#Theon Greyjoy smut

[asa-do-your-thing]

Helloo, could you do a Theon Greyjoy smut were the reader is a mermaid? Ty ♡♡

Swim to me; let me enfold you

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x Selkie!Reader 5.8 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut, oral sex, kind of orgasm denial? soft smut, theon's a bit of a misogynist but that was to be expected, sub theon thank you for the ask, I couldn't fall asleep so I had to write this, I hope you like it <3 oh and I might've gone overboard with the sea alliterations. whoops!

Leaning against an old oak, Theon shivered and took another sip of his mead, staring off into the distant darkness on Bear Island. Lord Stark had something private to discuss with Lady Maege Mormont, leaving him to his own devices. Robb, ever the good heir, had decided to go to bed early and the Mormont ladies - if one could even call them thusly - had fun with their friends.

Sighing, he slowly walked closer to the sea, watching the dark waves crashing and gurgling menacingly against the slick, black stones of the shoreline.

The sea… Something he used to see on a daily basis but now was as strange to him as the concept of being close to Mother, talking to Asha, being on Pyke.

He kicked a small stone into the dark waters and turned, cursing Lord Stark for choosing to come to this desolate place. Why couldn't they have gone to White Harbour? There, he could have his pick of whores without any worries. But here, he had to be careful not to get picked up by one of the women and dragged into their makeshift huts.

"What a pretty boy," one had said with a wide grin and strong arms, eyeing Theon up and down at the feast. "His hair looks so soft, and I'm sure he moans just as softly."

Theon shuddered at the memory, quickly draining the last of his mead to wash away the taste of disgust that lingered in his mouth. The empty horn dangled from his fingers as he cast one last glance at the churning sea, its inky blackness now seeming to mirror the void in his chest. With a resigned sigh, he turned and made his way back to the Mormont's hall, his footsteps muffled by the damp moss beneath his feet.

The hall was mercifully quiet as he slipped inside, the earlier revelry having died down to a low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of cups. Theon's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the she-bears that had made him so uncomfortable earlier. Seeing none, he quickly made his way to the large oak barrel in the corner, filling his horn with fresh, golden mead that glowed warmly in the flickering firelight.

Clutching his prize, Theon hurried back outside, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffy interior. He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to readjust to the darkness, before making his way back towards his earlier perch by the old oak tree. As he approached, however, he noticed a slender silhouette standing where he had been just moments before.

Drawing closer, Theon's breath caught in his throat. There, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon, stood a young woman. Her long, slick hair looked strangely damp and her skin had the same light colour as her strange cloak. Squinting, Theon could make out that it was a sealskin - what was this girl doing here with a skagosi coat?

“If I knew you would return I would have asked for a horn as well,” she whispered gently and turned around, giving Theon a small, shy smile. “I’ve never seen such a man as yourself here.”

With an overexaggerated bow, Theon offered her his horn. Gods, she was stunning - Theon did not know if he had ever seen a woman with such a natural beauty as her, even if she looked as if she just came out of a bout of rain, her plain dress clinging to her. “Take it, my Lady. I can always just get myself a second one.”

Studying her closer, he raised an eyebrow and leaned against the tree once more, his arm above her. He had not seen her during the feast, yet she looked far too gentle, too soft to be a servant or a fisherman’s wife, not to mention being a warrior. “So you’ve been watching me then, huh? Then how come I haven’t seen you?”

The woman's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed to gleam unnaturally in the moonlight. She accepted the horn with a graceful nod, her fingers brushing against Theon's as she took it. A shiver ran through him at the touch - her skin was cool and slightly damp, like the mist rolling in from the sea.

"Perhaps you weren't looking in the right places," she replied, her voice as soft and alluring as the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "I prefer to keep to the shadows, away from the noise and chaos of your feasts."

Theon found himself drawn in by her mysterious aura, unable to look away from her mesmerizing gaze. Her eyes were the color of the sea at twilight, deep and unfathomable. Whatever did she mean with ‘your feasts’? Surely such a lovely thing could not be low-born. She didn’t look like she was from Bear Island either. Was she a bastard? Maybe Jorah Mormont’s?

"And what brings a lovely girl such as yourself out here on a night like this?" Theon asked, his usual cocky grin spreading across his face. "Surely not just to admire the view? The winds are cold and the feast is almost over. Or are you waiting for someone…?"

The woman took a sip of mead, her eyes never leaving Theon's. "I come here often, to listen to the sea and feel the wind on my skin. It calls to me, you see."

She gestured towards the churning waters with her free hand, and Theon could have sworn he saw webbing between her fingers for just a moment before she lowered it again. Although… didn’t the Sistermen have that as well?

"But tonight," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I sensed something different. Something... foreign. I was right,” she said, giving him the horn back. “You are of the drowned islands, are you not? Your sharp face tells me so, ‘tis a handsome one. It would have been wrong of me not to find you tonight.”

Theon laughed and gratefully took a sip of mead to try and calm his beating heart and the hardness in his breeches. She spoke plenty strangely, surely, yet she was so beautiful and spoke so frankly, yet so sweetly… and it seemed like she was truly eager to spend time, if not even the night, with him.

His laugh faded as he studied the mysterious woman more closely. Her words stirred something deep within him, a longing for home he usually tried to bury beneath bravado and drink.

"Aye, I'm from the Iron Islands," he admitted, his voice rougher than he intended. "Though it's been many years since I've seen those shores."

The woman's eyes seemed to glimmer with an otherworldly light as she stepped closer to him. The scent of salt and seaweed clung to her, intoxicating and familiar.

"The sea never forgets her children," she murmured, reaching out to trace the line of his sharp jaw with cool fingers. "Even when they're taken far from her embrace."

Theon shivered at her touch, desire and an inexplicable sense of danger warring within him. "And what of you?" he asked, trying to regain his composure. "You're clearly not from Bear Island. Where do you call home?"

A sad smile played across her lips as she gazed out at the dark waters. "My home is everywhere and nowhere," she said softly. "Wherever the tides take me. Like… what do you call them… a salt wife, but I have no master. My mistress is the sea. "

She turned back to him, her hands searching his. Something about her made him so wild, he did not even know what it was. Her quiet confidence? Her Beauty? The mystery in her voice? "But tonight, I'm here with you, my Theon of the Iron Islands. Would you like to feel the sea's embrace once more? My hut is not like the Lord Bears’ big one, but it is warm and the sea is oh so near.”

Theon hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. This woman was unlike any he had ever encountered, and something about her both thrilled and unnerved him. But the mead coursing through his veins and the ache of loneliness in his chest pushed him forward.

"Lead the way, my mysterious lady," he said with a roguish grin, offering her his arm.

She smiled, a secret dancing in her eyes, and took his arm. As they walked along the rocky shore, Theon noticed that her feet seemed to barely touch the ground, moving with an otherworldly grace over the uneven terrain. The sound of the waves grew louder, drowning out the distant noises from the Mormont hall.

Soon, they came upon a small hut nestled among the rocks, so well-hidden that Theon would have missed it entirely if not for his guide. It was a simple structure, made of driftwood and covered in seaweed, looking as if it had grown organically from the shore itself.

The woman pushed open the door, revealing a cozy interior lit by the soft glow of thick, brown candles in jars. The scent of the sea was even stronger here, mixed with something else Theon couldn't quite place – something ancient and primal, but drink and fatigue made him careless, so as soon as she closed the door behind herself, he pressed her against it and kissed her hungrily.

He could feel her smiling against his kiss. "Welcome to my humble home," she said, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves just outside as she broke away. "Would you mind if I take my coat off first and light a fire? It would be a bit more… comfortable.”

Theon reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in short gasps. "Of course, my lady," he said with a playful bow. "Allow me to start the fire for you. It's the least I can do for such gracious hospitality."

He moved to the small hearth, gathering driftwood and kindling from a neat pile nearby. As he worked to coax a flame to life, he couldn't resist stealing glances at the mysterious woman. She stood with her back to him, slowly unfastening her sealskin coat.

"So, tell me," Theon said, his voice husky with desire, "do you often lure handsome strangers to your hidden abode? Or am I a special case?"

The firelight danced across her pale skin as she carefully folded the coat and placed it on a nearby chair. Theon's breath caught in his throat as she began to unlace her simple dress, the fabric sliding off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

She laughed softly, a sound like waves lapping at the shore. "You are indeed special, Theon of the Iron Islands. It's not often I meet someone who understands the call of the sea as I do."

She turned to face him, now clad only in a thin shift that clung to her curves like sea foam on the shore. The flickering flames cast a warm glow on her features, softening the otherworldly quality that had first captivated him.

In this light, she looked more human, more real, yet no less beautiful.

Her long hair, no longer seeming damp, cascaded down her back in waves that rivaled the sea itself. Her eyes, which had appeared so dark and fathomless outside, now shone with a warm, amber hue that reminded Theon of the mead they just drank.

"And what of you?" she asked, turning to face him. "Do you often follow mysterious women into the night?"

Theon grinned, rising from his crouched position by the now-crackling fire. "Only the exceptionally beautiful ones," he quipped, “and ones that do not wish for my gold before they have even spoken to me.”

The girl laughed and stepped closer to him, untying his own cloak and unbuttoning his black doublet. “Gold means nothing to me.”

“Really? I think you are the first woman I’ve ever heard saying something like that,” Theon muttered, trying to keep his breathing calm as her hands came to the bottom buttons of his doublet, accidentally brushing over his hardness.

“Hm,” she muttered and looked up, giving him a grin that was as coy as his own as she slipped it off him with almost unnatural grace, before she stood before him once more, gently pushing him onto her bed so she stood over him, her chest dangerously close to his face.

“On the drowned islands they also do not talk of gold. They talk of iron, my Theon. Although… it seems like you know the hardness of it. So, in turn, for tonight, I shall wish for it to mean something to me. Do you think you can do that?”

Theon's breath hitched as he gazed up at the mysterious woman, her beauty almost otherworldly in the flickering firelight. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer as he leaned in to press his lips to her stomach through the thin fabric of her shift.

"I think I can manage that," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and husky with desire. "Though I warn you, my lady, I may ruin you for all other men."

She laughed softly, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh, my sweet Theon," she whispered, "I don't think you quite understand what you've gotten yourself into."

With surprising strength, she pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips in one fluid motion. Theon gasped as she ground against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He reached up to caress her face, but she caught his wrists, pinning them above his head.

"Tell me," she purred, her lips brushing against his ear, "do you know the old stories of the sea folk? The ones who lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom?"

Theon's heart raced, a mix of excitement and unease coursing through him. "Aye," he managed to say, his voice strained. "But those are just tales to frighten children."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his. In the dim light, they seemed to shift and change, one moment they were human and the other… bigger. Darker. Just like a seal’s. “At first the tales will scare you, then they will make you long for us, before you forget them. But, my dear Theon, we exist,” she whispered, grinning widely, her hand reaching down to untie the laces of his breeches.

“Do not fear, though… I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to, at least,” she mumbled, pushing them down, freeing his hard member, on which she sat down with a wicked grin, rubbing her moist slit gently against him, sighing contentedly. “You are of the sea - you are sweet. I will not hurt you, no, you’re too pretty for that.”

Theon's mind reeled, torn between desire and a growing sense of unease. The woman atop him was unlike any he had ever known, her beauty both alluring and terrifying. As she moved against him, he felt as if he were being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, helpless against the tide of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

"What... what are you?" he gasped, his hips involuntarily bucking upwards, seeking more contact, seeking to enter her, yet he was under her, he was trapped.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. "I am the foam on the waves, the salt in the air, the call of the deep that echoes in your blood," she whispered. "I am what your people call a selkie."

With nimble fingers, the selkie tugged at Theon's breeches, sliding them down his legs and tossing them aside. Her eyes roamed over his body, drinking in every detail as if committing him to memory. Theon shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable under her intense gaze.

"Beautiful," she murmured, her voice like the whisper of waves on sand. "You are a true son of the sea."

She rose gracefully, her movements fluid and hypnotic. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her shift over her head, revealing skin as pale and smooth as polished seashells. Moonlight from the small window danced across her curves, casting her in an otherworldly glow.

Theon's breath caught in his throat as she crawled between his legs, her hair cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall of dark silk. Her cool fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him with a touch both gentle and confident. He gasped, his hips lifting involuntarily off the bed.

"So responsive," she purred, her eyes gleaming with approval. "Your body remembers the sea's embrace, even if your mind has forgotten."

Her thumb circled the tip of his manhood, spreading the moisture gathered there. Theon moaned, torn between the pleasure of her touch and the lingering fear of the unknown. The selkie continued her ministrations, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing caresses.

"You're even more desperate than I am,” she muttered, glancing up at him before slowly, almost shyly, licking a stripe over his cock, taking it carefully in her wonderfully soft, warm mouth.

Theon gasped as her mouth enveloped him, warm and wet like the sea itself. His fingers tangled in her hair, silky strands slipping through his grasp like water. The selkie's tongue swirled around his length, teasing and exploring with an expertise that left him breathless.

"Gods," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming, yet there was something else - a strange tingling sensation that spread from where her lips met his skin, flowing through his veins like the tide.

She hummed in response, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. Her hands caressed his thighs, nails lightly scraping against his skin. Theon's hips bucked involuntarily, driving himself deeper into her mouth.

The selkie pulled back slightly, releasing him with a soft pop. Her eyes, dark and fathomless as the deep sea, met his. "Patience, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice husky with desire. "The night is young, and I wish to see if you understand."

She crawled up his body, her skin cool and slightly damp against his. Theon reached for her, pulling her close and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. He could taste salt on her tongue, along with his own musk.

As they kissed, she laid down next to him, evidently waiting for his next move. But what was he he to do with a girl, a woman, a being like her? Whores usually quickly satified his needs but with her… he just couldn’t bring himself to use her in such a way.

Theon hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly over the selkie's body. She was unlike any woman he had ever been with, and he found himself at a loss. Her otherworldly beauty and mysterious nature both thrilled and intimidated him.

"What's wrong, my iron prince?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to caress his skin. "Are you not used to a woman who knows what she wants?"

Theon swallowed hard, his pride stung by her words. "I... I've been with plenty of women," he said, trying to sound confident. "But you're different. I don't know what you want from me."

The selkie's laugh was like the tinkling of sea glass in the surf. She took his hand in hers, guiding it to her breast. Her skin was cool and smooth, like polished stone worn by the sea.

"I want you to touch me," she murmured, her eyes locked on his. "I want you to explore me as if I were uncharted waters. Can you do that, Theon of the Iron Islands?"

Her words ignited something within him, a mixture of desire and curiosity that overwhelmed his hesitation. Slowly, reverently, he began to caress her body, marveling at the way her skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

His fingers traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breast. She sighed contentedly, smilig into the dimness of the hut. “More, Theon, I will not break… Show me your strength…,” she whispered.

Emboldened by her words, Theon's touch became more confident. He cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm, his thumb brushing over her nipple. The selkie arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Theon leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. He could taste salt on her skin, reminding him of sea spray on a windy day. His kisses trailed lower, across her collarbone and down to her breast. He took her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak.

The selkie's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. "Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with desire. "Just like that."

Encouraged by her response, Theon's hand slid lower, tracing the curve of her hip and thigh. He hesitated for a moment before dipping between her legs, finding her already slick with desire. The selkie gasped as he explored her folds, her hips rolling against his hand.

"You're so wet," Theon murmured against her skin, his fingers circling her most sensitive spot.

"I am of the sea," she reminded him, her voice breathy. "Always ready to embrace those who seek me."

Theon groaned at her words, his own desire mounting. He kissed his way down her body, pausing to nip at the soft skin of her inner thigh, before he parted her soft curls with his fingers, settling between her thighs just as she had done before.

Her scent - gods - he had not even fully tasted her, yet he did not wish to part with her already, his tongue slowly touching her cunny.

The selkie gasped as Theon's tongue made contact with her most intimate place. Her fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. Theon obliged, his tongue exploring her folds with growing enthusiasm.

She tasted of the sea - salt and brine mingled with her own unique flavor. It was intoxicating, and Theon found himself lost in the act, his world narrowing to the sound of her soft moans and the feel of her beneath his lips and tongue.

His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he worked. He traced patterns with his tongue, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her most sensitive spots. The selkie's hips rolled against his face.

"Oh, Theon," she breathed, her voice thick with pleasure. "You truly are a son of the sea. You know just how to please me."

Her words sent a thrill through him, spurring him on. He redoubled his efforts, sucking gently on her pearl while his fingers teased her entrance. The selkie cried out, her back arching off the bed.

Theon could feel her trembling beneath him, teetering on the edge of release. He quickly sat up, kissing her like a starved man, before pushing himself into her.

The selkie's eyes flashed with a mixture of pleasure and frustration as Theon entered her. In one fluid motion, she hooked her leg around his waist and flipped him onto his back, pinning him beneath her with surprising strength.

"Tsk, tsk," she chided, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "So eager, my iron prince. Did you forget that the sea demands patience?"

Theon gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation of being sheathed within her. Her inner walls pulsed around him, cool and slick like the embrace of the tide. He tried to thrust upward, seeking more friction, but the selkie held him firmly in place.

"I... I'm sorry," he managed to stammer, his hands instinctively moving to her hips.

The selkie caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with surprising strength. "Oh, you will be," she whispered, a wicked gleam in her eye. "The sea is patient, Theon of the Iron Islands. And so am I."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she began to move. Her hips rolled in a hypnotic rhythm, rising and falling like the swell of waves. Theon groaned, his hands grasping at her hips, trying to urge her to move faster. But the selkie was unyielding, setting her own pace.

She rode him with the patience of the eternal sea, each movement precise and deliberate. Her skin gleamed with a faint, otherworldly luminescence in the dim light, like moonlight on water. Theon watched, mesmerized, as droplets of moisture beaded on her skin, rolling down her body like rivulets of seawater. He longed to taste them, to run his tongue along the curves of her body, but she kept him pinned beneath her, at her mercy.

"Please," Theon gasped, his voice hoarse with need. "I need... I need..."

The selkie smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "What do you need, my iron prince? Tell me."

"More," he groaned. "Faster. I need to feel you."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "The sea gives and takes as she pleases," she whispered. "And tonight, I am the sea."

With those words, she began to move faster, her hips undulating in a rhythm that matched the crashing waves outside. Theon moaned, lost in the sensation of her around him, the cool silk of her skin against his, the intoxicating scent of salt and sex that filled the air.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her breath coming in short gasps. She released Theon's wrists, bracing herself against his chest as she rode him. Freed from her grip, Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her hips, her thighs.

"Yes," she hissed, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Touch me, Theon."

Theon's hands roamed the selkie's body feverishly, tracing the curves and dips of her otherworldly form. Her skin seemed to ripple beneath his touch, as if tiny waves were coursing just beneath the surface. He could feel the power of the sea thrumming through her, wild and untamed.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her hips rolling and crashing against his like storm-tossed waves. Theon felt himself being pulled under, drowning in sensation. His entire world narrowed to the feel of her around him, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the sound of her gasps and moans mingling with the distant roar of the sea.

He was close, so close. The pressure built within him like a tide ready to break. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her down harder onto him. The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart.

"Oh gods," Theon groaned, his back arching off the bed. "I'm going to-"

Suddenly, the selkie stilled. In one fluid motion, she lifted herself off him, leaving Theon gasping and desperate. He reached for her, but she evaded his grasp with a teasing smile, instead laying down on her stomach with a wicked little smile.

"Now you know what it feels like," she purred, her voice low and husky. "I am not done and neither are you."

Theon groaned in frustration, his body aching with unfulfilled desire. The selkie's eyes glimmered with mischief as she looked back at him over her shoulder, her hair cascading down her back like dark seaweed.

"Come, my iron prince," she cooed, arching her back invitingly, wiggling her full buttocks. "Show me the strength of the storm."

Theon didn't need to be told twice. He moved behind her, his hands caressing the smooth curve of her hips. The selkie sighed contentedly as he positioned himself, teasing her entrance with the tip of his manhood.

"Don't make me wait," she breathed, pushing back against him.

With a low growl, Theon thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt. The selkie cried out in pleasure, her fingers gripping the furs beneath them. Theon set a punishing pace, driven by his earlier denied release and the intoxicating power of the creature beneath him.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh mingled with their gasps and moans, creating a primal rhythm that seemed to echo the crashing waves outside. Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Every touch sent sparks of pleasure through him, as if her very skin conducted the raw energy of the sea.

The selkie met him thrust for thrust, her body undulating like the tide. She turned her head, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. Theon kissed her back hungrily, tasting salt and desire on her lips. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he continued to drive into her. The selkie moaned into his mouth, her body trembling beneath him.

