#And wholly oblivious to any collar tugging around him

[artsy-hobbitses]

WIP In between commissions and I have the urge to update Prowl’s entire sheet! Mainly because the original version of it I did was done entirely with his IDW incarnation in mind, and Preston Wan is almost diametrically opposed to that version now AND has a full story which I feel DESERVES a new sheet given that the old was very barebones.  Which means new and improved art, and a sneak peek ✨

[theshireisburning-so-mordoritis]

Hii! Could you do #11 with Frankie for the 7 night of sin series pleeease and thank you💓

Stay Quiet For Me

Part of The Seven Nights Of Sin - Series Three

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Prompt: "We shouldn't be doing this." "Tell me to stop." (Changed a little to fit the scene)

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: 18+. Semi-public sex. Fingering. Allusions to more. Feral Frankie.

You were only supposed to take him his lunch.

A simple swing by, here you go baby, love you, I’ll see you tonight and then you would be breezing right back out the door.

But there was something that just made it far too difficult to leave - your feet seemingly stuck to the floor as your mouth parted without a coherent sound to come out of it - eyes drinking him in whilst the first spark of heat crackled low in your belly.

The place was empty except for Frankie, hard at work. Determination bright in his gaze and the type of quiet but unquestionable confidence exuding from him whilst he took the vehicle apart that brutally reminded you of how easily he’s able to take you apart.

It was the sleeves of his old flannel shirt pushed up to his forearms that made you feel a little warm, the grease from the car that was smudged across his large hands - his fingers and his knuckles and the muscles of his strong arms that flexed when he reached for the rag.

It was the peak of tanned chest from where his collar hung open and the fact that you knew if you were to slide your hand beneath it and pull it to the side, there would be the pretty lilac mark you had left on him from the night before.

And fuck, Frankie knew.

He wasn't the oblivious type. The man knew exactly what the sight of him was doing to you only moments after he had spotted you standing there. Watching him. The smile that spread across his lips in surprise from seeing you grew wider - those doe eyes rounding slightly before they went hooded and burned dark.

He quirked a brow at the way you shamelessly raked your gaze over him, his own roaming soon after whilst you slipped towards him. Forest green sundress swishing around your thighs and you bit back a grin when he tossed the rag to immediately beckon you into the cage of his arms.

"What have I done to deserve this?"

You held up the bag of food in response and gave it a little shake before placing it on his workbench and covering the distance between you.

"You forgot lunch," you murmured, sighing happily as he caught at your outstretched hand and tugged you to his chest. "Thought I'd take the opportunity to surprise you. "

He made an appreciative sound, a pleased hum in the back of his throat that was far too endearing and made you wonder how your poor heart was supposed to take all the ways this man could make you go weak for him.

As if he was able to sense your dilemma, he dipped his head and chose then to kiss you. All soft and sweet, lazy and indulgent, lips quirking at the edges because you all but melted in an instant. A flood of warmth hitting your chest at the feel of his smile.

"You're too good to me, always so nice." He told you, the words a little mumbled, warm with praise and pressed into your mouth between tender kisses because he refused to pull away far enough to speak them any clearer.

And then it became something more. A little messier, a little greedy.

His hands found your waist, spreading wide, searing heat through your dress as he squeezed at your curves and it made you go that breathless kind of dizzy, touch drunk almost immediately. Humming with delight whilst you wrapped your arms around his neck and allowed the needy feeling that had taken root in your chest from the moment you had seen him take over.

And Frankie welcomed it wholly - lost to it as he walked you back into the work bench. Groaning when you coaxed his lips apart and plunged your tongue inside the warmth of his mouth to slide messily with his.

There was a hand curled tight in the curls at the back of his head, your teeth scoring at the bottom of his lip before you suckled at the mark to soothe the sting.

It had his breath hitching.

Fingers clenching tight in your dress in response. The fabric wrinkling beneath his grip, pulled taught and almost to the point of ripping as he used it to wrench you closer, a sinful noise catching in his throat whilst you pushed yourself against the half hard length of him.

"Wait, baby," He rasped. Cursing like he'd only just remembered where they were and now it was physically paining him to restrain himself, voice rough and low. Eyes near-black and chest heaving when he drew back only to bury his face in your throat because the sight of you was too much. "fuck, not here."

His boss was in the office out the back, the other guys gone for lunch but due to come back soon, and yet all Frankie could think about was getting his hands on you more than he already had.

How much he wanted to spin you around and bend you over his workbench. Flip that pretty little dress up and shove your panties to the side so he could bury himself to the hilt whilst you fought to stay quiet with his name locked on your tongue.

He imagined how wet you would get, how you'd have to bite hard into the meat of his palm to muffle your screams whilst your pussy strangled his cock.

He wondered if you could tell he was seriously contemplating it despite the weak protest he had offered up, if you knew what you were doing to him just by walking in here and looking like that.

Looking at him like that.

