit and watch as the love of his life was preparing to leave his life forever. 

He felt his heart breaking as he escorted the royals to the docks with the rest of the Kingsguard. He felt his eyes water as she began to step onto the dock, and approach the boat that would take her away from him. 

Naught could be done for her. 

So without a word the Hound offered the girl his hand. She took it, gently. He helped her into the boat. Her gaze fell onto him, and Gods it felt warm. He wanted to cut through them all. Wanted to take her off that boat and ride her away on Stranger. He’d do all the things he thought of the night before. Build her a home, keep her safe, and he’d love her. But they didn’t live in that world. 

The princess would marry that Tyrell. She’d have his sons, whether she wanted it or not. And she would never know how much her dog loved her.

The Hound watched as the boat sailed away with the girl he had loved all his life.

It’s the world that’s awful.

Thank you so much for your request! It was so much fun to write!!

Requester: @rhinestonecowboysworld

[eram-nesia]

TWINFLAME

A/N : this idea came to me when I was playing good pizza great pizza so pls don't hit me if this is cringy. and also this is my first time writing smut. so i may be well off the mark :l pls don't judge me

Warnings : smut, 18+, mdni, p in v, loss of virginity, incest, targcest slight dubcon

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x twinsister! reader, slight Aegon x twinsister! reader

Aemond's hands were all over you. he kissed and bit your neck and held you by the base of your hair which made you sigh with pleasure. "the jasmine oil you use on your hair..." he groaned and pulled your hair hard and you moaned at the lick of pain that served to make you wet. You bit his lip in response which made him moan into the kiss. he roughly squeezed your breasts as you traced the contours of his abdomen through his vests. You tried to bite his neck but Aemond leaned back and looked on as you pitifully tried to touch him in some way or the other. "Aemond..please".. you begged. "please what darling" he cooed. "please fuck me" you begged. he kissed you on your lips but there was no trace of the sweet brother who coaxed you to kiss him, he kissed you he wanted to own you body and soul, which he already did.

You took his hand that was squeezing your breasts and you looked at his long fingers, so deft and adept, which had held knives and daggers. It made your skin flush, the thoughts you'd have while you saw him practicing in the courtyard. Your lips parted as you thought about how his hands would feel around your neck, and you kissed and sucked his fingers and wrapped them around your neck as a silent plea to overpower you. "you want my handprint on your neck hāedar (younger sister) ?" you nodded as you struggled to breathe. he squeezed even harder two more times before he abruptly pushed his fingers inside you. he muffled your high pitched whine "sshh hāedar, we ought to be quiet, mother will not like us taking part in such pleasures, for she is not a Targaryen and she wouldn't know how our blood sings for our sisters". You moaned and clenched around his fingers each time he reminded how inappropriate your feelings for each other were.

You pulled him over you as you both fell atop the covers of the bed. the covers which smelled like Aemond. you tried to rub your pussy over his cock and you were successful for all but two thrusts until he pulled you by your hair and made you lie still. "ilibitsos (little slut) taking without permission. I am in control here. He held you by your face till you were forced to open your mouth. He smirked and spat into your mouth. "swallow", he slapped you. You obediently swallowed his essence.

In a single maneuver, Aemond pushed you down onto the bed and pinned your arms above your head, and held them with one of his hands as his eyes ran appreciatively over your body. His cock became more harder the more he fixated on your body - your soft and full breasts, the wide hips, the curvy body, smooth legs, everything egged him to claim you in the most primal ways possible. "how you've grown dear sister, now with a body like yours I am sure Aegon too would be interested in having a go at you.." his words stirred an image of your eldest brother appreciating your body just like Aemond was, and heat shot down straight to your core and you gasped at the unexpected wetness that coated your thighs at this suggestion.

Aemond covered your mouth with his palm as he lined up his cock near your entrance, and you lifted your hips and tried to impale yourself on his cock. He quickly used his other hand to hold your hip in place, which made you whimper with how strongly he held you down. "this will hurt just a little my rūklon gevie (beautiful dove). Now you're a good little hāedar yeah ? you'll perform your duty to me just like Haelena did to Aegon ?" you nodded furiously just wanting to feel his cock inside your wet heat which was clenching around nothing.

He looked straight into your eyes as he pushed into your tight cunt in one single thrust. The pain was unbearable, white hot flashes danced across your eyes. You opened them after a few seconds and Aemond was frozen still and he looked at you with concern. The way his lithe body was coiled with tension you understood he needed to move. You loved your brother and you'd go through this pain for him, after all you were going to be delivering his children, and this was nothing in comparison to that. Those were your thoughts when you asked him to move "move my love. i am fine, I can handle it." He moved cautiously and gently at first, careful not to hurt you any further, but as time went on, the way your wet cunt pulled him in, it was too much for his control and he snapped. His thrusts became harsh, and his pelvic bone hit yours and the angle and pressure made your walls flutter with pleasure within a few more minutes. the way his cock dragged inside your folds made you moan for more with each thrust and Aemond delivered. He went deeper each time and at one point the pain came back two fold.

His arms came around your neck as he slapped you once more "Aegon should see you now. You are his innocent angel, his princess. he should see how his innocent angel is cockdrunk and begging her brother to fuck her even harder." Again your eldest brother's image caused you to clamp down hard on Aemond's cock, who for a second almost lost his control with the way your cunt throbbed at Aegon's name. "Such a dirty mind you have gevie (beautiful). I'll be telling Aegon about this particular fascination of yours about him and I'm sure he'll be all the willing to fuck you too". The idea of Aegon fucking you whole you were being fucked by Aemond was too much and the tight pressure that sat low in your abdomen unravelled, and you screamed Aemond's name as you came. Aemond couldn't last more than two seconds after you came, the wetness, your expression, your clenching around his cock, everything proved to be too intense for him as he too lost control, and he spilled his seed inside you. you locked your legs around his waist so he couldn't leave even if he wanted to, and your bodies were flush with each other as you both rode out your simultaneous waves of pleasure.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently untangled himself from you and he could see his spend, dripping down your thighs. He held the headboard of the cot strongly and clenched his jaw as a base heat started low in his body. He kissed your forehead and traced the bruises his teeth had left behind in your breasts. He had to figure out a way wherein he could convince his mother to marry you to him. he thought about how Alicent had already give her word to some important lord that he'd get to marry you. But, he knew that having children with you would serve a double purpose - the kingdom will have pure blooded Targaryen heirs and your about to happen betrothal will also be cancelled.

He touched your now flat belly as you slept soundly. "don't worry rūklon gevie, I won't allow you to endure a man's touch except that of mine and Aegon's". He vowed and decide to put his plan in motion from tomorrow.

A/N/N : idek what this filth is. I am going to post this and go hide in a hole. (If you have any feedback or tips on how to write better smut..pls lmk :<

[ladyviserra]

prince maegor targaryen happily living on dragonstone with his wife and daughters

The sound of laughter echoed through the island, a melody that never failed to bring a rare smile to Maegor’s lips. His youngest daughter, Maera, was perched on his shoulders, her tiny hands clutching his silver hair as if it were the reins of a dragon.

"Faster, Kepa!" she squealed, kicking her little legs.

Maegor obliged, striding across the courtyard with exaggerated steps, making her shriek with delight. You watched from the arched doorway, a fond smile playing on your lips as your husband, the fearsome warrior, the stern Prince of Dragonstone, played the role of a doting father with ease.

"Careful, my love," you called out teasingly. "You’ll spoil her rotten. She might start treating you as her pet when she gets older. "

Maegor turned, his violet eyes alight with warmth as they met yours. "Taking lesson from your teaching I presume?" he rumbled, carefully lifting Vaella down and setting her on her feet. She immediately darted off to join her older sisters, Visenya and Viserra, who were chasing each other vigorously.

You stepped closer, smoothing a hand over his broad chest. "Not at all," you murmured. "I never thought I’d see the day when Maegor would be bested by three little girls."

He huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it. Instead, his arm curled around your waist, pulling you against him. "They are smaller versions of you, gods’ sake, Y/n," he admitted gruffly. " You always get what you want from me, how could they not? "

You laughed, leaning into his embrace. " Must be your fate."

Maegor pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and sincere. "A blessed one, which I will cherish until I turn to ash. "

Maegor was a rough man, full of crashness and sharpness, but with you and your girls, he put his nature aside and made sure you were lavished with a husband and a father worth your family.

[2kiran]

“FEEL YOU”

pairing jaime lannister x reader genre smut reader is a male. top!reader x bottom!jaime cw drinking beforehand, reader has a big dick, first-time anal, mention of jaime being a whore (1), spit as lube, abrupt ending

Jaime Lannister despised you.

You were a new addition to the Kingsguard by the recommendation of a seasoned commander, and yes, you’re exceptionally skilled and determined and like no other man.

But you’re crude with a young ego festering like a deathly disease Westeros hasn’t come to discover yet.

You challenge Jaime—no, worse than that. You mock him, and you do it frustratingly well.

And Jaime hates all of it.