Breaking the kiss, she gasped, "Yes, Theon. Just like that. Be good for me, please… give me… just like…."

Her words ignited something primal within him. Theon's thrusts became more forceful, more desperate. He could feel the pressure building again, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, her body shuddering with each thrust. She buried her face in the furs, muffling her cries of ecstasy. Theon could feel her climax approaching, her muscles tensing beneath his hands.

"Look at me," he growled, surprising himself with the command in his voice. "I want to see your face when you come undone."

The selkie turned her head, her eyes meeting his. In that moment, Theon saw the vastness of the sea in her gaze - deep, mysterious, and utterly wild. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

With a final, powerful thrust, Theon felt himself tipping over the edge. The selkie cried out, her body arching beneath him as her own release crashed over her. Theon groaned, burying himself deep inside her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It felt like he was being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, drowning in ecstasy.

As the intensity of their shared climax began to ebb, Theon collapsed onto the selkie's back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel her heart racing beneath him, her skin cool and slightly damp against his chest. For a long moment, they lay there, intertwined and breathless.

Slowly, carefully, Theon rolled off her, falling onto his back beside her on the narrow bed. The selkie turned to face him, her eyes now soft and warm like the sea on a calm summer day. She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with gentle fingers.

"You have pleased me well, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice rich with satisfaction. "The sea will remember you fondly."

Theon chuckled weakly, still trying to catch his breath. "I don't think I'll ever forget this night," he said, turning his head to meet her gaze. "Or you."

The selkie smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Perhaps," she said softly. "But the memories of men are often as fleeting as seafoam on the shore."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before rising from the bed. Theon watched, mesmerized, as she moved about the small hut, her body glowing faintly in the dim light. She retrieved her cloak, fastening it around her shoulders, and gave him a sad, sorrowful little smile. “Go back to the bears now, my kraken. I’m sure you are missed.”

“But… can you not just… stay here? For a while at least?”, Theon asked, quickly gathering up his own clothing. Normally he would’ve left just as quickly as she was about to, yet she was no Ros, no Wintertown whore.

The selkie paused, her hand on the door. She turned back to Theon, her eyes softening with a mixture of fondness and regret.

"Oh, my sweet iron prince," she said softly. "Your words warm my heart, but I cannot stay. The sea calls to me, as it always has and always will."

Theon felt a pang in his chest, a longing he couldn't quite name. He stood, still naked, and took a step towards her. "Then let me come with you," he said impulsively. "Just for a while. I... I miss the sea."

The selkie's smile was sad and knowing. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her cool hand. "You are not ready for my world, Theon of the Iron Islands. Your path lies elsewhere, at least for now."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Theon could taste the salt of the sea on her breath, feel the pull of the tide in her touch. When she pulled away, her eyes seemed to shimmer with unshed tears.

"But know this," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves outside. "The sea never forgets her children. When the time comes, if you truly wish it, you may find your way back to us."

With those words, she slipped out the door and into the night. Theon rushed after her, but as he stepped outside, he saw only the empty beach and the vast, freezing waters, the selkie’s figure retreating into the waves.

Theon stood on the shore, the cool night air raising goosebumps on his bare skin. He watched the waves crash against the rocky beach, searching for any sign of the mysterious selkie, but she had vanished as completely as if she had never existed. The only evidence of their encounter was the lingering taste of salt on his lips and the slight ache in his muscles.

With a heavy sigh, Theon turned back to the small hut. The interior still smelled of sea and sex, and for a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the entire encounter. But no, his clothes were strewn about the floor, and he could still feel the ghost of her touch on his skin.

Slowly, he began to dress himself. His fingers fumbled with the laces of his breeches, his mind still clouded with the intoxicating memory of the selkie. As he pulled on his tunic, he noticed it smelled faintly of seaweed and brine. He wondered idly if Lord Stark would notice, then dismissed the thought. The old wolf rarely paid him much attention anyway.

Theon retrieved his cloak from where it had fallen, shaking out the sand before fastening it around his shoulders. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks that the selkie had so eagerly mussed. As he did so, he felt something caught in the strands – a single, iridescent scale that gleamed in the dim light. He stared at it and reverently tucked it into his satchel.

Stepping out of the hut, Theon took one last look at the sea. The moon hung low on the horizon, its reflection shimmering on the dark waters. For a moment, he thought he saw a seal's head bobbing in the waves, watching him with knowing eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone. The sea had claimed him, he thought, and he would honour it.

[ichorai]

a forgotten sweater ; theon greyjoy (m).

art by @shebsart!

pairing ; modern!theon greyjoy x reader (afab / no pronouns mentioned)

synopsis ; in which you go to fetch the sweater you had forgotten last time you and theon fucked. and this time, you most definitely weren't going to fuck him again.

words ; 1.6k

themes ; literally just smut LMFAO, modern au, college au, basically fwb au but reader doesn't want to admit it

warnings / includes ; unprotected piv sex, creampie, foul language, theon wears batman boxers, poor robb must be traumatized, physical descriptions for theon follow book canon, not the show!

There was just something about him. Something that kept you coming back for more each and every time, even though you always swore you would never touch him again. Theon was not your type, not in the slightest… but, God, he was mind-numbingly good in bed. 

“We’re not sleeping together,” you had assured him when you stopped by his dorm to pick up a sweater you’d forgotten from the last time the two of you tangled together. His dormmate, Robb, had overheard your blunt words from the kitchen, and flushed a bright shade of crimson before quietly excusing himself to his own bedroom.

Theon handed you your sweater and shrugged in a manner he hoped came off as I don’t care. “Fine.”

“Thanks,” you said, clutching your sweater to your chest. “I hope we can still be friends—” Not that you were ever really close friends to begin with—Robb's girlfriend had been the one to introduce the two of you to each other. You were more distant acquaintances than anything. That also just so happened to occasionally have sex.

“With benefits?” he asked, seeming to perk up at the thought. All efforts of nonchalance were thrown to the wind. 

“If benefits mean someone to accompany you to a fast food restaurant or pick you up when you’re drunk, I can do that. Sexual benefits, though…” you trailed off, shaking your head with a grimace. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Theon stepped closer to you. “But why?” he just about whined. “I want you. I want you again, baby. The sex was good for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“I made you cum, didn’t I? More than once, if I can remember correctly.”

“Theon—”

His hand jutted out as he began to list off, “Once with my tongue, another on my fingers, and who knows how many on my co—”

“Theon!” you exclaimed, jerking forward to slam a hand over his mouth, worried Robb was still around to overhear such filth. “God, you can’t… I don’t…” 

Whatever you wanted to say, you couldn’t recall your own thoughts anymore, because Theon was staring at you with such burning want. His eyes were hooded and his gaze so lustful you could just about feel your resolve crumbling that very second. His skin was so warm under your hands…

“I’m not sleeping with you again,” you whispered, more to convince yourself than him.

“Fine,” he replied, muffled from behind your palm. 

Five minutes later, the two of you had stumbled into his room and you had hastily shed your clothes. Before you knew it, you were situated on top of him with his dick already sliding inside of you. 

Theon let out a loud moan—a choked, hissy sort of sound—and his forehead fell forward so that it rested just between your breasts as your warm walls clenched tightly around his shaft. Prior to you sinking down on him, he'd been so hard he was aching, all aroused throbs and angry red tips and drips of precum.

He looked up at you with dark eyes, glossy with lust and deliberately nipped at one of your tits. Flashes of his teeth and tongue laving over your skin made you close your eyes and hum out a broken sound. There was no movement on your end, not yet, but his hands moved further downwards, from resting on your hips to digging the pads of his fingers into the flesh of your ass.

Then, without warning, Theon jerked you up enough just so his tip could stay inside you, and slammed back inside just as quickly. A yelp echoed across the room, and your hands scrambled up to clutch and Theon's hair. You tugged at the dark strands, just the way you knew he liked, which earned you a string of moans as he began bouncing you on his cock. The lewd, squelching noises that ricocheted off of each desperate thrust made your cheeks burn fiery hot.

“Ah—don't clench around me so hard,” Theon warned breathlessly, brows knitted. “I'll cum too quick, baby, you feel too—haaah—you feel too good.”

“Fuck me, Theon, please,” you said, rolling your hips forward against his. “Please, please, please…”

Your litany of pleas faded into a low moan as Theon began drilling his cock into you, eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

“You’re so wet, holy shi—it.” His voice broke in his fervor. “Feels so good baby, I could die like this.”

“Please don’t,” you said against his hair. “Rub my clit before you do.”

“Fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” he whined, one of his hands letting go of your ass to slither over your hip and rub sloppy, wet shapes over your sensitive clit. His touch made you jump closer to him, unsure to flinch towards or away from the searing pleasure. 

Theon shifted his angle so that he could pound into you impossibly deeper. You felt him hit just the right spot inside you, sending you into a bucking, scratching frenzy. The delicious pain of your nails going down his back seemed only to spur him on.

“Oh, fuck—Theon, wait—I’m going to—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before you were gushing around him, your cunt spasming tightly around his throbbing cock, your toes curling against his bed sheets soiled. 

“Yeah, fucking cum on this dick. Fuck, you feel so good. Ten minutes ago you were telling me you didn’t want me—now look at you, baby,” he crooned. He was still drilling into you despite your mumbles of it being too much. Theon was no gentleman—but he knew you liked it that way.  “I’m not stopping. Fuck—yeah, baby, you’ll take it for me, won’t you? You’ll take it all, yes.”

He was practically snarling at that point. His teeth were sinking into your shoulder and all you could do was let him fuck you and bite you and grip at you. The pleasure never ebbed away, not with his fingers still toying with your clit. 

“I need you again,” he muttered, licking a hot, wet stripe up your neck. You squirmed in his grasp, moaning out a complaint that fell against deaf ears. “This can’t be the last time, baby, no. Pussy feels too fucking good, oh my God. Tell me this won’t be the last.”

There was no pause to his thrusts, but Theon did go silent for a minute, gnashing his teeth together as he awaited your response. When there came none, he swatted at your ass and you choked on a gasp.

“It won’t be the last, fuck—!” you bit out, slamming your hips down in tandem with his. You could already feel your second orgasm begin to creep up on you.

He shifted the angle once more and buried his cock fast and deep into your sopping cunt as if his life depended on it. The noises were squelching and lewd, you could feel the tips of your ears burning. 

“You close?” he asked.

“Mhm.” You nodded vehemently. “Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t, not for what felt like hours and hours, when realistically it was only a few minutes. Theon groaned in a broken, breathless rhythm, mumbling that he was going to cum. His fingers worked faster at your clit, and that was when you broke. You shuddered around him, clenching like a damn vice. He was loud when he came, so loud that you knew for certain Robb could probably hear the two of you, and you shoved his head down against your shoulder so that his moans were muffled into your skin. You could feel his hot spend inside of you, already dripping and leaking into the mixture of your arousal creaming between your thighs. 

“Fuck,” Theon said as he eased himself out of you. He couldn’t help but slap his cock against your sensitive clit, sharply laughing when you jerked away from the touch and glared at him.

You stood up and began to collect your scattered articles of clothing on wobbly legs, chest still rising and falling rapidly. You could feel his cum dribble down quicker now that you were standing. 

The impish grin Theon was wearing fell away when you said, “This is not happening again.”

He looked ready to throw himself at the ground and grovel for your pussy again. For some sick reason, the thought excited you. It didn’t sit well with you that you were just as perverted as he was. 

“What can I say to get you to change your mind?” He was hopping on one leg towards you as he pulled on a pair of boxers. Batman-patterned boxers, you noted with amusement. You hadn’t even noticed that when he was undressing earlier. God, he was such a fucking loser.

You spared him a genuine smile, before leaning forward to kiss his lower cheek, which was scratchy with dark stubble. In all of the times the two of you have fucked, which was upwards of a dozen times now, the two of you had kissed plenty of times—but never before or after. Theon blinked at you with big, dopey eyes. 

“Bye, Theon,” you said, choosing not to give him an answer to his question.

He watched in silence as you slipped on your shirt, and high-tail out of his room. He scratched the back of his neck and let out a big sigh—then spotted the forgotten sweater you had carelessly thrown onto his messy desk.

A lopsided smile tugged at his lips. Yeah, this was definitely happening again.

[axelsagewrites]

Hey, could I request a love triangle with both Theon and Jon set in modern days? Fratboy!Theon (he's unsufurable and such dork! I can so imagine reader disliking him but he's cute when he wants to!) and Emo!Jon (he just gives off emo boy energy!!). Lots of teasing and rivalry (maybe? But definitely not needed) and maybe f!reader hooking up with both but separately.

Jon Snow/Theon Greyjoy*Hook ups

Pairing: jon x reader, theon x reader, past!jon x Ygritte

Word count: 3980

Warnings: secret hooking up, multiple partners, p in v sex, f! receiving oral, hickeys, praise, slight sub jon, cocky theon, smut 18+

Masterlist here

when you left for college, you were determined to break out of your shell. the first day was of course the toughest but luckily for you the dark-haired quiet kid beside you seemed equally on edge. you and Jon formed an instant friendship in freshman English and soon managed to develop a proper friendship group.

Jons half-brother Robb was also a freshman, so he was an obvious addition to the group. plus, you managed to make friends with a girl called Ygritte in your Ancient Histories class and whenever you all hung out, she would bring her friend Tormund along. the five of you were a close group all throughout freshman year and Jon and Ygritte even started dating at the end of freshman year.

you refused to admit to any of them that you were secretly a tiny bit completely and utterly jealous. you managed to keep your feelings at bay over the summer break but when you came back in your second year it was hard not to get angry seeing how happy they were. you knew it was neither of their faults, but you tried to keep it at bay and took the opportunity to expand your friendship group.

this was easy enough by tagging along wherever Robb went. he was such a sweetheart despite being such a party animal. he had been nicknamed across campus as the young wolf because of his string of girlfriends who all seemed to thank him when they got dumped. he was oddly charismatic when you thought of him, and Jon being related.

Jon was far shyer than Robb with his head often in a book or jotting lyrics and poems down in a notebook. he never left his dorm without headphones and majority of his music was all pre 2005 emo kid bangers. don’t get me wrong, you loved his music, but it was an acquired taste for sure. Ygritte however hadn’t acquired it, so it made it all the more frustrating for you when she never listened to the sweet songs, he sent her.

but you refused to let it keep you down so here you were at a Blackfyre Frat party standing with Robb who was introducing you to yet another friend of his. As he was telling Danerys that you were also into Taylor Swift you felt an arm suddenly grab over your shoulder and your neck snapped to the side to see its owner.

He had his other arm wrapped over Robbs shoulder and a beer bottle in hand, “and this is Theon,” Robb laughed as you shrugged him off as he kissed Robbs cheek, “aka a pain in my ass,”

“Thought you liked when I was in your ass,” Theon gasped as he finally removed himself from the young wolf. at times you had questioned if Robb was bi but now did not seem the time to ask as Theon held his hand out for you to shake, “And who do I owe the pleasure?”

you shook his hand lightly, trying your best not to grimace at the beer stench on his breath. you told him your name and quickly took your hand back, “I think im gonna get a drink,” you said, your eyes shooting to Dany who decided she also needed one. thank god for girls you thought.

“Cmon princess I don’t bite,” Theon joked but waved you and Dany off to slip into the crowds.

“He’s something alright,” you joked as you filled your cup with extra strong-smelling punch.

Dany laughed as she refilled her own drink, “He’s not as bad as he seems,” she said making your eyebrows scrunch in shock, “Nah seriously. its just this impression he puts on, I guess. I don’t really get it but alone he’s far more chill,”

“Please don’t leave me alone with him,” you said as you attempted to drink what tasted like straight vodka, “I don’t need him spilling beer down me,” you joked as you and Dany re-entered the crowd of people to dance.

you found your eyes wondering over to Theon a few times in the night. any time he caught you he sent a cheeky wink, and you rolled your eyes before turning to blush. maybe it was the alcohol or whatever issues high school had left you with, but Theon was kind of hot.

not in the Jon mysterious sensitive way but in the cocky I don’t give a fuck way. he was wearing his fraternity t-shirt which after Robb spilled his drink down revealed a surprisingly well toned body underneath. Dany seemed to notice your glances as she winked at you before demanding Robb and Theon come dance.

as Theon walked over you decided fuck it. Jon was taken and you were a woman with needs and even if he was a bit annoying Theon wad fit as fuck. you didn’t protest when they joined you to dance or run away when Theon would bump into you or spin you around the dance floor despite the music defiantly not being the spinning sort.

however eventually it was all becoming a bit too loud and a bit too fast. that plus the vodka was getting to you so without much warning you decided to duck out the dance floor and make your way to the kitchen where you stumbled upon Joffrey Lannister practically on top of Margaery Tyrell. you dipped your head as you headed for the back door and decided to just chill on the back steps for a few.

“You good bro?” you heard Theon’s concerned voice, but you didn’t need to turn as he moved to sit beside you on the step. he tried to hand you a cup, but you just looked at him in silent questioning, “Just water. promise,” he said reaching out his pinkie for you to link with your own.

you laughed as you made a pinkie promise with a near stranger before taking the cup, “Thanks man,” you said before almost downing the cup, “Sorry it just felt like really loud all of a sudden,”

“That’s cool,” Theon shrugged with a genuine smile that made your own lips curl up, “I just wanted to make sure nothing had happened. I know things like this aren’t always the easiest but its good you came,” he said as he knocked his knee into yours, “Even if you’re a terrible dancer,” he teased making you laugh and tease him right back.

you ended up sitting out there for the next hour before Dany eventually found you, wondering if you’d died or something. this was now your queue to leave since even Robb was too far gone to continue this night. “I’m gonna go get him into my bed then ill be back down to walk yous two home,” Theon said as Robb was slumped over his shoulder.

“Oh, you don’t have to- “you tried to say.

Theon cut you off, “Don’t worry love I’ll be two tics,” he said before he started to take Robb up the stairs, “Cmon buddy use those feet of yours,” you heard him mumble as you and Dany laughed at the state of Robb.

“See told you he’s not that bad,” she said, nudging you with her elbow.

you rolled your eyes at the blonde as you finished your drink, “Yeah, yeah. we’ll see,” and see you did. Theon had asked for your insta when you got to the dorms and somewhat shockingly to you didn’t try make a pass at you before he left. maybe he wasn’t that bad after all?

“Ugh that guy,” Jon groaned as you walked to class together, “I hate when Robb brings him round, he’s just so weird,”

“Some would say the same thing about you my goth little friend,” you said, poking at his arm making him swat it away.

“Not a goth,” he said, grabbing your hand to stop your attacks which for a moment almost made you blush, “Besides he always calls me an emo,” he said making you look at him like he said 2 + 2 = 5, “I’m not an emo. I just happen to have perfect taste,” all you did was snort as you finally reached English and took your seats.

for the month or so you spent a surprising amount of time dm-ing Theon. it started with him sending a couple memes to you having long conversations deep into the night about complete random topics. you also started actually going to parties once or twice a week with Theon and Robb much to Jons protest.

every time you told him he was welcome to come but he refused. instead, he would tell you all the reasons Theon annoyed him, and you could do better. it was ironic your old crush telling you to move on. the best thing was that you could finally see him and Ygritte around without wanting to vomit all over the place.

however, in a strange turn of events it was as soon as you got over Jon, or at least you thought, that he and Ygritte started having issues. Jon always refused to tell you what it was they fought about but you knew something was off. by now though you hung around with Dany, Theon, and Robb more than Ygritte, so you didn’t want to push. you and Jon still hung out as well of course but it was almost as if he was starting to ice you out.

you had talked to Theon about this on multiple occasions with him telling you that he was just being overly emo about things. you always defended Jon, but it was nice to know you weren’t crazy. then one night you got a text from Jon.

-she dumped me

this led to you and Jon locking yourself away in his dorm for a week as you helped him get over the breakup then a week of you dragging Jon out the dorms to see sunlight. you insisted he go out and enjoyed himself after allowing him to wallow for a time and soon a new friendship group was born.

you, Robb, Theon, Jon, and Dany hung out together at least three times a week, often all going to frat parties or drunken nights out. yes, even Jon would tag along to these parties, and you could tell he was enjoying it deep down. however, no matter what the two boys were always nipping at the other heels.