Touching and kissing him as if you had been apart a lifetime rather than just since this morning.

He thought you did - that you obviously liked it enough since you hadn't made any effort to stop torturing him. His devious little wife trying to make him lose his mind.

He must have been making his thoughts far too obvious because all of a sudden you were huffing out a pleased little laugh, your fingers stroking light at his neck and wandering beneath his shirt to trail over his stomach.

"What's the matter, Francisco?" You whispered against the sensitive shell of his ear and he could feel it as a shiver rippled down his spine, the taunt in the brush of your lips, the grin that told him you had no intention of relenting unless he deliberately made it clear he wanted you to. "I thought you liked it when I'm nice to you, especially like this."

He hissed against you as your hand dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, barely grazing the thick length of him before his hips were canting into your palm.

And that was all the encouragement you needed.

He was achingly hot when you fully curled your fingers around him, hard and pulsing in your grip, seeking more of the friction you offered with small, barely restrained thrusts, and Frankie let loose a ragged sound that made you chuckle as you worked your hand faster and slid your thumb over the weeping head.

There was a scraping sting at your throat in response. A blunt warning that made your blood spark, his teeth marking the skin there before he snatched at your hand and drew it away to be trapped beneath his own on the bench at your side.

You wanted to protest, to pout at him for ruining your fun, but then he was kicking your feet apart, wedging a thick thigh between your legs and you choked on the complaint.

"You're not being nice, princesa," Frankie growled. Lifting his head to pin you with a glare that was all lust and simmering heat.

The hand that wasn't pinning yours rose to snag your chin in a rough grip and you blinked at him in surprise, lips parting on a half whine, half moan as he tilted it up until your nose was able to brush his. "You're being a fucking demon."

You stilled for a moment to regard him. Gaze flickering steadily over every inch of his face, his flushed cheeks and clenched jaw. Double checking that your husband wasn't actually mad and that working him up, here, like this, was okay.

Something he craved just as much as you did.

And when you got your answer you beamed. Slow and taunting.

His voice had been dark silk. Sweet honey and the smokey burn of whiskey.

He had meant it like a threat rather than a dismissal, letting you know just how badly you were testing him. The restraint he held where you were concerned only seconds from snapping and when it did you would truly be fucking in for it.

Too bad you didn't feel like heeding any warnings.

You raised a brow in challenge instead. "Do something about it then, Morales."

**

He dragged you to the breakroom.

A strong grasp around your wrist and a pace that you would have maybe struggled to keep up with if you hadn't have felt so goddamn needy.

But instead you were at his heels, desperate to finish what you had started in a way that had your body thrumming like a livewire, blood too hot beneath your skin, thighs a little sticky with want as you hurried alongside your husband.

And when Frankie yanked you through the old wooden door, shoving you against it before it had even fully closed, a hand at your jaw and the other clenching tight at your waist, you couldn't stop the dirty moan that fled past your lips.

He caught it with his own, crushed himself to you and swallowed the sounds down with a bruising kiss.

His tongue slipping inside the wet heat of your mouth to curl around your own and draw out every whimper he could until you were forced to part away and let your head fall back against the door, breathless, panting.

"Shit,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut when his mouth descended upon your neck, tongue tracing the line of your throat, flicking over your pulse. A soft, wet drag before his teeth sank down. “Frankie.”

He let out a groan, mixed with a huffing kind of laugh that sounded like a taunt, and you felt his grin against your skin.

"Is this what you wanted, baby?" He asked, low and rough, nose nudging at your jaw, his hands lifting the hem of your dress as he wedged a thigh between your legs. "Just couldn't wait for me to touch you, needy little thing."

You whined in response before you could stop yourself, a desperate, half-gone noise that would have maybe made you feel embarrassed if you weren't on fire beneath his touch, body trembling as he dipped two fingers past the edge of your underwear to find you slick and hot for him.

"Fucking hell, princesa." Frankie ground out, a little wrecked at the discovery, free hand reaching to hitch your leg around his hip so he could lock you in place when you lurched, keeping you splayed open whilst he pushed inside you, thumb slipping over your clit.

Your fingers were digging into his flannel covered shoulders, nails sunk deep, and you wondered if it meant he'd carry a reminder of you like this for the rest of the day, pretty little crescent moon marks that burned long after you'd gone and made him ache all over again.

It was a dangerous thought.

One that made your belly twist and your body clench around him, hips stuttering into his hand when he curled his fingers, dragging them out slow to push them in quick, and pressed himself a bit closer, burying you into the door as he rut against your hip.

You were teetering on a knife's edge already, electricity in your veins, chasing a high that felt like it would shatter you into a thousand shards and Frankie looked just as ruined as you imagined you did.

Gaze molten, jaw slack, moaning praise into your mouth between hot breaths.

