Tumgik
#game of thrones fic
Text
Safe Keeping | 1
Part 2
"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."
Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut (wedding night, loss of virginity, mild dub con, PIV, biting, praise kink), emotional unavailability, The Hound being abrasive, baby fever, typos, etc.
A/N: what do we say to big scary murderers? all together now: i can fix him. the smut is at the end so just keep scrolling to the bottom if you wanna pass (: originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here
Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx
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A collective gasp resonates in the hall upon the utterance of the proclamation. The blonde boy basks in the reaction. I release a breath, hand on my churning belly, as I stand there in front of the Iron Throne. The agitation that filled me threatened to spill from my lips when I curtsied to the king. But by the gods, I manage to mutter, "you have honored me with such a decision, your grace."
King Joffrey smirks, "yes," he shifts in his seat, "I have." He stands from the throne and raises a beckoning hand, "dog!"
All eyes turn to one corner.
The rustle of fabric and the clink of steel fill the hall. I watch as he walks towards me. I watch the large man, clad in darkness from head to toe, hand on his hilt, face adorned with a large burn, come to my side but pay me no mind. He turns to his king, "your grace."
"My king," queen Cersei mutters to her son, "he is a member of the Kingsguard, he cannot--"
"My word is law, is it not?" the boy says.
His mother looks at him then us, and says no word.
Joffrey grins, "I present your new ward," he raises his arms, "orphaned at war, parents and brothers dead, house left with no heirs. She turned to me for counsel," he points to his chest, "for she would die on her own. And now I give her you," he clasps his hands, "to have and to hold in holy matrimony."
The room is dead silent.
"Consider it a gift for your loyal service," he turns to me, "a rather generous one, given your infliction," he turns back to him.
The man on my side nods once.
"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes."
I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine father."
A loud and shrill laugh echoes in the chamber, demanding everyone's attention. Joffrey wheezes until he's red and tumbles back into his metal chair. He catches his breath and nods, "he- mmm, he would," he chuckles.
The king settles himself and waves us off, "go forth and make arrangements then, my lady. Your protector awaits."
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I flinch at the way the wooden door is opened. Sandor stands before me, in a dress shirt and a scowl, leaning against the opening of his chamber door. I look away and curtsy, "good morrow, Lord Sandor," I steal a quick glance at Lucy by my left, "I've had my handmaiden prepare f-"
"Hound." 
I lift my eyes to his face. The sour expression he held is amplified by the scar on his side. His eyes burn into me. "They call me the Hound," he grunts, "y'know that?"
I clasp my hands in front of me and open my mouth before muttering, "yes. Yes, I do."
"Then save me of this lord business," he straightens up and walks off inside his chambers. I watch him as much as I can from where I stood outside his room. I pipe up when he is no longer in eye's view, "may I come in?"
"Door's open, isn't it?"
I look at Lucy hesitantly, motioning she stay outside. I push the door wider and walk in, seeing Sandor was now getting dressed.
I stare at him for a moment, pressing my hands closer together, "would you like for me to he-"
"I'm not the king who has a bitch for every task."
I clench my jaw at his icy words.
Sandor begins to do his clasps, "why are you here, girl?"
He does not look at me after asking. I purse my lips before replying, "I am heading to the tailor to pick fabrics and-"
"Why isn't the tailor coming here?" he asks, still focused on dressing himself.
Sandor finally turns to me after fixing his top. I look up at him, feeling a dread build in my belly, "I wanted to go outside."
He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. He takes steps closer.
My lips part. I blurt, "the palace is too stuffy."
"Stuffy?" he retorts, "I wonder how large your house is if you find it stuffy here."
I shake my head, "I did not mean it like that."
"Then how did you mean it?" Sandor says, tilting down to look upon me once he is close enough. I am unable to withhold myself from stepping back. I mutter, "there are many... looming presences. It's overwhelming."
"Looming, she says," he grumbles. "Well, little lady, you're going to be shackled to me, and I'm shackled here. You'll have to get used to these looming presences."
I turn away from him and take a breath. Must he speak to me like I'm a child?  "I understand that."
"No, I don't think you do," he says.
I look back at him. His gaze is as hard as ever.
"The moment a thing like you is outside the castle walls, thieves and rapists will fight to getcha," he walks off, "get your footman to escort you right in front of the shop and back."
I furrow my brows as he heads to the door, "wait, what about you?"
He stops right in front of Lucy and turns back, "what about me?"
"I'm going to the tailor to be fitted a dress for our wedding," I explain, "I came here to bring you along with me," I point to the woman at his side, "Lucy has made food for you to-"
"Why would I go with you to a tailor?"
Will he ever let me finish speaking? I hold back my annoyed expression, "you need to be fitted for your wedding at-"
"I'm not your dress up dolly," he grumbles, face pinched in disgust, "I'll be wearing my armor and that's that."
We stare at each other for a moment. I watch as Lucy glares at Sandor from behind. I clench my jaw tightly before curtsying, "as you wish, my lord-"
"Hound," he barks.
I look at him in shock, "you wish me to call you hound?"
He narrows his eyes and scoffs, "it's what I am-- what you're marrying, isn't it?"
I debate his words, unsure if he meant it or if it was a trick, a reason for him to be angry at me, "may I call you by name?"
He feels disdain burn up from his belly to his throat, "what? Too good to admit that-"
"That is not what I said!" I quip hotly.
The hulking man is rendered silent. He did not expect that. Still, he decides not to respond and walks away.
I scoff when he does so.
Lucy makes a face at him before coming up to me, offering a remorseful look, "he's a brute, milady! Rugged and ugly and mean!"
"Lucy," I warn as she takes my arm and escorts me out. She closes the door on our way and makes a face, "he's a thickheaded oaf!" she glares behind her to no one, "he's lucky-- blessed by all gods to be promised to a lady like you, and he treats you as though you were the degene-"
"Lucy!" I quip, yanking her by the arm.
She is finally silenced because of this. We both halt in our spot.
I hiss, "if someone were to hear you, if he were to hear you..." I shake my head, "he is my lord now. He is your lord."
Lucy grumbles.
"If it could be, I would not marry anyone," I tell her under a hushed voice, "but you know that cannot be."
We begin to walk down the hall. I continue, "I had thought I'd end with an old lord, eager to inherit my estate and esteem," I shake my head, "shocking as it was to be thrown like a bone to him..." I look out the open windows, "at least... the Hound... can protect me," I look back to Lucy, "protect us."
Lucy's face falls solemn. We hold each other's gaze for a moment. She then offers, "you're right. Them forest monsters will cower in fear at the mere sight of the 'ound."
We head to the castle gates, "do you think the guards will let us-"
"We'll walk, Lucy," I reply.
"What?! But the Hound said-"
"He expected me to have footmen and you know well that I don't. I do not think it would be appropriate to instruct the servants here to go out of their way for us. Besides, the shop is not far, you know this."
"But, Lady, I- I can drive the carriage again!"
I shake my head, "don't be ridiculous, Lucy. Do you know how silly we'd look galloping in a carriage for just a few streets down the city?"
Lucy is unable to talk me into any of her ideas. We ask the guards let us through the gate then walk to the tailor.
Once there, I am greeted by the tailor and immediately attended to.
Lucy and I go through the fabrics together. I laugh at her sentiment that all the fabrics would look good on me.
"Here," the tailor says, placing a strip of fabric on my shoulder, "I think this would suit you well, lady."
I look at myself in the mirror just as Lucy says, "that's it! That's the one!"
"Lucy," I chuckle, "you've said that about all the fabrics thus far."
"And I meant it every time!" she retorts, "but this one, this one is truly better than all the rest."
I look at myself in the mirror, "this one is actually quite pretty," I agree, "it's a very pale shade of red, but I quite enjoy it."
"It is all the rage with the ladies at court," the tailor says.
I smile, "very well. I should like to have this for my wedding dress."
Lucy squeals and applauds.
"A fine choice, my lady," the tailor nods and finishes measuring me.
The moment Lucy and I exit the tailor shop, we are scared by a loud holler. We turn to our side and see the mighty Hound, leaned against the wall. He straightens up and marches towards me.
"My Lord Sand-"
"What did I tell you about going outside the castle?" he barks, glaring down at me. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches. My stomach rolls.
I give him a look and push Lucy behind me, "there was no dange-
"That's what you think. But tell me, what do little girls know but to play dress up?"
I whimper when he grabs my arm and drags me like an unruly child all the way back to the palace. I do not try to fight him. I know I will only hurt and tire myself if I do.
"Maybe I should let the peasants have at you," he mutters, side-eyeing me hotly, "teach you a lesson."
"Let her go!" Lucy shrieks.
He threatens to strike her when she tires to pull me away. I shout in protest. Sandor huffs and decides to simply continue dragging me.
The moment we are past the gates, he releases me roughly, making me yelp. Lucy grabs my arm and checks if I am injured.
Sandor eyes every one of the men present, "I'll make a jump rope out of the entrails of whoever fucking lets her out again."
The Hound storms off, leaving me and my handmaiden reeling and everyone else uneasy.
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Sandor walks down the halls across the keep. He notices a guard looking down from the window. He wonders if he should push him for no other reason than the fact that he can.
He doesn't. He goes downstairs. He furrows his brows at the sight of men huddled together, looking at something in the gardens. He realizes it's most likely the same thing the man upstairs was looking at.
He walks their way, because he has to anyway, but is, frankly, uninterested in whatever the fuck has these men gawking.
On his way to his insufferable master, he passes Baelish, who is seemingly chipper to see him. The man smiles, "greetings, Hound."
The Hound ignores him.
"Pretty little thing in the garden. A darling flower, ready to be plucked," Baelish smirks as he watches the large man pass, "our king truly blessed you with such a match."
His expression does not change but his ears do ring at that as he walks down the hall.
He wills himself not to think of it, Littlefinger is a leech, but by the end of the day, his words are still ringing in mind. How irritating it was, suddenly, that he did not look at whatever the fuck it was those men were gawking at.
He's fuming at the sight of more men flocked by the garden when he reaches that hall again.
"OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!" he growls, thrashing past anyone who was slow and stupid enough not to get out of his path in time.
Sandor's eye twitches as when he sees what the commotion is all about.
"So, the princess said to him, 'away with you. I would rather never feel your kiss than yearn for something I will never feel again.' " I read the last section of the page. I flip to the next part and offer a smile to the children leaned on my lap listening to my story.
"Why would she tell him to go away?" Benji asked me from my right.
Lucy, beside him, chuckles and brushes his hair back,
I offer, "well, the prince had to go away. I suppose the princess just wanted it to be done with."
To my left, Ophelia, the boy's younger sister, pushes the book in my hand down so that she can see the picture. I show it to her just as Benji says, "she should have kissed him."
I chuckle, "well, maybe she will. There are a few more pages le-"
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
I gasp and look up. A protective form of ire burns through me at the sound of Sandor's words. The two siblings in my arm squeal at the sight of him and cower into my breast. I glare at him, "there are children here!"
"I can bloody see that," he looks down with contempt, "what? Are they your bastards?"
Lucy takes hold of the children.
"They are not bastards!" I rebut, "they are my childhood friend, Lady Deena's children, who, mind you, travelled far to King's Landing for our wedding!"
"I don't give a fuck about Lady Deenas or Lady Danas. Couldn't you have read to the rats in your damn chambers, girl?"
I give my handmaiden one look and, immediately, Lucy takes Benji and Ophelia along with their fairytale book. They scurry away to their chambers as the children clamor.
I stand from the stone fence we had been sat on, "we wanted fresh air."
"You wanted attention," the Hound quips.
I am wholly offended by his accusation. Now that I was standing alone in front of him, my confidence from having something to protect dwindles. I don't get to ask from whom he thought I wanted attention because he's soon berating me all over again. He quips, "does it please you to know all the guards in King's Landing want to fuck a baby into you?"
I am appalled by his venom.
He grabs me by the arm and begins hauling me off. A squeak spills from my lips at his brute force. Part of me wishes to fight back this time; I do not want him to humiliate me by dragging me around again. And yet I find myself unable to do anything more than latch my fingers into his iron grip, trying to at least loosen it.
Sandor, of course, does not budge.
"Is it a crime to read to children?!" I whine out in frustration, finding it immensely difficult to keep up to with his wide strides.
He does not make a sound, save the sound of his boots on the stone floors. I pant as we hike up the steps, yet still, I find myself explaining, "I would have done the same to our children!"
I do not see that Sandor reacts to this because I am too busy trying to match his pace.
I thank the gods when he finally releases me. When I catch my breath, I realize I am in front of the door to my chambers.
"Do not stroll around as if you actually live here," Sandor quips, raising a finger at me.
"But I do-"
"Last time I checked, you're not marrying into royalty," he cuts me off.
I watch the large man walk off right after speaking this. I rub my arm as I feel my eyes water. More than his heavy grip, I was once again hurt by his jagged treatment. My voice breaks as I shout out, "wou-ld you at least tell me what exactly I've done to have angered you so?!"
He does not slow, nor does he look over his shoulder when he barks back, "I don't want to see you fucking reading to those children again."
Needless to say, I crumble into a fit of tears the moment I get into my chambers.
When Lucy comes to my side on my bed, he curses the Hound and does her best to console me. She rubs my back as I weep my woes out into my pillow, "oh, Lucy, he doesn't just despise me, he despises children!"
Lucy scoffs, "why am I not surprised."
She regrets saying this when I turn to her with wet cheeks and bloodshot eyes. She gives a guilty expression, "milady, I-"
"That's all I ever wanted," I sniffle, "all I ever dreamed of-" my lips quiver, "being a mother. Having children. You know this."
Lucy bites her lips tightly as I continue to sob. She mutters, "pardon my foolish words, lady."
"Oh, what does it matter-" I rub my philtrum, "you're right. This is not a surprising development."
"You can still get him to give you his babes! Men like making babies, not really taking care of them. And of course, I would never leave your side. I would help you raise your darlings, protect them from him," she speaks sincerely. I knew her words meant to comfort me but in truth, I don't think they do.
It seems she can tell that, which is why she's apologizing all over again.
I shake my head and place my hand on her cheek, "it's alright, Lucy... you needn't worry... it's all... going to be alright.
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Sandor and I look starkly contrasting at the altar. He is dark and brooding, clad in hard armor and a perpetual frown. I am bright and jittery, wrapped in pale reds and nervous smiles.
The septon binds our hands together in fabric. We turn to each other as we speak our vows.
My heart races when we are told to kiss. I suck in a breath and get on my tiptoes to reach his lips. I crane my neck up; he makes no effort to lean down in return. Still, our lips meet and in that moment, I am his.
The audience applauds us, the sound of King Joffrey's laugh is apparent even through it. Our wedding was not a grand event; the king wanted it to happen in haste, and I could not afford to make it a grand anyway. There were also not so many people in attendance, and yet it felt like the whole world was watching me in this moment.
The celebration feast that came after was terribly tedious and severely unenjoyable for me, and for Sandor. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the merrymaking though, namely the king, and I suppose that was enough.
I did nothing but smile and thank my guest from my seat next to Sandor. He did not speak to me, let alone anyone who came up to us with congratulations on their lips. All he did was eat. I suppose it could be worse. At least one of us could stomach eating at this moment.
The only life I felt was when I was introduced to a babe of one of the ladies. The sweetling had only seen 4 moons and she was as sweet as can be. She was so precious. I just had to hold her. I was inspired to even stand and frolic a bit with her in my arms.
Her mother and I conversed much about babies and child rearing. My stomach rolled in a mix of excitement, dread, anticipation, and worry all at once, knowing this was to be the next part of my life now.
I enjoyed all the stories she told me. I was flattered when she said I would be a great mother, for her child in my arms did not fuss one bit and she was known to be quite fussy. I giggled at all the wonderful memories she had with her other children who, she said, were even fussier than her daughter. I nodded solemnly at her advice in child birth and breastfeeding, making sure not to let a single word go unheard.
Unbeknownst to anyone, Sandor was watching this all from his spot with the cup of wine before him. He did not avert his eyes once; he watched each and every move.
Well, it was unbeknownst to everyone excluding Lord Baelish, who was rather amused by it all, which was why he decided to act.
"Lady Clegane," Lord Baelish comes up to me and raises a hand, "might you spare me a dance?"
I turn form the babe in my arms to him. I smile a small one, "I'm afraid my darling friend here makes me unwilling to do anything but coddle her."
The child's mother on my left laughs, as does Baelish. He links his hands together, "well, judging from your darling friend's temperament, I'd say you would be a fine mother."
"I agree," the lady says.
I grin from ear to ear, heart soaring at the sentiment, "I would like to be nothing more."
Baelish presses his lips into a smirk, "may the gods bless you with many children then," he raises his hands "and may they all take after your sweetness, grace, and beauty."
The way Baelish speaks those words were intentional, as was everything was with him. The comment leaves an air of tension between us. The man basks in it and decides his work is done here.
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"I-It is kind of the king to assign a larger room," I muster up as I walk into my new chambers-- our new chambers.
Sandor follows after me, locking the door behind him. He hums, "I doubt it was the king that thought of it. It was probably the queen."
I stand by the end of the bed. I brush the sheets with my hand. I mutter a correction, "kind of her to think of us."
When I turn, my breath hitches at the sight of Sandor standing right behind me. I suck in a sharp breath as I take in his expression. His face is barely visible in the dark. I can only see as much as the moon allowed. Still, I can tell he is stoic, hard, and predatory. This was it.
My hands tremble. I fiddle with my fingers, "shall I-" I bring my palms to his chest plate, "help you out of your armor?"
Sandor does not respond to me.
"H-husband?"
He takes my hand, taking a shaky breath from my lips along with him. He leads me to his claps and shows me how to undo them before releasing my hand to do it myself. I continue to undo all the claps until his armor is off him. When he is left in his shirt and trousers, he snatches my wrists before I can undress him any further. I freeze in my spot.
My belly churns at his touch. It is reminiscent of the times he has dragged me by the arm, and yet the firm grip is a notch gentler. The way is brows furrow is barely visible because of his burns, but I see it. He leans down and his dark hair spills over his scar, "do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"
My breath hitches. I take a moment to even my breathing before responding, "yes."
He hums and lifts his nose, "what's going to happen?"
"You're going to fuck me."
Sandor laughs lowly. I am shocked when he swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."
I look up at him with wide eyes as his own rake me up and down. I feel incredibly self-conscious under his scrutiny. I want to push him away and hide under the sheets. Yet still, I am rendered frozen in my spot.
"Tell me honest, have you ever done this before?" he speaks rather softly.
I feel my body burn. I shake my head, unable to speak.
Sandor allows me a second. He believes it yet finds it hard to believe. "I would not judge you if you did," he adds.
I shake my head faster.
He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't--" he grabs my ribs and spins me around. The action makes my heart hammer. He pushes my hair to the side, over my shoulder. I squeak softly when he begins to undo the back of my dress. He completes his thought, "-- you're a good girl."
Though he was loosening my ties, I was finding it harder to breathe. He very soon slips my dress off my shoulders, leaving me in my shift. After doing so, he begins to remove the pins in my hair. It takes a while for him to accomplish it. I count the clinks that come from him dropping the clips onto the floor.
When he is done, he gently combs through my locks and lets my hair run loose. It was then he nudges me, "on the bed. On your back."
I shudder and crawl on the bed. I watch him take his shirt off the moment I lie on my back. I immediately turn away and close my eyes when I notice his bulge. His hands undo the string of his trousers.
I press my thighs together. I feel my heart pound. It pounds intensely between my legs.
"Aren't you curious to see what it looks like?"
I curl my legs up at his words.
I gasp and flinch when he grabs my ankles, my eyes ripping open to see what he was doing. He straightens my legs out and pulls me down; I gasp once more when he does so.
I catch sight of his opened trousers. I see the way the hair on his wide, battle-scarred chest trails down to the thick, dark hair beneath his navel. I see the imprint on his pants clearer. I shut my eyes again.
I hear him pull his trousers down. I feel the bed dip as he crawls over.
My hands dig into the sheets as he knocks my legs apart. I am passive and obedient; I make room for him. I can hear my pulse from my screwed eyes.
Goosebumps form on my skin when Sandor's hot, calloused fingers brush up my thighs. He lightly kneads my flesh. The action almost makes me moan. He stops and pushes my skirt up when he feels something by my hips, "where did you get this?"
I feel him ghost over the deep scar on my left hip. I cover my face in the crook of my elbows, "I was attacked."
He does not respond.
"That was the day my family died."
Sandor feels bad for asking. He feels a bit more when the thought does not prevent his cock from hardening. He adjusts his grip, hiking my shift up higher. His hands claw on my hips but only one remains. His mouth waters.
I gasp and slap my thighs close, or at least try to, when I feel him brush something firm and damp against my pulsing core. He uses the sheer size of him to prevent me from actually pressing my thighs together.
"Shh, shh, shh, shh-" he tuts, "this is for your own good. Believe me."
My toes curl and my hands dig into my pillow as he fondles with me. The sensation makes my body twitch and the wet squelching sound that pierces my ears fill me up with an unnamable sensation. Soon enough though, I feel myself become undeniably aroused.
My hips begin to roll and my back begins to arch.
Sandor grunts and licks his lips, loving every moment of his private show, "good girl."
His words strike up my belly like lightning.
Lewd sounds begin to dribble past my lips. I feel my body begin to tingle. The sopping sounds intensify.
"Feel good?" he asks, "you like it?"
I find no room to deny it. I instantly respond, "yes."
"Good," he trails off.
My grip on the pillows loosen when he begins to slow. I bring my hands to the side when he falls to a stop. Just as I am about to look down to see what was wrong, my heart races all over again when he hooks his fingers behind my knees and nestles between my thighs. He positions against me. I feel him guide his hardened length into my folds.
I let out a loud groan when he slips into my wetness. He grunts and cusses as he sinks down, balls deep. My nails claw at his shoulders. He pushes my knees back to the mattress. Surprisingly, the weight of him is not suffocating, in fact, it was welcomed... it was delicious.
I whine viscerally when he begins to buck his hips slowly.
"Mmm, fuck," he pants, "so fucking tight. So pretty and wet and warm, my sweet virgin."
My jaw drops at his words.
"My sweet lady wife," he growls, "all," he drags out, "mine."
My breath strains and escapes my throat hotly. My sounds match each of his thrusts; they are deep and lewd. Sandor's male ego is through the roof because it if. He slowly picks up the pace.
I am a mess of whines at the feel his manhood stretching and prodding into me. My body shivers every time he collides with the tender spot in me. It feels so good; it's nothing I've felt before.
Sandor grunts and shifts on his knees. He adjusts me beneath him like I weighed nothing, and maybe I didn't to him. I slip out a scream when he batters into me with such delicious force.
"Shhhhh," he hushes shakily, hands forcing my hips down in place so I didn't shoot off as he snapped his hips into me. With every hit of flesh, his stones knocking into me, his wet skin, slapping into my dripping folds, I feel my body burn and tighten more.
"Don't be too loud," he scolds emptily, for in truth, he would love it if he got something even louder. He leans lower, "wouldn't want you to wake all of King's Landing." But please do.
His words momentarily push sense into my mind. It doesn't last. I can barely mask my loud cries and he fucks into me. My nails dig into his scalp. He lets out a sound because of it.
Sandor shifts again. This time, his buries his face next to mine. He presses against me, chest to chest, grabs the bed frame with one hand, my knee with the other, and rams into me so hard, the bed creaks and knocks into the wall.
My eyes roll back and my open mouth latches onto his shoulder. I naturally then sink my teeth in is taut flesh. It does wonders to muffle my sounds but it pulls out some from Sandor.
"Gods, girl. Yeah," he heaves, "sink your," he gives two particularly rough thrusts, "fucking teeth into me."
My breathing grows erratic after this. An intense pressure begins to build in my belly.
"S-Sandor- Sandor-"
He hums and maintains his intense pace, "come girl. Just a bit more. Come around my cock like a good, dirty girl."
His words push me on the edge. I crumble and convulse beneath him exactly like it, a good, dirty girl. My voice is just as shaky as my thighs are. My body bursts into an intense, burning pleasure. 
My body drips in sweat and slick and spit and tears, all purely out of bliss. All the air is pulled out of my lungs as I fall into this feeling.
Sandor curses. His thrusts grow erratic. I would scream if I wasn't so winded and exhausted. He stabs so roughly into me, I flinch because it feels like he's hitting the very depths of my mind. Then, he breaks into a growl and I feel him throb so strongly until his movements come to a halt.
Once he is still, I am obliterated. I cannot move. I can only feel heat and pulsing. I feel terribly sticky and so full. I love every inch of it.
