#got smut

[angelltheninth]

No Penetration Sex with Daemon Targaryen

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cunnilingus, beneath the dress, grinding, secret relationship

A/N: I got this idea while writing my previous Daemon peace.

It wasn't that Daemon didn't want to fuck you. Oh he did, he very much did. The bulge pressing against your ass told you so every time. But your relationship was a secret, a not very well kept one. No one knew yet but they suspected. He could protect you but he knew what people would say about you if they discovered you've been taken by him before you got married.

Which is why he always kept thigs in the outside, he rolled his clothed cock against you like a madman, he played with your pussy, spread your folds apart and rubbed your clit, cupped you and teased the entrance with the tips of his fingers but never let himself go inside. He never even rubbed his bare cock against you because he didn't think he had enough self control not to make you his.

"Daemon please, if you don't get inside me in some way I will lose my mind." You bucked your hips into his hand and backwards, feeling his swelling cock against your ass.

"You know I can't do... wait... I might actually be able to." He thought about it for a moment. "Yes, that should work. Turn around." You regretted the loss of his hand almost instantly but were also lured in by the promise of him being inside you. You turned to face him only for Daemon to get on his knees, "Lift your dress up, darling."

You weren't about to ask what he was playing at, you were far past the point of horny to think that much. As soon as you lifted your dress up he dove underneath it, his body partially obscured from your view. Somehow not seeing him, not knowing what he'll do made it more exciting for you, worthy of all the anticipation.

His fingers spread you again, down to your entrance but instead of his fingers you felt his thick tongue pushing in. He couldn't get far with this angle, you would probably need to straddle his face if you wanted that but he was trying his best with the position he had.

"I may grow addicted to your taste." He spoke against your wet cunt, lapping at your juices, almost like he was trying to plug you up with it. And you could feel yourself dripping down his chin, making it wet, the combination of your cum and his spit dripping onto the floor beneath your shaking legs.

[axelsagewrites]

Jon Snow*Couldn't Resist

Pairing: Jon x f!reader (could be modern or not)

Kinktober Day six: over stimulation with Jon Snow – Jon is eager to please but even more eager to make you a mumbling mess who doesn’t know their own name by the end

Word count: 1114

Warnings: over stimulation, multiple orgasm, fingering, f! receiving oral, dry humping, neck kissing, slight begging, needy Jon, p in v sex, unprotected sex, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

Soft black hair tickled the skin of your cheek, rousing you from your slumber. As your eyes fluttered open a moan escaped your lips as you felt soft lips against your neck, sucking softly on the skin. “Jon?” You yawned, glancing down at the man who was already all over you before the sun had risen.

He hummed against your skin, lips never leaving your skin as he worked his way down your neck. “What are you doing?” you asked, noticing his hand softly running up your bare thigh. After a long night with your husband under the sheets last night you had fallen asleep bare, something Jon found to be irresistible apparently.

“Kissing you,” he said, his lips trailing along your collar bones, “Feeling you,” he murmured, his hand running up your inner thigh. You shivered when his fingers ran over your wet cunt, “Touching you,” he finally added, his lips edging farther down your chest, “Need you,” he muttered against your skin making you chuckle lightly.

“You had me last night,” you giggled, “over and over, and over again,” you teased, your fingers toying with his hair.

“Not enough,” he said, his lips moving down your stomach. You sighed in content as he made his way further down, moaning lightly as his finger rubbed over your clit in slow circles, his lips edging further down. “Wanna taste you,”

You hummed, figuring you had time for now, “Just once sweetheart. I know what you’re like,” you said, hands still holding his soft locks.

Jon laughed as your skin, “Have no clue what you’re on about love,” he said and before you could chastise and remind him of last night, he had placed a soft kiss to your clit making you whine, your back arching slightly, “Just wanna make you feel good,” he said, warm breath fanning your wet cunt making shivers radiate up your body,

His hands held your thighs, pushing them over his shoulders as he licked a stripe up your cunt making you tense in anticipation. His hands locked around your legs, keeping your hips steady as he began to lick greedy tongues up your cunt, devouring you like a starved dog.

Your hands twisted in his hair, toes curling as his lips moved up to suck your clit, his fingers edging in your hole. You gasped when you felt him ease two fingers in but moaned as he began to move them slowly, curling them with expert position like he’d studied your body for a lifetime.

Jon moaned against your cunt, vibrations running up your body making your skin tingle. Your heels dug into his back, and you could feel the way he was humping the bed, giving himself his own slight release as he worked on yours.

It didn’t take long in your sleep ridden haze for a warm feeling to spread through your stomach. “Fuck,” you whined, as you came to your peak. Jons tongue did not stop even as your body did, your legs twitching around your head, “Just one,” you whined, pushing at his shoulder.

“Cmon baby,” Jon whined, his face wet with your juices, “One more please? I’ll be good after this I swear,”

You whined before nodding, “Fine,” you said, and the words had barley left your lips before he dove back in. this time his tongue darting inside you making your body shudder. These moans were harder to contain especially when his nose moved to nuzzle perfectly into your clit.

Your second peak arrived even quicker than the first but as you reached this one you felt your hips bucking, hand clenching Jons hair tight, as you grinded onto his face. Your movements only spurred Jon on as soon his fingers had return, this time slipping three in with ease as he moved up to suck your sensitive bundle of nerves again. His fingers were faster this time, his teeth grazing your clit, and no sooner had your second orgasm finished did your third hit like a fallen castle.

You could barley contain the moans, biting into your arms to try stop yourself as your body twitched under Jon. His movements didn’t stop till your hands began to push his head away, not feeling like you could face another as your legs continued to twitch.

Jon crawled up your body, his lips kissing your cheek and jaw gently as his hips rutted into yours. his hard cock rubbing into your stomach as he searched for friction, “Please,” he murmured against your skin, “Let me fuck you please,” he begged, kissing your skin desperately.

You nodded making him look up from the crook of your neck, his eyes searching your face for approval. You nodded at him, not sure if you were even able to speak yet. Jon knew your signal to stop, a double tap on the shoulder, but with your nod and no tap he waisted no time in lining his cock up with your ready hole.

As he sunk his cock in you gasped, your hole already so sensitive from before. Jon however was still desperate for release so as his lips latched to your nipple, his free hand playing with the other, his hips began to snap against yours setting a relentless pace. “Fuck Jon I-I,” you gasped, interrupted by your own moans as you felt another orgasm approaching.

Jon moved his hand to under your back, pulling it up to arch your back to hit a new spot which caused your eyes to roll into your skull as a fourth orgasm crashed down on you. his thrusts did not stop but the way your cunt squeezed him just made his pace quicken.

He was determined to milk one more out of you as his hand dropped your back letting you sink into the bed but now his hand slipped between your bodies till, he was rubbing fast circles into your clit. His lips left your skin as he lent up, allowing himself to fuck you deeper as his hand came up to cover your mouth as your moans probably echoed through the walls.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes, admiring his body for the few moments you had before your final peak arrived making your legs clench around Jon which only pulled him in deeper. You vaguely heard cursing as you rode out your final orgasm, but you released why as you felt Jon spill inside you.

After a few moments of him catching his breath Jon rolled to lay beside you, glancing at you with a sorry smile, “What happened,” you started to ask, panting as you looked to your husband, “to just one?”

“Couldn’t resist,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy  @valeskafics

[barbiedragon]

Viper Queen

Pairing: Viserys III Targaryen x Martell!reader (GOT)

WC: 1.3k

12 Days of Smuff-Bed Sharing & Accidental Stimulation

Warnings: Rough sex, mild spanking, cream pie

You spend in a stormy in bed with your betrothed

A violent storm rolled through the night you were meant to depart Pentos to return home to Dorne. Black skies and bursts of bright lightning filled the air, along with the boom of thunder.

“You should spend the night, princess. Allow us to keep you safe until morning,” Magister Illyrio insisted.

You gave a gracious nod and cast a look in Prince Viserys’s direction. A smirk curled across his lips, silver strands of hair had fallen across his violet eyes.  “I will accept most graciously, Illyrio. I do not wish to risk my life or that of my company.”

Daenerys gave a soft smile, the young lady grasping at your hand. Such a sweet summer child, on the threshold of her flowering as her betrothal to Khal Drogo grew closer at hand. 

“You shall bed with me, Princess!” she declared giddily.

“You’re most gracious, little princess,” you smiled. You would be happy to entertain her notions, but you intended to share a bed with Viserys.

Martells and Targaryens shared a history of marriage since King Daeron II married Myriah Martell, while his sister, Daenerys, married Myriah’s brother, Prince Maron. Maron had created the lush water gardens as a gift to her, and it was your favorite place to spend time when the weather grew hot. It was through these marriage alliances that peace was found, uniting Doren with the Westeros. Your Aunt Elia had been married to Viserys’s elder brother, Rhaegar, and now your father, Doran, sought to have you betrothed to Viserys. Dorne held no love for King Robert or the traitors who helped place him in power. The brutality of what happened to Elia and her children would never be forgotten. It was your hope and the desire of your family to remove Robert from the Iron Throne and place the rightful heir, Viserys, in his place.

Daenyers sat between your legs while you gently combed out her hair until it shone like molten silver. You had grown fond of her during your visit, shielding her from Viserys’s rage. You were under no illusions that he would be an ideal husband, but you would not be the first Dornish woman to take a man in hand. The day he struck you would be his last, and you were determined to teach him better ways to channel his rage. The memory of his mad king father loomed, and the kingdom would not tolerate another.

“Do lemon trees grow in Dorne?” Daenerys asked.

“The land is filled with lemon and orange trees. The air is fragrant with them,” you replied, helping her change into a soft, silk gown to sleep in. It was lavender and a gift you had bestowed upon her. Your ladies would usually help you prepare for bed, but you allowed them to retire for the evening and were more than capable of tending to yourself.

“I smell lemons in my dreams,” she smiled up at you before you kissed the tip of her nose. She seemed so young, yet she would be old enough to marry soon.

The young princess nuzzled close in your embrace, and you waited until she was heavy with slumber before crawling out of the bed and wiggling your feet into golden slippers. The bright flashes of lightning illuminated your way to Viserys’s room. Gently, you pushed the door open, making your way inside. A simple pair of linen breeches clung below his slender waist, but he wore no tunic. His pale skin seemed iridescent, and his hair shimmered like moonlight. You stepped out of the slippers before crawling into the bed with him. Azure silk clung to your curves as your hail fell down your shoulders in dark, thick waves. Your fingers ghosted across his exposed flesh as you drank in his beauty, imagining the future babes you would give him. Who would they favor?

You curved your body next to his, your backside pressing against his groin before wiggling tantalizingly against him. You heard a soft groan before his arm snaked around your waist. His hand plunged under the top of your nightgown before grasping your breast, one thumb grazing across your pebbled nipple.

“I thought I might be dreaming, but I can feel how warm your flesh is,” he whispered in your ear as he rutted against the curve of your ass.

“I assure you that this is very real,” you purred, heat gathering between your legs. “I wish for you to fuck me.” They were lewd words, but you did not tiptoe around your desires, especially not with your future husband.

His hand released your breast before tightening around your throat before his other hand swatted your arse. “Hmmm, remind me, what are the words of House Martell?”

“Unbowed, unbent, and unbroken.”

“Will you bow to me, princess? When you are my queen, will you bend the knee to me?”

His slender fingers flexed against your throat.

“As any loyal queen and wife would,” you replied simply.

“Submit to me, show me where your loyalties lie,” he hissed.

You swallowed down the amused chuckle forming in your throat. You understood the game to be played. The truth was, you enjoyed it. You were hardly a delicate princess frightened by roughness. Once his hand unfurled from your neck, you shifted onto your hands and knees before slowly inching the bottom of your gown up around your hips. You parted your legs to show him the arousal gathered between your thighs. His hands gripped your plush arse, kneading the chilled flesh until it turned warm again. Heat pooled in your belly as the storm continued to rage outside. You mewled as his palm struck your skin repeatedly, a sweet sting blossoming across your pebbled flesh.

You could hardly bear the desire building inside as you lifted your hips more to meet his harsh slaps while your fingers slipped between your wet folds. You were able to get one satisfying rut against them before Viserys pulled your hand away then pinned both arms behind your back.

“Do not dare touch what is mine,” he growled with a sharp snap of his teeth.

“Apologies,” you murmured, cheek pressed against the bed as he held you down.

“Address me properly,” he hissed.

“Apologies, my King,” you purred. 

You heard the soft rustle of clothing before the head of his cock pressed against your wet cunt. Viserys grunted as he slowly sunk inside you. You moaned, loving the feeling of being stuffed with him. He seemed to fit perfectly. His hips snapped against your abused flesh, each thrust deep and hitting a sweet spot inside of you that made your thighs shake. His cock stretched you wide as a wet squelch filled the room illuminated by lightning. He released the tight grip he had on your arms, allowing you to push onto your hands and rock against him. The walls of your cunt fluttered around him before clenching.

A loud boom of thunder echoed in the black sky as pleasure burst inside you. You trembled through your peak, soaking Viserys’s cock as his fingers tangled in your thick hair.

A deep groan fell from Viserys’s lips as he snapped his hips against you, and you were certain he filled you with his spend. A warm trickle coated your inner thighs once he slipped out, using the sheet to wipe himself clean. A satisfied, prideful smile decorated his face.

“I believe I will be most pleased with our union.”

You offered a sweet smile as you stood, making your way over to the basin to clean yourself—another task you’d have to train him in. A husband should attend to his wife. 

“Keep my bed warm,” he hummed, extending a hand toward you.

You took hold of him, allowing him to draw you close. He was not perfect, but you could help mold him. To help usher in a strong Targaryen-Martell alliance. Mayhaps you could even convince him to break Daenerys’s betrothal and allow her to live in King’s Landing once he claimed his throne. Your ambition to rule ran deep in your veins, and to be queen of the Seven Kingdoms ignited a spark deep inside you. For now, you gave into the sweet cocoon of slumber as you rested in Viserys’s arms.

[enveine]

when doves cry - s. clegane: chapter one (pilot)

pairing: sandor clegane x f!eldest stark reader summary: your loyalty to your family is unwavering, a steadfast commitment that defines your character. however, navigating the turbulent waters of newfound, intense emotions for a man devoted to a family starkly opposed to your own will challenge the foundations of this loyalty. as you stand on the precipice of conflicting allegiances, the question looms: what sacrifices would you make in the name of love? rating: 18+ word count: 4.4k chapter warnings: smut, "we just met but I want to fuck you", kinda ooc sandor, language, story loosely follows the timeline of S1, semi-public sex- very risky, rough sex, reader probably cares more about what's happening then sandor does, hickeys in hidden places, unprotected piv sex, angst, "we just fucked and now we're practically going to be living together".