Theon would make fun of Jons clothes then Jon would quip back at his hair. when Jon poked fun at Theon’s grades Theon would make fun of Jons music taste. it was funny at times, frustrating at others, but overall, this was the most social Jon had been in months, so you weren’t going to complain.

something you hadn’t told Jon though, and had insisted that Theon couldn’t tell him either, was that you had secretly been hooking up with the Greyjoy without any of your friends knowing. he would text you late at night or you’d snap him when you were stressed. yes yes, the classic booty call things, you knew you were a cliché. but gods the sex was good.

you’d gotten a text from Theon that night and it didn’t take you long to get to his frat and sneak in through the backdoor. you slipped into Theon’s rooms unnoticed but as the door shut behind you you felt Theon press his chest into yours, “What took so long doll?” he grinned, his lips moving to kiss your jaw.

you laughed at the boy as your fingers travelled up to his hair, “Please you like when I keep you waiting,” you teased as you tugged lightly on his hair. you felt his lips move further down your neck, kissing softly at first but soon you felt him sucking gently on your skin, “You better not leave a mark,” you groaned, hating how you enjoyed it.

“I’ll think about it princess,” Theon said as his arms wrapped around your waist before tugging you over to the bed and pushing you down onto his sheets. he grabbed his collar, pulling his shirt over his head in a routine you had both practised down to perfection as you slipped your own top off.

Theon crawled over your body, his hands groping at your thighs and hips as his lips kissed the valley of your breasts. you moaned lightly as you felt him squeeze your hips and his hard on pressing into your thigh. “Now who’s making me wait,” you teased as you pulled Theon’s face up to yours, latching your lips together.

you knew each other’s rhythms, what they liked and where, his tongue slipped in with ease as your hands gripped his shoulders. meanwhile his were trailing up your body, squeezing your tits as he settled his legs between yours, grinding into you. you had of course changed into a cute little skirt when you saw the text so as your legs wrapped around his hips it left little to the imagination.

Theon hand slipped between your bodies, unbuttoning his jeans with ease and slipping them and his boxers off without even breaking your lips. you moaned lightly when his fingers rubbed your clit over your panties and your kiss grew deeper when he began to push them to the side. Theon only broke the kiss to quickly slip a condom on, something you had always insisted on and he had never complained about.

you felt him line his tip up with your hole, pushing it in slowly at first, “You like that?” he mumbled against your lips with that cocky smirk. god it shouldn’t be that hot to be a prick. your legs tightened around his waist, pushing Theon deeper in which he gladly complied as he sunk his length fully in, “Fuck,” he groaned, his thrusts attempting to set a steady pace.

his hand found your clit again, rubbing circles over it as your hands scratched gently down his back making him shiver. Theon’s lips fell from yours, moving to gently kiss down your jaw and neck before his head fell into your shoulder, his breathing growing heavy as you knew he was close to the edge.

with a final thrust you felt his body tighten for a moment before sinking into yours. you paused for a moment, letting Theon catch his breath. he pulled away for a moment, discarding the condom and kneeling over your thighs before he looked back down at you with a cocky grin, “Your turn now,” he said, and you laughed as he made his way down south.

by the end of the night, you were both hot and sweaty and both in a pair of Theon’s sweatpants. you were able to slip out and back to yours for a quick change of clothes before class the next morning though Jon shot you a questioning look when you had to practically run to class.

as the lecturer droned on and on you saw your phone light up and when you looked you saw a text from Jon. you unlocked your phone under the table, glancing over to see Jon was doing the same, as you opened the message.

-u wanna do something tonight?

-ye sure. want me to text everyone else?

you sent back and when you glanced at Jon you saw a faint blush on his cheeks. a few moments later another message came.

-was thinking it could be a just us thing. like old times

you didn’t even realise you were smiling when you saw the message, but Jon did. and gods did it make his legs go weak especially when you text back.

-great idea. movie night?

-only if u don’t hog the snacks

-no promises

after a long day of classes, a movie night was just what you needed especially since you knew it wasn’t hard to get Jon to let you pick the movie. when you arrived at his dorm, he was setting up a projector his dad had got him and you noticed his roommate, Tormund was out. “Did you kick Tormund to the curb for me?” you joked when you walked in through the open door.

Jon grinned as he stopped fiddling with his laptop cables and the projector lit up the room, “He didn’t mind,” he said as he took the bag of snacks out of your hand, adding them to the pile he had set up on his bed. “You ready for the ultimate movie experience?”

“Always,” you grinned as you jumped down onto his bed, kicking off your shoes and making yourself comfy. you didn’t catch the way Jon smiled at you as he watched this or how when he shut the door, he locked it also.

Jon flicked off the lights before returning to the bed, sitting beside you as he brought up Netflix on his laptop. before you could even start your spiel about how legally blonde the best film was and why you just had to watch it, he was handing you the laptop. you’d thought your crush had died but when you felt his fingers brush yours as you took the laptop you were grateful for the dimmed lighting to hide your blush.

Jon watched the movie without complaint, which honestly shocked you, especially when he even offered you some of his pringles. now that was odd. you were so into the movie you didn’t even realise you were leaning onto his shoulder till you felt his arm move to rest around your waist. when you glanced at Jon he cleared his throat, a blush spreading across his cheeks making you smile before you turned your attention back to Elle strutting her stuff.

by the end credits your body was fully rested against Jons, your snacks were gone, and his head was leant on top of yours. “See, told you it was a masterpiece,” you teased.

Jon chuckled lightly as you moved your head off his shoulder, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move his arm, “It was something alright,”

“Theres a second one,”

“Eh I think one movie was enough for tonight,” Jon said as he closed Netflix with his spare hand. the room was still pretty dark but the light from the projector lit it up just enough to notice the cute smile toying on his lips.

“So whatcha wanna do then?” you said, moving to face him without realising how close your faces were, “You can’t kick me out already. its only nine,” you said but Jon didn’t say anything back.

you just smiled, waiting for him to say something and wondering if you had accidentally broken the boy somehow when Jon suddenly leaned forward. he kissed you. like actually kissed you. on the mouth. it only lasted for a second and you were too stunned to react as he pulled back, “I’m sorry- “Jon tried to say, moving his arm but you cut him off by grabbing his jaw lightly making him face you.

Jon grew silent again as you studied his face for a moment before leaning in. this kiss was far softer than before and this time Jon didn’t run away. his lips moved against yours gently at first, almost as if you were made of glass, but with added courage now Jon grew bolder, his hand squeezing your waist gently.

you took your queue, if not maybe surprising Jon a little, as you moved to straddle his lap. however, it only took a moment for him to catch up as his hands moved to rest gently on your hips. “You can touch me you know,” you mumbled into the kiss, “I won’t break,” you teased as your own hands trailed down his chest.

much to your surprise since he always wore baggy black clothes, but you could feel how toned he was through his shirt. you couldn’t resist slipping your hands under his t-shirt, gently tracing your hands up his skin making him shiver.

you were breathless, pulling away for air but Jon wasn’t done. his lips soon fell to your neck, kissing down your skin gently as his fingers traced the hem of your waistband of your sweats. you moaned lightly when you felt him sucking soft hickeys across your collarbones but this time you didn’t mind the marks.

Jon seemed encouraged by your noises as his hands slipped under the fabric of your sweats as you felt his groan against your skin when he realised you were wearing something lacy. you bit your lip gently as he trailed hickeys down your chest, his hands squeezing your hips and ass. you decided to be bolder, if that was possible, and grind down onto his lap.

you could fell his boner through the fabric and heard Jons soft moans as you continued your movements. “Please,” he moaned against your skin, “I want you,” he begged.

“All you had to do was ask,” you teased as you pried yourself from his grip. the way Jon watched with awe as you stripped your t-shirt off made you want him ever more. “Take that off,” you said, pointing to his own top to which he happily complied.

you turned away for a moment, slipping your sweats down your legs to give Jon a proper show since he was determined to enjoy it. you heard him curse under his breath as you kicked away the fabric and when you turned around, he was finally tugging his jeans off leaving him in just his boxers. “Fuck,” Jon mumbled, his eyes glued to your frame for several moments before finally flickering to your eyes, “You’re perfect,”

you giggled a little, so unlike yourself, as you leaned down to kiss Jon again. it was slow and deep with your hands in his hair. you expected to be the one leading things, but Jons hand found its way to your hips and soon you were laying on the bed under neath Jon who was trailing open mouth kisses down your body, praising it all the way down.

your breathing hitched when he pressed a kiss to your clothed clit, your hand instinctually reaching for his hair as he slid your panties down your legs. within moments he was kissing your cunt soft as he moved your legs over his shoulders. you moaned when you felt his tongue against your clit, applying more and more pressure as he went till, he found your sweet spot.

you didn’t care how loud your moan was when you felt his fingers teasing your hole. you bit your lip as he slowly slipped them in, stretching you out before he began to gently curl his fingers. you could feel your orgasm already approaching as Jon began to suck on your clit gently making your legs instinctively wrap around his head.

it only seemed to spur him on more and it wasn’t long till you felt your orgasm threatening to spill. “Don’t stop,” you whined, your hand gripping his hair for dear life, “Fuck,” you gasped as your body tightened and your orgasm crashed down like a tsunami.

you could feel your legs twitch, but Jon wasn’t stopping. his seemingly magic tongue kept going till he was sure you were fully finished and when he pulled away, his face wet with your juices, he placed a soft kiss to your thigh. “You are amazing,” he said, kissing up your body with each word.

you were panting for air but still wanting more and Jon had no intentions of stopping there. by the end of the night, you had come five times, weren’t sure if you’d ever walk again, and you were both naked and sweaty under his sheets. you didn’t know how you’d explain these hickeys to Theon next time you saw him but god where they worth it.

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics

[intoxicated-chan]

Be With Me

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Robb Stark x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ When Robb over hears of your potential marriage, he cannot stand the idea of loosing you to some random lord.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Be with Me” by Ramin Djawadi. It was heavily inspired by the cave scene with Jon and Yigrette. P.S… IM BACK!!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1.4k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, sexual content, swearing, injuries, mentions of death, oral (male receiving), discussion of marriage…

(I’m saying it again! This was heavily inspired by the cave scene that involved Jon and Yigrette!!)

You walk out of the medic tent with a limp, It’s more than obvious that you were injured, and you feel the stares from other soldiers as your eyes are narrowed.

Robb caught up to you, grabbing your shoulder to make you turn around, “What was that?” Robb immediately said, “You thought it best to throw yourself into a fight?”

“A sword was coming from behind, you were too bothered to even notice.” You shake his hand off your shoulder and continue walking.

Robb grumbles a couple of words before speeding up to catch you, “I saved your life.” He piped up.

“No, I did.” You corrected him, you kept your eyes forward as you walked to your tent, “If I didn’t throw myself into the battle… You know I’d die for you.”

It makes Robb scoff rather loudly, ignoring your last words, “Let’s say you saved me. What about the other time or the other one?” Robb lifts an eyebrow, “You still owe me two more.”

“I owe you quite a lot, my lord.” You tell him, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to check the horses.”

He grabs your cloak tightly and pulls you back, nearly making you fall to the ground. You look up at him confused and angry.

He suddenly snatches your sword out of your scabbard, “I’ll take your sword as payment.” He then scurries away, you can hear him laughing.

“W-What?” You stand shocked for a moment before realizing what is happening, “Robb! Come back here, dammit!” You shout, chasing after him, “Robb fucking Stark! Give me my sword!”

You run after him, tumbling on a few rocks but don’t fall… Somehow. As much as you’re a fighter, Robb was a runner.

He ran so easily and didn’t take a second to look back and stop to give you some kind of better start.

“If you want it back, you’ll have to steal it back!” He runs from the camp and into a random cave. A random cave to you. You didn’t know the North like he did.

The cave is heated by a natural hot spring, which forms a waterfall and a pool. The rocks glistening from the humidity from the water and the light shining through.

Robb sets his sword against the rocks and begins to undo his armor. He starts with his gloves, crumbling them up and tossing them besides the sword.

Your peer your head into the cave, you rush into the cave when hear him, “Seven fucking hells, Robb-!” You loudly shout, but stop in your tracks.

“I heard from my mother that you were supposed to marry some random Lord.” He spoke with a hint of venom in his voice, he pulls off his brown leather boots, “Which means you’re a maiden.”

You choke on your words as you feel your face become warm at his bluntness.

He unties and unbuttons his armor, setting it down carefully, “I always wanted to beat the lord dead, just imagining you in his grasp made me feel so angry.”

Robb turns his back to your as his arms cross and grab the hem of his dirty shirt, he’s swift and impatient, tearing free from the constraints of fighting and riding.

His hands come to the strings of his breeches, “I wanted to be the one to marry you… To kiss you…” Until his breeches drop to the ground. He steps out of them, “To love you…”

Robb turns back to you, he is completely bare in front of you. You could see light bruises and scrapes on his body but little scars. They were faded but still there, it added to his muscular body. He was so beautiful… So perfect… So flawless…

Your eyes flicker around the cave and your eyes only set sights on him once. They move to the ground and you hear his soft steps against the wet stone.

He slowly closes the space in between you both until his face his near yours.

You feel Robb’s breath, one of his hands comes to your cheeks and cups it. But when he leans into you for a kiss, you pull back.

You swallow thickly and turn your head, “We shouldn’t, Robb.” You mumble under your breath, “We can’t be doing this.”

“Then look me in the eyes and say it. Tell me that you don’t want to go any further.” He says, and he slowly turns his head to eventually look at him, “Go on, tell me.”

You knew what was waiting for you back at home, you knew that the second you stepped foot back into your home, your life would be over, even more if your parents found out.

“Do you want to marry that lord?” Robb whispers in your ear, “Do you want a marry a man with selfish desires?” You could hear the pain in his voice, “Because my heart would not stand the idea of it… My heart is yours, it has been from the start, ever since your mother met mine, ever since you watched me train that day. Do you feel as I do?”

“I do.” You shakily answer him. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close and then you feel his lips on yours.

As your eyes shut and kiss him, you can feel yourself crying. You don’t know but he sees it, he does his best to keep you distracted and focused on him.

But you seem to have other ideas…

Once you manage to calm down and enjoy the kiss for a few more minutes, taking a couple of seconds to catch your breath before returning… Your hands move down his body and you slowly begin to kneel, planting kisses down his chest.

Robb chuckles, “Come back up, I wanna-” A sudden moan leaves his mouth when he feels your mouth wrap around his hard cock.

He throws his head back and allows himself to moan loudly. He was confined in the cave, just with you and no one else to see or hear. He closes his eyes and his hand comes to your head to move faster.

“F-Fuck!” His voice cracks as he curses, “H-How are you so-” He grunts and hisses, watching you close as you get him off.

Moments later, Robb is lying on the warm stone ground with you by his side… His fingers graze over your skin as he listens to the water pouring, feeling the warmth coming from the hot spring beside them.

Robb looks down at you with a grin, “How did you know to do that?” He questions you with an eyebrow raised.

You shrug, “I didn't learn it from anyone, I just wanted to. You looked like you enjoyed it.” You drag your nails over his chest.

“Surely there must’ve been a man you practice with.” Robb sits up, he’s genuinely curious but still playful, “Was it Theon? Or Jon?”

You swat at his leg and he snickers in response, “I swear, Robb. There wasn’t any other man.”

“So you are a maiden or were.” Robb stands and grabs your hand to help you up, “Join me, would you?” You didn’t need to say anything, he could see the answer in your eyes.

He leads you into the hot spring, feeling the warm water make contact with your skin. You wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head on his chest.

“They may be looking for us.” You tell him, unsure what to do now as you are held in his arms.

“I know.” Robb huffs as he rubs your back, “But let’s stay for a little longer…. I don’t wish to leave.” He holds you even tighter and places a kiss on the top of your head, “I do not wish to lose you once this is all over.”

“I… I’m sure I can convince my parents somehow. My mother could easily be swayed, but my father-”

“I’ll deal with him.” Robb interrupts you, “I’ll talk to my mother about it. There’s no way I cannot lose you to that man.”

Robb then moves to cup your face, swiping his thumb over his cheek, “Let’s not leave for a little longer.” He pulls you into another kiss, adjusting you comfortably on his lap.

You shudder and shiver, feeling his cock enter once more, “Don’t let me go.” You say to him, your hands hold grab his shoulders, keeping yourself up.

Once he was sheathed inside of you, Robb finally answers, “There’s no way I’ll let you go. Even if they try to pry my dead body off you, I’ll never let you go.”

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

[jellyfishsthings]

WARNINGS: reader is a Velaryon with some Targaryen features but not an OC, this is just some story building there will be other parts. I just finished the books and I am obsessed with GOT wither way I was bored and this is the result so beware ... I think that's it. Also Theon is a pookie in this fic because I said so

PAIRING: fem!reader x Robb Stark (romantically), fem!reader x Jon Snow (platonically), fem!reader x Theon Greyjoy (platonically)

part 2 , part 3

The cold wind still raged on, hitting the walls of Winterfell. Her room was one on the lower floors next to Jon's and Theon's rooms. The sunrays gently fell on her sleeping figure dragging her from her deep slumber. The fireplace was filled with ashes and the chill in her bones was reasonable. It might still be summer on the North, yet the occasional snow always drifted down from the dark grey clouds. A discreet knock pulled her out of her thoughts and Theon's irritated voice filled the room.

"If you are not in the courtyard in two minutes, I am ratting you out"

Like clock work the same words sounded the moment dawn greeted the North. It was a small routine they had formed two namedays ago. She covered herself in Robb's old furs, the ones he secretly gave to her and claimed he lost them. They had kept her warm for over six moon cycles, they had holes in several places and the edges were coming apart but it was her most prized possession. At first it smelled at him and she was always trying to bask in his scent, that was until Theon caught her smelling the neckline while wearing it and she wouldn't hear the end of it until she openly caught him staring longingly at Sansa.

Unfortunately, they were both in the same position, they wanted people they could never have, and only each other knew. They would drink together glasses of wine and they would stumble giggling around the castle. One time he had drunk so much that he composed atrocious poetry about the beauty of his lady Sansa and her copper hair and then about the Northern prince that fell in love with a girl that had mud brown hair adorned with streaks of silver grey and deep violet eyes that appeared dark blue in the right light. She knew that her appearance betrayed her ancestry the Targaryen blood that flowed in her Velaryon veins.

Her family had been brutally murdered, she had heard and read the tales of how her mother gave her life to protect her dark-haired girl and the bloody necklace that hugged her fathers throat. At the tender age of seven moon cycles her whole family had perished and she had been the only survivor. Ned Stark had found her in a bundle of fabrics crying her heart out and once he saw the sword that could have taken her head, he swore to protect her and take her in as his ward. She should have been grateful, she knew as much, he had given her everything, a warm house, plenty food, clothes and a loving family one she wasn't actually a part of and maybe that was the reason she was closer with Theon and Jon, the outsiders. It wasn't like she didn't like the Starks, she loved them to bits and yet she could never be one of them. She would be the squire under their Maesters care with her nose hidden in ancient books and scrolls, lost in maps and various languages and basic training as a healer. But her new passion was sword fighting. As a woman she had only been allowed to practice archery that she was quite good at and always betted with the boys around their performance.

And that was how Theon found himself at incredibly early hours with a wooden sword in his hand, frowning at drawings of fighting styles freezing his "balls" off. She had bested him at the fine art of combat at practically her fifth lesson in a few hits. She had a strategic mind and she was quick on her feet, the most perfect and most deadly combination that existed.

He pitted the man that would take her as his wife, because most men were incredibly controlling but there was no chance, she wouldn't get things her way. He was proof enough.

She had the three of them wrapped around her little finger from all those years back. She had grown up with them from when she was a babe, but at her seventh nameday her and the Maester left, since she was his squire, she had to follow him, he had taken her under his wing, she had practically been his daughter, the one he never had. At that day and several later they had cried so much that even Lady Stark was regretting her decision, she liked the girl enough, she had the tendency to wreak havoc and get lost in her books a bit too much, neglecting her chores and her lessons at needlepoint half the time, but she made her kids happy and she was too smart and witty for her own good that it was impossible not to have a sweet spot for the orphaned girl. She had been overjoyed when she learned about her return nine namedays afterwards. Her son, her calm and collected Robb was shuffling at his feet, nudging rocks around and toying with the hem of his cloak, the bastard and the Greyjoy ward were portraying similar behaviors and she had to control herself not to laugh at their antics.

Ned had pushed his son forth, claiming that it was around time he greeted their guests, he shot him a glare and his parented watched him as he wiped down his palms at his breeches and headed towards the carriage, his hand shook as he lightly grazed the handle and pulled the door open while staring into place, not ready to accept that his best friend might have changed. He was frozen in his place as a girl wearing a dark blue dress and heeled leather boots stood before him. She tilted her head to the right and only then did he notice her hair.

A knot at the back of her head that was a swirl of chocolate brown and silver white strands that framed her face beautifully. Her violet eyes hid a familiar mischief that he had dearly missed. She nodded at him, before facing his father and dropping into an elegant curtesy. It was as if he was on a trance, unable to tear his eyes from her form. It wasn't until he heard her voice, she was speaking in a language he didn't understand, yet he could recognize the bite on her tone. His father wore an amused smile as he answered her back. He would learn at the evening feast what had caused such reactions, the news almost swept him from his feet, his whole existence reduced to one word. Betrothed. Ever since then it was like they were walking on eggshells around her. All three of them longed for their missing link.