I sigh and lean into him. I can imagine now why many paid for this pleasure, why people had so many children. My fingers scratch into his nape. I rub my face against his cheek; I feel the texture of his burn. Sandor stiffens.
The next moment, he pulls away, and it was then I realized doing that, nuzzling into him, was obviously a mistake. I gasp at the sudden lost of contact, the emptiness. I watch him jump out of the bed, as if I was fire and I had burned him. I press my thighs together and push my skirt down, feeling shame wash over me as I watched him tuck himself into his trousers like he was eager to leave me.
And he looked exactly like he meant to leave me at this moment.
"Where are you going?" I ask him, but my voice is so small and unsure that he doesn't hear it.
He grabs his shirt and puts it on. He heads to the door, unlocks it quickly, and insults me by saying, "good night."
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valeskafics · 9 months
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"Your Lion" - Jaime Lannister x Rhaegar's Wife!Reader
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a/n: so in this, jaime is about 19, reader is 18, rhaegar is 22, so this is young kingsguard jaime 🤭 tagging @ruby-dragon @julessworldd and @angelwonie bc i know you hoes were hyped for this ❤️
Summary: You don't find happiness in King's Landing or your marriage, but you do find it in your sworn protector.
Word Count: 2,900
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, infidelity committed by reader, negligent husband rhaegar, fingering, p in v sex, semi public sex
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire characters nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
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Being the lady wife of the Prince of Dragonstone is an honor.
Bear him heirs and do your duty.
You’ll be queen one day, there’s nothing to complain about.
Your parents’ words ring in your ears as you stand beside Prince Rhaegar in the Great Sept of Baelor, tying your life to his. You say the words, thinking to yourself at least your husband is close to you in age, only four years older at two and twenty while you are eight and ten. He’s tall and handsome, you have to admit with his platinum locks and lavender eyes. He kisses you chastely on the lips when the septon instructs him to do so. There’s no passion in his kiss, but you think, and hope, that will come with time. You only met two days past, after all, you can’t expect him to already be in love with you.
When Rhaegar beds you that night for the first time, he is gentle, checking on you to make sure he isn’t causing you too much pain, slowing any time you wince, but you find little enjoyment in it, rather you simply lie there as you do your duty and allow him to do his. He doesn’t remain in your marriage bed after the deed is done, instead returning to his own quarters, stating he wishes to allow you to rest and recuperate from the day’s events. 
You want to scream at him that you don’t want to rest. You want to be held by your husband. You spend your first night as a married woman alone in your bed, clutching your pillow, thankful for the small mercy that though your husband may not have been passionate or loving, he was at least gentle and not a brute like you’ve heard of so many men.
Every so often, he comes to your chambers and the two of you lay together, but beyond that, you take to amusing yourself, roaming the Red Keep with your ladies in waiting, finding comfort in their company. You play with Rhaegar’s little brother, Viserys, finding the little boy to be an utter delight, always with a smile and a joke. Queen Rhaella is with child again, early in her pregnancy, and Viserys proudly declares to you that he’ll likely be betrothed to his unborn sister, Daenerys, as she is to be named.
You ask why he is so certain she is to be a sister, perhaps she will be a brother, but Viserys shakes his head emphatically and tells you “not to wake the dragon”, making the most adorable roaring sound you’ve ever heard in your life before running off.
Your married life goes on like this for a few months. Rhaegar keeps to his books, remaining distant but polite with you, while you occupy yourself with your friends and your good family. It isn’t an exciting life by any means, but it is tolerable, you think. Perhaps, one day, you might even feel content in your situation.
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All of that gets turned on its head when none other than the dashing Ser Jaime Lannister is assigned as your sworn protector. After an assassination attempt on King Aerys II gone awry (at least, according to the Mad King himself), security is doubled and a protector is assigned to each member of the royal family, two to the queen to account for her delicate condition. The first time you meet Jaime, you’re taken aback by just how very handsome he is. He gets down on bended knee, holding his sword up to you, gazing at you with those piercing emerald eyes.
“My sword is yours, my princess, my life is yours,” he declares boldly, though you can see the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he eyes you up and down.
His gaze is nothing like Rhaegar’s. On rare occasions, your husband will tell you that you look “lovely” and ask if that is a new dress you’re wearing. Though, despite your best efforts at inciting some form of passion in the man, he remains ever the gentle recluse.
The complete opposite to your sworn protector.
Those green eyes follow you everywhere you go in the Keep, as they are supposed to. Jaime is your constant companion, your ladies in waiting tittering and swooning every time he comes to escort you somewhere or the other. And soon, with your similar personalities, you form a strange sort of friendship with the man.
Perhaps friendship is an understatement.
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“Good morrow, Ser Jaime,” you call out to him, the playful lilt ever present in your tone, enchanting him as you always do.
Jaime is leaning against a wall, his golden hair hanging loose around his face as he returns your smile, arms folded across his broad chest, “Good morrow, Princess.”
You step closer to him, gazing up into his eyes, “Will you be escorting me into town today?”
Jaime nods, “I am at your beck and call, sweet princess. What need have you of me today?”
“I wanted to buy some silks,” you declare, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, “I truly cannot stand the clothes these Crownlanders wear. I wish to allow my skin to breathe.”
Jaime smirks, leaning in slightly as his eyes narrow, “I agree entirely, sweet princess. Those silks you wear really do cling to your figure so very nicely,” he winks.
“Oh, do they?” you feign innocence, gesturing to the lovely yellow silk dress you wear today, that bears your arms and part of your chest, giving the knight a generous view of your cleavage, one that he drinks in almost greedily, “My good father says that they’re utterly indecent.”
Jaime chuckles at your comment, “He might be right, Princess. In the right light, one could almost see through it… That is, if you wear anything underneath,” he trails off suggestively, a mirthful look in his eyes.
You smile coyly at him, “What need do I have of wearing anything underneath?” you saunter past him, calling back over your shoulder, “I need to speak to the queen, but I trust you’ll have the horses saddled and ready to go upon my return, Ser Jaime?”
Jaime grins as you sashay past him, watching the elegant sway of your hips as you move, “As you wish, my princess. I am but your humble servant.”
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Jaime waits by the stables with your mare and his stallion, leaning against one of the walls. He runs a hand through his hair, grinning to himself at the idea of spending the day in town with you. He originally swore himself to Aerys’s kingsguard to revolt against his father, but in his rebellion, he found something so much better. He found you. You’re beautiful, in a way so very different from his sister. Where she is cunning and scheming, you’re quick-witted and playful. Where she is acrid and harsh, you’re sweet and your voice sounds like honey in his ears. He hears your familiar footsteps, but frowns when he also hears your husband’s voice along with them. He listens on as you and Rhaegar speak to each other, jealousy sitting like a pit in his stomach.
“You shouldn’t be going into town alone-”
Your voice is sharp when you cut your husband off, Jaime notes, sharper than usual, and he wonders the reason for it, “I’m not alone, husband. Ser Jaime will be riding with me. Now, why don’t you go back to whatever book you were reading since you find so much more joy in that than you do in even trying to entertain your wife in the most basic of conversations?”
Jaime sighs to himself, shaking his head. He knows you do not fault Rhaegar for being bookish, that was a comment said in the heat of the moment out of frustration. Rather, you fault Rhaegar for being neglectful, for not making any real effort in getting to know you. Not like Jaime has. Jaime doesn’t give a damn if Rhaegar is a prince - he is a fool, and a woman as beautiful and perfect as you deserves more than a husband who can’t appreciate her. You deserve a man like Jaime, who will treat you like the queen that you are.
You approach Jaime, smiling, “Are the horses ready? I wish to take my leave.”
Jaime nods, helping you onto your horse, his hands lingering on your hips a moment longer than necessary, a fact that doesn’t escape your notice. You feel him squeeze slightly and you smile to yourself, reveling in his touch.
“All is ready, my princess,” he states, “I will stay close at your side. The streets of King’s Landing can be dangerous for an unaccompanied lady,” he grins at you as he mounts his own horse, “Especially such a beautiful and charming woman as yourself.”
As the two of you begin riding, you roll your eyes at him playfully, “You underestimate me, my dear knight,” the term of endearment sends a thrill of excitement through him as you meet his gaze, “I’m quite capable of defending myself should the need arise.”
Jaime smirks slightly, adjusting his sword almost as if to show off and impress you, “Oh, I’m sure you are, my sweet princess. But it wouldn’t do to put that to the test, would it? Better that I come along in case anything happens so that I may protect my future queen and defend her honor.”
“Perhaps it is I who will defend your honor from the hordes of ladies in the streets who flock to you,” you tease, goading your horse on, feeling freer and freer the farther you get from the Red Keep.
Jaime snickers at your remark, “Perhaps. Although I suspect I will be more than capable of fending off any ladies who might be overcome with lust at the sight of me,” he winks, admiring your figure as you ride, the way you look in your silk gown cutting quite the pretty picture as it clings to you like a second skin.
“You underestimate the strength of a woman who wants a man, my dear knight,” you counter.
Jaime throws his head back and laughs, the sight of which makes you feel as though there are butterflies in your stomach. His beautiful green eyes, his golden hair shining in the sun, his smile…
“Well, I suppose there is only one way to find out,” he grins, “You are more than welcome to try and claim me if you wish.”
You giggle at the open invitation, “I’m not sure my husband would like that very much.”
“Who cares what that bookworm thinks?” Jaime scoffs, and you barely manage to hold back your laughter, though the topic turns serious after a moment, “Your husband clearly doesn’t appreciate you. You deserve someone who will treat you like the queen you truly are. Someone who will spoil and pamper you,” his voice lowers slightly as he adds, “Someone like me.”
You smile at him wryly, “You Lannisters are quite cocky, aren’t you?”
Jaime laughs at your comment, “Yes, but don’t pretend you don’t like it. I can see that little smile that plays on those sweet lips when I’m like this. You like my boldness. It excites you.”
The two of you come to a stop in front of the shops, Jaime dismounting first and then moving to help you, holding you by the waist once again, the two of you standing far too close for it to be considered proper as you respond, “Perhaps I like meek bookworms like my husband.”
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After some time, you return with your shopping, a servant from the Keep stating that they will take the silks to the royal tailor to have them made into dresses as per your specifications. You open your coin purse and hand the servant one golden dragon, which they try to refuse, but you insist, walking over to Jaime.
“I’d like to go to the beach by Blackwater Bay. It’s a lovely day and I don’t feel like returning quite yet.”
Jaime nods, “Shall we take the horses?”
“No,” you shake your head, “I should like to walk.”
“Very well, sweet princess.”
You take Jaime’s arm and he leads you toward the beach, the two of you discussing all manner of things as you go, whether it be the most recent tourney that took place, your favorite sort of dances at balls, and so many other things. Jaime asks you about your family, your childhood, and you ask him about his, and by the time you reach the Bay, it feels as though you know him and he knows you better than your husband ever will.
When you get to a deserted stretch of beach, Jaime is taken aback when you immediately begin stripping off your clothes, moving toward the water. His jaw drops as inch by inch of your beautiful, bare body is revealed to him.
“What?” you shrug, glancing back over your shoulder as you wade into the water, “I want to swim.”
Jaime immediately begins stripping off his own clothes, all too eager to follow you into the water. You take him by the hand, wading until you’re chest deep. Jaime’s eyes sparkle in the afternoon glow and they look even greener somehow as he leans in closer and closer to you. Your hands move up to thread in his golden locks and your lips meet for a soft, sensual kiss, so different from anything you’ve ever shared with Rhaegar. Jaime’s mouth moves against yours like it’s what he was meant to do, and it absolutely thrills you when he moves his hands to your ass, squeezing your supple flesh in his hands, causing you to gasp against his lips. He eases his tongue inside your mouth, allowing it to dance against yours.
The two of you stay like that in the water for some time, just kissing, holding each other, before you splash him playfully. Jaime’s jaw drops at the sudden assault and he begins splashing you as well. The two of you are giggly, soaking wet messes by the time you return to the shore, laying yourselves out on the sand to dry under the sun’s light. Jaime leans over you, resting a hand on your cheek as he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I was wrong,” he murmurs, gazing down at you, moving to kiss your neck, nibbling softly at your skin, reveling in the soft moan you let out, “You’re more than a queen. You are a goddess. And I intend to worship you the way you deserve.”
You let out a mewl as you feel his fingers teasing your wet core, never fully pushing inside, just stroking your sensitive folds. His mouth moves to one of your nipples, suckling at it, grinning as it pebbles beneath his tongue before moving onto the other. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging at it slightly as he pushes two long, thick fingers inside you, curving them in a come hither motion as he begins pumping them in and out of you. You let out a particularly loud moan of his name as he brushes against a spot deep inside of you that sends you reeling, moving your hand to cover your mouth with surprise.
Jaime’s free hand comes up to clasp that hand in his own, “Don’t hide yourself from me,” he pleads, his voice a soft murmur, “Let me hear you. Let me hear what I do to you, my goddess.”
Jaime brings you to your peak not once, but twice against his fingers, a pleasure like you’ve never known before overtaking you, making you feel as if every nerve ending in your body is on fire, white hot heat licking at your belly. You watch as he tugs at his cock, admiring it, drawing your lower lip in between your teeth as you marvel at the knight’s lithe, bare form.
He’s larger than Rhaegar and for a moment, you wonder if that means it will pain you as it did on your wedding night. But it doesn’t. When Jaime sheathes himself inside you, all you feel is pleasure, an overwhelming sense of fullness as he begins bucking his hips against yours, your legs moving to wrap around him as well as your arms. His emerald eyes gaze into yours, his breath leaving his mouth in small pants as he mumbles how beautiful you look, how you deserve to be treated like a queen.
You feel your peak approaching again, throwing your head back against the sand beneath you when Jaime moves to circle your pearl with his dexterous fingers, sending you careening over the edge, squeezing around him so tightly that it triggers his own release. The two of you lay like that for some time, wrapped up in each other’s arms.
“Do you love me, Jaime?” you whisper, resting a hand against his chest.
He nods earnestly, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing each one of your fingertips and murmuring, “I do, my sweet princess. More than I’ve ever loved another in all my life.”
As the two of you dress once again, you smile to yourself, thinking that perhaps now, life in the capital may be somewhat more bearable. Now that you have a man whom you truly love in your life.
Your protector, your lion.
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barbiedragon · 5 months
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Kinktober Prompt #19
Prompt: Voyeurism/Exhibitionism
Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister x sister!reader
WC: 500
Additional Tags: incest
*comments/reblogs are appreciated
Kinktober Masterlist
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A soft, summer wind wafted through the halls, making the flame on your candle flicker. Curiosity always got the better of you. Your father teasingly called you his curious cub. Tonight, it stirred inside while making your way to your sister’s chambers. Cersei had traveled from King’s Landing to visit and proudly show off her golden-haired son, Joffrey.  The heir to the Iron Throne.  You thought the petite babe had the sourest face, and you didn’t like him. However, you pretended for her sake. Lannisters looked after their own.
When you slowly pushed the door open, Cersei’s breathy moans and Jaime’s deep grunts filled your ears. She was on top of him, riding him as if he were a wild stallion, her golden curls cascading down her pale shoulders. Sweat beaded across her skin, dripping a small trail down the middle of her back. Her hands braced against Jaime’s chest while his fingers dug into the curve of her arse. Breath hitched in your throat as you stared, transfixed by the sight of your siblings fucking unabashedly.
An egregious sin, yet it was beautiful to behold. Two golden lions writhing in pleasure, melting into one. They held such power, beauty, and vanity. Your mind flickered briefly as you thought of Joffrey’s bright blue eyes and flaxen curls. Now you knew the sickening truth. He was the fruit of their fornication and not of Robert’s seed. Cersei tossed her head back, crying out Jaime’s name, before catching sight of you. Her ruby lips curved into a smug smirk.
“Little sister. Come to see us play?” she purred, bouncing faster on top of Jaime.
Your brother let out an amused chuckle before slapping Cersei’s pert arse. “You always were a curious kitten, little sister,” he mused. Neither made pause, they simply continued their tryst.
Fluttering started in your belly as you stood frozen, eyes glued to their bare bodies. You should run away or scream at the top of your lungs, but could not tear yourself away. They seemed to delight in your onlooking. Jaime squeezed Cersei’s breasts, and you inched closer until you stood by the side of the bed. As Cersei moved her hips, you could make out the faint outline of Jaime’s cock. His stones heavy and full. Her cunt damp, and both had sparse golden curls between their legs. The same as yours.
A needy mewl spilled from your lips as you felt a throbbing between your thighs. Shameful arousal from the sight of your older siblings fucking. You were in a trance, inching your white nightgown up your thighs, stroking the dampness between your legs. Cersei’s breasts bounced tantalizingly as her moans grew louder, nails digging into Jaime’s shoulder.
“My wild woman, my perfect sister,” Jaime murmured, lifting to press his face between her breasts.
Your moans bled into Cersei’s, everyone reaching a sweet peak.
“You must join us next time, little sister,” Cersei smirked. Jaime chuckled darkly. On shaking legs, you made your way to them.
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targaryen-jpg · 1 year
Text
under the weirwood
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pairing: jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader
summary: requested by anon: "rhaenyra trying to talk jace into approaching reader:-(shes just so supportive mshdhshs"
notes: y'all when i tell you this made me BLUSH! he's actually adorable i might be perhaps in love no warnings! just fluff
jacaerys velaryon was a learned boy of eight-and-ten, prince of dragonstone and heir to the iron throne of westeros – yet he was completely tongue tied anytime you were near.
you first met the prince when he came to winterfell to visit your brother – lord cregan stark. he arrived on dragonback, sending up plumes of snow when he landed. assembled with the other lords and ladies of the keep, you retreated further into your fine furs. winter had come, and it was a cold one.
“my prince,” lord cregan announced, welcoming jacaerys as he entered the gates, now on foot, “the north welcomes you.”
“i’m pleased to make your acquaintance, lord cregan,” jacaerys smiled, warm and open, “many thanks to your house for such a welcome.”
cregan nodded, then gestured to you, “my younger sister.”
you dutifully stepped forward, curtsied, and introduced yourself, “welcome, your grace. i have heard many tales of your bravery.”
was the prince… blushing?
he seemed to stutter for a moment before he nodded stiffly, “my lady.”
for a feast held in his honor, the prince did not seem to be enjoying it much.
you, however, were in your element. the north was a large place, so cold and empty that you rarely had guests. to have so many of the great houses together? you were delighted. 
from the moment the dancing started, you didn’t leave the floor. you accepted every man who offered his hand, twirling and spinning and giggling with the other ladies until you practically fell over.
when you returned to your seat beside your brother's, you were flushed and panting. he was off somewhere you did not know, so only an empty chair sat between you and prince jacaerys.
“you do not dance, your grace?” you questioned, pouring yourself a cup of wine.
“i confess it is not my forte,” he looked away with a laugh, “and please, call me jace.”
you took a sip of the deep red liquid, “only if you will grant me a dance. jace.”
you held out a hand, and grinned when he took it. he took the lead from there, leading you out onto the center of the floor. the light grey fabric of your skirts swirled around his dark leather, the silver embroidery shining in candlelight.
“i don’t wish to imply you are a liar,” you began, spinning away from him, then back in, “but you are quite the dancer, my – jace.”
he just chuckled, ducking his head, “you are far outshining me, my lady.”
the next day, jacaerys brought news at breakfast, “my lady mother will be joining us tomorrow. she will only stay for a short while, but wishes to make your acquaintance, lord cregan.”
“how delightful,” you smiled, “to think, brother – the queen, here!”
“yes, yes,” he huffed, then looked at the prince, “we would of course be delighted to host queen rhaenyra.”
“will she be arriving on syrax, jacaerys?” you inquired, and when he nodded, you grinned even wider, “i never dreamed i would see a dragon in this lifetime, but to have two right here at winterfell!”
“would… would you like to go see vermax, my lady?” the prince proposed.
“oh, brother, please,” you sighed, “may i?”
cregan only waved his hand and continued eating.
within half an hour, you and jacaerys were standing in front of the dragon. he was sleeping when you arrived, but a huge golden eye opened as he sensed your approach.
you froze as he examined you, but jacaerys held his arm steady at your back, “it’s alright, my lady. he’s – he won’t hurt you. he’s a gentle creature.”
you were so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him when vermax fully awoke, raising his head up.
you stumbled back, but jacaerys put himself in between you and the dragon, “umbas, vermax.”
he helped you move closer, and whispered, “lykiri. this is lady stark, vermax.”
the dragon huffed, almost like a petulant child, but when jace moved your hand to his snout, he didn’t object.
you laughed in amazement, “what did you say to him?”
“it’s high valyrian – umbas means ‘stay’, and lykiri means ‘calm’.”
“lykiri,” you whispered, running the tips of your fingers across his smooth scales, “how do you say hello?”
he smiled, reaching out to stroke the dragon, “rytsas.”
“rytsas, vermax,” the word was unfamiliar on your tongue, but vermax lowered his head. still awake, but clearly relaxed, “he’s beautiful.”
“he is,” jacaerys agreed, but he was watching you.
queen rhaenyra, true to her word, arrived the next day. once again, you bundled up in your finest furs to await her arrival. syrax’s entrance was grand, yellow scales glinting in the sunlight as the queen landed her. she was enormous, bigger than vermax, but seemed docile.
as your brother introduced you, she eyed you carefully. but, you held your head high, smiled brightly and curtsied as low as you could.
“the young lady stark is quite beautiful,” rhaenrya stated to her son, “have you had much chance to become acquainted?”
she was resting on a chair by the fireplace in her quarters, warming herself after the freezing ride to winterfell.
“a bit. i took her to meet vermax,” he sighed, leaning on the mantle, “i confess – i can scarcely speak to her. everytime i do, i make a fool of myself. i’m the prince of dragonstone, and i start stuttering like a child”
“oh my darling,” she smiled knowingly, “you have affections for her?”
he knew before he answered. everytime you smiled at him, it was like dragonfire warming his insides. your touch sent sparks down his arms, the way you moved when you danced entranced him. even vermax seemed to like you.
so, he nodded, blushing creeping up his neck.
“you must tell her then,” rhaenyra decided, leaning back in the chair, “you are the crown prince of the seven kingdoms, but i will give you leave to pursue your own choice in wife. and the lady stark would not be an unwelcome match.”
“what?” he furrowed his eyebrows.
rhaenyra sighed, “jace. if you like her, you must make your affections known. if you wish to marry her – you have my blessing. though i cannot speak for cregan stark, i believe it would be an excellent match.”
after begging his leave from his mother, jace nearly sprinted to your quarters. when he arrived, he found only a servant who informed him you were in the godswood. by the time he found his way through the labyrinth of trees, he was panting and sweating despite the cold.
you heard footsteps and looked up from the tome you were reading by the weirdwood in the center, “my – jace?” you stood as he approached you, “are you alright?”
he could scarcely breathe as he took your hands in his, “can i kiss you, my lady?”
you froze, mouth agape, searching his face. you tried to say yes, yes, please, but no sound would leave your throat. all you could do was nod and his lips were on yours. his hands moved to cup your face so tenderly, while yours curled in the fabric of his tunic. it was breathless and sweet and over all too soon.
jace was nearly gasping by the time he let you go, “i – my apologies. i ran here.” his hands moved to hold your waist.
“wh–,” you laughed, cupping his cheek, feeling the hard line of his jaw, “why did you do that?”
“i wanted to ask you to marry me,” he let out a nervous breath.
you froze once again. a pause.
“you don’t jest?” you whispered.
he shook his head vehemently, “no, no, never. i confess i have made a fool of myself time and again, but you – you are everything wonderful in this world. you are bold and tender and i completely adore you. please,” he breathed, “please, marry me.”
“yes,” you murmured, moving closer until your foreheads touched, “a thousandfold, yes.”
when his lips met yours again, you could feel him smile against them.
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criminalamnesia · 1 year
Note
Please write about Harwin being married to Rhaenyra's sister. When the kids' fight happens in Driftmark, it's their son who attacks Aemond because he was defending his cousins and brother, who were fighting with Aemond and because he called them bastards. When Harwin and her arrive at the hall, they see everyone judging their kids, so they get protective over them, and the reader is the one to stand up against Alicent with the dagger, while Harwin protects their sons by hiding them behind him.
ooooh I love this! I hope I gave your idea justice!
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Armor
warnings: f!targaryen!reader, fighting, not proofread, reader has children with harwin strong, no use of Y/N
summary: aemond loses an eye to your sons, but your only concern is protecting your family.
author’s note: I loved this request so much! I also tried to not make it an exact replica of the actual scene, and I didn’t want to make the names of the children the same as Rhaenyra’s, so they will be unnamed lol.