He seemed completely unbothered by the way the wood creaked at your back, frame rattling as he knocked you up it with each needy thrust. Any thought or worry about being caught gone up in smoke, reduced to ash and blown away by the breeze from the open window that stirred over your sweat-damp skin.

It made you feel smug.

A sinful bloom of pride unfurling in the centre of your chest as you yanked at his hair and inhaled the curse he spat with a quick, dirty kiss.

"To think, you said we shouldn't be doing this." You teased, hips grinding faster against the push of his fingers and your back arched when the tension built to a new peak, a higher ledge that Frankie was hellbent on shoving you over.

"We shouldn't be," He grunted in return, tone verging on chastising but you could feel the smirk as he dragged his mouth along your jaw, the way he bled heat and excitement in the steel grip at your thigh. "But you just wouldn't listen would you, don't give a fuck about who might see or hear as long as you get what you want, isn't that right?"

And as if to prove his point there was a noise from inside the workshop, gruff laughter and the clattering of metal, the radio switching on, and you whined when Frankie's head snapped up and he slowed his fingers, hesitation flaring across his expression for only a split second.

But the pathetic little cry you let out caught in the back of your throat and brought his focus back to you. Made his eyes burn dark with something wild, brows raised, as he continued to hold your pleasure just out of reach.

"Frankie,” you whimpered, eyes turning glassy, breath coming in little hiccups because it felt like your insides were coiled tight, liquid heat searing through your belly. “Please? More, baby. I can't- I need more, please Francisco.”

He nipped at your ear and shushed you. Sucking a mark into your neck as he pressed nice and slow against that patch of tissue that made your thighs spasm, wiggling his fingers until you gasped so he could coo at you all sweet with just a hint of mean.

"Oh pretty girl, I've got you but only if you stay quiet." Frankie tutted. "Think you can do that? It's either be quiet or tell me to stop because no one gets to hear those pretty sounds of yours but me."

Shit.

You wanted to snarl at him for being cocky but you were already nodding. All docile and obedient, walls squeezing him tight, far too gone for the way he grinned and suddenly sped up the slip of his fingers in and out of you, thumb drawing sharp circles over your clit until you wrenched his mouth back yours to muffle your sob.

"I'm gonna come." You stuttered, voice cracked and weak, so fucking needy that Frankie groaned. "Oh fuck, Frankie."

It was almost too much.

Your climax screamed through you, a violent flash of lightning that crackled deep in your veins and the bowl of your pelvis and would have forced you into a boneless heap on the ground if it wasn't for Frankie's body pinning you in place, eyes rolling back as you bore down on him and he continued to stroke you through each wave of bliss.

"Fucking christ, sweetheart." He cursed, mumbling between frantic, open mouthed kisses. "That’s it, good girl.”

He was drunk on the sounds that spilled from your lips to his, each little moan and sigh making his cock twitch and strain against his jeans. His grip becoming a bruising pressure at your waist as he coaxed you to ride it out on his hand and thigh until he was satisfied you had made a mess of both.

That you had nothing more to possibly give before he even thought of letting you sag back, body flushed all over and trembling.

But still he wasn't done. Feeling too greedy for more of the way you clung to him, the way you kissed him, hands caught up in his curls and a clash of tongues and teeth, like you wanted to inhale him, lick into him and taste everything he was.

"Let me fuck you?" He all but purred into your mouth whilst you were still gasping for breath, chest heaving.

His fingers ghosting over where you were raw and soaked, burning from his attentions and his smile curled wicked when you jerked at his near-touch, his words, your lashes fluttering all pretty and lips parting on a wrecked moan.

"Let's see if you can still be good when my cock is inside you."

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[yeojaa]

GIRL we need a devil in a new suit drabble where jungkook gets jealous pls bless us😭😭❤️

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  kook being hilarious and naive, reader being a little frustrated but head over heels, smut in the form of:  titty sucking (kook is a big boob guy in this), cunnilingus, kook wanting to love you forever.  wc.  2.1k.  author note.  i am... so in love with this couple so what was meant to be a “kook gets jealous and breaks reader’s back” turned into... this.

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t get jealous.  Not because he doesn’t care, or he’s unaffected, or any other negative connotation under the sun.  He doesn’t because he’s him, too soft and sweet and silly to believe the worst in people.  (This, coming from the man who’d steered clear of dating apps and blind dates because he was worried he’d be hurt.)

Once, you’d been waiting for him to pick you - he’d been running late, dinner with his parents and younger sister - and he’d found you chatting politely to an old fling of yours.  Well, maybe not so old.  A recent fling, a friend of sorts.  Someone who’d swanned into your life during your college years and had remained there ever since, popping his head in from time to time. 

You’d always been on good terms, caught up for lunch every six months or so when he’d return home from his overseas job.  In the past, you’d found familiarity in the shape of his hands, the neon outline of his almond eyes and pouting lips.  He was good in bed, as charming between the sheets as he was on the street.