He hates you; your handsome grin that vanishes too quickly to be completely seen, your familiar frown that haunts his mind late at night, your stupid strength that immobilizes just about anyone, and your equally stupid, large cock.

One thing about Jaime was that he wasn’t a crippling alcoholic, gods no, but he drank and you drank and now he’s bent over a table in a dirty storage room.

The upper half of his armor and smallclothes remained worn, but his pants were loosely bunched around his ankles. You, on the other hand, were the exact definition of a nightmare. Your own pants were undone, and they were hanging around your thighs, but not enough to feel bare.

Then there was your hard cock. Your hand wrapped around the base, guiding the head of it to rub against Jaime’s clothed hole. He can feel how wet you’ve become, the slickness of your pre-cum dampening the soft material of his smallclothes.

It was disgusting. You were disgusting.

But that didn’t stop him from angling his hips backwards to press against you, as if he was wordlessly coaxing you to come fuck him like he was some easily disposable brothel whore. A status that he will never achieve, but he felt like he has. You were shamelessly rutting against him like an animal; your cock sliding right in between his lower cheeks but never entering him.

Gods, it was maddening. He can feel the weight of your cock, the mere thickness of it rubbing over his ass—and for once, he allowed himself to want another like this. Allowed himself to want a man, above all.

But you just had to tease him.

“Come on...” Jaime muttered through clenched teeth, not realizing that he did utter the words aloud until you respond with a low hum.

“Hm?”

“Fuck me,” he growled, a tinge of heat flushing his face. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

You breathe out a short laugh, “Not yet. Just let me feel you.”

He was going to have your head on a spike after this.

Though, the mere notion didn’t last long enough to take complete root into his head when you hook your thumb beneath the waistband of his smallclothes and tug them down, making Jaime let out an embarrassing gasp. He was dry, and his inexperience in receiving cock was nothing but guaranteed.

That won’t stop either of you, not when Jaime himself was eager.

Jaime instinctively arched his back as he folded one of his arms in front of him to act as a shield for his face while the other, the one with his only flesh hand, braced the edge of the furniture. He didn’t look your way, not yet at least, but he sensed you leaning down and that’s when he felt it.

Drool—slick and yours. It dripped over his untouched hole, and you spat directly against it once more in a way that had Jaime lightly biting down on the skin of his inner arm to suppress the pathetic whimper that wanted to escape him.

You gently pressed the pad of your finger against him, feeling up the intense coil of muscles attempting to resist the pleasure you were about to bring. “Stay still,” you whispered low, before slowly sinking your digit into his heat.

“I am—fuck,” his voice broke into a rough groan, his walls automatically clamping down around you. Both his mind and body uncertain if they want to push you out or keep you right where you belonged.

You gladly make the decision for him, and you carefully ease your finger in down to the last knuckle. The stretch itself was supposedly mild, but Jaime’s thighs shook with the solidified effort of keeping himself where he was. His brows drew together in a line, his muscles growing taut, but just for you, he tried to focus on breathing through his nose to have you know that he can take more.

It was a matter of reckless pride on his part, but there was no reason for applause.

...Perhaps there was, if only it was for the way Jaime’s hole swallowed your cock like a true king born to sit on the Iron Throne.

You were barely halfway inside, and the Golden Lion in front of you mentally concluded that it was more than enough. He whimpered—the small noise bitten-off and no less whiny, and stubbornly, it was decently masked with a sharp exhale. Your cock was so fucking thick and, even worse (or better), throbbing inside of him. Like you found pleasure in nowhere else besides torturing him.

“Wait,” Jaime barked, the command useless in his breathless tone.

“Is it too much, Kingslayer?” You teased, kindly brushing the palm of your hand over the small of his back to ease the tiniest of tremors currently ruling his skin. Though, your use of his supposed title that’s known for its derogatory nature was anything but.

You did not judge him for putting an end to the Mad King.

And that made Jaime unexpectedly clench down around you.

“Shut up—!” Jaime snapped, his chest heaving as he bucked backwards against you. Only to gasp when he realized too late that it caused you to sink further into him, “Ah! Haah, fuck—ah—don’t m-move until I tell you to.”

You huff, mildly exasperated, but you obey anyway.

Your actions were contrasting with his usual viewpoint of you—a man too cruel and too unloving to fuck someone else so considerately in spite of the agonizing words you speak. It made Jaime want to cry, both from how you were splitting him inside out and from how you were being somewhat kind towards him.

He felt an unreasonable gush of greed.

You didn’t belong to him, and he didn’t belong to you, but he sensed no inkling of an opposing front left if it came down to that.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Move. Now.”

There’s no way around other than to feel your cock sliding out of him inch by inch until only the head was being clung onto by his wet, stretched rim. Jaime panted, a bit irritated now, as he tilted his lower half to further accommodate and unmistakably please you.

“Tell me,” you whisper, leaning over his back, “How many men have fucked you like this?”

Slowly, you roll your hips, making him full once more.

“Mmh... n-none. ‘S just you—!” Jaime gasped, his words honest, the pressure sending a shudder across the length of his spine. “Just—hmmn—you!”

And you’ll make sure it stays that way.

[thesongoficeandfir3]

Prince!Maegor x Wife!reader

You’ve heard of Dark!Maegor, Yandere!Maegor, Toxic!Maegor but feast your eyes on 🥁🥁🥁 normal-ish Maegor!

This is just basically Mae before he went cray cray because while I am NOT a Maegor defender I do think that he is definitely mischaracterized ( intentionally ) in Targaryen history

This isn’t exactly supposed to be ‘soft’ Maegor but just him when his father/brother was still alive and him especially before the trial by the Seven ifykyk

Warnings: Maegor is still a bit of an ass and a dash of NSFW

Prince!Maegor before he earns his title as the cruel and is still a cunt, but a cunt who is still sound of mind

Prince!Maegorwho is the definition of the victor writes the narrative because he was not as bad as they tried to paint him to be

Prince!Maegorwho is not good with intimacy and affection at all but that is not to say he doesn’t know what love is, his mother taught him what love was (PLATONICALLY) and showed him what it means to be loved, so he knows what it is but does not know how to express it in the conventional way

Prince!Maegor who has a brute and fierce personality which then seeps into the way he loves

Prince!Maegorwho does not know how to express his love in a soft, calm or gentle way and only really knows how to express his love for you through extreme, passionate and occasionally violent ways

Prince!Maegor who is more than ready to set a city ablaze or remove heads from hundreds of bodies with blackfyre if it means keeping you safe but when it comes to more romantic ( and normal) things like saying a simple “I love you” or even just hugging you, he won’t or rather can’t do it

Prince!Maegor who’s personality will not exactly do a 180° for you, he will still be his rough, asshole, and brute of person but there will be an undertone of softness only reserved for you

Prince!Maegorwho showed an example of this when before a battle you gave him your scarf for luck and he scoffed and mocked you asking if you really thought a piece of cloth would keep him safe, but at the same time he also never took it off and carried it with him every battle from that day forward even when it became bloodied and ripped

Prince!Maegor who when it comes to displaying physical acts of affection it can be small and subtle or passionate and intense never in between

Prince!Maegor who gently forces you to look up at him holding you there with his two fingers on your chin, scanning your features and speaking in High Valyrian so you won’t understand the compliments he tells you, you do not know what he is saying, but his deep and smooth voice along with the unwavering contact with his deep violet eyes is enough

Prince!Maegor who towers nearly everyone so he also towers over you, he uses this advantage to give you a quick kiss atop your head

Prince!Maegorwho is a lot more intense with his physical affection when he is deprived of you for a long time or is going to be

Prince!Maegor who as you send him off to quell another riot before he mounts Balerion he pulls you against his broad chest, with a firm hand at the back of your head and the other squeezing your ass, as he gives you a deep and passionate kiss before pulling away and resting his forehead on yours telling you he will return to you

Prince!Maegor who while he himself is scarce with affection he will not shove you off if you show it , wether it be you laying on top of his large and warm body on a cold night or wrapping your hands around his strong bicep as you two enter an event at the castle

Prince!Maegor who will still be a bit of an asshole to you and will occasionally give you snide and crude remarks and still carry a bit of roughness to his tone but most of the time his words carry no kick to them

Prince!Maegor who is loyal, if you are able to provide him plenty of healthy heirs he sees no reason to take another wife and he sees whores as a waste of time and coin

Prince!Maegor who while he does not entertain the idea of whores that does not mean he is not a lustful man he just prefers it to be you, his perfect wife

Prince!Maegor who even with you tends to be still quick to anger and will still explode at you in an argument either by yelling, breaking things or grabbing you harshly by the forearm

Prince!Maegor who you are the only one where he feels slightly guilty after exploding on you but would rather die than actually apologize

Prince!Maegor who avoids you for days ridden with a mixture of guilt and anger with the whole situation but is not emotionally intelligent enough to just go to you and talk it out thus his apologies come in forms of lavish gifts being sent to your chambers and hopes you’d be the one to come to him

NSFW MDNI

Prince!Maegor who when taking you is rough and fast but never to the point where it’s far more pain than pleasure

Prince!Maegor who at the beginning of your marriage was very selfish when it came to pleasure but the more you grew on each other things change

