bonkbobl

[bonkbobl]

i cant play any madonna songs without seeing hugh jackmans abs right in front of me anymore

[bonkbobl]

busy

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: heyy this is just gonna be a short drabble because i can't get it out of my head [i think im gonna start posting without a gif on every fic especially if its just a drabble]

summary: you know your husbands busy but you can't help it.

warnings: smut, 18+, cum play, cockwarming, breeding kink?, aftercare ish

You blinked open your eyes, which were shut from the intensity of the pleasure rippling through your body. Even as you came down from the intense high, your toes tingled and your cunt continued to softly pulse around your husbands cock. Sat over him, you pressed your sweaty forehead to his, and giggled, giving him a soft kiss.

He smiled into your kiss, reciprocating with more possession than you intended, but it was soft in its own way. In its own little Roose Bolton kind of way. His hand came behind you to cradle the back of your head and hold you there. You continued to mold your lips against his until he was satisfied.

Most of the time, Roose prefered to be on top but he was getting older and less energetic than he used to be. The first time you crawled on top, he didn't fight it but he was skeptical. But watching you bounce on top of him was beginning to be his favorite sight, only second to when he'd buck his hips up into you to elicit gentle whimpers from you — to watch you desperately cling to control as he repeatedly dragged you down by your hips.

His lips trailed down to your neck and you felt your face heat back up with a funny abashed embarrassment creeping up your back, which you hadn't felt since the night of your wedding.

You don't know what it is about it that made you particularly embarrassed. Maybe it was setting in that you'd come to him almost as feral as an animal, like one of those bitches in the kennels during their heat, and pulled his quill out of his hand and mounted him without much room for argument. Or perhaps it was the fact that his actions were so tender and romantic and you simply weren't used to it.

Most likely, you were ashamed and hyperaware of how your pussy was still squeezing him, tighter with every little brush of his lips against your skin. And his cock, which was soft by now, sat inside you, keeping all his spend locked inside you so safely. You felt so wet and dirty down there but you couldn't find it in yourself to want to stand and leave to clean up like you normally would.

You arched your back, pressing your chest into him, a sigh falling from your lips in the process. In the meantime, he was busy sucking dark little bruises into your skin — temporary reminders of his possession of you. God, you can't stop clenching down on him.

"My lord,"

He hummed a question but pulled your hair back to have better access to your neck and breasts.

"Should I go to clean up."

"I'm too busy to clean right now," He murmured, free hand that wasn't in your hair coming down to pat your ass and give it a little squeeze. And he smirked at the feeling of your pussy clamping down tighter. His spent cock began hardening just a little bit again, still not fully recovered but he was clearly getting there. "Keep yourself seated right here while I resolve my business and we'll clean up together, mm?"

You just nodded, staring down at him with your eyebrows furrowed in reluctant pleasure and hid yourself in his neck.

Roose chuckled and scooted his desk closer to you two, arms coming around you so he could work over your shoulder.

You whimpered so weakly to yourself that you weren't even sure Roose could hear it, no matter how close you were. You really tried to stop and relax yourself around him but your cunt seemed to forget the orgasm that was just awarded to it.

Gods you were leaking around him. Leaking of his old release and your new arousal. He could feel it all dripping down his balls.

Your fingers, which you tried to keep relaxed and rested on his shoulder rightened against his skin as your body grew tenser.

Roose could feel how tense you were and a teasing question about how you could still be so wound up danced on his tongue. But he urged himself to pay you no mind and focus on what was in front of him.

That was until your hips started to roll against him softly and shyly.

Your husband set down his pen and stood, urging you off of him, a sigh leaving him.

An embarrassed whine left you as you started to feel his release dripping down your inner thigh. "I"m sorry—" You started, but your husband was quicker, turning you around to face his desk.

His cock, almost completely hard, caught the spilt cum and pushed back inside you with you bent over his desk. The most wanton and embarrassing noise pushed through your mouth.

"Insatiable, desperate little thing you are today. So determined to ensure I get nothing done, hm?"

You wanted to answer him, you did, but all you could manage was more whines in response to his cock pushing in and out of you, fucking his cum deeper and deeper.

Roose chuckled at the state you were reduced to, "It'd be cruel to deny you, sweet wife, but then you better not spill any of what I give you, agreed?"

And you nodded, fingers tightening around the edge of the table, thinking about how grateful you were to have a husband with such generosity.

[bonkbobl]

i should be sleeping but i couldn't help but check your blog tonight and i'm so glad i did lolol,, hihi !! i just caught up on your last two recent fics and i must say, though i loved loved state of undress, i do find myself wanting to see more of distraction first. it was unsettling to read (the SA part mostly and the aftermath) yet so intriguing... i especially liked when you wrote of roose's conflict in realizing and feeling regret of his actions towards the reader & how he wants to apologize to her. i'm curious to see where you'll take it next ! (also the absolute fear i held when reader had to speak in front of everyone in the tent 😭,, i love that catelyn spoke up for her tho :') <3 ) needless to say, i would not mind whichever fic is posted first, as long as the one with a happier ending is posted second bwahahaha,,, i'm a sucker for angst but i fear roose bolton will be the death of me in this category 😭

i love that bed chem by sabrina was what loosely inspired you for state of undress bwahaha,,, which the gif??? where do u find these gifs they're all just so precisely fitting !! like even distraction he's so up close like 😳... AND OMG DISTRACTION WAS THE FIC U HAD TO REWRITE??? ur absolutely insane and dedicated and i love you for it 😭 i hope you took breaks in between writing :')

school has just begun and has been clocking my ass but seeing your posts have rejuvenated me !!! it is always a delight to see something new from you, fic or not haha,,, i hope school has been improving for you btw and i'm sorry to hear about your partner :/ i hope the split was civil and decent :']

btw those tiktok edits you're talking about.... is it the crawling back to you edits because istg i too have been watching them on repeat !! i like these two a lot as well:

https://www.tiktok.com/@rejoiceprime/video/7376165691335937285?lang=en — the song is kinda silly but the scene where he tilts his head back in his seat is just so KLDJSKLJDSKJDS 🫣

https://www.tiktok.com/@mannis_cc/video/7342193627386449184?lang=en — this one is just so dark and the song is just so him and ughhh

i hope the links work/ are valid and u like the edits haha,, let me know if you've seen them before :)

i look forward to reading the second parts to your recent fics, as well as any other new ones you might have in mind :) please do take care dear author !! wishing u all the best ! — 🩰 anon

im really happy you enjoyed them both ahhh!!! also yeah definitely the part 2 to distraction, if i end up writing it, will still have angst themes. although i like kind of tried to flesh out the ideas a bit more and im not super sure if im that passionate about it :/ but we'll see. i think i have lingering feelings about that fic and would like to flesh it out a bit more.

i hope school gets better for you soon. its lowkey been kicking my ass too LOLL especially since my courses are getting more advanced and more STEM focused.

ALSO LMAO NOT YOU KNOWING EXACTLY WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT IM CRYING LOL. yes its those. also thanks for the new food i'll be saving these for later <3

[bonkbobl]

when hes string quartet no.8 by dmitri shostakovich but youre make u cum by ayesha erotica

[bonkbobl]

roose bolton has such rock/classical music energy which is so so good right like i love that. but i’ve been on my cunty girly pussy eating bubblegum pop grind lately and the thought of forcing him (any grumpy older man actually) to listen to charli xcx is leaving me gagged BAHAHAHAHAH

[bonkbobl]

the way i keep watching the same two tiktok edits of roose with the arctic monkeys in the back ground LMAOOOOO im unwell

[bonkbobl]

ok for the last two fics i posted, i have ideas for part 2’s. does that interest anyone or should i leave them alone

[bonkbobl]

distraction

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

gif not mine

a/n: so this was the story i wrote like several weeks ago that got deleted by tumblr. i finally got the motivation to rewrite it (bc like i think everything but the last bit got deleted)

summary: roose bolton indulges his urges with lower born northern girls — by no means is this a very well kept secret. he stole your first night from you and your husband, just as he has done with many others in the past, but this time you remain cemented in his mind months after. that is out of the ordinary.

warning: mentions of previous dubious consent situations, no huge smut scenes but smutty descriptions of past memories, unplanned pregnancy, some bits of self hate and shame, take that trigger warning seriously!! reader was a victim of SA from roose and theres a lot of conflicting feelings, cheating depending on your pov but i dont think it counts bc she had no choice, roose is very much not the good guy here please be aware, a lot of victim blaming

Roose doesnt know when he began to care for you. It certainly wasnt that first time he saw you, bathing naked in the river. And it definitely wasn’t when you and your husband showed up at the Dreadfort asking your liege lords blessing for marriage.

Of course, he knew in both instances, he craved you.

A craving that should have been satisfied when he exercised the first night rights. No, somehow between the your first night and now, he had begun to yearn for you again. That night far from expelled you from his mind.

Only a couple times, Roose saw himself riding out of the Dreadfort and he’d see you outside, hanging clothes on a line or tending to some animals.

You’d always spot him, then quickly pretend as if you didn’t, probably praying to each and every God that he wouldn't come by to see you.

In truth, it didn’t matter much whether he stopped by or not. The damage had already been done and there was little his visit could do to worsen things. Your wedding night had ruined your marriage. It was something you had been coming to terms with over the past couple of months.

At first, you had tried your best to console your husband. The experience took a toll on both of you — he had refused your bed for almost a month afterward and after weeks of patience, you were finally able to have a real wedding night.

He was gentle and slow and kind, a noticeable contrast to how roughly Roose took you. You felt ashamed even comparing in the privacy of your own mind, but you thought it before you could even realize how much you hated the idea.