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The great hall of Winterfell buzzed with activity as the Stark family prepared for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon and his entourage. You were the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, so you knew all eyes were going to be on you; a young woman of noble birth, at an age desperate to be married well. You moved gracefully through the throngs of people, your eyes keenly observing the bustling preparations. You wore a simple but elegant gown, the Stark colors proudly displayed.

A little nervous, to be expected. Nothing a little ride couldn’t fix.

On the way back, you noticed that winter truly had begun its descent upon the land, the air frigid and the wind mighty. The crunch of snow beneath the hooves of your horse echoed through the trees as you headed back towards Winterfell. You were eager to greet the royal party.

As you approached the stable, you hear the unmistakable clatter of hooves against the cobblestone. The royal retinue had arrived. Intrigued, you watch closely to see the beautiful ocean of golden banners, curiosity piqued by the impending arrival of the king.

The gate swung open, revealing the group of visitors. Your gaze was drawn to a towering figure at the back of the party. A man of imposing stature, his face hidden beneath a twisted helm, and clad in dark, rugged armor. He radiated an air of danger that made the other courtiers instinctively give him a wide berth.

Still mounted, you took a step back, closer to your direwolf Nyx. You watched him with a curious gaze. As he sat there, a silent sentinel also mounted upon his horse, you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze met your own.

"Who's that?" you inquired, directing the question to a nearby stable boy.

The boy hesitated before answering, "That's the Hound, my Lady. Sandor Clegane, the King's dog."

You clicked your tongue, “King’s dog, huh?” a small laugh, “Interesting title.”

You watched as the man dismounted, your eyes narrowing with interest. He moved with a certain controlled grace, his movements deliberate and purposeful. An unexpected shiver ran down your spine as you observed the mysterious figure. There was something about him that defied the norms of courtly behavior, an untamed quality that set him apart. In a sea of polished knights and well-mannered courtiers, he was a dark anomaly.

You couldn't help but be intrigued by the mysterious figure. Your eyes lingered on him, studying the scars that marred his face. There was a hardness in his gaze that suggested a life of brutality, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the man beneath the armor.

Your eyes met for the briefest moment, a flicker of connection that sent a jolt through your spine. Quickly averting her gaze, you tried ignoring the heart pounding feeling in her chest. The Hound continued on, seemingly indifferent to the glances and whispers that followed him. After his eyes left yours, you couldn’t help but watch his every move again. That man, Sandor Clegane, he was beautiful.

And he was coming right towards you.

As you dismounted her horse, the Hound's attention shifted briefly to her. You felt a twinge of discomfort under his scrutinizing gaze, but being the strong-minded Stark you were, held your ground. Nyx, ever vigilant, growled softly at the Hound, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You a Stark girl?" he grumbled, his voice rough and devoid of warmth.

You nodded, a defiant yet humorous spark in your eyes. "Well I stand before you wearing Stark colors. I’d hope so. (Y/N) Stark. And you are?"

"The Hound. Sandor Clegane," he replied with a hint of mockery. "King's dog, they call me."

You arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "A dog, you say?” In a bold move, your eyes slowly moved up and down, taking in a good look of his entire figure. “I don’t see a collar.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a reluctant smirk. It was a rare sight, a crack in his stoic facade.

“Well, dog, I hope you’re house-trained.”

Your exchange was brief, but in that moment, something shifted. A connection, unspoken and unacknowledged, lingered between the two of you. The Hound turned away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you with a lingering sense of curiosity and an unsettling awareness that even though you’d just met that man—you wanted more of him.

Later that night, the great hall of Winterfell resounded with the clinking of goblets and the boisterous laughter of the guests. You found yourself drawn into the festivities, attempting to put aside the enigmatic encounter with Sandor Clegane. The feast in honor of King Robert Baratheon's visit was in full swing, and the Stark family showed they knew how to put together an extravagant feast.

As the night progressed, you caught glimpses of him across the crowded hall. His presence was ominous, and whispers of him still followed like shadows. Your curiosity mingled with a sense of unease, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that your brief exchange held a significance you couldn't fully comprehend.

You continued to mingle among the noble guests, trying to keep your eyes away from Sandor. But to no avail, you watched in-between pointless conversations as he stood at the outskirts of the celebration. His gaze fixed on the revelry with a mix of disdain and disinterest and you felt a peculiar pull, as if the currents of destiny were nudging you toward the enigmatic man.

An unexpected voice interrupted you in the middle of your thoughts. "(Y/N), you seem quite taken with the Hound," spoke your younger sister, Sansa Stark, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.

You raised an eyebrow and snorted out a laughter, attempting to conceal the obvious interest written in your eyes. "Taken? No, my dear Sansa. Merely curious. He is a formidable figure, after all." You put your arm between hers, nudging her body in the direction of the man who looked quite bored. “You know what mother always tells us. We are wolves, we must be the ones to pounce before the others.”

Sansa's gaze flitted between you and the man in question, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Well, just be careful. Rumors say he has a fearsome temper."

You chuckled at her, feigning nonchalance. "Rumors are just that—rumors. I'm sure there's more to him than meets the eye."

“Rumor has it that I think you’re full of rubbish.” She replied, a playful laugh falling from her lips.

“Oh Sansa, run off. Father needs you.” You nodded in the direction of your father, clearly enjoying his conversation with King Robert and his son, Joffrey.

Poor Sansa, you thought, that boy looks like nothing but trouble.

As the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were destined to cross again. And fate intervened sooner than expected. The King's squire, Lancel Lannister, approached you with a cup of wine.

"From the Hound," he declared, offering you the goblet.

You hesitated, fingers brushing against the cold metal. You glanced in the direction of the Hound, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. Taking the wine, you nodded back with a small smile, and Lancel retreated into the shadows.

As you sipped the wine, the rich flavor lingered on her lips. As you found yourself drawn once more Sandor, you wondered what he’d taste like lingering on your lips. As your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between the two of you—a forming connection, born from the flames of need for passion.

Eventually, after a few more cups of wine, you found yourself standing at the edge of the hall, watching the dancers twirl to the music. A deep voice behind you interrupted your thoughts. "You fancy dancing, Lady (Y/N)?"

You turned to find Sandor standing there, his burned face impassive. "I can dance if the occasion calls for it," you replied, your eyes meeting his with something you couldn’t describe, but you could definitely feel it.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s a wolf with claws, then."

You were undeterred by his nature, offering a playful smile. "You sure seem to enjoy lurking in the shadows, Ser Clegane. Is that where you find your solace?"

He grunted, a low sound that could be mistaken for a chuckle. "Solace is overrated. I prefer the edge of the firelight."

You tilted your head, curls cascading over your shoulder. "A mysterious man, I see. Are you afraid the light will reveal too much?"

Sandor's lips twitched into a half-smile, a rare sight on his scarred face. "Some things are better left in the dark."

Leaning in, you whispered, "But not everything. Some things are meant to be uncovered." You caught the glint in his eye, a flicker of something lustful beneath the rough exterior.

The conversation continued, the banter growing more flirtatious with each exchange. You teased and prodded, finding amusement in the unexpected connection you felt with the man. He, in turn, responded with a gruff charm that surprised even himself.

Eventually, he left you with short instructions, “Broken tower.”

At last, you found yourself in the quiet solitude with the idea of getting to know Sandor better. In a way you’d known nobody before. The anticipation of his presence weighed on you, and a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. The air was charged with a different kind of energy, one that held the promise of a connection that transcended the boundaries of right and wrong.

A soft knock on the door signaled his arrival, and when you opened it, there he stood, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over his scarred face, softening the harsh lines that had witnessed battles and hardships.

"I thought we might continue our conversation," he rumbled, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that caught you off guard, especially when he roughly grabbed your cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. Your heart raced as you welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, trying your best to close the door.

The room pulsed with palpable tension, igniting like a fervent flame, as your hands yearned to make contact with him in every possible manner. The warmth emanating from your skin created a contrast against the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. Restless and eager, your hands became a silent testament to the unspoken urgency of your desire.

Sandor's gaze remained fixed on yours throughout, ablaze with a passion you had long yearned for—a fervor you couldn't fathom experiencing with the man standing before you.

Your teeth sank into his lower lip, coaxing a resonant, primal groan from him, prompting his reluctant withdrawal. "She's a wolf with claws and teeth," he chuckled, wiping away the trace amount of blood that had emerged from the newfound wound.

Rather than offering a response, your body found itself pressed against the wall, his calloused hand gently mitigating the impact on your head. "Couldn’t very well carry our conversation with your lips against mine," you remarked at last, tilting your head to the side as his lips met the tender skin of your neck.

He stopped for a moment- another faint chuckle coming before continuing, “aye, that was the point.”

Sandor persisted in tracing kisses along your neck, momentarily pausing only to leave subtle bites in places known only to him. In this moment, he recognized that he was on the brink of losing all restraint, evident in the autonomy of his hands, which seemed to explore every inch of your body with a desire you willingly indulged. Oh, how willingly you would allow him to continue.

“Sandor, please, I need-” you were cut off mid sentence by him grabbing your right leg and wrapping it around his waist. The cold metal hid his hardening cock—the feeling of it against your warm skin made you anticipate his every move. “If we’re g-gonna do this.. we need to hurry..”

“You need to keep quiet.”

His lips descended, caressing the delicate fabric of your dress. His fingers deftly maneuvered to release you from its confines with a sense of urgency; there was an animalistic quality to his actions—rough fingers, accompanied by soft growls, responding to the rhythmic dance of your body against his determined hold. A silent plea resonated, a tacit acknowledgment that you craved everything he was willing to bestow upon you.

A hushed stillness enveloped the space for the next few moments, broken only when he skillfully lowered your dress, unveiling your tits. Sandor's fingers delicately traced the contours of each nipple, his unwavering gaze captivated by their response. With each circular motion, they seemed to intensify in firmness, a testament to the heightened sensitivity your body exhibited in mere minutes of his touch. He reveled in the allure of your immediate responsiveness.

If anyone were to walk in they’d see such a pornographic sight: the beloved, eldest daughter of Ned Stark, nipples hard and swollen, dress hiked up to her waist while the Prince’s hound let her hump his armor. By this point, you'd wager that the burgeoning dampness in your silk panties had left its mark on the cool silver surface, a silent proclamation of your possession of the man. Yet, the mutual understanding between you both acknowledged that any unsuspecting onlooker venturing in would be treated to an undeniable spectacle.

If this were your first time, perhaps a hint of nervousness would have crept in, particularly as you sensed his hands gently sliding your panties down to your knees. Yet, even in such a moment, his adept handling imparted a profound sense of security. This man, bound by oath to safeguard his King, was now silently pledging to protect you with equal devotion.

But, fortunately, nothing could protect your body from what Sandor was about to do.

Seating himself on the ground after loosening his leather pants, he then drew you down to join him. As you settled onto his lap, he playfully grazed against your entrance with his cock, all the while continuing his descent of kisses along your neck. With a stern tone, he uttered, "My Lady, speak the word and I’ll stop."

Gazing into his eyes, you found them ablaze with desire, mirroring the fervor you sensed within yourself. His captivating eyes, the unsteady cadence of his breath, and the formidable frame enveloping you in its embrace—you desired nothing else in that moment.

“I don’t think such words exist.” You whispered.

At last, your lips met again with an intense passion, and as he slowly pushed his cock inside, his kiss carried a raw urgency that you eagerly reciprocated. Midway, a soft moan escaped as an indescribable sensation stirred in your stomach. Gazing down, your eyes caught a glimpse of your warmth enveloping him voraciously—a hunger akin to a famished wolf.

Sandor wasn’t even in completely.

His hips moved gradually against yours, a measured rhythm aiming to acquaint you with his full length. Pressed chest to chest, he sensed the rapid cadence of your intense heartbeat, but as his fingers traced small circles on your thighs, he felt it gradually subside. Sandor understood that in due course, he would sense the resurgence of your elevated heart rate, particularly when he ultimately filled you entirely. The connection was palpable, your pelvis intimately aligned with his.

He sustained a consistent rhythm, guiding your hips in a reciprocal dance of thrusts. The entire encounter was swift and purposeful, each thrust delivered with a sense of urgency, as if time were a constraint. In a sense, it was, considering the uncertainty of someone stumbling upon you at any moment.

Yet, beneath it all, an undercurrent of passion prevailed. The symphony of your gasps harmonized with his occasional groans, creating a melodic atmosphere. Your hand remained anchored on the back of Sandor's neck like a steadying handlebar, providing support as his thrusts intensified. It felt fitting that this was how Sandor Clegane fucked his women—clothed, he embodied roughness and intensity; how could one become tender and affectionate when undressed?

The familiar sensation of tightness formed in your stomach, and truth be told, there was a hint of disappointment in how swiftly the entire encounter unfolded. Yet, the lack of surprise lingered; he had proven to be the quickest in getting you into bed. The inexplicable allure he held over you remained a mystery, but in this moment, such thoughts were irrelevant—especially when you stood on the brink of blissful release.

Suddenly, a surge of sensation swept over you as his hand enveloped your throat. Sandor felt the subtle tightening of your walls around his cock, a telltale sign that you were teetering on the edge. He sought to bring you to that exquisite pleasure. Amidst the crescendo of your growing moans reverberating against the tower walls, his grip tightened, not to stifle your ecstasy but to cloak the sounds and shield the secrecy of your rendezvous.

As tears cascaded down your cheeks in response to the overwhelming pleasure, he spoke, "That's it, (Y/N), that's it…" It was as if he momentarily shed his usual demeanor, softening as he observed you in your vulnerable state. However, amidst the whirlwind that had your head spinning and everything fading to white, the only thing you could truly register was the profound impact of your orgasm.

Sandor wasn't far behind, withdrawing as you caught your breath, leaving your back adorned in ribbons of white cum. A soft whine escaped you as you felt it trickle down, accompanied by his heightened groans that surpassed those from when he was inside you. The aftermath left both of you in a hushed stillness, contemplating who would break the silence first. It was him, rising to his feet after moving your body off his lap and discreetly tucking his softening cock back into his trousers. He handed you a handkerchief, a gesture to cleanse the now drying traces from your back.

You wondered whether he would abandon you in the tower, retreat to his quarters, or perhaps rejoin the now dwindling party. To your surprise, he didn't. Instead, he extended his hand, helping you rise and assisting in the process of reclothing yourself. It was a considerate gesture, you acknowledged, yet it only added to the palpable tension that seemed to be mounting. You were certain Sandor could discern it in your expression—the subtle frown betraying your disappointment that the encounter had concluded. As you gazed at him, you searched for any sign of shared sentiment, any indication that he, too, would miss the intimacy you had just shared. Regrettably, you found nothing.