Prince!Maegor who still very much is a receiver but always ensures you are also well satisfied at the end of it, one thing being him groping your breast and playing with your nipples in between his fingers as you ride on top of him

Prince!Maegor who is most vulnerable after a session, he will either collapse on you burying his face in the crook of your neck, him feeling like a weighted blanket as you comb a hand through his damp white hair or as your back rest against his chest his hands gently rubbing your bare stomach, very rare moments where he is not rough and just soft

A/n: feel free to send in your own prince Maegor asks or hcs if you wish

[maisy1111]

okay but can we talk about the struggle that is obsessing over a character that doesn’t have fanfics??? because i’m over here scrubbing the internet for any crumbs…

[yourlocallunatic]

My King in the North

Cregan Stark x fem Velaryon!reader 18+

Summary: You fly with your brother to meet with the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to ally your families in the height of the Dance of Dragons. In exchange for soldiers, your mother has offered up you—her eldest daughter.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, piv sex, oral sex (fem receiving) canonical Stark breeding kink (seriously, hardcore breeding kink). HoTD tragedies (character deaths)

wordcount: 8.2k

The wind grew sharper the further North you flew, snow started to cling to your hair and lashes, encasing you in the cold. On the back of your dragon, you tried your best to curl into yourself to keep warm. The rain you saw from time to time on Dragonstone was cold, but not like this. You could feel the fierce power of the North in the gusts of the wind and it made you feel something, something more than you felt anywhere in the South.

You approached Winterfell, the rolling green hills and the thick forest surrounding it. The sky was gray and a light snow covered the cobblestone streets and the tops of the tower. It seemed dull, but there was a distinguished charm to the place. You and your brother landed your dragons near the front gates, and the guards standing watch shuffled stiffly on their feet–eyes growing wide at the sheer size of the beasts. The gates opened and a man walked at the front, he was broad and burly, his long hair was pulled half-back and a large sword was slung across his back. This was the Lord of Winterfell. Your betrothed.

“Winterfell welcomes you, my friends,” his voice shook with a deep Northern accent, his arms were outstretched with a gesture of welcome.

“Thank you, my Lord. Our mother–her Grace–thanks you for seeing us,” Jacearys spoke approaching Lord Stark. You stayed back a bit, letting your brother do the talking for now.

“Please, please, come in. We have a feast prepared, you shall sit at the high table with myself,” He patted Jace on the back hard, your brother letting out a cough at the impact. The Northerners were clearly not very concerned with the prim-and-proper treatment of royals. It was refreshing. You set your dragon away, leaving her to fly and explore, knowing she would return. You follow your brother, guards following you on either side—Lord Starks welcoming behavior did not reflect that of the guards he enforced. You knew it was risky of him to trust you, and he showed you that with the guards that stood by him and the sword that lay on his back. He was smart.

Warmth enveloped you as you entered the halls, every patron of the court stood and bowed as you all entered. They did not bow at you and your brother, however, but to the Warden. You’d heard of Northern stubbornness and now you were seeing it in full effect. They did not like outsiders and you saw that as they sent occasional glares to you. Lord Stark took a seat at the high table, you and Jace sitting on either side of him, though you protested to sit next to your brother.

"Please, be seated," Lord Stark's voice boomed throughout the hall, "I thank you all for welcoming the children of The Queen, the Prince, and Princess shall remain with us for a stay, I ask you all to extend your arms to them. Now eat your fill! Winter is coming," he spoke with such a high level of authority but it was so evident in the way his people listened attentively that they all respected him. And the mere fact that he had called Rhaenyra the Queen already struck something in the minds of his people.

You still did not speak, eating quietly as you listened to the conversations around you. Jace and Lord Stark spoke to each other, you could tell a bond was forming, the two seemed very alike already. Two young Lords, they knew power at such a small age. You watched the Warden from the corner of your eye, the way he spoke with Jacearys was firm, but not unfriendly, he knew what you and your brother came here to ask and he was setting his boundaries early–the type of move a king would make. Studying his face you noticed more and more, that his brow line was firm, and his eyes a steel grey, he was very much a Stark by all the accounts you'd read. He had a small scar running along the side of his cheek, one you couldn't help but wonder what it came from.

"Tell me, Princess," you turn your head to the young woman sitting beside you, a bit younger than yourself you guessed, "you came here with the intent of staying in the North, did you not?"

"Pardon me, Lady–?" you asked. Finally speaking.

"Just Sara, your Grace. You intend to marry my brother?" this was the Lord of Winterfell's sister, you recalled–a bastard–thinking back to your books on the North. Evidently, he was very committed to his family, considering he would let a bastard sit at the high table with him; let alone sit in the hall altogether.  

"The Queen's intention, yes," you bite back, still bitter at your mother for so easily sending you away for the sake of her crown.

"So you do not intend to?" the girl asked, genuine curiosity laced in her voice.

"No-well, yes..." You stutter, before taking a deep breath, "I do what the Queen asks of me."

"Do not fret, Princess, you will be well taken care of here," she sets a warm hand on your arm and gives you a soft smile, doing her best to calm you in your distressed state. "My brother may be a formidable warrior and leader, but don't let him fool you, he cares very much for those around him. Especially one so beautiful as you."

"Thank you, Sara. I apologize, I fear I've gotten caught up in my worries, leaving my family so suddenly, not even knowing if Lord Stark will accept the proposed betrothal. I have a lot on my mind." you laugh nervously, pushing your food around your plate with your fork (very un-ladylike your septa would tell you).

"You needn't say sorry, Princess," the girl was sweet, and you could tell it was genuine, hopefully, she'd be a fast friend. "And trust me, he will accept the proposal," she whispered to you sneakily.

"And how do you know that? Surely he has better offers," you combat, keeping your voice low as well, Lord Stark barely a foot away from you.

"My brother is smart. He plans to take your brother to the wall and discuss terms, leaving you here to put your impression on the people. He wouldn't have accepted the two of you here without learning more about you first, he knows the good you've done for the realm even as a young Lady. No matter the Queen's standings, he knows he would have someone good by his side. Someone the North could accept." there was something larger at play here you could tell, larger than both yourself and Lord Stark, larger than your mother and Aegon's petty argument. This was about the whole of the North.

"Moreover, my brother is a man, and no man could say no to a pretty woman with a dragon who could give him little dragon babies," she giggles, eliciting a laugh from you as well, "no man is smart enough for that." a louder laugh leaves your mouth from her comment, you cover your mouth with your hand, trying your best to be proper.

"Seems we already have two new friends!" Jacaerys voice interrupting your laughter, "Haven't heard her laugh in years, nose always stuck in a book." your brother teases making you roll your eyes. Lord Stark turns his body to face you, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Just as I hoped," he moved his gaze to his sister, his smile grew larger, and you could tell he was grateful for her warm demeanor. "Princess, would you care for a walk?" his eyes were still on his sister but he moved them quickly to you. You turn to Sara, and she gives you a smirk and a small nod, gently pushing your shoulder to go with the Warden.

"Y-yes, my Lord, it would please me greatly," you stand and bow your head. He extends his arm and you hold onto it politely. Even through the thickness of his tunic and cloak, you could feel how strong he was–and it made you blush.

The two of you didn't speak to one another as you walked the streets of Winterfell, he would stop occasionally to greet people though, goodness coming through his rough demeanor. You came to the godswood and walked through, the noise from the streets gone replaced with the whistling of the wind and the quieting chirps of birds as night fell.

"I spoke with your brother," his thick voice filled the silence, "but I wished to speak with you as well before we continue with our terms." He stopped walking and turned to face you, not letting go of your arm.

"Of course, Lord Stark," his lips turn up slightly on one side at your formality.

"As the Queen's terms stated, you need aid from the North, and in exchange, she will give me your hand in marriage. Is this what you wish?" He seemed concerned, more so than he should be.

"Of course, my Lord, whatever my Queen wishes of me." You bow your head to him in submission. Would he be a rough lover? You wondered. Everyone told tales of how brutal of a ruler he could be, how brutal a fighter. Would he be brutal with you? Only see to you to stick an heir in your womb?

"Is that what you wish, Princess?" his arm held yours tighter, a sense of urgency in his tone. "I know of your family, I know that marriage is a duty, it is here in the North too. But in the North, we believe there is also passion in marriage and love. I do not want you to subject yourself to this if you think I am only here to rule you."

"I-I wish for a happy life," you close your eyes, for the first time in your life speaking your truth plainly, "I wish for my family to be safe, children to care for, land for my dragon to fly in peace..." you trail off, his sister may have been right, he may care for those around him, but he was also dangerous to those he did not. Now all you could hope was that there was something he cared about in you.

"Then you shall have it," he spoke with the authority of a king. "I've heard of what you've done in Dragonstone and even King's Landing for your kinsman's people. I wish to have you by my side, not just to wife, but to show the North there is good still left, and we have her fighting for us."

"Thank you, for accepting the proposal, Lord Stark, it would be an honor to serve the North."