It wasn't until a few days latter when they invited her on a hunt that they could glimpse on what they were. They had found a boar and his in bushes only to lose their horses in the process. They had been walking for hours and all it took was an ill-fated joke from Jon.

"No. I do not love you. Of course I lied to you. Yes, it does make you look fat. No, I have never been in the Riverlands. It is pronounced Eyrie. And all of this pales to utter insignificance if we are to let ourselves be food for the hounds."

They had all been tired and snappy, making comments left and right and picking fun at her the way they used to. They had been waiting quite impatiently for her to snap back and the moment she did, loud laughter echoed in the woods. And just like that everything was back to the way it used to be.

Ever since then life seemed dreamy to Robb, he had his friends and his family all getting along and everything seemed perfect. But reality hit him hard each night knowing that the girl he fostered feelings for was promised to another.

[thealtoduck]

Forbidden Fruit

Theon Greyjoy x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut, Theon in his asshole era, anal sex, loss of virginity, doggy style, use of the word ”whore”, Theon referring to your ass as a ”cunt”, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding, spit as lube, everyone kinda wants to fuck you too…

Summary: Theon has his eyes set on you and wants to be your first…

——

The sounds swords clanging against each other rang out over the courtyard of Winterfell as Theon Greyjoy and Robb Stark practised their swordfighting. Both of them in full focus on the task of beating the others.

Theon was just about to land a winning strike when someone behind Robb distracted him, stealing his focus. A beautiful young man, Y/n Poole, the son of the steward of Winterfell. Theon was distracted just long enough for Robb to be able to knock him to the ground.

”Come on Theon, keep your eyes on your opponent” Robb said annoyed and turned to see what Theon had been looking at, his eyes landing on you. ”Y/n, the steward’s son?” Robb questioned his friend. ”I’ve heard one of the chefs claim he took his virginity but he was drunk so i think he might have lied” Robb gossiped as he continued looking at you.

”I wouldn’t mind fucking him myself” he then said to the annoyance of Theon. ”Oh please, is the little lord Robb Stark gonna fuck the steward’s son?” Theon mocked him. ”He needs someone to take his boy cunt like the little whore he is” Theon said looking hungrily towards you as you were talking to a couple of castle guards.

”And that’s going to be you?” Robb questioned sarcastically. But Theon wasn’t listening he was already planning.

——

That night during dinner…

Theon watched you as you sat next to Jon, chatting cheerfully. Theon needed to catch you alone. Luckily for him he’d get his shot soon… You were also sat next to Sansa Stark which put you in the crossfire between her and her sister Arya’s never ending war.

Arya loaded her spoon with a piece of meat pie and launched it towards Sansa… but she missed hitting your chest, dirtying your light grey tunic. ”Arya! Look what you did?!” Sansa scolded her younger sister. ”I’m so sorry about her” Sansa apologised frantically as she tried to wipe of your shirt with a cloth napkin.

”Don’t worry about it Lady Sansa, i’ll just go change” you said calmly, standing up from the table and walking off. Theon saw this was his chance to finally meet you alone.

He soon managed to sneak away from the the dining hall. He stopped by the kitchens and snagged two goblets and a pitcher of wine, then he made his way through Winterfell castle towards the small part occupied by Steward of Winterfell and his family.

He knocked on the door he knew belonged to you. ”One moment” came your voice from the inside. Then the door opened revealing you in a nightshirt and underwear, you quickly wrapped yourself in a thin blue robe to cover up more for you’re unexpected visitor.

”Theon” you said happily at sight of him. ”Sorry, i’m not more properly dressed i was just about to go to bed” you said tying your robe. ”Oh no worries” he said with a flirty smile, you were gonna be even less dressed once he was done with you.

”How can i help you?” you asked. ”Oh, i just wondered if you’d like to have quick drink with me” he said holding up the pitcher and the two goblets he brought. You looked unsure. ”If your not too tired of course” he quickly added.

”Of course, a drink wouldn’t hurt” you said and held open the door for him, letting him in to your bed chamber. Theon observed the room, it was smaller than his own. It had a small square window with a nice view. A little fire place where a fire was burning, heating up the cold castle room.

A square table with a set of two chairs and a clothing chest right next to it. And finally the bed, which was draped in soft blankets. Above it hung a banner for your House, House Poole. The room was textbook definition of what Theon would describe as cozy.

You sat down in one of the chairs by the table, as Theon put the goblets on the table, pouring wine in each and then putting the pitcher down. He sat down in the other chair, you both grabbed your goblets. ”Cheers” Theon said and you clinked your goblets together and drank.

The two of you talked for a while. Theon decided to start testing the waters. He moved his leg slightly making it rest against yours, your eyes drifted to his leg for half a second before you looked back to him but you didn’t move away.

Time passed as you told Theon a story, once you finished it became quiet through the chamber. ”You’re really pretty you know” Theon stated boldly filling the silence in the room. Before you had time to respond Theon started talking ”Some of the staff has been talking about it, how they want to fuck you. Even the lordling Robb Stark said so”.

”And i understand them, you are very pretty” he continued. You looked rather unsure what to answer. ”Tell me Y/n, have you ever been fucked before?” Theon asked shamelessly, leaning closer to you. ”I… no, i have not” you told him, trying to stay casual.

”Would you like to be?” Theon then asked immodestly, leaving you slightly stunned. ”By-…By you?” you asked, Theon gave you a smirk as comformation. ”I-I wouldn’t know what to do” you said shyly. Theon played with the strings of your night shirt and said ”Don’t worry, i’ll show you”.

He then pulled you in to a kiss, his lips pushing hungrily against yours. Theon pulled you both up from your seats leading you to the middle of the room as you made out. Theon pulled of your robe, then his own jacket and he continued until you were both left naked in front of each other.

Your dick had gotten erected from Theon’s sudden interest in you and it made Theon’s own manhood swell with pride. He took your wrist in his hand and guided your hand over his slightly fuzzy chest down to his erect manhood. It was the first time you had ever touched another man in such a manner.

He made you enclose your fingers around his hardend cock and tug at it a little, rubbing him off slowly. ”Feel what you do to me Y/n” he uttered.

He led you backwards towards your beds and your naked bodies climbed up on it. Theon laid you down on the bed and the two of you passionately made out. Theon moved his hands to you ass and let his fingers graze against your hole.

You were unfamiliar with his action as you had never experienced it before but let Theon continue. He slowly started pushing his finger inside you, making you audibly gasp against his lips at the feeling of being streched out. ”That’s right relax” Theon instructed.

Once he added next finger he did it more hastily, making you yelp quietly. Theon let out a small chuckle ”Such a warm nice cunt for me to fuck” Theon said before shoving in a third finger.

Theon then stood up on his knees, he grabbed you and positioned you on all fours, ass spread out in front of him. He spit in to his own hand rubbing it on his manhood. ”I’m gonna take you like a real lord would” Theon said which you wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a warning.

Theon didn’t waste any time and started pushing his rockhard cock inside your virgin hole, making you groan, feeling yourself be filled. ”Fuck your tight around my cock” Theon said pleasureably sheathing himself fully inside you.

Before you had time to adjust he snapped his hips forwards thrusting into you making you release a small cry. ”Was this what he had meant? Was this how lords fucked their wives?” you thought to yourself.

Theon grabbed your hips and started setting a pace a his hips thrust against your ass. His raw cock forcing your walls to stretch, you released several whines as Theon roughly plowed in to you. ”Fuck Theon, you’re so big” you said through your pained but pleasured moans.

Theon grabbed your head as he pounded your ass saying ”What would your steward father say? Seeing his son deflowered by Eddard’s Stark ward like some common whore”. As he thrusted as hard in to you as his body would let him.

”Maybe i should go get him after this and make him come look at his son’s cum stained body” Theon said cockily. You however couldn’t answer him as you had your face pressed against the matress moaning endlessly from the ecstasy of Theon’s cock fucking you.

”Maybe i should start coming by every night and make good use of your cunt and fill you with my seed” he suggested, his thrusts rocking your bed back and forth. ”Shame you can’t have my bastards” he added.

From the endless groans to the creaking bed, you hoped no one could hear you getting your virginity fucked out of you by Theon. You felt your own cock twitching getting close to your orgasm. ”I’m gonna cum” you moaned. And soon after your load dripped down on the sheets below.

Theon kept plowing in to you for several minutes, claiming your ass as his. Sweat glazed his and your body as the room had gotten hot and damp. He grunted and uttered a satisfied ”I’m gonna fill you with my cum”.

With one last rough thrust Theon shoved his manhood deep inside you, his cock erupting staining your innocene with his warm seed. He then pulled out of you with a smirk, seeing his cum leak out of puckered hole and running down your legs. You collapsed on to the matress below in exhaustion.

Theon was just about to get ready to leave but he couldn’t leave you like this. He covered your nakedness under the covers and blankets. He then started getting dressed and before he left planted a kiss on your forehead saying ”You were so good to me, Y/n, better than any common whore, you were divine”. He then gave you a last kiss before he left your bed chambers with a smirk and a feeling of satisfaction, and maybe even a little bit of love.

[ramsayxme]

Chapter One / Chapter Two / AO3 Link

Authors Note: TW- forced sex, forced oral sex, slight violence, Ramsay things, abandonment, etc etc.

Chapter Three: Your Reward

You finished your bath alone. A servant came in to add wood to the fire, allowing you to have promised warmth for the night. The water grew cold as you soaked, hoping and praying to the Gods that the water would cleanse you of his touch. When the water was finally as cold as the air, you pulled yourself out and slumped in front of the fire, pulling your knees to your chest. You hadn't been given another nightgown. You wrapped a pelt around your shivering and damp body as you allowed yourself to air dry in front of the fire.

Once you dried, you padded naked to the door. You knocked aggressively. "Can I get some clothes?" You yelled. A man was on the other side, keeping watch of your door, and he hollered back to you in a gruff voice. "Lord Ramsay has not delivered any clothes for his prisoner." You huffed, slightly annoyed. You walked over to your bed and laid down, covering yourself with the blankets. It was nearly impossible to tell what time of day it was here, your tiny window only ever showed overcast snowy skies.

You closed your eyes, exhausted from the last 48 hours, and wanted to attempt to get some sleep while Ramsay was likely on a hunt or doing whatever it was that evil Lord's did during the day. You closed your eyes, and drifted to sleep.

******************************

You stirred, waking up. Your room was nearly pitch dark, the fire completely dead. The only light you could focus on was the lit candles on your small table. You jumped, realizing that Ramsay was sitting at the chair next to your table, staring at you as you woke up. He had a wine cup in front of him, no doubt full to the brim. He had no expression on his face as he stared at you. You closed your eyes again, hoping that he wasn't really there and you were imagining things.

"I brought you the clothes you asked for." Ramsay's voice echoed in your room, breaking the silence. You groaned, your body was aching. You opened your eyes to look at Ramsay. "Thank you...M'lord." You whispered as you sat up in bed, making sure the blankets stayed over your naked skin. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" He asked you. You gingerly rubbed your face, softly allowing your brain to turn on again. "No, Rams- My Lord. I don't know." He chuckled. "You slept all day and all night. You poor, tired thing." He suddenly stood up, the chair scooting loudly.

You believed him. You had been so exhausted, you could imagine yourself sleeping that long. "I'm sorry, My Lord, I was very tired." You watched him intently as he walked over to your bed, sitting on the foot of it. "It's quite alright. I forgive you." He smiled, his eyes strangely calm. You didn't understand his dynamic, one minute he was angry at you and the next, loving and soft. He leaned forward towards you, and whispered, "I missed you yesterday. I came by last night but I saw how deeply you were sleeping. I didn't want to..." his eyes rolled around their sockets, searching for the right words. "...disturb you."

You forced a gentle smile. "Well, thank you for that. I needed the rest. That was... very kind of you." Ramsay chuckled, placing his hand on top of your leg over the blankets. "Kindness is what I am known for, My Lady." You weren't sure what to do, so you just softly smiled at him. He stood up and walked to the window, staring outside. "You deserve a reward, you see." He began.

"Last night after I visited and then left, the servant who was in charge of locking the door seemed to have forgotten his duties. Your door went unlocked all night long as you slept!" He exclaimed. Your heart sank. You could've escaped. You mentally scolded yourself for not being more vigilant. "But! Don't you worry, I took care of him. He won't be guarding your door any longer... come and see!" He beckoned you with his hand. You slid off the bed, dragging the blankets on the floor behind you, still covering your body.

You reached the window and Ramsay draped his arm over your shoulders, pressing his cheek against yours. "Look, there." He pointed outside. Your eyes followed the imaginary line until you saw it. Hanging on a wooden platform, there was the bloody and fully exposed muscular system of what was once a man. You gasped and looked away, burying your face into Ramsay's shoulder. He chuckled. "Aww, you are so innocent. That was the man that failed to lock the door, you see? I could've done that to you when you tried to run away. But, I showed you mercy." He cooed into your ear, his free hand playing with your hair.

"Are you ready for your reward?" He asked, using his index finger to tilt your chin up to look at him. "Are you going to flay me?" You asked, lower lip trembling. Ramsay smiled empathetically and cradled your face with his hand. "No of course not. Your reward isn't being flayed, silly girl. Your reward is pleasure." You stiffened, unsure of what he was alluding to. "Go, lay on the bed." He pointed towards your bed. You reluctantly made your way and laid down, burrowing under the covers. Ramsay began unlacing his shirt as he approached you. You prepared yourself to be used once again by him, and a knot formed in your stomach.

You closed your eyes, listening to Ramsay's leather fall to the floor along with his trousers and the clatter of his knives. You felt the weight on the bed as he climbed on top of you. You opened your eyes, expecting his face to be in front of you, but it wasn't. You saw him lifting the covers at the foot of the bed, and crawling head first in. "Let me please you." You heard him say under the blankets. Your body stiffened as you felt his shoulders between your ankles, and then up to your thighs.

He pushed your knees up, resting your thighs on his shoulders. You clamped your legs together, but Ramsay softly spread them. You felt your stomach churn, but this time, it wasn't with anxiety. You felt your core warm up as he began kissing your inner thighs softly, gently sucking as his lips grazed your skin. You held your breath as his hands traveled up, squeezing your breast softly, rubbing his thumb over your nipples. You whined, your body at war with itself. Ramsay was coaxing you gently with kisses, begging you to relax as he kissed as high as he could on your thighs.

You exhaled a moan as his lips met your wet cunt, kissing and sucking gently. He hummed with delight as he felt you were already wet for him. He gripped your thighs with his hands as he pulled your legs apart, allowing him full access to your most sensitive area. "Ramsay I-" You tried to say, but were cut off by your own gasping as he swirled his tongue around your clit. He was very good at this, which was making your body go into a pleasure induced swim even if you didn't want it to.

He continued to kiss your folds, his tongue snaking inside you as his nose pressed against you perfectly. You allowed your eyes to close as you sank deeper into his trance. You reached under the blankets and started swirling your fingers in his curls, gently gripping at his hair. He groaned as you did so, causing vibrations to gently tickle you as he licked. Your grip on his hair tightened as he licked faster and more passionately. "Doesn't that feel good?" He groaned, his lips grazing your clit. You moaned in response because unfortunately, it did.

You had never been eaten out before, but Ramsay definitely knew what he was doing. Your body was shivering under his touch, a flick of the tongue was enough to send a rolling wave of lust over you. You wanted him badly. You tugged at his hair and lifted the covers. "Ramsay, I want-" He reached up and covered your mouth with his hand. You whined into his hand as he silenced you, his other hand made its way down to your core.

"I know what you want." He whispered while pushing two of his fingers deep inside you. You lifted your hips, begging for more. He slowly slid his fingers in and out of you, the slow pace driving you crazy. Your hips began grinding on his fingers as he kept kissing your clit. You felt yourself climbing towards orgasm, and Ramsay could tell. He read it on your face. He pulled himself up, and his fingers slid out of you completely. Ramsay lie down next to you on the bed and he put one of his toned arms behind his head.

He grinned at you, his face slick with your arousal as he grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked you down to his waist. You immediately took his hard cock in your mouth. "That's right, good girl." He groaned as you began allowing his cock to fill your throat. You bobbed your head slowly up and down on his length, you couldn't quite fit all of it in your throat without gagging. Ramsay seemed to enjoy the gagging, though. You felt his hands on the back of your head as he applied pressure, pushing your face down on his cock.

You groaned, gagging on him. He exhaled loudly as you gagged around him, your throat contracting on his twitching cock. "Ahh, that feels so good..." His voice was raspy and low. You wanted him inside you. At this moment, you didn't care that he had flayed a man earlier today just for fun. You didn't care that he would probably hurt you within the next hour. You didn't care that he was Ramsay Bolton.

You pushed yourself up, Ramsay staring at you wide eyed. You quickly straddled him, his cock soaking wet with your spit. He chuckled as he saw the desperation in your eyes. "You want me badly, don't you?" He reached out, squeezing your hips. You nodded, whining as you rocked back and forth on his lap, his cock nudging at your entrance. "Take me then. After all, this is your reward."

Ramsay kept kneading at your hips and thighs as you guided his cock inside you. Your body was sent into a euphoric state as he filled you, moaning loudly as your walls stretched to accommodate him. Ramsay was watching you intently as you filled with pleasure, his eyes wide and tracking your face as you slid up and down. Sweat began forming on his forehead and on you as well. Your legs were already so sore from everything you had been through and he noticed you struggling to keep a decent pace.

Ramsay smiled, flipping you over so he was on top. "I'll take care of you, you just enjoy your reward..." he began thrusting into you. Your eyes rolled back as you allowed him to fuck you at his own pace. You didn't realize how badly you wanted him until now. You dug your fingernails into his back as he thrusted, groaning while you dug them in deep. You felt the warmth of your orgasm approaching as he continued to keep the pace. You started to tip over the edge, spilling over and flooding with pleasure. Ramsay didn't slow as he fucked you through your orgasm.

You were panting, aching, and trembling as Ramsay pulled out of you and threw you to the floor by your hair. You slammed onto the ground hard and looked up at him, your body and mind spinning from being so full of pleasure to suddenly thrown on the floor. Ramsay stepped forward, his cock dripping from being inside you. He grabbed your hair and lifted you to your knees, forcing his cock into your mouth. You didn't have the strength or energy to fight back as he fucked your face.

You barely had caught your breath before his cock was in your throat and you were gagging on him again. He groaned words to you, but you were in such a haze that you didn't understand them. He let go of your hair and you fell to the floor, leaving his cock unattended. He growled angrily as he lifted you up and threw you on the bed face first. He slammed his hand down, smacking your ass cheek so hard you let out a shriek. "I said bend over!" He barked. You must've not heard him the first time, as you positioned yourself on the edge of the bed.

His hands grabbed your hips and he fucked you from behind, slamming your thighs into the side of the mattress. He kept smacking your ass, leaving you whining like a pathetic whore. You could tell Ramsay was close to finishing as he got more erratic with his thrusts. He flipped you over to your back, and he straddled your stomach. One of his hands immediately went around your throat while his other hand began stroking his cock which was twitching and ready to release.

He began choking you as he jerked himself off, he was completely sweaty and his face was very serious. You couldn't help but swoon at the sight in front of you. You almost felt lucky to see him like this. Suddenly, the hand choking you pulled back and landed swiftly across your cheek, sending a ringing through your ears. He smacked you across the face. You cried out and Ramsay came, his warm cum hitting you in the face where he slapped you and sliding down to pool in your neck. He held a fist full of your hair from the top of your head as he finished cumming.

His breathing was heavy as he stood up, leaving you on the bed covered in his seed. He smiled at you as he threw you a cloth off the floor. "Keep doing good things and I will reward you more often." He grinned as he pulled his clothes back on. You laid there, wiping his cum from your face and neck. "You do look lovely like this..." He chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Now, be a good girl and clean up this room. I'll be back for you tomorrow." Ramsay swiftly left the room without another word.

You finished wiping yourself off and sat in silence, allowing your body and mind to process what just happened. On one hand, you were humiliated and hated him for using 'your reward' as a chance to just get what he wanted... but on the other hand, you were pleased to be the lady who he used for his pleasure. You were confused and ashamed as you splashed the cold water from your last bath on your face, washing yourself up. You argued with yourself as part of you wished he would come back for more.