You practically sprinted down the corridors, fear driving your every step. Your hands grasped your nightgown to keep the fabric out of the way, wanting nothing to slow you down. You faintly registered the sound of thundering footsteps behind you– Harwin– but you were so focused on your mission it was as if he wasn’t even there.
When you reached the doors to the chamber, you pushed them open with all of your might, slightly stumbling into the room. All heads turned your way as you frantically searched for your sons.
“Boys!” You cried out, rushing over to them as you spotted them. They were standing by Rhaenyra and Daemon, with one of Rhaenyra’s hands on each of their shoulders. Their faces showed clear signs of relief as you hurried over to them and crouched down to their level, pulling them to you in a fierce embrace.
The room was silent as they watched the display before them. Harwin was right behind you, a hand resting on your shoulder as you squeezed your children. They put up no fight– they were as relieved to see you as you were to see them.
You pulled back from them after you were sure they wouldn’t be ripped away from you. Your hands cupped the cheeks of your youngest, turning his chin this way and that as you examined his bloodied face.
“What happened?” You asked him softly, concerned.
“Your children,” Alicent spat the words from somewhere behind you. You didn’t bother turning to look at her; you kept your gaze focused on the two boys in front of you. “Attacked my son.”
“I’m sure that whatever they did, they did in self defense.” Harwin spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest.
You two had been sleeping when a servant had abruptly entered your quarters to tell you the news. You hadn’t had the mind to make yourself more presentable, and neither had your husband.
You both stood in your nightclothes, and as you rose to stand beside your husband, you realized how underdressed you were compared to the rest of the room.
Alicent scoffed from her place by her wounded son. You watched them as you snaked a hand around one of Harwin’s arms. He looked down at you briefly before turning his attention back to Alicent.
“It was not self defense, it was planned and it was an attack. Your sons and Daemon’s girls cornered him and beat him–” she began, but was swiftly cut off by your eldest.
“He called us bastards!” Your eldest cried in outrage, pointing a finger at Aemond.
The room fell deathly silent. Your grip on Harwin’s arm tightened dangerously. Fury seethed through your veins at the false accusation.
It was not the first time you had heard those words. Alicent and the greens had been attempting to undermine you and Rhaenyra for years, but tensions were growing as you all grew older. With your father’s rapidly declining health, both sides were preparing to take the throne. Therefore, Alicent had recently taken to spreading lies throughout the castle about you and your sister. She never outright said anything, of course– but she had planted seeds that had grown quickly in the underbelly of the Red Keep.
“My children,” you began, gaze trained on Alicent with a murderous glint in your eyes. “Are not bastards. To insinuate that they are is treason.”
“That does not excuse what your children did to my son. He’s lost an eye over words!” Alicent cried, taking a few steps towards you. Harwin moved to stand in front of you as you pulled your children behind you.
The doors to the chamber creaked open once more as the King clambered into the room. He looked angry as he made his way towards his wife.
“What is the meaning of this?” He shouted, looking first to Alicent and then to you.
“Your grandchildren have attacked your son–" Alicent began, but you stepped out from behind Harwin.
“Your son called my children bastards–” you started with narrowed eyes, but Viserys interrupted you.
“Boys,” he spoke, taking a step towards your children. They peeked their heads out from behind you to see the King. “What happened?”
“Aemond took Vhagar, and he was insulting Rhaena and Baela, so I told him to stop but he said he would not listen to a bastard.” Your eldest spoke, and as soon as he finished, clamor rang throughout the room.
“Quiet!” Viserys roared. The room slowly quieted as the King moved towards Aemond.
“Aemond, I want no lies.” He told the boy as he stood in front of him. Aemond looked up at the king with his remaining eye, and it was then that you got a good look at what had happened.
You inhaled sharply at the sight of Aemond’s wound. You knew then that whatever your sons had done to Aemond had been what he deserved.
“I called them bastards,” the boy confirmed, eye glancing over the King’s shoulder towards your family. “And then the older one hit me.”
“See?” Alicent cried, a hand landing on her younger son’s shoulder. “You daughter and her family have no respect! Her children attacked your son and took his eye over words–” she began again, but you would not have it.
“Quite serious words,” you muttered, which caused Alicent to turn on you.
“Enough to maim my son? He has lost his eye! Your children only lost their pride–”
You surged forward, a few feet separating you from the Queen now. All eyes watched the two of you. Harwin made no move to intervene. Instead, he stood protectively in front of your children, a hand going back to keep them from moving forward.
“Perhaps he should lose his other,” you seethed, watching her. “You have constantly belittled my husband and I. You look down upon us, you slander us, and now you turn on my children?” Your voice was shaking with anger, your fists clenched at your sides.
“Viserys,” Alicent called to her husband. “Do you hear this? This is a clear threat to the life of your child!”
“I am also his child!” You shouted, taking another step towards her. Alicent’s eyes widened. “You so badly wish to play the victim, and I tire of it. My family and I have tried to stay out of your way, and still you always find a way to accuse us of something.”
Alicent laughed in disbelief. “I, the victim? Your sons are whole– they are fine. My son will never heal!” She glared at you for a moment before speaking again. “I shall have one of their eyes, as payment.”
“You will not.” You spoke firmly. You heard movement behind you as Rhaenyra and Daemon moved to surround your children in a little huddle. “Should you even try to lay a hand on my sons, you will lose the hand.”
“Another threat,” Alicent huffed in disbelief. “Viserys–”
The King, who had been standing to the side unsure of what to say, moved to stand between the two of you cautiously. He was torn between the pair of you– Alicent was his Queen, but you were his second daughter.
“I will hear no more of this,” Viserys said, unable to pick a side. “All children will be dealt with by their parents, after sincere apologies have been made.”
Alicent was hysterical now as she shook her head. “This is not justice!” She shouted, eyes flitting around the room in search of support. “I will take their eyes myself!” She moved forward then, and without a second’s thought, you acted.
You reached forward, hand wrapping around the dagger strapped to your father’s waist. You unsheathed it and held it up as Alicent raised her hands to you. Chaos erupted, voices yelling in surprise and children screaming, but you couldn’t hear any of it.
The roar of the room dimmed as you stared into Alicent’s eyes, your hands shaking with force as you tried to push the dagger towards her.
“I will kill you before you touch them,” you whispered to her, eyes wide with adrenaline as her hands locked around your wrists and tried to push you away.
“You have become someone I do not recognize.” She told you, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
“As have you. And now they will all know how you spin tales–”
“Enough!” Viserys shouted again, bringing you back to the present.
You shoved Alicent back then, dropping the dagger to the floor. She stumbled backwards as you stepped back, an arm wrapping around your shoulders. Harwin. You looked up at him and he gave you the smallest smile.
He had never seen you so fierce– so protective over the ones you loved. And he was proud to know that you would always stand up for your family, even against the Queen herself.
“This infighting must cease! We are Targaryens– I will have no more of this constant bickering!” Viserys was yelling, but you paid him no mind as Harwin steered you back to your children.
Rhaenyra and Daemon stepped aside as you pulled your boys into your sides, a hand on each of their shoulders, holding them tightly.
“Good job,” Rhaenyra whispered into your ear with the ghost of a grin. You nodded once in response.
People began filing out of the room, slowly but surely. With no more dramatics to keep them consumed, they began to feel the late hour. You refused to move as you watched them go, your hands clutched around your children. Harwin stood protectively in front of the three of you, watching the passersby like a hawk.
Rhaenyra and Daemon also stood by your side. Rhaenyra placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. Daemon said nothing, but the fact that he had remained spoke volumes. He was notorious for disappearing at the worst times.
You only moved when everyone else had left the room, including Alicent and her children. She had not even spared you a glance as she ushered her sons and daughter from the room.
With the room empty, Harwin relaxed his guard slightly. He turned to you and gave a small nod. “I believe we should get these boys back to bed.”
You nodded in reply, removing your hands from your children. Rhaenyra and Daemon bid you goodnight before they slipped from the chamber together.
Harwin placed a hand at the small of your back, gently guiding you to the door. Your children walked a pace in front of you, that way you could watch them at all times.
“You did well,” Harwin whispered to you, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear.
“I have certainly made us an enemy,” you deadpanned.
“They were already enemies,” Harwin assured you, his eyes flicking back to the boys. “Anyone who tries to harm them is an enemy.”
“I agree.” You told him.
You both fell silent for a moment as you gathered your thoughts. Although you had seemed brave standing up to the Queen in a room full of people– you were now terrified.
You had no clue what she would do or say about what had happened. She would certainly spin things so that you were the evil one. You wrung your hands in anxiety– not so much for yourself, but for your kids. Your husband. You would do anything for them.
“I think the boys should stay in our quarters tonight,” your voice was quiet as you spoke to your husband. Harwin nodded with no protests.
“Of course.”
The four of you made your way back to yours and Harwin’s quarters. The boys were ecstatic to sleep in such a big bed, and you couldn’t help but laugh as they went back to their childish ways. It was as if the events of the last hour hadn’t occurred.
When you finally got them to lay down, you could not sleep. You sat in a nearby lounge, your eyes trained on their sleeping figures. You feared what would happen if you looked away for even a second.
“My love,” Harwin spoke softly as to not rouse the children. He had been speaking to someone in the corridor– a trusted guard, perhaps. When he reentered the room he came straight to you, crouching down to your side. “You must get some rest. Tomorrow will be long.”
You shook your head. “I do not trust her. What if she has something wicked planned?”
“She would not dare,” Harwin assured you. “Not tonight.”
You did not respond. Harwin sighed heavily, one of his hands reaching for your own. You allowed his touch, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.
“I have a trusted watchman stationed at our door. No harm will come.”
You still did not move.
“I will stand watch,” he finally said. You knew he didn’t mind standing watch, but of course he would prefer to sleep– you didn’t blame him.
But you couldn’t shake your fears, and so you nodded.
“Thank you, my love,” you told him, turning your head to face him. He smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to his.
It was a short but sweet kiss, and exhaustion crept over you when you pulled away. Harwin helped you up from the lounge and guided you to the bed. You stifled a laugh as he rolled one of the boys over, making room for you.
“Sleep well,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.
“I’ll make this up to you,” you told him. He grinned.
“I’m sure you will.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were thankful for his lightheartedness. He left to go sit on the lounge, and you closed your eyes, letting sleep finally take you.
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msmorningstaarr · 3 months
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let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader
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ao3 | masterlist
Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader
Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;
a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!
Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody
You are sitting surrounded by your maids and children on a breezy night, covered with a fur coat and a crimson silk dress under it. Attentively, you go stitch by stitch and slowly form a lion, sigil of your husband’s house. Ever since Robert’s Rebellion ended and your brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen won, you became promised to the former knight of the Kingsguard, now Lord Jaime Lannister. Life in the lion’s den was not difficult, once Lord Tywin treated her with the most kindness and Jaime was still coming out of his shell. At first, he was your sworn sword in King’s Landing and spent plenty of time together in an unbalanced relationship. Now, you two are sharing a bed after a tumultuous year of war and destruction, as equals. In the beginning, you were sceptical about marrying into the Lannister household, but as the months went by, you found yourself drowned at him. Jaime is careful, gentle and kind. He brings you a small dandelion every morning once he knows it reminds you of home.
His only quirk was the strange attachment to his sister, Lady Cersei. But after being sent to Dorne to marry Prince Oberyn of House Martell and getting distant from each other, your relationship with your husband seemed to finally thrive.
“It appears to be beautiful, my lady.” Said one of her maids, taking care of your youngest son, a small silvery blonde figure of two years of age.
“A bright lion handkerchief for Jaime to carry with him.” You reply, admiring your piece of work. “Do you believe your father will like it, sweetling?” You then ask your eldest daughter, an adorable child of four. Your daughter eagerly nods her head and wraps her hands around one of your fingers to pull the fabric closer to her eyes.
“Dada will love it, mama!” The little one exclaimed, spinning around with the kerchief on her tiny hands.
“What will I love, if I’m allowed to ask?” A tall, blonde figure shows up in your private bedchambers, wearing a classic Westerland attire with a crimson fabric and intricate strings of gold shaped into the sleeves and collar. You smile sweetly to Jaime as he approaches you and grabs your middle child to hold in his arms.
“Papa!” The blonde little girl runs towards her father to embrace his legs and your maids stand up to bow to their lord.
“Have you missed me, dear?” Jaime asked and the fussy children eagerly nodded at him, embracing their father even more. Sometimes, seeing Jaime being so loving and kind towards your children simply melted your heart. You felt the urgency to kiss him and dig your fingers onto his bright hair, begging him for another child. Your cunt ached in pleasure to the thought of Jaime pumping his seed inside of you. You were still young and could bear many more children.
“Mm-rrhm…” You scoffed. “I have missed you too, husband.”
The three children giggled and the child on his arms hid his face on the crook of Jaime’s neck. The eldest covered her laugh with her tiny hands and the youngest beamed along their siblings. Jaime came closer to you and caressed your cheeks with his free hand. Then, a single and gentle kiss he places over your forehead, making your heart flutters with love and passion.
“I have missed you too, my love.” Jaime said, passing his fingertips on your chin and smiling at you.
Your maids quickly stood up and bowed at their overlord as a sign of respect. “Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Said the servant girl. “Let us take the children so you can rest.”
“But I want to stay with papa!” Said the elder daughter, pouting and crossing her arms. The other two children whined and complained along, but you lowered into their level whilst Jaime talked to the youngest on his arm.
“Sweetlings,” She said, caressing their cheeks. “Your father is rather tired after riding for so long. Go with her, I promise you, your siblings, me and your father will have plenty of time together on the morrow. Is that understood, my loves?”
“I can take you to ride a horse tomorrow and even let you eat lemon cakes before super. What do you think?” Jaime asked, delivering the fussy child from his arms to the other maid. In unison, the three infants agreed and left disappointed. Once you and your husband were alone in your bedchambers, Jaime smiled at you gallantly. You embrace him intimately and are finally able to feel the warmth of his muscular body and feel the softness of his golden hair. His lips reach yours and in a whirlwind of sensations, your cunt is already dripping in anticipation just by a simple touch coming from him. Once he breaks the kiss, he keeps holding you by your waist and gazing at you with admiration.
“You have been gone for too long, love.” You say, passing your fingertips on his lips. He smiles and gives you a peck on the lips before speaking.
“I had duties with your brother, Our Grace King Rhaegar, sweet girl.” Jaime replies, pulling her out gently and grabbing the fabric she embroidered for him.
“I hope you like it, I made it just for you.” You point out, joining your hands to follow him. He keeps smiling as he observes attentively the intricate work you did.
“I shall cherish it and take it wherever I go, dragon princess.” He replied, folding and putting the kerchief in one of his pockets. You giggle as you hear him calling you ‘dragon princess’, a custom he chose to never abandon as a form to remember the late days of their relationship “I wish I had more time to be around and play with the children, I have been missing them and you.”
“They made drawings every day and left it on your desk at your office.” You reply, walking to the window and being followed by him.
“I will make sure to have them guarded in our chambers. Safe as our gold.” He says, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck lightly. You beam in ecstasy feeling his body smother you into a comforting embrace and full missing him.
“Sometimes I still cannot believe we are wedded to each other. You were my sworn shield in King’s Landing!” You exclaim as his hand caresses your empty belly and it tingles by his touch. He grins at your words and says.
“Most people are not so lucky to know your spouse before the wedding day. I consider myself the most lucky man in the world because I could be in your acquaintance from so long ago.” He replies, falling his head on the crook of your neck.
You turn around to be face to face with Jaime, feeling the cold breeze of the rock hitting your back and giving you small shocks as Jaime caresses your back, making you experience a thermal shock and shudder to his touch.
“I feel very lucky to be your wife, Jaime. Most women are not so fortunate to have such a kind, loving and handsome husband.” You mutter as he strokes your hair, in awe with your beauty.
“I guess we are fortunate to be together after so many troubles in war. We even brought new lives into this world to paint a new, brightful history.” He replies, caressing your womb. You stare at his fingers passing up and down your belly and glances at him with a sweet smile.
“And we could have more, love. I must admit I feel empty for so long and I want to give you more children… I know I can give you an entire army of your own. Half lion, half dragon. Unstoppable creatures.”
“You feel empty, love?” He asks, smirking and you eagerly agree with him. “Then allow me to fill you up…” Jaime finished, slowly undoing the intricate laces of your dress to reveal your bare skin under the crimson fabric. In response, you open his attire slowly and little by little his white tunic appears to her eyes.
By this point, your cunt is already sore in anticipation for the moment about to happen and clenches around nothing once he pushes the last section of string holding your garment, releasing you from the pressure tightening your upper body. Jaime pushes down your dress and your underwear is now on display for him, which makes him bite his lip and eagerly take down your white camisole to show him your bare body. You moan as he squeezes your breast and pinches your nipples whilst kissing you. You quickly take off his own undershirt to show off his chest.
“So eager is my dragon princess.” He playfully says, leading you to bed and carefully laying you down. With devotion, he starts to kiss your feet, legs and knees, his hands roaming through your thighs and hips. “Spread your legs for me, little dragon.”
You part your legs, obeying his soft command. “So wet… I can see you truly missed me, my love.” He says, kissing your inner thighs as your body squirms in pleasure before he reaches your intimacy.
“Oh… I have missed you so much, my lion.” You moan your words as he kisses your groyne and passes his fingers lightly over your clit, making your womb tremble and convulse to his touch.
“I can see that, just as I missed you, my dragon princess. Do I have permission to give you a lord’s kiss?” He asks and you only nod in response, making Jaime wet his lips with his own saliva before diving into your dripping core and you to scream involuntarily as his tongue and lips eat you up with full desire. Jaime circles his tongue around your clit and roam around your entire intimacy, making your hips bounce onto his direction. It was his costume to make you come every time before he would be inside of you, now could not be different.
You feel your body explode as if someone threw you into dragon fire as Jaime relentlessly pleases you, making magic with his tongue. Skillfully, he explores your intimate area inch by inch with eagerness, making you dig your fingers on his golden curls, pulling him closer to your cunt and you contorses your body urging for more. Tears of pleasure fall off as you feel goosebumps once you realise you are close to your climax.
As the intensity builds, Jaime's movements become more deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge of bliss. Your breath hitches, and your fingers entwine in his golden locks, urging him on. The world narrows down to the pleasure he provides, the connection between you deepening with every passing moment.
When the climax finally crashes over you, Jaime doesn't relent. He continues to caress your sensitive core with his tongue, prolonging the sweet release. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you feel the bond between you and Jaime reaching new heights.
“Husband…” You try to stop him and give yourself some time to take a breath, but Jaime does not back off and part your legs once more, holding it as he keeps licking, kissing and sucking your pussy.
“No no, wife… let me please you and bring you to climax once more…” He cuts your words and gently goes back, but now he plays with his fingers on your clit, with far less pressure and slowly draws circles around it, taking soft moans from you. Jaime rises to hover over you, a wicked glint in his eyes. His fingers trace patterns on your flushed skin as he leans in for a heated kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips. “Taste yourself, love.”
And not so long after, you scream his name as you feel waves of pleasure hitting your body as a lightning bolt hits the ground in a storm. Your body is trembling and your legs seem to be two wooden sticks, barely able to stand.
“Please… inside of me, Jaime… I need you…” You plead with him, pulling his body to be on top of yours.
“Your wish is my command, princess.” He replies, kissing you passionately once more and positioning between your legs. Jaime's eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. The anticipation was hanging heavy in the air, your bodies aligned perfectly, and as he slowly entered you, a shared moan escaped both of your lips.
The sensation is electrifying, the culmination of the pleasure he bestowed upon you and the intimate connection between your bodies. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deepening the bond that exists only between you two.
“My perfect princess takes me so well…” He grows as thrusts into you going back and forth nonstop. You lock him by involving your legs around his waist and feeling his hard cock entering your cunt in full force, reaching your cervix and making you beg for more in his ear.
The room echoes with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies, creating a tapestry of love and passion.
“Put another babe on my belly Ser, please…” You beg him as moans leave your mouth and the sound of crashing bodies fill the room quickly.
“With pleasure, love…” He says once more. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deeper inside of your pussy in farfetched positions. He missed you too much after months away from you and it shows by the way he kisses you as he moves desperately to have more of mounting his dragon. The room echoes with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies. As Jaime's movements become faster, the pleasure intensifies, and you find yourself on the verge of another climax. The pleasure is overwhelming, and your bodies move in perfect harmony.
With a final, fervent thrust, Jaime succumbs to the ecstasy and releases his seed deep inside of your womb, growling and grunting with relief and utter bliss. You hit your own orgasm as you feel the warm jets of his seed invading your walls and your body squirm and you scream his name, crying out.
Your bodies tremble in the aftermath, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is filled with a comforting silence as you both catch your breath. Jaime's fingers gently trace patterns on your skin as you bask in the warmth of the afterglow. “Do you think we created one more life for our household, love?” You ask him, laying your head on his chest. The world outside your chambers seems distant, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the serenity of each other's embrace.
“Depending on your fertile womb, my love, I have no doubts you are.” He replies, caressing your silvery white hair. “But we must endure in our pursuit on a daily routine. Just to make sure our fourth babe is on the way.” He playfully replies, smirking at you, who mischievously smiles back at him and kisses his lips, wiping some strings of sweat from his face.
Jaime presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur, "I love you, my dragon princess."
And you, wrapped in the arms of the man you love, whisper back, "And I love you, my lion shield."
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ransprang · 4 months
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Jaime Lannister x Fem!Reader Hcs
Fueling my Nikolaj and GOT brainrot~ enjoy
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NSFW and SFW -
1. Man protects you like a dawg. He will not have anyone touch you or get too close without drawing his sword the second they take a step closer (Not even your parents).
2. Jaime loves having sex the second you both are alone, he just can’t help it. A quickie in the meeting room, in his chamber, after shower. He loves it when he stands tall and you’re on your knees sucking him off as a to thank him for protecting you.
3. Jaime loves carrying you over his shoulder. He’s strong, and you’re his. In the palace he will subtly tease you by carrying you over his shoulder to your room.
4. Jaime loves restraining you, he will tackle you down, pinning your hands above your head. He likes to be in charge, and fuck you to relieve his stress from the long day of managing Cersei.
5. Jaime would like to have children with you, and possibly favour them over Joffrey. As they are his to claim to the public, and he can love them freely also protect and raise them.
6. Jaime likes being just a boy around you. No pressures to fight or decisions. He likes teasing, making jokes and possibly be obsessed with building blocks which makes you look at him sometimes think, how at the core hes just. a. guy.
7. When you watch him fight or be an exceptional swordsman you want him to fight you similarly but in the bedroom, without his clothes on and definitely with a different sword of his. You could testify Jaime was skilled with his other not so miniature sword as well.
8. Cersei would love bullying you, in order to push you away from her beloved brother. Jaime wouldnt never rage at her, but would protect you from all her evil schemes and will never let anyone or anything harm you. They will have to face him before you.
9. Jaime takes off his metal hand and stares at where his wrist used to be sometimes, but he will only show such level of sadness and vulnerability in front of you.
10. Jaime loves pounding you with your legs over his shoulders, he loves to watch your breasts bounce bringing him closer to the edge faster.
Your twin,
Admin Sav
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sweeterthansammy · 2 years
Text
ONLY YOU - JON SNOW
Summary: After being accused of wanting another woman instead of you, he makes it his mission to let you know that he wants you…and only you.
Warnings: This is all over the place but it makes sense in my head :D. Completely made up the last name for the sake of the fic. Now for real warnings - One (1) quickie, unprotected sex (be smart y’all), vaginal penetration, fingering, oral (female receiving), face-sitting., love-making ig, overstimulation, basically porn, very light touch of breeding, one (1) use of the word ‘whore’, marriage (yes that is a fucking warning but it’s not that complicated in this fic), feelings (ew), mild language, cheating accusations, mentions of not being able to conceive, one (1) very brief mention of Jon crying (yes this is also a warning)
A/N: Hello my darlings! My laptop is still being repaired so please bear with my shitty typing as well as possible typos. I just recently started watching GOT and I HAD to jump on the opportunity the second I laid my eyes on Jon…… considering that I’m only a few episodes in, I did not follow anything too canon considering that I don’t want the details to be too off.
Word count: 4.2k+ (this is the most I’ve written in forever LMAO)
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not my gif!
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Daenerys Targaryen. The most wanted woman of all in any of the kingdoms. She was undoubtedly envied by many, you included. You were a very close runner-up, but it didn’t help much considering your family’s constant comparisons between you and the younger girl.
You were nearing twenty-one and you had yet to be set for marriage, your parents frowning upon the idea that you wanted different things in life. Sure it might be nice to carry on your family’s legacy and become the heir, being their oldest of seven girls, but it wouldn’t be all that nice when you’d get threatened by others to give up your title as queen.