"Thank you, Princess," those steely eyes stared straight into yours and you believed him with every part of you. "I will take your brother further North to the wall to discuss the rest of our terms, when I return we shall be wed within a fortnight. Will you be alright here?"

"Yes, my Lord," you smile at him. Duty and passion he had said. You simply couldn't wait for his return, dying to see what his passion felt like.

You made your way back to the hall together, taking your seats again. They would leave at dawn he told you flying on dragon-back. You tried to get him to fly your dragon instead of going with Jace, but he insisted she stay here while he couldn't be here to protect you.

"Ever proud Northmen are," Sara whispered to you, "that dragon could protect an army," you giggle at her joke, glad you would have her here to keep you company the next coming days.

The next days you had hardly a moment's rest, busying yourself with learning more and more of the North's history within the Keep's library. At one point Sara held a lunch for you and some Ladies of the Court. "It will make a good impression." she'd told you. So you put on a smile and listened to the gossip that ensued. It took a moment for the Ladies to warm to you but once Sara revealed that Lord Stark was to have your hand in marriage they flurried into excitement, one of them even offering to sew together your wedding dress at once. You smiled, the North was a cold place, but it was clear that there was a warmth to be found in the community.

"My husband hasn't bed me in years," one of the ladies had said, several of them chiming in saying their husbands did the same, "what I'd give for one of those Stark men, I hear they bed you every night to ensure a babe takes..."

"I hear they know everything of a woman's pleasure, Lord Stark should surely pass a law to all our husbands to do the same."

"My maid saw him bathing once…told me he's got the largest member she's ever seen."

The words flew around you, the women all laughing and giving you jealous looks. Your face grew red at the thought of him bedding you, giving you all the children you could hope for. As wonderful as the welcome of these women was, it was also highly unusual for women in the South to talk about such things with one another, clearly another difference you'd have to grow accustomed to.

"Alright ladies, I'm sure the Princess would appreciate some respite on the wedding talk, as would I with hearing about my brother's cock," Sara spoke loudly, a teasing tone in her voice, but everyone listened nonetheless. She excused the two of you and led you outside for some fresh air. You wrapped the new fur cloak you were given tighter around yourself, still growing used to the cold.

You walked together for a bit before you heard the familiar screech of Vermax in the air. They weren't supposed to return for a few more days...perhaps they had come to an early agreement. You quicken your pace to the front gate, arriving just as your brother and Lord Stark entered.

"How was riding on dragon-back, Lord Stark?" you tease, walking to greet the two of them. But he didn't respond. He walked close to you, a solemn look in his eyes. Something had happened, what happened? He puts a cold hand on your shoulder, casting his gaze downward. "Is everything alright, my Lord?" your voice began to shake. He looks you in the eye once again before walking away. Had the engagement broken off? You wonder, your heart dropping slightly at the thought. Jacaerys didn't move from where he stood a few feet in front of you. His face was blank, void of any emotion trying to break through. "Jace...what's happened, am I to return home now?" he did not answer. You walked to him, grabbing his face in your hands to make him meet your gaze, "Jace, answer me. What's happened?" your voice firm, tears beginning to grow in your eyes from anger as he still said nothing. "Jacaerys!" you shout, and that's when you see it, a crumpled piece of parchment clutched in his hand. The broken seal was that of your mothers, she's sent a raven. Why? You grab the message from him and hastily unfold it, doing your best to make out the tear-stained ink.

No. No. It couldn't be real. Your brother. Your baby brother. The boy too brave for his own good. Lucaerys...

"This isn't real, it can't be..." your chest was tight and your vision began to blur, you looked around you, trying to find someone to give you answers, Jacaerys still mute. You stumbled blindly as your body began to wrack with gasping breaths, you ran into a solid body, grasping on to whoever it was and not letting go.

"Come, Princess, let's get you to your chambers," the deep Northern accent resonated from above you.

"No, my-my, no my baby brother..." your voice barely coherent, "my baby brother..."

"I know, I know, Princess, walk with me," Lord Stark did his best to keep his grasp on you, but to no avail.

"He was a child!" you screamed, pushing yourself away from him. "An innocent boy!" Your body began to tumble backward but Jace was right behind you, standing to hold you upright, his own eyes now leaking tears, trying as he might to keep a brave face. You struggle between the two men as they try to drag you back to the keep. You couldn't breathe, the air inside was suffocating. You threw open the window in your chambers sucking in a deep breath before collapsing to the ground.

You didn't know how many hours had passed, you cried until your tears ran dry and screamed until your lungs gave out. Your wails echoed through the halls. Now you sat beneath the open window, the cold air seeping into your bones as the fire in your chambers died down. War would break out soon over something so trivial. Your family had always been teetering on killing each other and you hated it. It wasn't just Aemond that killed Lucaerys, it was every single one of the Targaryens.

There was a soft knock at your door but you did not acknowledge. Not that it mattered, shortly after the knock the door opened and your brother entered. He shut the door behind him before making his way over to you and sliding down the wall to sit next to you.

"We will leave at dawn," he spoke, turning his head to face you.

"We? Jacaerys, I cannot go back there. This has gone on far too long, since the moment Aegon was born, I am finished being a part of this game of thrones," your voice was broken from the crying and screaming, and it was broken from the pain.

"Mother will want you safe, with her," he combated.

"Safe? I'm safe here Jace, away from the fighting, the safest I've been all my life. The engagement is set now and you have made your terms, my duty is to the North now, and to the North, it will stay," you spoke exasperatedly. You stood from your spot on the ground and made to tend the fire again, "Has Lord Stark given you adequate resources?" you question, trying to change the subject.

"2,000 of his older fighting men, greybeards, he calls them."

"Good, then you will take your leave at dawn. Tell mother I love her, but she cannot send me away only to try and take me back as soon as she loses a child," he nodded at you sadly, tears in his eyes, he was losing his sister too now. "Come here, I'm sorry, but this is what she wanted." You move to him and wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly to you.

"At least let me stay for the wedding," he mumbled into your shoulder.

"You mustn't waste more time, avenge Luke for me, he was the best of us."

"I will. I promise," he told you, right as there was another knock at your door. You clear your hoarse throat, trying to sound the lady you were.

"Enter," yes you tried, but your voice still shook.

"My Prince, Princess," Lord Stark enters the room, giving you each polite nod.

"Please, Cregan, you needn't use formalities, I'm to be your brother soon after all," Jacaerys spoke up, trying his best to lighten the mood. Cregan gave him a smile before he continued speaking.

"Of course, that is what I came to ask. As you are leaving at dawn, I thought you may want to be here for your sister's wedding," his gaze turned to you, almost questioning. "I've had arrangements made and was curious to if the Princess would like for the ceremony to take place tonight?" you tried to interrupt, not sure if you could handle the festivities after such a loss you've endured, but he quickly cut you off before you could say anything, "It would be small, only us and a priest, we will have a feast to celebrate whenever you're ready, Princess." your brows turned down and adoration flooded you, he looked at you steadily for a response.

"Thank you, my Lord, I would love to have my brother here, your thought is much appreciated."

"Thank you, Cregan," Jace extended his hand to give him a firm handshake, the two exchanging grateful looks. The ceremony would be in half an hour under the weirwood tree in the godswood, in the sight of the old gods. It was growing late so you didn't bother trying to call a maid, instead you re-braided your own hair and put on the heavy cloak and thick wool dress you were gifted when you arrived in Winterfell, you looked positively Northern.

Jacaerys took your arm and walked you down the cobbled streets to the godswood, where Lord Stark would be waiting. You hadn't had much time to process everything, still so caught in Luke's passing, but you did know that as Sara once said, you would be well taken care of in Winterfell. It was a clear night, the moon and stars illuminated the path through the trees to where your soon-to-be husband stood. He looked regal standing there, the spitting image of a king. Your brother kissed your forehead before handing you over to Lord Stark. Your mind was foggy. I am his and he is mine. The only words that mattered, and the only ones you would remember.

Your goodbyes to Jace were tearful. He couldn't wait until dawn to leave so he mounted his dragon and left, you knew it was because up there, so high in the clouds he could cry, he didn't have to be a prince.

You walked back to your chambers, Lord Stark escorting you. You weren't sure if you could do this, he would want to consummate you were positive of it, but after the day you'd had...you couldn't muster your strength. You came to your door and waited for him to enter before you shut the door behind you, you stood there, not certain if you should wait for him or just get it over with. You turned and watched as he removed his cloak before adding another log to the fire. Get it over with. You told yourself, removing your own cloak and boots before starting on the strings of your dress.

"What are you doing, Princess?" He looked at you, confused, walking over to you quickly and pulling your dress back on your shoulders.

"This is my duty, Lord Stark," you said tearfully. He gave a slight laugh before taking your face in his hands, making you look him in the eye.

"No, no, not tonight, I only came to tend your fire, it's been a long day for you, I will never expect anything of you." you wrapped your arms around him suddenly, aching to be held. And that he did, one arm was around your shoulders and the other cradled the back of your head pulling you close.

"Thank you, again, my Lord," you mumbled into his chest. He pushed you away, and a teasing smile played on his face.