The air outside the tower was crisp, and the moon cast a silvery glow across the surroundings as Sandor led you down the winding path to your quarters. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the tension between you two lingering even in the cool night air.

The journey was silent, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft echo of your footsteps on the cobblestone path. Sandor's hand, firm yet strangely comforting, guided you through the dimly lit passages of the castle.

As you approached your quarters, a mix of conflicting emotions washed over you. There was a longing for something more, a desire to bridge the gap between the intimacy you'd just shared and the reality of the castle walls around you. The silence between you spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in.

Upon reaching your door, Sandor released your hand, and for a moment, it felt like a sudden loss. He stood there, his expression unreadable in the muted moonlight. You searched his eyes for any sign of what lay beneath the surface, but they remained enigmatic.

"Goodnight, Lady (Y/N)," Sandor gruffly uttered, breaking the silence. The words hung in the air, a simple farewell laden with unspoken complexities.

"Goodnight, Sandor Clegane," you replied, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of something unsaid. As you entered your quarters, the door closing behind you, the weight of the night settled in.

Alone in the hushed sanctuary of your quarters, the echoes of the night's encounter reverberated through the room. The emotions, like an unruly storm, swirled within you, and the dam holding them back began to crack.

As you stood there, the weight of what had transpired bore down on you. The tears, uninvited, welled up in your eyes and spilled over, tracing the contours of your cheeks. It wasn't just the physical intimacy that left you shaken; it was the tangled web of emotions that accompanied it.

Regret gnawed at you, and confusion settled in like a heavy fog. What had led you to this precipice, and where did you stand now? The vulnerability of the moment washed over you, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

Fumbling with the fastenings of your dress, you sought solace in the act of undressing, as if shedding the layers would somehow alleviate the burden you carried. The moonlight filtering through the window cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the isolation you felt.

Laying on the bed, your tears soaked into the fabric beneath you, a silent lament for the choices made and the uncharted territories navigated. The intimacy, though a fleeting connection, left a profound impact, and the aftermath left you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

As the night wore on, the tears eventually subsided, leaving behind a quiet ache and a lingering question of what the dawn would bring. In the solace of your room, you found yourself wrestling with the complexities of desire, regret, and the uncertain path ahead.

The morning sun painted Winterfell in hues of gold, casting a warm light over the courtyard. Despite the tender touch of dawn, the echoes of the previous night's emotions still sat within your heart.

A soft knock on your door signaled the entrance of your father, whose countenance bore the strength of responsibility. "(Y/N)," he began with a softness, "gather your sisters. There's something we must discuss."

Compelled by both curiosity and a lingering sense of unrest, you summoned Arya and Sansa to join you in the family chambers. As the three of you assembled, a somber atmosphere enveloped the room, foreshadowing the gravity of your father's impending words.

Ned stood before you, a stalwart figure. "My daughters," he started, his voice bearing both love and gravitas, "a change is upon us. I have been offered the position of Hand of the King by King Robert."

Sansa's eyes widened, Arya's skepticism palpable, and you exchanged a glance with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"We will be relocating to King's Landing," Ned continued, his gaze encompassing each of you. "It is an honor, but with it comes great responsibility. The court is a labyrinth of politics and intrigue, and I need my family by my side."

Arya's rebellious spirit simmered beneath the surface, while Sansa's excitement mingled with trepidation. As for you, the events of the night before lingered, making the move to King's Landing feel like an unexpected twist in the intricate tapestry of your life.

Amidst the familial exchanges, there was another silent dance occurring—one between you and Sandor. His eyes constantly drew your gaze. It was as if an invisible thread connected you, and in those moments, the world around you blurred as your eyes met his, wordlessly conveying a shared understanding of the complexities unfolding.

Ned Stark, seemingly oblivious to the subtle interplay, continued to outline the responsibilities that awaited the Stark family in the capital. As he spoke, your eyes frequently found Sandor's, and each exchange carried a weight of unspoken emotions. His gaze, normally guarded, held a hint of something that transcended the stoic exterior he presented to the world.

When Ned mentioned the unity of the Stark family in facing the challenges ahead, your eyes involuntarily sought out Sandor's once more. In that shared gaze, there was a recognition that echoed the uncertainties of the path ahead and the uncharted territories that lay before you.

The air seemed heavy with the weight of impending change as you sought out Sandor in the quiet corners of the castle. You found him in a secluded courtyard, the familiar hounds of House Stark milling about nearby. The atmosphere was tense, and the silent exchange of glances from before lingered in your mind.

"Sandor," you began, your voice cutting through the stillness. He turned to face you, his expression guarded but expectant.

The words tumbled out, the night before demanding acknowledgement. "What happened between us… it was unexpected, and now with the move to King's Landing, I don't know what this means."

Sandor's gaze, normally impenetrable, softened in a rare display of vulnerability. "It means nothing, my Lady. Just a moment in time, and we move on."

But you couldn't shake the lingering questions. "Is that all it was to you? Just a moment?"

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty. "It was more than that, but it's not something that fits into our worlds."

A surge of frustration mixed with a tinge of sadness swept over you. "Our worlds? What does that mean, Sandor? We're both headed to King's Landing. We're both a part of whatever is coming next."

His gaze held a complexity that mirrored the conflict within. "In King's Landing, there's a different kind of game being played. I’m not the one to bring into your world, and you sure as hell don't belong in mine."

The words stung, but there was a resignation in his tone, as if he sought to shield you from the harsh realities he faced daily.

You took a step closer, unwilling to let the unspoken linger. "I can decide what world I belong to, Sandor. And right now, I want to understand what this is between us."

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and reluctance. "We're just two people caught up in a storm. Best not to overthink it."

Before you could press further, the sound of footsteps approached, and the courtyard suddenly felt less secluded. Sandor's eyes met yours once more, a silent understanding passing between you.

"In King's Landing, things will have to change," he muttered, his tone a gruff acknowledgment of the challenges ahead.

The bittersweet taste of truth lingered in the air as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead. A silent understanding passed between you, a farewell woven with unspoken regrets and the inevitability of parting ways.

As the distance between your bodies widened, the courtyard seemed to stretch infinitely. The angst that clung to the parting moments left an indelible ache, a silent ache that would resonate in the chambers of your heart long after the echoes of Sandor's footsteps faded into the shadows.

"I don't want to lose you," you confessed in your mind.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Until Sunrise - A Khal Drogo/Reader One Shot Story.

So I was feeling a certain way about Jason Momoa, and realised that it is absolutely uncalled for that I have not yet written for my favourite character of his! I’ve no idea how alive/dead the GoT fandom is (I’m expecting dead, lol!) but I’ve tagged anyone I can think who might be interested, or because I know whatever form he’s presented in, you like him because he’s Jason motherfucking Momoa. As you should. 

Words - 1,375

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

The moments you lived for; they were only ever fleeting at best. He would send for you, as he always did, picking one of his favourites from the tent of women devoted entirely to keeping the Khal content, eyes that burned with envy following you as you departed, ready for him. They always did.  

Walking over the dried-up terrain, you cast your eyes to the sky, seeing the moon beginning to rise, knowing the silver orb will be glowing fully through the inky night sky by the time he’s done having his way with you. He never allows you to remain until sunrise.  

Entering his tent, you find him standing in wait for you, the splendour of his nakedness appealing as always, approaching with long strides and taking you roughly by the arm, as is Drogo’s way. He rarely shows anything less than dominant claiming, towing you to his bed, making short work of your clothes.  

“How do you want me tonight, my Khal?” you ask, your Dothraki flawless. He does speak the common tongue, much more than he would ever let on, yet you have only ever communicated with him in his own language.  

He takes a moment for contemplation, his finger running along your jawline. “Face down, backside up.” Not surprising. He always prefers to take you from behind. You feel his weight dip the bed behind you, one hand placed at the top of your spine, the other beginning to stroke at you. His hand is oiled, as is his only real consideration for you, that you be slippery enough to sheathe his huge cock. Foreplay is a word unknown to him, in any language.

It is surprising to you, as your folds are parted, that he simply hasn’t done the minimal to wet your walls and swiftly breech you, his fingers touring you, exploring the petal soft flesh of your sex. Those slippery fingertips swirl around, until they reach your little bud, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips, Drogo focusing in on it.

“Good?"

You are confused, pleasantly, though. “Yes, my Khal."

He takes a moment of pause, ceasing the rubbing. “Truly? Or do you just speak this to pacify me?" He leans to you, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “Tell me how you like it.”

You are too scared of sparking his terrifying rage to even question why he cares, only pleasantly surprised that for once, he actually does. “A little softer to begin with, less pressure.” When his fingers begin to circle again, it’s pure bliss, your lips parting on a soft moan. “Just like that, my Khal.”  

He straightens, his dark eyes watching, enchanted by the sight of you spread before him, his fingers quickening a little, dragging them back and forth, offering the same at your entrance, your arousal bathing them. He likes that, the feel of wet silk warming his fingertips, pushing them inside of you, a grumble rattling his throat.  

“Soaking,” he grunts, dragging them back, returning to your aching bud. “You feel beautiful.” It must be different for him, to feel the arousal of a woman, since you can bet he never really has before. He oils each whore, dousing his cock, fucking them until he dances with the stars before they are cast aside, their purpose served. 

Little glimmers skitter over your nerves, pleasure beginning to make you trickle hot for him, Drogo shifting, removing his hand as he crouches behind you, replacing the contact with his tongue.  

“Oh, gods above!” you hiss, the warmth of his mouth stoking your fire, the very first you’ve ever had settle between your legs and indulge you in the hot, flat wet of long, languid licks.  

“Turn.” He demands, his rough hands parting your thighs as soon as you are upon your back, his mouth reconnecting with you, greedy, his beard rubbing against you as he licks at the honey of your cunt. “Still good?”

“Incredible!” you cry, your hands clutching the pelts you lie upon. “Please, do not stop!”

A smirk tilts his full lips, his eyes finding yours over the rise of your breasts, tongue rapidly placing a firm lick over your bud. “She demands of her Khal?”

He sounds more amused than anything, but to hear the tinge of balefulness, of him bringing you back to yourself, you fluster a little. “I... but what I mean to say is... I...”

He moves until his face is above yours, placing a finger to your lips, and a kiss to your throat. “Quiet with your words. No more talking, but you will let me hear how much you enjoy it.” Moving back to your apex, each lick he bestows to you is a rain of celestial decadence, tongue beating over the swell of your clit, the nectar of your arousal soaking his lips as he eats you feverishly, without pause, like a starving wolf would gorge upon the carcass of a deer.  

“Oh, you are divine, my Khal!” you cry, incoherence following as he sucks upon you, cheeks hollowing, his eyes almost black, pupils blown with lust as he grunts against the sopping mess of your cunt, enjoying you in his mouth. That is until he moves to arrow himself into your soaking centre, the many inches of his girthy cock splitting you wide, his mouth closing in a hard suck upon your nipple.

“Drogo,” he breathes, tongue beating over the little stiffened peak. “I want to hear my name upon your lips.” He grasps your jaw, turning your head to face him, eyes homed in upon you in an unbreakable stare.

Your mouths meet in a feverish kiss, a clash of tongues and teeth, your moans spilling from your lips onto his like wine. “You are divine, Drogo.” Taking him is like taking an entire storm within you, Drogo moving to kneel before you, grasping your thighs as his eyes fall to watch his glossy cock daggering into you deeply, an earthy rumble of a groan filling the air.

You are singed upon the heat he drives into you, cool fire flooding your veins, freezing and melting you again right to your very marrow as he pounds into your cunt, evoking your wails, your hands reaching to stroke the wide plane of muscles across his broad chest. The dark of his pubic hair glints in the candlelight, soaked from the dew of your cunt, your eyes falling to view it, to witness how his cock looks as it parts your walls again and again.  

It is a sight you have never beheld before, only ever being taken from behind, your eyes fixated on how sumptuously erotic it is, to watch how good he looks inside of you, his hands beginning to stroke your skin as a bonfire of pure sinful bliss rages between you.  

He moves his hand to your face, thumb dragging over your lips until they part, pushing it into your mouth. “Get it wet.” You meet his simple demand, sucking on it until it is as he requires, Drogo moving it to begin stroking at your clit once more. It’s more than you can handle, and he knows it, smirking down at you once again until his face contorts in bliss, grunting deeply as he gives his cock with keen thrusts, the sounds of your sweaty flesh smacking together filling the tent.  

He moves within you with nothing short of brutal voracity, until you can feel it radiating through you, stars sweeping from the strokes of his thumb as your light begins to shine out over his horizon, your body blooming as you fall apart around him, the fluttering of your cunt dragging his release from him. Thick ropes of cum paint your pulsing walls as he spills into you deep, breathless and spent, pulling from you and resting down on his back.  

You know that this is your cue to get up and leave quietly, yet when you rise, your escape from the bed is halted by a large hand splayed to your chest, Drogo pushing you back down. An arm slides beneath your shoulders, your Khal pulling you against his chest, fingers stroking swirls over your arm.  

"Stay."  

And you do. Until the sun rises.

[vhagarsback]

hunger

jacaerys velaryon x reader

tags: explicit content, jace velaryon x fem reader, smut, creampie, shy reader, a bit of a breeding kink kinda

summary: jacaerys just wants to see all of you, despite your shyness.

Jacaerys asks you "Why don't you let me see it, sweetheart?" A gentle, almost condescending tone in his voice, hungry eyes on your swollen tits. You look away for a second, cheeks burning from shyness and feeling hot when staring at the prince's hands resting in your calves.

"It is embarrassing." You whispered and tried to close your legs again, gasping when Jacaerys grabs your knees and keeps you spread open. His eyes were dark, his lips plump and shiny from kissing all over your body. Jacaerys was a patient, sweet man, but he wanted to see what he did to you.

He bent his head to the side, smiling at you, trying to make you obey. Hands were caressing your knees, making their way to the inside of your thighs. The prince's eyes traveled from your face to your belly to the middle of your legs again.

"You were so brave minutes ago, asking me to fill you up with my cum and give you heirs. Don't you remember, my love?" Jacaerys asked, smirking as wetness gushed out of your pussy, you moaned softly. Jacaerys was controlling himself to not jump on his cute wife.

"You're so mean." You whispered, voice weak and shaky. Jacaerys stared at the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, the tears at the corner of your eyes and the marks on your chest and neck and sympathized with you.