You loved and cared for your husband. He loved and cared for you. He treated you delicately and respectfully, as a husband should. It just wasn't quite as exciting as the passion, the rough kisses, the biting. He almost seemed afraid to touch you.

He’d asked you after you made love, how it was. You braved a smile and nodded, telling him it was wonderful.

Then he pressed, “Better than…”

And inside, your heart shattered, wondering if thats really all he cared about in that moment. With a faltered smile, you nodded again, though it was a lie and in his eyes, you could tell he knew.

When days later you had a more heated argument about the same topic, he revealed he’d been sat outside the door the entire time you laid with Lord Bolton.

That shut your mouth and you stared at the ground wordlessly as he continued to shout at you. Why would he? You thought but you knew your indignation was misplaced. It doesn't make sense why he'd willingly submit himself to the that experience of listening to your lord claim you, but it also didn't make sense why you sounded the way you did while it was happening.

Why did you?

He made a cot in your kitchens and you whimpered, tears spilling into the sheets that you were supposed to share as husband and wife. He didn't share your bed ever again. Granted, it's only been a couple of weeks since you consummated your marriage — you could understand if things just take time.

You were wracked by guilt. But you also had a great deal or resentment and anger building by the time Robb Starks war came about. You spent the length of your marriage comforting your husband over your assault. How is that right?

But the guilt… the guilt never stopped. You close your eyes and you can feel him if you try hard enough — Roose. Feel him kissing, feel him rubbing you down there, and when he made you get on top...

It was shameful.

When the North began to rally for the King in the North, any help was appreciated, even from an untrained soldier such as your husband, even from a simple farmers wife such as yourself. Anyone can do the least bit to help.

You did what little you were permitted to do — cooking for the soldiers, cleaning, dressing wounds. Having things to do with your hands took your mind off of your messy personal life. For a little bit.

It was only a matter of time before you started to feel his gaze on you. Everywhere you went.

Of course, you had expected to see him. But you had also expected him to ignore you.

You expected that if you were to ever approach him, it would cause a huge upset. Everyone knew he almost had his bastard's mother flogged when she brought her baby boy to the Dreadfort and you had no intention of meeting that fate. You thought, all the better for you. He wont seek you out and you would never put yourself through having to look in his face again. Every time you closed your eyes, you could already imagine him on top of you, and how he felt inside you.

It was especially difficult to keep those images off your mind because still, your husband refused your bed, keeping two separate cots in your shared tent.

You're a shameful little thing. Letting your mind wander from your marriage. To the man who ruined it no less...

No such luck met you, however and your expectations to be left alone were subverted.

Roose noticed his bad habit of turning up whereever you seemed to be as well and no matter how he tried to cull it, he'd still find himself wandering a little too close to your tent and the medical wing of camp where he was scarcely needed.

A few times, he'd spoken to you and you always kept your head down, ignoring the heat that would tease at your cunt or the way your stomach would twist at the sound of his deep voice. Only "Yes, milord," "Straight away, milord," "Of course, milord." One time he had even went as far as to compliment you on a job well done, serving the Northern Cause, and you still didn't budge to look up at him, gritting out a particularly bitter, "Thank you, my lord."

You truly were getting more and more bitter by the day. You felt quicker to anger — fed up by your husband, and seemingly unable to escape the watchful eye of your liege lord. You wondered why at first. Now you think, he must get some kind of high from it — from knowing that he was in many ways a part of you now, ingrained in your mind, a constant presence in your marriage. You wondered if he'd ever get tired of this petty humiliation.

You would snap. You were sure of it. One day, you'll say unpretty words, unbecoming of a farmer's wife. You could feel it even when you were alone, trying to unwind. You'd find yourself thinking of a scenario in which you'd be allowed to give him a piece of your mind, and sometimes you'd mutter curses to nothing but the wind as you knitted. You were wound up unbelievably so. You could hardly conceive of a time you felt more anger in you this frequently.

It nearly came to a head when your husband stumbled into your shared tent one afternoon and started clawing at your body. You had been laying on the bed, reading, grateful for a moment of solitude.

It was mid day and he already stunk of ale.

He took the book out of your hands and began kissing up your neck and you shoved him right off, storming out into the open air, furious at his lack of disrespect. Tears already pricking at your eyes.

Of course, you had been hoping he'd warm up to you and come to you one night. You'd talk it through — talk about both your individual feelings. You'd apologize for the cruel words you'd spoken to each other and start making love, start looking forward to the future you'd promised each other. You'd start trying to build a family. You'd begin making love regularly.

All these fantasies in your head — and he just stumbles in one day wanting to stick his dick somewhere.

You had only made it a few meters outside, the loud hustle of the war encampment, driving you even further up the wall. Your mind is too loud. Each day is feeling more and more like a dream rather than your life. Its all too overwhelming.

Your husbands grasp on your wrist halted you and you turned. He brought you in close, his stench absolutely putrid and you could hardly even recognize the boy you agreed to marry — the boy who was so gentle with the little pigs and sheep, who always wanted to feed them when he came to the farm to see you. All in a couple months, spoiled rotten.

"Aye, where d 'ya think you're goin, little lady?"

You snatched your wrist away forcefully, though you didn't need to be so aggressive. His movements were as slurred as his voice and a gentle pull would have loosened his grasp enough.

"I'm not in the mood," You hissed. "You don't talk to me most days now, you haven't shared my bed in weeks, and now you think you can climb on top of me stinking of ale..."

Anger flared behind your husbands eyes, "C'mon. You'll just end up enjoy'en it anyway."

Nothing but hurt stabbed at your heart as you moved away from him, "You act like this all happened to you. That you were hurt, that someone took something from you. You never showed any care for my wellbeing once.” You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes and you moved to storm off from him. “I'll talk to you later. When you're sober."

“Come back here you slut—” Was the last you heard and the last you saw was his hand raising. You turned and ducked.

When you turned, you ran into a firm chest, the hands attached to the man steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. Your husband flinched back when he saw the figure behind you, lowering his hand, but not without a bitter laugh. And you looked up, only needing a microsecond to realize who it was. You promptly, pushed yourself off him, nearly tripping over yourself doing so.

His deep voice rang out before you could start back on your feet, "Is there a problem, my lady?"

"Everything is fine," You held your gaze on the ground, begging that he'd just stay out of this so you can go and leave without creating a scene.

But he didn't see your urgency to leave. He saw your tears. He showed very little visible reaction to this very awkward and unfortunate situation, but you could sense that he was taking this far too seriously for your liking. As you moved to disengage, your husband had to get a last word in.

"It's alright, Lord Bolton. The whore is yours if you'd still like," Your husband, Mister Kent, yelled. Kent, you could hardly stand to share his name anymore.

Your face grew hot, suddenly aware of the eyes on you and you slipped away quickly, feet moving you swiftly to the tree line behind the camp. Roose had little awareness of those watching, simply scoffing at your husbands theatrics before turning to attend to what mattered more in the moment. You.

He called your name once and you kept speeding off, wiping your nose, your face. You refuse to cry.

He called your name a second time, sounding more irritated at your attitude — to think you were making him run after you — and this time, you gave him an answer. You turned and with all the hatred you could muster in you, you uttered a firm, "Don't."

Roose's hard eyes softened, only slightly, but the determination to catch up to you had faded away. With a simple nod, he watched as you finally ran off, seeking your much needed solitude.

Even long after you were already gone, he still thought about you. It was the first time he'd seen real resistance in you and to be truthful, it puzzled him far more than he'd care to admit out loud. He had stepped in, as your legal protector, as any good lord would have and instead of showing gratitude, you were angry at him.

Anyone else wouldn't have dared to speak to him in the ways that you have.

This created conflict — for one thing, he was understanding more and more what a liability to you were. A distraction at first, but the more he permitted himself to see you, the more troublesome you become.

Roose isn't a man to concern himself with peacocking and flitting about pretentiously drunk on power. But he was feared and respected. And he didn't get to be feared and respected by associating himself with beautiful young peasant girls. He didn't make grown me tremble in their boots at the sound of his name by letting little peasant girls talk back to him freely.

This distraction...

You could prove to be more trouble than you're worth. Of the few times he's seen you, he attempted to pay you no mind but sometimes, his eyes wander. Sometimes he's thinking about something more important and he realizes he's looking at you.

Your hair is always done up with a dirty little scarf. Sometimes it wouldn't be done up very securely — locks of hair falling in front of your face as you worked. In those moments it was difficult to look away.

Sometimes you'd wear these milkmaid dresses that you'd usually save for the warmer summer days when you'd work on your farm. And your straps might loosen over your shoulder, falling. You'd have to adjust it back in the right place after completing your task. Those dresses surely complimented your figure in ways that Roose imagined would make even a maester blush.

Your perfect little body looked even better, bare, in the dim firelight. His roaming hands were the best accessory — the best clothing — to compliment and accentuate your curves. The marks he left on you were better than any precious metals or gemstones you could adorn yourself with.

Just remembering what you looked like after he was done with you — chest heaving, warm, sweating and worn out, lips and cunt both so puffy and swollen, and doing nothing as his cum started to threaten to spill out of you. Your mind was wracked with the confusion of actually having had enjoyed it. And when you watched him push his spend back into the hole from where it was trying to escape, that action almost made you want more. He could see it in your beautiful flushed face.

Those memories are enough to make him completely forget himself and lose his train of thought when he sees you.