"Never mind, I will expect one thing of you, and that is to call me by my name, no more 'My Lords' or 'Lord Stark'. You are my wife."

"Then thank you, Cregan, for treating me so very well," you smiled at him, "no more 'princess' either, I am no longer one after all," you spoke back. The smile on your face turns down.

"Very well, I will leave you to rest then," he spoke your name as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and made his way to the door. You didn't want him to leave. He was yours now, you wanted him with you, to protect you and care for you in your hours of sorrow.

"Cregan," you called out softly, your dress now slipping off your shoulders again. He turned back, a hopeful look in his eye, "Stay with me?" he said nothing as he walked back to you, ridding himself of the cloak he held before removing his boots, you continued with the strings of your dress, trying your best to reach behind your back when you suddenly felt warm fingers entangled with yours and he continued your work. You were left in a linen slip, standing close to the fire to keep yourself warm. You watched as he unbuckled his belt and removed his doublet, he walked slowly to one side of the bed and placed his formidable sword next to the bed. He held back the fur coverings and nodded to you, motioning you to climb in the bed. Your steps were slow and cautious, but you trusted him. You moved beneath the furs, instantly feeling much warmer, your body heated even more when Cregan moved in next to you holding out his arm so you could fall into his body. It felt right, you were warm, you were safe, you were cared for. Your head lay across his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as you fell asleep.

"Always, dear wife," he spoke into the silence of the night where he soon fell asleep with you to the dying embers on the hearth.

You spent your days the next few weeks trying to take hold of your grief, you did your best, keeping your head buried in books to distract yourself. Cregan would take you with him to various meetings and suppers, you were thankful for the distraction and you slowly drew closer to him. You continued on with your arrangement, he would see to your chambers in the evening, tend the fire, and climb into the bed with you, stroking your hair till you slept. But with that, you grew more and more frustrated, his closeness began to stir something in you, a deep longing. You woke one night with the space beside you empty, you sat up in the bed hastily calling out his name. He was standing at the window staring into the darkness of the night, he had taken his tunic off, something he hadn't done in front of you yet, and his back was stiff and muscular from years of training. His arms–now bare–you could see exactly how strong he was, a force to be reckoned with. He hadn't heard you call his name so you slowly slid out of the bed, tugging on the silk robe one of your ladies' maids had embroidered for you, direwolves wrapping around your neck, and snowflakes falling down the sleeves. You walked to where Cregan stood, standing close to him and peering out the window along with him. The wolves were howling in the night causing a chill to run through you, you still couldn't tell what their cries meant, were they mourning with you? Were they angry? Hungry?

"It's said the blood of the first men runs through your veins, that I believe," you spoke into the night. "there's also a folk tale that says the Stark men who have that blood can turn to direwolves when they wish, that... I'm still not sure of." Cregan smiles at the sound of your sleepy voice.

"You've been reading," he states, looking to meet your eyes.

"Yes, I like learning about your people, and your library is always kept so warm," you giggle, thinking of the cozy days you've spent in there.

"I wish that tale were true...it would make ruling so much easier, I wouldn't have to go to meetings anymore, I could intimidate people without having to use my sword, protect my people better..." he sounded hopeful as if he believed he still had a chance for the tale to come true.

"You are a good ruler, you would make a splendid King," you told him, grabbing his hand to hold within yours, despite the cold of the night you could feel his blood still running hot.

"A King?" he questioned, never more than just the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

"Your people were kings for thousands of years, my ancestors took that away from you so they could unite and rule a monarchy," you say, speaking of all the books you've been reading, "In my eyes, you are still the King in the North, and the North remembers, your people remember."

"What you speak is treason, treason to your mother the Queen, and your family!" A man of honor. He pledged himself to the Queen, he would not back out of his oath, even if this is what the North had for thousands of years.

"Perhaps, but my duty is here now. We will let them fight amongst themselves as we prepare for something bigger...your kin, and mine," you give him a look of urgency. "My mother told me of the Prince who was Promised. The Song of Ice and Fire. The book I've seen sitting on your desk..." he knows what is to happen, every Stark Lord is told and does well to abide by it. Cregan was shocked to know you had knowledge of it, and even more shocked that you would put aside your family and call yourself a traitor all for a prophecy.

"My wife..." he trails, worried that this would grow into something far out of his reach.

"Your oath to the prophecy proceeds that of your oath to my mother. We will not betray her, but we must survive for the whole of the realm," you're holding both his hands now, looking at him desperately. He knows this is true.

"We will survive," he states, agreeing with you. "but I will not be the king."

"You will be my King," your eyes draw closed as you sink to your knees. "I have wed myself to you, now I pledge myself to you, I know no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark." His eyes fill with adoration as he looks down at you, soon following suit to kneel with you on the ground.

"Then you will be my Queen," his words ring clear and true as he rests his forehead against yours, drawing you close to him. "come to bed with me, our celebration feast is tomorrow, and you need your rest." He stands and extends his hand to help you up and doesn't let go once you are standing as well. He leads you to the bed letting you get yourself comfortable before laying beside you, your faces mere inches away as you stare into one another's eyes.

"Cregan," you whisper, your eyes flitting down to look at his lips, his mouth was slightly open and he spoke your name back to you, "Please kiss me." he wasted not a second, moving those few inches to connect your lips, he was warm all over, the pure fire that warmed the North, his lips were dry and slightly cracked but they were full and consumed you whole. He pulled away before anything went too far and a giggle left your mouth as you looked at his reddened face. He smiled at you before placing another kiss on your forehead and pulling you close. You both fell asleep fast, holding each other until the sun rose.

The next day was a flurry of commotion to prepare for the feast. The lady from the lunch you'd had with Sara (who you now learned was Lady Umber, wife of Lord Umber) insisted you wore the dress she had sewn for your wedding ceremony, claiming you had to wear it to the feast if the ceremony had already happened. You complied for the dress was stunning, thick and woolen, a real northern dress lined with white furs and embroidered with the direwolf sigil. Foods were rushed into the great hall as garlands were hung on the hearths. One of your ladies was finishing braiding your hair in a northern fashion like you'd insisted when there was a knock at your door.

"My Lord," your lady bowed before finishing the braid and swiftly exiting to leave the two of you alone.

"You look beautiful," Cregan said softly as he made his way over to you, he grabbed a piece of your silver hair between his fingers and twirled it, "I do hope our children take after their mother." he teased, letting go of your hair in favor of taking your hand to place a kiss on your knuckle.

"I hope they take after their father," you tease back, "true little wolves they'd be," he smiled brightly at you, but behind his eyes, there was a darkness, a yearning, one that you knew for certain he had been holding back for weeks.

"Let's be on our way then, the people are waiting for the new Lady of Winterfell," even though the two of you were wed already, it still didn't feel real thinking that you were to be the new Lady of Winterfell. You'd done your best in your mourning of Lucaerys to try and connect with the people, all you could hope is that they would accept you now.

The feast was in full swing when you arrived, shouts and songs echoed in the hall but all grew silent as you and Cregan entered, making your way to the head table. You reached the front and turned to face the people, hand in hand.

"Thank you all for welcoming our new Lady of Winterfell!" Cregan shouted over the masses, and a roar of cheers erupted. "You will do well to remember our new allegiance to the Queen Rheanyra and keep your honor. These past weeks as you've welcomed our new Lady of Winterfell you may know that she has lost a brother to the usurper of the Iron Throne, we will keep in the North for our duties, but if war reaches us, think of the Prince Lucaerys and his sister, the North remembers!" more shouts echo in the halls as tears fill your eyes at the mention of your brother.

"Now, this is a celebration of our marriage, please, celebrate!" the halls resume their shouts and songs as Cregan leads you to your seat beside him, your glasses immediately being filled to the brim with wine. You make eye contact with your husband, giving him a grateful look, a silent thank you. He gives your hand a squeeze in acknowledgment.

As the celebrating continues Lords and Ladies of the surrounding Northern lands flood to your table, gifting you with all sorts of words and treasures–mostly it was the ladies sneakily whispering if you'd been bred proper yet–to which your response was a deep blush before sending them away. You do your best to match the names of those you read about to the faces you saw. Currently speaking to you were the Lord and Lady Mormont of Bear Island, more so the Lord Mormont and Cregan discussing recent wildling attacks further North. You and Lady Mormont faced each other in an awkward silence, Sara beside you at the high table waiting for the conversation to start.

"So... Lady Stark can we hope for some wolf pups soon, maybe even an heir to Winterfell?" of all the things she chose to speak about...

"Oh um...yes, I suppose..." You try to smile along. Sara beside you stifling a laugh

"Surprised you aren't already, those Stark men are something fierce," she continues.

"What are we speaking of now wife?" Lord Mormont chimes in. Oh no. He was a burly man, one of honor and tradition...

"Oh I was just asking the Lady Stark when we should expect a babe," she laughs, linking her arm with her husbands.

"She's not yet?" Mormont sounds exasperated, "You may be my Lord, Stark, but come on lad! You should be fucking her till your seed takes, surely it's been too long now!" your face grows redder than it was already, an uneasy look on your face, this had gone too far. Cregan could see the look on your face and immediately took control.