But your heart belonged to Jungkook now - had, before you’d even realised it - and Taewoo was just another guy.  Another face in a crowd.

Still, you’d thought your beloved boyfriend would have some sort of reaction.  Maybe a quirk of his perfectly groomed brows, a certain tightness belying his displeasure in the softly peaked bow of his mouth.  You’d spied neither after extracting yourself from the hug and waving goodbye.  Jungkook had been sunshine and sweetness, opening your door for you and stamping a kiss to your cheek.  

That night, he’d loved you how he always had, with you crying his name and making a mess of his sheets.

Another time, you’d been at a work function.  One of those ridiculous galas you loved, full of women in their highest heels and men in their swankiest watches.  (You’d worn Aquazzura that night, Jungkook with an Audemars Piguet loose around his wrist.)  

He’d stuck close to your side, far more interested in the way your dress hugged your figure, cut intimidatingly high over your thigh and revealed the swell of your ass at juuuust the right angle.  Yejin had been the only one to tear him away, insisting on shots that you knew she couldn’t handle.  Anything went if free booze was involved.

Thirty minutes later - give or take, since you hadn’t had a watch of your own on - your boyfriend had returned, flushed and adorable.  There’d been a garden of colour creeping over the expanse of his chest, peeking around the collar of his shirt and disappearing into his neatly tousled strands.  He’d giggled his way back to you, somehow completely oblivious to the man that’d found you at your table and settled himself into the spot labelled Jeon Jungkook.

The imposter had been affronted, gaze narrowed at the younger man who was a little too loose, a little too smiley.  Wholly out of place at an event like this, where people spent too much time up their own asses, noses held aloft and business cards exchanged.  

(One of the reasons you loved Jungkook so much.  He was a breath of fresh air in a world you thrived in - found humour in, at the very least - carrying you high above the clouds with the sound of his laughter.)

“Hi, baby.”  Your darling boy smothered you in kisses, traced them up and over the exposed expanse of your shoulder, nosing against your skin, utterly unbothered by the man shooting him daggers, wishing him ill from the spot he’d wrongly claimed.  

Of course, he’d thought Jungkook was making a point - claiming what was his - but that was so far from the truth you’d almost laughed when he’d spoken, voice carrying above the slightly laboured breaths of your lover.  “I guess that’s my cue to leave, huh?”

You’d smiled, nodded with a hand threaded into cornsilk curling over Jungkook’s nape.  “Looks like it.”

(Then your idiot love - your big-hearted moron, your doe-eyed baby - had come up for air, cheek resting in the palm of his hand.  “Where’s your friend?”  He’d asked, eyes so wide you couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his question.)

Such was the kind of person Jungkook was, with an unwavering belief in the goodness of others, a silver thread outlining everyone’s silhouette.  You sometimes wondered what it would take to drive him to any sort of displeasure, any sort of emotion beyond quiet melancholy (seldom seen but heavily felt, when the rare occasions rose) or easygoing amicability (his default setting).  Not that you’d ever push to see that, of course.

You were happy.  Hopelessly in love.  You wouldn’t have traded him for the world - couldn’t even fathom doing anything to hurt him.  

And yet, you discover albeit by accident - it’s really not that hard.  All it takes is a pretty girl.

“This looks incredible,”  she says, standing close, long dark hair falling in a fluid curtain down the line of her back.  It’s the loveliest shade, cool-toned beneath the boutique lights, and reflects colour like a waterfall.  You’d complimented her on it when you’d stepped into the fitting area, a handful of hangers set across the rolling rack.

Fingers smooth over embroidery, revelling in the feeling of it over your skin.  It’s a beautiful thing, black tulle that hangs to your fingertips.  Not Jungkook’s preferred style - he much prefers harnesses and so many straps it might as well be a cat’s cradle - but you think he loves it nonetheless. 

(You’d confirm, but he’s been stoically silent, seated in the plush chair tucked beside the privacy partition, normally soft gaze hard and trained on his phone.  He doesn’t seem very much in the mood to talk, hardly reacting with each outfit change.  A nod here, a smile there.  Not even the most scandalous of the options - a black corset decorated in Leavers lace - had elicited his usual enthusiasm.)  

“You think so?”  You’re not insecure about your body - know what it looks best in, which assets to play up.  Still, it’s nice to hear from someone other than your doting boyfriend, the people caught in your orbit.  

The sales associate nods, beams at you in the multiple mirrors.  A hand of her own drifts over the thin strap of the slip - an innocent gesture that dislodges wayward strands of hair from beneath.  “Of course— and I’m not just saying that because I’m trying to sell it.” 

You nod, satisfied.  Even if Jungkook doesn’t seem ecstatic, your own joy makes up for it, buyer’s delight spilling over.  “I’ll take the satin robe, the blush silk set, and this in the violet.”  