"I'm sorry, dearest." It was easy to realize he wasn't sorry at all when he smiled so proudly at the he ruined you, sighing when you let him see all of you.

"It feels good, I admit." You whispered as cum dripped slowly from your cunt, clenching around nothing as a whimper left your swollen lips, you were trying your best to not waste any drop. Two fingers went to the middle of your legs, the pout and your teary eyes made the disappointment clear.

"Dear, do you like it so much when I come inside? Why didn't you tell me? I would have let you swallow." Jacaerys mumbled against your flushed face and lowered his hand slowly until he replaced your fingers with his own, making a loud wet noise when two digits slipped in easily.

You closed your legs around Jacaerys hand, feeling almost empty as you got used to something much bigger filling you up. Nobody ever came close to what Jacaerys made you feel. Your eyes rolled back and you had to hold on to your husband's arms to keep from screaming, your sensitivity even worse and your thighs kept shaking uncontrollably.

"Again." You still pleaded, receiving a smirk in response.

[danytherelentless]

They Will Suffice

Jon Snow x fem!reader

summary: a pleasurable moment during your pregnancy with your husband

warnings: smut, illusions to sex, fingering, sweet talk, a little bit dirty, pregnancy, slight pregnancy kink (if you squint really, really hard)

The wind is howling and furious outside, it rattles the shutters of the windows and whistles through the gaps it manages to slither through the walls creating a chill in the air in spite of the warm pipes within the walls of the castle.

You lie in bed with your husband, a quiet and comforting moment between two lovers. Basking in the afterglow of love-making leaning back into his strong arms as they wrap around your front and caress you belly.

His bare knuckle grazes where your child kicks. A budum rhythm over and over again.

"It appears we have awoken them," you muse, looking up to see him. His handsome face is wrought with concentration, dark brows furrowed close.

"He," he corrects you.

You huff a laugh, "he? So sure are we?"

"Yes. I dream of our son in your arms. Of him playing in the Godswood with Ghost," he presses a kiss to your brow.

"Every man wishes for a son. But dreams will not make our child grow a cock if they do not already possess one," you warn. You can't help but feel a little nervous at his surety of a son. What would happen if you birthed a daughter instead?

"I would not be disappointed with a little daughter, my love. I just know that this..." he strokes the underside of your belly where there is another thump, "is our son."

You hum in acknowledgment, a small smile curling at your mouth.

"And what shall our son's name be?"

"Edric," his response is instant.

Your eyes soften, "for your father?"

"Hm. Little Ned," he is smiling now, a small, beautiful and oh so rare thing. It makes your heart swell and tears well up in your eyes.

"When we have a daughter you shall name her," he tells you, as if it is a certainty.

"And what if we shall only have sons? Or only this one child?"

"Then you can name them too. You're the one doing all the hard work," he tells you.

"I suppose you are right. Though you certainly take care of me," you respond with a teasing grin.

"I do now, do I?" he teases right back, one hand going further down to your .

"Mhm. I find myself quite satiated in your presence."

"Careful, I might become unbearable with all this flattery," his teeth graze at the side of your face. You sigh as you sink further back into his arms.

"We can't have that now, can we?"

His hand slips between your thighs, your knees parting some more to allow him better access.

"I find myself not fully satiated tonight, however," you continue, a stir in your lower belly, an urge to squeeze your thighs tightly together.

"Oh. We can't have that now, can we?"

His fingers slide between your folds, already slick once more. He had already cleaned you up after your previous bouts of love-making quite nicely, though is appears it was for nought as you would soon be a mess again.

"I'm not sure I have such energy as you," he admitted as he slid a curled finger into you, thumb circling your nub. A moan broke past your lips as he moves much to slowly.

"Well... your fingers will have to suffice," you let out another broken moan as he gathers your wetness and slides in a second finger.

"Hmm, so wet. So warm," his lips are pressed against the side of your face, teeth grazing the flesh as he whispers his sweet praises into your ear.

His practiced movements speed up, your knees part wider. His cock is hardened somewhat against your back, though not nearly at full mast.

"I can't believe I have you, so perfect, so tight, right in my arms," he speaks, lips dragging across your jaw as you throw your head back against his shoulder.

His fingers curl further, rubbing along that soft spot inside of you which had your thighs twitching and your eyes rolling back as your nails dig into his flesh.

"Right there," you moan, breathless, "please."

"Please what? What do you want?"

"I want to cum. Please make me come," you let out a louder moan.

His movements speed up, "come for me, wife. Finish for me."

You reach your peak, your third that night, fingers curling into the flesh of his thighs, a high, broken keening sound passing your lips, eyes squeezed tightly shut and mouth forming an 'o'.

"So pretty," he strokes your thighs and swollen belly, "so perfect."

You don't hear what he says next as you are lulled into a peaceful slumber, howls of the wind distant to your ears as his warmth envelopes you whole and drags you down to the depths of rest.

comments are greatly appreciated, don’t be a stranger :)

you can find me on Wattpad and AO3 by danytherelentless

let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for any of my works (character specifications and smut or not)

[aemondsbabe]

A Kindness

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!

🖤 my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“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.

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. 

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.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

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[spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack]

aemond loves to watch you. aemond watches you dress, undress, bathe, and even do mundane chores. Do you know about this? He hopes not...

(18+) minors dni, you will be blocked.

warnings: smut, rough sex, squirting, fingering, aemond whimpering a lil, the reader is helaenas twin sister, perv!aemond, the reader a seductress lowkey. biting, public teasing, snarling YES he snarls. heavy breeding kink.

first time I've written on Tumblr in like 4 years, enjoy babes x (this sucks but the fandom is dying)

Aemond was a man of honor, duty, and sacrifice. He never strayed far from his morals.

But when he found the passages that led throughout the red keeps walls, he couldn't resist.

He had shuffled throughout the walls, begging to hear something, anything valuable. He had no clue as to what room he had stopped at to take a breath. But he found out shortly after his queries when he heard soft whimpers, his imagination trailed far, but he reigned it in, conforming to his expectations.

He pushed off the wall, his dragon-riding boots making null noise as he steadily walked towards the sound. The whimpers transformed into moans as he urged himself closer, there he spotted you, from a hole big enough for his remaining eye to see you; rolling your hips into your dainty fingers. Aemond almost felt bad, how unsatisfactory your small fingers must be for you.

It wasn't until your head fell back that Aemond grew.. hard.

Your eyes rolled back as you rode your fingers to completion, crying out as you squirted everywhere. Aemond couldn't believe what he was seeing, Who knew Helaena's twin was everything she wasn't.

And so, his obsession began. His visits had no pattern, but every time he'd visit; you would be ready and halfway to orgasming, or you'd be getting dressed/undressed, or bathing. It wasn't until a whole two moons after his first visit that he realized the synchrony of it all, as if you knew he was there...

His worries were pushed away as you opened your milky thighs, glancing in his direction. He blinked, then blinked again. You couldn't know he was there, Right?

Then as if you answered him, you pushed yourself onto your knees sliding two of your fingers into your wet cunt. Aemond's breathing hitched as his hands fell to his belt buckle, as his hands undid the belt, your hands moved faster; your whimpers of ecstasy turned into full moans.

It wasn't until he was pumping his cock he realized that you were moaning his name like a whore. He let out a quiet whimper as your fingers moved faster, his hand wrapped around his cock as he gently stroked. A pang of fear struck him as he looked back up, your eyes on his as your fingers moved in and upwards; searching for that spot.

Aemond wasn't exactly quiet with his advances on you, and after the first time he had seen you bare, you searched the walls; tapping like a madman until you found a small crack shaped almost perfectly for him to peek through. So you let him. And as your eyes met you bent your neck to the side with a final call of his name, "Aemond!" You wantonly moaned, your thighs shook as they clenched around your wrist.

Aemond couldn't last after that display, his hand tightened at the base of his cock. His cum, literally, painting the walls.

His heavy breathing rendered him unable to look up, for if he had he would have seen you staring directly at him. Your eyes were half-lidded as your chest moved hastily.

Dinner that evening was.. awkward to say the least. "So, sister... Mother told me she's planning your betrothal.." Aegon teased, Helaena sat beside him; head down fiddling with her fingers. You sat on the other side of Hel, and Aemond sat beside you, at the head of the table.

Your doe-eyes flittered between your mother, Alicent, and your eldest brother. "Oh?" Alicent looked peeved at Aegon's incessant teasing. "How do you feel about marrying-" Aegon was cut off by your mother's sharp tone. "Aegon! That is enough out of you... May we have a prayer, dear husband?" Viserys nodded, exasperated. Alicent nodded, placing her enveloped hands against her face.

the murmurs of your mother blessing your food didn't distract you and Aemond from glancing at each other, you picked up your goblet of wine; holding eyecontact.

Your ring finger danced along the ring of the cup, Aemond shuddered as he glanced in his mothers direction; only to see her scolding Aegon.

It wasn't until he felt your hand slide up his thigh, towards his inner thigh that he turned back to you. Your face bore no smirk, no grin, yet he knew you where up to something. He picked up his fork and played around with his potatos.

His breath hitched as he felt you grip the base of his cock, something Alicent noticed. "Aemond, Are you okay?" You turned to your mother, "I think he's unwell, mother, ill lead him to bed as it seems he's having struggles seeing.." Alicent looked scared for a moment, before nodding. "Of course, dear. I'll see you on the morrow." Alicent dismissed you.

You got up and walked to your fathers side, placing a kiss against his cheek. "Goodnight, father." You turned and pretended to help a sickly Aemond.

Your breathe quickened and your chest rose, causing your Aemond's attention to travel. "I promised myself we wouldnt end up like Helaena and Aegon." You whispered.

It was when you got halfway you your chambers Aemond pinned you against the wall, his rough palm placed softly on you throat. "What was this act set for, sister?" His gruff voice spoke out, his one violet eye glimmered in the moons light.

Aemond didnt know where this side of you had come from, Long had left the virtuous maiden that begged for flowers and jewels, now came the sultry nympho. Your fingers trailed his scar as his hand let god of your throat, his finger trailed you collarbone, the crevice of your breasts, up to the side of you neck. His faint touch made you shiver as you cupped his cheek, Aemond smashed his lips against you.

It was as if time had stopped, and you two were somewhere else. You moaned into the kiss, Aemond groaned at the noise, he pulled back; pecking you lips, your cheek the all the way down to your neck, where he had previously explored with his finger. His canine tooth teased the area between your neck and collar bone, then he bit down.

Not hard enough for it to draw blood, but enough to give you pleasurable pain. You moaned into the silent hallway, too loud. Aemond ripped his head back, shushing you.

"Come, my room is this way." Obviously Aemond knew where your room was, but as you gripped his hand all that mattered was you and him, his eyes trailed your hips as they swayed beneath the heavy dress

You shut your chamber door behind him, immediately reaching for the dagger on dresser. You put it behind your back and cut your corsets laces, your dress fell at your feet. Aemond untied his pant laces, as your nimble hands undid his tunic. Your shared heavy breathing and flushed faces made your stomach do twirls, could this really be it?

Aemonds soft palm landed on your cheek as he brushed your silver locks away, pushing his lips to yours as you moaned in surprise. You gently took a steps to the bed, disconnecting from the kiss; leaving a line of saliva connecting you two. The backs of your knees hit the beds boards, making Aemond grunt as your fell onto your back, looking up at him.

Aemond snarled, his fingers plunging in your heat, his thumb rubbing your clit; It took you by surprise, though your back arched and your thighs shook as it took you only a few curls of his gloriously long fingers to cum; His name fell off your tongue.

Aemond gripped one of your clenched thighs, pulling it apart as he leant in. "Are you sure?" He asked his voice thick of lust, you moaned as his hand travelled further up your thigh.

"Yes," You whispered, leaning up to his ear. "Take me"

He smirked as he positioned himself, aligning himself before gently thrusting his hips slowly. You had seen his cock multiple times, but to feel it was a complete different heaven. "Aemond! Oh my gods-" Your arms swung around his neck as he sped up, his cockhead directly hitting your g-spot. His silver hair almost hid his face, if it weren't for a little wooden clip Helaena had placed earlier.

When Alicent found you two together in the morning, she was accompanied by none other than Aegon himself. She sighed in utter disappointment; before leaving the room as Aegon howled in a fit of laughter...

He growled as he hid into your neck, nipping every few thrusts. "I'm gonna cum, sister." Your heavy breathing was music to his ears, just another sign you were close to cumming.

"Cum- cum inside me, Aemond," Your eyes grew teary as you clenched your thighs around his waist, "You want me to breed you, to fill you entirely, to make you mine forever?" Aemond asked rhetorically, but you still near-screamed your answer.

"Yes!" You yelled, jerking as you squirted, hitting his pubic bone and abdomen. That seemed to be the final thing to blow Aemonds fuse, "Im gonna come deep inside you, fill your womb with my seed." He hissed as your back arched, scratching his back.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

……cersei corrupting little sister reader mayhaps 🤭

Here you go, Babybel. I hope my lesbian offering pleases you.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. Incest, corruption kink, dubcon, fingering. Word count: ~1k

Cersei is in her cups again. You can tell by the faintest tint of rouge that stains her lips and the gleam she gets in her green eyes when she’s overindulged in Arbor red. It’s gotten worse since Jaime went away to the Riverlands and there is little you can do to stop it.

Truthfully, you are glad he’s gone. Growing up you’d always envied the closeness he shared with your older sister, the gap in age between you and your siblings made childhood lonely for you. Tyrion didn’t take an interest in you, but you’d always adored Cersei. You idolised the grace with which she carried herself, her effortless beauty and sharp tongue. She never really paid you any mind though, too preoccupied with her twin to notice you.

It was only when Jaime wasn’t around that she deigned to give you any attention, but you basked in being her plaything, even though it was only temporary. You had heard the rumours regarding your siblings’ incestuous relationship, but your father had scoffed derisively when you dared to ask, telling you that was a scandalous practice that had died with the Targaryens. The Lannisters would never debase themselves with such depravity. You’d believed him, you had no reason not to.

That was until you grew older, Cersei married King Robert, and Jaime’s absences became more frequent. Something shifted in the affection that your sister lavished upon you. It evolved into something darker, more intimate and filled you with feelings of burning shame, amidst a deep seated warmth in your lower belly that you could never quite find the words to articulate.

Lingering kisses to the lips, insistence that you share her bed while she kept you cuddled close to her replaced games of make believe and hide and seek. You supposed it was part of her becoming Queen. People change. She had to grow up and so would you.

This feels too grown up though; as she stands, wine goblet in hand, eyeing you closely as you run your hands over the rich, crimson brocade fabric of the gown draped over the folding screen.