He'll be noticing you from afar and before he knows it, he's only a few paces from you, looking down at you with nothing to say but some arbitrary order that he'd come up with on the spot — fetch water, bring milk of the poppy for one of the generals, help the women prepare dinner.

You're one hell of a distraction.

Roose considered having you and your husband sent home from the war effort. It would have been the most practical solution. If the king is already flitting about with the Volantis Princess, the North cannot afford so many side tracked leaders.

And yet, he cant help but feel some vague sense of responsibility to you.

Perhaps if it were any other man, this was to be expected, but Roose has bedded many women under the old first night tradition and never paid a second thought to any of them. They were all just his subjects. He'd protect them, he'd do his duty, he'd take what was rightfully his, and he'd punish them if they refused him, but he had more important matters to concern himself with.

Definitely more important than a petty dispute between wife and husband. Though it left a distinctly bad taste in his mouth to think that your husband might be mistreating you in any way, calling you debasing names. Gods forbid, he's been misusing you — Roose knows there isn't a scarcity of husbands that subject their wife to all their most debased urges. Especially when there isn't a good amount of respect between them and it doesn't seem to him that your husband particularly carries much respect for you.

For that man to raise a hand to you.

Roose scoffed at Mister Kent's behavior. He supposes it's partially his fault, perhaps mostly. Or entirely. Not that he'd usually particularly care.

It's just that Mister Kent had an especially blatant disregard for your honor. That the man could even think he had the right to treat you as if you were below him when you were more valuable to the northern cause than he could ever hope to be — it baffled Roose.

Because thats what this was about. The North. Your husband is one foot soldier. You keep the army fed and medicated.

He reasoned with himself, that it's a part of his oaths to protect those small folk that reside in his lands. That includes farmers wives when their husbands aren't honoring the oaths they took at the altar. It wasn't personal. It was something he had overlooked in the past that he'll aim to rectify.

—————

You wiped some sweat from your brow, nodding kindly to the lady next to you, who brought you a fresh tray of bowls to fill. Then on your other side, another woman scurried up to you, tapping your shoulder.

She looked younger, slightly nervous.

“What is it?” You asked, turning with concern.

She spoke quickly, “Lord Bolton ordered me to pass a message,” her mousy accented voice barely audible as the other ladies rushed to get food to the hungry mouths of the men.

You flinched backward, confusion all over your face, but you leaned in anyway. You’d let the poor frightened girl complete her task. Your distaste for Lord Bolton doesn’t have to translate to her.

“Milord said to tell you that your belongings have been moved to a new tent, apart from your husbands, and that from now on, when we are to move camp, you should maintain this change.”

You stared at her, open mouthed, with brows knitted together in frustration, “Where?”

“Next to Milord’s, I believe. N-next to Lord Bolton’s own tent.”

Taking in a deep breath, you moved to turn back to your task. You'd worry about it later... But the offense had already set into your mind and your jaw clenched tightly. Opening your mouth, your original intent was to sternly thank her for delivering the message to you. She’s simply the messenger. You refuse to react and push the negativity of your reaction onto her.

But a surge of anger rose to your throat and you stifled your movements and words, taking a moment to collect yourself and think about it. Yes, this girl is simply the messenger. You should take your grievances to the man.

You nodded politely at the girl, “Thank you. Could you...” You gestured at the cauldron that you had been manning and nodded toward it pointedly, “Just for a moment. I need to speak find Lord Bolton and speak to him about why such changes have been made.”

“Of course, my lady,” She curtsied and rushed to take over your job for you.

You stopped in your tracks just as you were about to leave. “I’m not— Theres no need for formalities. I’m not a lady. We are neighbors if I am not mistaken. Your tavern is not far from my husbands farm.”

She nodded, hesitant, but conceded, “Of course… Its just… Lord Bolton—”

“Has overstepped greatly,” You finished.

She refused to respond, simply nodding in acknowledgment of your opinion. You’re brave to speak against your liege lord in such a manner.

You took your leave quickly, trying to find your way to the Lords and Ladies table as swiftly as possible. Perhaps there was still a way to reverse this change before anyone else takes notice and rumors begin to swirl.

Right next to his tent. What was he thinking? Did he simply aim to humiliate you— Humiliate your husband more? Was what damage has already been done not satisfactory— that he must shame you not only in the eyes of your husband but the entire North?

You were never meant to garner attention. A simple farmers wife was the life you thought you’d be destined for. And that was happy.

He’s spoiling it all.

You stepped up to the table, heart beating loudly in your chest, the fear feeling more like rushing adrenaline due to the fury underlying. “My Lord,” You greeted, trying to stay as respectful as possible.

Roose turned to you, as did your king, Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Rodrick Cassel, Rickard Karstark, and Greatjon Umber. Just as they did, Most of them had turned back to their previous conversations, passing you off as a servant girl with no doubt a simple question regarding something logistic. A fair assumption. And you were grateful for their dismissal. It made it less nerve-wracking.

Roose raised his brows at you. The only one of his companions that maintained an interest in you was Lady Stark, who looked to him for his reaction, and back at you.

“May I speak with you? Alone?” You pressed.

Roose looked you up and down, slightly amused by how ticked off you appeared to be. Pursing his lips and continuing to chew on the veal you and your ladies had prepared, he shrugged, “Whatever you have to say, surely, can be said now. You have no secrets to keep from the mother of the King, I’d hope?”

You glanced at Catelyn who still watched you curiously, then back at Roose. Taking a deep breath, and sighing it out, you kept your glaring eyes trained on him. “You had no right,” You held your ground firmly. The boldness of your words attracting the interest of the others once again, and despite the building pressure of those eyes watching you, you steeled yourself, holding to your purpose, “No right, My Lord," And through your words, you decided to add, "R-respectfully,” to soften your tone. Though it was only out of fear, not because you actually respected the man.

“No right to do what?” He challenged, icy blue eyes not budging a single bit.

You were taken aback, shaking your head and recoiling into yourself as if you were disgusted by him — which you were. You kept reminding yourself to be disgusted with him. He’s a disgusting man. Stubborn, always needs to get his way, arrogant, assertive, pragmatic, effective, dominant.

Though you couldn't help the bit of desire for him that you felt. It rose like bile in your throat just like every other time, but unlike every other time, the disgust that you'd usually feel toward yourself turned to anger, directed at the man in front of you.

“You—” But your next words died on your lips and you took in another deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were already bold for talking to him in an accusatory manner. You cant afford to curse at him or say all the things you want to say. Not with all these eyes on you. “I wish to share my tent with my husband. You had me moved. Without my consent.”

He gave you a look of faux consideration, as if he were truly listening to you and considering a change in his actions but you knew he wasn’t. He was condescending, “I seem to remember this is the same husband who stumbles around, a drunken fool, and raises his hand to his wife in front of not only his fellow soldiers but his liege lord.”

“Convenient picture, you paint,” You seethed, articulating each word with venom, no longer trying to hide any disrespect.

“Was there a lie in my words? Does he not hurt you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Dont pretend you care. Not now. Don't you fucking dare. “Well—" Yes, but would have been your next words but you bit your tongue. The point of this wasn't to debate your husbands behavior toward you. You, yourself found it distasteful. You should focus on the matter at hand which is that you don't want to be so close to this man. "I’ll have my own tent then. If it pleases you, My Lord,” Your words still full of spite, “But you’ll have my belongings moved again so that I’m not right next to you.”

Catelyn’s mouth parted and she stared at the man beside her. You kept your eyes stubbornly trained on Roose, looking at him with great offense and sass in your eyes, as if to ask him with just a simple movement of your head, what the fuck were you thinking?

Roose smiled, mostly to himself. Strangely your boldness did nothing to anger him. He expected some more gratitude, maybe. But you’re spirited. For some reason that excites him.

“No,” He said simply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, “That won’t happen.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, entire face stiff with anger. “I don’t know what you expect,” You asked, “A thank you?”

“It would be appreciated. When your liege grants a favor—“

“A favor, ” You laughed, growing more audacious by the second, but your tone became mocking “A favor out of the goodness of your own hear—”

“Yes, it was a favor,” Roose said, more stern than he had been for the rest of the conversation.

Your expression settled into a hard frown, realizing yourself and your lack of power in this situation. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“And you’d do well to remember not to interrupt a Lord whilst he is speaking.”

You stared stubbornly for a moment, eyes narrowing in on him, challengingly. Then a few moments passed without a word between either of you.

Finally, you surrendered, valuing your head above your pride, “As you wish, My Lord. Thank you.” But the submissiveness of your words could not hide the unmistakeable snark in your tone.

Without granted leave, you turned on your heel and stormed right back off from where you came.

Roose sat back in his chair, ignoring the few lingering gazes of his peers. Though Karstark and Umber quickly busied themselves with their previous interrupted conversation with the younger Greyjoy, the King spared him one last curious look before joining their round of jibes against each other.

It was Lady Starks stare that bore uncomfortably into Roose’s profile.

But he paid it as little attention as possible. He took to his neglected meal and cut another slice of that veal. Stone faced, but thinking about your angry little face. The bite and the snark behind your voice. How badly, did he want to stand and take you right back to his tent and make you understand just how passionate he really was about your protection and safety. Just how capable he is of providing it, unlike that pitiful husband of yours.

As he chewed, the dreadful little realization started to tease at his mind. That perhaps this distraction was spiraling a little far beyond his control.

But the image of your angry, eyes softening as you lay beneath him… the fury dissipating into pleasure, it was more than enough to convince him that control over himself was not what was at the forefront of his mind, nor did he want it be. His desire was beginning to win over his will.

He’ll have you. And you’ll welcome it.