"That'll be enough, Mormont," his voice went lower in pitch as he reminded Lord Mormont of his place. "I think it's high time we all retired, I will send a raven when I need to speak to you, no sooner will I hear from you." Lord Mormont looked down in shame, put in his rightful place.

"Yes, My Lord, My Lady," a single bow and he and his wife were on their way, the rest of the people in the hall filling out shortly after hearing the altercation. Cregan stood and took your hand again, walking you to your chambers at a fast pace, one you could hardly keep up with. Once in the room, he slammed the door shut before throwing down his cloak and rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

"I'm so sorry, I should've warned you people in the North are very attached to customs–" you cut him off.

"When will you bed me?" you asked, genuinely confused.

"I-I believed you wanted to wait longer..." He trails off, slightly taken aback by your question.

"I'm tired of laying next to you in bed growing more and more desperate each night," you spoke your truth and saw his back straighten, eyes darkening as he walked closer to you, almost stalking you like prey, "I cannot say how many Ladies tonight asked me if you'd put a babe in me yet."

He loomed closer to you, "And what did you tell them..." the hairs on your neck stood at the deepness of his voice.

"I-I didn't say anything," you respond, head hanging down. He lifts your chin to meet his gaze.

"But what did you want to tell them?"

"That you'd fill me every night till a babe took." your voice grew confident, he was giving you the sense that this was something he deeply, deeply, desired.

"Would you like to do that?" his hand cradled your face now, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches in your throat, and thoughts flood your mind about what he would be like, he was a strong man, but he was gentle with you, would he be desperate enough to take you hard?

"Give me a babe, Cregan," it was over. All sense of self-control that he held was now burning in the fire. The hand that was on your face moved to the back of your head, tugging you to meet his lips, he devoured you. It wasn't like the gentle kiss he gave you last night, it was depraved, his tongue wrapped around yours, teeth clashing together with an uncontrolled hunger. His mouth began to move down your neck and you felt him nip at you, soothing over the spot with his tongue. He began to walk backward towards the bed, still holding your body close. Your hands grew restless, grabbing onto him anywhere that you could, you soon found them tangled in his hair, tugging slightly.

His hands were roaming your body now, he was restraining himself from ripping your dress right off of you, but he knew it would make you sad, what a pretty dress. He moved his hands back, beginning to undo the buckles on his doublet, you broke away from his kiss for a moment and leaned down to remove your boots. It was all a flurry of motion as the two of you hastily began to undress yourselves, at this point, he was left in only his trousers and you in your shift and corset. You made eye contact for a moment the both of you smiling giddily. He raised his hands and started on the laces on the back of your corset, his arms were wrapped around you, your face staring straight at his chest where you grew bold and started to press kisses across the expanse. The corset–now loosened–fell from your body, Cregan could see the hardness of your nipples through the thin slip dress and proceeded to cup your breasts in his hands, tweaking the hardened peaks through the fabric. Slowly–so slowly you hadn't even noticed at first–he sank to his knees in front of you, when he reached the ground his hands started running up and down your legs caressing you while moving the shift upwards. He took one hand and placed it on the center of your belly, pushing, and in one motion you lay back on the bed, your husband still on his knees in front of you. he continued to move the dress up until it hung around your waist, you sat up on your elbows and looked down at him nervously, your center now fully exposed to him.

"Do not worry, sweet wife, I want to make you feel good," you nodded at him as he drew closer to you, his hands slowly dragging up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing the insides gently, growing closer and closer to your heat. He spread your legs further apart, looking at you once more before taking a finger and running it through your slick. You moaned out a curse and fell back onto the bed, the furs around you enveloping you in warmth. Cregan carries on running his fingers through your sex, they would barely dip inside of you before he moved them back up to circle your clit, causing a teasing repetition.

"Please, Cregan, I need more," you beg.

"More? You really have been needy," he teases, his other hand moving underneath you to squeeze your behind, "Alright, then, whatever my wife wants, she shall get." You were waiting for him to move, to get up and remove his trousers so he could fuck you. But no, his warm mouth licked a stripe up your slit and followed the same motions his fingers did, never staying in one place long enough. You cried out again, moving your hands down to tangle in his hair again. He teased you a little longer before his mouth kept place on your pulsing bud, alternating between sucking and licking at you. It was heavenly, you'd never been touched like this by a man, he was pouring all his adoration into you. And as good as it did feel, you still needed more, you felt nothing would satiate you until you were dripping with his seed.

"I-I want you to fuck me now," you barely breathe out between heavy breaths, he moves his head away from your core after pressing one last kiss to your clit. A smirk grew on his face, loving the way you were practically begging for his cock. He moved agonizingly slow, standing to his feet and staring down at where you lay on the bed. He refused to move his gaze away from you as he began untying the strings on his trousers, "please..." you breathe out in a breath of desperation. His trousers fell to the ground and you move your eyes to his center where his cock hung heavy, tip red and leaking, aching for your wetness to swallow him whole.

"You want me to fill you up now?" you nodded eagerly, itching to feel his body on top of you. He lifts you by the waist pushing your body up the bed like you weigh nothing, he removes your shift entirely now, pulling it swiftly over your head. "Tell me if you need to stop, alright? His tone shifted into seriousness. You breathe a yes in response. His body moves to hover over you and his head dips down to press gentle kisses against your chest, trailing down to lick at your nipples. You feel one of his hands reach between your bodies before the blunt head of his member runs through your slick. You grab onto his upper arms, steadying yourself as you prepare for him to push into you, he goes torturously slow and you grip onto him harder, a silent way of begging him to take you already. The stretch hurts a bit, not as bad as everyone had told you but the wetness surely helped dull some of the pain. He groans as he seats himself in you fully, not moving, you rock your hips into him trying to create some friction.

"Cregan, please, it feels so good, just take me already!" he lets out a breathless laugh at your restlessness, his mouth open and panting. He pulls out in one motion before thrusting into you again. And again. And again. This is what you had wanted, for this fierce warrior to lose himself in you fulfilling a yearning desire to fill you up completely. Your moans ring against the walls and you do your best to hold yourself together before you utterly fall apart. The bed creaks as he rocks into you, his pace growing quicker and quicker.

"Fuck!" Cregan grunts out through clenched teeth. The sight above you is heavenly, strands of his dark hair frame his face, some sticking slightly where a sweat begins to sheen on his brow. His jaw was tight, and his body was stiff, a deep concentration in his features. Then, in one sudden movement, he pulls himself out of you to flip you onto your front, yanking your hips up before plunging deep inside you again. The pleasure from this angle was insurmountable, the head of his cock hit the back of your tight walls repeatedly, fucking straight into your womb. You prayed for a brief moment, begging whatever gods were listening that his seed would take and you would soon have pups to take care of. His hands gripped your hips tight, surely there would be bruises tomorrow and surely he would feel horrible about it, but you cared not. The rawness of his passion would remain on your body. A subtle heat grew in your belly and it became warmer and warmer.

"Cregan, I-I think something is happening," you mutter from where your face was squished into the furs on the bed. He groaned out another curse before speaking again.

"Let go, let go for me," his voice still strained in pleasure, "I'm gonna fill you up now, and every. Single. Night. Until it takes," his thrusts annunciating his speech. The coil in your belly grew tighter until it finally snapped and you moaned out blissfully. His thrusts didn't stop and you grew more and more sensitive, but he did not last much longer after you, cursing out one final time before emptying himself right against your cervix.

When he pulled out of you, you could feel his expense steadily beginning to drip out of you, but his fingers soon found your center again, scooping it up before pushing it back inside of you. And if that wasn't the most arousing thing ever...

"Can't have you wasting any of that, can we?" he wipes his fingers off on the bed and climbs in under the furs, beckoning you to come lay with him. You crawl to him and fall into him unceremoniously. His arms pull you in close and hold you tight and his lips fall down to press a kiss to the top of your head. There was a smile on your face, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to stop smiling. You shift your head and turn to look him in the eye, only to find he is already looking at you, his own smile shining down at you.

"Even after a babe takes..." you begin and his eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the chambers, "can we still do that?" his smile grows wider and he huffs out a small laugh.

"Of course! I don't know if I would be able to keep myself off of you knowing that you are carrying our child, you'll be the most beautiful mother." he lifts a hand to stroke your hair, the same way he's done the nights you've shared the past few weeks.

"Well, then I hope we'll have a little prince or princess on the way soon," his brow furrows in confusion at the titles and he asks a silent question with his eyes, "You are a king after all! Our babes will be royalty."

"I've told you, I'm no king," his eyes held back a sadness.

"As I have told you, dear husband, you are my king," it was your turn to hold his face in your hands, the stubble on his cheeks scratching against your palms, "I will know no other." he leaned down to press his forehead against yours and you sat together in the quiet of the night, with only the company of each other until you fell asleep. A sleep where you dreamed of a family with him, boys running through the godswood being chased playfully by their father, a young girl sitting upon your lap as you flew your dragon over the forests of the vast Northlands. The lands where your husband would be your king.