“I cannot wear this,” You tell her, shaking your head and snatching your hands back as though you may sully the material with your very touch. “It is too much.”

She smirks at you, taking a slow sip of her wine and letting her eyes travel the length of you. “You are a Lannister. Nothing is too much.” She says with a slight tilt of her head.

“You have worn this gown to hold Court before!” You protest. “I cannot wear the Queen’s clothes.”

She steps closer, taking your jaw between thumb and forefinger. You can smell cloves and berried fruits upon her breath as it fans across your face, her eyes boring into yours. “Do you remember how much fun we had playing dress up when you were a girl?” She whispers.

You swallow thickly, hating the way your lower belly flutters under her attention. “Y-yes.” You peep meekly.

“Will you dress up once more, sweet sister, just for me?” She purrs.

You want to tell her no, you long to wrench from her grasp and flee back to your own chambers, if only to put a stop to the uncomfortable stickiness that gathers between your legs. You hate this, and yet you will not deny her anything. She is your sister, your Queen. 

You nod your head and she releases you with a demure smile. “Good girl.” She praises stepping back.

Your hands move to lift your thin cotton shift over your head, then pause, uncertainty paralysing you. “Aren’t you going to leave while I dress?”

She scoffs, a grin briefly flashes across her pretty features before it’s gone again. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” She says with a soft shrug.

You hesitate a moment, before pulling off your nightgown, leaving you bare before your sister. It may be nothing she hasn’t seen before, but she has certainly never looked at you like that before.

There is a predatory hunger, dark and urgent, in the way she stares at you. It makes you want to shrink into yourself, cover whatever parts of you she can see with your hands. The silent threat to rob you of your innocence looms heavy and oppressive. It frightens you, but not as much as the urge you have to simply give in to her.

“Here, allow me.” She says, setting her goblet down and stepping forward to take the dress from the screen.

Your breath hitches as her fingertips drag across your skin as she helps you into it, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. You have to bite back a whimper as she grazes your pebbled nipples lightly as she pulls the bodice over your breasts. You are sure it is deliberate.

The room feels too hot, your skin blazes and you grow wetter between your thighs, guilt eating away at you for it.

Lannisters would never debase themselves with such depravity.

What if you are depraved? What if she knows? She’d tell your father and it would bring shame upon your entire house.

You are broken from your thoughts as Cersei’s hand cups your mound beneath your skirts, her lips parting slightly as she feels the arousal gathered there.

You gasp, attempting to pull back, but she follows, keeping her hand exactly where it is. You bump into the wall, backed up against it as she spreads her fingers through your sodden folds, exploring.

“S-stop.” You stammer, unable to comprehend that your own sister would touch you in such a way.

She tuts, but makes no move to halt her ministrations. “Don’t you wish to play, little lion?”

Your eyes widen, your breathing becoming more laboured as the urge to resist her grows weaker. Realisation dawns, horrifying and intriguing all at once. “Is…is this how you and Jaime play?”

She laughs softly, plunging a finger inside of you, the sudden stretch of it making you yelp. “Oh, how Jaime and I play is much more intimate. Would you like me to show you?”

No is precisely what you should say, if you were to listen to the way your mind screams at you to run. However, driven by the fluttering in your cunt and the excitement that flurries in your belly, you answer in the affirmative. “Show me.”

[angelltheninth]

Accidentally Drinking an Aphrodisiac and Aemond Helps You Out

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, aphrodisiac, rough sex, desperate sex, needing to come, dub-con, teasing, loss of virginity, gaslighting, sort of blackmail, creampie, mentioned future pregnancy

A/N: The trailer coming out when I'm on my period is not good cause that's when I'm at my most feral.

The wine was very obviously spiced with something. As soon as you drank it your body started throbbing, heat, the uncomfortable yet familiar kind, spreading through your body and pooling between your legs. Aemond, your crush and current protector took notice of your plight. He took it upon himself to help you. To the public, who knew you were poisoned with something, it meant escorting you to your chambers and finding the culprit. To Armond it meant taking care of you, and taking your virginity in the process.

"This is... we should not be doing this. It feels wrong but... I need you, please, I need you." You begged and hugged him ever closer as he pushed his cock into you. Everything burned, every touch and every kiss, you were so dizzy, barely made it to the bed.

Aemond cooed into your ear, shushing you, "Princess, you must be quiet. Begging does not suit one such as you. Nor would a servant walking in and seeing you with your legs in the air for me." His comments, however truthful, made your face burn. "Opening your legs like so, your cunt eager to have a cock, it's so tight inside you. Have you been craving me all this time? I bet you have."

"Only in the past few months." Perhaps what you drank was also a truth serum because under normal circumstances you would have never confessed to this. "I always wanted to know what a cock feels like. But I only wanted your cock Aemond, no one else's. Is that selfish of me?"

"It is. It's alright, you're allowed to be selfish. You crave me, and I will give you all the pleasure you can take." Aemond's lips bush briefly against yours. "And I will make you mind, I will make your cunt remember what my cock feels like, may you never forget it." His hand pressed against your lower stomach, the added pressure along with the thrust made your eyes roll back, "Princess, if I come inside you, then you do know of course, that you have to marry me."

"M-Marry? My father already chose a-!" Your words died on your lips, replaced by loud moans as his cock pumped you full of seed. "You actually..."

"I did. I do not give a damn what your father decided, which sorry bastard he chose for you. You are mine, my Princess, you carry my seed, you gave your virginity to me, you will be my wife as well. Or... do you want everyone to know what a whore you actually are?"

You closed your legs almost instinctively, only for them to push him closer. "I am not." You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Of course now Princess. But your kingdom will see you as such, your family as well. Is that what you want? All because you were poisoned and couldn't keep your legs closed as a result? I do not want that for you. So I am offering again, will you be my wife?" He was looking out for you, that's all it was, Aemond always looked out for you didn't he?

"If you will have me then, I would be honored to be your wife." Something shone in his eye, brief but it was there before he kissed you again.

"Good. Then, shall we make sure we are fully compatible?" He rolled you on top of him, eliciting a gasp when you were fully sat on his cock, the cum pouring out and onto his stomach and the bed sheets. The night was spent in lustful abandon. Afterwards you were too tired to notice him putting his clothes back on, and the small glass bottle that he pocketed.

[axelsagewrites]

Jon Snow x Wildling!reader; were she doesn't trust him at all and she's always going against him, bickering all the time...and it has smut maybe a more bottom!Jon who's at that point still not so experienced??? Lots of teasing on her side during the smut... :)

Jon Snow*MiLady

Pairing: Jon x F!Wilding!Reader

Platonic: reader x Ygritte, daughter!reader x Mance

Summary: Jon Snow found himself sharing a tent with a wilding girl who loved to rile him up

Warnings: swearing, smut, loss of virginity, praise kink, f receiving oral, piv sex think thats it?

Word count: 4800

Masterlist Here

Requests Open

If anyone but Ygritte had brought a crow into your camp, you would’ve been right beside your fellow free folk demanding he either be thrown out or killed. However lucky for her Ygritte she was your closest friend and the reason you were still alive. Something she reminded you of as people voted on how to handle the crow.

You found it amusing how he was so quick to bend the knee to a king he never met, especially one who wasn’t even the king. Tormund apparently looked more the king than Mance, something you knew he would brag about for weeks. The crow told Mance he wanted to be free, but you knew it was a lie and so did Mance. Your interest was peaked from the corner of the room as he began to describe Craster leaving his new-born son in the woods and what came for it.

This time when Mance asked him why he was really here Jon, you had learned his name, answer seemed to be sincere. “I want to fight for the side who fights for the living." He spoke.

Murmurs fell over the crowd as your fellow free folk debated whether he could be trusted. The better question was if he was worth the risk. You still didn’t move from your spot in the back corner, but you did look up, meeting Ygritte’s eyes. Her gaze was strong, and you could feel the threat behind it.

Mance debated Jon’s words in a few moments of silence before turning his head to face you, “And what say you (Y/N)?” Mance asked. This time the crows’ eyes fell on you.

They were soft behind the harden gaze. He had obviously seen so much already but you had seen more. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked closer to where the crow stood, his eyes not leaving you, but you now refused to meet his, instead keeping yours on Ygritte. “You brought me a crow?” you asked her.

Ygritte smirked, “I brought you Jon Snow,”

“I already have plenty of snow,” you said causing Tormund and others to snicker, “Do you talk to all the crows to decide if you should shoot them?”

Ygritte glared at you. You glanced at Jon who was now wrapped in even more confusion. Why was the king asking someone else’s opinion? Clearly, he was not a wildling. “You owe me,” Ygritte reminded you, ignoring your question.

Your eyes fell back on Jon Snow who stood up straighter under your gaze. You internally smirked at his actions. There was silence in the room as your eyes roamed the crow. Finally, you glanced at Ygritte one last time before walking back to your corner, “I say he can stay,” you said and Jon nodded at your words, attempting to speak but you cut him off, “For now,” you added.

Mance nodded at your words and turned to his lieutenant, “Get the boy a new cloak,”

The new cloak didn’t help much as no one could forget a face like Jon Snow’s. everywhere he walked in the camp the children would pelt him with snow. You laughed at the irony. Ygritte kept trying to stop them to little avail. She tried to scatter the children as they pelted him again when she spotted you laughing across the camp. Ygritte stalked over to you. “Can’t you help me get them to knock it off?”  

“Why would I do that?” you snorted at her question. You rolled your eyes as Jon rushed to catch up with his protecter. “He’s kind of like a dog,” you mused to her, but she just rolled her eyes.

“If you told them to stop, they’d have to,” she said ignoring your insult.

Jon had been in camp for only a couple of hours and clearly no one had explained anything to him, “So are you like the wildling queen?” he asked.

You grimaced at the suggestion, “Do you assume everyone is a king?”

Jon glared at your words, “That was an honest mistake,”

“Are all southerners so ready to bend the knee?” you asked with a smirk.

“I’m a northerner,” Jon spat.

You laughed as you began to walk away, Jon following behind you and Ygritte behind him, “A northerner who can barely walk in snow,”

“There’s like 9 inches of snow!” he shot back.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that shot out your lips as you turned to face him, “I’ll keep that in mind next time im cold, Snow,” you smirked.

Jon’s face flushed pinker than the cold had already nipped it, “I didn’t mean it like that! And you know it,”

“Are you always so miserable?” you asked, turning back to face where you were walking. You were walking to where some of your men were preparing hot stew, something you needed to help with the admittedly high snow.

Jon just sighed behind you and ignored your question. “So, what are you then? Queen, princess, general?” he asked.

“Why does it matter?” you asked as you got in line for stew, Ygritte cutting in front of you and Jon behind you.

“I want to know who I’m talking to,”

“Are you blind?” you snipped, growing hungrier by the minute. “Or just an idiot?”

“Are you?” Jon said, causing you to stop moving and turn to face him, “Why did Mance need your permission?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, “He didn’t need my permission, just my opinion. Which by the way is usually right so don’t prove me wrong,”

“And why does your opinion matter to a king?” he asked as Ygritte walked away with her stew.

As you took the bowl from the man you turned to face Jon again. “His daughter,” you smirked, and you could see Jon’s face pale.

“So, you’re a princess?”

“Maybe to the south,” you said, “Here I’m his first man, his council. What you people call a hand,”

“My father was a hand,” he said as he reached for his own bowl of stew.

“I never asked,” you said as you stopped his hand, “Who said you could eat?” you asked, and Jon’s face fell.

His shock was quickly replaced by anger as he stomped to where Ygritte was sitting on a log. You laughed as you picked up his bowl before walking to join them. You held the bowl out to the crow who looked up at you with a cold stare. “I’m not that bad,” you shrugged, holding it out closer for him to take.

“How kind,” he said, rolling his eyes. You smacked the back of his head for that, “Hey!”

“Shut up,” you said as you reached into your pocket and pulled out the fabric you wrapped your spoons in. you passed Jon one without saying anything and he seemed shocked but less angry this time, “Eat,” you told him and finally he did.

After your food Jon stopped being your problem till the sun began to set. That’s when Ygritte approached you with her next problem, “Where’s the crow sleeping?”

“Fuck would I know?” you said. You were just about to go into your own tent when she had caught you. The day had been long, and Jon was far from your only problem. “Ask Mance,”

Jon stood a couple of feet behind Ygritte, “He said to ask you,”

“Ask Tormund,” you said as you rolled your eyes and went to walk into your tent, but she grabbed your arm to stop you.

“He said the same thing,” she smirked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? How is the crow my problem now?” you asked.

Jon stomped closer to where you debated with Ygritte, “I’m right here you know,”

You held your hand up to him, motioning him to shut up as you continued talking to Ygritte, “Stick him in a spare tent,”

“No ones willing to give him one,”

You sighed knowing you wouldn’t have given him your peoples spare supplies either in their shoes. “Does he have furs?”

“Oh, aye I carried furs all the way from the wall encase I came to camp with yous,” Jon said.

You held back a laugh and kept an annoyed face on as best you could. Snarky Jon was better than formal Jon. “Can’t you keep him?”

“I share a tent with two other folk who’d skin him in his sleep,” she said, and you sighed knowing she was right, “What am I supposed to do with him?”

“Right fine fuck fine okay,” you said, running a hand through your hair, “Just fuck off and I’ll deal with it,”

“Thank you,” Ygritte yelled as she was already running away before she could change her mind.

You sighed and began to walk to go into your tent, “What about me?” Jon asked, rushing to follow.

“You have legs. Keep up,” you said as you entered your tent, holding the flap open for him to get in. “Hurry up im cold,”

“Oh, so wildings do get cold,” Jon smirked as you began to secure the tent entrance shut to block out the harsh wind.

“Do you want to sleep in the snow?” you asked as you turned to face him. He just rolled his eyes in response. You ignored him as you began to light a couple candles to light the dim tent. “You can borrow my spare furs. Don’t ruin them crow,” you warned.

 “Don’t worry your precious furs are fine with me milady,” he said as he looked around the tent.

You grabbed one of your furs and threw it at him, “Don’t call me that,” you said.

“What?” he asked, “Milady? Are you not a princess milady? Do you have another title milady? What would milady like?”

“Milady would like you to shut the fuck up,” you almost yelled as you sat on your own pile of furs that acted as a bed and began to remove your cloak, flinging it into the corner of the tent.

Jon laughed as he internally celebrated his mini win before he looked around the tent awkwardly, “Where am I supposed to take these?”

You looked up at him, eyebrows knitting in confusion as you took off your boots, “You’re sleeping in  here. With me. Unless you’d prefer the snow?”