Chapter Four

[perkqularkreashions]

UNCONDITIONAL | SANDOR X READER

Part 2: Take the Black

Sandor X Reader

Mature Content Warning

Requested: YES

Requested: OPEN

WARNINGS: Please check your triggers; SMUT!!! (Always use protection) Mentions of Miscarriages, Homemade Abortions, and Slight mentions of depression. Word Count: 7k plus Slight Proofread :(

You gasped, taking his head in your hands. Pushing him further into your pussy, your hips slowly grinding against his flattened tongue and the bridge of his nose, which flicked against your aching clit. You mouthed oh’ed as you felt the euphoria blissfully wash over you, your heads, grabbing at the grass, digging your nails into the dirt as you quickly closed your legs. Pushing him away from you, you pleaded with him to stop as you felt overstimulated from his still kissing and softly licking at your clit. You moaned out in desperation, “Theon, please stop.” with weakened strength, you pushed him off you, yanking your body closer to yourself, as you moved to your bottom. Your eyes washed over the glistening boy as a smirk played on his lips. 

“I can’t help myself,” he moans lowly, moving on all fours before crawling closer to you, his eyes taking you in from the disheveled state of your hair as it was muddled with leaves, twigs, and bits of grass. From your redding face, your cheeks warm and full of color, your eyes wide and sporadic. Your mouth opened slightly, as you tried to suck in as much air as possible. His finger crawled on top of your hands, waiting to feel your warmth, and despite the crisp coldness of the air, you radiated furnacing warmth. Theon enjoyed these little moments with you, holding you in his arms, letting his hands run down your breast and throbbing pussy. Kissing you on your neck as you moaned out for him. He craved you, simply intoxicating. You spoke again, this time more certain of yourself, “Father will be looking for you soon; I know you have a ceremony to attend.” 

Finally, you started to notice how close Theon was and how the condensation of your breath mingled with the stillness of the cold air. You closed your eyes, sucking in the harsh atmosphere, and you felt his lips peck on yours. Something that he didn’t do often, you quickly cuffed his face, preventing him from turning away from you. Icy fingers caressed his skin for a moment; you dropped your gaze, removing your hand from his face. “Go,” you spoke in the stillness of the air, moving to feet and gathering your gloves. 

It didn’t take long to voyage back to the Winterfell, your eyes taking hold of Jon and Bran, his hair falling against his pale skin. Nervously, he petted at his pony, tugging on his lips as his eyes flickered to Jon, taking hold of every word that came tumbling out of his mouth, yet he still didn’t remember much of what was said. Jon's grey eyes finally captured hold of you as he waved you over, his smile rising on his lips. His dark hair, moving in the chilled wind, he was taller than he was before. Excitedly, you waved to him. He often enjoyed speaking with you; you were kinder than your twin brother, Robb, Theon, and Caitlyn, who put up with him out of respect for Ned. Robb barely talked to him. The conversation only culminated when needed; for Theon he wishes to avoid him at any cost. He thought everything was funny, and it always came off as insensitive and crude. The Stark girls offered him the kindness and a love he craved, but you were different. When thinking of family and thinking of love, he saw you.

Jon’s first core memory of you was when he was 11; you were skin and bones then. Your eyes were as dark as iron as you protectively stood before Jon. You bore no front teeth, yet your words were certain and robust. Caitlyn was scolding him for something trivial. She was harsh to Jon, her finger jamming into his shoulder before waving back in front of his face. It was the only time that you have seen Caitlyn interact with Jon when she was lashing out for punishments or projecting anger to Jon. You grabbed Jon’s hand, stomping past Caitlyn, offering him a toothless smile. “Don’t worry, Jon, I’ll always protect you!”

He drifted back to you, watching you make your way down to them. You smiled upon arrival, pressing your cheek against Bran; he cringed away, swatting at you with embarrassment and giggles. You returned to Jon, bringing him in for a tight hug, taking the smell of his natural aroma; he always smelled of pine and the outdoors. “Are you ready?” you asked in curiosity. You always wanted to go, but Ned forbade it, scolding you for wanting to partake in such boyish pastimes. His fingers danced to Sansa, explaining that you needed to mirror her likeness. Gentle and soft, like her mother. You glanced at Sansa with a faint smile, taking in her stern Tully features. The auburn color of her hair is lighter than our mother’s, paired with high-cheek bones and deep oceanic eyes. She was soft-smelling. You glanced back at your father, his hands cuffing your cheeks, mushing them together before chuckling. In sadness, he spoke, “You remind me so much of her.” 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Theon; you hadn’t realized you drifted off. You straighten your posture as he moves behind you. You never realized how lean and tall he was. 

“I best be going.” You finally uttered a soft farewell to Bran, taking hold of him once more before passing one to Jon. You could see Theon’s gaze on you; you passed a glance over your shoulder, seeing the dark expression on his face. Quickly, you turn around, returning to your attention ahead of you. 

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed; you heard their voices first—muddled with each other, arguing over silly names. Bran's voice you heard first, dismissing the statements as he entered the kitchen. Sansa, Arya, and yourself had turned to meet them, eyes wide with wonder and exhilaration, watching Robb, Bran, Jon, and Theon bring pups into the kitchen. Your eyes snapped to the albino pup, nuzzled in Jon’s arms. With a smile, you gently ran your fingers through his ghostly white fur, his wet nose sniffing at your fingers as he yelped out a yawn. 

“Where on earth did you find these Direwolfs? They do not travel this far up North,” You finally announced. Theon moved to you, a singular wolf in his arms, the color of a flaxen silver color, almost white blonde color. You gently ran your fingers through his dirty fur; you plunked out the crumbled soil, blood, and leaves. Slowly, your eyes moved to Theon, whose fingers had danced along yours, aiding you in removing the dirt and leaves. Jon hummed in dismay as Theon gawked over you, his teeth gritted in irritation. The color on your cheeks rose as you mumbled soft phrases to the pup in his arms. Unamused, he finally turned his full attention to the pair. He watched Theon brush his hand against yours, mumbling something that briefly caused you to look away. Jon’s eyes flickered to Robb, who seemed to have an unamused expression laced on his face. They knew Theon’s admiration for you has grown, significantly since you have grown into womanhood. 

Intensely, he voiced, “You seem to have taken a liking to Direwolfs now, huh, Greyjoy.” Theon laughed loudly, and his chest shook as he threw his head back. His eyes fell on the bastard. Rolling his eyes, he watched him. Theon grew tired of Jon; he always felt that he wanted to  fuck want belonged to him. You weren’t really blood anyway; what was stopping him from fucking you. He always finds his way into sacred moments, checking in on you before bed. You always calmed him, explaining that he was your brother, born from the same blood. Theon would scoff, shifting away from you in your bed. His back was facing you as he decided it was time to depart, leaving you alone. 

Your eyes flickered between the two, along with everyone else. “Jon…” you hissed in frustration; his eyes glanced at you just briefly to catch the expression drawn on your face. Nothing else needed to be said; he could read everything about you; you were his best friend…his sister. The way your mouth twitched when you wanted him to shut up, your eyebrows would raise when you were confused or curious, and your eyes deadlocked on him when you grew angry with him. Jon mumbles an apology before turning his attention back to his albino pup. You couldn’t help but notice the similarities in your pups, their vermilion-brown eyes, and their fur color similarities. You huffed, taking hold of the trembling pup, the chilliness of his fur burning your skin as you cooed gently at the monster. 

“Jon’s right; Theon seems quite interested in many new things lately,” Robb spoke out, eyes still trained on his wolf. Your cheeks burned as you continued to pike through the debris riddled through your pup’s coat. 

***

In preparation for the King, your handmaidens tug at your hair. You grimaced, swatting them away, cursing them for their roughness and prudence. They were appointed by your mother, Caitlynn, whom you were not so fond of at the moment; in a slight urge of deviance, you snatched your head away from them. Your eyes burn into her, your lips tight as you hissed them out. Hesitant, the older crow had stepped in front, her eyes pale brown, her skin riddled with wrinkles and crevices. She opened her mouth and tried to find the right words to say, but much to her expectation, she did not. “Lady-”

“You are dismissed! Bring in the lanky girl; I love her hair! She has a head full of dark curls, maiden of Sansa; she’s gentle and easier to withstand on the eyes!” Your voice was strong, commanding the room just as your father’s. You stood tall, watching the woman cower in obedience, and with a nod, they rushed out. You wiggled out the attire, a dull and lifeless color your mother had decided was appropriate for the King. You knew she wasn’t too fond of him nor the Lannisters. Hundreds would soon gather in Winterfell and make it their home, muddling our paths and haven with their people. The door's opening captures your attention; the girl slowly walks in, her eyes filled with fear as she watches your nude form shyly. 

She bows, longer than needed. “M’lady,” her drawl was different from the rest; she didn’t speak properly, nor did she try. She was burdened with discoloration and freckles, her arms extended and irregular at her side. Her teeth were askew and stained a yellowish color. Yet, there was something pure about her; she screamed, her body jolting to the door, as Luan slowly shifted to her, his nose hung low and his eyes stalking her. Your eyes shifted to the Direwolf, who lurked in the shadows. “Luan,” you hissed out. You turned my attention to her, slightly laughing as you waved my hand towards Luan. 

“He’s harmless, tries to act Ghost, and slightly like Greywind.” You laughed, moving to the girl as you grabbed her hand; she stumbled behind you, and a soft smile played on her lips. You plopped down, hair flying about as you looked up at her. You began to speak, slow and calculated, “Please, may you do my hair. The wolf is no harm to you.” the maiden’s eyes widened at your request, her cheeks dusting slightly pink. 

The maiden picked at her hair; insecurities flushed through her stomach as she tugged on the deep skin of her bottom lip. She was never complimented before by boys in her village and certainly not by the men or women in Winterfell. Her mother always complained of boyish looks, the irregularity of her nose and the harshness of her skin, the scabs, sunburn, and the bug bites that did not go away. Her hair was always hanging on her shoulders and in wild curls, which she tamed with a mixture her grandmother taught her. Her eyes returned to the Eldest Stark girl; she nodded excitedly. 

A small, drawn on your face, “Then it is settled, you shall be my new lady in wait! I grow tired of the old hags my mother tries to force on me.” Your voice boomed as you stood up, your hands clasping her shoulders, tugging at her. Her cheeks burned as she watched the pup and the surroundings of her chambers, hands glued to her side as you were still nude. Time had slowly passed, her hand taking each strand and coating it with a strange concoction she brought into the room; it smelled sweet, and a soft aroma of honeydew filled the air. Staring at your reflection in the copper mirror, you finally felt beautiful; your hair framed the fullness of your face, contrasting against your grey eyes. You often were referred to as Jon’s twin despite being Robb’s; Caitlyn curses quietly to herself as she watches you and the bastard play. She would believe you were Jon's sibling if she hadn’t birthed and watched you milk her teat. Your grey eyes, which people often confuse with a dark obsidian, were that of Father’s and Jon’s. Your dark hairs framed your faces. Jon’s face was strong like Ned’s, while your look was subtle and kind. Yet, as she watched you two grow together, she saw no trace of Tully in you. 

You arrived slightly late to the arrival of the King and Queen; you squeezed beside Robb and Sansa, out of breath and irritated from the festivities already. Robb stood tall next to Father and still mirrored Mother, his crystal blue eyes washing over the gathering visitors before landing on you; he was stocky. His hair was a soft auburn color, much like his mother’s. He smirked momentarily, his body leaning closer as he pushed his words against the winter’s air, “Mother is going to have your head.” Your eyes flickered to the visitors flooding through the gate’s castle, drawing us in their sparkling gold, illuminating silvers, and polished steel. Their banners and knight galloped on their steads, heads held high as they looked down on us.  

Ser Jamie was the first to stand out, his blonde locks falling against his shoulder, bouncing occasionally. Father would often refer to it as “beaten gold.” Despite being on his stead, you could see that he towered over everyone, his cat-green eyes scanning through the ground, laying hold on Winterfell in disdain. Shifting through the knights, your eyes fell on a huskily built man, his nose long and hooked. His long, ravenous hair covered his scar that took hold of half of his face, his flesh black and pocketed with craters colored a deep red. You noticed that much of his face was gone; he had a stump for where his ear was meant to be and a protrusion of his jawbone. You saw the scars running down to his throat. 

“Ah, Ned, seeing your frozen face again is great!” Robert proclaimed, his voice beating through the silence, echoing from the walls and settling in the nothingness. He grabbed him by the face, laughing intensely as he looked at Caitlyn, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Robert stopped when approaching you, his face sunken as he glanced at you; you examined him, taking in the redness of his face and nose and the darkness under his eyes. You recalled the tales your Father told you in your youth, the ones of a handsomely Robert Baratheon, “a handmaiden’s fantasy”; you would giggle feverishly at the thought. Now, beholding him, his thick black hair falling against his burly shoulders, you now see that it was all just a fantasy. If you were to ever ponder deeply on what a King would look like, Robert Baratheon fit the criteria. 

Robert's heart burned in his chest, and his fingers danced with anxiety as he closed his hands. He reframed from reaching out to you, grasping your hair and chin, and wanting to kiss your lips gently– wanting you. He hadn’t seen you in ages, and you were but a child when he did. Lanky with a boyish smile much like Ned, and now you were wildly beautiful, much like Lyanna in her youth. The fullness of your lips, the cheekiness in your smile. He fondly grabbed your hand, nodding gently as he pressed a subtle kiss against the clothed glove. He spoke with a gentleness Ned hadn’t heard in years, “You remind me so much of her, Lyanna; you’re growing to be such a beautiful young lady.” Once completing his introduction to all the Stark children, Robert inquired about her grave sight, eyes flickering to Ned, wasting no more time on other formalities. His heart yearned for her touch and yearned for her kiss. He needed to see her, and Ned admired that of his old friend. 

***

You found yourself isolated with Luan, and his head nuzzled against your leg, your eyes watching the river flow and the grass dance in the chilled wind that kissed over Winterfell. Night soon fell upon Winterfell, and your mother would soon search for you. To scold you for arriving late to the arrival of the King and Queen and for having my hair in such a wildling state. You wanted her to cool down as much as possible, praying to the old Gods and the new that she would only give you a chastising look. Without moving your head, your eyes cut to the left as you heard the soft rustle of the overgrowth and crunch of leaves. Luan’s ears perked, his eyes shifting about. You thought it’d be Theon, and he always finds you no matter where you hid. He stalked you, slowly walking behind you, towering over you. But the footsteps were heavier; the sound of steel filled your ears. Finally, you found your voice, lowly you said, “Whose there?”

His voice was firm as he spoke, “You should be out here alone, M’lady.” You didn’t turn to face him right away; your heart slammed against your chest as you tried to recognize the voice. You looked over your shoulder and saw the scarred soldier, his face tight with irritation as he moved through the brush. You offered a meek smile, taking his appearance in more. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he began to speak, “It’s not safe,” was all he managed to voice out. 

You chuckled, returning your attention to the rushing water; the puddles formed as the fish rushed to the surface, causing ripples to spread until they touched land. You could feel him; his presence was looming and dark, and his eyes ran across your body, wondering how a petite girl could survive the harsh weather. Once again, you peeked at the unfamiliar knight, “Sit.” It sounded more like a question than a command. You waited for a moment, and he didn’t move from his spot. Sighing, you lay back against the icy grass, letting the sun slightly warm you. “My name is-”

“I know your name,” The knight roughly hisses; he watched you in curiosity, taking in the fullness of your lips, the way your hair fell wildly around the fur that covered your shoulders. Your laugh kisses the air; he never a simple sound could hold much beauty. 

“Well, Ser, you have me at a disadvantage,” he watched how your mouth moved when you spoke; he watched you lick your lips, your tongue quickly out to coat your bottom lip. He suddenly felt nervous, an odd trait; his fingers tingled as he clenched them against his side. He was self-conscious, and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, you would surely be in disgust, like every woman does, like the whores do, just like everyone does. 

“The Hound,” he finally pronounces; your eyes open slowly, body twisting to stand up, Luan following in her footsteps. You look at him with a softness he has yet to experience. Finally, a smile captures your lips, filling up your entire face. 

“Sandor Clegane, my father has taught me some things.” He watched you, not understanding your disposition; he was a monster and has always been treated as such. Now, this girl is treating him as if they are equals. “Come, why don’t you walk me back to Winterfell? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” You spoke through your boisterous laugh that shocked Sandor; it was solid and full of life. His mouth twitched into a smile as he followed behind you. You talk about simple things, nothing that holds any particular interest to Sandor. Still, he listens, soaking in your words, the way you speak so furiously when passionate about something, the pauses in your speech to ensure that he wasn’t growing tired of your rambles. Every time you looked back to catch his eyes, they were focused on you. All you did was smile in contentment, turning back to the path. Silence soon fell over you both; it was tense, yet it was calm; the only sound that could be heard was your footsteps crunching on the earth and the sound of his sword slightly clanging against his armor. 

“Tell me about yourself,” Sandor pauses, halting in his footsteps, noticing you stopped before him. Your head is slightly positioned up to look up at him. You noticed that he was extremely tall, possibly taller than Ser Jamie but definitely taller than Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark. 

His voice was harsh and raspy when he spoke, “Let’s get you back to Winterfell, Little Wolf.” You let out a laugh, pressing your hand against his armor to prevent him from moving forward. Sandor quickly grabbed your wrist; you winced at his aggressiveness, slightly tugging away from him. Sandor loosened his hold on you but still held your hand against his chest. He repeated his statement, his hand letting go of her wrist as you nodded slowly. You watched him before turning around and returning to your trek back to Winterfell. 

You arrived a few moments later, thanking him for his company. You bid him farewell before parting to your chambers. 

Caitlyn's voice oozed with frustration; she thudded through the halls, grabbing your upper arm. “Where were you? Are you okay?” her face churning into one of concern; you nodded gently, tugging your arm away from her. She swallowed thickly. You noticed her eyes were a deep red, her face drained of color. Something was wrong. You could see the anxiety moving through her, her hand's shakiness and her lips tremble. Luan whined at your side, brushing himself against your thigh. His whine increased as they churned into a soft growl. 

“Mom?” you managed, “What happened?” She turned away from you, shutting her eyes as their tears flew down her collarbone. She choked back a sob. 

“I told him to stop climbing, I told him-” 

“Mom! Is it Bran? What the hell happened!” You screamed; you pushed passed her, rushing through the handmaidens, screaming out your brother’s name. You stumbled upon Jon and Robb; you frantically searched their eyes. You heard the howls of his unnamed pup, Luan, stir with anxiety as he began to howl. Jon stalked towards you. You shook your head, punching at his arms as they reached for you. “He’s dead? Is he dead!” 

“No” was all Jon managed to let out, his eyes fluttering to Caitlyn as she watched him comfort you. She hated him. You hugged him, and you cried in his chest as your legs abruptly gave out. Robb rushed to your side, gently placing his hand on your back and whispering comforting words to you. “Let’s go see him,” your words were getting caught in your throat, burning as they tried rising to the surface. All you could do was nod at his command.

***

The crisp morning burned your lungs, and the unnamed Pup howled all night. You were irritated with him; you tried silencing him and even tried to pry him away from Bran, but he wouldn’t leave his side, rightfully so. Now, you walked through the Winterfell with Luan in search of quietness and stillness. You hissed in frustration as Luan rammed his head against your leg, his whines falling from him. He grew more irritable and anxious as the days passed. The constant whine of the unnamed pup sent him on edge. He sat, looking at you through his vermillion eyes. He huffed in disobedience before lying down in the middle of the street. “Luan,” you hissed, pushing at his body. He huffed once more, shutting his eyes and letting out soft yelps and whines. “Luan, get up!” 

Outside, Tyrion stood, letting the cold morning air fill his lungs as he descended the library's stairs. Sandor Clegane’s voice, raspy in nature, kissed his ears –he spoke, “The boy is taking a long time to die. I wish he would be quicker about it.”

“At least he dies quietly,” the prince replied. “It’s the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarce sleep last night.”

“I could silence the creature if it pleased you,” he spoke; his eyes shifted to you, and he instantly regretted his words. He watched you move to your knees, hands tugging him to his feet as he fell limp against you. His squire placed a longsword in his hand, and he sliced through the morning air, testing the weight of it. He returned it to the boy, shaking his head gently. His eyes fell back to you, hearing you beg the pup to get up. “Luan, please stop acting like a brat!” Luan, that was his name, an odd name for a Pup. Luan bared his teeth at you, growling loudly as he captured everyone’s attention; it was a deep guttural sound. As he followed you, you rose to your feet in anger, his head tilted low. Yet, you stood firm, watching the pup testing his dominance against you. 

“Luan!” you shouted. Sandor hated to admit the heaviness and authority in your voice sent chills down him, prickling at his skin; it was harsher than the frigid winds. Your voice reminded him of your father’s, stern and full of strength; it was so different from Sansa's and similar to Arya’s. Sandor watched you sigh, kneeling back down as you cuffed his cheeks. Joffrey flinched as his eyes turned to you; they all watched you in bewilderment. 