You’d met Jon when your parents had gone over to the Stark residence for a ceremonial dinner. He’d been out front, swording away at a dummy. You removed the flask from the garter that sat under your dress, sipping the bitter whiskey. You’d leaned yourself up against the wall, eyeing the dark-haired alpha as he blabbered away to his uncle Benjen.
He stole several glances, his tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek when he realized your gown parted more and more to allow some air under the fabric.
“I shall go with you when you leave, Uncle Benjen. My father will say yes - ask him!”
Trying your best to not eavesdrop much more, you began to wander off. His uncle couldn’t stop the perverse words that fell from his tongue. You glanced over your shoulder, shooting the older male a wink, careful as to not show too much of your face as he’d only seen your silhouette. He took off, heading into the castle to rejoice with his brother and several lords, leaving you in the presence of the young man.
“Tisn’t quite the scene for a lady. You should be inside with everyone else.”
“Nor is it the scene for the son of a lor-“
“Lady Stark requested that I didn’t join them for the dinner.”
“Oh, right. Jon Snow, is it? The bastard?”
You finally turned to face him, his eyes widening in their sockets.
“Honorable Y/N Burke. You shan’t be in the presence of an unwed man, young lady.”
“There are many things that I ‘shan’t’ do,” you mimicked air quotes. “But, you’ll find very soon, bastard, that I don’t care much about the things that I shan’t do.”
He eyed you for a moment longer, his sword firm at his side. You had yet to conceal your flask, offering him a sip before taking one of your own.
You watched as his eyes glanced over the way your lips encircled the opening, a drop of the liquid dribbling down the side of your mouth before your finger swiped at it, sucking the digit into your mouth.
Then he lost it.
He pounced on you in just a matter of seconds, groaning as your tongue mingled with his. The exchange of tastes - the whiskey warm with a mix of whatever sweetness you’d treated yourself to beforehand, and his bare whiskey. You could almost taste his musk but it must’ve only been the way his scent overstimulated each of your senses.
His hands, which had made themselves up to your face, dropped to your waist, pulling your lower halves together as he felt up on your body.
“Goodness- we can’t get caught, Snow.”
Your breath picked up into heavy pants, his fingers dipping into your undergarments as he swallowed all of your moans.
“Just be quiet, darling, and they won’t know a thing.”
He teased your clit with a grin plastered to his face. He yanked your underpants down, mimicking the move with his own clothing.
“Jon-“
“Sh, sweetheart-“
He hoisted you into his arms, not hesitating to plow himself into you. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to fight each moan from leaving your mouth. A high-pitched squeal sounded from your throat as his hand accompanied his rather vulgar pace.
“Fuck-“
“Remember what I told you, sweetheart,” he grunted into your ear.
His arm circled itself around your waist, stabilizing your squirming figure. His head tipped back, a groan sounding from his throat before his forehead met yours.
“Jon, fu-“
Before you could finish your statement, you felt the pulsating of his cock, his seed dribbling down your legs. He fucked you through his high, dropping his thumb to your cunt so you’d finally come around his cock. Your body shuddered as your climax hit you, your hands clutching onto him for dear life.
He pulled his garments back up once he’d placed you on the makeshift railing. You remained silent for just a bit longer until you broke said silence.
“Look, Jon- Lord…Snow, I’ve heard of your desire to leave this land and become a Night Watcher. I just….”
For once you had not much to say despite wanting to spew so much out.
“I know of your oath and the things you must accede to.”
“What are you getting at, Hon Burke?”
“If…if I am to carry your child, and I know the chances are slim because it’s only been once-“
“As you said, it’s only been one time. Don’t speak nonsense. This never happened. Are we clear?”
“But-“
He turned to you, helping you redress yourself with a sigh. He couldn’t miss the way your demeanor faltered just a tad, his own softening drastically.
“It’d be in both of our best interests to pretend that this never happened, sweetheart.”
And so you did as he said.
Despite wanting oh so badly to miss your menstrual cycle that month, it’d worked out for the best - you’d told yourself. You’d only known the lad for a few minutes tops but he remained on your mind for years following.
Upon his leave, you were devastated. Watching with teary eyes as the man you knew you wanted so much more with was leaving. Your mother watched as you quickly wiped a tear from under your eye, sniffling quietly.
Two years down the line, it was nearly impossible to avoid the fact that you’d have to step up and become queen rather soon.
“Mother, I am not stepping into that role until I get a proper proposal!”
“You’re too picky, Y/N! We’ve been waiting - for years, we’ve been waiting. You’ve gotten thirty proposals, all of which you’d turned down for the darndest reasons!”
“I’m not picky! I am awaiting someone that will settle for more than what the stupidity of this society offers. My king-“
“Has arrived.”
That voice. His voice.
Immediate tears were brought to your eyes as you found Jon standing in your doorway.
“J- Sir Jon Snow. Am I dreaming?”
“No, m’lady. ‘Tis truly I.”
You resisted every fiber in your body that urged you to jump into his arms and snog him right in front of your mother.
“Lady Burke,” he bowed.
Your mother offered a tight-lipped smile before leaving the pair of you to catch up.
“I didn’t think I’d see you for another ten years.”
Your smaller arms pulled his body into yours, embracing his warmth despite his cool armor.
“Jon,” you hummed, nuzzling yourself further into him.
“Y/N,” he copied your actions, smoothing his hand over your hair. “I couldn’t do without you for much longer.”
“Really? That’s hard to believe considering how quick you left after fucking me,” you quipped.
“I’m sorry, darling. I truly am.”
You met his lips in a soft kiss, your fists clenching around his coat.
“How’ve you been holding up?”
“I’ve just been dandy.”
Lies.
“Sort of glad I didn't have your child.”
Lies.
“Tried to get back out there after you left.”
Lies.
His arm tightened around you at the last of your statements.
“Tell me, Hon. Am I marrying a whore?”
“‘Marrying a whore’?” you were flabbergasted. “One - never call me a whore again. Two - who said we are to be wed?”
“Me.”
The simplicity of his statement baffled your mind.
“You? My father would never let me-“
“Marry a bastard. But, darling, as I remember, you’d told me something two years ago. You don’t care about the things you shan’t do and that shall include claiming me to be your king.”
“Well, why do you wait, my lord?”
He held you tight to his chest with his pupils blown.
“Tell me you’ll be mine, sweetheart. This is my proposal to you. We shall leave this land and rule our own kingdom together.”
“I do accept your proposal, my dearest, but I believe it isn’t that easy.”
“Nothing is easy, especially this. If your father is to deny our marriage and your leave, we shall go nonetheless.”
You grinned up at him, shaking your head as you laid your head on his chest.
“Then I shall marry you, my king.”
As expected, your parents didn’t have the merriest of a reaction when it came to notifying them of your leave with the man who’d notoriously been known to be a bastard. They were disappointed you wouldn’t be running their kingdom but they were relieved to see that you were finally off to be married. They hesitantly approved of the young man’s proposal, sending you off with him.
On your ride to your new castle, miles from your parents’ kingdom, you couldn’t help but question your husband-to-be.
“Why did you leave?”
He eyed you.
“The Night Watch. Why did you leave, Jon?”
“I know my status as a bastard would’ve done me well over there but I couldn’t take it. Being away from you, my family. It was eating at me day and night.”
“Then…why’d it take you two years to come back?”
“I didn’t know how to tell them I’d be leaving. It took me a long time to muster up the courage for that.”
You allowed yourself to remain silent until he placed a hand on top of yours.
“I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I regret ever setting myself up to be away for the rest of my life, but now I’ve got you and that’s all that I need.”
“You sure have a way with words, don’t you?”
His lip quirked into a gentle smile, his hand squeezing yours with tenderness.
In just a couple of weeks, you were settled into your new home with your husband. It was now time to host several dinners and welcome all to your land. You were beyond ecstatic but it wasn’t until the guests actually arrived that you became wary of those around you.
Daenerys had made quite the entrance into your home, every one entirely forgetting that you existed for a moment. The Khal trailed behind her, offering head nods to those that personally greeted him.
Your heart stammered in your chest beyond your control. You isolated yourself from the crowd, tears cascading down your cheeks as your breathing grew jagged.
Your husband seemed to be infatuated with the platinum blonde-haired girl. You couldn’t blame him but it was killing you. He hadn’t torn his eyes from her, nor did she. She seemed to eye Jon for a bit too long, keeping great eye contact with him as she bowed.
“No need for that,” he chuckled, greeting Drogo with a firm handshake.
He waited for you to greet the couple, not sparing a glance at your seat until he hadn’t heard your voice whatsoever.
“Y/N?”
Chatting and eating resumed, Jon’s leg bouncing anxiously. He watched like a hawk, eyes wandering about the crowd.
“Lord Snow, I don't think Lady Snow is feeling all that well.”
Upon hearing your name, you wiped the last of your tears, seating yourself at your husband's side yet again.
“Darling, what’s the matter?”
He held your face in his palm, eyebrows furrowing at your puffy and reddened eyes.
“Nothing, my lord.”
You spoke the words with such harshness that it pierced his heart.
“What-“
“Ah, Lord and Lady Snow! Why don’t you make a toast?”
“I don’t think-“
“Of course, Benjen. We shall give a toast!”
You stood with your goblet, Jon staring at you with confusion clear in his features before standing on his own two feet.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. Lord Snow and I are delighted to be sharing such a special moment with you all. We wouldn’t have wanted it to be spent any other way. Jon?”
He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on you as he spoke.
“I’m sure I’m supposed to be thanking you lot but if it weren’t for my beautiful wife here, I wouldn’t be standing in front of you and for that, I thank her. I thank her for trying to understand me, for being the greatest human on earth, and for standing by my side regardless of what. I’ve known the shame of being a bastard for my whole life but she’s willing to bear the embarrassment of being wedded to me.”
His speech went on and on and on. It didn’t seem to end but your heart fluttered at his words. He grasped onto your hand when you turned away from him, your eyes catching Daenerys’. You shook those pestering thoughts from your mind, repeating ‘stop it, stop it, stop it’ over and over in your head.
That had only been the first of many instances, though.
You were distraught. It’d been months since you and Jon were lawfully wedded yet it seemed as if you couldn’t conceive. Your parents were applying pressure, sending ravens to your kingdom every day after, asking when you’d bear children.
After a dinner you’d put together at your castle, you lost it. Jon had spent nearly three hours lingering near the Khal and his Khaleesi. For only two minutes, he held you at his side while conversing with the couple. You’d shimmied yourself from his arms, entertaining the younger Stark children.
Robb had witnessed the way in which you embraced your inner child, chasing the kids around as they screamed their heads off. You shooed them away with a motion of your hand. With a hand on your hip, you watched them run off, your heart aching at the thought of never having children.
“Any luck yet, m’lady?”
Robb chuckled as you flinched in the slightest.
“My goodness, Robb. No, no luck yet. However, we already have names picked out, as well as runner-ups for godparents.”
“Oh really?”
You playfully rolled your eyes, spinning to face the brunette.
“If you’re so desperate to hear it, then yes, you are a candidate for our children’s godfather.”
He took your hand into his, landing a kiss on your knuckles as you giggled endlessly.
“I knew you always loved me,” he dramatically expressed.
You raised a brow, badgering him, “Say that with caution, Stark.”
“Or what? Lord Snow will behead me?”
“I might.”
The older boy wrapped his arm around his brother’s neck in a cub-like embrace.
“Goodness, Jon. Leave your brother be,” you scolded him, watching as his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer.
The dinner was called to an end rather soon, but a few of your guests straggled about - Khaleesi Daenerys amongst the few. Your eyes were like daggers as you watched Jon converse with the younger girl. You were drawn from your thoughts the moment Robb placed his hand on your shoulder.
“Now, Y/N, I am well aware that you think my brother is mad over this woman - or at the least, having an affair with her. But I can assure you, nothing of that sort is happening at all. He’s only trying to make am-“
“I’d like to hear that from him, Robb. If he’s just trying to make amends with the Khal and everyone then that’s on me. But it doesn’t help that the Khaleesi is that fucking gorgeous. She has these big doe eyes that scream ‘help me’ or ‘fuck me’! I don’t know which one it is but I’m afraid that Jon will play the hero and be the one that fulfills any of her needs.”
You were seething in the corner with Robb at your hip. He tried assuring you repeatedly but you were quite a stubborn queen.
After everyone had left for good, you wasted no time in heading straight to bed. You wanted to avoid Jon to the best of your ability but you simply couldn’t outdo the king. Before you could step foot out of your bedroom with your things in hand, Jon stepped in front of you. He backed you into the room, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he shut the door.
“What’s your problem?”
You tried to not break under his intense gaze, your eyes bouncing from his own to everywhere in the room.
“What is your issue, Y/N?”
His voice was too quiet for your comfort.
“Are you…having an affair with Daenerys, Jon?”
The words that left your mouth sent a genuine fit of laughter racking through his body.
“Are you being serious?”
“Answer the question.”
His laughter died down, his body gravitating towards yours.
“Of course, I’m not having an affair with Daenerys. What makes you ask this?”
“The way you look at her kills me, Jon. When she’s here, it feels like I don’t exist! Why do you think I disappear for hours on end- you know what - you don’t even realize that I’m gone because you’re too immersed in your interactions with her! It’s-“
His hands found themselves on either side of your face, forcing you to look at him, though gently.
“If I was having an affair with Daenerys or anyone else, do you think that I’d be in the same bed as you every single night? All of those things I said about you months ago were nothing but true. You were probably too busy being upset with me to hear most of it but I don’t want anyone else. I want you and only you.”
“Then why do you look at her the way that you do? There’s so much compassion and-“
“I look at her that way because I feel bad for her! She talks to me because she feels as if she can’t trust anyone else, not even her own brother. I’m sorry that I ever made you feel less important. You’re the most important person, the most important thing in this world. I care for Daenerys’ well-being but I don’t care about her the way I care about you. I love you and I know I don’t say it enough but I do!”
He panted as he read your face.
“So you’re not cheating on me?”
“No, and I never will! I only want you, Y/N Snow. Only you.”
His lips met yours, your shoulders falling as relief washed over you. You allowed your hands to get lost in his hair, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist as your lips moved in tandem.
“Tell me you love me.”
You hadn’t noticed the few tears that stained his cheeks until he spoke against your lips, your heart aching in your chest.
“Jon, my darling, I love you more than you will ever know.”
His arms tightened around you, lifting you from the ground as he pecked your skin.
“It seems as though I have to make up to you for the rest of my life,” he chuckled against your skin.
“Sweetheart, you loving me alone is enough of an apology.”
He laid you gently on the bed, undoing your bodice in an impressive amount of time. He held back no longer, suckling on the skin that was graciously presented to him.
“Jon,” you hummed.
He imitated your actions, putting a ministration to his movement once he’d reached your underpants. After kissing, biting, sucking on your skin, his lips were red and plump. They met yours again, the taste of whatever wine you’d been drinking just hours prior still lingering on your tongue.
He worked his hands into the sides of your underpants before pushing them down your legs. You whimpered against his tongue as his fingers stimulated your clit.
“Darling,” you gasped out, his fingers dipping in and out of your cunt.
He used a leg to pry yours apart, reveling in your angelic sounds. He propped himself up on his other arm, hand holding his head. With your hands tugging at his clothing, you pulled him in even closer.
His face disappeared into the nape of your neck. The way in which he breathed against your neck caused your skin to crawl.
His nose nudged at your jawline, a dumbstruck grin taking over his features once he felt your walls pulsating around his digits. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the next words that flew from his mouth.
“Lannister had told me he imagined you sitting on his face long before my proposal. I nearly slayed the son of a bitch until I realized you weren’t mine then. Why don’t you come on my face, sweetheart?”
“W-what?” You stammered out - half shocked at the proposition and half processing the fact that he was still fucking you with his fingers.
“My pretty girl doesn’t want to sit on my face?”
He jutted out his bottom lip, on which you pressed a kiss, uttering an ‘I do’. Your legs squirmed a bit more until you came. Your back arched off the mattress as you gasped and cried out. He slid his fingers into his mouth, his eyes locked on your blissful features.
“You taste heavenly,” he murmured, wiping his saliva-slicked fingers off on his bottoms.
His words made your cheeks heat up, using whatever strength you had to push yourself onto your knees.
“Are you sure about this, Jon?”
“A million times over - yes, I’m sure about this.”
He laid himself down, your legs trembling as your cunt hovered over his face. He brought you down in seconds, not being able to resist the temptation.
His tongue expertly worked your cunt as it’d done several times before. Sitting on his face, however, brought a new sense of pleasure to you - his nose bumping your clit every so often as the entirety of your cunt grew soaked. The mix of his saliva and your release sent you spiraling once more, the core in your lower half tightening before you could say anything.
His tongue softly fucked your desperate hole, a glass-shattering moan sounding from within. You couldn’t hold back any of it. You needed to let the whole damn castle know that your king was treating you right.
“Jon!”
One hand dropped to his hair, the other fondling your breast. Your eyes dropped to his, your body giving out at the sight of his disheveled hair and his eyes just begging for your come.
Your body shook gently as you came in his mouth, eyes screwing shut once your head had lolled back. You’d lifted yourself off to the side, your husband chuckling at your already fucked-out state.
“How was that?”
His fingers traced patterns on your skin as you came down from one of your many highs for the night.
“Fuckin’ amazing,” you breathed out, your arms reaching for him once he’d brought himself to his knees.
You watched as he undid his bottoms. The intense eye contact he held with you was a telltale sign that you needed to help him out of his clothes before he exploded.
“I won’t be rough tonight,” he whispered.
You bit your lip, feeling the burn of his gaze on your face as you undid the buttons of his shirt. Your insides grew fuzzy, becoming giddy at the fact that this was truly your husband. No one, nothing could ever take him away from you.
He stood nude before you, pressing his back to the headboard before patting his lap. You climbed onto him in a matter of seconds, your hands already stabilizing themselves on his shoulders. Your knees bent at either hip, legs akimbo to appease his girth. You pumped him a few times, running his tip up and down your fold before sinking onto him with a cry.
“Has it been long, my darling?”
You nodded, offering an airy chuckle as you struggled to take all of him.
“Gods, I’m beyond s-“
You hushed him with a kiss on the lips, your hips beginning to rock back and forth once you’d hit his base. His hands fell to your behind, your back arching as he hit that spongy spot inside of you. His name left your mouth like a mantra, chants of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ following right after. Your mouths found one another in a slobbery mess, a clash of teeth and tongue as the rutting of your hips became more desperate.
“Stop apologizing, my lord. I- holy shit, I love you,” you choked out.
“I love you, sweet girl.”
His forearms held onto your waist, using this as leverage to thrust himself further into you.
The pace of his hips, the words exchanged, the looks on both of your faces. Just outside your door, guards exchanged knowing glances, clearing their throats at the sounds that came from the both of you. They seemingly grew louder, Jon taking the opportunity to let the words flow from his mouth - “I shall put a baby in you tonight.”
And so the night proceeded. Jon didn’t let up until you physically couldn’t go for another round, making sure none of his seed left your womb.
It was a relief to know that your king, your lord, your love wanted you and only you.
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aemondsbabe · 2 months
Text
A Kindness
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summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?
pairing: ramsay bolton x reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 6.2k
a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
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“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?” 
Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.” 
A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.
 Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home. 
Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well. 
Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it. 
Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement. 
Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.
The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was. 
Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk. 
It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it. 
“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.
You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face. 
He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you. 
“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”
Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings. 
His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.
“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly. 
“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does. 
“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.
“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin. 
“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks. 
Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.
Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.
“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor. 
“A… A great victory, master!” 
“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”
Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare. 
“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”
The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?” 
He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you. 
His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”
Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”
“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.
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Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall. 
“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.
Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded. 
“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”
Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.
“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.
“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –” 
Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately. 
I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always! 
“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”
Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything. 
“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts. 
“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.” 
He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow. 
You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours. 
Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad. 
Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor. 
Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer. 
Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet. 
A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone. 
A kindness, even now. 
Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly. 
“Thank y – Ah!”
“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.” 
The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head. 
“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers. 
A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”
The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!
You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center. 
“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”
Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot. 
He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter. 
A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace. 
All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow. 
“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.
“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.
“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.” 
He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.” 
You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them. 
Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way. 
Not that he’d tell you that.
He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill. 
“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”
“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again. 
“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?” 
Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip. 
“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”
“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his. 
“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”
You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same. 
Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you. 
“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”
“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”
“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”
Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.
Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers. 
Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself. 
“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. 
“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.
He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. 
You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm. 
“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.
You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold. 
He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine. 
“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”
“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.
“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”
His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking. 
“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.
He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives. 
“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”
He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason. 
Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his. 
He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.
His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm. 
“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.
Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.
“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend. 
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The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine. 
Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her. 
“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion. 
After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore. 
“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now. 
He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again. 
“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you. 
“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say. 
Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly. 
Kind, even still.
A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close. 
He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew. 
A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips. 
“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”
“Thank you.” 
The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you. 
Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else. 
His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet. 
He loves you, in his way.
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bellarkeselection · 8 months
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Omg I have an idea Jaime x reader. Reader is a servant and Jamie is I love with her and they are together secretly but everyone knows because they have 2 children and cersie hates reader because she took Jamie from her and Jamie defends reader every chance he gets. Plus if the children are older maybe Joffrey has a crush on there daughter idk it just poped into my head.❤️❤️❤️
You’re Better Than Any Proper Lady
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Quickly walking through the halls of the Red Keep I finally made it back to my chambers at the other end of the castle shutting the door quickly. Leaning my back against the door I quickly heard two sets of feet running directly at me giggling like crazy. “Mommy!” Two sets of arms embraced me in a warm hug.
“Ohhh hi babies. You’re daddy is coming shortly. I should have the rest of the night off for now.” Breaking the hug I put a hand on each of my children’s shoulders. The kids weren’t twins but they almost looked like they were in my opinion.
My daughter Laina had her father’s bright blonde hair that was in a braid falling down her back and my eye color. Whereas my son Alex had my hair color but it was almost as bright as her father’s. Yet he had his father’s eye color. Someone knocked three times on the door where I turned my head around getting to my feet. Opening the door the figure that had golden hair moves past me the second I locked the door behind the knight. "Cersei wants to see the both of us later tonight. I tried to tell her it wasn't necessary but she wouldn't take no for an answer...I've missed you."
“I’ve missed you too. What do you think she wants to talk with both of us about. I mean I thought we were doing a good job of keeping our relationship and the kids a secret. So that you don’t get in trouble with King Robert.” I told Jaime when he wrapped his arms around me in a hug kissing the crown of my forehead.
He held me in his arms with my hands resting on his armor chest with his green eyes focused on mine. “I’ve told you when we started this relationship between you and I. That I don’t care what other people think of us. If they know about the kids then I’ll stand by your side and defend you always.”
“I know you will, Jaime. Everyone may say you are an oath breaker. But I know you better than everyone else does.” Moving myself away from his arms I turned to our kids who were waiting to just embrace him like crazy. “Go on you two.”
Laina and Alex didn’t waste a second before they ran forward when he bent down on his knees opening his arms. “Ohh there’s my little lion and lionesses.” He hugged each of them when they throw their tiny arms around his neck smiling into his shoulders.
Watching Jaime embracing his kids that were on the ground right in front of me. Wrapping my arms around myself I smiled at their interaction. Jaime and I knew that our relationship couldn’t be out in the open but that wasn’t something important to me or him. With our different status ranks it was rare for a servant and a former heir to a household who had become a member of the Kingsguard would end up together. “Daddy, are you going to be able to stay the night this time?” Alex asked his father with those hopeful eyes focused on him.
“Oh I don’t know..” Jaime started to say hating to not be able to say yes without hesitation.
Laina tugged his right hand giving him puppy dog eyes trying to convince him into saying only yes and nothing else. “Please daddy. We want to spend more time with you.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Come here.” He sent them a smile kissing each of their foreheads before he rose to his feet beside me knowing we had to go see whatever his sister wanted. If we didn’t she would come and figure out that Jaime had fathered other children with someone else that wasn’t her. And that wouldn’t end well for either of us.
Hugging our kids quickly I kissed their heads shooing them away back into the spot that we hide them from the staff that would patrols even the servants chambers at odd times without our knowledge. The only reason I knew about it was because Jaime saw one of the spies searching one morning. “I’ll be back in little while. Don’t answer the door unless you hear three knocks on it.”
“You’re worrying too much. It’s starting to show Y/n. You need to remain like we have nothing to hide from her.” Jaime warned me while we walked beside each not holding hands moving through the halls on our way to the Queen’s chambers.