“Great choices,”  she hums, pulling back the curtain to the adjoining change room to allow you privacy.  Silence follows as you slip the delicate number off, returning it to its hanger.  You don’t expect when the brunette continues speaking - presumably to your surprisingly surly boyfriend.  “Don’t you agree?” 

“Yep.”  He’s never been a man of few words, usually so full of excitement that he rambles when he doesn’t mean to.  

It’s a dead giveaway - a confirmation that something’s wrong.

Unfortunately for you, you don’t have time to broach the subject, your purchases already paid for and a firm hand on the small of your back the moment you’ve stepped out of the dressing stall.  “Jungkookie?”  You mean it quietly, just for the two of you, but falter when he slots his fingers between yours and all but tugs you out of the boutique.  You hardly even have a chance to toss the helpful girl an apologetic smile, imposing glass swinging shut behind you.

“Men—men are fine.  I don’t have to worry about them.”  There’s a confidence you’re so proud to see, turning his words as solid as the weight that rests against your hip, sears burning heat into your bared skin.  “No other man is going to love you better than me.  But women?”  A shudder runs the length of his imposing frame, tugs his shoulders up to his ears and tingles the small of his back.  “Women are scary.”  (It’s a sentiment he’s echoed in the past.  In particular, months ago when you’d insisted he dive into the dating scene.)

Hands thread through his too-soft strands, twirl the ends around your fingers as he speaks, nearly muffled into the crook of your shoulder.  He’s being so tender, giving you all the love he has to offer as he writes his insecurities into your skin, offers them with the wet of his tongue.

“A woman might sweep you off your feet and steal you away.”

You laugh then - sound snapping past your teeth before you can tuck it away.  It filters loudly into the baies scented candle you’d lit when you’d gotten into his apartment.  

Jungkook whines in response - a terribly endearing sound that makes you roll your eyes but only with affection (always with that) - and buries his face into your tits, sucking your nipple into his mouth with complete disregard for the tulle that acts as a barrier.  Saliva stains the material, makes it stick to your hardened bud as he laves over it with his tongue - bites surprisingly gently - and tugs it just hard enough to have you keening.

“S-s’not funny,”  he huffs, palming your other breast in his broad tattooed palm.  When he continues, he bites into you like he’s got a personal vendetta against whatever lies beneath your flesh.  “She was flirting with you.”  

It’s less of a sigh of annoyance - more sensual, drowning in need.  “She was not.”

He nips at the delicate flesh again, spreads crimson marks all across the sensitive skin until it’s a mosaic beneath the fabric, his finest work painted by his second favourite brush.  “That’s what you think but she was.”  The hand previously kneading your skin drops, flat of his palm sliding easily over your bare pussy.  

There’s zero hesitation when he slots his fingers on either side of your clit, catches the delicate pearl against the webbing of his hand and applies pressure that has you bucking beneath him.  It’s not nearly as aggressive as he normally is but it’s just as good, paired with the sinful motions of his tongue and teeth. 

“She wants to be the one doing this,”  he continues, saliva pooling across your chest, slipping into the valley of your breasts only to be licked up by the flat of his tongue.  He continues even once you’re clean, skin sticky and a little gross but so erotic it makes you quiver.  Then he descends, pushes the hem of your new slip higher, and licks another stripe from the joint of your thigh up to your belly button.  Repeats it again, moving lower with each pass until he’s sucking your clit into his mouth.  “She wants to be the one tasting this pretty, pretty pussy.”

You reach for his hand - the one somewhere near your ribs, side of his wrist soothing against the ladder of bones - and tangle your fingers together as he drives you mad, tip of his tongue switching between sweet kitten licks and tantalising figure eights.

“Baby,”  you coax, reprimand almost.  Jungkook’s never this lenient, never this sweet on you (not inside the bedroom, at least).  It brings you to a different high, his love folded into lovely origami cranes you tuck into your pockets and the spot you’ve carved out for him within your chest.

“Sing for me, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t mean literally - refers instead to the sound of your voice when it leaps three octaves, bounces between sultry and singed, burnt at the edges by the fire he brings to life. 

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.”  Despite how the words muffle, come broken between the glide of his tongue within your fluttering walls, you can hear the sincerity in them.  The earnestness that begs you to promise him this simple thing.  “Not for her.  Not for anyone.”  

“I won’t leave you,”  you answer, threading the vow between your fingers as if they’re the thread binding your love story together.  “Not for her - not for anyone.”

[yourfangirlfriend]

You Don’t Know Me : Chapter Six

read on ff.net

read on Ao3

Notes: NSFW ahead. Mentions of forced sexual acts.

Then some really enthusiastic consensual sexual acts.

What had the old saying been? Lie back and think of Westeros?

Sansa tried to remember the phrase the septas had told her before that Lannister wedding long, long ago. Sex was a duty she was expected to do for the good of the family. All those stitching and dance lessons and yards and yards of fabric for pretty dresses and sheets all came down to that - enduring the moments when your Lord husband would climb atop you and tear you apart. If you were lucky, nine months later, another man would exit you, his passage marked by blood. All of her life, she had prepared for the men who would make her body a temporary home, until life of lust called them away from her. This is what mothers did. This is what wives did.