—————

Your days were spent mostly to yourself. Regretfully, you were actually quite thankful for the change in living arrangements. You no longer had to interact with your husband, who had become a near constant anxiety before. And Roose kept his distance for you — perhaps he's gotten the hint...

You could only hope that was the case.

One morning ripped you from your idyllic independence when you found yourself running and wretching into the nearest empty vessel nearly the moment you stood from your bed. You threw up two more times that morning before you gave in and asked a nurse to give you something for the sickness.

That inevitably led to the conversation you had been dreading since the moment you woke up.

"When did you last bleed?"

"I..." You paused to think on it but it couldn't come to you. Two cycles must have passed you by without you even realizing because three moons ago was as recent as you could think of.

Then a new anxiety began to build in you. Because you distinctly remember your husband never consummated your marriage until a mere couple weeks ago — more than a month after your wedding night.

"I'm not sure."

"The sickness means you've had it for probably a bit less than two months now," She informed you, counting on her fingers, "half a month for the babe to take hold, and then the mother gets sick after another month. Half a month for those with a more fragile countenance."

"Is there any way it could have started within two or three weeks?"

Her brows furrowed confusedly for a moment before the gears began to turn in the woman's head and her expression soured to vague pity, though she stepped back from you, almost as if your shame could be contagious. She shook her head lightly, and full of judgement, "There is always moon tea."

Moon tea was exactly what your husband suggested when you told him later. Though you shocked yourself when the a creeping reluctance rose to the front of your mind.

Mister Kent detected your hesitation almost immediately. Before you could fully process your own thoughts and feelings on the matter, he was invigorated by his personal mission to kill the mere idea of you possibly keeping the child.

"You can't mean to say you actually want to keep it?"

All you did was glare, unsure of yourself. "I don't know."

"How can't you know?"

"I don't know," You repeated, stepping back from the man that you once loved. "I don't know if I want to."

"What could possibly make you want to keep it?"

You scoffed at him, "It's still my child," you tried to reason, anything that would get him to empathize, even a little bit, with you. But it was to no avail, you were quickly realizing. He hardly ever really cares to see things from your view.

"It's not mine."

"That fact doesn't negate what I just said," You shot back, brows furrowing frustratedly at his selfishness.

"You'd have me raise another man's bastard?"

"We are married."

"We won't be if you have that bastard."

And there, you let out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. You smiled humorlessly to yourself, scoffing once again at the situation.

"You can't possibly have thought that I would be amenable to this,” he filled the silence

You simply shook your head because no, you didn't think he would be happy. Of course he wouldn't be happy. But this was the point of no return. If you were to keep the child, there'd be no mending your relationship with him.

Overcome with some bout of sentiment, you took a good look at his face, trying to remember any reason you should pick him over your unborn child — nothing but a bundle of cells right now but probably more capable of truly loving you than this man ever would have been. For a moment you even felt the creeping feeling that you were grateful the child wasn't your husbands.

"I need time to think about it," You spoke carefully, so as not to antagonize him but also not to give him hope.

He rolled his eyes.

For you, that had done it. You still weren't entirely sure if you'd keep the child but next time you spoke to your husband, you'd bring up the question of an annulment. You didn't wait for whatever response he might have before leaving.

—————

Roose caught you just in the corner of his eye. He'd watched you enough to recognize you by the way you walked — or paced, was more accurate to describe it. You were always pacing from place to place, anxiously. He diverted his gaze away from Catelyn Stark who was speaking to him about something mundane, something to do with the Kingslayer, their most recent and most valuable bargaining chip.

You escaped his view as quickly as you came in, disappearing angrily into your tent. You're always upset. At least this time it has little to do with him. He's been giving you some much needed space for a little while.

He knew he stared just a little bit too much when he turned back to Catelyn in front of him and saw her looking to their side, at the little slit of fabric through which you disappeared. Then she looked back at him, curiously.

Roose smiled politely, silently urging her to go on, and hoping the damned woman wouldn't nose around.

"She's pretty, that one."

"Yes," Roose hummed, mentally cursing himself for being a little too careless, "The wife of a farmer. They live about a quarter hour ride south of the Dreadfort."

Catelyn hummed too, eyebrows moving upward awkwardly. "A-and how did you come to be acquainted... with this farmers wife?"

Roose stalled for less than a second before coming up with some farce. It wasn't difficult to think up a simple lie. Although it was barely a lie, simply an omission of most of the truth, "Her father was the Dreadfort's main supplier of milk. And eggs."

"Ah..." Catelyn nodded, and Roose knew she only accepted that answer as a courtesy, clearly aware that there was more to the story. "And her husband..."

Roose rolled his eyes at the mere mention of Mister Kent, "A drunk."

Catelyn smiled a bit at that, eyes narrowing with skepticism, "Unfortunate." She then cautiously pushed, "You seem rather attached to—"

Roose took a deep impatient inhale, causing Lady Stark to quickly drop the subject.

"I take it you were good friends with this girls father. And the only reason you seem to be so protective is because of that friendship..."

The impatient Dreadlord spared Lady Stark a look of incredulity. He wondered why she’d try to come up with a cover story for him when they both know she believes something else — when they both know the reality is something else.

"I would hope that is why, Lord Bolton," She addressed his disbelief, "This girl... She seems to have a kind heart, a strength and resilience, if you will."

For a moment, Roose's irritation blended into pure amusement at why Catelyn Stark would even begin to lecture him on what kind of person you were but she left no room for Roose to speak in protest.

"She is firey."

Roose chuckled, "Yes."

Yes, you are. Even the night he took you, you tried to hold your chin up high and face him. And you did, you glared at him as he entered you, your hardened, angry eyes wavering with each thrust until your furrowed brows knitted together with pleasure replacing your stubborn resistance.

"Don't dishonor her," Catelyn stated her point, finally.

For a moment, Roose scarcely knew what to say. It was a long moment, longer than it would usually take for him to generate a response.

Don't dishonor her.

He's afraid it might be too late. All those things Catelyn had said about you, after only bearing witness to a single heated interaction between the two of you, were all true. They were all things he came to learn about you slowly, all things that made it even harder to forget you or cast you aside.

It was in that moment that Roose came to the realization that while your husband wasn't a very good man, he might objectively be much worse. Well this wasn't the moment he realized that, of course the head of the house with the flayed man on their banners would be a slightly more rough around the edges than a simple cattle farmer.

But he committed a grave crime against your honor. Your husband has also sullied your honor in different ways, but he could hardly claim that he has treated you the way you really deserved to be treated.

"I'll try not to," Roose responded with a nod, and walked toward your tent.

Hopefully there was still time enough to rectify his mistake. He really shouldn't have let his desires get the better of him so easily. The moment he saw you, he knew he had to have you. It always goes like this. Its never ended with some strange sort of sentiment developing — that just wasn't the type of man Roose was. Not until now.

"My lady," Roose said once, trying to alert you of his presence outside your tent.

Upon hearing his familiar, deep voice, you looked up from your spot on your cot. You wiped your face of the few tears you'd allowed yourself to shed and scooted off the bed, but you hesitated for a moment.

Do you really wish to speak to him? All this pain caused by him. You should tell him to fuck off right back from where he came.

"My lady," The voice said, more firmly this time and with that signature tint of irritation that you'd come to know so well.

You sighed. You should speak to him about these matters. It concerns him. You're not going to get rid of the child, you couldn't bring yourself to. Inexplicably so, the thought of having a child to take care of, running around you, carefree and smiling, outweighed any hatred you may hold for that child’s father.

If your lord is kind, he'd give you an allowance like he did his bastard's mother, perhaps even allow you to reside in the Dreadfort. You could raise your child to be better than the men you've known in your life.

You went and opened the flaps of the tent, cocking your head to signal him in. He stopped as the tent closed behind him and you stood there with your eyes trained to his chest, waiting for him to take more steps inside. It remained as such for a second, then two, and you stood, confused as to why he was just standing in front of you instead of moving inside to the table set up in the center.

He took off his glove and you watched his hand come up to touch your chin. He tilted your face up, your eyes met his, observing as he inspected you. He looked down to consider something, and then met your eyes again promptly, a strange hesitance in them.

It fascinated and scared you at the same time. To see Roose in a somber mood. Skepticism remained on your face, waiting for some punchline.

"What do you want?"

His lips parted for a slow inhale, the closest thing he’d permit himself to a sigh. A sudden rush of heat felt as if it struck him in the chest. You were all he could want. If you caught on to his reaction to your words, you didn't say anything.

"I... wanted to apologize," and it was the first time you ever felt really shocked by anything Lord Bolton said or did.

Everyone to the east of Winterfell heard tale of the cruelty of the leech lord, not even his insistence on taking your first night managed to surprise you. But this... You suddenly wanted to listen.

"I fear I've behaved unseemly toward you, disregarded your honor. For this, I ask your forgiveness."

You realized he was finished and closed your open mouth, searching for an answer. You felt that he expected you to forgive him. But in truth you didn't really want to. "I don't think it's really that simple, my lord. I appreciate the sentiment but... I..." You huffed, looking down, frustrated at your ineloquence today. But he caught you off guard with this and you hadn't rehearsed an angry response to an apology ever.

His gaze was still fixed on you as he readjusted the weight he was placing on his feet, the first ever signs of desperation obvious in his body language and you couldn't say you ever thought him capable of this range of emotions — that in it self was impressive. For the first time, he was squirming, awaiting your words instead of you hiding away from his.

"I cant forgive you so easily. Not for this."

"Well what can I do?"

"What?"

"Is there something I could do to earn your forgiveness, I find that to be a fair question," Roose said quickly and clearly irate.