“Winterfell is so infested with wolves, and the Starks would never miss one… maybe two.” Joffrey snorted as his gaze fell to his Imp Uncle, who was hopping off the last steps in the yard.

“The Starks can count past six. Unlike some princes I might name,” Joffrey scoffed as blush dusted across his cheeks, and he became irritated with the drabble of his Uncle. His eyes flickered to his dog, who seemed infatuated with the Stark girl. You watched the expression change in the dog’s face. He admitted that the Stark held more beauty than the younger one. 

Joffrey let out a cackle, “Go speak to her!” his voice whined in a command; Sandor looked at him, face burning with frustration and embarrassment. “Go on, dog; maybe your presence might calm the mutt.” They watched as he approached you, nervously tapping his fingertips. You could feel his presence behind you, his long shadow casting over you and Luan. His presence was looming and heavy; you didn’t tear your graze away from Luan. 

“Sandor, what a pleasure,” you finally spoke; you turned to look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you moved to your feet. The rush of air sucked into his nose, and you smelt soft and warm. His head rolled toward Luan, his words failing him as he stood there aloof. “Everyone’s going through a rough time, even the Pups. Luan took it a bit harder. He enjoyed Bran's company. Probably more than Jon’s and Ghost.” You stop, looking away as the mention of his name sends a frenzy of emotions through you. 

“Everything will be alright, Little Wolf,” he huffed as he felt you wrap your arms around him. His freezing armor pierced your skin to the touch, numbing you as you dug deeper into his rigidness. His hands gripped at your shoulders in shock, unable to do anything but hold them there. His eyes moved to her overgrown Pup; he stalked around them, his head brushing against the back of his leg affectionately. Pulling away, he noticed the red mark forming on her, her eyes swelling with emotions, and her lip trembled. His gloved finger brushed against her face in slight desperation and wonder; quickly, she grabbed his wrist, pulling it closer to her face, and soon his hand was cuffing her cold skin. She nuzzled into his touch as a dog would, tears soaking her skin and his glove. 

Softly, you mumbled a thank you. Sandor was cold again, the air chilling around him as he watched you walk away with Luan. He forced the emotions down as he hissed to himself; he knew this was one of Joffrey’s games; a woman as delicate and beautiful as yourself would never want him. His teeth gritted as he turned back around, seeing that Joffrey held onto his cheeks and the tiny Lord scolded him. In a hurry, Joffrey rushed off, leaving Tyrion and himself for just a moment. 

You headed to your chambers, allowing Luan to lay by Bran’s side with his unnamed Pup; you thought the gesture was sweet. Moving into your chambers, you began to undress, asking one of the maidens preparing your bed to get Lilly for you. They nodded, bowing before scurrying to fetch your Lady. 

Confused, you slowly watched the tall figure move into your chambers. You began to recognize the presence of Sandor; he towered over every object that cluttered your chambers. You were expecting your handmaiden. Gasping, you pulled the robe tighter against your body as you watched him in surprise. “Sandor,” you breathlessly called out, “What are you doing in here?” 

He shook his head, “You’re tricking me!” his voice bellowed; in a hurry, you rushed to him, shushing him gently. You noticed his attire was different, a dull red-colored tunic with a hound emblem stitched to his right breast. You could smell the stale wine; it radiated off him. 

“I know not what you speak of; please keep your voice down. My mother and father would kill me if they saw a man in my chambers.” Your hand reached up their face, wanting to calm him. You gasped as you felt him yank at your arm. “Sandor, what is the matter?”

“Is this one of insipid Prince’s jokes? Or what, you mocking me girl?” his voice low as he brought his face closer to yours; you could feel the warmth of his skin, his breath flushed against his face. Hesitantly, you let your other hand move to his face; he flinched at your touch, never feeling a warmth like this. You parted lips softly, trying to find some words to say. Your thumb traced against his scarred face, feeling the grooves and imperfections. “Don’t,” his voice laced with desperation as he shut his eyes. Anger washed over him, as he continued to glare at you.

Your lips parted again, as you tried searching for the right words, but how could you even explain it? Explain your fast-growing feelings for him. “I–I” your voice shaking as Sandor brought his eyes to you. You gasped as you felt his lips clashing with yours, his hands wrapping around your lower back, tugging you closer to him and bringing you to the tips of your toes. You gasped as you felt, grabbing his hand, gripping your thighs, hoisting you up, letting your hands rest against your ass. You gasped, as he tugged at your bottom lip. You yelp as you feel yourself connect to the bed; he towers over you; lust fills his eyes as he tugs at your leg, pulling you closer to him. He climbs on top of you, his lips pressing against your neck and chest. You could see him fumbling with his trousers, as he pauses. 

“Can I?” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze momentarily. In awe, you nodded, fumbling to remove your sleeping garment. Hastily, he grabs your breasts, allowing them to fill up in his hands before letting them go. You sucked in a deep breath as he flipped over, placing you on his stomach. His hand reaches your hips, forcing you to push your ass out, revealing your wet and dripping cunt. Rubbing his hand on his aching cock, he shoves it inside you without warning. Your hand clutches your blankets as you grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you adjust to his size. He wiggled you slightly, letting your wetting spread through his cock. His hand grips your thighs as he begins to grind deeper inside you slowly, your body twisting in pleasure. You stifle a moan as you slap your hand against your lips. You struggled to breathe as he pounded himself inside you, the aggressive slaps filling the silence of the air. His free hand snakes around your waist, yanking you closer with each thrust into your tight pussy. Sandor groans in bliss, as he feels you clenching around his cock, the feeling of your hand clawing at his hands for some sort of release. 

Your whole body at his disposal, twitching from euphoria as he continued to pound his cock into your pussy. Your face contorts in pleasure, as his fingers move to your clit. You feel the heat building up to your face, gasping; you moan silently, stuffing your face in the pillows that decorated your bed. Pathetically, you moaned out his name, “Sandor,” a shudder traveled down his spine at the sound of his name being released from your lips. He finally opened his eyes, taking hold of the perfect ass bouncing against his cock and how you tried to contain yourself from being too loud. He never had a whore moan his name, nor did he like hearing it. But, it was something about the neediness in your voice, The way your hands tangled in his. He didn’t mind all too much; he didn’t mind your index finger and thumb tried wrapping itself around the palm of his hand. He didn’t mind the soft coos of his name falling from your lips. 

All mine, He thought.

Sandor snapped back from his thoughts as he felt a burning sensation rise in the pit of his stomach, his cock twitching as he felt himself becoming sloppy and desperate to cum. His breaths are heavy and shaky. His body twitches as he spills his seed into you, spewing against his cock and your pussy. He pulls you up, your back pressed against his chest as he continues to fuck you, his grunts filling your ear, as his hand travels to your nipple. Sandor didn’t want the bliss to end; he didn’t want to be outside you—outside this room. You lay your arms on him, feeling the heat radiating from his dewy skin. Your breast bounced harshly, slapping against each other as he mercilessly fucks you. Your pussy clenched against him, your head falling into the crock of his neck, as you moaned out his name once more. Desperately, trying to find more words. Your head moved to his face, gently stroking his cheek in admiration and passion. He shrugs you off, moving his head back to avoid your touch. 

He felt himself climaxing; he couldn’t contain his moans, as they fell through the room's silence. He filled you up, jutting as he thrusted weakly into you. You fell to the bed, your arms weak as you pushed yourself to watch Sandor. He was fixing himself, avoiding your gaze. In a daze, you called out his name. He continued to dress himself, his back facing you. Now confused, you moved off your bed, stumbling towards and touching his back. He left the room; the cold air breezed against your naked body as you stood in the middle of the floor. You open to mouth to call his name, but nothing comes of it. 

“M’lady!” Your handmaiden spoke, slamming the door as she wrapped you in your robe. “Everything alright?”

Still in a daze, you nod. The emotions were building in your throat as you choked them down. “You reek of sex, M’Lady… let’s clean you up before people notice!” Lilly whispers, her hand gently pressing against your back as she tugs you further into your chambers.

It has been months since you last felt his touch; you knew he was avoiding you. His eyes never met yours when you were trapped in some isolated corner in Winterfell. His voice was harsh when he spoke to you, and his eyes were dull and emotionless. You tried grabbing his hand, but he pulled it away, huffing in annoyance before moving around you. You couldn’t breathe, your eyes swelling with tears as you sucked in a slow breath. Theon noticed the sudden change in your behavior, how you curled away from his touch and avoided his kiss and sexual advances. 

You watched as Lilly packed your chest. “It’s gonna be lovely! You’ll certainly find a suitor in Kings Landing!” 

“I’m not searching for any suitors.” You responded shortly; she nodded, understanding that she might have upset you. Shaking your head, you mumbled out an apology. “I instead want to stay here with Bran, not travel with my father and sisters to watch my sister marry that little boy,” Lilly laughs, rolling her eyes at your stubbornness. You two had become close, and she would often teach the ways of the “wild,” as she would like to put it simply. The burning of herbs masked the smell of sex and other odors—the concoctions she made when you felt ill. Lilly first noticed when you became increasingly irate at the same things, screaming and fussing at her as the months passed. She would hurry and remove the sheet, swapping them with that of her own. She then noticed that you weren’t bleeding, the sheets stained with a slight pinkish hue but nothing deep enough to be considered. She undressed you one night, letting the smoke engulf you as you lazily let her. Your mind was gone, and your happiness drained. She knew you weren’t the same after your night with Sandor…much less any of the following nights with Theon.

Lilly bathed you, your head against the tub as she watched you. She knew; she sensed it. She scrubbed your leg, sighing as she pleaded you wouldn’t think less of her. “I can help you, M’Lady, but you must trust me.” You nodded, closing your eyes and opening yourself to her. You hissed as you felt her insert something into you. It was hard, and you felt as you clenched and adjusted yourself. Lilly let you lay there, unmoving in the bath, as she gently combed your hair. The following days, you gruesomely bleed.

Lilly whispers a response as she is brought back to reality. “Mm, maybe it’ll do’ya some good to get away from ‘ere” 

It did not; you traveled with your sisters and father back to Kings Landing, the carriage jolting at any little divet in the road. Ayra’s head rested on your lap as she tried to lull herself to sleep for the majority of the voyage, but she always failed in her efforts. “We need to stop!” You finally shouted, your voice carrying throughout, your eyes shut in irritation. “I need to breathe; I am suffocated!” Ned laughed, his head waving to the coachman, signaling us to stop. Arya rose gently, her dark grey eyes watching you intently; she was always suspicious after confiding in Jon that you would cut off your and join the black. Jon laughed, tossing his hand against your shoulder, saying that you were too beautiful ever to be considered a man. 

You tugged on the inside of your cheek. “I need a moment’s peace.” Hurriedly you removed yourself from the carriage, sucking in the fresh air- you coughed slightly. It was nothing like the frigid crisp air in the North; it burned at your throat and nose, leaving you numb. You moved deeper into the surrounding forest, stumbling over stumps and shallow holes. You pressed your head against a tree, shutting your eyes tightly. No matter how far you ventured, you could still feel the carriage walls surrounding you, beating closer and closer. You licked your dry lips, gasping as you felt a hand wrap around your shoulders. With wide eyes, you were now facing Sandor. 

“What?” You grumbled out, snatching your body away from him and finally getting a good look at him after weeks. You wanted to hold him… no, slice his throat open and beat him until he lay bloody on the ground. He used you.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Rolling your eyes, you snatch your dress into your face, moving deeper into the forest, your exposed skin snatching on thorn-ridden branches. You could hear the branches cracking under his weight, and he called out your name low and needy. He hated seeing you upset, the way your round eyes scanned his face, searching for something. He was behind you in one stride, grabbing at your arm and tugging you against him. You kept your gaze ahead, watching the leaves swirl in the wind, the branches dancing briefly. It was eerily quiet, and you loved it. It was filled with silence and not with Sansa mentioning for the hundredth time her plans for the future, Arya not needlessly picking at your dress, and Father not snoring. It was peaceful. Sandor dipped his head down, taking in your scent, his lips nipped at your escaped next. 

“Don’t,” you whispered, unmoving. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping to create some friction. Your breaths are uneven and heavy, your fingers twitching to hold his unto his. His other hand shifted slightly, fiddling with his armor. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath before pulling away. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to fuck me when you’re feeling needy” Your back still faces him. 

Sandor never knew the right words, so he didn’t speak much. “Mm,” The silence of the forest grew; it engulfed you and burned your ears. You spun around. 

“Leave me. Tell my father I will return soon.” Your voice barely above a whisper, Sandor reached out for you, his hand wrapping around your upper arm, snatching you closer to him. You felt his lips against yours, and he kissed you harshly. Lips molded against each other as your arms snaked around his neck, pushing yourself closer. He ran his fingers over your waist as gently as he tried to be, dancing back to your ass. 

Your lips unexpectedly separated with a smack, “If I wanted to be in some cunt, I would get some.” You stood there, flustered and confused. The words did not yet make sense to you as he watched him through a daze. He pulled away slowly, letting your hands fall against his armored chest before smacking to your side. 

Getting to Kings Landing took a few more weeks; you were not excited about it. You hated how the people dressed and looked at you, gawking at the Starks. On the other hand, Sansa was rather excited; with wide eyes, she took hold of Kingslanding and marveled at the tall structures and beautiful castles. Arya stuck by your side, her hand wrapped around yours as you both moved through hesitantly. Your eyes caught hold of Sandor’s; quickly, you looked away, following the progression into the Red Keep. You felt a hand gently touch your back; you flinched casting your gaze to your left as you saw an older woman gazing at you. “Why don’t I show you to your chambers, Lady Stark,” Your eyes flickered to your father, who gave a quick nod of approval. You tugged on your bottom lip, praying that he would take him with you to indulge in his political affairs. Ned could see that you were hesitant, and he pressed a sympathetic smile on his lips. His rough hands fell against your shoulder, bringing you closer. You smell him; you inhale powerfully, taking in the familiarity. He smelled of the walls of Winterfell, the crisp and coolness of the North’s air. 

“Go, I will check on you soon,” He spoke lowly, his thumb quickly brushed against your cheek before shooing you with one of the handmaidens. 

Just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone.

[arsenic-catnep]

Sitting on Theon's face if your requests are still open?

Theon will always offer his face as a seat for you. Even calling it the best seat in the house. Cocky bastard definitely has confidence about his tongue skills.

Cunt is Theon's favorite meal. Hands down, as much as he loves having his cock sucked, he loves having his tongue up your cunt.

It's so easy to ask if you can sit on his face, sometimes you don't even have to inquire, he'll just pull you up and force your hips down.

Will tease, licking the outer vulva before playing with your slit, the lapping at your clit before finally shoving his tongue in.

Will have a steel grip on your thighs, keeping you in place and controlling your movements.

Theon makes you grind against his face, he doesn't care if he can't breathe. Dying between your legs seems like the best way to go.

Sucks on your clit like no tomorrow, it will definitely be sore afterwards.

He makes it his goal to get you to squirt on his face. He wants to drink up your cum

Grip at his hair, it'll drive him fucking insane.

Theon eats cunt like a wild animal, messy, loud and you swear you can hear him growling between moans.

10/10 recommend sitting on Theon's face.

[boltonplaything]

Hate you

Theon Greyjoy x Stark!Freader

NSFW: faux hate, brief degradation, vagina biting (twice), praise, power switch, unprotected sex, size kink, biting, slapping

Summary: Theon pays a visit to be a bother and ends up in your bed.

4.3K words

A/N: I'm not the biggest fan of Theon so I know that this one sucks but I figured since I have no time to fully participate in Kinktober I'll post something out of my comfort zone

I sit at my dresser, brushing my hair and humming to myself. The cool breeze filtered through my open window, carrying the sounds of the wolves howling and yapping, the sounds of people talking, and children playing. It was always calm and simple here in the North. Except when it wasn't. My door opened and I turned already knowing full well who it was. There stood Theon Greyjoy, the smug bastard thought he was the god's gift to Westeros the second he lost his virginity. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms with that pretentious smirk. “What do you want, Greyjoy?” I demand.

“Oh don't be like that Stark, I thought I'd come check on you, seeing as how you have no one to keep you company.” I scoff at him.

“I'm perfectly content to be by myself. Thank you for gracing me with your presence but you can leave now.” He chuckles as if me telling him to leave was the funniest thing in the world and slowly walks over to my chair, standing behind it and staring at my reflection in the mirror. The look in his eyes just screamed that he was undressing me with his eyes.

“Now is that anyway to talk to me sweet girl? I come to keep you company and you dismiss me like I'm some unwanted beggar. I'd be hurt, if I didn't know you secretly enjoyed the attention.” I put my hairbrush down and hiss, looking at his eyes in the mirror.

“I don't have any patience for your games today, Greyjoy.” He raises an eyebrow, a mock look of surprise on his face. He takes another step closer,his chest now brushing against my back as he towers over me.

“Oh, but I thought you loved my games, Stark? They seem to rile you up so much, make you all... flustered.” He leans down, his breath hot on my neck as he murmurs into my ear.

“They piss me off is what they do!” I bark, standing up quickly and backing away from the chair. He chuckles seemingly amused by my anger. He takes a step forward, and smirks.

“You know what else it does? It excites you. That look in your eyes, that flush in your cheeks…it betrays you Stark. Tells me all I need to know.” As I take a step back he takes two steps forward.

“You're trying to flatter yourself Greyjoy.” I hiss. “Oh I don't need to flatter myself, I know the effect I have on women and you are no different.” He coos, slowly reaching forward and tucking some stray hair behind my ear. “You can act all tough and dismissive all you want but deep down you like it don't you?”

“In your dreams.” I hiss. He pulls the strand of hair forward and toys with it. I didn't like his cocky attitude, the way he pranced around like he was the king of westeros and every woman has to bow to him...but I had heard rumors about all the greyjoy men and tried to ignore my curiosity.

“Oh I've had plenty dreams involving you Stark. I think you're just playing hard to get because you're afraid of how I make you feel.”

“Everytime I see you I wanna wipe that smug look off your face.” His finger moved from my hair down my cheek. His knuckle barely grazing my face.

“Oh, I have no doubt you want to do more than wipe the smirk off my face, Stark. Why do you think I keep coming to bother you like this? I enjoy seeing you all riled up and flustered...it makes me want to see what else I can do to you.” He's purring into my ear now and I stand stiff legged, as if one move could set him off.

“Fuck you.” He leans back ever so slightly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he takes in my rigid stance. He reaches out, slowly running his hand up my arms, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“Mmm...is that an invitation, Stark? Because I'll happily accept. But I have a feeling you're all bark and no bite, Sweet girl…” I take my hand and slap him across the face, a gentle smack. Gods be damned. I hated him and yet couldn't bring myself to fully slap him across the face? He touches his cheek and slowly looks back at me with a smirk. “Feisty, I didn't expect that but, you'll have to try harder than that sweet girl.” I hit you again a bit harder this time, shoving you into the wall. He chuckles as he stumbles backwards. “Haha, I like this feisty side of you, it's very tempting.” He says before lunging forward and catching my wrist to pull me against him. I could now feel the result of his teasing as my pussy clenched around nothing. I keep my glare in place as I speak.

“Call me a bitch.” I demand.

“Thought you didn't like my games? Fine if you insist, you are a stubborn little bitch.” I shove his hand away, forcing him to release my wrist and promptly and violently grab his face and pulling him in for a kiss. His hands flew to my hips as he turned us around so that I was against the wall. His kisses were so deep and sloppy it was as if he was trying to satiate a hunger that he had developed over a course of a decade. In a way I suppose he had. I bit his lip roughly to get his attention. He gasps and when he pulls away I see a thin trickle of blood running down his chin. “Careful, or I might just throw caution to the wind and take you right here and now.” *I shove him backwards until he falls onto the bed.

“Well cmon then let's see how tiny that prick is then. You don't have the balls to take a real Noble woman to bed, all you can do is fuck whores.” I taunt. He immediately props himself up on his elbows, the intrigue obvious in his gaze.

“Mm such a dirty mouth for an honorable little lady. You're wrong, I can make you feel things you've never felt before.” I roll my eyes.

“I've heard that a million times. You're probably nothing special. That's the problem with boys paying for whores, you don't just pay for sex you pay for them to tell you all these pretty words that mean nothing.” I growl, “I bet you were the best fuck they've ever had right? Wrong.”

“Oh you're so desperate…you're practically begging for me to prove you wrong. You want me to make you shut that pretty little mouth of yours huh?” He teases, grabbing my wrist. Again I felt my pussy clench on nothing. I was now standing between his legs with his snarky smile pointed up at me, a mischievous glint in his eye. I shoved him back to lay down and fumbled with his belt.