Sansa was neither.

Once the laces were loose enough, she dropped her hand into the front of his trousers and grasped him. He let out a small breath before she turned his face back to her. Rough hands grasped her back. Sansa smiled against his lips and began to kiss her way down his throat. She ran her fingernails up his torso, pushing the hem of his shirt up as she scratched his stomach lightly. Taking the hint, he reached behind him and pulled the collar over the back of his head. Hurriedly, he threw it into a random corner and returned his attention to the woman in front of him. She placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled his mouth down to her's.

Somehow, Sansa got him against the wall by the door. Standing on her tiptoes to keep her mouth against his, she kept her hands on the hard sides of his waist. Gendry's hands fell down her back.

Smoke. Sweat. Cold. She memorized the smells of him as they swirled around her as he began to kiss her neck. She bit her lip. He tastes like metal and ice and home. Sansa ran her tongue under her front teeth. Nothing like those men. The ones who tasted like dying flowers and bile. She pressed her face into the crux of his neck, breathing him in. He was different. He was good.

"Can I try something?" She breathed. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. His pupils were big. His hands held her wrists tightly as if he was afraid she would leave.

"What?" he asked, his voice dazed. Sansa smiled, and before she could lose her nerve, started to lower herself to her knees.

She hooked her hands around his waistband and began to tug down. Once his trousers were around his ankles, Sansa turned her attention back to his waist. Daintily, she wrapped her hand around him.

"Can I put my mouth of you?" she asked, flicking her eyes up to his. Gendry let out an exasperated laugh.

"Gods, yes." he smiled, covering his eyes with a hand. Sansa blushed, proud she had managed the courage to ask. She pushed herself again.

"Gendry," she said, trying to make her voice sound more sultry. He lifted his hand from his eyes.

"Look at me," she said. Keeping her eyes on his, she placed a soft open mouth kiss on his hip bone. She left another on his outer thigh. He groaned. Wetting her lips, Sansa opened her mouth and took the head between her lips, kissing it softly. His head fell against the wall. Wrapping one hand around him, she began to work her hand up and down, and took him into her mouth.

It wasn't like the men who had held her down and forced her mouth open. Now, Sansa felt a strange sense of control. Here she was making a man who she had watched beat metal into submission, whimper above her with her mouth. Closing her eyes, Sansa took more of him in, tracing the bottom of his shaft up to the head with the tip of her tongue and she pulled back. Gendry's hand fisted in her hair. A memory flashed in Sansa's head.

No. Not here. I'm safe here. She dismissed it, wrapping her hands around his thigh and beginning to set a rhythm.

"Sansa," he whispered above her. Another hand came to rest on her head. She flicked her wrist into a twisting motion, and he let out a groan. She wanted to hear him say her name again. She kissed the tip of him sloppily before taking him in again.

"Sansa!"

she smiled before she realized that it wasn't Gendry who said it.

Before Sansa could stop, the door beside them flung open, a figure standing right to her left.

Gendry quickly yanked Sansa up and shielded her nudity with his body, pushing her behind him while he faced their intruder.

Not like it matters, Sansa thought as she turned her head to face their visitor. The Queen of the North had been found on her naked knees sucking the blacksmith's cock.

Sansa peered over Gendry's shoulder and saw Osha trying to regain her composure and hide her smile.

"Your Grace," she managed, closing the door behind her.

"The hell do you think you are walking into my shop without-" Gendry began before Osha interrupted.

"There's a fire in the village," she said, looking directly at Sansa as she peered over Gendry's shoulder. One of Gendry's hands was still grasping at her side protectively, keeping her behind him. "It's spreading to the grainery. We need orders."

Sansa pushed out from behind Gendry. Osha's eyes didn't drop from hers despite the Queen's nakedness. Quickly, Sansa bent down and pulled her shift over her head.

"Find all available men and women in Winterfell and begin to load the horses," she said, stepping into her dress. "Any water we have should be loaded into wagons. Pails, too. I'll find my brothers and meet you at the stables in five minutes,"

Osha nodded and turned to exit, but not before winking at Gendry, who still stood stark naked with his trousers around his ankles. He flushed pink.

Once the door was closed, he walked to Sansa and began buttoning up her dress.

"Will you come?" she asked. He groaned. She giggled.

"Yes," he answered. She turned around after the last button had been done and pressed her lips against his.

Sansa moved past him, out the door and into the snowy night.

...

When Sansa arrived in the village, she immediately rode her horse to the center of the town where the citizens were passing buckets back and forth from the well and out toward the ever spreading fire. The snow had not yet reached the town, and Sansa looked impatiently back at the storm, wishing it would hurry and blow south. The fire had managed to stop short of the granary, but three of the houses in the main village still blazed. Sansa slid off her horse and made for the mass of people running between the center well and the blazing buildings. Sansa picked up one of the forgotten buckets that lay on it's side in the dirt and reached into the well to fill it. Once there was enough, she joined the chaotic system that was running water to and fro.