Slumping my shoulders I huffed trying to take some breathes to calm my nerves down. "She's the queen of the seven kingdoms and your sister. She could put our head on spikes if she wishes. Especially since she'll probably think that I stole you away from her. There's not really a good answer to our situation."
Jaime slowly opened the door letting me walk in first and he shut it behind himself. Shifting my gaze forward I held in my breath seeing the queen of the seven kingdoms sitting at a table by the open window. Cersei Lannister leans back in her chair gesturing for us to join her. "Ser Jaime. Lady Y/n, please sit with me."
Slowly together we moved and sat down across from her where I gulped being the first one to break the silence in the room. "You're grace, I'm afraid I have to ask why exactly did you request us here?"
"I want you to know that you aren't worthy of my brother. You might have been somewhat worthy of him if you were born from a noble house but you aren't. You came here as a servant to me. And I know of the little ones you have given him. But don't think for a moment that he will show devotion to you!' She growled gripping the wine cup in her hands.
Parting my mouth opened I didn’t know what to say to her. “Your grace, I don’t know what you’re talking about-“
“Oh cut the crap, servant girl. I know that the two kids who occasionally follow you around aren’t just yours but my brothers as well. Did you really think that I wouldn’t be able to notice the blonde hair and green eyes mixed with your physical features!” The queen cut me off with her sharp tongue. “Jaime and I belong together. You don’t deserve him and he doesn’t deserve you!”
Jaime slide his chair back with his hands resting on the table raising his voice towards his sister shocking the both of us. “You don’t get to talk about her that way. She is a better woman and lover than you will ever be. And I will be marrying her someday!”
Cersei jumped up to her feet slapping him straight across the cheek. “You lying cunt. Tell me you’re be a liar, Jaime!”
“Jaime?” I trailed off staring up at him taken back by his words.
His blonde hair was slightly falling in front of his green eyes but he didn’t have that cheeky smirk on his face and he didn’t look to be joking. He turned his hands into fists at his sides standing tall against his twin sister the queen. “I'm not joking, Cersei. I am falling in love with Y/n and our kids. And she is better than any high born lady..she's better than you ever were to me!"
"How dare you speak to me that way. I am the queen - I am your sister. We belong together, you and I. I will put your heads on spikes if you walk out that door!" She sent me a death glare where I gulped.
I didn't want to get in between the sibling fight. Even though I basically already was at this point. Jaime leans forward glaring at his twin sister knowing how to show he was confident in his words. "You won't be able to do anything once I tell father that his line is secure with two Lannister heirs."
"They're not born of noble blood. What makes you think that he will ever agree to your terms?" She teased him leaning on the table the same way he was with her blonde hair waving down her shoulders.
He didn't let his confidence drop at any time. "Because he told me family is all that lives on. He will just care that I will be his heir and that I have given him too grandchildren." He turned away from his sister offering me his hand tugging me up to stand until we had made it back to his chamber door.
Lifting my gaze up to his I squeezed his hand needing an answer. "I...I can't believe you said that to her. After everything that you've been through with her..and yet you chose me. And I don't get why we are at your chambers. The kids will wonder where we are at."
"I just want a few moments with you, Y/n." He responded with a bright smile kicking open the door dragging me inside pressing my back against the closed door. "Nothing I said in there was just for show. I meant every part of it. I want to marry you, Y/n. I want you to be my wife and the lady of Casterly Rock."
Wrapping my arms around his neck I smiled pulling his lips down onto mine. "I'd be honored to be your wife, Jaime Lannister. I think I am falling in love with you too"
"I'll talk with my father tomorrow. Now I just time with you and our kids." He responded wrapping his arms around my waist drawing me in for another kiss feeling me smiling into the long awaited kiss.
Comments really appreciated ❤️ Tag list - @makeshift-prime @rosie-posie08 @lover-of-books-and-tea
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asongofmarvelanddc · 10 months
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Duty PT6
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PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader
WORD COUNT: 5642
WARNINGS: none :)
SUMMARY: The Queen considers whether it is time to move on with her life, but the past is not so easily buried.
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 5½
MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST
A/N: All will be revealed in time 👀 Please reblog, comment or send an ask so I can hear what you think! Really hope you enjoy this one 🫶🏾🥰
The rain up North is nothing like the summer showers you experienced back home. This rain stings and bites at your skin as it falls, but it doesn't send you back inside under the shade.
Today is the first time in a few days that you have been outside, breathing in the fresh air. Your moon blood came particularly harsh this time around and left you bedridden for two days. It was a terrible ordeal, but it allowed you to see another side to your husband.
This morning, you awoke with no pains. Although your body is still tired and weak, here you stand, in the rain, embracing the Northern cold and eagerly awaiting nightfall because surprisingly, you have missed spending your evenings with Robb.
Your thoughts are interrupted by Amiria calling your name.
"My Lady, what are you doing out in the cold?" she sounds panicked as she wraps a blanket around your shoulders, "Seven hells! You'll make yourself ill!"
You chuckle as you welcome the blanket and follow her back under the shade, "It's alright, I wasn't out there for long."
Amiria runs the blanket over your damp hair. "It is a good thing I found you. Any longer and you might catch a fever," she presses the back of her hand to your cheek, "You have just been unwell, you should not tempt fate, my Lady."
"I apologise, I did not mean to worry you," you smile warmly and give her a short hug to reassure her, "Found me? Were you looking for me?"
"Yes, Lady Stark has requested your presence in her quarters."
You're taken aback by this. Lady Stark, though pleasant since the wedding, has never once asked to speak to you alone.
"Did she tell you why she wants to see me?"
Amiria looks up at you and chuckles when she sees the nervousness that has settled into you.
"Don't be afraid," she says in a tone that suggests your anxiety is amusing to her, "She did not seem to be in a terrible mood."
"That is good," you breathe a sigh of relief, but your eyes remain apprehensive.
Amiria smirks and takes you by the arm, pulling you towards your chambers, "Come. Let us get you dry for the Queen Mother."
***
As soon as you enter the parlour, Catelyn rises to greet you at the door, embracing you before you even have a chance to curtsey. When she releases you, her smile turns into a frown as she cups your face with her hands.
"You still look a bit unwell, darling," she says, looking between your eyes, a hint of pity in her voice, "Come and sit, let us have some tea. Perhaps it will help you feel better."
You follow her to where a small table is set with all your favourite treats and a teapot to share between the two of you. She takes a seat in an armchair on one side of the table and you sit opposite her on the other side of the table. Without a word she begins to pour the tea for the both of you.
"Does it normally trouble you so?" she asks as she hands you a cup.
You take a grateful sip, smiling when that familiar warmth begins spreading in your chest. "Sometimes the Mother offers mercy and my bloods pass painlessly," you say, "Other times I am confined to my bed chambers for some days."
"Poor girl," her forehead wrinkles when she frowns, "I'll speak to Maester Luwin about giving you something that might take away your pain."
"Thank you, my Lady."
There's a pause in the conversation as you sip the mint tea and enjoy the warmth of the fire burning. Your worries begin to fade away as you relax in Catelyn's company.
“I see you’ve been spending much more time with my son as of late,” she says, breaking the silence, “I hear you’re with him in his study into the late hours of the night.”
It's an abrupt turn from your initial conversation, but you suppose it is normal for her to ask about her son.
“We talk mostly. Sometimes I sew while he works.”
A thin smile forms on Catelyn’s lips as she hums in response, “And what is it that you talk about?”
The question catches you off guard. It’s a bit impolite to ask about private conversations, but you would never dare to point out such a thing to your good-mother.
“I tell him about my family, what it was like growing up in the South,” you say hesitantly, “He talks about you, his family…his father and sisters.”
You can’t help but pity her when you see how she deflates at the mention of her lost family. Her eye twitches as she looks away, trying to stop her mask from slipping.
“He tells me stories about all of them as children,” a tender smile forms on your lips as you think back to the conversations, “It makes me wish I had siblings of my own to fight and play with.”
Catelyn nods again, but her smile seems even more strained than before. Your brows furrow in concern as you reach out to touch her knee.
“Lady Stark?”
She presses one hand to her lips, taking a moment to collect herself. Not a single tear falls from her eyes, though they come close. After only a few seconds, she blows out a breath and sits up properly in her chair, composed once again.
“He rarely talks about them with me,” she whispers, eyes downcast.
“I think he finds it easier to talk about them with someone who doesn’t know them,” you reassure her, “I assume it feels more like recalling a fond memory to a stranger than it does reminiscing about loved ones he’s lost.”
She nods her head, though she seems unconvinced. You can’t imagine the pain and fear she must be feeling knowing that her son has made an enemy of the same family who have her daughters in their grasp. That he is in open rebellion against the King who took her husband's head.
"He must trust you quite a bit."
You consider it for a moment, "I hope so. I would like to think he does."
"How have you been finding all of this? Being here, married to Robb?"
It is not a simple question to answer. In truth, you did not expect this much time to pass with your heart still refusing to fully open to Robb, nor his to you. Your mother always told you that falling in love is quick and simple, and in the past you found that to be true. But for some reason, it is slow and difficult with Robb.
A month since your wedding and you still hold each other at arms' length, merely allowing glimpses into your souls on occasion.
Instead of telling her an outright lie, you choose to focus on the good. "Your family have been so accommodating, as has Robb," you plaster a smile on your lips, "It has taken some time to adjust, but everyone has been so kind."
Judging by the look on Catelyn's face, she knows that you are hiding something. She doesn't come across as the kind of woman who is fooled easily.
“This may be crude of me, but I must ask," she begins, leaning forward ever so slightly, "This is your second time on the bloods since the wedding?"
It only takes you a second to decipher what exactly she is asking. You nod quickly, suddenly very uncomfortable.
"Have you and Robb–?"
"We have not."
"The marriage is unconsummated?"
You nod again, averting your gaze in embarrassment. Catelyn looks off to the side, deep in thought. Each passing second only serves to make your stomach turn and your palms sweat.
Eventually, she turns back to you, but there is no anger nor shame in her eyes, only determination.
"I truly do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I must stress the importance of your consummation." She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone that is only slightly intimidating.
"Your marriage is not valid until the act is done. And I need not remind you of your duty to each other as husband and wife, and as rulers of the North."
Children.
"I understand."
"Then why, may I ask, are you waiting?"
This time, there is a hint of frustration in her tone. She looks at you with eyes so piercing that for a moment you forget that you are not a child being scolded by her Septa. Yet, it is somehow worse because the person asking the question is your good-mother.
"We only wish to know each other better before we–" you cut yourself off to find the right words, "There is still time–"
"There is no time," Catelyn's patience seems to have worn thin, "Robb will return to the frontline before long. And only the gods know if he will come back."
That thought sends a chill down your spine. Robb may not be some great love, but the mere idea of his demise makes your heart sink to your stomach.
"I have been in your shoes before, Y/N," she says, her tone softer, "I did not know Ned very well when I first met him. I certainly didn't love him either. That comes with time."
Her words are optimistic. Reassuring. And they get you thinking.
"We all have our roles to play. It is time you and Robb started doing your part."
***
"She wants us to consummate."
Amiria sits on a stool beside your bath, washing all the grease and dirt out of your hair while you soak in the warm water.
"But His Grace said that you do not have to if you don't wish to, no?" she asks.
You sigh deeply, "That is true. But I'm starting to believe that she may be right."
The longer you think about her words, the more they cut deep. You have been ignoring the reality of your situation, going through the motions and capitalising on Robb's busy schedule to avoid hard truths.
Robb is your husband now, and the North is your home. That will never change. This is not King’s Landing where you will have to endure for a time and be rescued. This is your life, forever. And deep down in your heart you know that if you are to start a new life, you must let go of the old one.
Without warning, tears begin to well in your eyes and blur your vision. This is not the life you imagined for yourself. To never experience love, you were prepared for – you always knew that your marriage would be arranged, and if love never happened with your husband, you would’ve been content given he was kind and gentle.
But this? To have loved and lost it? To know what it feels like and know that you will never have it again? It’s a pain you would not wish on anyone.
And Robb. He is kind, and he cares…somewhat. But he does not love you. And if he loves Elyse the way you have loved, then you know he will never love you. That is the hard truth.
You bury your head in your hands and let the tears flow. Amiria crouches down beside the bath and wraps her arms around you, letting you sob into her shoulder.
"I hate to see you in such pain, my Lady," she says, her voice thick with emotion.
The day you left King's Landing, your heart was shattered. A part of you has been holding on to him for so long because it is a reminder that what you shared was real. And how could you repay the love he gave by letting it go?
Selfishly, you want him to be happy, to have moved on. You pray that he has forgotten you. Maybe then you would not be riddled with guilt over letting him go. The truth is, you have responsibilities that you can shirk no longer. And you cannot be a good wife with him still in your heart.
With a deep, shaky breath, you pull away from Amiria and wipe your eyes, splashing your face with the bath water to calm yourself down.
Once your heart stops racing and your breathing relaxes, you turn to Amiria, "Could you fetch my robe, please?"
She hesitates momentarily before doing it. You climb out of the bath and slip on the robe, walking to your dresser with Amiria following close behind.
"Help me dress."
Your sudden switch from distress to being resolute is alarming to Amiria. She stares in bewilderment as you begin to get ready. "Where are you going?"
"I always visit Robb in the evenings," you say, "It is the perfect time to raise the topic of consummation."
Amiria places a hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. She looks straight into your eyes and asks sincerely, "Are you sure that you are ready to take that step?"
You know that you are not ready, but you also know that it is time to stop living in the past. It is exhausting, and it hurts you more than it makes you happy. You want to believe that you can be happy here, if you only give it a chance.
"Yes. I'm sure."
***
It’s not a question that Robb has a face any woman would love to look at. You see the way women giggle and blush when he smiles as he walks past them. The way they always seem to crowd when he spars with Ser Rodrik. You understand, you like to look at him too. He’s really quite…beautiful, but it’s more than that.
His guard is never lower than when he is in this solar working, and you like to watch the way he does things when he is not concerned with appearances. These are the moments when you see the truest version of him. His brows knitting together when he reads something particularly unpleasant, the way he occasionally looks up at you and offers a sweet smile. He curses sometimes. It used to shock you, but you find it amusing now.
Your admiration grows the more you see him like this, constantly fighting through mental and physical fatigue to lead his people and be there for his family. When he talks to you about them, you wonder if he has even had time to properly grieve his father, or if that is yet another thing he has pushed aside for the sake of his responsibilities. It breaks your heart to think so.
Most mornings you wake up alone because he is up by the crack of dawn. And at night, you leave him here in this study, working into the late hours. You see the bags under his eyes and the way he pauses every so often to massage his shoulders and neck. He takes on…too much.
Sitting across from him tonight, all you can think about are Catelyn's words. How do you even begin to discuss such a sensitive topic? Especially when he is under so much pressure?
Your mother says it is time we consummated our marriage. Shall we start making love?
Ridiculous.
Robb stops his writing for a moment to crack his knuckles and stretch his back, and as he puts down his writing quill, he looks up and catches you staring. You quickly tear away your gaze, returning to your embroidery and ignoring the rising heat on your neck and chest.
Robb knows you well enough now that he can tell when there is something disturbing you.
"What is on your mind?" he asks, leaning forward to give you his full attention.
This is your opportunity to broach the subject, but for some reason, you are unable to form the words. So you tell him something else.
“Just that I...forgot to tell you something. I went into town the day before I fell ill.”
Robb sits up a little, visibly concerned, “Alone?”
“No, Amiria went with me. And a few guards.”
He relaxes then, leaning forward once again.
“We took some food and clothes to the homes sheltering the children orphaned in this war,” you say, “I wanted to be sure they’re being taken care of.”
He looks pleasantly surprised. “That is very kind of you. I had not thought to do that yet.”
You wave a hand and shake your head. “Of course not. You already have so much on your plate,” you gesture to his cluttered desk, “I have never ran a household much less an entire castle before, so I leave it to your mother. I’m just trying to do what little I can to support your efforts.”
You return to your embroidery, but Robb doesn't take his eyes off you. He knows there is still something eating at you and yet you refuse to say it. Suddenly he's full of regret. Perhaps, if he had not been so determined to dislike you at first, you would not still hide behind your wall.
Eventually, he looks away from you with a sigh, picking up a letter from his unopened pile and breaking the seal. You glance up at him, relieved that he has broken his scrutinising stare.
“What are you reading?” you ask, attempting to change the topic.
“A report from our scouts.”
You sit up properly, now curious, “How goes the search for Arya?”
Robb puts down the letter a little forcefully and run his hands through his hair in frustration. That about tells you all you need to know.
"Have you thought any more about what I suggested? About the Owls?”
This is a conversation that has already been had before. Multiple times. Robb turned down your father's offer, and he has rejected yours as well each time you've brought it up. At this point, he is tired of reiterating his position.
“I have already told you that I have no intention of using them,” his tone is clipped when he speaks, and he attempts to busy himself with other work to end the conversation.
His efforts are futile because you refuse to let it go, “They would be inside the Red Keep within hours of receiving your letter–“
“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”
“–and they would have Sansa on the road back to Winterfell within days.”
“I am not going to use spies.”
“Sansa is not–,” you pause mid-sentence to gather yourself, “Sansa is not safe with Joffrey.”
Robb sighs deeply and rubs his tired eyes with his hands, "Do you think I am unaware of that?”
“I just don’t understand why you won’t use them,” you press, “Do you doubt their capabilities?”
“No, I am sure they are very capa–“
“Because they managed to smuggle me out of King’s Landing without issue,” you cut him off, “Daenerys Targaryen is alive in Essos today because of them.”
“Enough!”
You flinch at the sound of his raised voice. Instantly your heart starts racing, the hairs on your body standing on end. For a second, only a mere second, you are back in King's Landing, and you are terrified.
“I am fighting this war with honour,” he continues, his voice now back to normal, “This is the last time I will have this discussion, do you understand me?”
He stares you down for a few seconds until he thinks you have dropped it. You wait until he relaxes some before speaking.
“Your enemy would pay a starving child two coppers and a loaf of stale bread to poison your supper,” you say in the calmest tone you can muster, “Spying ought not be where you draw the line.”
You rise to your feet and walk to the door, ignoring Robb’s burning gaze. As you place your hand on the handle, you turn to him once more.
“I don’t suppose you will be retiring for the night?”
He begins shuffling some papers on his desk, “No, I still have much to do before the morn.”
You don’t believe him, but you nod anyways. “Very well, then. I shall bid you goodnight.”
Once you step outside and close the door, you lean against the wall of the corridor, sucking in the cold air and placing a hand over your chest to slow your heart. Hot tears burn behind your eyes – not of sadness, but of anger.
It took one word – one little word – and you were back there at the lowest point you've ever been. It's a reminder that all the pain and hurt inflicted by that monster is still inside you. And it hurts that Robb was the one to bring it to the surface.
***
When Robb eventually retires for the night, he half-expects you to be waiting for him, ready to continue the conversation from earlier, so he's surprised to find you curled up under the blankets on your side of the bed.
A few of the candles in the room are still lit – he knows you left them burning for his benefit. He uses the dim lighting to make his way around the room, removing his jerkin shirt as he does so. It gets hot in the room because even with the natural heating from the hot springs, you still insist on having a fire built every night before you sleep. Robb doesn't object to this because he knows you can't sleep in the freezing cold – but it does mean he now sleeps in as little clothes as possible.
He hears you stir when he walks to your side of the room and blows out the candles there, but he ignores it and returns to his side before climbing into the bed. As always, he turns his back to you, stares into the darkness and listens to your breathing.
Steady.
"I know you're awake," he says after a moment.
He's not sure you know that you snore when you sleep. It's not bothersome at all, the sound resembles the light purring of a kitten. On nights where sleep eludes him, the sound helps to calm his mind and lull him into a slumber.
That is how he knows that you are only pretending to sleep.
You don't stir, and after a while he assumes that you are choosing to ignore him. The moment he closes his eyes, he hears your voice call out to him.
"Robb?"
He hums in response, not wanting to seem too eager to reconcile.
"Don't ever raise your voice to me in that manner again."
Your tone is flat and unemotional, but the words are extremely sobering for Robb. He's rendered speechless, and no other words are spoken by either of you that night.
***
The bridge connecting the Great Keep to the Armoury offers the best view of the courtyard in Winterfell. That is where you go to forget your troubles, distracting yourself with the activities happening below you. But even watching the bustling of people fails you this afternoon. All you can think about is the night before.
Deep down you know that you provoked Robb into having that row, simply to avoid having a difficult conversation. You did not realise that was what you were doing until you had some time to yourself. And yet, you cannot seem to stop yourself from thinking about Robb's reaction.
He has never presented himself as a man who is quick to anger.
Neither did Joffrey. Not at first.
You shake those thoughts out of your head almost as soon as you have them. Robb is not like Joffrey, of that you are certain. He is...attentive, in the ways that matter.
Not a single stew or soup has been served to you since you told him about your unusual diet. He found out you enjoy lemon cakes, and before long there was a lemon tree growing in the glass garden. And not once has he complained about the fire you keep burning in your chambers before you sleep even though you know he despises the heat.
Joffrey was never that way, even before he revealed his true colours.
Perhaps this is all you will ever have, you don't have to love him to bear his children. A kind husband is more than most have. Shouldn't that be enough?
It is at this moment that Robb arrives at the top of the bridge, emerging from the armoury with Lord Umber in tow. He sees you standing there, right in the middle of the bridge, looking out onto the courtyard. There's a distant look in your eyes as you stare down, and Robb knows exactly what is weighing on your heart.
You don't notice him or Lord Umber until they are only a few steps away from you, at which point you quickly stand up straight.
"Your Grace," you curtsey to Robb as you always do around other people.
Lord Umber bows his head to you, "Your Grace."
"My Lady, this is Lord Umber. You might remember meeting him at our wedding feast?"
His face is unfamiliar, "My apologies, Lord Umber, I met quite a few people that night."
"No need to apologise, Your Grace," he laughs heartily, "The ale flowed freely that night, I'm not sure I remember our meeting either."
All three of you share a laugh at that, but before the conversation can continue any further, Robb turns to Lord Umber.
"Lord Umber, might you wait for me by my solar? I would like to speak to my wife in private."
"Of course, Your Grace." he bows his head to you both and walks past you towards the Great Keep.
Robb turns to you once you're alone, but he does not speak. He notices that the smile you put on for Lord Umber has faded, and the sadness in your eyes has returned. Your words from the night before play over in his mind, as they have been all morning. He knows that your upset at this present moment is because of him and only him, and for that, he's ashamed.
After a moment, he turns to face the courtyard, arms resting against the railing. You watch him, curious about his troubled expression, before joining him. Your forearm brushes against his as you stand next to him, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm sorry for raising my voice at you," he says, eyes downcast, "I did not mean to frighten you, and I will never do it again."
You didn't expect an apology, not for this. Many men have done worse to their wives without a second thought, but as you glance at Robb out of the corner of your eye, it is clear that he is remorseful. It warms your heart.
"Thank you," you whisper, "And I am sorry too."
"What for?"
"Picking a fight," you look up at him, "I should not have taken your decision so personally."
Robb nods briefly, accepting your apology – one he is surprised to receive because he knows that you still believe he is making the wrong choice.
"I'm trying to be like my father," he explains with a heavy sigh, "I want to fight this war in the most honourable way I can. And if I resort to spying and trickery to win, how would I be any different to my enemies? To Joffrey?"
At those words, you turn your head sharply to look at him. Your eyes soften when they meet his.
"You are a good man, Robb. Nothing like Joffrey."
The hint of a smile plays on his lips.
"I know you don't believe this, but I truly do value your advice," he says, "Even if I don't always agree, I would still like to know your opinion on those choices. Don't ever hesitate to tell me what you think."
You stand side by side, overlooking the courtyard. Down by the guest house, a little boy and girl are wrestling in the mud. Within seconds, a woman who you assume is their mother appears by their side and begins scolding them over their spoiled garments. She pulls them away from the scene by their ears, the two children giggling as she does so.
You and Robb both laugh as this unfolds, revelling in the innocence and mischief of childhood.
"They remind me of Arya and Bran," he says, a mournful look in his eyes.
The same urge to console him when he first opened up to you about his father overwhelms you once again. But instead of drawing back, this time, you place your hand over his, and he welcomes it without hesitation.
You lean against his shoulder and give his hand a comforting squeeze as he absent-mindedly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. A simple touch but it’s enough to make you wish things were different.
"Do you think we will ever be happy?" you suddenly ask, "The way my mother and father are? The way yours were?"
Robb doesn't know how to respond to that. Mostly because in the midst of this seemingly endless war, he has been unable to envision life beyond it. But judging by your question, you may have started to, so it may be time for him to start as well.
He looks down at you with a thoughtful expression. "I don't know," he answers honestly, "But I hope so."