“I don’t think your father would- “

“I am his daughter not his possession,” you said as you finally got your second shoe off. “and if its my honour your worried about just know us free folk have another definition of honour,”

“And what’s that?” Jon asked.

You stood up from the furs and grinned, “Well part of it is you not killing me in my sleep. At least wake me up first,” Jon just grumbled something under his breath, and you rolled your eyes, “Are you gonna stand there all night? Get ready for bed dumbass,” you said.

“Fuck off,” Jon said; however, he did as he was told as he laid his furs on the ground and began to take his cloak and boots off.

You ignored the crow as you began to fix your hair for bed. You looked down to where Jon was getting under the furs with his clothes still on, “Are you that cold?” you asked.

“What?” Jon asked but a blush fell on his face as you began to remove your outer layers. “Oh,”

You grinned as you stripped down to a lose long shirt you wore under your other clothes. “I forgot you crows didn’t do the whole sex thing,” you said. Jon avoided looking at you as you sat on your furs, deliberately not going under them. The shirt covered your torso and tops of thighs but apparently your legs were too scandalous for him, “Relax, we’re not having sex. I know you crows don’t have it in you,” you laughed.

“I could!” he protested, his eyes flashing to meet yours then quickly moving away, “But I took a vow saying I wouldn’t take a wife,”

“Who said anything about marriage?” you asked.

Jon rolled his eyes as he began to shed his own outer layers. You kept your eyes on him, smirking as he flushed under your gaze, “Can I help you?” he asked as he took his tunic off.

“You already said no to that,” you grinned, and his flush only depend. “Have you ever had sex?” you asked as you decided to retreat under your furs.

Finally, Jon could look at you without going red, “I made a vow- “

“I meant before that,”

“I was just a boy then,” Jon said who was now in just an under shirt and pants. He climbed under his furs you had gave him as you watched, “Why are you staring at me?”

You laughed at him as he scowled, “Never seen a crow without his clothes on,” you said, “Not half bad,” you laughed as you took the under shirt you had on off, puling the furs up to cover yourself, “Not as good as a wilding though,”

Jon rolled his eyes, but his face was red after he noticed you were now naked in the tent, “Of course you’d say that”

“Want me to prove it?” you offered, sitting up more so the furs slipped down slightly.

Jon blushed more, “No I believe you,” he stammered.

“Do yous not sleep naked?” you asked, deciding to give him some mercy.

Jon laid down, turning to face you on his side still a couple of feet apart. “Some do I suppose. Im always scared someone will walk in,”

“No one will walk into this tent,” you assured him.

Jon snorted, “What? Would Mance kill them?” he asked.

You pulled the dagger out from under your furs, “No, I would,” you grinned, and you saw a look of fear and impress fall on his face. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to get blood on my good furs,”

Jon rolled his eyes before turning to face the other wall. You grinned as you settled down to sleep. However, sleep did not come. Despite the furs you had you felt the chill as a storm seemed to be over the camp. The frigid air beat the side of the tents and whistled in the wind. You had decided to not blow out two candles so you could make sure the crow wasn’t planning to kill you, but it now helped you ask you rolled over to see Jon shivering in his furs.

Admittedly you had gave the boy one of the more scraggily ones and he only had one while you had several. You could tell by the cold he would not be asleep and was merely making. You sighed as you sat up, keeping the furs covering your chest, “You cold?” you asked, already knowing the truth.

“Why do you care?” he asked, not opening his eyes.

You sighed as you moved some of the furs around, “Get under,” you told him and this time Jon opened his eyes, “Toss that one on top and come on,”

“What?” Jon asked as he sat up in his own makeshift bed.

“You’re shivering so much your teeth are gonna break. Get under the furs,” you told him. Jon seemed to debate it, “Your southern honour doesn’t apply here. Get under the furs,” you commanded him.

This time Jon seemed to listen. He got up and quickly fling the fur he had on top of the pile you had on you, and shimming in in between your pile of furs, “I’m not a southerner,” he protested as he joined you in the furs, letting out a sigh as the warmth surrounded his body.

He accidentally nudged into you, and you yelped at his cold skin, “Your like ice!” you squealed.

Jon grinned as he rolled over to face you, “More like snow,” he said. You rolled your eyes, telling him to fuck off under your breath and in response Jon pressed one of his icy hands to your waist.

You squirmed under his touch as he laughed at your yelping. His hands were probably colder than the ice outside but despite this you still wanted his hand on your waist. He pressed the back of the other to your cheek, “You’re playing a dangerous game snow,” you warned him, teeth chattering.

“And whys that?” he asked. Gods was that smirk attractive.

You grabbed the wrist by your face and pushed it back while grabbing the other off your waist, forcing him onto his back with his hands pinned by his head, “I’m quicker,” you smirked. You were now straddling the crow’s waist, your chest exposed and only inches from his. The way his breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened made your grin grow. “Crow got your tongue?” you asked.

“You might be quicker but I’m stronger,” Jon stuttered out.

However, he made no attempt to make you move which only made you laugh, “So you’re choosing to have a naked woman on top of you. How dishonourable of you Jon Snow,” you tutted.

Jon scowled up at you, “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said and this time you laughed loudly causing his face to go red.

Your laughter stopped when the bastard flipped you onto your back, your legs now wrapped around his waist as he held himself above you. Jon now had your own wrists pinned above your head, allowing you to look down to see his body above you. The nightswatch did something right you had to admit when you saw how toned he was from what his undershirt revealed.

Your eyes scanned over him deliberately slowly before meeting his eyes. “I could get used to this crow,” you said before wrapping your legs tighter around your waist, you pulled him closer causing you to rub against his crotch which you could feel hard against you. You saw his face flush as you chuckled, “You might have honour but he,” you said, grinding against the crow again, “does not,”

“Shut up,” Jon grumbled as he avoided your gaze, but he made no attempts to remove your legs.

You removed your legs from around his waist, causing him to finally glance down at you, “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop,” you said and once again he looked away like a scared puppy, “but no one but us has to know what happened in this tent,” you finished.

Jon looked down at you, his eyes filled with desperation and longing, “Can I kiss you?” he finally asked.

This time your smile was gentle as you pulled your hand free of his before pulling his head closer to yours and placing your lips onto him. Despite loving to tease you could tell how nervous the boy was, so you started the kiss slow, unsure if he had ever kissed anyone before this. His lips were far gentler than any wildings and his hair was soft in your grip.

You tugged gently on his curls causing him to moan against your mouth. You took the opportunity to slip your tongue into Jon’s mouth who gladly let you. You felt his tense body relax against your touch as he rested more of his weight on you.

His arms rested beside either side of your head to keep him up. Taking on of his hands, you brought it down your body, placing his hand on your breast. You could sense his nerves and pulled back slightly, laughing gently, “You can touch me, I don’t bite,” you said, pressing another small kiss to his lips before adding, “much,”

Jon didn’t argue with your smarminess this time and instead gently squeezed where you had placed his hand before diving back into your lips, desperate for your touch. Your other hand slipped away and began to roam down his chest then down his body, feeling his abs underneath his shirt and causing him to shiver.

Then you moved your hand down lower, playing with the band of his under clothes. You felt his stomach tense again under your touch. “I have an idea,” you told him before flipping him back onto his back before he could protest. With his hips under yours, you grinded down onto his hard member causing Jon to groan and his eyes to flutter shut, “We’ve barely even started and look at you,” you cooed down at him.

Jon tried to argue but you rolled your hips against his again and another moan fell out his pretty lips. “Do it again,” he begged. You complied once more before stopping, moving your hands to pull of his shirt so you could trace his abs, “Please,” Jon begged again.

“You’re cute when you’re desperate,” you told him before your eyes flickered back to his body. You trailed your hands over his chest, and you felt Jon buck his hips into yours. In response you lifted your hips up away from his, “You need to be patient,” you warned the crow, “Im much nicer to boys who listen,”

“I’m not a boy,” Jon argued, and you smirked at his words.

Brushing the hair out his face, you looked down at him as he glared at you, “Prove it,” you told him before pressing your hips down, grinding into him again causing him to moan louder this time, “Men don’t beg for me to do this,” you said as you continued rolling your hips against him, “They beg for much more,”

“Please,” Jon begged, his hands moving to grab your hips which you decided to allow, enjoying how they dug into your flesh, “I want to feel you,”

“But do you deserve it?” you asked, still rolling your hips against him, trying to ignore the wet spot that was growing against him and wetting his underclothes.

Jon let out a whine when your hips met his again, “I’ll listen I promise. I promise I’ll be good,” the way he shamelessly begged to be touched made you want to tease him more, but you were afraid he wouldn’t last long enough for it to be worth it.

You hummed at his words, your fingers trailing down his body before arriving at the hem of his remaining clothes. You leant down to press a kiss to his throat as you slid the clothes down his legs. Jon quickly shimmed them off. Now you could see his hard cock that was already red and dripping with precum.

Jons hips bucked as you took his member into your hand, running your thumb over the top. “If you don’t keep still ill stop,” you warned, and Jon did his best to comply as you slowly began to pump your hand up and down. He began to whimper under your touch, begging under his breath to feel you. You moved up to hover over his cock again, running its tip over your wet folds, “Beg me,” you said.

Jon cursed under his breath, his eyes rolling back at the sensation of you against him, “please,” he whimpered, “please just-fuck,” Jon gasped as you sunk down onto him, his eyes screwing shut.

You gasped yourself as you took him in, he was bigger than you had expected. Giving yourself a moment to adjust, you rested your hands on his abs to keep yourself up. Once you began to feel more comfortable you began to roll your hips again, feeling him move deeper into you as you did. “Fuck you feel so good,” you praised, hands gripping onto him. Jon was still moaning under neath you, but you saw a bashful smile cross his lips when you complimented him. “You like that?” you asked moving faster, “Like when I tell you how good you are?”

“Mhmm,” Jon agreed as he let out a string of shameless moans.

You moved your hand to grab his, pulling it up to grab your chest, “Are you scared to touch me crow?” you asked as you used your hands to move his.

“I’m not scared,” Jon said, his breath shaky.

This just made you grin, “Not scared him?” you said, “What pretty noises you're making for me… am I making you feel good?" you asked, and you felt Jon twitch inside you.

You began to roll your hips slower but deeper, feeling yourself hit off his pubic bone, “Fuck please don’t stop,” Jon moaned.

“Aw is the crow gonna cum?” you asked, grabbing his jaw before leaning down to kiss it all while your hips still rolled against his. “You’re such a mess right now you know that?”

“I don’t care,” he stuttered, his breath beginning to catch in his throat.

You continued to leave kisses along his jaw line and neck. “It’s hot when you talk back to me,” you said, your lips grazing his ear before giving it a quick bite.

“You said you don’t bite,” Jon moaned.

“But you like it don’t you?” you said, biting his jaw gently causing him to moan. “You’re so pretty like this,” you said, sitting back up to allow yourself to move your hips better. You sped up you’re bouncing, and you felt Jon squeeze your tits tighter and his cock twitching more.

“I’m gonna,” Jon started to saw, his hips rutting up against yours. You sped up slightly, wanting to savour your last few pumps, before quickly pulling off him. Jon whined but your hands instantly replaced your cunt and within two strokes he had came all over his stomach as you rested over his thighs. “Fuck,” Jon panted as he tried to catch his breath.

You laughed as you fell over to lay beside him, also out of breath. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all,” you said as Jon whipped his stomach off with a cloth you passed him.

“Is that so?” Jon asked, throwing the cloth to the side, “What about you?” Jon asked as he rolled over to face you.

“What about me?” you asked.

Jons hand trailed over your thighs, his fingers mere inches away from your wet cunt, “You didn’t, you know,” he said, his cheeks flushing.

“It’s okay I don’t mind,” you told him as you went to push his hand away.

Jon gripped your thigh to stop you, “But I wanted you to,” he pouted.

You raised an eyebrow at the man, “What did you have in mind?” you asked.

Jon trailed his fingers closer to your core which was beginning to feel so empty without him in it, “My watch brothers told me about this thing you do to women to make them,” Jon began to stammer out his words. “You know,”

“You want to make me cum,” you confirmed, and Jon gave you a sheepish nod. You laid back into your furs, settling yourself in. “Show me what how the crows do it,” you told him.

Jon hesitated for a second before he began to shuffle down, his head disappearing under the furs. Your eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, but a moan ripped through your throat as Jon placed a kiss to your cunt. The wildings didn’t do it like this. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he had to be smirking as he began to lick a stripe up your cunt. He began soft at first before he began to lap up your juices, his tongue massaging your core. You didn’t stop the moans as he continued to kiss and lick you.

Then you felt his fingers tease your hole and you felt a knot tighten in your stomach as they slipped into you. Jons tongue trailed up to focus on placing sloppy kisses to your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. You moaned his name when you felt his fingers curl inside you. Your skin felt hot as his face was buried in your cunt, his spare hand gripping your thighs.

Your hands were knotted in his curls, keeping his face where you needed him. The knot in your stomach tightened with every curl and pump of his fingers. The pressure continued to build as he kissed your clit before taking it in his mouth and lightly sucking it. the feeling sent you over the edge. You gripped his hair even tighter as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue which never stopped till you let go of his hair as you began to come down from your peak.

“Why so quiet now?” Jon teased as he came out from under the furs, his face soaked with your juices.

You were almost gasping for breath as you pulled the furs to cover you, “Is that how the lords please their lady’s?” you asked him.

Jon grinned at you, placing a kiss to your cheek, “I’m not sure,” he confessed, “I just wanted to kiss you there,”

[barbiedragon]

MOMMY FAE CAN I REQUEST VIZZY 3 WITH VOICE KINK MAYBE HE NOTICES HIS CUTE CHAMBERMAID GETTING FLUSTERED ANYTIME HE SPEAKS 🤭

Yessssss, god his voice makes my brain go brrrrrr

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: Voice kink, mild dirty talk, hand on throat, good ol' fashioned sex

*comments/reblogs are appreciated

Your eyes focused on the shimmering diamond necklace that rested on a dark sea of black velvet.  In your mind, you assumed it was another gift for Daenerys for her upcoming wedding to Khal Drogo.

“It belonged to our mother,” Viserys murmured, approaching you from behind.

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine in the most arousing way. You enjoyed the sound of his voice, how it would sink so deep, husky, and almost as smooth as the velvet on the table before you.

“It’s beautiful, my Prince,” you whispered.

“A necklace fit for a Queen. I plan on presenting it as a gift for Dany as a wedding present.”

“I’m certain she will love it,” you smiled while refilling his glass with a sweet red Dornish wine. Magister Illyrio always had the best, especially for the last remaining Targaryens.