By the time Bran and Rickon had arrived with wagons full of Winterfell volunteers and casks of liquid, one of the houses was a charged outline of what it once was. Sansa's hands we raw from clutching the wet rusted handle of her bucket. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gendry leap from one of the wagons with a shovel, followed by other men from Winterfell, and watched as they began to shovel the pile of snow in the back of one of the wagons and fling it onto the flames. A larger tank on another wagon was opened, and people descended upon it to fill their buckets to keep fighting the fire.

It was another three hours until the fire was out. When Sansa could finally calm herself, she realized her dress was soaked with water and mud. Dropping the bucket to her feet, she felt how her cramped fingers refused to stretch out.

Bran sat on one of the wagons in his chair, talking to an older man. Sansa approached the two of them.

"-as you will see, Ser Lawson, Her Grace is here," Bran gestured to Sansa, who stood dripping beside them. The man turned his attention to her, and his eyebrows immediately shot up.

"Your Grace!" he said. "My apologies, had I known it was you who had arrived-"

"No need for an apology," Sansa smiled sweetly. "In fact, I believe I must beg your pardons. This is the first time we've met," she extended a hand to him. "Sansa Stark," she said.

He grasped her hand, and brought her knuckles to his lips. "Aeron Lawson, Your Grace."

"Pleasure to finally make your aquaintance, Ser Lawson." Sansa turned her head to consider the charred outlines of the homes.

"How many have lost their home tonight?"

"Four families, Your Grace." Ser Lawson said. He pointed over to a cluster of adults and children who stood far off to the side. Some were weeping and being comforted by their friends. The children for there part seemed wholly oblivious to their home's ruin, and were excited for the adventure that had kept them up past their bed time. "I can begin asking around to see if anyone could take them on for the next few months,"

"No need," Sansa clipped. "We have plenty of rooms at Winterfell. Please inform them they will be my guests until their homes can be rebuilt." She turned to Bran. "I imagine the West Wing will be suitable?"

Bran nodded, and Sansa turned to Ser Lawson.

"What else can I do?" she asked.

"You've already done more than your share," he said, still flabbergasted that she had just so casually ordered that the common folk would be staying in her home. "But I'm sure the people would appreciate hearing your kind words,"

Sansa nodded and pulled herself onto the wagon Bran had been perched on, Careful not to slip as she climbed onto one of the wooden barrels stacked behind him, she regained her balanced and adopted a queenly posture before speaking up.

"Citizens of Winterfell," she called out. Her voice rang out over the chatter, and the town center quieted as more heads turned to look at her. With all of the eyes of her subjects upon her, Sansa gulped before continuing.

"I apologize that we must be introduced under such appalling circumstances," she said finally. "But I wanted to let you know that I am not the Queen who will let her subjects face these disasters alone." She found Gendry's face in the crowd. He offered her a small smile.

"Nor will I turn away once the initial danger has fled," she reluctantly broke eye contact with him, turning her attention back to the crowd. "Until these homes can be rebuilt, I welcome the displaced families to stay as my guests at Winterfell. My men will be here every day to assist with the cleanup and repair." she turned to look at the well. "In a weeks time, my council will have a proposal for a new municipal water storage system, so that future incidents may not escalate so," she turned back to her subjects.

"I want to thank you for your quick action in securing the safety of our people. I want to thank you for battling fire and ice for our community." she took in a deep breath and watched the cloud puff out. "The North is strong not because of the letters I write or the throne I sit on. It is strong because of the men and women who band together in times of great need or great celebration. You inspire me to be a better a ruler, a better neighbor, and a better Northerner." she turned to her brother. "If anyone should need anything, please follow our caravan back to the castle. We will provide for you." Sansa scanned her mind quickly, trying to remember any crucial bits of information she could have forgotten.

"Thank you again for continuing to fufill our country's greatest point of pride. The North takes care of their own." The crowd before her whooped as she climbed down. As soon as her boots touched the dirt, she was swarmed on all sides.

On the way back, Sansa walked among her subjects, declining to ride her horse back or ride in the wagon. She imagined Margery in King's Landing, sitting with the commoners and talking lovingly to their children.

Margery. Sansa held no hatred towards the girl, but the circustances of her capture had made her reluctant to reach out to the woman. As a small girl grasped Sansa's hand, she wondered how the flower princess was coping with her queenship.

At least we agree on one thing, Sansa thought, squeezing the young girl's hand back. We want them to love us. And we want to love them.

...