“Do you ever shut up Greyjoy?”

“Only when my mouth is otherwise occupied dear.” I stop trying to unbuckle his belt and look at him with a wicked smirk. “What's that look for? I thought you were itching for me to shut up.” I ignore him, crawling onto the bed.

“I'm going to occupy your mouth.” I answer.

“Is that so sweet girl? Well then I'm all yours to occupy.” He tries to pull me onto his lap but I smack his hands away.

“You needy bastard.” He smirks at me and puts his hands behind his head.

“Needy? I'm not the one desperately grinding against you now am I?” Shit. I hadn't even realized I had been moving until you pointed it out.

“Shut the fuck up Greyjoy.” He moves his hands toward me again to hold my hips.

“You're extremely bossy ya know. You really should learn to be a good girl and do as you're told.” That was the final straw as he moved to hold my thighs I climbed off his lap, yanking off my panties as I stand. His eyes widen as I hike up my dress and straddle his face, his tongue immediately darts out to taste me, moaning against me. I was embarrassingly wet but now he couldn't say a word. I gently start to move with a low moan.

“Gods you're so much better when you can't talk.” I purr. He moans into me, lapping viciously at my clit, eager to prove that he is everything the rumors say he is. His hands hold a bruising grip on my thighs. I bite my lip and moan, as I look down at him. “Do you care if I get rough with you? Huh? Oh that's right you can't answer that.” I taunt. He groans angrily and I feel him nip at my inner folds. I yelp and press myself harder into him, fucking his face. “Fuck you. Bad boy. Bad fucking boy.” I scold. He nips again, harder this time and Moans into my pussy. It fucking hurt so I raise up and grab his hair roughly. “What the fuck is wrong with you Greyjoy!?” I demand.

“Nothings wrong with me dear, I was just trying to see how far I could push you and it looks like I got the desired reaction.” He said with a smirk. That smirk that fucking smirk.

“If you wanna fucking piss me off like that you might as well get the fuck out of my room because you're not fucking funny!” I yell. He simply raises his eyebrows and chuckles, gently reaching to grab my thighs again.

“Don't get your panties in a twist sweet girl, you're cute when you're angry.” I glare at him and smack him again before chuckling.

“What panties?”

“Good point.” He sighs and gently strokes my thigh “you like this don't you? Being in control, having me at your mercy?” I chuckle in response.

“You act like you've been submissive to me this whole time.” I say. He gently strokes my thighs with a smile.

“Oh I haven't been, Sweet girl. I find it amusing to let you think you're in charge. It's cute.” I roll my eyes and stand up, getting off of his lap.

“You know what Greyjoy I'm done with this.” He sits up quickly, his eyes wide in shock.

“Why? Why are you done all of a sudden you cant just leave me like this!” He says gesturing to his obvious hard on. I tsk at him and cross my arms with an exaggerated pout.

“Aw is the big lord of the Iron Islands gonna cry about it?” I tease. He scowls at me and stands up with a growl.

“No, I'm not going to cry about it. But you do owe me an explanation as to why you're suddenly done with me.” He hissed. I laugh and roll my eyes.

“You think you can just barge into my room and start acting like a cocky fucking asshole and I'm not going to stand for it!” I say angrily.

“You were enjoying yourself just a few minutes ago, don't act like you didn't enjoy anything that happened in this room. Also, I don't take orders from you.” I can feel my face heating up in anger.

“It was great until you decided to start being a brat just because I pissed you off.” He leans against the wall, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh is this what this is about? You don't like that I disobeyed you? Sounds to me like you can dish it out but you can't take it. Is that it dear?”

“You're being a fucking asshole you know that?” I snap. He simply chuckled, sighing and looking away.

“Is that all you know how to say?” He steps forward, maintaining eye contact the whole time. “You can't handle when something doesn't go your way, admit it, you're used to getting your way.” I scoff and hold my arms tighter to my chest. It was true, my twin brother Robb coddled me, Jon doted on me, and father especially never told me no. He can see the anger in my eyes, reading my non response as a reluctance to admit that he was right. He reached forward, stroking my cheek. “See you're just spoiled aren't you? Used to getting everything you want, no one's ever told you no have they pretty girl?” I don't know what to say, so I simply glare. “Come on now sweet girl, use that smart little mouth of yours. Deny I'm right. Tell me you're not used to getting everything handed to you.”

“I don't.” I try to sound firm but my voice is strained, hoarse from arousal.

“What was that? I didn't quite catch that sweet girl, you'll have to speak up.” He says, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I don't! I don't have everything handed to me.” I say, speaking up. He runs his fingers down my cheek and he lightly holds my neck, his thumb fumbling with my pulse point.

“Oh, my Sweet girl. You're lying and you know it. Come on now, just admit it. You're spoiled rotten. You're used to people giving in to your every whim.”

“Don't accuse me of lying!” I whine.

“Oh, but you are lying. You may not want to admit it, but you know it's the truth. You're a spoiled little Stark princess who's used to everyone giving in to her. Am I wrong, Sweet girl?” He takes his thumb and gently brushes my bottom lip. I take it in my mouth and suck, looking into your eyes. This takes him by surprise, and he groans. He pressed his thumb down, holding my tongue down as I keep sucking. “You little brat…” He let's me go a bit longer before pulling his thumb out of my mouth with a pop. “Look at you, so desperate and needy…”

“Why'd you stop me?” I whine. He grips my chin just a bit harder.

“Oh don't worry sweet girl I'm not done with you yet, I just want to hear you admit it. Admit that you're a spoiled little princess who's used to getting her way.”

“I'm a spoiled little bitch…please.” I whine. His grip on my chin tightened as he pressed me against the wall, causing me to gasp and whine.

“That's it sweet girl, just a bit more. Say you're a spoiled princess and I'll give you whatever you want, just say the words.”

“I'm a spoiled little bitch, I always get whatever I want because I pout and whine and act like a perfect little lady...but I'm a spoiled little whore.” He chuckles again, his hand moving from my chin to grip my throat, tilting my head back as he presses against me even harder, his breath hot against my ear as he leans in close.

“That's my good girl. Finally telling the truth. Admitting what I already knew. You think you can fool everyone with that sweet, innocent act, but I know better, don't I? I know what a little brat you really are.” I grabbed his face in my hands and pulled him in for a deep kiss, he moaned into it and weaved his fingers into my hair, tugging gently to give himself a better angle. I didn't want to admit how much this turned me on, how even though I hated him, even though he got under my skin…I needed this. Needed him. He deepens the kiss, his hand pulling my head back even further, his tongue delving even deeper into my mouth. He let out a low moan against my lips, his body pressing against me, his desire for me building with every second. I break the kiss, panting heavily, and his lips move to my neck, peppering kisses along my skin.

“Gods…yes.” I sigh. His hands roam my body, caressing and teasing as he explores my skin with his lips, his kisses becoming more frantic with each passing second. He finds a particular spot on my neck that makes me gasp, and latches onto it, nipping and sucking gently before soothing it with his tongue. “Hey! You can't leave marks!” I warn, shoving his face away from my neck.

“And why not sweetheart? Afraid of someone seeing your little secret?”

“If Robb sees he'll be demanding to know who did it!” He smirks at me, his eyes roaming over my face, taking in the way my cheeks flush and my breath comes out in labored pants.

“So what if he does? Let him demand all he wants. Let him know that I'm the one leaving these marks on you. Let him know you're mine.”

“No! I don't want anyone to know.” His lips trail down my neck again, peppering me with kisses.

“Why not? Afraid it'll ruin your little reputation sweet girl? Afraid everyone will know you're not so innocent after all?” He breaks away long enough to start unlacing my dress and I arch into him, desperate for some friction, his teasing making me impossibly more needy.

“I can't keep telling everyone I hate you if they know I've fucked you.” I hiss.

“Why tell everyone you hate me? You can't hide your desire for me forever.” As every bit of skin is revealed, he kisses and licks at it. The second my breasts are revealed he licks at my sensitive nipples.

“Because you get on my nerves and you treat women like shit.”

“I never said I was a saint, sweetheart. But that's not the only reason you hate me. You hate the way I make you feel. You hate that you can't resist me. You hate how much you want me.”

“Are you going to keep talking or are you going to fuck me Greyjoy?” I demand. He pulls away and sighs.

“I'll give you what you want…on one condition.”

“What?”

“Call me Lord Greyjoy.” He says smugly. I was not ready to give up my pride like that, so I scoff.

“Fuck no.” he chuckles and grabs my hips, yanking me against him.

“Oh, Sweet girl. You're such a stubborn little thing. But you're going to give in, sooner or later. And when you do, you'll say it. You'll say it, and you'll mean it.” he bites down on my shoulder, his teeth marking my skin. His hands find the edge of my dress, pushing it off my shoulders, leaving me in nothing. I feel exposed, I was entirely naked and he was fully dressed. “What's the matter? Not used to being the only one naked?” I decide then to partially swallow my pride.

“Take off your clothes Lord Greyjoy.” He smirks as I give in to his demands and strips off his shirt, followed quickly by his breeches. Women talked about Theon's size all the time and I had always wondered if it was true. People talked about Theon's uncles as well so the whole family was apparently blessed by their ‘Drowned God’. I decided to keep my demeanor and hum. “No underwear? Really?”

“What? Has the princess never been with a man who doesn't wear small clothes?” I can only shake my head as I lie down on the bed. He follows closely behind, crawling up between my legs, stroking my thighs as he goes. “You're gorgeous, you know that?”

“What?” I ask breathlessly. Surely I hadn't heard him correctly. A genuine compliment from Theon Greyjoy of all men? He chuckles and continues to stroke my thighs.

“You heard me sweet girl. You're beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. Any man would be a fool not to see it.” After every compliment he gave he kissed my stomach. Making me blush. Did I really hate him? This wasn't the same Theon Greyjoy that I loathed in the daylight, this was like the Theon I used to be friends with growing up. I had started hating him once he lost his virginity and grew cocky and arrogant but this was different. Even as he makes his way up my body his kisses were soft, meaningful. Then suddenly he was there, his face inches from mine and I try to speak but the words won't come out so I press my lips to his. He kisses back passionately and only pulls away for a moment. “You're so perfect.” If it were possible I could've came right then and there. I wrapped my legs tightly around his hips, his girthy cock, prodding at my soaked hole.

“Please…tell me you mean it, tell me it's not just sex talk.” He looks at me with a soft expression and tucks my hair behind my ear.

“It's not just sex talk, you are perfect. I mean that.” As he says that, he Pushes forward, sheathing himself as far in as he could get and I gasp, wincing. I felt stretched, I had been with other men before but all of them were average sized, none as long or as girthy as Theon. He realizes my discomfort. “Are you ok? I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“I just need to get adjusted.” I assure him with a whine.

“Ok…I'll go slow, no rush just relax and let me take care of you.” He moves, gentle and slow thrusts making sure to get the angle right as he places a hand under my back, forcing me to arch. He immediately finds the sweet spot and I throw my head back.

“Theon…yes gods there…” He leans down to kiss my neck gently, burying his face in my hair.

“You're doing good, you're doing so good.” He praises. I respond with my own praises.

“You feel so good, fucking me so good. Hitting all the right spots.” I coo. He speeds up a bit, realizing that I was adjusted to his size, falling into a smooth rhythm. He pulls me into a deeper arch, looking me in the eyes.

“You like that sweetheart? Like how it feels?” I nod frantically.

“Uhuh…feels so good Theon.”

“You feel good…so good. I want to hear you say my name…scream my name.” He pants. I reach up, grabbing his arm.

“Faster…go faster.” I beg, his hips stutter almost as if he didn't believe what he heard.

“Faster? You want it harder too sweetheart?”

“Uhuh…please Lord Greyjoy!” I cry, playing into his need to hear his title. He grips my hip with that hand not poised on the small of my back as he speeds up, slamming into me. I could tell he was barely holding back from letting his mind go blank and pounding savagely into my soaked cunt.

“You like that sweetheart? You like it when I give you what you want?” his hips slammed into mine bruisingly. I grip his arms, my nails digging in.

“Please Theon…more…I can take it.” He groans at the sound of my pleading and finally let's go, absolutely slamming into me, the lewd squelching noises of my wet pussy being one of the many sounds that filled the room. My hip would surely be bruised in the morning with how tightly he was gripping it. He didn't care, and at this point neither did I. I let a scream tear from my throat. “Theon! Oh yes oh gods yes!”

“Good girl, taking me so nicely…” He purred. “Gods if you could see what I'm seeing right now. You're dripping out onto my cock princess.” I bite my lip and groan just thinking of the sight of my stretched pussy taking his cock, with it covered in thick white cum. I could feel the pressure building in my belly and I knew I was close. I bit my lip and whined.

“Theon…I'm close.” I warned.

“You're close? You gonna come for me?” He asked and I nodded.

“Yes, Theon…Theon please. Tell me I can.” I beg. He smirks and leans forward to kiss my neck.

“Come for me sweetheart. Come for me.” He commands. He growls as my pussy clenches around his cock. “Fuck…princess I'm gonna come too.” He warns. I'm too busy screaming his name to worry about the repercussions as my back arches off the bed and I wildly thrust my hips up to meet his thrusts. I shivered and sobbed as the orgasm came crashing down over me, my pussy desperately clenching and milking Theon for every drop he had. I couldn't make myself care that he had spilled his seed inside of me all I cared about was that it was the best orgasm of my life. He rolls off and looks at me with a tired but self satisfied look on his face.

“That was…I um…” I search for the words but he cuts me off.

“Great wasn't it?” I look at him and smile, rolling onto my side as he pulls me to his chest.

“It was the best orgasm I've had in my life.” I admit. He chuckles and strokes my back.

“I guess I'm just that good aren't I?” He teases, I pull back just enough to hit him on the chest.

“I hate you Theon Greyjoy.” He simply smiles, tugging me back into his chest and placing a kiss on the top of my head.

“No you don't. You love me, you always have. Even when you were pretending you didn't.” I didn't say a word. I didn't have to. I simply buried my head into his chest to cuddle and he held me tighter against him with a sigh. I guess he was right all along. I loved him.

[asa-writes]

Dreams - Masterlist

They all need each other, though each in their own seperate way. Growing up and loving in times of war isn't easy at all. Especially when you have to fight for the lives of the people you thought you loved - when you have to abandon everything for the greater good, when you have to choose between sexual, familiar and romantic love.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings and General Tags under the cut.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapters:

1 - Jon ¦ 2 - Robb ¦ 3 - Lucie ¦ 4 - Robb ¦ 5 - Jon ¦ 6 - Lucie ¦ 7 - Jon ¦ 8 - Robb ¦ 9 - Lucie ¦ 10 - Jon ¦ 11 - Lucie ¦ 12 - Robb ¦ 13 - Jon ¦ 14 - Lucie ¦ 15 - Jon ¦ 16 - Robb ¦ 17 - Lucie ¦ 18 - Robb ¦ 19 - Jon ¦ 20 - Lucie ¦ 21 - Robb ¦ 22 - Jon ¦ 23 - Lucie ¦ 24 - Theon ¦ 25 - Jon ¦ 26 - Lucie ¦ 27 - Theon ¦ 28 - Jon ¦ 29 - Lucie ¦ 30 - Theon ¦ 31 - Robb ¦ 32 - Jon ¦ 33 - Lucie ¦ 34 - Jon ¦ 35 - (surprise) ¦ 36 - Jon ¦ 37 - Lucie ¦

Drabbles and One-Shots:

"My Sweet" - Robb Stark x Lucie Templeton

Also available on:

Archive of our Own and Wattpad

Warnings / Tags: Canon Divergence - AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Misogyny, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon, Alcohol, Drugs, Age Difference, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, War, Forced Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Pregnancy, Character death, Child Death, Age Play, Bondage, Masochism, Edging, Derogatory Language, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Unplanned Pregnany, Breeding Kink, Masturbation, Hunting, Underage Sex (Canon-Typical)

[asa-do-your-thing]

Alone and Alive

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x F!Reader 4.3 k Warnings: DARK, self harm, mentions suicide, grief, smut, commitment issues mentioned, Dead dove, no proofreading this one goes out to whoever requested Theon smut, @legitalicat and @zaldritzosrose <3

Slowly dipping your screaming hand back into the stream, you savoured the sting as you saw your skin paling considerably. The snow fell thickly - it was one of the first proper ones, you noted and sighed, trying your hardest to stop yourself from thinking about him.

No, you scolded yourself, now you’ve thought of him again, just by trying not to…

You pulled your hand out of the water and placed it onto your thick woolen skirts, looking out into the distance, letting the heat of your blood rush back in. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he told you with his stupid, grey eyes looking down at you in pity as the whole of Winterfell seemed to watch you, ‘there is just no way you can come with me. This arrangement could have never worked, my Lady. I shall serve the realm at the Wall, where I belong. I wish you all the best and hope that you will find happiness with your future Lord Husband,’ he said so coldly, his eyes not even on you.

He’d never called you ‘my Lady’. He had always just called you by your name, but no, he was ‘a bastard, and bastards cannot call Ladies by their names’.

The pain in your hand was not enough. The cold wasn’t enough.

You had come out here in just your dress, your simplest one - was this penance? or a sort of pain you wished to inflict upon yourself? - without a cloak or gloves. Shivering, you glanced around, trying to ascertain if anyone could see you, but you were well hidden between some dense pine trees.

Slowly slipping out of your dress, you took some measured deep breaths, took off your boots and stockings and stepped into the small river. You couldn’t stop the yelp escaping from your throat as you sat down, but the cold immediately soothed you. Stopped you from thinking of him. Well no, not truly - but it didn’t hurt anymore.

The pebbles hurt. The water hurt. But thinking of Jon Snow didn’t hurt anymore.

You behaved like a child back then, in the courtyard. You should’ve given him a token. Something for him to remember you by. But all you did was freeze like a stupid little girl and pushed him. Jon didn’t expect it but stepped back, still staring at the wall behind you with no emotion, after which you ran away in disgrace, tears streaming down your face as you wept disgustingly, like a slaughtered sow, for all to see.

You leaned back, slowly lowering yourself into the frigid stream. The shock of the cold water against your bare skin made you gasp, but you forced yourself to remain still. Your long, dark hair fanned out around you, floating on the surface like tendrils of night. The water lapped at your ears, muffling the sounds of the forest. At first, every nerve in your body screamed in protest. But as the minutes passed, a strange warmth began to spread through your limbs. Your breathing slowed, and your eyelids grew heavy. The gentle current tugged at your hair, and you imagined it was Jon's fingers, running through the dark strands as he used to do.

The falling snow melted as it touched the water, creating tiny ripples that danced across your vision. You watched them, mesmerized, as a creeping lethargy settled over you. Your thoughts began to blur, memories of Jon's smile and the sound of his laugh mixing with the gurgle of the stream.

The urge to close your eyes grew stronger with each passing moment. You told yourself you'd rest for just a minute, then get up and return to the castle. But the water cradled you like a mother's arms, and the cold no longer bothered you. In fact, you felt warmer than you had in days.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, and you sighed contentedly. The world faded away, leaving only the sensation of floating. You barely noticed the sound of approaching footsteps as your body sank deeper into the water, rising up the side of your cheeks and slowly crept over your forehead.

Freedom. Warmth. Love. Hands.

Hands?

A pair of smooth, long-fingered hands were touching your face. Warmth. Why were they warm? You frowned and tried turning your head away from them. You wanted to sleep, why was someone disturbing you? You were so tired…

Your eyelids fluttered open, heavy as lead. The world swam before you, a blur of white and grey. Slowly, shapes began to form - the dark silhouettes of pine trees, the glittering surface of the stream, and a face hovering above you, eyes wide with shock and fear.

Theon Greyjoy.

His usually smirking face was pale with concern, his lips moving rapidly as he spoke words you couldn't quite hear. The ringing in your ears slowly subsided, and his voice came into focus.

"...mad? You could have died! Fucking hells, what were you thinking?"

You blinked, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The cold hit you then, a bone-deep chill that set your teeth chattering. Theon's arms were around you, his body heat a stark contrast to the icy stream. He was dragging you out, his boots slipping on the smooth stones of the riverbed.

With a grunt of effort, he pulled you onto the snowy bank. The shock of the frigid air against your wet skin jolted you further into consciousness. You gasped, your lungs burning as they filled with the crisp winter air. Theon quickly shed his fur-lined cloak, wrapping it around your shivering form.

"T-Theon?" you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes met yours, a mixture of relief, curiousity and anger swirling in them. “Yes, who else could I be? Fuck, have you lost your senses? Why would you do this? Don’t tell me this is because of the bastard,” he said with a sneer, but you know that was meant for Jon, not for you.