That makes you smile. You hold his gaze for a moment, only tearing your eyes away when the deep blue of his begin to grow too intense for your comfort.
You chuckle nervously and nod your head towards the Great Keep as you stand up straight, "Lord Umber must be waiting for you."
Robb blinks as if the fact had slipped his mind. "Of course," he says quickly with a bow and you regret that he chose to be so formal.
You watch him as he walks away, but he stops after a few paces and turns back to face you.
"I'm going into town later, I thought you might accompany me if you'd like," his tone is cheery, "I have some business to attend to, but you can visit the market while we're there?"
It is a kind offer, but you simply want to be alone with your thoughts for now.
"I'm afraid I'm not feeling up to it today," you say apologetically, "But I thank you for the invitation."
Robb is disappointed with your answer to say the least, but he does not let it show. Instead, he nods in understanding with a wistful smile and heads back inside, leaving you alone on the bridge.
You turn your attention back to the courtyard, resting your arms on the railing and letting out a deep sigh. That is when you notice the very familiar silhouette of a man.
His back is to you while he talks to another man just outside the armoury. Even though he's far away and you cannot see his face, he looks too familiar.
There is absolutely no chance.
You lean so far forward that only a few inches more and you'd fall over the railing. The man throws his head back and laughs. Instantly a pit forms in your stomach.
You know that laugh.
Your body begins to move faster than you can think. Within seconds you've hitched up your skirts and ran back into the Great Keep. Your heart is beating out of your chest with every step down the stairs. There are no thoughts in your head. All you hear is that laugh and the thumping of your heart.
In the courtyard there's people bustling about everywhere. You want to scream at them to stop moving so that you can see. To stop talking so that you can think. Your shoes and the bottom of your dress are caked in mud as you run from one end of the courtyard to the other, frantically searching for him.
The armoury. He was standing in front of the armory.
You take off running in that direction, stepping in puddles and all kinds of dirt and muck on the way. Once inside, you stop to catch your breath, panting heavily as you look around, hoping to catch sight of him. All you see are large, oily men carrying pounds of steel, shields, armour and all sorts.
You begin to wonder if you only imagined seeing him. Your mind playing some kind of sick trick on you. It wouldn't be surprising considering everything that has happened recently.
Just as you are about to let it go, a hand grabs your shoulder and turns you around.
The black hair. Those blue eyes.
You forget how to breathe for a moment. Completely frozen in shock. It's like the whole building goes silent and all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You're sure he calls your name, but you find yourself incapable of doing anything but stare at him in confusion and awe.
This is not real. This is not real.
You cannot allow yourself to believe that this is happening because the devastation if it's not real is not one you will recover from easily. With a shaky hand, you reach out to touch his face. Before you can even cup his cheek, he takes your hand and leans into it.
A stuttered breath escapes your lips as tears start to flow freely down your cheeks.
"Gendry."
*
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Text
Safe Keeping | 4
Part 1 2 3 4 5
"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."
Sandor Clegane x Reader | 8k+ | cw: fem!reader, DEATH of characters/animals/monsters, POV shifts, mentions/depictions of violence, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional constipation, miscommunication, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: ❗❗please proceed this chapter with caution. i killed a bunch of characters/animals (well and monsters but i think deserve lmao)!!! ALSO POV SHIFTSS!!!! originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here. also fyi i post this story on ao3 first
Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @j3nn-1
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The Hound found himself wrong about the thieving, wrong about the missing livestock. He was so wrong it nearly cost him lives, including his own.
He was so sure about himself when he went into the woods, so sure that he was going to find at least two men, at most five, luring sheep there. It was the men he was prepared for. Fuck the livestock, the farmers can get them back after he killed the fucks stealing them.
Ah, the farmers, barging into his wife's estate... into their house, into house Clegane. 
Fuck 'em, fuck the lot of them, complaining again, complaining about their sheep and their cows. He had enough of their yapping, now was the time to act.
Fuck 'em twice for being shocked when he said he'd go into the forest to kill the fucker causing all of them trouble.
The superstitious peasants warned him. The Hound heard; he even humored them by letting a few spring chickens, boy-soldiers in the making, 'aid' him as he went to the forest.
Between the young farmer's lad, Andrew, and the man-boy, Carter, who he had been training be a soldier, it was actually the Hound who was the one most frightened by that thing that stared back at them.
It looked as though it was twice his damn size. It was darker than tar, and stinkier than shit. It made an unholy sound before attacking them.
He doesn't remember what happened after that in all honesty. His instincts kicked in and he can't recall what he had done. All he knew was, in the end, the two boys were cheering and dragging a black corpse all the way back out of the woods.
The villagers looked at him. They walked towards him and shouted. It was not an unfamiliar greeting-- being pursued by villagers, and yet, it shakes him; it takes him off-guard. They come upon him and begin to weep at his feet. They thank him. They thank them as they hug each other. The thank him as they wave at him. They thank him as they touch his armor like a devout would touch an idol.
The Hound is perturbed.
"Thank you, milord! You killed the beast!"
"You saved our sheep!"
"You saved our families!"
"You saved our lives!"
The Hound was never one to back down, but Sandor found himself taking steps back when a group of children ran up to him and began to ask him how he killed it. Their little hands and big eyes demanded answers from him. His insides rise up to his mouth.
The children begin to talk about how they can go to the woods now.
"Oi!" Carter calls to the ones in front the Sandor, "you do know there's more than one woodland monsters, aye?!"
"But now milord Cligay killed one! He'll teach us how to kill the o'vers."
"It's Clegane. Lord Clegane! And even then, you buggers can't just play in the forest. The brown bears still live here."
"I haven't seen a brown bear!" a little girl cries out. She looks to the Hound, walking up to him, grabbing his hand, "there aren't any brown bears in the woods, right, milord?"
Sandor looks at the small thing. His hand burns at her touch. Her hand was not even hot, not even big enough to grasp half his palm and yet he feels lightheaded. He feels like he's going to pass out.
The Hound finds their sentiment to be all too much at one point. He grumbles he's going home; he's got much work to do. The villagers thank him as he leaves.
When he gets home, just as he gets near the gate, he beholds Lady Clegane, the people's champion, his poor bride. She is outside, speaking to some peasants; it was all she did as of late.
A breeze blows and her dress dances with the wind. Her hair follows as well, and along goes the air from his lungs.
She is the sun. He is a mountain trying to reach her.
Sandor, who hadn't realized that he stopped in his place to gawk, is shaken out of his trance when the stable boy opened the gates for him. The small child named Polly, about as old as his wife when she fled this place, nods at him and motions, "pardon, milord," he says nervously, "I didn't know you were waiting for me to open the gates."
The Hound looks at the boy as he walks in, "I wasn't," he gruffs, eyeing him as he passed, "don't worry about it, laddie."
Lord Clegane looks away from the stable boy when he hears the shrill cry of a babe. He spots the maester walking over to his wife with a wailing child in his arms.
He thinks about the letter he had to write to the Citadel, requesting a maester come to Brown Wood.
Lady Clegane thinks her husband's initiative for it stems from his sense of duty as a Lord, but she'll never know he did it for her, for her to know if she really did have a late blood cycle, or if she lost a baby. Maester Yannick told him it was, regretfully, the latter.
The Hound waited for his lady wife to tell him about it, to ask him to hold a mourning ceremony for the unborn child. She never did.
Sandor watches Lady Clegane willingly embraces the woman who thanked her up and down, over and under, for saving her baby. She tells the weeping woman that it was not her work but maester Yannick that saved the babe. Maester Yannick says it was not his work but the gods.
Sandor tastes something putrid in his mouth when his wife coos at the child, who immediately calmed when the maester reunited the small thing to mama. His insides tingle at the sound of his lady's laugh.
He curses under his breath when she turns to him. He realizes then he had stopped in his tracks again.
The Hound begins his march.
Lady Clegane greets him, but he is not strong enough to reply with a greeting himself. He doesn't know why he stops to tell her that he killed a woodland monsters though. She looked very shocked after hearing that.
He wonders if she was disappointed. He wonders if she wanted him dead.
She touches him and questions if he was injured. Sandor flinches and steps back. She recoils her hand quickly and wipes it on her skirt-- disgusted.
The Hound says she shouldn't worry her pretty squirrel head, then walks away.
His footsteps are heavy as he heads to his office. He didn't want to go through the fucking endless piles of paperwork, but the apprentice he had couldn't grasp basic mathematics quite yet, so, there he went, to go through paperwork in a musty office.
He wonders if doing this shit made a difference to her, or if she'd always see him for what he was: a groom, forced upon her as a joke from a stupid blonde boy; a beast with ill features and temper; a Hound.
He is almost tempted to look over his shoulder at the loud sound of baby's laughter. He doesn't, cause he wouldn't see anything but a wall of he did anyway.
He wonders when she'd ask him again, when she'd ask for a child from him.
He promises he'd be gentler this time, gentler.
He doesn't mean to be so rabid with her.
She just had such an ablaze spirit, she was so fierce, and so vivid that he found himself wanting to devour her whole-- a true predator.
He wishes he could be more than that. He could be more than that to her, but it's so hard to fill in to be someone you're not. The Hound was not a proper lord, he was not that pretty boy Alistair. He can only do so much.
Sandor would do much and more for her than that scrawny, faerie pretty-boy ever could.
She might not like it, but he'll do his best to give her what she wants, to give her a family in stead of the one she lost. She will never love him, but he knows she'll love all the children he could give her, and that was more than enough, more than he could ever hope for or deserve. 
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I carefully walk up to the office, clutching my hands together as I prepare myself to knock on the door.
I clear my throat and retell myself what I mean to tell my husband. My palms begin to gush like geyser. I dread the fight I know will be had because of this topic.
I let out a soft gasp when someone calls me from behind.
It was the stable boy, Polly. He had run up to bow and greet me good morning. I smile at him and reach out to him. I brush his hair back, "good morrow, Polly, dear."
The boy grins and bows again, "I'll be learning how to ride a horse soon, milady!"
I link my hands together as I chuckle, "my! Will you now? How awfully courageous of you."
The boy pushes his shoulders back, "it's no'ffin, milady. Just what a man ought to do. I would go to war for you, milady, I would!"
"My boy," shake my head, "I pray you never need to do such a thing. I hope you enjoy riding though. I find that I do not."
"Do you find riding scary? I wouldn't! I'll let you ride with me once I know how, promise," the boy nods as he places a hand on his chest.
"You are very kind," I smile, "I thank you for it, Polly."
The boy puffs his chest out and bows, "I'll be goin' then, milady!"
I chuckle as I watch Polly run off as quick as a rabbit.
My soul nearly leaves me when I turn around and see the Hound looming over me.
I gasp and step back. He reaches out to me and grabs my arm. He keeps me upright and leans down, "you better stop calling the boy dear." He releases me and begins to walk off, "he's already in love with you as is."
I blink rapidly at his words. I turn to him and watch him march away before scurrying after, "he's a child."
"Aye," says Sandor, "all the children adore you."
My stomach curdles at his words; I am unsure why. I rub my hands together, not sure what to make of myself, or what to reply.
"What were you doing outside my office?" he asks.
I run up in front of him and grab his arm, "there is something I needed to discuss with you."
Sandor stops. He looks at my hand on his arm, "can't it wait?"
I pull my hand away and shake my head, "I understand that you are very busy, my lord, but I-"
"Fine," he mutters, "I'll lay with you tonight."
My eyes widen and I topple back at his words, "what?"
The Hound steps forward, keeping me upright again, "that's why you're here, aren't you?" He releases me, "your bloods have waned."
I feel my face burn. I gulp and force a smile, "I-" I chuckle nervously and straighten up, "y-yes. My bloods have waned."
Sandor watches me closely.
I rub my neck and blink rapidly, "I thank you for your thoughtfulness," I dig my thumb nail into my pointer finger. I turn from my feet then to Sandor, "but that is not what I wished to speak about."
His face falls. It's not anything noticeable but I have become quite good at it, reading his face. He purses his lips then says, "be done with it then, I've got work to do, pretty squirrel."
I feel my face burn even more at his horrible nickname.
A group of women had been complimenting my dress when the Hound passed. I knew they did not know he would react that way, but it did not help the embarrassment I felt when the women asked my husband if he thought my dress suited me and he replied 'pretty for a squirrel'.
"I wanted to tell you that I... I still very much wish to be the one to speak to the people about their concerns," I am unable to look at him when I say this, "it is not because I think you are unfit for the task, my lord, but I have seen the way you act around them."
"Like a dog?"
I knit my brows deeply and look to him, "Daisy is a dog. And I love her very much."
"That makes one of us."
We stare at each other for a long, blistering moment. My throat constricts at his words, "... Sandor."
His face contorts. He scoffs and averts his gaze, "don't say my name like that."
My heart begins to race, it twists and clenches. I step forward and reach out to him, "I see how you try to listen, how you try to help, but it scares you-"
I gasp when he rips his arm away before I can even touch him. He grabs me instead though, ripping me close as he leans down, "I'm not scared of peasants."
My eyes water. It's not even because his grip hurt, but because it was as painfully clear as it could get that this man did not like me at all, no matter what I did.
The Hound mutters softly, "do what you wish," he releases my arm, "you want to do my work so badly then? Fine. I didn't want ya to do anything you're not meant to, but have it your way."
I scratch my eyes before my tears could fall. I try to look at him as I speak, but the tears threaten to fall when I do. Instead, I fix my eyes on the floor, "I do not do this to upset you, Hound. I do this because I mean to help you. I swear it."
He is deeply disturbed by the softness in which these words are spoken. Hearing himself be called Hound was unreasonably heart piercing.
"I do not like it when you are angry," I whisper, "it would have been fine if it was only directed at me, but you spur everyone around you."
I flinch when he calls my name.
I shake my head, "if it pleases you, lord, I will do as you said the other day. I will no longer speak to you. I will not bother you. I will not stand in your way." I step back and pick at my fingernails.
Sandor holds back from stepping forward.
"Maester Yannick has been giving me herbs to help with conception, but he said that I should be in good spirits when... consummating... I do not think we should do anything tonight--" I look to him through my wet lashes, "unless you want to--"
"No, I do not," he says coldly.
I gulp. Tears begin to stream down my face. My lips quiver. I shudder. Of course he doesn't want me.
I curtsy and walk off. I break into a sprint after a few steps, as I am no longer able to hold in my sobs.
Sandor watches this. He furrows his brows, unnerved by the interaction, gutted by the fact it ended in tears yet again. He replays the conversation. Was his touch truly that hard? He looks at his hand. He curses loudly and storms off to fuck all.
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Sandor wakes before the sky does. He opens his heavy lids and sighs. He turns to his right on instinct; he watches his wife stretch out her arms in the expanse of nothingness between them. He likes to think that she is reaching out to him. He likes to think that if he reaches back, it'll make everything fine between them.
But then again, it had never been fine between them in the first place.
He makes sure not to touch or move her. Last time he did, she woke up. She truly was a light sleeper.
He slowly gets up. He quickly gets dressed. The moment he gets out of the room, he heads to his office.
He's finished his work by the time he hears a dog barking. He looks to the window, the sun looks back at him. He stands, stretches, and walks over to the sill, pushing the curtains open. He sees her, Lady Clegane, cuddling the mutt she named Daisy. Fucking Daisy. Polly, the stable boy was waving a stick, but the bitch could not care less about it, too preoccupied by her master.
He watches Daisy lick her neck. He watches how she scolds the dog for it but giggles anyway. Sandor sniffles. His mind wanders to the one time he had his face pressed on her neck like that. Fucking dog.
He watches the pair go inside. The Hound heads to the dining room promptly after.
He mutters to himself, trying to decide how to start, "I don't meant to make you cry-- I keep making you cry-- Fuck-- .... I know you don't like me," he stops in his tracks before he can get to his destination. He mutters to himself some more.
Fuck it.
He hears the telltale patter of Daisy's paws. It makes his fingers tingle.
When he gets to the dining room, he furrows his brows at the emptiness.
Lucy gasps at the sight of him. She topples back then regains her composure. She puts the plate of food she was holding down on the table with a bang. She looks at him and curtsies, "your food, milord."
"Where is she?"
Lucy's glare darkens, "she is dining with the servants."
He chuckles drily. He feels disappointment. He feels hurt. He immediately plays it off, "pretty squirrel's finally had enough of me."
"WILL YOU STOP CALLING 'ER THAT!" Lucy bursts, taking the Hound off-guard.
They both stare at each other, as if equally as shocked by the outburst.
Lucy fumes. Sandor freezes. The former decides she's already spoken, so she might as well continue, "she is a lady! You took her for this," she motions vaguely. "You need her," she speaks firmly, "just as much as she needs you."
The Hound scoffs. His insides burn and curdle at the idea of the little girl needing a beast to keep her safe. He snaps, "well, go ahead and tell her I will gladly be her hound and breed her little monsters as thanks for her nice, warm castle!"
Lucy makes no attempt to hide the revulsion she feels at the sound of the hound's words.
"You know what," he snarls, "why don't I breed her right now as a thank you?"
Lucy's face drops. She runs up to the Hound when he begins to storm off. She crumples like paper when he shoves her away. He doesn't do it hard enough that she shoots off to the table, but it's enough for her to get the message: he was deadly strong.
Lucy does her best to stop him. She cries and begs and screams. She digs her heels into floor and yanks him back but it doesn't do much, it doesn't do anything.
The Hound only stops when he finally sees her.
Lady Clegane is laughing with the servants as they watch Daisy roll on her belly for food. She feeds the dog just as Lucy runs up in front of him, severely distraught and tear stained. Lucy pushes her hands on his chest and begs him to punish her instead.
The Hound is sickened when Daisy runs up to him and whines. He recoils his hand when the bitch licks it.
"Lucy?"
Sandor flinches at the sound of his wife's voice and turns the other way.
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I was in the middle of playing fetch with Daisy when she caught wind of something and ran off to the gate. Usually, this meant Sandor was home. Lo and behold, this moment was not any different.
I turn away immediately when we lock gazes.
The Hound had a large cut of meat on his shoulder. He grunts as Daisy barks and runs up to him, "fuck off, bitch."
He does his best to avoid the dog, nudging her away firmly with his leg as he walks up to a wagon and plops the hind of a cow on there. He hisses at Daisy when she gets on her two back legs and rests one good leg and bad one on his hips.
"Daisy!" I call.
She ignores me.
Sandor looks over his shoulder, "your mam's calling you, dog. Go on!"
Daisy clearly doesn't understand, or doesn't care, and barks at Sandor when he shoves her away. 
"Daisy!" I call and jog up to her when she follows Sandor out of the estate. I run up to the gate and watch as she is chased by the Hound. She runs as fast as her three paws will allow, clearly enjoying what she thought to be a game.
"Come here, you stupid bitch!" the Hound screams.
I turn to one of the men near me. I call Arron over and tell him to tell the Hound not to chase after her. He does just that, "milord! She will stop running if you stop chasing!"
I make a face as Lord Clegane curses and does his final attempt at catching the dog.
"Shall I bait Daisy with some meat, milady?" Arron asks.
I am about to respond but then there is a loud shriek from afar. It makes my blood go still.
The Hound immediately stops, straightens up, and looks at the distance.
I turn to Arron in a panic and tell him to get bait for Daisy. He quickly does that and calls for the dog to come back.
A bunch of peasants run and scream towards the estate; they scream milord.
Sandor goes to them.
When he reaches the panicked townspeople, he tells them all to shut the fuck up and explain what's happening. The old one clamours out that her daughter's been taken, says she was herding the cows then she was suddenly screaming, and he tried to reach her but it was too late. He says his son went to the woods to try and save her sister.
The Hound nods. He easily decides to go into the woods. The man's other son to leads the way.
In truth, the boy didn't have to go with him, he could just head to where the animals were fleeing, but he allowed it because he recognized the boy to be one of the ones in training. He has no idea what his name was though.
He was glad to hear the screams when he did, at least the ones that sounded human.
The Hound sees a lad and a lass running up to him, "RUN WHILE IT'S DISTRACTED!"
The boy by his side screams back, "the Hound is here! He's going to kill it!"
Well, Sandor was only meant to save the girl, and now that the girl was about to run past him, he didn't have to do anything, really. For some reason, he felt compelled to press on. Maybe it was the lack of his sense of self-preservation as of late, or no, don't call it that; it was his need for a distraction, his need prove something.
He sees it, the monster and its fresh kill. It must have been one of the girl's cows, or at least what was left of it. Gods, the abomination was a messy eater. He was glad, at least, it seemed to be starved and solely focused on eating.
His boots stomp into a puddle of blood when he charges at the thing and cuts its head off. That's was quick... and simple...
He's shocked when he hears a hellish scream behind him and gets knocked into a tree.
The Hound is dazed. He hears the battle cry of two voices. He watches the brothers do their best to stab at the thing that towers and claws at them. He promptly gets on his feet and charges at the disgusting fuck, managing to chop off its arm before it chops off the boy's head.
Just as he thinks he's about to get the upper hand, another vile beast pops up from the shadows. He fixes his footing and slashes his sword for his life.
One of the boys get injured. The boy's scream attract the monsters towards him, allowing the Hound to stab through one of them when it's attention is averted.
By the time one of the two vile cretins drop to the ground, the two boys are running for their lives with one monster on their tail. The Hound is forced to chase after them and curses the boys for running. He's not as quick as he was before.
He screams and grabs a rock, chucking it at the slimy tar creature. He throws and shouts some more until the monster is turned back and running towards him.
He slashes the stupid fuck with his sword when its close enough. It still picks a fight though.
He's losing his breath.
The next thing he knows, there's another monster screaming from behind him. The Hound prepares for the one behind him, but it doesn't reach him because its busy ripping something off it with a growl. It chucks something to the side. There is a separate whine that hisses with the wind.
The Hound finally kills the first monster that attacked him. It doesn't take much for him to kill the other as its belly was already gushing with viscous blood.
Once he's the only thing alive and standing, catches his breath and curses. He looks upon the fallen black creatures before him and reckons he ought to get out there before more come out.
But then he hears a rustle to his side. He immediately goes on the defensive and readies for another fight.
He follows the sound of heavy breathing.
His face drops when he hears the way the dog whines when he's spotted.
The Hound sheathes his sword and drops to his knees. He looks at Daisy, her one front paw bent, the other one not. Her hind legs were twisted unnaturally, her side was clawed. She was soaking in red, both hers and otherwise. She was panting and quickly losing blood.
Sandor reaches out to her. Her eyes were wide and teary. She leans into Sandor's touch and licks her nose in a panic.
He begins to feel a rage burn in him. He begins to feel loathe. He whisper-yells, "you stupid dog. You should have stayed home."
Daisy's breath quickens. He realizes see that she is trying not to whine. Gods, the pain she must be in.
He is about to tell her she was stupid for doing that, he is about to tell her she didn't need her help, he is about to tell her she was so fearless for no reason, but then Daisy whines. It was the most horrible thing he's ever heard.
Sandor huffs like he had been stabbed. He grips his hilt tightly, "thank you for saving me, Daisy."
Sandor screws his eyes shut and decides on what he has to do.
He draws his sword. Daisy does not flinch when he presses the sword onto her neck. He thinks about the day they'd first met. 
Fearless.
He strokes her face with his hand once. He screws his eyes shut when he feels her shiver. 
So afraid.
"You're a good dog."
His next stroke pulls Daisy's final breath.
The Hound stands. He looks upon his dog.
He screams.
He screams.
He screams, hell-bent on summoning more monsters. He kills three more stupid fuck, particularly enjoying how he butchered killing a young one.
He takes Daisy's body after. She is rigid against his chest when he reaches the village. He barks out an order to the villagers: burn those fucking monsters he killed. They were more than happy to oblige.
He passes the family he had helped. They are about to come up to thank him but they don't when they see what was in his arms.
He is swarmed with dread with what he is faced with when he reaches the estate. It was very clearly as search party for Daisy.
"SANDOR!" I cry out when I spot him from the distance. "DID YOU SEE DAISY WHEN-" I stop myself when I realize he is covered in blood. Suddenly, I feel awful for not asking him if he was injured before anything else.
His form becomes clearer as I jog up to him and call, "ARE YOU AL-"
I stop in my tracks when I see him adjust something in his arms. I knit my brows and continue walking towards him. Was it a head of a monster? Why was it brownish and not black?
The Hound gives me a solemn look as he inches closer. I furrow my brows at his expression.
It takes a second then suddenly, it clicks.
I let out a horrified cry.
The Hound buries Daisy in the garden himself. Everyone in Brown Wood watches. I force a glance at my poor dog, even though I wanted to do nothing but turn away. Her injuries chill me to the bone. Lucy stands beside me, clutching my arm as she weeps, but does not look at Daisy once.