You looked up at him and laughed nervously because he was glaring down at you and to be honest, this was also a first. You wouldn't think it to be the case with him. And even in that moment, you wracked your brain for any moment in which you'd seen Roose truly angry, not just slightly iritated or mildly annoyed, but frustrated and emotionally driven to anger.

He huffed and pulled himself from you, walking further into your tent. You stayed at the entrance for a moment, staring at nothing, then you looked at him, still failing to find the correct words.

Another nervous laugh escaped you as you said, "Again, I don't think it's that simple. You cant just... do a favor and expect everything to be forgiven."

Roose stood, facing away from you, clearly thinking to himself. He looked all broody and upset and you couldn't help but laugh again. The men around here are all so wrapped up in themselves and their unprocessed emotions and you're always the one to carry their weight.

"Why do you care?"

He didn't answer for a moment. And you wondered if he even really heard you, but as you were about to repeat yourself, he responded, "I don't."

You scoffed, "Then you overstep again. If you don't care why do I have to forgive you. Why can't I just hate you for the rest of our miserable lives?"

He turned to you, eyes narrowed, taking you in, "Do you?"

"I don't know," You answered completely honestly, "You... ruined my marriage."

He responded quickly, firmly, and frankly, "I admit my part. I admit the dishonor I've brought you. I admit that I overstepped my bounds. These things I will admit, but I was not the demise of your marriage. Many have survived worse and continued to foster a deep love. I know, because..."

"Because we weren't the only ones," You finished, nodding. You knew. "But I'm the only one of those women who you continued to... pester afterward. You claimed your right. What right did you have stepping into my marital quarrels?"

"You'd be a fool to stay with that man after the way he treated you."

"And what's my alternative?" You asked, your voice full of humor, "Will you marry me, Lord Bolton? Is that your proposal?" You shook your head as he didn't respond, not even visually. You both knew he'd never take you to wife. If he wanted to, he would have already. But a man like Roose Bolton would never marry for love with a girl with nothing to her name but a couple of cows.

"I am sorry," he said, pausing to find the words, "That your husband has chosen to place blame on you for what I had forced you into. However, given that, surely you must see he is no man at all."

Of course, you agreed, but you didn't really see what his point was. So you said nothing, trying to come up with something. In the mean time, he continued.

"I can't marry you. But I can protect you. I'll send you to the Dreadfort. You'd be given a job, a room..." You'd be close by. "Your husband too, if you truly insist on dragging him along."

"For what in return, a bed warmer?"

"For nothing in return," He corrected, face twisting with indignation, "What kind of apology would that be if those were my terms?"

You kept your distrustful eyes trained on him, not wanting to give him any kind of small victory. But you couldn't deny the offer sounded tempting, especially with the most recent development — you were going to ask for an annulment to your marriage the next day, you were going to keep the baby. You had the same thought — living at the Dreadfort, under his protection. It just felt more rotten leaving his mouth than it did in your head.

He took a few cautious steps toward you and gently took your hands in his, “You’re a good woman. You do your duties, often even without receiving thanks. You’re a loyal woman, strong, passionate…”

You inhaled deeply, still trying to keep some emotional distance but he looked earnest, forehead creased by the way his eyebrows pushed against them. His eyes were the widest and most inviting you’d ever seen them, no jokes or hidden arrogance in them.

“I… care. I feel as if I’ve committed a great crime against your honor, and you are the most honorable woman I’ve come to know in all my years,” he confessed.

It was something that struck you in the heart — something you couldn’t push out. You had been questioning your own honor. You wanted to live an honorable life but recent events had made you feel like a failure in that respect.

Especially… you ripped your eyes away from his, sighing to yourself. Especially the way he looks at you and the way you cant help but look at him with the same longing. It was hard to hate him before when he was nothing but a prick who happened to know how to fuck the shit out of you. Now, as the father of your child, standing in front of you and whispering reassurance and praise, it was damn near impossible.

He finished his small declaration simply, “Don’t resign yourself to a miserable life. Let me make it better for you. We don’t have to speak to each other once you’ve moved into the fort.”

Decisively, you figured without a husband and with your father long gone years ago, you could do with an ally and protector. Of course, Roose Bolton wasn't ideal but he had the most reason out of anyone else to want to protect you — truly protect you

Never mind your night of passion. You tried not to think about it, especially not with him in front of you. It just clouds your judgement unnecessarily to think about his lips on your skin and his hands gripping roughly at your body, pulling you mercilessly against him. His fingers tangling in your hair, or moving your hips as you sat over him.

You cursed yourself. You hadn't meant to curse it out loud though and Roose tilted his head, brows coming together in a mix of confusion and anticipation as he was still waiting for an answer.

Unsure of yourself and your decisions in this moment, you started where you thought may be the most important, which was to explain your reasonings for everything, "Mister Kent and I will be seeking an annulment."

Roose didn't say anything, contrary to your expectation that he'd have some distasteful quip about how it was a long time coming. He just watched you respectfully. It was promising.

"I trust you will grant this annulment?"

"As your liege, I would, but I'd require a reason. A reason that would be considered valid to the Gods."

You took a deep breath and braced yourself, taking a few steps toward him. You pursed your lips in a tight, awkward smile and looked up at him. You felt like you couldn't stall this enough. This is as good a time as any.

"A reason valid for the Gods," You nodded, offering a sardonic chuvkled, "I've a damn good reason. I'm carrying a child that's not my husbands."

You watched closely for his reaction, but it was as if he froze in time, staring. He did nothing but stare. You wondered if he thought you were joking. Then he blinked and you decided he must just be thinking really hard.

"He refused to bed me for a time... the first, and only time, was about a fortnight ago now."

He continued to say nothing, but his eyes went off to the side, seemingly doing math. You nearly laughed at the sight of him doing the calculations. But you saved him the trouble.

"For reference, my wedding was about six weeks ago," you filled in the blanks for him, and tilted your head as his gaze met you again. You looked down at his lips for just a moment but quickly corrected yourself, "So... It's highly unlikely — well impossible that it would be his. A wet nurse I saw this morning said that sickness doesn't start until at least a month of having the babe."

"And it's started?" He finally asked.

You nodded, daring yourself to hold his gaze, "This morning," his eyes boring into you caused you to take in and let out a heavy breath, your lids growing heavier the more he searched your soul for answers — signs of deception. Though both of you knew there'd be no reason for you to deceive.

It was only when your lip twitched that you realized how close you'd gotten to him. You promptly blinked your head clear and looked down. He tilted your face up to find your gaze again, eyes raking your face. His own eyelids were just as hooded with desire.

"So It's mine," He stated, it wasn't a question. "You carry my child?"

His words shouldn't have excited you. It's the last thing it should do. But the reminder that you have Roose Bolton's baby in you, that the seed he shot into you on that one night had managed to take root in you by chance — that you carried the product of your shared passion that night... It made your stomach twist familiarly. It was only that this time, you didn't feel guilty thinking your husband never made your stomach twist that way.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately to keep your mind grounded and stubborn. "Unfortunately. Well, maybe Fortunately. I'm not sure the alternative is kinder. I'm only telling you as a courtesy, because you'd find out eventually if I'm to be living at the Dreadfort."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. He truly hopes that no matter what, you never lose that bite to you. His fingers loosened around your chin but you held his gaze, understanding that this is what he preferred.

It just made you nervous. Neither of you spoke for a few moments, just looked at each others faces — really looked, and tried to know each other for the first time. You pushed away the feeling of wanting to kiss him, weakly this time, but you really cant. You haven’t even annulled your marriage yet and just because Roose says some pretty words to you doesnt make everything okay.

"He wanted me to take moon tea," you said, unsure of why you did. Just to keep talking, probably. Because you could see him looking at your lips with intent.

His eyes narrowed, still endlessly scanning your face, every so often landing on your lips. You tried to create a little bit of distance, and continued to talk, hoping it wouldn't escalate any further than this current tension. But even as you tried to pull back, you couldn't help but feel slightly drawn toward him. Especially with the way he was looking at you, it was hard not to have flashbacks to your old passion.

You continued, "I knew I wouldn't," Again you weren't sure why you felt the need to say it. You meant to reassure him that you wouldn’t have done such a thing without informing him first — that you were his loyal subject. It read more like a confession than anything else. It fanned the fire burning behind Roose's ice cold eyes. As you said it, you couldn't help but mirror his response.

How had you come to be so loyal to this man and he to you?

You still find reason to dislike him... but the thought of getting rid of his child had never truly been a realistic option to you. Even if you had the moon tea in your hands, even if you started to drink it, you'd remember the way he looked deep into your eyes as he took you — well it wasn't much different from the way he was looking at you right now.

The only real differences between now and then was that you’d been more naked that day, he was inside you, and after taking in your flustered state with those ever intense eyes of his, he captured your lips in his hungrily.

His face drew closer to yours. Then your lips brushed.

You pulled back slightly.

His hands came up to cup the back of your neck and cradle the under side of your skull as his face chased yours.

No… even if you had the tea in your hands and sipped a mouthful of the poison, you'd have remembered this exact energy and you would have spit out that tea before you could swallow it down.

One last attempt to pull away, feeble, and barely helping in any way, "I couldn't," left your lips, the words spoken more or less into his mouth, and you closed your lips onto his.