Sansa didn't see Gendry again until nearly sunrise. She had been in the great hall all night, making sure all those who came back had their grievances heard and stomachs filled. As she finished discussing the possibility of constructing an emergency water tank with Ser Lawson, Sansa noticed that the hall had emptied. Osha stood by the door yawning, watching her Queen finish her discussion. Outside, the light was soft.

"I should return," Ser Lawson said, picking up the parchment that he and the Queen had been bent over for the past half hour. "I'll take these prints to the builders in town."

Sansa nodded. "Our next lumber shipment will be sent directly to the town center. Expect it within a week, if not sooner."

He nodded. "Thank you again, Your Grace."

"it's my job to make sure my people are cared for," she walked him to the door. "That includes you, Ser Lawson. Should you need a place to sleep before returning to town-"

"Thank you, but I should be fine. My home was unscathed, and my wife is probably worried about me." He smiled before bowing slightly.

"Until I see you again," he said. She nodded and watched himn leave. Once the door was closed, she let herself fall against the stone wall.

"You should get some rest," Osha said. "Come on, then." she reached out and looped her arm through Sansa's, leading her down the hall.

Sansa rubbed her eyes as she let Osha lead her.

"He's an impressive one," Osha said suddenly. Sansa turned to her and saw Osha's smile widen. "Your boy."

Sansa's face flamed. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing this situation away.

"Do you drink moon tea?" she asked.

"No," Sansa said as if she had suddenly realized it herself.

Osha patted the top of her hand. "Well, I'll see to it that a cup finds its way to your room at night."

Sansa stopped, her hand catching Osha's arm before she would keep walking. Osha turned around.

"You've been so kind to me," Sansa said. "I haven't thanked you."

Osha smiled and tucked Sansa's arm back into hers.

"I know how cruel men can be," Osha said as they began to walk. "And I know how it feels to want to escape. Speaking of," Osha nodded. Sansa followed her gaze to the man who stood outside of her chamber door. Osha stopped, and let her arm drop.

"I believe I'll leave you in his capable hands," Osha winked at Sansa and gave Gendry a small wave. Sansa saw a bit of pink flush in his face. Once Osha had turned to walk back down the hallway, Sansa approached him.

"Wanted to make sure you got some sleep," he tilted his head to the door. She smiled.

"Liar," she pushed the door open, and left it hanging for him to follow in. He made sure to check the latch fell.

A copper bath had been left in the center of her room, filled with hot water.

"Bran sent that," he said, her brother's natural name flowing from his mouth comfortably. No Ser Stark. No Lady Stark. Just Bran, Rickon, and Sansa. "You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch something,"

She smiled at him.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Ser Waters?"

"I'm trying to ensure you're alive to seduce later," he pushed off from his place on the wall and went around her back, slowly unbuttoning her dress and pulling the wet fabric down off her. Sansa stood in her shift as it clung to her. She was cold. She pulled the shift over her head.

"Go on," he pressed against the small of her back.

She lifted a leg over the lip of the tub and then the other. The water was hot, but it stung in a good way. Slowly, she lowered herself in. Gendry sat down next to her, and dunked his hand into the water.

"Get in with me" she said.

"We'll turn the water black, between us." he reached down and picked up a washcloth and dunked it in the water. Softly, he ran it across her forehead. Pulling his hand back, he showed her the black soot that had come off.

"I don't care," she said.

"As the lady commands," he smiled, throwing the washcloth down into the water. He undressed quickly and climbed in behind her, pulling her against his back.

He didn't lie. As they scrubbed off, the water became a dark, murky gray. When they were finally somewhat clean, Gendry climbed out of the tub and helped her out. She went over to her dresser and pulled a new shift from the drawer. Outside, the sun just peeked over the hill.

"I'll let you sleep," he said once he had pulled his tunic and trousers back on. Sansa reached out and grasped his hand.

"No," she said. "Stay."

He turned to look at the door.

"And what happens when your brother comes in to check on you? Walks in and sees us?"

"Then my brother needs to learn to knock. Intruding seems to be a nasty habit of all who inhabit this damn place." She pulled his hand towards the bed. She crawled on and patted the place beside her.

After some hesitation, Gendry pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it on the floor. He crawled up and settled himself next to Sansa, who laid on her side, gazing at him. When he got comfortable, he flicked his eyes up to look at her.

"You're a good Queen," he said, reaching out to trail his fingers along her arm. She reached up and brought his fingers to her mouth, kissing them lightly. Wordlessly, she tucked herself against him, his head resting on the top of her head. She breathed him in as he ran his fingers down her back.

"When we wake up," she said, throwing her arm over his waist. "We're going right back to your room."

He chuckled and dropped his lips down to her forehead.

"Go to sleep, Sansa." he said. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Sansa believed him. Readjusting to rest her head on his bicep, Sansa closed her eyes.

When she had him properly, she knew, Westeros would be the last thing on her mind.

Notes: Sorry guys, it just can't be that easy

Loveeeeeeeee /

(Review and let me know if you hate me for being a tease for six chapters).