Maester Yannick speaks some words for her, as per my request, before Sandor covers the grave.
Once it was done, maester Yannick comes to me and says he will plant daisies at her grave come morrow. I cannot find solace, I cannot find myself to care.
"Did you have to slit her throat?!" I demand lowly, voice aching and angry. I eye the Hound with hot contempt and cynicism, "was there REALLY no saving her?!"
"My lady," the maester holds me back, "I saw her body. Lord Clegane showed her mercy."
"Did you enjoy executing your mercy?!" I wail, ripping my arms away from Lucy and Yannick. My gaze does not trail to them at all, as I am intent on getting answers from my dog's executioner.
The Hound's face is blank, it enrages me.
I snarl through tears, "gods, I hope you did! I hope you savored finally being free of your bitch!"
Lucy calls after me as when I storm away. She means to run after me but shoots a glare at the Hound before doing so. She is momentarily stunned when he sees how distraught he looks at the moment. 
Sandor marches out of the estate.
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I jolt awake when I hear the front door opening. I wipe my face and quickly stand from the chair in the middle of the living space. The fireplace near me had already burned out.
After the sound of locks disappear in the darkness, I take the unlit candle on the table beside me and walk up to the burning candelabra to light it.
I hear heavy footsteps draw closer.
Boots skid, "fuck."
I look up after lighting my candle. The Hound looks back at me.
"What are you doing?"
I purse my lips and turn to my feet. I clutch my candle, finding it hard to speak. 
"Lucy kick you out of her bed?" he mutters then begins to walk off.
I look up and follow after him. I finally muster out, "you arrive later and later."
He scoffs.
"It's been five days. I fear you'll not return by the tenth."
I pull my head back and stop in my tracks just as the Hound turns and chuckles, "don't worry, little girl. I like the wages of a Lord. Your hound isn't running."
"I know you're not running!" I snap, "I wonder why you think so poorly of yourself!"
"I think poorly of myself?" he hisses and points to his chest.
"Yes!" I bark and push myself up on my tiptoes to prove a point, "and since you are so keen to put words in my mouth, I hope you shove all the fucking pie the unwitting peasants gave you down your blasted throat!"
The Hound is shocked by my profanity. His face slips into confusion.
I heave and pull back, intent on walking away. And I do. I should have never waited for him.
"What fucking pie?"
I snap and turn back at him, "the one you could have eaten fresh had you spared a moment this morning before leaving for a monster hunt!"
Sandor is wholeheartedly confused.
I am aggravated by his expression. I wave my hands, unintentionally putting out the flame of my candle, "they love you, Hound! They're thankful and grateful!"
Though it was darker now, I see his face pinch in to a sort of disgusted disbelief. The sight infuriates me, it squeezes my heart, it pricks me frustration. I wipe my face and repeat the words that were spoken to me, "tell Lord Clegane that without him my children would be dead. Tell Lord Clegane that he has saved me family from hunger. Tell Lord Clegane that me, and my sons, and my sheep are happy to-"
"I didn't do it for them," Sandor cuts me off with a hand raise.
I purse my lips and slowly pull my head back at his words.
He lowers his hand and eyes me for a moment. I see how his gaze drinks my figure. He clenches his jaw and looks away, "you should be asleep."
My jaw slacks.
I wait for him to look at me. I wait for him to ask if I was going to sleep with Lucy again. I wait for him to apologize for keeping me up worrying. I wait for him to bring up Daisy. I wait him to do something, but he doesn't.
My eyes water, "my lo-"
"Good night," he dismisses and turns around to walk away.
"Aren't you-" my voice cracks, "-going to ask me to go to bed with you?"
He stops in his tracks. He does not look back, "do you want me to?"
I furrow my brows deeply. I feel like I was drowning. I let out a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself. I shake my head and turn away. I chuckle dryly, "forgive me for even asking."
Sandor turns back, jaw hanging, hands clenched. He does nothing but watch.
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"Do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"
"Yes."
"What's going to happen?"
"You're going to fuck me."
Sandor laughs lowly, placing his hands on my cheeks. He swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."
He kisses me deeply.
"Tell me honest," he mutters through kisses, "have you ever done this before?" he speaks as his hands paw at my sides, "I would not judge you if you did."
I squeak when he touches me between my thighs.
He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't; you're a good girl."
I gasp at the sound of thunder. I jolt up from my bed-- I turn to my side, seeing a sleeping Lucy's form-- or I mean, Lucy's bed. I look for Daisy in the room as I slowly push the blankets off me. I still when I realize she wasn't here.
I huff and wipe my face. I try to push away the thoughts of Daisy out of my head. I try not to think of her so much because I end up melancholy and furious. I, instead, find myself drifting to the dream I just had-- been having.
The mind can be so treacherous. I nibble my lower lip and rub my belly.
I tried, you know. I went to the Hound the morning after we fought about his coming home late. I tried to make peace with him. I tried to persuade him. I tried to kiss him.
I gasp again when another crack of thunder echoes through the room.
He wasn't having it though. He pushed me away and told me it was wrong, that we shouldn't be doing that. He left the estate shortly after. He hasn't been home since.
I get out of bed and light a candle for myself. I walk to my bedroom and light any of the candles that went off on my way. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my skin. I open the door to room as softly as possible, though it didn't really matter in the end because it was pouring outside and the noise wouldn't be loud.
With a barely audible creak, the door opens.
And it was also empty.
I sigh at the made bed. I walk towards it and smoothen out the already smooth sheets. I decide to get dressed for the day.
I head to the office, which as empty as the bedroom. I light the candles there.
I sit down on the desk and go through the papers, the letters of requests, the list of complaints, the finances, the works. I rub my eyes, willing my sleep away. I look out my window, seeing barely any hint of sun through the dark clouds.
I don't know how exactly how much time passed between then and when Arron burst in, but it must have been a while, considering how nice it felt to stand after hearing him shout, "HE'S HOME, MILADY!"
I immediately blow out the candles as Arron tells me the Hound was in the living area. I thank him for telling me, gather my skirts, and jog out of the room.
I cannot hear the click of my heels over the sound of the persisting rain-- the persisting storm.
I stop in my tracks when I see a trail of water in the corridor that led to my bedroom.
A crack of lightning bolts through the sky when I walk in and ask "where have you been?!"
The Hound is dripping in rain water. He has his back turned to me. He is undoing his armor.
I clench my fists and storm up to him. I circle in front of him the same time he walks towards the closet. He stops there, still undoing his armor, back turned to me again.
I scowl, "Hound! I'm speaking to you!"
He looks over his shoulder, the one he was trying to undo, "what? I can't hear you over the rain."
I burn hot with anger and march up to him, "I asked where you've been!"
The Hound looks down at me. He releases the grip on his shoulder, "does it matter where I've been?"
"Yes!" I snap, "you haven't come home in 7 days."
He scoffs, "thrilling to know you've been counting," he points to the window, "well, as you can see, it's fucking storming."
"It wasn't storming the day you left," I hiss.
"Well, it was when I decided to come to my beautiful wife," he leans down and jeers.
I knit my brows at him and pull back when I smell the alcohol in his breath.
He takes my chin between his fingers, "come on give us a smile."
I pull away from him, heart racing, chin burning, even though his touch got my skin damp with rain water.
The Hound straightens up and undoes his armor again.
I step away from him, "Job said he saw you in the next town over."
"Who the fuck is Job?" he asks, not bothering to look at me.
"Polly's father."
"The stable boy?" he turns to me.
"Yes," I hiss and I feel anger build up in me.
He says nothing.
I nearly choke when I say the next words, "he said he saw you coming out of brothel."
The Hound stills. He drops his hands to the side.
Both of us just stand there for a moment. The rain seems to intensify, and so does the tension between us.
"Tell me the truth," I mutter, "do you-"
"It was the town with the fucking unavailable inn," he shifts in his spot to turn to me, "I went to the brothel instead and paid for lodging there."
I purse my lips at his words. That was not what I was going to ask him. I battle with myself, trying to find the words I want to say. I revise my words over and over again in my head. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet so little ways to make it easy to speak out.
I shake my head, "am I very hard to want?"
Sandor feels rain water drip from his fingers.
I don't know how I feel about the bewildered and perplexed expression that spreads across his face. I do know one thing at least, I feel too exhausted to cry.
I sigh and shrug, "I am no fool, Hound. I learned through the gossip of my maids and my aunts growing up that men are simply like... this. It is their nature to stray. Of course, I hoped different for myself, but we cannot have it all, can we?"
"But I didn't do anything," he snaps. He deflates, "I swear by the gods, old and new."
I press my lips into a tight smile. I slowly walk up to him. He watches me intently. I hear his breath hitch when I begin to undo his armor for him. I half expect him to make me stop. He doesn't.
Sandor steps forward. There's barely any space between us anymore. His heart is racing. His hands itch to touch. He releases a breath when his hand comes to my side.
My stomach swirls at the feel of his palm but I do nothing. Neither do I look at him when I mutter, "maybe you should."
Sandor watches me remove his armor. He furrow his brows and whispers, "what?"
I drop the steel plate to the ground with a clank. It is loud even with the sound of pouring rain.
He doesn't like it when he receives no reply. He takes my wrist. I stop my task. His hand is warm albeit the dampness, and so very gentle. 
I finally look up at him.
He leans closer and speaks louder. He shakes his head and furrows his brows, "what did you say, pretty squirrel?"
I raise my brows, "maybe you should."
"Should what?"
"Do something in the brothels."
His face falls. We stare at each other for a moment. He is clearly in disbelief.
I pull my hand out of his grip. He almost doesn't let me.
"It's not a trick, I swear it."
"What are you saying?" he shakes his head faster and finds himself playing on the offensive, "you want me to be with someone else?!"
"I want a baby," I mutter.
Sandor's face falls again, but then it twists. It is unbearable to look at.
"Find a woman you desire," I turn away from him, "and give her your seed. You may keep her here if you like, and I will let her take care of the babe, but the babe will be mine."
His lips part.
"You're right. I don't want the memory of my family to be tainted by monstrosity-"
He shakes his head once more.
"-and I am the last of my line. My line lives on with House Clegane. People remember names, not blood."
He takes my hand, "I desire you."
I cannot help it. I begin to cry because of that. I break into both tears and laughter, "you needn't shield my heart, Sandor."
Sandor's stomach drops, both at the fact his own words have been used against him and with how his name was spoken.
I place a hand on his cheek.
His knees go weak.
"We've both hurt enough," I smile, "I know you think otherwise, but I'm not a little girl. I know sometimes winning means admitting defeat when the loss is great."
He grabs both my wrists when I try to pull away. I gasp when he does so. He holds me for a second then releases my wrists to capture my cheeks instead. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. He swipes my lips, "I love you."
I screw my eyes shut and cling onto his forearm. I let out another laugh, "I don't think you hurt people that you love, my lord."
The Hound is pierced through his armor.
He doesn't put up a fight when I pull his hands off me.
I continue to undo his armor. He doesn't move an inch.
"Will you sleep with me tonight?" he whispers. The sound of the rain is too loud that only him and the gods heard it.
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Sandor had been out of it ever since his pretty squirrel ate his insides. He was thick faced, literally and figuratively; he's learned to take pride in it, to find solace in the fact all the years of flesh ripping torture-- figuratively and literally, had made him indifferent to what people think, made him apathetic, numb.
And yet her smile that day was worse than a sword through the spleen. Her disbelief in his words-- because she was right, you don't hurt people you love-- was heart wrenching, blood draining.
What do you say to that? How do you fix that?
You don't.
He knows you don't. You can't fix something like that.
And since this truth has dawned on him, since this truth has slit his throat, he's been a headless, mindless fucker. He was a dead man walking, and one more unwitting monster attack away from making it real.
"MILORD!" Carter cries, raising his sword to hack at the monster who managed to swipe his lately-been-aloof Lord Clegane.
The boy is fired up; his blood is pumping enough to enable him to cut the black demon's arm off and sequentially pierce it through its heart. Carter does it with a scream and regrets it a moment later; after all, they were in the middle of the woods.
They have to get out of here.
Sandor makes a pained noise. He feels heat surge down his arm and cold shiver up his spine.
"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" Carter gasps, mortified that his lord's armor was scraped off his back. The boy realizes suddenly that his Lord, the fearsome Hound, was not invincible. This newfound truth rips into his ribs the way, he thinks, the monsters would.
The boy immediately takes the Hound in his arms, though it wasn't like he could actually carry him if he wanted. Sandor steadies himself on the boy; Carter struggles even with that task. 
Still, the smaller manages to support his Lord out of the woods.
The next thing Sandor knows, he's screaming and thrashing. He vaguely hears the sound of footsteps skidding away from him.
"What's happening, Maester Yannick?!"
A deep sigh, "he probably feels the pain now."
Sandor realizes he's sat down on a stool, leaned against a table, or at least he was before he started flailing his arms around. He lets out a guttural cry as he pushes himself up. He realizes he's in the ward, being attended by the maester, and his wife was present and very troubled.
"My lord!" Yannick exclaims, raising his hands in both surrender and an attempt to soothe, "it's alright. I have stitched your wounds closed. Do not tear them open "
Sandor huffs through his nostrils. He turns to his side when he hears the soft way his name was spoken. Lady Clegane walks closer, hand wanting to reach out to him. He almost reaches back but then she digs her nails into her palms.
He sinks into the stool and watches her look at him. Her eyes are glassy. Why are they always glassy?
"My lord," Yannick walks towards him, "I'm going to wrap your wounds now."
Sandor huffs in agreement, or more accurately, acknowledgement. His eyes are still fixed on her though. He watches her hover around him, evidently unsure about approaching him.
He wants to reach out to her. He wants to touch her, to soothe her so, so badly.
He's shocked when she decides to take his hand and whispers, "shall I get you milk of the poppy?" 
Sandor looks up at her. Her voice was shaky and he hates how worried it sounded, how desperate. He hates how her eyes were constantly red. He knits his brows, "no."
She hisses, "are you certain? Your gashes are deep. No one in the world would fault you for wanting something to relieve the pain."
"I want to feel it," he mutters, "I want to feel."
She looks between the two of them in a panic, "but you've lost so much blood--"
"Perhaps," Yannick interrupts firmly. He starts binding his wounds, "he wants to feel precisely because he's light headed after losing blood."
Sandor straightens up slowly as he is instructed to. His attention is solely focused on the sensation on his hand though, on how the jittery squirrel was rubbing her soft fingers on his calloused skin.
She persists with this action until his chest and back is bound, she persists until Maester Yannick leaves the room, she persists until, next moment, she drops on her knees beside him. The Hound reacts in an instant.
He gets on the floor beside her, uncaring how it hurt his back, and clutches her face. He calls her name in horror.
"Are you punishing me?" she whispers as water in her eyes threaten to spill.
Sandor knits his brows deeply. He can't speak. He's too afraid to. Everything he's said up until that point has done nothing but rip them both apart. He was a hound after all.
"Are you trying to kill yourself to get back at me?" she mutters, distressed, pained, and defeated.
His face contorts even more. He hesitates but then shakes his head, "no."
"The boy said you've been acting differently as of late!" she grabs his wrists, "ever since I told you what I wanted from you."
His lips twitch. He looks away.
She tightens her grip, "please."
He is suddenly so acutely aware of his injuries. The pain throbs all the way through his heart.
"Please," she begs softly, "just tell me what you want from me-"
"Everything."
The way he responded was quick, as if it was practiced, as if it was reflex.
He avoids her gaze. He takes a deep breath. He waits for a response he somehow knows will never come.
When he turns to her, he notices how her face dropped. Gods, Sandor. Get it together.
"I want-" he starts but cannot continue because of how guilty he feels over the sight of her wobbling lip.
Sandor's hands loosen. They melt from her cheeks, down her shoulders. He grips the area, as if she was water about to slip through his fingers. He releases a breath, and with it, it seems, his thoughts escape. He mutters somethings that mean nothing. She doesn't understand anything.
She whimpers, "I have nothing left to give; you already have it all."
The Hound freezes when his cheek is touched, when his scar is touched. It's like it's being burned all over again.
"Is there something I can give you now?" she huffs uneasily.
He sighs. He feels the wounds throbbing; he feels his head pounding, "no."
"Then will you let me go now?" 
No. No, no, no, no-
"Or, please, at least loosen your grip."
Immediately, Sandor releases her shoulders. She sequentially lets out a breath and rubs the area. There is an imprint on the area of her exposed skin.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-
"Do you want me to stay?"
Yes. "Do you want to stay?"
"I had planned to finish some errands before going to bed."
Sandor averts his gaze then slowly crawls back to his stool, "then leave."
It almost hurts as much as his cuts how quickly she stands. She looks down at him, "I will leave you to your solidarity."
Please don't go.
"I will tell Maester Yannick to come back to attend to you, Hound."
Hound. It sounds like shattering glass.
Sandor listens to the click of her heels as she leaves him.
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valeskafics · 10 months
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"The Lady of Crab Isle" - Dark!Jon Snow x Baratheon!Reader
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Summary: Jon desperately wants what Lord Celtigar has - you.
Word Count: 1,960 Words
TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, infidelity, dark/yandere jon, breeding k*nk, degradation k*nk, f*ngering, p in v s*x, choking, loss of v*rginity
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
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When Jon Snow first sees you, riding into Castle Black alongside your lord husband Alton Celitgar, he’s not quite sure what to make of you. You’re quite different to any woman he’s met in his young life. You carry yourself with all the dignity of a queen, and in your own right, you are royalty, being the eldest daughter of who many deem to be the rightful king, Stannis Baratheon. You’ve arrived alongside your father and husband, seeking the loyalty of the Night’s Watch for your father’s cause.
You command the attention of any room you walk into, and Jon knows it’s not just because you’re the only woman these men have seen, some of them, in years. You just have that presence about you that makes people want to sit up and listen to what you have to say. Even your father seems to heed your counsel above all others, often taking walks with you along the expanse of the Wall during your time there. Jon’s heard it said that the only time the dour Baratheon ever smiles is in your presence, his beloved daughter.
Your husband, too, seems entirely infatuated with you. Lord Celtigar with his platinum locks and blue eyes, evidence of his Valyrian heritage, is quite the handsome man. And he’s the lord of Crab Isle. Jon knows that being Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch is nothing in comparison to the life your husband is able to give you, but he can’t help coveting what Lord Celtigar has. You. He watches you walk by every day in your furs, snow falling on your hair, your face, making you look almost like some sort of winter fairy.
Worst of all? You seem to adore your husband. You’re always smiling at the man, always intertwining your arm in his when the two of you are together, always pressing a kiss to his cheek. Jon hates the jealousy that burns in his gut every time he sees you with Lord Celtigar. Jon’s heard the rumors, of course. That you and Lord Celtigar have yet to consummate your union, you being too worried about bringing a babe into this world in the state of war your family finds itself in.
Jon’s quite sure if he’d been your lord husband, he’d have consummated the marriage the moment he got you alone. His dark eyes are always on you, tracing the shape of your hips, gazing at the bit of cleavage your dress affords, your elegant neck, your lips… He’s meant to take no wife and hold no lands. He’s the Lord Commander. But he can’t help but want you. No, not want you. Want is too weak of a word for it. He needs you in the most carnal of ways. His thoughts are consumed by you, the image of you beneath him as he takes you, your face twisted in pleasure, tears pouring from your eyes as you beg him for more. Jon knows you must look absolutely beautiful when you cry. Even more when you beg.
One morning, while on patrol, he passes by you, gazing out at the vast wintery expanse beyond the Wall, a pensive expression on your face. Jon decides to approach you, giving you a low bow.
“My lady.”
You turn and nod your head at him politely, the expression on your face betraying nothing of what you think of him, “Lord Commander.”
“We’ve not been formally introduced,” Jon says, “I’m Jon Snow.”
“Lady Baratheon,” you pause before correcting yourself, “Sorry. Celtigar. Not Baratheon anymore.”
“You’re Lord Celtigar’s lady wife then?” Jon asks, feigning ignorance as he smiles at you, “I did not know Lord Celtigar had been blessed with a wife so beautiful.”
Jon watches as you warm to him ever so slightly at the compliment, giving him a polite smile, “Thank you, but it is I who is blessed with a husband such as Alton.”
Alton. He hates the way you say the name with so much affection. Jon tries to shake off the feeling that threatens to overtake him, instead, taking a step closer to you, gazing into your eyes in an effort to convey his interest in you.
“Tell me, my lady, what are you doing here at the Wall?”
“My father, the rightful king, is here. My husband, one of his most trusted lords, is here. It’s my duty to be here as well,” you state.
Jon frowns slightly, attempting to hide his jealousy at the fondness you show your husband, “But why are you here, my lady? There’s nothing but snow and ice. I assume you were brought up on Dragonstone, being Lord Stannis’s daughter. Why not stay there or Crab Isle?”
“I follow my husband wherever he goes.”
You say it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And Jon hates it. He lets out a low chuckle before turning to you.
“I hope your husband is as devoted to you as you seem to be to him,” he moves even closer toward you, those dark eyes fixed on yours, a heated intensity behind them that sends a shiver up your spine as he questions, “My lady, are you happy? Do you see your husband often? Or is he too preoccupied with your father to spend any time with his lovely wife?”
You nod, looking away from him, “I see him often, yes, though less so than before. These are trying times, after all, and my father needs him.”
Jon closes the distance between you, moving a hand to rest against your cheek, his eyes nearly aflame with desire, “Your husband is a fool if he neglects a woman like you.”
You pull away after a moment of enjoying his touch, remembering yourself and speaking coolly, “He doesn’t neglect me, my lord. You needn’t worry about that.”
“My lady,” Jon’s eyes harden slightly at your rebuke, “Let me prove to you what your husband seems unable to show.”
Jon suddenly pulls you into his arms and kisses you. It’s not soft, or tender. His lips are hot and hungry against yours. You lose yourself in the kiss for a moment, hands moving to tangle in his dark curls. But when he bites down on your lower lip, you come back to your senses and push him away. You turn to leave, but Jon gives chase, taking hold of your hand, calling after you to wait.
“Leave me alone!” you demand, pulling your hand away from him, only to feel Jon wrap his arms around your waist.
His face is mere inches from yours. And the fact that he’s stronger than you, able to hold you in place like this, able to so easily dominate you, makes you feel that all too familiar ache between your thighs. But he’s not your husband. You shouldn’t want this. You turn your face from him, attempting to ignore the feeling of his hands on you.
“You might as well stop resisting, my lady,” he says, his voice a low whisper in your ear, “You know you want this as much as I do.”
You open your mouth, about to scream for your husband, but Jon captures your lips in another searing kiss. And this time, you don’t push him away. You let him kiss you, his hands moving under the fabric of your skirt, squeezing the flesh of your thighs. You let out a sharp gasp as he moves to rub at your core over the fabric of your underwear. You meet his gaze, so dark that its almost black, panting against him as he continues teasing you.
“Look at you,” Jon scoffs, “So desperate and I’ve hardly even touched you. Your husband is truly missing out on his sweet little wife. How desperate she is to have her cunny filled.”
You know he’s right. That’s the worst part of it. You’ve wanted nothing more for the past few months than for your lord husband to make you one flesh, but the two of you have come up with excuse after excuse for drawing it out. But here, on top of the Wall with Jon Snow, looking over your father’s encampment where your husband surely is, you find that this man of the Night’s Watch, Ned Stark’s bastard, is willing to give you the treatment you so desperately seek.
Jon moves your underwear aside, pushing two thick fingers inside you, groaning at how tight you feel around him, “That’s right, Princess,” he says, using your title from before your marriage, sending another thrill of excitement through you as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, curving them, hitting the spot deep inside of you that always pushes you over the edge, “I can feel how wet you are for me. Like a wanton little whore.”
His words awaken something inside of you. You enjoy the way he’s speaking to you, the way he degrades you, making you his little whore as he pushes his fingers inside you over and over. His thumb moves to rub at your pearl, causing you to let out a strangled gasp of his name as you reach your peak against his fingers. Jon pulls them out of you, pushing them into your mouth, a silent demand for you to lick them clean, which you very eagerly do.
“Your lips look so pretty wrapped around my fingers,” he says, his voice low and heady with want, “Next time we’ll see how they look wrapped around something else.”
He removes his fingers from your mouth, hiking your dress up to your waist and undoing his breeches. Jon turns you around so that he may press himself up against your backside, landing a hard slap to your rear. You let out a yelp, only to have him land another one, the sting feeling oddly pleasurable as he bullies the fat head of his length inside you, breaking your maidenhead. It hurts, but you’re so desperate to be filled at this point that all you can do is grip the wall before you and beg for more, beg for him to go faster.