[bonkbobl]

state of undress

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: lowkey disappeared off the face of the earth for a bit but i was having problems with school and my partner and long story short we ended up splitting but we've been long distance so we've honestly been putting it off for a while now. very short drabble. also have your own opinions about roose, of course, but respectfully, i know this motherfucker is a horny bitch. inspired LOOOOSE LOOSELY (as in i was listening to it on repeat while writing this) bed chem by sabrina carpenter

summary: roose needs to speak with you but its not the best time. but you have fun with it.

warnings: horny but in the oh my god this fucking slut is exposing her ankles kind of way, more intense than that actually but whatever; def want more of this dynamic so i might write more little snippets of a more flirty reader

"My lady," A voice called from outside your tent. The rest of the encampment was quieting down — you, yourself, were nearly ready to rest.

You recognized the man's voice to belong to Roose Bolton. You could recognize that voice anywhere. It sent shivers up your spin, not that you were the only one who’d shiver at the sound of his voice. It just didn't affect you for the same reason as everyone else. No, you weren't scared when he'd hear his quiet, firm, deep voice sneak up on you. You shivered from an excitement that no other man has managed to spur in you.

"Come in," you said, mindlessly shrugging on a thin little layer that you'd usually wear under many other furs and dresses. It was what you would wear around your tent right before bed and right after you woke, when you can’t carry the rest of the bulk.

It never crossed your mind that your state of undress would pose a problem to Lord Bolton.

When he entered, his eyes didn't reach your figure yet, still set on the little piece of paper in his hand, which you quickly figured was the reason for his visit. You faced him with crossed arms and a cocked head. And you let your gaze trace up to him just in time to take in his every action.

He looked as if he was about to speak — and you're sure that was the intention — but as he looked up for the first time upon entering your tent, the words died on his lips. His entire demeanor softened and for a moment he let his eyes rake shamelessly over you.

Half a gasp was all you saw— as if it was caught in his throat. You’d never seen that look on his face before, almost vulnerable. But it was gone not even a second after you took note of it.

After, he met your eyes, just as stern and serious as every other time you had spoken to him.

It took you a moment to realize what had just occurred and though you should have felt shame for letting this man see you in your sheer, just translucent small clothes, you couldn't find it in you. In fact, the same excitement that his voice stirred grew a little stronger and you straightened up, trying to keep a smirk from your face.

"Yes, Lord Bolton?" You spoke up in a short moment of courage.

He took in an even breath and then let it out, trying to remember what he came in for. It didnt take long for him to rediscover his firm composure, focusing on your face, a hint of annoyance to his tone, "A rider arrived at this late hour. I apologize..." He allowed himself one more glance downward, "…for the late intrusion."

He appreciated the curvature of your body — badely visible but the light fabric and the glow of a fire helped him see clearer. He particularly appreciated the way he could make out the general curve of your free-hanging breasts and your nipple hardening from the cold.

A touch of resentment as well, had plagued him just the slightest. You should learn to receive your guests more carefully, more modestly. But the only reason that thought came up was because it irritated him greatly to think of another man finding you in this state.

"If it was an intrusion, I wouldn't have let you in, Lord Bolton," You smiled, acting as casual as you could manage. You reached out for the little strip of paper in his hand.

He watched you carefully.

Trying your best to ignore his intense critical eye, you accidentally brushed your finger against his as you took the message from his hand. Though you were hyperaware of the spot of your finger that had touched his akin, you didn't show any acknowledgement of the tiny flame that ignited within you. But you did tilt your head up and look at him.

The intensity you were aiming to avoid confronting is what you found. Once you looked, you found it hard to want to look away.

You realized how close he was. And you made no effort to move away.

Neither did he.

He was watching you with hard set, lust blown eyes. Any fool could see it. You should have backed down — if you were the demure, pure girl you were taught to be. But it made you a little braver.

After all, you think youre affecting him. But it’d be nice to see just how much you could manage to affect him. Perhaps a more obvious sign than just intense stares and lingering eyes would satisfy you.

He smiled kindly, but falsely at you, "Aren't you cold?"

"It's chilly," You admitted, and with your heart pounding you cheekily continued, feigning an innocence that you only hoped appeared true enough, "But after you leave, I'm taking it all off anyway... and burying myself in those piles of furs on my bed." A small chuckle and smile were sure to be enough to make him think you didn't know what you were doing — planting images in his head. “I do not usually like to wear too much to bed.”

You may be a highborn lady, raised in polite society, taught to be mindful of your sexuality so as not to tempt men. But you're human. And you'd never wanted anything as much as you wanted this man in this moment.

His face twitched but his composure wasn't so easily lost.

Roose... You want to touch him again. The pads of your finger were still itching from the simple brush against him.

With a shy smile, you looked downward. And it was only after that that you could find the courage to continue to provoke him. "Is something the matter, My Lord?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" You pressed, arching your back and bravely meeting his eyes again. Your extended height got you a little closer to his face.

You watched the gears turn in his head as he tried to figure out if you were purposefully fucking with him — which even as you tried to hide it, you really do hope he finds out the truth.

Another push, perhaps, "You seem awfully concerned with the chill."

"You've got gooseskin from it." He pointed out, gaze going between your eyes and the two little buds eagerly poking through and forming peaks in the fabric. "And..."

Confusion filled you for a moment but then you looked down and there came the realization of why the fearsome Roose Bolton was having pains with saying what he meant. Surely a man of such high standing wouldn't squirm over something as trivial as talking of your body. You couldn't help the giggle when you realized.

"My..." You smiled wide, laughing through the smile, "You weren't supposed to see that."

Roose licked his lips and pursed them, obviously thinking up a storm of thoughts silently. You'd give anything to know what he was thinking. All the while, he looked down once more, conflict building within him. And before you could hear another word from him, he stepped back and nodded curtly — politely.

"Goodnight, My Lady," A small bow was what he managed, all professionalism returning to his demeanor.

You finally allowed the smirk to pull subtly at the corner of your lips and by the way he hesitated, you figured he picked up on it. "Goodnight, My Lord. I wish you a good nights rest with pleasant dreams. Perhaps I'll pay a visit to them."

A stern glare is all he responded with. With that, Roose turned on his heel, for the first time feeling his heart pumping with such a vigor. All his body was telling him was that you may be trouble.

The outline of your shape, barely covered by your useless fucking clothing — if he could even call that thin little barely opaque piece of fabric clothing. It would plague him the next times he would into your cunning eyes.

[bonkbobl]

hello !! i'm excited to hear that you have a few pieces in the works :D i'm so sorry to hear that one of the drafts didn't save, that sounds horrid 😭 i noticed your mention of your semester beginning (i start mine next week oml) and i just wanted to wish you good luck !! i hope the semester treats you well and everything goes by smoothly. i also wanna say that i understand if you need to prioritize school over frequent posting!! don't stress yourself out too much and do take care :) us readers much understand, so take your time with things if you need, no pressure :) hope all's well on your side! — 🩰 anon

you're legitimately the light of my life 😭 BAHAHAHAH no its literally my fault because i know tumblr's software isn't as reliable as using the burner account that i used to have for fanfic google docs but it was more convenient. i was lazy and i paid for it :(

it's going really well. i was nervous because the courses i'm taking are supposed to be more rigorous but they're chill so far. i'll still try to post. maybe like once or twice a week. thank you so much for checking in.

[bonkbobl]

im gonna walk into high speed traffic holy shit 😭 i wrote like almost an entire fic and the draft didnt save apparently

[bonkbobl]

tw: heavy noncon, very dark, dddne

im not gonna write a whole fic because its only like slightly different (more fucked up) than beautiful fool but i really love the idea of being forced into a free use/sex slave situation by roose

i feel like i touched on this in fics but dark roose (which is normal roose 😭😭😭) loves using sexual intimidation and part of that is watching you fight. a larger part of that is watching you lose not just your will to fight him physically, but the shame that takes over as you fight yourself. he likes knowing you like it.

lets say you’re in a situation similar to the millers wife. you married a man in secret because he wanted to protect you from the first night laws. but of course roose finds out and after killing your husband he forces you down and takes you roughly on the ground.

somewhere through it all, you stop struggling against him and he hears you sob to yourself. your body’s tense but your clenching at how rough he’s being with you and your pussys so wet he can hear it. the moment he realizes you’re actually enjoying it is when he really snaps and starts fucking you harder and at that point he cant even tell if youre crying or moaning.

you might try to renew your efforts and push him off you but he’ll always be stronger. and just to rub it in he loves to remind you just how much youre enjoying it. your humiliation is so sweet that roose decides he wants to keep you as a pet. and you stay in his room, naked, his to use whenever he feels like it

sometimes he likes to just give you the hope of clinging on to a bit of your dignity before ripping it away from you. games like “if you dont cum, i wont fuck you tonight” and he just eats your pussy relentlessly for thirty minutes. or he’ll let you suck his dick while he’s doing it so its more like “if you make me cum first i wont fuck you tonight.”

maybe one night you realize he gets off on your reluctance so you try to act obedient because you think he might get bored of you and leave you alone if he thinks hes broken you. but then he spends the night making you do humiliating shit like licking his boot, slapping you with his cock, spanking your pussy, anal. he can tell youre bluffing the entire time because you still wince when he kisses you and theres still a little bit of hate in your eyes but its fun to see how far you’ll go with the charade.

and youre pissed because after a week of being a good little toy for him, he doesnt seem to be getting bored any time soon, instead he’s more horny and more sadistic than he was before. and maybe you try to start fighting him again, maybe you dont. regardless, roose wont ever get tired of playing with your body or fucking with your head

[bonkbobl]

this same shit always happens when i get into fic writing. too many ideas coming in at a high frequency and i cant finish them quick enough before the next idea hits me