[sorcerousundries]

Let me wrap my teeth around the world

Pulling Robb and Jon’s curly hair

Warnings: P in V sex, hair pulling(obv), cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex(wrap before you tap), slight marking if you squint(Jon),

A/N: I’ve read their blog for so long and I think @dipperscavern would like this.

Jon’s hair falls around your face while he pounds his hips into yours, the dark curls messy with sweat and exertion, you can’t tell if your hot or cold. The cold air of winterfells snowy winds drift in through the window and bite at your skin but the heat that courses through your cunt and abdomen make you sweat.

He groans when you thread your fingers through the dark tresses and tug at his scalp “careful” he grits a warning through his teeth, his hips slowing to roll in a circle hitting the soft spot inside you with every roll.

Squelching plaps echo the room as his hips sped back up again, it has you moaning and dragging your nails along his back.

That’s gonna hurt in the morning yet he can’t bring himself to focus on that, his senses have zeroed in on the way your snug cunt wraps around his cock. as he looks down to where your connected, those curls fall infront of his face, making you tuck them behind his hair so that you can look upon him as you cum all over his cock.

Robbs hair isn’t as long as Jon’s but that doesn’t mean you can’t grip onto it while he’s knuckle deep in your cunt.

You can grip the auburn curls to ride his face while he smirks up at you, his tongue curling and lapping at your clit. Your legs are hiked over his shoulders, heels digging into his back as your toes curl, he’ll even give you his fingers if you ask nicely, “yeah?, y’ like that?” as he curls them into your g-spot.

Your jaw falls open in a silent scream as your stomach twists and turns with as if filled with molten lava.

Your fingers curl around the auburn strands, providing even a small amount of grounding as your orgasm rushes towards you. Your thighs clench and twitch as he shakes his head, the friction almost mind-numbing as black spots start to dot your vision.

And you know he’ll smirk at you as he rises from between your legs, the scratchy hair on his chin that leaves your inner thighs red raw is soaked in your juices. he pops his fingers in his mouth, sucking them before he encases your mouth with his.

The taste of yourself tart on his tongue.

Even when he pushes your legs up to your chest to sink himself into your cunt, you can’t help but grip at the curls.

[swordgrace]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE — RISK OF GETTING CAUGHT.

⤿ pairings: (S1) jon snow x fem!reader

⤿ word count: 3.4K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), public sex, risk of getting caught, experienced reader, sub!jon, reader is definitely more dominant, heavy kissing, teasing, mild praise kink, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, descriptions of cum, soft ending

⤿ note: lowkey I churned this out pretty quick, this was so so fun to write! honestly this is also dedicated to @dipperscavern , a lot of their jon snow content fuels my inspo for him, so thank you!

“You’ve got to be mad.”

Jon Snow’s bewildered, sour Northern timbre rattled throughout the stables, twisted with palpable uncertainty as you led him back toward bales of hay. His stomach was coiled into knots — knots of excitement, but nerves seemed to prevail.

Ever the honorable one, he often cautioned you against these hasty, secret meetings you orchestrated. A sliver of him thoroughly enjoyed the exhilaration of it all, the thrill of being with you between corridors and in darkness.

Trysts like these were exceedingly dangerous — if any question came into being regarding your virtue or his honor, Eddard would have his head for it, and you would be scorned.

“Yet you willingly partake,” A quip as sharp as a longsword dug into his side, prompting him to huff in response. “If this is madness to you, Jon, you have not yet lived a life.”

“Here, of all places?” Jon countered, tone bordering along exasperation and subtle excitement. The stables weren’t exactly the most conventional place to couple, but your options were thin. He feared someone stumbling upon the both of you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you peered at your brooding paramour through a half-lidded gaze, head canting to one side. “Here, of all places.” You parroted, tone dripping with amusement.

Gods, you were such a temptress.

It was difficult to resist you, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, the hem of your dress shamelessly steeped in several inches of mud. Even the Northern chill could not ice his bones in your presence, as warm as the sands of Dorne.

The both of you were caught within the throes of youthful affection and what he called it, love. It pained him all the more to consider the Night’s Watch when he had you at his side.

“You do not have to follow me, Jon,” You countered, one hand twined with his, steering the doe-eyed boy back into the stables, enough for partial concealment. This was as reckless as it seemed — but you cared little for it. “You can always turn around.”

A pleading groan rippled from his throat, yet Jon relented, chasing after you like a wolf nipping at your heels. “What happens if we’re discovered? Your brother would take my head for this.” He murmured.

The thought of Jory Cassel dismantling his head from his shoulders was a gruesome thought — but not before Eddard Stark got to him first. Jon shuddered, dark brows creased with permanent frustration.

“Gods, you worry like an old crone,” Your bubbling laughter made his chest stir with warmth, the sensation spreading toward his stomach. “Why, you don’t trust me?” You suggested.

With furrowed brows, Jon’s countenance told a different story, one of incessant fear and boyish nerves, ones that only flourished in your presence. He seemed to accept defeat. “I do trust you.” He insisted.

Inching closer, you pressed a palm against his chest, nail picking at the finely-crafted leather. “We don’t have long,” You murmured, tone betraying your playful facade. “I wish it weren’t always like this.”

Jon exhaled, a somewhat trembling noise that finally evened out as moments ticked by. He reached to cup your jaw, calloused thumb soothingly stroking at your cheek. “Someday, it won’t be. I promise.”

The constant sneaking around had become exhausting — Jon was shocked that no one had discovered you yet. Even then, as much as he fought against brash decisions like these, it was all you had, and he would seize the moment.

With a cheshire smile, you rocked up upon your toes to kiss Jon, reveling in the sensation of his weeks-old stubble scratching your skin. You enjoyed his rugged appearance more than that of a freshly-shaved boy.

Sometimes you forgot that he was nine-and-ten, more a man now than boy — but that was who you’d fallen in-love with, the boy. Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.

He could’ve been anything and nothing, and your feelings wouldn’t have changed. A bastard or not, Jon meant more to you than most. He was kinder, not spoiled or surly, yet still protective when it mattered most.

Jon very nearly buckled beneath the saccharine warmth of your mouth, absorbing every scrap of heat from you. Gods, you were the first woman he’d ever touched, ever laid with — he hoped that you would be the very last.

Your experience before he truly became your lover never soured him to you — in fact, it made him jealous. If Jon had it his way, he would’ve been your first for everything, but there was no use in dwelling in the past.

Fortune favored him, knowing that he had you now. His hands, initially hesitant, finally made their perch against the swell of your hips. The lovely outline of your body molded itself to his palms as you kissed him, digits toying with his dark curls.

“You could change your mind,” Your softened voice drifted between the both of you. “About me.” It was a gentle sigh in between kisses, your countenance becoming a touch melancholy.

A look of complete and utter shock made residence upon Jon’s features, lips agape at such a statement. “I wouldn’t,” He insisted, hooking an arm around your hips. “You know that I wouldn’t.”

Jon knew your being like the scrawlings of a map — every fine line, every landscape, the valleys and dips of your heart. You knew him just as much, and you knew that he was certain about you. It gave you comfort, placating reassurance in the face of insecurities.

It brought you solace to know that Jon intended on being with you, even if your union was somewhat unconventional. It was a love whispered between corridors — stolen glances, a yearning that transcended duty, touching behind hay bales.

“Good,” Your assertion made his belly erupt with fire, stoked by your constant teasing and prodding. Jon savored it nonetheless, even if it did make his features burn with scarlet. “Are you blushing?”

Seven Hells — Jon nearly tossed you into the hay for your inquiry. He huffed, playfully pinching the pliant part of your haunch. “No,” He grumbled, silently commiserating over your observant nature. “But you don’t make it any better.”

With a laugh as bright as the first inkling of springtime, it prompted Jon to smile too, even if it was threadbare. A comfortable silence drifted between you both, simmering with a thinly-veiled tension, wreathed in desire.

Desire was a perilous thing, especially for Jon.

He was still somewhat clumsy during your lovemaking, inexperience glimmering through, but he was an adept learner. Jon thoroughly enjoyed learning your body as one would learn to wield a broadsword.

The ardor that glistened within your hues made his heart pound like a hammer against an anvil, steel to be molded by your capable hands. He was often the more subservient one in your union, not that he minded it.

Jon seemed content to become lost within your gaze, reduced to a mere pup. Swallowing the growing lump within his throat, he bent to kiss you, disarmingly gentle as he squeezed at your hips.

A beat fluttered between the both of you; love blossomed, yet lust flourished like a swiftly-spreading fire. Soft fingers found their purchase against the nape of his neck, preening through his dark curls.

Beams of a dying sun pooled in from the gaps in the wood, painting your features with burnished gold. It was nearly dusk, and the castle would be settling — Jon’s incessant worrying began to diminish altogether.

Lips tangled together, a sweet dance that stole every wisp of air from his lungs. Jon felt your palms glide downward, planting themselves against his chest as you wordlessly directed him to the firm bales of straw.

“Wait,” Jon rasped, voice hoarse with desperation. Before you could slip into his lap, you ceased, head cocking to one side. “I want to taste you first.” He wanted it more than anything else.