“Do you want me to fuck you full of my seed?” Jon growls as he drags himself against your inner walls, pulling out before slamming himself back in, making you cry out, “Is that what you want? To feel my seed spilling out of your cunny down your legs as you walk back to your husband?”
“Yes, my lord,” you nearly sob as one of his hands moves around to squeeze your neck, slightly restricting your airflow, “Want you to fuck me full of your seed, want to be your desperate whore.”
“Every night while you’re here, I’ll fill you up,” he promises, or is it a threat? He growls in your ear, “I’m going to breed you, you pathetic, wanton little thing. I can feel you squeezing around me. Are you this close again already? Hm? Are you going to soak my cock, you pathetic little whore?”
“I am,” you manage to choke out as he squeezes your neck tighter, “Jon, please-”
“Come for me,” he murmurs, biting down on your shoulder, “Come for your lord.”
You spill yourself on him, Jon spilling himself deep inside you soon after, breeding you, true to his word. The two of you stand there, breathless, looking at each other, the realization of what has just happened hitting you.
“I should go,” you mumble awkwardly, “Good day, Lord Commander.”
Jon watches as you leave, smirking when you give a glance back at him over your shoulder before darting off, back to your husband. But Jon knows now that you’ve had a taste of the darkness that lurks within him, you’ll certainly be back for more.
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barbiedragon · 6 months
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Kinktober Prompt #9
Prompt: Stripping
Daenerys Targaryen x fem!reader GOT)
WC: 500
Additional tags: oral, fingering, WLW
*comments/reblogs are appreciated
Kinktober Masterlist
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You hummed softly while preparing a bath for Daenerys.  You added four drops of jasmine oil, inhaling the sweet scene as wisps of steam swirled in the air.
“Your bath is ready, Khaleesi,” you smiled, stepping over to help her undress.
Her silver hair held intricate braids, and she wore a blue tokar. Slowly, you began to unweave her braids, brushing the stands until they shone in waves of molten silver. Your fingers wrapped around the silken fabric, taking time to strip it away. Each movement bared more and more creamy skin until she stood naked before you. You yearned to press your lips to every inch of her. Her cheeks turned pink as you drank in the sight of her bare body. Targaryens were a sight to behold; she was no different—a perfect silver dragon.
“Come, Khaleesi, the water should not turn cold,” you insisted, holding her hand and helping her into the large tub. It was deep and built into the top floor of the Great Pyramid. Ghiscari nobility enjoyed luxuries.
 “Thank you,” she whispered, lowering herself into the water and sighed happily.
You knelt behind her, adding a few drops of jasmine oil to your hands. You pressed your palms together to warm the oil before massaging her scalp, enjoying her hair’s softness.
“Feels delightful,” she moaned, eyes closed.
“Very good, Khaleesi.” 
Once the water turned cold, you helped her out of the bath and dried her off, taking a moment to appreciate how the droplets clung to her freshly scrubbed pink skin. When you stood, she pulled you close to her, fingers sliding through yours. 
“I would have you keep my company tonight,” she whispered, lips brushing lightly across yours.
A smile tugged at your mouth. “It would be my pleasure, Khalessi.”
Her petite, deft fingers began to unwrap the green tokar you wore, taking her time as she peeled the fabric away until it puddled around your feet. You slipped free of the sandals before nuzzling her neck, breathing in the scent of jasmine and burnt embers. Time passed slowly while stroking each other’s bare bodies: soft touches, gentle squeezes, and fluttering kisses. You murmured faint praises in the language of Old Ghiscari, delighting in her shivers.
Soon, she lay sprawled beneath you while you kneaded her breasts between your hands, thumbs brushing lightly over her pink nipples. Her hand splayed across your hips as she bucked, her wet cunt caressing against yours.
Fingers and tongues exploring every inch of velvety bodies. Her violet eyes were blown wide with lust as her curved fingers hit the spot inside you. A delicious taste that toyed on your tongue as she rode out her peak. A sharp tang of lemon. Her body curled around yours as you stroked her hair.
“I wish to take you to Westeros when the time comes,” she whispered.
“It would be my honor, Khaleesi,” you smiled.
“I would like you to call me Dany.” A name she hadn’t used in many moons.
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catsteeth · 20 days
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The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog
+:✿ Chapter - 1 ✿:+
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Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 
CW: slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of animal death, alcohol consumption, mention of infant death, mention of parent(s) death, loras being very lgbtq , mention of arranged marriage. 
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Leaving the Eyrie at first was exciting. You hated to admit it, you screamed at your father for even suggesting it, you cried like a child, but it was. The Eyrie was hardly a home, It was cold, isolated, and a constant reminder of what you’d lost. Kings Landing was warm, crowded, and offered a future outside of living in the past. 
Your father, Jon Arryn, was more than optimistic that you would find a suitor worthy of your name. Your aunt and now step mother, Lysa Arryn was elated at the opportunity of ridding her and Robin’s lives of you. 
After the death of your mother, Aemma of house Tully, your father married her sister, your aunt. You could have stomached it, you could have even forgiven it, if it weren’t for the fact your mother died during her labors of childbirth. 
As you and your father rode in the carriage, your mind couldn’t help but think of it. You’d spent your mothers entire pregnancy hoping she’d bear a son. You even prayed, prayed to the seven Gods whom you didn’t even believe in. You had hoped if the child was a boy, you wouldn’t have to be wed off to the best house name possible. 
What's worse, not only did the labors kill your mother, but it also killed your brother. You’d prayed for a brother and the Gods gave you a brother. But they took him away and your mother with him. 
You had spent days sulking, wallowing in grief. Unbeknownst to you, all the while your father was arranging his own marriage with Lysa. A son followed behind soon, Robin, the brat. You hated him, even if you were the same blood.
“We approach,” your father said under his breath. It was enough to bring you back to reality. 
“How long will I be here?” You asked, knowing the answer. Your father shot you a look with a furrowed brow, as if to say, “You already know.” You nodded as your concerned gaze turned to a glare as you looked out the carriage into the city. You lost your sweetness after your mother died, you were in no rush to get it back. 
“Who am I to wed?” You asked flatly, your stoic expression and eyes filled with venom shot outside of the carriage and away from your father. 
He sighed and looked upon you softly. “The Baratheon boys are eligible I suppose,” before he could finish you began. “Blondes, I have a distaste for blonde men.” You say as you rest your chin on your fist, still staring outside of the carriage. Your father let out a sigh about to lecture you on the importance of uniting families and the unimportance of such trivial things like personal happiness. But you cut him off, you look at him with eyes filled with venom, “I know you’ve a plan. You don’t go into anything blind.” he let out a small huff of a laugh as you arrived at the impressive castle. Your eyes did move from your fathers however. “You are just like your mother. Filled with angry eyes and hard questions.” Your eyes narrowed a bit, as the door to the carriage opened. 
“Welcome Lord Arryn, welcome Lady (Y/N)” 
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Later that evening, you met the Lannisters and Baratheons over dinner. 
You took note of the “Baratheon boys” your father mentioned. Sons of the King. From all those story books you'd read as a girl you would have thought that Princes’s would be handsome, kind, gentle, and brave. However you weren’t a naive child anymore. So the scrawny and boyish looking Joffrey didn’t surprise you, but did disappoint you. And Tommen was boyish too however Tommen was just that, a boy, a child. You found yourself praying again, praying you wouldn’t be subjected to an arranged marriage between either of them. 
The dinner was mostly spent with your father and Robbert yammering, and occasionally people needing to remind you that you were being spoken to. 
It was strange, on one hand you were excited to be out of the isolation of the Eyrie, on the other hand you couldn’t care less about the people around you. That was until the royal family's guard stepped into the room. The man was giant, standing at least 6 '6, his shoulders were so broad he had to step into a room at an angle. You felt your eyes linger on the figure just a second too long. Reverting it back to your hands in your lap. 
You felt her cheeks blush, you felt yourself get embarrassed by this. But the thing is you’ve never seen a man like that. You never saw a man that big, a man that broad, ever. The Eyrie was secluded and maybe men from the vale were just shorter. Maybe this was a southern thing. Before you could roll the thought around your brain for long, the hulking figure walked to the opposite side of the room, it was only then when you noticed his face lit by the candle lights.You saw the left side of his face first. His face was masculine, there was nothing about his appearance that was feminine. As you analyzed his face, he turned it towards you which is when you saw the opposite of his face. It was horribly scarred, all the hair on his face was burnt off and ribboned in scarred tissue. 
It was beautiful. You’d never seen anything like it. 
You didn’t break your gaze as it was intertwined with the giant in the room. His deep brown eyes seemed somewhat confused with something about you. You felt the blush returning to your cheeks and nose as you studied him. You only broke your improper gaze once you felt the dread you feel everytime your fathers gaze comes towards you. You were able to look away before he noticed. He grabbed ahold of your hand and shot you a half hearted smile hoping your sour mood would magically improve with this minimal affection. However the daggers in your eyes did not surrender. 
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You spent the following days walking around the castle, hoping for another glimpse at the man everyone feared so terribly. You asked your father about him, “He’s the royal family's dog, both the Cleganes are. They are not the kind of people I wish for you to be around.” You rolled your eyes, but the information you got from anyone else was no better. His monstrous and vile actions. His temper is so fierce he’d kill anyone without a second thought. But when you saw his eyes, those deep brown eyes, they weren’t mean or angry they were sad. They were scared.
Days in this shit city were long, and often just as boring as the days in the Eyrie. Only instead of a shivering cold there was a sticky warmth. Instead of Lysa and Robin there was Cersei and Joffrey. At least Robin didn’t kill little creatures and beat girls for fun. 
There were some advantages to living here however. There were more books, more food, more drinks, more dresses, more music. Living so high in the mountain such luxuries were sparse. Luxuries like friends, of which you felt you gained a few. The Tyrells for example were the only people you felt you could be truly honest with. Specifically Loras, there was a sense of vulnerability you two shared with each other. Both of you are unhappy with the prospect of marriage, arranged specifically. You remember the time he confessed to you that he was in love with a man. You walked through the garden together, those times became special. The only times when you and he could speak plainly. You always thought of how lovely it would be to have a friend, someone to trust solely. You always thought it would be a woman but you couldn’t complain. 
You held onto his hands as he confessed. He said he wished he could change, to not be what he was. 
“Never,” You held onto his hands tighter “Never wish for such things. Change even a single thing of you and you aren’t you. And you are my friend, my dearest friend.” You whispered, he embraced you tightly. You however had a slight growing distaste for Renly, a man who brought such tears to your friend. 
To anyone secretly observing, it was courting. To you and he, it was friendship. In its purest way. 
Maybe your father was true to his promise, he’d find you a man whom you’d love, a man who was brave and gentle. Only this love was different. As he was the only person you could trust.
The two of you thought of a plan for you and the wedding of one another. It was a good plan, the two of you would be bound by love and respect of which you both shared for the other. And the two of you would be free to find romantic, and sexual love freely. Loras teased you’d be able to fuck all the KingsGaurd if The Hound did not please you. It made you giggle but blush in embarrassment like a little girl.
Honestly you and he would have had the most healthy relationship of all the realm, and the only difference would be the two of you never consummated. But who would need to know? 
You almost went through with it after the death of your father. If it weren’t for the fact Cersei forced her company upon you so much, you could have ran to the nearest septon and made your marriage official. But Cersei never left you alone, you were either with her, or one of her ladies. And, and you hated to admit it, you’d miss those butterflies in your belly anytime you caught The Hounds gaze. It makes your cheek red and your belly burn. And you loved it, it might have been the only reason you could have lived during those days. You spent anytime you got alone with Loras talking about The Hound, a topic he grew bored of quickly. So you also spoke of your marriage. 
However these plans changed at the arrival of your cousin Sansa. Upon her arrival you saw a girl who would never handle the city she was stepping into with such naive big eyes and fairy tale fantasies of her future. You agreed with Olenna that Loras should attempt to court Sansa prior to her wedding with Joffrey, one last attempt at her freedom. You began to care less and less of your own.
Selfless yes, but stupid. 
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During the tournament you sat beside Sansa, and her father Nedd Stark who had such an affinity to your father apparently it was transferred to you now that he was dead and gone. She begged her father to stop the tournament. You wanted to roll your eyes at it, but you also wished someone would stop it as well. The Mountain, Gregor Clegane, scared you. He was different from his brother. The Hound was almost as big but he had a stoic and sad nature to him, even though everyone told you to beware. The brother you feared was Gregor, he was unstable, rabid, and frightened you to no end. You’d hoped your plan of him using your mare, who was in heat, would work. 
It was a trick, but a good one, if it worked. And it did, it upsets and confuses Gregor's mount. Gregor was thrown off his horse. You felt a wave of relief as Sansa stood and cheered. What you didn’t account for was Gregor's reaction. Gregor, absolutely furious, decapitated his own horse. You, still seated, grabbed ahold of Sansa’s arm as Gregor made his way to Loras. You sat and watched, you hoped someone, anyone would intervene. Renly, Nedd, the King, anyone. 
Just as you were sure that was the end, “Leave him be!” The giant man behind you roared. The Hound swung his sword blocking a fatal blow to Loras. You sat there, your eyes not wide but narrowed and brows furrowed. You studied the battle between these two brothers. You wondered why, why would this man risk his own life just to save one of Loras? If he was the merciless monster that everyone had claimed, why do this? As you watched these men fight you noticed, the noble men all fought as they were trained, this man fought as he knew would kill. He fought with experience. 
You couldn’t help but find it exciting. 
As The King called off this fight, The Hound dodged a fatal blow he simultaneously bowed to the King. This made your lips part slightly as you struggled to conceal a smile. 
As Loras named The Hound champion everyone stood and clapped, but not you. 
You sat and stared at the man, your cheeks with a renewed blush on them. You smiled softly at him, his gaze soon met your own. Once met, it was hard to break. 
You managed to weasel your way out of the sight of the Starks and Lannisters to check on Loras. As you made your way to the stables you didn’t find Loras but The Hound. You felt like you walked into a brick wall as you saw the Giant drinking from a wine skin sitting against the stable that held your own horse. He didn’t look at you as he said “Your pretty boy isn’t here, girl.” as he took another long swig of the wineskin in his fist. 
“I’m sure I don’t know who you refer to.” You lie as you slowly walk over to your horse. 
“Fuck you don’t.” He hissed  “Dirty trick you and that boy pulled.” 
“No honor in tricks.” You say feeding your horse some feed from your palm. 
“Honor,” He scuffs “only cunts believe in that shit.” your brows raised, you’d never heard a man curse so much. They rarely did in the company of a Lady. 
“There was honor in what you did, It was quite brave, Ser.” 
“I'm not a ser, I already told your pretty boy that.” 
“Loras is not my ‘pretty boy’” you said in a mocking tone making the hound crack a small smirk. 
“Fuck off,” He scuffed, “Round that boy you’re as in heat as that bitch mare in that stable.” 
“Is that why you came here? You sit in front of my mare's stable because you wanted to accuse me of having relations with a friend of mine?” You eyes shift from your mare to glare at him with disgust. His eyes locked with yours. He hardly needed to look up at you to see your eyes. 
“I don’t like the way you look at me.” He said flatly
“I don’t like the way you talk to me.” Your eyes went back to your mare. “Don’t talk to me like that and I won’t look at you like that.”
“Don’t matter how you look at me, just that you do.” He said as he took another swig. 
You looked down contemplating what that could have meant as you looked over to him. 
“Didn’t I just fuckin’ tell ya not to do that?” He growled however your gaze did not falter. 
“You did not, you said you don’t like it.” You asserted mockingly, not at all scared of this man beside you, even though you maybe should be.
He stood, showing just how small you were in comparison to him. As he loomed over you, his eyes raked over every part of you, avoiding your eyes. 
“It will serve you well to listen to a man. Save yourself some pain. Some men, like to hit stubborn girls like you. Men who like to beat them.” He said in a somewhat more gentle tone than before. 
Your eyes met him once more, as you looked up at him, you realized he’d never been so close to you. 
“And what of you? Are you one of those men?” You asked teasing him, testing his patience 
“Maybe,” he rasped “You don’t know the things I’ve done,” 
You turned your body towards him to face him completely. 
“You should be scared of me, of any man in this shit city.” 
“I should be, but I’m not. I tried to be, but I can’t make myself feel frightened by you.” You said fidgeting with your necklace. 
“I’m a killer,” He wrapped his fingers around your throat, but his grasp was hardly there at all, almost like he was hovering his hand there. “I could crush your pretty throat.” 
“Do it.” You said quickly, His brows furrowed, “You think I want to live here? Do it.” you held onto his wrist, needing both hands to grasp his thick wrist fully. “No, you won’t hurt me.” You say softly. 
His hand runs down your throat and lays flat engulfing your chest in his palm as his fingers laid on your collar bone. He felt your heartbeat for a moment, savoring it.  “No, no little bird, I won't hurt you.” He conceded painfully, the name he called you made your cheeks blush. With that he turned away from you and stomped out of the stables. 
You felt yourself release a breathe, fuck, you thought to yourself. 
Few questions remained in your mind, ‘Why was he so gentle?’  and ‘Why did he make you feel this way?’
NOTE: Hi, this is my first time writing any fanfiction- believe me it will get better. We will be fuckin I promise we will be laying it down girls!! This one is mainly just world building. Let me know if there's anything you’d like to see going forward! 
Xoxo 
Bambi <3
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criminalamnesia · 2 years
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Let’s Stay Here
warnings: fluff, not proofread, targaryen!reader, she/her pronouns used, reader is 18+
summary: having been born the second Targaryen daughter, you were used to being overlooked. however, there was one person who always had his eyes on you.
author’s note: this is purely self indulgent. I am obsessed with Harwin. also fuck house of the dragon I’ve got beef with that show now
When Rhaenyra had been named heir to the iron throne, you had been happy for her. Of course you had– you two were sisters, and although born a few years apart, you were close friends.
But with Rhaenyra’s naming, chaos had followed. Whispers in the halls of the Red Keep; sour looks from disapproving lords; passive aggressive comments from the queen.
Some days you felt as though you would explode if you remained in the castle any longer.
So, logically, you began to sneak out.
It was harmless fun at first; just seeing how long you could go without being noticed. The City Watch was relentless with their nightly patrols, and so it became somewhat of a game to evade them.
Over time, you became more bold. You would wear less to disguise yourself. You would stand closer to watchmen. A few times you even swiped trinkets and food from vendors in the street.
As all things do, however, it eventually became boring. What used to be exhilarating became mundane, and you once again ached for excitement. That excitement came in the form of one Ser Harwin Strong.
You knew who he was; his father was hand of the king, after all. And Harwin was certainly memorable by himself. You and Rhaenyra had whispered about him more than a few times before, but she had never been taken with him– not like you had.
So, when you finally spotted him one night in Flea Bottom, patrolling the streets in his armor, you couldn’t resist the urge to test your luck.
Grinning to yourself, you pulled off the torn cap barely hiding you hair and shoved it into the pocket of your trousers. With silver hair on full display, you started your trek towards Harwin.
He had his back turned to you as he walked down an empty alleyway. You cautiously approached, deciding to just walk past him to see if he would notice.
Your shoulder brushed his armor-clad one as you passed him, and instantly the knight reacted. His hand that had been resting upon the pommel of his sword gripped it, beginning to unsheathe the blade.
You just kept walking, until his startled “Princess?” stopped you.
You turned with a smile, curtsying to the knight. You saw as he tried– and failed– to mask a smile.
“Ser Harwin. Lovely night, is it not?” You spoke as if you were out for a stroll in the gardens at the keep. He shook his head, sheathing his sword and dropping his hand to the side.
“Forgive me, princess, but you shouldn’t be out here. Especially not alone.”
You hummed in agreement, nodding your head. “Would you care to accompany me, then? I’ve grown quite bored by myself. I’m sure you would provide great company.”
“Princess, I cannot– I must take you back your quarters.”
“You mustn’t. I am in need of some fresh air and excitement. My quarters have become quite stuffy as of late.”
He looked at you, and you could tell he was torn between his mischievous spirit and his duty. Deciding to make the choice for him, you took a step back.
“Well, Ser Harwin, I understand you must do your duty and return me to safety. However, I fear that you must catch me first. I hope that armor is lighter than it looks,” you teased before turning and running out of the alley. You could hear him curse and then the clanging of armor as he ran after you.
“Stop!” He called out, causing a few heads to turn as he followed you into a crowded street.
You laughed with glee as you slipped between people, turning your head every so often to catch a glimpse of Harwin’s gold cloak far behind.
As you rounded a corner, you were met with a dead end. You turned to leave, only to be met with the armor of a city watchman once again.
Looking up, you grinned as Harwin scowled.
“Hello again, Ser. It seems you’ve caught me.”
“It seems I have,” he grumbled, reaching for your arm. You willingly gave it to him, watching as his hand grasped your bicep. His grip wasn’t tight– but it certainly wasn’t lax, either.
He began to steer you back towards the castle, and you sighed. You easily could’ve evaded him longer than you had– you’d been doing it for years. However, maybe a part of you had wanted him to catch you.
Harwin had always been kind to you and Rhaenyra. He wasn’t like the other lords at court– he wasn’t fawning over your sister and vying for her hand. He was watching from afar– occasionally up close– and his focus wasn’t on her. It was on you.
“Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Princess,” he begins, and you nod your head absentmindedly. “But I cannot believe that the red keep could be so bad that you have to sneak out every night.”
You stopped, causing Harwin to tug slightly on your arm as he took another step. At your halt, he turned and looked at you with a grin.
“You can’t think you’ve gotten through the streets so safely all these years without help, Princess. I am better at my job than you think.”
“Why haven’t you stopped me before?” You questioned, resuming your walk.
“I have… noticed certain things during my time here. Certain things pertaining to you.”
“You’ve been watching me, then?” You replied, to which he chuckled.
“Everyone watches, Princess. Some more closely than others.”
“So it seems,” you responded. The two of you fell silent as Harwin steered you back towards the keep. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he led you right to the secret passage you had used to get out of the castle.
Smiling sheepishly, you removed your arm from his grasp and turned towards the passage. He bowed, giving you a quick “princess” before turning to head back towards the city streets.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Ser Harwin.” You called over your shoulder, causing him to stop mid-step. He didn’t turn, but you heard him chuckle as he continued on. You smiled to yourself as you watched him leave for a moment, before turning and slipping into the passage.
Your game continued from then on, except you weren’t the only player. You would deliberately search for Harwin, and he would always take you right back to the keep– but you two became closer as time passed. You would drag out your walks to speak to him for just a minute more. He would insist on hiding in the shadows for a moment so he could survey the nearby crowd, only so he could get closer to you in the darkness.
Eventually, you could no longer entertain your nightly trips to the streets of King’s Landing. You were being watched more closely as tensions within the castle rose. It didn’t help that Rhaenyra’s scorned suitors were now turning to you, as their first choice had been wed to Laenor. If they couldn’t have the heir, at least they could still have a Targaryen.
Your father became engrossed in finding you a match– just as he had done for Rhaenyra. Of course, you had already made up your mind on who you wished to wed.
“What are you thinking about?”
Harwin’s rumbling voice broke you from your thoughts of marriage and politics. You smiled as you rolled over in your bed to face the man beside you.
“Marriage,” you replied honestly, closing your eyes as he brushed a strand of silver hair behind your ear.
“Marriage, hm?” He spoke, his hand coming to rest on your cheek. You nodded, your eyes still closed.
“Which lucky lord shall be your husband?” He asked, and you reached your hand up, resting it atop his.
“No decision has been made yet. Perhaps a Lannister? Maybe a Baratheon?”
“You wound me, Princess,” he said, and you giggled as you opened your eyes. He was smiling at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back.
“Oh, how about a Tully?”
“Truly, you have no heart,” he told you, to which you laughed. You removed his hand from your cheek, intertwining your fingers.
“Of course I wish to wed you, my love. I could not imagine marrying another.”
“The son of the hand and the daughter of the king. I’m sure the king will be thrilled,” Harwin spoke.
“The king will be thrilled to be rid of me,” you replied, shuffling closer to him. “I am a burden keeping him from focusing on his heir.”
“You,” Harwin said, “are no burden. The king is lucky to have a daughter as great as you.”
“Flattery suits you, Ser Harwin,” you giggled. He chuckled and released you hand in favor of reaching over and pulling you into his chest.
“Tell me more of how great I am.”
“That would take years, Princess,” he responded.
“I have plenty of those.”
Harwin chuckled again, a deep and soothing sound to your ears. You rested your head on his chest as he slipped his fingers through your hair.
“Let’s just stay here forever. No eyes watching. No family quarrels. Just us,” you whispered.
“Just us,” he repeated.
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