[bonkbobl]

omg hello !!! it’s me again (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و i’m so shocked that you wrote such great masterpieces in a short amount of time,, i was literally keeping an eye out on your acc because i looked forward to your continuation of beautiful fool so imagine my surprise when you posted not only the continuation, but two more separate one shots !! i literally DEVOURED all of them upon finding out you posted,, make a deal or play a game might have to be my new favorite of yours… he was so freakin devious making the reader beg for him 😭😭 (but so hot???!!!!) i was blushing the whole time agsjdgsj,,, he was so mean but so gentle??? got me giggling and kicking my feet 🤭 i also really loved happy to please (let’s be real here i love all your writings so far THEY WERE ALL SO GOOD)??? reader making him go feral there was so 🤭 i could totally see him pampering her and overstimulating her,, she’s shy but cheeky and devoted and sweet to him and he’s always so surprised like “… i can’t believe she really likes me…” the feeling of being wanted makes him go crazyyyyy LIKE???? … can u imagine the reader shying away during an intimate act of theirs at the end of a long day (maybe she hides her face in her hands bc she’s feeling to much of something) and he’s just like “no i wanna see you” and she’s just flushed and he’s goes even more feral?? (dude what if he interlocks his hands with hers and kisses her like????) what are your thoughts on this 🤔 (i just really like the idea of him going feral over whatever she does lol) anyways, ur a genius dear author <33 i hope you’re having a great time of day wherever you are !! i look forward to reading more of your writing if you have any that are a wip :)) take care !! (thank u for the meals bc u really served <333 i will def be re-reading them hehe) — 🩰 anon

stop it you're so sweet idk who you are but i love you 😭

ok about how quickly i'm writing these, i surprised even myself with that because even a couple years ago when i was at the peak of my fanfic writing days, i'd post like once a day (on my old blog which i deleted) and i've never been that productive again. im happy that people like roose though theres like a noticable lack of content for him.

AND YEAH SDLKFJDF happy to please only came up in my head because i saw a tiktok that said book roose said his first two wives would lay there silently and he found it somewhat endearing that walda would actually be vocal, which i thought was kind of sweet and out of character for him to say. my mind started wandering to what it would look like in action.

i can absolutely imagine like the second time they have sex, reader is very shy, covering her face as you said. and when roose tells her that he wants to see her, she forces herself to look at him. i think the dynamic i wrote in this fic, he's more loving with her so he'd probably prefer to take reader in missionary, particularly with his forearms resting on either side of her head, forehead pressed to hers. it'd make every noise she makes more audible, every microreaction more visible, and every time he wants to he can just lean down and brush her lips with his.

reader's probably braver and tries less to hide her pleasure going into the future.

roose probably never felt this kind of passion with anyone and he'd actually feel excited to bed her, sometimes catching his thoughts wandering during the day. then he snaps himself out of it and is like bruh im stupid theres so much work to do rn and im thinking about my wife. but seeing her is definitely always the highlight of his day.

on the overstimulation, i think reader probably helped him realize how much he likes eating pussy for sure. because shes so sensitive and reactive and she'll grab his hair and buck against his face shamelessly. he just thinks she's the most beautiful, most sexy thing he's ever seen and even after reader has cum so many times, it's addictive to him. he's always like "one more, i know you can give me one more, sweet wife."

its so much to the point of like when he finally fucks her, reader is squirming around so much and he has to calm her down with little kisses to her forehead and temple. and she can feel it every time his pelvis rubs against her clit.

i will be serving hot meals. i dont really know if i can finish by tonight but i have a lot of wips cooking up. i dont know how my posting frequency will change after school starts though so we'll see (it's starting soon)

[bonkbobl]

wrote seven fics and i started being active less than a week ago. guys i think this girl might be a little horny rn ngl

[bonkbobl]

me sitting down to write a tame fic but then the image of roose sucking his kids out of your cooch and spitting them in your mouth kicks in

[bonkbobl]

happy to please

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: this is set before anything bad happens in the show, maybe like early season 1 or even before. i know in the books there was domeric and i considered mentioning ramsays kinslaying but decided to just go with the show, which, my impression is that domeric just never existed and ramsay grew up at the dreadfort being cared for by roose. this fic comes from the book quote about him growing fond of walda bc she actually liked sex with him and buddy never experienced the loving touch of a woman with his past two wives

summary: roose bolton had two wives before you. so he thought he knew what to expect during the bedding but nothing could have prepared him for those sweet little noises and the way you writhed

warning: smut!!! roose bolton is very awkward and not very romantic, forced marriage but once you see roose irl you're like oh... wait guys hes kind of hot nvm im down

It was high time the Lord of the Dreadfort took another wife to try for more heirs. A bastard born to a Millers Wife was hardly a suitable option. The goal-driven Lord Bolton wanted a speedy affair and not too much fuss about it. When word was sent out that the “Dreadlord” was seeking a hand in marriage, the response was not sparse.

Several offers to meet Northern Lords’ “most beautiful” daughters landed on Roose Boltons desk. But Roose didnt want the fuss that came with that. There was no need to fret about which girl was the most desireable, only which prospect bred the most advantage.

You came from a semi prominent house, a large advantage was the fact that you had no siblings to succeed you and your uncles were all bordering on geriatric. Because of this, your father was eager to broker a marriage between you and any Lord to start producing more options for the succession of your house — you came with a heavy dowry.

All negotiations occurred on paper and before you’d learn anything about your husband, your father has your servants packing your belongings up into carriages. You were on your way to the Dreadfort

Dreadful name for a castle, you thought to yourself. Perhaps that set the tone for the marriage. You should expect nothing but that —dread.

The entire journey, you did not utter a word to your father, so upset that he’d gone behind your back to do this. You had been stubborn, growing up. You’d met several Lords from minor houses through the years and you turned all of them away.

They weren't handsome enough, weren't noble enough, weren't gentle enough, weren't firm enough. That one was too loud, too annoying, to full of himself, not sure enough of himself, too meek, too weak. There was always something. But you were never forced to. Not until now.

Perhaps it was the fact that your father finally listened to the whispers of those around him, telling him that if he doesnt marry you off soon, no lord would want an old bride. You think thats most likely. Theres also the fact that House Bolton was an extremely powerful house, your liege lord for centuries. They stood only beneath the Starks and the Crown.

When you stepped down from the carriage to greet your husband to be, you steeled yourself. You didn't know what to expect. You knew he was around your father’s age, which wasn't exactly a comfort.

But you met his cold eyes, your expression softened considerably. Your father had grown plump with unkempt hair on his chin. It was patchy and uneasy to look upon. His hair was also receding quickly as the years passed.

The years were kinder to Lord Bolton.

Giving a curtsy, you surrendered to his examination of you, suddenly feeling nervous. You found yourself hoping he liked what he saw because well… Lord Bolton, you think, immediately appears to be, well, lordly. He looks physically fit, cleanshaven, intimidating features. His stare was hard on you, and you almost shied away thinking he was, in fact, unhappy with you, but glancing back, you realized that he may be one of those men with a permanent hardness to their stare.

You mainly hope he isn’t cruel to you.

Lord Bolton nodded, then spoke, “My lady.” Taking your hand and pressing a courteous kiss to it, he continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You swallowed, trying your best to keep your gaze even. His voice was so smooth and deep… The kind of voice that you’d want reading to you in the darkness at night.

He’s everything you think a man should be, in appearances. The boys who wanted your hand in marriage would stumble about their words and it was endearing in their own right, but here, under his lordly gaze, you felt more willing to you resign yourself under his protection.

“Happy to please you, my lord,” You said softly, curtsying.

Roose’s eyes looked you up and down for what felt like the millionth time but he couldn’t really help it. He hadn't expected you to be the beauty you were — that wasn’t why he was marrying you — but he got lucky, it seems. You were a shy thing, barely able to meet his eyes.

Roose looked at your father, standing far away from you, awkwardly staring out into the wind and avoiding engagement. It wasn't difficult for him to make out that perhaps you might be unhappy to be here. If theres anything he can recognize, its a tense familial atmosphere.

But he watched you smile and speak your courtesies, sweet and polite. Yes, you would do just fine. You were perfect, he’d even dare to say, he was delighted by you.

You would make him rich, and it seemed like you had enough understanding and commitment to duty to not make a fuss about anything that may be unpleasant to you. He just hopes you’re fertile so that he doesn’t have to pain you unnecessarily with too many attempts.

“I’d like you to meet my son, Ramsay,” He brought his son forward.

You smiled politely at him and allowed him to kiss your hand, “My lord, it’s lovely to meet you.” You hoped it didn’t show that you were a little wary of Ramsay. It was hard to ignore the rumors of the Bastard at the Dreadfort. But you’re happy that you are not to be his or his fathers enemy.

“As it is for me to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Roose allowed a smile and began directing you to your handmaidens, who would lead you to your temporary room.

As far as first meetings go, it might have been awkward but it wasn’t completely unbearable. You’re grateful for it.

—————

When it came time to wed him, Roose made it clear that there was to be no bedding ceremony, and you let yourself relax, smiling to yourself gratefully. It was a tradition spreading all the way from the Wall to Dorne, but you really didnt know why. The thought of being stripped and groped by all the men in the room rained dread upon you.

Instead of being carried to your room by many men, you were led there by your husband, who you were growing more fond of in each moment. Sure you barely knew him, but he was handsome enough.

Not just handsome enough, you’d say that if there was to be a ball with all the Northern men and women, you would have stared at him in the corner of your eye all night hoping he’d approach you. He reminded you of those scenarios that you’d read about only in books.

He also seemed to be respectable and a gentleman, which comforts you greatly. The fact that he chose to forego the bedding was something you hadn’t expected but it certainly made you more amenable to whats to come.