A coy smile caused your lips to quirk, and you sauntered backwards a step or two, back hitting the wall of the stables. Brazenly, you gathered the material of your dress in one hand, slipping it up along your legs.

Jon did not waste a second, moving off of the straw and onto his knees, crawling to you like a starving animal; a wolf on all fours. Those dark hues of his sparkled with affection, even as he parted your legs with his shoulders.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, greedy laps causing you to shiver in delight. Nimble digits found their way to his crown of curls, coaxing him closer. “Jon.” You sighed his name as if it were a prayer.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, the sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Jon sloppily lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into your tattered skirts, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Jon wasn’t tactful nor graceful, but passion and enthusiasm was all he really needed to please you. Each kiss he placed against your cunt drove you to madness, arching into the eager ministrations of his mouth.

If he were to perish, let it be between your thighs, exactly like this. An aching sensation throbbed along his length, straining against his leather trousers. He gripped your thigh, letting you rest one leg atop his shoulder.

The scratch of his stubble caused friction between his cheek and your thighs, yet it was a pleasant sting. You sang Jon’s praises, a myriad of hushed whines and wanton moans between the distant whistling of the Northern gales.

Warmth blossomed throughout your body, a familiar coil of heat unfurling within the pit of your stomach. A stab of pleasure struck at your nethers when Jon’s tongue briefly rolled over your clit, prompting you to tug on his curls.

A low groan rippled through his throat, reverberating as a grunt throughout his chest. He savored your taste, each twitch of your thigh, brusque tug of his tresses from your greedy hand.

Jon cared little for the mess, content to drink you in, rougher palm caressing against your thigh before trailing down to your calf. He squeezed again, to ensure that you were real and not some lascivious fantasy he’d dreamt of.

You were everything — flesh and blood, the lament that echoed his name, a lover so beautiful that he dared not look away. Jon did not consider himself a romantic, but he found himself putting in the effort with you.

He devoured you like a man starved, a hungry wolf, seeking its final meal. Jon continued to trace your cunt with his tongue, kissing you wherever he could. Your little tugs of his tresses often coaxed him further into your heat.

As his lips rolled over the pearl of your cunt again, your knees buckled, ecstasy mounting, electrifying your very veins. He did not cease, tongue stoking the fire, delighted to lap at your core until you forced him to stop.

Tugging at his tousled curls, you pried Jon away from you, flushed with a delicious shade of scarlet. Warmth permeated your skin, a heat that sank into your bones, kept you oblivious to the growing cold that came with dusk.

His chin glistened with your slick, pliant lips seeking your mouth. “You are so handsome.” You purred, watching Jon preen beneath the softness of your compliment. You thought him to be perfect in every way imaginable.

Rising to his feet, Jon did not resist when you began to push him back toward the bale of straw, palm planted against his chest as he sat. He was more than willing, peering up at you through thick lashes.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon reciprocated your kindly words, timbre steeped in an awestruck appreciation for you. His breath hitched within his throat when you slid into his lap, hitching your skirts up towards your hips. “Seven Hells.” He groaned.

Excitable hands grasped your hips once more, brazenly sinking towards your derrière as you kissed him. Jon’s sigh was audible as he returned such a heated kiss, brows creased in concentration.

There was a lack of uncertainty in his actions, and in the beginning, he was often unsteady and hesitant. Now, Jon touched you greedily, wanting more of you, savoring the sensation of your body pressed so closely to his.

Able to taste your own nectar upon his tongue, you allowed one hand to clasp at the nape of his neck, the other slyly working to slip beneath his tunic. Jon was growing in muscle, flesh as pale as a moonlit snowfall, broad-shouldered and comely.

Your dress would be riddled with pieces of hay in the aftermath, but it was all worth it. Your kisses were rather domineering, but disarmingly gentle. Perhaps your desire to take initiative always lingered in your entanglements, but your love for him never faded.

Jon let his kiss linger, lips pressing to your jaw, and then to your throat. A shiver iced your spine with anticipation, hand traveling from beneath his tunic toward the laces of his trousers.

It was then that you scanned his features for any hints of hesitation or uncertainty. “Do you want this, even still?” You uttered, lips tugging into a reassuring smile. He did not seem as nervous as before.

With a nod, he reached to cup your jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to your brow. “More than anything.” The rasp within his tender tone filled your stomach with an eruption of butterflies, gooseflesh tingling along your skin.

There was certainly no rush, but with daylight burning and Jon expected to be in his quarters soon, you began to act with haste.

Eager fingers unraveled the coase ties of his breeches, with Jon attempting to aid you wherever he could. With bated breath, you looked to him, brimming with a thinly-veiled adoration.

His hands held your hips, allowing you to maneuver yourself as you saw fit, freeing his cock from its confines. You hovered, soft palm guiding his length to your slick cunt. Jon inhaled — a sharp, poignant noise that signaled relief.

“Jon,” You moaned, grasping for his broad shoulders, still shrouded in leather. Gods, you wished you could see him bare, unobstructed — he was surely a ravishing sight. “Gods, I missed you.”

Jon groaned at the sweetness of your words, spoken through a wanton moan. He held you close, hands tracing the outline of your curvaceous physique through your gowns.

Twilight painted the skies above Winterfell, bringing with it the bitter bite of nightly chill and a canvas of stars above. Darkness settled in throughout the stables, save for the burning of dying braziers within the stables.

Even through such slim illumination, Jon could make out your countenance, a picture of beauty, contorted into a look of bliss. He was at your mercy, slumped back against some of the bales, letting you ride him as you would a broken gelding.

Intermingled noises of breathy moans and strenuous pants reverberated in the space around you, heat prevailing where the cold could not.

Jon shuddered at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.

It was a sluggish start, agonizingly so, bodies finding moments to adjust to one another, grow accustomed. You drew yourself up, his cock filling you in such a pleasant way, nothing discomforting about it.

The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

The very image of grace, tarnished with lust; a maiden worth worshiping. Jon huffed, chest erupting with a string of pants and soft groans, lips agape as you adopted a steady rhythm.

His hands caressed circles into your hips, dark hues wide and mesmerized, doelike in their silent appraisal of you. Through the moonlit dusk of the stables, you met his gaze, blushing beneath the intensity of it.

A whimper of bliss bubbled from your lips as you became invigorated in your pace, rocking yourself up and down along his cock, aided by his grasp upon your hips.

The lewd, crass union of flesh against flesh joined the ambiance, yet all he could focus on was you, the lovestruck look within your eyes, exuberance glittering beneath. He kneaded along your thighs, squeezing when the pleasure mounted.

“Perfect,” A soft sputtering between exhilarated breaths, enough to ensnare Jon’s attention. “Gods, Jon, you’re perfect.” Such wanton praise nearly made him spill his seed into you then and there.

His hips stuttered, bucking off of the bale and right into you, cock reaching new depths. It made you moan, significantly noisier this time, enough for Jon to become mildly concerned about someone investigating.

A familiar coil of heat began to unfurl within the pit of your stomach, just as it did his own. Jon sat up enough to seize your lips in a kiss, one that blossomed with passion, letting his affections bleed through.

Your pace was tantalizing, nothing too swift to let it feel sloppy and rushed, yet fervent enough to make his head swim with the haze of desire. Jon’s mouth did not part from yours until you drew away, only to release another moan.

Jon fought against his release, not wanting it to end so quickly, stomach tight as could be. He let out a string of sighs, vocalizing your comeliness, digits squeezing into your hip once more.

“Don’t stop.” He huffed, and if he could plead with you, he would’ve. Your current rhythm was perfect, made to torment him as you sank yourself down upon his cock again.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens.

It was your release that came first, and it was swift — the intensity of it nearly blinded you, white-hot and sticky as you began to still. The tightness of your cunt sent Jon cascading over the edge.

Jon’s swift thinking caused you to move off of him, with seconds to spare as he spilled himself across your thighs, ropes of seed painting your flesh. Embarrassment rippled through him, but you understood why he didn’t come undone inside of you.

Chests rose and fell with labored sighs, basking in the aftermath of your tryst. Pieces of straw had stuck themselves to your dress, to his clothing, to his dusky curls.

It was difficult not to let your seriousness diminish in the wake of your orgasm, body tingling with such bliss. You couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of this — the stables, the disheveled hay, your recklessness.

He found himself smiling with you, dutifully assisting in cleaning his seed off of your thighs with the handkerchief tucked away within his tunic. Your shared joy brought him comfort.

“What will Lord Stark think of your unkempt state?” You teased, plucking golden twigs of hay from his hair, nose wrinkled with mild amusement. “Romping around in the hay?”

Jon huffed, eyes crinkling with mirth as he pulled you in for a kiss, allowing it to linger, knowing that he would be parted from you soon enough. “If I’m lucky, Lord Stark won’t see me.” He mused.

You would pray to the Old Gods that Jon was not accosted by his stern-faced father. “If you’re unlucky?” It was not something that Jon wanted to consider, but he did for the sake of your playful inquiry.

“We’ll have to find a different location.”