His slender fingers wrapped around the golden cup, slowly swirling the wine around before taking a sip.  It left a faint red flush on his plush lips.  It was hard not to be intoxicated in his presence.  You were well aware of his temper, waking the dragon, and understood he could sometimes be cruel.  It was long said that Targaryens were prone to madness.  Yet it didn’t deter from their unearthly beauty.  Iridescent silver hair, unearthly purple eyes, and flawless skin.  They were truly remarkable to behold, and you felt enraptured when in his presence.

“Would you mayhaps like to try it on?” he offered, an amused smirk curling across his lips.

Your breath hitched in your throat.  “You would allow that?” you asked in surprise.

“Mmm, in exchange for something.”  Mischief danced in his purple eyes.

“And what would be the trade?”

“A kiss…wherever I choose.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, and your heart sped up.  Your mouth felt dry as you tried to swallow.  “I can agree to that, my Prince,” you murmured.

He picked up the ornate necklace before moving behind you to place it around your neck.  It felt heavy around your throat as your fingers lightly traced over the gems.

“Have a look,” he hummed, guiding you to the looking glass to see your reflection.  He swept some of your hair to the side before pressing his lips to the curve of your neck.  “How unfortunate you’ll never be a Queen; you wear the necklace well.”

The slight jab stung even though you knew he was correct. You were a servant in Pentos; the chances of you ever being a Queen or a Princess were nonexistent, but a woman could dream.  For a fleeting moment, you could pretend to be one as you stared at your reflection in the looking glass.

“Now I believe it’s time for me to collect on our deal,” Viserys smirked.

“Indeed, where would you like your kiss?” you asked softly, turning to face him and getting lost in those lilac eyes.

He took hold of your hand and pressed it to the grown bulge between his legs.  “Here.”

“If that is what you wish, my Prince,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly.  

You watched as Viserys sprawled his lanky form against the purple velvet chaise, legs spread wide.  You carefully knelt between them, unlacing his breeches before reaching in to guide his cock out.  You cradled his length gently in your warm palm.  He was of decent side, erect and flushed for you.  Gently, you pressed your lips to the tip of his cock.

“Such a good girl,” he purred, and his voice sent warmth pooling into the pit of your stomach, which soon spread further down.

Spurred on by his words, you gave a tentative lick to his shaft, tasting the salt and sweat of his skin.  You weren’t the most experienced, but you were no novice either.  You could hold your own in these situations.

“Eager to please, are we, kitten?” he cooed as his fingers twisted in your hair.

You emitted a deep mewl.  “I enjoy it when you praise me. I enjoy the sound of your voice,” you admitted, flickering your eyes to meet his gaze.

“Do you now, kitten?  Does the sound of my voice make your cunt wet?”

You squirmed on your knees before pressing kisses to his stones.  “Yes, it does,” you whispered.

“Are you dripping now, kitten? Hmm? Is my good girl wetter than the narrow sea?” he teased.

The heat pooled between your legs, making your pearl throb with desire and need, and you could feel the sticky arousal on your thighs.  “Yes, my Prince.”

“Take off your gown and let me feel,” he instructed with an almost cruel smirk twisted across his mouth before giving a snap of his fingers.

You quickly obeyed as you stood, reaching behind your neck to undo the thin strap of fabric around your neck.  With a simple tug, it pooled around your feet, leaving you bare in front of him, apart from the shimmering gems still around your neck. Most didn’t bother with small clothes in Pentos due to the heat, and modesty wasn’t held to such strict standards in the Free Cities.  He beckoned you closer with a crooked finger before sliding his hand between your thighs.  You released a soft gasp as his fingers trailed over your folds, gathering your wetness onto them.

“My, my, kitten…. all this from the sound of my voice?” he mused before letting out a dark chuckle.

You could only nod in response, drunk off lust and yearning for more of his touch.

“Tell me, sweet kitten, have you imagined this before?  Standing naked before me, longing for my touch?”

You gave a small nod and found his hand removed from between your thighs before he stood and wrapped the same hand around your neck.  “No, no, you will answer me, kitten.”

“Many times, my Prince,” you admitted, enjoying the feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin.  His purple eyes held an almost wild look, and he reminded you of a predator, ready to pounce.

“Then today, we shall make it come true.”

You wanted nothing more.  Suddenly, his lips pressed hungrily against yours, claiming you with a powerful kiss.  The breath felt knocked out of you as your hands grasped his arms for support.  You allowed him to take complete control, finding yourself mounted on his cock once he situated himself back onto the chaise.  You squeezed around him before rocking your hips.  You weren’t going to waste this opportunity.  

“Yes, just like that, ride me like a dragon,” Viserys smirked, a flush spreading across his cheeks and neck while he rolled one of your nipples between his fingers.

The soft globes of your arse smacked against the strong muscles of his thighs as you rode him, savoring each delicious push of his cock inside you.  The fire building up inside of you threatened to spill over.

“You look beautiful on top of me, kitten.  I can’t wait to feel you drench my cock,” he hummed as the hand that had been stroking your waist sharply slapped the curve of your ass.

You gave a soft grunt as your cunt fluttered around him before a wave of pleasure crashed over you.

“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” he praised.

Your muscles felt sore when you finished before carefully climbing off him.

“Stay with me, kitten,” Viserys hummed as he guided you against his side.  You curled against him as his fingers gently stroked your hair.  “I can tell we’re going to have a lot of fun together,” he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You couldn’t wait.

Tag List: @valeskafics @aemondx @oneeyedvisenya @willowbrookesblog @watercolorskyy @dreamsofoldvalyria

[themotherofblood]

CHAPTER 2 | RIVER OF GOLD | The Bedding | T.L x READER

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 1

tw: infantalism, major age gap, loss of virginity, misogynistic views, allusions to blood, breeding, unprotected

~ the lion’s in the house, the flowers are up in the air ~

“The wedding was quaint I suppose, followed by the customs of the Seven. I had hoped to have a Ryonish wedding, just as my cousins did, the dress lord Tywin, or I suppose my husband had gotten redone from my mother’s old gown, had freshwater pearls. I lit a candle at the Sept. I felt her. My mother’s warmth embraced at my back. She is watching me, I think. I miss her terribly.”

The feast that gathered in your father’s Great Hall was elaborate, surely the money came from Tywin’s coffers as you had never seen your father spend on such baseless things as he had said. Your martial cloak still laid heavy upon your shoulders as you ate what you could from your plate. People danced and jovial banter followed the tables, your sisters taking turns dancing with Olvyar. Lord Kevan had ridden from Casterly Rock to be in attendance, Tywin’s only family present. You knew not to hope for this agreement to be extravagant nor joyous, this was a  deal struck well. Your womb for the Lannister offspring and you showered in riches and power, perhaps if you gave him a son or two. You could return to Dorne. 

There was a fiddly sense of belonging between the two of you, there should have been a first dance, which he refused, he doesn’t smile, why doesn’t he smile? You would have danced, you loved dancing however whatever simple vows spoken at the altar seemed to have mellowed your making entirely as you sat there from the hour of crow to the hour of the bat. Feasting away as your father regaled of this most triumphant match and how honoured his daughter - you who sat right in front of him was. 

What you worried for most was the bedding, you should have taken up the offer of your cousin Nymeria when she had laid attractive ideals upon your lap to flitter you away with her to the most extravagant of brothels on the eastern streets of Sunspear. Though a maiden, you weren’t entirely daft due to the very colourful tapestries and paintings that flowered you to a whole different - erogenous - world. What kind of lover was your husband to be? Was there even warmth to expel within the sheets from his stone heart? He doesn’t even smile, not once. 

Tywin in truth was a fine man for his age, though his pockets (mines) were the true seduction of his being, if one could get past the stern glare, no… judgement in his eyes with which he glanced at a room. There had to be more to a man of his stature, of his experience. You could name a rumour or two, your aunt, but your mind mostly wondered about his children. Much, much older children. There was sedation, you knew this much as he promised this to you “You would be safe.” Perhaps the debt he owed to your mother was one of the grave consequences. 

“Now, the night grows cold my lords!” Loren exclaimed, raising his glass to you, his pale cheeks red from the intoxication of the strong wines your Dornish ship had brought along. “Shall we send for the bedding ceremony,” he cheered, downing his cup with an animalistic growl. Your father, your boorish father. Never leaving one opportunity to humiliate you, having your clothes pulled off in front of a very populated crowd, you shuffled back uncomfortably in your seat, clutching your skirts in balled fists. Would it be inappropriate to punch a lord? 

“What you say, my lord,” Loren turned to his liege lord, your husband who looked rather unamused as he finally looked at you after the wedding ceremony. His eyes narrowed further before he turned to your father. 

“There will be no bedding,” he said, voice lowly and intimidating. He rose, holding his hand out for you to take. His palms were warm, too warm as you clutched his palm. He fixated a subtle glare towards your father and pulled you from the feast. You walked behind him, mildly shocked that he would protect you, he promised it. You pattered along behind him, the anklets hidden under your gown chiming as you walked with him. He let go of your hand once the doors behind you closed, letting you lead him to your childhood quarters. 

Like falling marbles, your heart fluttered each time you thought of ways to present yourself to him. When you entered your bed-chambers, a slight dread filled your belly. Tywin looked around, face stoic as ever until his eyes fell on the dolls that sat atop a chest, he looked at your questioningly, eyebrows raised making your sheepishly scratch your neck. 

“I haven’t been in these rooms since I was seven,” you told him, a simple explanation to the many toys decorated around the chambers, the books stacked across the walls and shelves. Patches of embroidered neatly folded onto a pile by the receiving table. Your handmaidens had left behind a tray of refreshments, wines and dried fruit. You are his wife - wife, the realisation seemed to have slowly trickled its way to your consciousness. You are married - you are married and you would now have to lose your maidenhead. 

“Why do you do that?” Tywin pulled you from your intense line of thought, looking at you as though he was reading you, a droll book with its finest pages being ripped away and hidden. 

“Do what?” You blurted, watching him intuitively as he poured himself a cup of wine and filled another for you. 

“Your mind, you think too hard,” he grunted, sitting himself down on the great chair turned away from the heart, it was utterly comical if you thought over the scenery. His much - much larger frame situated upon a very small, cushiony great chair made of lilac cloth and blue embroidery to match its footstool. Your chair, you wanted to sit there but instead pick up the cup of wine from the table. Taking ginger sips of the wine and frowning at its taste, twelve summers at Sunspear and your tongue still couldn’t accustom to the fizzled burn upon your throat. 

“I- I just…” you trailed, taking a larger swig this time, unsure of what to talk about, the talking wasn’t necessary, was it? “How would you like me, my lord?” 

You bit your tongue, hard. Trusting yourself up like a whore, how would you like me, seriously?

“Are you afraid of me, girl?” the green of his eyes glinted over your doe eyes face, the confusion and torn countenance. 

“No, not afraid,” you took a seat next to him, curving near the rip of your cup with your finger “You are very unreadable- I do not wish to disappoint you,” he grunted, and almost a broken chuckle fell from his lips. 

“I can’t tell if you are pleased or not I… you do not smile, my lord.” 

He looked up, right into you. The menacing gaze of his eyes, almost a glare made you want to cower. Be swallowed whole by this chair, shutupshutupshutp, your mind in frenzy began to scream at you. This time you gulped down the cup entirely. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

“You’ve picked a fine one brother,” Kevan patted Tywin’s back “She and Genna will surely create quite the trouble.” 

Tywin grunted out a chuckle “She deceived me the first we met, fourteen years and not one lie went through me. But this one,” Tywin shook his head as he buttoned his cuffs. “She’s of exceptional breeding, wide enough hips for childbearing and a sharp wit.”

“Gods, Tywin, you are to make her your wife, not butcher her for meat.” Kevan rolled his eyes at his brother’s straightforward description of you. 

Tywin brushed his hands down his doublet, he swore to not think of this beforehand. Yet a man’s mind was only so fortified as he thought of Joanna, you looked nothing like her, the distinct lack of yellow-blonde and greenish eyes he could spend dusk till dawn. This was a necessity, his children had all failed him, and he couldn’t trust Cersei to feasibly manage Casterly Rock, her concentrated arrogance was much of Tywin’s fault. His golden boy, the fine knight he was, politically a mouse and Tyrion- better call him something else than Tywin’s son. 

His brother Kevan, was trustworthy and most capable of being his heir but he wanted just another chance, to build his legacy from his blood, his lineage, and his seed. A young enough wife to mould to his liking, you were a challenge, your mind too sharp behind the polite curtain upon your eyes. He found no reason to be curt or cold to you, you were to share his bed. A fine creature- soft and poised with an amalgamated refinery of Westerslands blood and Dornish brawl. 

Now, as you sat in front of him. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t let this bedding be a rut-pump-fill engagement. The heavy lower lip long stripped from its pinkish rogue, filled with colour due to your constant biting. He stopped drinking at the feast a while back, not wanting to blurt Joanna’s name while within you. He had done far too many times to the whores of Lannisport. However as he watched you, the possibility dwindled, your aura too commanding to be thought of as anything else than who you were, the strong scent of sandalwood and lilies. An inviting little thing, the lusts of a man no different than his youth. 

He rose from his seat, reaching forward to cup your jaw to make you look at him, his thumb itching to graze over your supple cheek. “I am pleased,” he said sincerely behind his monotone behaviour. “Come.” He whispered. 

Your softer hand once more took his as he led you to the foot of your bed. He could tell how hard you were breathing from your breasts pushing against the bindings of your gown, spilling parts of it over and deflating once more. His hand with a find of his let his pointer trace against the curve of cheek down your neck. “I will return in moments.”

He ventured to ante chambers to strip into far appropriate and comfortable attire for tonight. In a soft white tunic and trousers, his mind wandered to the vision that were you. A titillating scene, one devoid of the performative bait of the whores he had gotten used to. You were a terrified thing, surely taught or read about the consummation. He wouldn’t let it hurt, he hadn’t felt a maiden in a while, the vile thought stirred warmth within his breeches as he re-entered your chambers to find you in your night rail. Soft white with flowers - flowers, his eyes raked down your body. You are undone hair, thick and wild. Shoulders bared, kissable the nape of your neck, the marks he could leave upon your collarbones. The gentle glow of the lit hearth against your skin and the scent. 

The incense, that’s what you smelled of, it teased him for days since you agreed to marry him. You sat at the edge of the bed, legs tucked together as you toyed with your fingers nervously. Your eyes widened for a moment when you noticed his silhouette standing a few breaths away from you. You were trying to will bravado into your nerves, turn them ice cold to stop with the gentle tremble on your fingertips. 