It started sort of mechanically and passive. Your husband poured you a cup of wine for your nerves, and you exchanged some words about the ceremony and he watched you drink it.

Then when he deemed you relaxed enough Roose asked, “Did your septa teach you about what happens during bedding?”

You nodded, “My septa, yes. And I had read a book once that contained some details that she had left out, so I actually know more than many would assume,” You rambled out.

Roose tilted his head questioningly but gave an amused sigh and a nod.

It was true, you did read a lot. And one of those books included a scandalous romp between the main character, a man, and a whore. Your father found you reading that and burned the book but he couldn’t burn it out of your memory.

It was part of why you might have had such a high standard for the men who had approached for your hand. The men in the books were confident but not arrogant. They could please their women properly because they knew what they were doing but also knew to listen. They were powerful. Possessing a subtle dominance that was too nuanced for younger men to understand.

Roose exuded dominance. This brand of dominance.

It excited you just as much as the memory of those pages.

“Good,” He said, “Then I have little explaining that I must do.”

You watched him stand and offer his hand to you again and you took it, letting him help you up and to the bed.

Roose couldn’t really understand it, but he identified nerves stirring inside him at the thought of bedding you. Its been a long time since he’s taken any wife to bed and he is aware that most of the time, its only really pleasurable for men.

His past two wives would lay there, passive and unmoving, waiting for him to have his fill before quickly getting up to clean themselves.

He really intended to make this as easy for you as possible and wait a week to try again. After that, perhaps he’d take you every few days until you came to be with child. Ever methodical about everything, of course he thought of how to go about this.

Roose helped you with your dress, coming up behind to aid in unlacing it. Meanwhile, you busied yourself with taking out the pins that had been keeping your hair up.

You wanted to be comfortable, Roose was pleased to note. He was glad to know you were thinking of your comfort. Making this as easy as possible. You were a girl who understood what needed to be done, a good quality to have in a wife.

His past wives understood to an extent, as well, but not without at least a little bit of whining and whinging.

With your hair undone and your dress unlaced, you took it upon yourself to shrug it off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Roose watched you, gracefully doing your duty, a small smile coming to him.

You surprised him quite a bit, actually. Especially when you turned to him, a little shy about your exposure, but confident enough to pull him in by his collar and kiss him for the first time.

Your lips moved shyly against his, and Roose returned your gentleness. Each thing you did made him ever more curious about you. The two of you continued to mold your lips to each others as he worked on disrobing himself. He could sense the hesitation and curiosity behind your lips movements.

All the better. He'll let you do as you needed to feel more comfortable.

Very quickly, Roose had taken off all his clothes and the moment you realized your husband was bare and ready to finally take you, you parted from him. His eyes opened slowly to see you staring up at him with those big eyes and he held your gaze as you edged backward onto the bed, situating yourself at the edge of it. Then you laid yourself down, splayed out for him.

Roose watched you get ready for him, wondering what he did to score so lucky with such a sweet, innocent, eager little wife.

He pressed the tip of his length to your slit. The edges of your pussy lips were dry but as he moved the head of his cock through your folds, some moisture coated him. Roose paused because you mewled and turned your face to the side, eyes closed, hands bunching into fists in your sheets.

His cock twitched against you as he watched, something that hasnt happened since Roose was a teenager with his first wife.

It moved him to push inside. He watched your lips part with heavy breaths, eyebrows coming together as your breaths turned into soft whimpers. He had to pull out after a certain point and push back in, further. You whimpered, grasping the sheets harder.

Roose found himself completely and utterly hypnotized by you, watching your face, turned to the side, eyes pinched shut, gently chewing your bottom lip.

“You’re very reactive,” He muttered, catching your attention.

You turned back to look at him over your rising and falling chest and giggled, running your hand over your forehead, “Yeah, I… Nothing has ever been inside like this so... I’m reacting.” A coil in your stomach twisted as he pushed even deeper and your lips puckered, letting out an "Ooh..."

Roose chuckled at the first sign of a little bit of sass in his wife, amused at your playfulness during what most would deem to be a serious moment. Roose typically disliked those who cracked unnecessary jokes in inappropriate moments, but somehow it seemed appropriate in this moment.

Your hand came down to grab his and you guided it to your thigh. You felt your husband bottom out inside you after not too much struggle or pain and you laid there happily. You were happy to take his gentle thrusts. Your cunt grew wetter and sloppier as he fucked you.

He filled you well, and it felt good to be full like this. You wanted him to touch you… You wanted him to move more. Faster, harder. You just wanted more of him.

You breathed a heavy sigh, squeezing around him, trying to coax him into moving in you.

“Roose,” You whined, squirming beneath him. Your legs came to wrap around him and guide his movements in you.

Your husband gasped at your shameless neediness, responding quickly to your coaxing movements. You felt like heaven, squeezing so tight around him. But it wasn’t just the pure sensation of a cunt enveloping him it was the fact that your heel remained pressed against his lower back, pulling him toward you. It was the fact that little whimpers kept tumbling out of you, meanwhile you hid your face as if you couldn’t keep them in. It was his name, falling from your lips, in between the whimpers.

And then you whimpered, “Harder.”

An appreciative hum rumbled in Roose's chest, his eyes focusing even harder on you. You shuddered to look at him. His smolder could easily be mistaken for a glare and you'd hate to be a man in any other situation, on the receiving end of such a look.

Here, it just made you more excited.

You cried a loud, unrestrained moan when he gave a sharp thrust, his cock angled upward and hitting a deep spot within you. When his cock touched that spot, it felt as if a little burst of pleasure had come from it and melted into the rest of your body, the coil in your tummy tightening deliciously.

His pace slowly increased, as did your pleasure. You writhed beneath him... At times it almost felt like pleasure was too much, like you were about to tip off some edge, and you had no idea what could be found once you made it over that edge other than just even more, blinding pleasure. You didn't even know if you could take it.

But you had nowhere to run. So if you had to find out what was waiting for you over that edge, so be it. You fought to hold your legs open as much as possible but your thighs would sometimes beg to close, unused to the intense stimulation. And most of the time, you kept your eyes closed and your face turned to the side.

Roose stared down at you, burying himself in you over. And over. Watching as each time you had to succumb and give yourself away to the sensations. It sparked something primal inside him, and truly for the first time he felt an animal-like instinct that often came to be the failing of many great, even-minded men.

He felt lust. Inspired by the image of your body tightening and twitching as he plunged himself deep into you.

Grabbing your waist, he fucked you faster, snapping his hips at a faster speed while he used his strength to pull your pliant body into his.

It wracked your body from head to toe, a long, loud whine, pulled from your throat, enunciated by each meeting of his balls against your ass. Your hands shot up to grasp to anything you could find on the bed but all it found were more sheets. You buried your face in the soft flesh of your arms.

Roose slowed and gave you some hard, defined thrusts, grunting as he did so. You cried out each time and then managed to blink your eyes open and look at him, eyebrows still knitted together, hair a tangled mess under you, and your lips red and wet from your chewing on them all the time.

And then your husband rediscovered the energy to plow into you again.

You held your tits this time, to keep them from bouncing uncomfortably.

He growled, adjusting so that your legs were put over his shoulder before continuing. That felt amazing. But even more amazing was that he decided it wasn't enough, climbing on the bed and pushing you further up on it. He maneuvered his leg, planting a foot next to your side.

That. That had you crying out, damn near sobbing. At least, you wouldn't be surprised if anyone passed your room and mistook it for that.

Soon your body was twitching uncontrollably under him and Roose was sighing loudly, shocked by just how tight your cunt was gripping onto him. Your moans grew weaker and breathier and your body tensed to a peak before you seemingly began to come down from it.

Your breaths remained heavy as you attempted to catch yourself, small aftershocks of convulsions and shaking taking you. He was still fucking you just as hard and your body was oversensitive to the stimulation.

But thankfully you didn't have to endure the pleasurable torture too much longer. Roose released you with a few hard thrusts and deep groans.

He stilled in you and dropped his head in exhaustion, staying buried deep inside, as he attempted to catch his breath and recover and you stared at him, also trying to catch up with yourself.

You lowered your legs to the side though and in the process, his penis slipped out of you, quickly softening. You don't know what possessed you to do so, because there was really no need to, but you brought a hand up to your husbands face and moved it so you could stare into his eyes.

His soft, exhausted eyes met you, the strong hardened exterior that you saw on him at your first meeting, melted off.

Cautiously, you closed the distance, molding your lips to his again.

Roose kissed back fervently this time, no longer hesitant and letting you take the lead. His domineering hand coming behind to cradle your face.

Your eagerness had surprised him in the beginning. But once he'd entered you, it was as if a switch had turned on for both of you. He'd expected you to bravely take on the duty that all women had to endure but he'd never expected you to take to it so well, craving more, wanting him.

Roose had never been the type of man to think about, much less want to be wanted. But his cock nearly twitched back to life, remembering. You pulled him in with your legs, asked him to fuck you harder, you came, and even afterwards, you wanted more.

When your lips finally parted, he stared, evaluating you with a new lense, a lense of true fondness. It was something that — Roose wouldn't ever dare say out loud but — it was something that could even develop into something deeper than a vague fondness or physical attraction. Something like love.

You pressed one last chaste kiss to him and smiled widely, asking, "Is that what every night will be like?" You asked, "If so I think you'll make me a very happy lady."

Roose couldn't think of a proper, clearly worded answer, so he just pressed his lips to yours again, hungrily. A very happy lady indeed. And he'll be happy to see you happy.