He approached you one more, towering over your frame. The space between his thumb and pointer fits perfectly at the curve of your chin as he held your face. “My lord,” you whispered. 

His lips pushed against yours, unlike the chaste close-mouthed peck. This one commanded you to learn, to receive his affections with equal attention. Your lips parted, letting his tongue within, you floundered for a moment. A buzz ran down your spine as you felt his other hand pull you closer, you whimpered into the kiss, finding a distinct lack of air within as Tywin pulled away. 

“You ought to stop calling me my lord.” Tywin admired your features, a lamb for the lion to feast upon, your lips so sweet, laced with the very strong wine that lingered in Tywin’s lips. He wondered if his young bride was sweet everywhere. You nibbled on your bottom lips. The flush of your cheeks - The Maiden in the flesh as your rail shielding the ample globes upon your chest. A mellow-tempered beauty, pure and untouched. As much as his mind wished him to strip you bare, it would be unlike his station to impose you further from your comfort. 

He gestured towards the pillows, letting you crawl further in as he rid himself of his tunic. For his age, Tywin maintained the regime of a knight. Finding no reason to laze away to his growing age, he would die many ways happily. Other than a fat country lord. His frame engulfed yours as he positioned himself on his knees. His thumb grazed your lips, parting them as he pushed in two fingers. 

“Suck on them,” he commanded as you obliged like a doll on strings. Suctioning your lips around his pointer and middle finger. The skin between your legs was divinely soft as he stroked them open, and your stomach churned. You were his wife now, his to pry open until you were swollen with his babe. 

He felt the sickish soft hairs against your skin, trimmed to a perfect mound as the pads of his fingertips strum against your petals, coating them slick with the wetness from your mouth. You gasped, a kittenish yelp, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as your husband prepared you for your bedding. 

“It’s alright, this will make it more bearable,” he stated, his features long softened that you didn’t notice until now. He laid next to you with your legs held open as he rubbed tight circles onto your bud. 

“My…my lord,” you mewled, making Tywin return to his stern glare as a warning. “Husband.” The word so foreign against your tongue, your noses touching one another as your eyes scrunched close. 

A malicious urge flared over Tywin as he couldn’t wait longer to feel you clenching around his cock. He kissed your lips once more before situating himself atop you. You squealed as he positioned you by yanking you down by the hip. Your rubescent folds are ever inviting, beginning to have his cock sliding through the slick. He pushes his breeches off, letting his semi-harden length, the mushroom tip resting against your entrance. He was waiting, waiting for you. 

There was apprehension, mayhaps fear in your eyes. You shuffled your hips making Tywin but his tongue, feeling the friction against his leaky tip, “Please.” You whispered. 

His tip pushed against your rejecting core, unyielding to the foreign feeling as his thumb gingerly swiped over your bud to mask the sting you were to soon feel. You bleat, choking at the feeling of his cock pushing in, you grasp onto his shoulder a little too hard, nails digging in. You hiss out an apology, all he did was shush you, like a learning child. It would be fine, he would make it better. Your eyes dropped heavy eyelids fixated upon him as he bludgeoned himself smug into your cunt, he wavered for a moment. A lowly groan rumbled from within him as your silent sobs persisted. He waited once more, watching over your scrunched face. 

Drunk from the lust he fought to not fuck into you, reminding himself you were no whore, you would break too easy if he inflicted any more strain. He didn’t understand what you were doing to him as he placed a kiss upon your forehead as your cunt fluttered around him. There was a different depravity in the thought of moulding something this young, and warm to stretch himself. Making a delicate home for his seed within you, reaching for your womb for his heir, his—this was his.

“Please move— husband,” you hissed, gently rocking your hips to soothe the waves of pain flaring through your abdomen. It faded, the hurt was pleasurable against the tweaks at your pearl. 

Tywin groaned, his hips rolling into yours as he set a gentle pace. Your pretty hair spread about the pillow, full lips parted open with gasps of harsh air - taking thrust after thrust for him. It didn’t go unnoticed as your fingertips caressed against the backs of his shoulders. Don’t fucking do it — Tywin valiantly fought against the urge to grasp at a handful of your breasts. Your nipples were hard behind the cotton fabric, the shoulders pulled so far down they threatened to spill from their coverings. 

“Say my name, say my name wife,” he groaned, holding your jaw with the green of his eyes making you dizzy. 

“T-Tywin— it feels so good,” you mewled, of course, it does, pretty maiden being fucked open for your first coupling as he took much care of you. Tywin, some doe-eyed witch you were, maybe his wine laced with a potion. His name never sounded so sweet. 

His hand clutched your hips, truly the perfect width, his cock stirred some more at the thought of your soft pouch swelling further. The glow in your cheek is even radiant while carrying his heirs “Such a good girl,” he groaned. “Fuck.” He groaned under his breath, trying to keep his equanimity.

His cock twitched feeling your cunt squelch as he flicked his thumb against your bundle of nerves, a rut and a pump more and he sweared “fuck, there—take it.” You mewled under him, legs shuddering as his cock pumped itself to completion. Warm seed coating your environs as his sweat-beaded head fell against your forehead.

The heavy after loom oddly weaved your legs against him, the gentle weight of his body resting against yours anchored you to the ticklish warmth you felt. Eyes heavy and shut and your heart hammered against your chest. Tywin pulled you up when you could gather your bearings once he dressed.

The service bell was rung for Maester Crasden, your father Loren and Tywin’s brother Kevan to inspect the sheets. You sat hidden behind your husband’s silhouette, the sheets stained thoroughly, though the flush of your cheeks was indication enough that marriage was indeed consummated. Maester Crasden checked on you as Tywin conversed with Loren. 

“We ride tomorrow at noon, make a night's journey home,” Tywin instructed your father is more than happy to be rid of one daughter with such an auspicious match. Kevan nodded before exiting the chambers along with Loren. Maester Crasden laced a cup of water with two drops of Milk of The Poppy to ease any pains you might feel in the morrow. When he left, there was yet again an awkward silence between the two of you, mostly on your part.

Tywin on the other hand admired the dishevelled beauty sat by the hearth, “You need your rest, we are to leave tomorrow.” He stated. 

“Leave?” You questioned, putting the empty cup away as you stood, legs a little sore as you grimaced at the feel of his leaking seed. 

“For Casterly Rock,” he shrugged, awaiting any disappointments that might flare within your eyes. You looked at the hearth as your lips pulled to a line. 

You walked to him and reached onto your toes to press a kiss upon his cheek “Goodnight husband.” 

Tywin nodded as he helped you onto your bed before gracefully turning in his heel and leaving for his bed chambers. 

To Casterly Rock then.

next chapter

[enveine]

when doves cry - s. clegane (teaser)

“Sandor. Please, listen to me.”

You reach out to cradle his face in your hands but he’s quicker than you- he pulls away, leaving your outreached hands vacant in the air.

“No. No, I won’t listen to you.” His hand rests on the handle of your chamber doors, threatening to open and leave you at any moment. “You know what I’ve told you since the very beginning.” The flickering candlelight casts shadows across his scarred face, accentuating the turmoil within him. Suddenly the atmosphere was thick, the skin exposed by your thin nightgown grew colder.

"(Y/N)," he begins again, his voice gravelly and laden with regret. "We can't go on like this."

You look up from your empty palms now resting on your lap; your eyes meeting his with a mixture of confusion and heartbreak. "We’ve come this far, Sandor, why give up now?"

He takes a deep breath, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You know we can't be together. It's not right."

Your brows furrow, and you stand abandoning your now cold bed. "Not right? Sandor, we've faced so much together. I thought we had something special."

Sandor turns away again, unable to bear the pain in your eyes. "Aye, we do. But it's not enough.” You wonder what’s going through his mind to make him think such things. “I'm a damned man, cursed and broken. You’re the purest woman I’ve ever met.” You let out a scoff at his admittance.

“I can't give you the life you deserve." He says in defeat.

You approach him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but he pulls away. "You don't get to decide what's best for me, Sandor. I love you, scars and all. I've seen the good in you, the kindness you try to hide.” Tears that had threatened to spill finally break and slide down your cheeks. “We can make this work, please.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling into his face. "No, (Y/N), I've seen too much darkness, and it's always lurking around me. I can't let it consume you, too. You deserve happiness- I can't provide it."

Tears well in your eyes as you plead, "I don't care about the darkness, Sandor. I care about you."

His jaw tightens, and he took a step back. "That's not enough. You deserve a man who can give you more than just survival. I'm leaving. It's the only way."

You stand there, feeling more nude than you were mere moments ago, watching as his grip on the handle grew tighter. The weight of his decision hung heavy in the air. Before he left, he turned to look at you one last time, the pain etched on his scarred face mirroring the ache in your heart.

"Goodbye, my Lady," he whispers, and with that, he walks away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room, the echoes of his departure lingering like a ghost.

[vhagarsback]

robb stark and jon snow thoughts

warnings: smut, masturbation, authority kink, slight exhibitionism, cheating, robb x you, jon x you

Robb is a good man, he would never do something you did not agree with.

However, he has these urges.

He was already betrothed to another woman as a way to strengthen his alliances, and still, that didn't stop him from pursuing you.

"I only wish to know your name, my lady." Robb smiled directly at you, he was charming enough to make you not so hesitant anymore. You weren't highborn and didn't consider yourself worthy of having the king's attention.

"I am not a lady, your grace." You kept your head down, not daring to look him in the eyes. Robb looked amused and seemed to not care about your words.

"You are very pretty." And he would compliment you until you finally gave your name to him. He was enchanted, wishing to know more about you.

That was his mission as he would wait for his marriage to the Frey girl.

He would do anything to make himself seen trustworthy, to make you come to him whenever you needed advice.

Eventually, you started to fall for his charms and would agree to anything the prince asked you.

It started with small, innocent favors you just couldn't refuse.

"Would you be kind enough to bring me some water?" Robb asked sweetly, going through the papers on his desk once more. You didn't hesitate, failing to see the smirk on his face.

Once he saw how obedient you were becoming, he began to ask more from you.

"Could you run me a bath?" The king was visibly tired from planning his next war, it just wouldn't be polite to not do it.

But when you were preparing the water, Robb came unannounced, putting his hands on your shoulders from behind. You swallowed in a nervous action, feeling his fingers caressing your skin over the thin clothes you were wearing.

"You do so much for me, I can not thank your kindness enough." Robb continued to lower his hands, whispering in your neck as he inhaled your scent. He was dizzy, and his words were lazier and lazier.

"My purpose here is to serve House Stark, my Lord." You murmured trembling, sighing as he took his hands off you.

"I am forever grateful for that." He smiled, and you froze as he began to take his clothes off. "Care for helping me? I am just so tired."

He took full advantage of your loyalty, teasing you and making you embarrassed at every opportunity.

You caught him naked one day, you apologized profoundly and said you would never come to his room without knocking again. He only laughed and asked you to come closer. "You ever seen a naked man?"

You denied with your head, words failing you. He made a motion for you to step closer.

"Just look at me. Look at my body, dove." Robb finished and your eyes were on his chest, his hair dark and going all the way down to his crotch, arms and legs toned and thick with muscle.

You were blushing, cheeks burning, and he turned around before you could invade his intimacy and look at what you weren't supposed to. You saw his large back and shoulders, firm ass, and hands at the sides of his body. He smiled once again.

His nakedness became regular, you often found him reading bare in his room, muscles and legs all for you to see.

You were careful not to stare too much and to not let your eyes travel too far again, but you were eager to know more.

"Lord Stark?" Robb had called you to his chambers, and you came as quickly as you could. He took in your appearance, from the way your lips were plump and shiny to the way your thighs clenched at the mere sight of him.

Robb knew he succeed at making you want him, and that just made everything simpler.

"Sit at my feet." He ordered and your mind was quick to obey as if it were trained for it.

Robb always looked intimidating to you, he had the eyes of a true king, and having his presence so close and his attention solely on you made butterflies fly in your stomach. At his feet, he looked bigger, stronger, like he could break you into pieces with his hands. You thought he only needed his words.

You were itching to make a comment, to make him proud of you in a way. However, you were paralyzed.

"Unbuckle my belt." The king commanded as if he was talking to his soldiers, but his hand went to your hair and gently petted your head.

Your hands were shaking, you felt your belly ache and your breath was not as controlled.

He was just in his trousers, and even though you had seen him naked countless times, that seemed too intimate.

Your knees started to burn, you didn't mind and looked up at him. You almost didn't recognize Lord Stark, his eyes were darker, expression was almost haunting.

You didn't realize that was just how he always looked at you, starved.

"Suck my cock." He licked his lips as the words left his mouth with a certainty that was final, you just couldn't question him.

You did what you were supposed to, obeyed Lord Stark.

Jon knew it was wrong in all the ways possible, but he didn't know how to stop wanting you.

He made a promise, took a vow and swore to take no wife, to not let women distract him from his duties. He knew it was going to be hard and he managed, until he saw you.

You were married to a southern Lord he didn't care enough to know the name, and you needed help from the people in the north.

The lord commander agreed on letting you and your husband stay for a few days, and Jon knew it would be his downfall.

He wouldn't be the only one to stare at you during dinner, the men in the castle couldn't handle pretty women, but his intentions were the clearest, he wanted you in a way he wasn't able to explain.

Jon would subtly avoid you, only speaking to your husband when he needed to, and would try to not meet your eyes. You thought it wasn't polite, but you were intrigued.

"I think this is yours, Jon Snow." A letter he was supposed to send that morning was now in your hands, waiting for Jon to take it with a gentle smile on your lips.

He seemed surprised and quickly took it from you after rasping out a thank you. His voice was hoarse, a little shaky, but he was brave enough to stare into your eyes.

It didn't last long, as your husband appeared behind you with a hand on your waist. Jon left, and you sighed quietly.

That night, he forgot about being a man of the Night's Watch and touched himself thinking about the way your fingers touched his, about how sweet you smelled, and the way you said his name. He spilled his seed on his hand and as he came down from his high Jon thought about how you'd look tasting his cum.

Jon felt guilty, dirty and promised himself to not think about you that way anymore.

"For some reason, I fear you do not like me." Your voice came as a gift when he was training alone, sword hurting the target as your steps were closer. He stopped, almost amused at how wrong you were.

"I do not know you enough." He spent enough time looking at you to know a few things, but his mouth wouldn't betray him.

"You could." You smiled and his heart beat fast, he was confused and a bit nervous. "Come to my chambers tonight, my husband will be meeting with the Lord Commander."

Jon blinked, still staring at you. His eyes travelled to your mouth and back to your eyes, you understood. Your mouth moved without your permission.

"See you tonight, then."

a/n: pls write more for my stark brothers guys </3