The shame of hearing this - Theon was right, you truly were a pathetic creature to do something like this because of Jon Snow - made you start crying again, yet this time no sound came out. Small, hot tears ran down your freezing cheeks, your toes burning in the cold snow as you slowly inched towards Theon.

Warmth. Theon was warm. He radiated warmth.

“I’m s-sorr-sorry,” you stammered out and looked up at him, trying to see if he was angry with you or if he would mock you. You wouldn’t be able to deal with this, not here, not now. “It… It hurts. I’m… I should… sorry that you… had to see th-this…”

Theon's expression softened, the anger melting away as he looked at your tear-stained face. He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Hells," he muttered, then pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. "You're freezing. We need to get you back to the castle before you catch your death."

You nodded weakly, your teeth still chattering. Theon glanced around, spotting your discarded dress and boots. "Can you stand?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You tried to rise, but your legs were numb and unresponsive. Theon cursed under his breath, then scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest. The warmth of his body seeped through the cloak, and you instinctively pressed closer. The embroidered squid stared back at oyu with taunting eyes.

"Hold on," he murmured, then began trudging through the snow towards your abandoned clothes. He bent awkwardly, managing to snatch them up without dropping you. "We'll have to sneak you in through the godswood," he said, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. "Can't have the whole castle seeing you like this."

As Theon carried you through the woods, you found yourself studying his face. You'd known him for years, but you'd never really looked at him before. His sharp features were softened by the falling snow, and there was a determined set to his jaw that you'd never noticed.

Features that weren’t Jon’s. A small sob shook through you and you sniffled. “I’m p-pathetic. Theon, I’m so pa… pathetic.”

It was clear that Theon was highly uncomfortable with this situation as he glanced down at you and cursed as he stumbled over a root. As Winterfell’s keep came closer, the lights cast shadows on his sharp features, making his earring glint softly.

“The bastard’s pathetic, not you. He… He shouldn’t have done this in front of everyone,” he muttered quietly and then put up an anxious grin.

"At least his cock’ll freeze off at the Wall, eh?”, he japed, obviously trying to lift your mood in any way he could.

Despite yourself, you felt a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth. Theon's crude humor, usually so grating, was oddly comforting in its familiarity. You let out a weak chuckle, which quickly turned into a cough as the cold air irritated your throat.

"There's a hint of a smile," Theon said, his voice a mixture of relief and triumph. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how."

As you approached the castle, Theon's steps became more cautious. He ducked behind outbuildings and slipped through shadows, avoiding the night guards with practiced ease. You realized, with a start, that this wasn't the first time he'd snuck someone into the castle after hours.

The godswood loomed behind you, ancient and imposing. The heart tree's face seemed to watch your departure, its red leaves rustling in the night breeze. Theon paused for a moment, as if steeling himself, before entering the exiting grove. The snow fell more softly here, caught by the canopy of leaves overhead.

You expected Theon to turn towards the guest wing, where your chambers were located. Instead, he headed in the opposite direction, towards the guest quarters where he resided. Curiosity overrode your exhaustion, but you found you didn't have the energy to protest.

Theon managed to open his chamber door while still holding you, kicking it shut behind him. The room was warm, a fire already crackling in the hearth. The sudden heat made you shiver even more.

“Th-theon, I… you saved m-my… l-life…,” you stuttered out as he laid you on his messy bed, trying your hardest to calm your spasming muscles.

He halted and looked at the ground, before slowly, wordlessly, pulling back from you. He went towards his wardrobe and pulled a long shirt out, handing it to you, not quite knowing what to say. “Take your shift off and then lie under the furs,” he said, and took his boots off, his eyes fixed on you.

You’d forgotten all about your propriety in the moment and gently wiggled out of the cold, drenched shift, your pale skin immediately raising itself into goosebumps. Theon’s eyes widened at the sight of your chest and only then, slowly, turned his head away. His shirt was warm and very big, but it covered you nonetheless. Bunching up your shift, you slowly tried standing up, shakily handing him your undergarment.

“Y-you don’t happen t-to have smallclothes?” you asked shyly. They were wet and cold too and you knew you had to get them off as soon as you could.

Theon's cheeks flushed slightly, but he nodded, turning back to his wardrobe. He rummaged for a moment before producing a pair of linen smallclothes. "They might be a bit big," he said, handing them to you without meeting your eyes.

You took them gratefully, your fingers brushing against his. "Thank you," you murmured, clutching the garment to your chest. "Could you... turn around?"

Theon nodded, spinning on his heel to face the wall. You quickly shed your wet smallclothes, replacing them with Theon's dry ones. They were indeed too large, but they were warm and soft against your skin.

"You can look now," you said softly, climbing under the furs on Theon's bed. The warmth enveloped you, and you felt your muscles begin to relax.

Theon turned, his eyes searching your face. "Are you... alright?" he asked, uncertainty clear in his voice. It was strange to see him like this, stripped of his usual cocky demeanor.

You nodded, pulling the furs up to your chin. "I think so. Thanks to you."

Theon ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you'd never seen him make before. "What were you thinking?" he asked, his voice low. "If I hadn't found you..."

"I wasn't thinking," you admitted, shame coloring your cheeks. "I just... I… needed to distract myself. From the pain. From him.” Another wave of tears threatened to spill and you bit your lip and looked away, ashamed of the way you were acting. Ashamed of how you felt. Ashamed of how you acted.

“Shh, fuck him,” Theon tried to say soothingly and sat down next to you, awkwardly patting your cold, wet head. “No need to think of that droopy idiot. He was right, you are too good for him.”

Somehow, shamefully, this made you cry again. Your body moved against its own will as you turned towards him and hugged his thigh, crying into it.

Theon froze for a moment, clearly unsure how to respond to your sudden display of vulnerability. Then, hesitantly, he placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles as you sobbed into his leg. "Hey now," he said softly, his usual bravado absent from his voice. "It's alright. You're safe now."

Your tears gradually subsided, leaving you feeling drained and empty. You loosened your grip on Theon's thigh, embarrassment creeping in as you realized how you must look - a highborn lady, clinging to him like a child. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "I don't know what came over me."

Theon's hand stilled on your back, but he didn't remove it. "You don't need to apologize," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "We all have our moments of weakness."

You looked up at him, surprised by his words. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something - understanding, perhaps, or shared pain.

"Even you?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

A sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Not really," he said, his pained expression suddenly changing to something akin to fake cockiness, yet his eyes were just as sorrowful as yours. Theon's hand tightened around you as he pulled you closer, giving you a small smirk. “Enough sadness now, hm? Jon’s gone and you, Lady Icicle, need warmth.”

You wanted to push him away until it hit you that what coldness was to you, warmth was for him. And, in your sad, weepy state, you decided to indulge him. What harm could it do? This way no one froze and it didn’t hurt. No, that was a lie - it hurt so badly, to be held by him. To know that Jon could’ve held you thusly. To know that Theon probably didn’t care for you, but needed you to quell his own pain. You gave him a sad little smile and snuggled closer to him. “I think that’s a splendid idea. Thank you…”

Theon's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer to his warmth. You felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, steady and reassuring. For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget everything - Jon, your impending marriage, the expectations of your family. Here, in Theon's arms, you were just a girl seeking comfort.

"You know," Theon murmured, his breath tickling your ear, "I always thought Snow was a fool. But I never realized just how big of an idiot he truly was until now."

You tilted your head to look at him, confusion furrowing your brow. "What do you mean?"

Theon's eyes met yours, and there was an intensity in them that made your breath catch. "To have you here with him and to give it all up? For the Night's Watch?" He shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Only a complete lackwit would make that choice."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, a mix of pain and something else - something warmer - flooding through you. "Theon, I-"

But before you could finish your thought, Theon's lips were on yours. The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant, so unlike the brash Greyjoy you thought you knew. Then, as you responded, it deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

You found yourself clinging to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him down on top of you, your kisses becoming faster and messier, your freezing thighs wrapping around his hips. You were mad - this was madness. But you knew this was what dulled the pain, at least Theon’s, whatever pain he carried with him. And just as he saved you, you wished to save him, to grant him respite between your thighs.

Nothing mattered - any thoughts of marriage, your maidenhead or whatever else would have come into your life after Jon’s departure had disappeared into the icy stream in the Godswood.

“Take what you need,” you whispered and looked up at him and saw the pain flashing over his features. He nodded gently and gently pulled off your clothes he had only just given you before he took his own off. Leaning gently back down over your cold form, he shook his head and kissed your neck, his hand brushing down your body. It was as if he wanted to say something - to thank you, to curse you, or whatever the Gods knew went through his head - but decided not to say it anyways.

You gasped at the warmth of his fingers between your thighs, gingerly opening you up to him. Biting your lip, you watched quietly as he brought them up again to wet them, before he spread his spit over your cunny. A small moan escaped your lips as you closed your lips, savouring his touch, his scent, his warmth.

Theon's touch was gentle but insistent, his fingers exploring your most intimate places with a tenderness you hadn't expected. You arched into his hand, seeking more contact, more warmth, more of anything to drive away the lingering chill in your bones and the ache in your heart.

His lips found yours again, swallowing your soft moans as he worked you towards pleasure. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to this moment, to this feeling. For now, there was no Jon, no Wall, no expectations - just you and Theon and the heat building between you.

When he finally entered you, the initial pain was a welcome distraction from your emotional turmoil. Theon paused, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in short pants. "Are you alright?" he murmured, his voice thinner and shakier than you’d expected it to be.

You nodded, unable to form words. You rolled your hips experimentally, drawing a groan from Theon. He began to move then, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. “Theon, I… Oh gods, please…,” you moaned and clung to him like a shipwrecked sailor would to a cliff. “You… this… yes…”

Theon's pace quickened, his hips driving into yours with increasing fervor. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your shared gasps and moans. The fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the intensity in his eyes.

As you gazed up at him, you noticed something glistening on his cheeks. At first, you thought it might be sweat, but as he thrust into you again, you realized with a start that they were tears. They fell silently, dropping onto your chest like warm rain.

Your heart clenched at the sight. Without thinking, you reached up, gently wiping away a tear with your thumb. Theon's rhythm faltered for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise. You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him down to you. Your lips found his cheeks, kissing away the salty trails left by his tears.

The tenderness of the gesture seemed to break something in Theon. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body shuddering with silent sobs as he continued to move within you. You ran your fingers through his hair, whispering soothing words you didn't even understand.

The pleasure building within you was almost unbearable, a tightening coil of heat and tension. But you fought against it, focusing instead on Theon's pain, on the way his tears felt against your skin, on the trembling of his body against yours. You held him tightly, your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper into you with each thrust.

"It's alright," you whispered into his ear, your voice breaking. "I'm here. I've got you."

Theon's movements became erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck. You felt him tense, a low, broken moan escaping his lips as he found his release. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you cried out, your body arching beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over you.

For a long moment, you lay there, tangled together, both of you trembling from the intensity of what had just transpired. Theon's weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you in the present. You stroked his back gently, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath.

Finally, Theon lifted his head, meeting your gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, vulnerable in a way you'd never seen before. You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Thank you," you murmured, though you weren't entirely sure what you were thanking him for - saving your life, comforting you, or sharing this moment of vulnerability.

Theon's lips quirked into a small, sad smile. "I should be thanking you," he said softly, his voice hoarse. He rolled off you, settling beside you on the bed. You immediately missed his warmth, and without thinking, you curled into his side. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, draping an arm over you.

You lay there in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire and the steady beat of Theon's heart. The room was warm now, but you still felt a chill deep in your bones - a remnant of the icy stream, or perhaps something else entirely.

"What happens now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Theon's arm tightened around you. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we can't stay here forever. Someone will notice you're missing."

Reality began to seep back in, cold and unwelcome. You thought of your family, of the betrothal your father was no doubt arranging even now. Of Jon, riding towards the Wall, perhaps thinking of you. Of the life you were expected to lead.

"I don't want to go back," you said, surprising yourself with the vehemence in your voice.

Theon shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. His eyes searched your face, a mix of emotions playing across his features. "What are you saying?"

You sat up, latching yourself onto him with such an intensity that shame flooded you. “I don’t want to marry a rich, dim witted, old fool. Please, Theon, I… You know of my pain, I know of yours. You took my maidenhead and… well, filled me. I… don’t want to go back and I cannot go back.”

He stiffened beneath your touch and clenched his jaw, staring off into the distance. “You… You don’t know me. You don’t want me. I can’t offer you anything. And… Lord Stark wouldn’t let me go.”

You felt a pang in your chest at Theon's words, but you refused to let go of him. "I may not know everything about you, Theon, but I know enough. I know you're kind, even when you try to hide it. I know you're brave. And I know you understand pain, just as I do."

Theon's eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. "You don't understand what you're asking," he said, his voice low and strained. "I'm not... I can't be what you need. What you deserve."

"And what do I deserve?" you challenged, your voice rising slightly. "To be married off to some lord I've never met? To live a life of quiet desperation, always wondering what could have been?"

Theon flinched at your words, but you pressed on. "You saved my life tonight, Theon. And not just from the stream. You saved me from myself." You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "I'm not asking for forever. I'm asking for a chance. A chance to choose my own path, even if it's not the one everyone expects of me."

Theon's expression softened, a mix of longing and fear in his eyes. "And what of your family? Your duty? You would throw it all away for... for me?"

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "I'm not throwing anything away. I'm choosing you.”

He scoffed and drew you closer, pressing a small kiss on your head. “I… whatever you say. Sleep now. You’ve had a long day behind you.”

You felt a pang of disappointment at Theon's dismissive response, but exhaustion was quickly overtaking you. The events of the day - your near-death experience, the emotional turmoil, and the unexpected intimacy with Theon - had left you drained.

"Promise me you'll still be here when I wake up," you murmured, your eyelids growing heavy.

Theon's arms tightened around you, and you felt him nod against your hair. "I promise," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion you couldn't quite place.

As you drifted off to sleep, you thought you heard him say something else, but the words were lost to the encroaching darkness of slumber.

At least, you thought tiredly, you were warm.

[themagicseal17]

An Offering Of Comfort And Pleasure Pt2.

Ironborn Reader

NSFW warning. 18+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Theon stirred in the early hours of the morning, his body still aching with the remnants of last night’s fervor. The light filtering through the cracks in the stone walls of your chamber was dim, casting long shadows across the bed where he lay tangled in the furs. He shifted, his limbs heavy, but the warmth of your body pressed against his side kept him grounded. He glanced at you, your face serene in sleep, and something inside him twisted—a mix of gratitude and desperation. He had felt safe for the first time in years, but now, as the reality of Pyke and his father’s disdain crept back into his mind, that safety felt fleeting.

“You’re awake,” you murmured, your voice low and rough from sleep. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles with a possessiveness that made his breath hitch.Theon swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, your gaze sharp despite the early hour. “Didn’t wake me.” You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you to beg again.”

Heat flooded his cheeks, but there was no shame in it. Only need. His cock twitched against his thigh, already hard, already aching. “Please,” he breathed, his voice cracking. “Please, I need—”

“I know what you need,” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for argument. You sat up, straddling him, and his hands instinctively reached for your hips. But you caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with a strength that surprised him. “Not yet,” you said, your voice firm. “You don’t get to touch until I say so.”

He whimpered, writhing beneath you, but you held him down effortlessly. Your free hand trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin until you reached his straining cock. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasingly, and Theon’s hips bucked off the bed.

“Easy,” you chided, tightening your grip just enough to make him groan. “You’ll take what I give you, and you’ll thank me for it.”

“Yes,” he gasped, his eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, anything—”

“Good boy.” You released him suddenly, and he cried out in frustration. But you were already climbing off the bed, moving to rummage through a chest at the foot of it. He watched, his heart pounding, as you pulled out a length of rope.His breath hitched. “What are you—”

“You begged,” you reminded him, stepping back to the bed. “And I intend to make good on that.” You caught his wrists again, this time binding them together with practiced ease. Theon tested the bonds, but they held firm.

“Is this too much?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost tender.He shook his head frantically. “No. No, I want it. I want you.”

A smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep. His moan vibrated against your mouth, and when you pulled away, his lips were swollen, his eyes dark with desire.

“Then let’s see how well you can behave,” you said, your voice dropping to a purr. You settled back onto his lap, grinding against him in a way that made him arch off the bed, his cock trapped between your bodies. You rocked against him, slow and deliberate, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

“Fuck,” he choked out, his hands pulling uselessly at the ropes. “Please, please—”

“What do you want?” you demanded, your voice sharp. “Use your words, Theon.”

“I want you to ride me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “I want to feel you, all of you—”

“Better.” You shifted, guiding him inside you, and he groaned as you sank down onto him, taking him inch by excruciating inch. When you were fully seated, you paused, letting him adjust, letting him feel every tight, wet inch of you.

“Gods,” he gasped, his head falling back against the pillows. “You’re—you’re perfect.”

Instead of responding, you began to move, your hips rolling in slow, sinuous circles. Theon cursed, his toes curling, but you didn’t speed up. You kept the pace agonizingly slow, drawing out every sensation until he was trembling beneath you, sweat beading on his brow.

“Please,” he begged, his voice raw. “Please, faster—”

You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his ear. “Not yet.” You nipped at his earlobe, making him whimper. “You’ll come when I say so, and not a moment sooner.”

He nodded desperately, his hips jerking upward in an attempt to meet your movements, but you pinned him down with a hand on his chest. “Stay still,” you ordered, your voice cold steel. “Or I’ll stop.”

He froze instantly, and you rewarded him with a deeper stroke, your walls clenching around him. He groaned, his cock throbbing, but he stayed obediently still, his entire body taut with restraint.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice warm again. You shifted your weight, changing the angle, and his breath hitched as your movements brushed against that spot inside him that made his vision blur. “That’s it,” you cooed, your pace quickening just slightly. “Let go for me, Theon.”

He shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I can’t—I’m too close—”

“Yes, you can,” you insisted, your voice firmer now. “You’re strong enough to take it. Come on, give it to me.”

With a broken cry, he did, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself inside you. You didn’t stop, though, riding him through his climax until he was gasping, oversensitive and trembling.

“Again,” you commanded, your voice leaving no room for argument. Your hand slipped between your bodies, your fingers finding his spent cock, and he sobbed as you stroked him back to hardness.

“I can’t,” he begged, his voice barely audible. “Please, I can’t—”

“You can,” you growled, your rhythm relentless. “And you will.”

Theon’s chest heaved as he lay beneath you, his skin slick with sweat and his cock still twitching from the last orgasm you’d wrung from him. His hands, now untied, trembled at his sides, but you didn’t let him rest for long. You leaned over him, your breath hot against his ear, and whispered, “You’re not done yet.”

Before he could protest, you slid a strip of cloth—a soft, dark fabric you’d kept nearby—over his eyes, tying it securely behind his head. Theon flinched, his hands instinctively reaching up to touch it, but you caught his wrists, pinning them above his head.

“Don’t,” you murmured, your voice low, commanding. “You’ll take what I give you.”

Theon’s lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping him as his body went still beneath yours. His blindfolded face turned toward you, searching for something he couldn’t see, and you smirked softly, savoring the control. You released his wrists, trusting him to obey, and skimmed your fingers down his arms, his chest, his stomach. He shuddered under your touch, his muscles tensing as you traced the lines of his body.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, your tone teasing, almost playful.Theon swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice raw.

You chuckled softly, leaning in close enough that your lips brushed his ear again. “Good. That makes this more fun.”

Your hand trailed lower, fingertips dancing just above his cock, which was already stiffening again despite his exhaustion. He whimpered, his hips jerking upward, seeking contact, but you pulled away, denying him.

“No,” you said firmly, though there was no anger in your voice. “You move when I tell you to.”

Theon groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “Please…”

“Please what?” you pressed, your tone light, almost innocent, as if you weren’t tormenting him.

“Touch me,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Just… just touch me.”

You hummed thoughtfully, dragging your nails lightly down his inner thighs. “Is that all you want? Just a touch?”He shook his head frantically, his breathing uneven. “No, I—I need… I need—”

“Use your words,” you interrupted, your voice sharp now, though your touch remained gentle. “Tell me what you need.”

Theon’s cheeks flushed, his pride warring with his desperation. But after a moment, he gave in, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need you to fuck me. Please… please fuck me.”

You smiled, satisfied, and leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, your tongue sliding against his. He moaned into your mouth, his hands fisting the sheets as you finally wrapped your fingers around his cock, stroking him slowly, deliberately.

“Good boy,” you purred against his lips, rewarding him with a firmer grip, a faster pace. His breath hitched, his hips lifting off the bed, desperate for more.

But just as quickly as you’d given it to him, you stopped, pulling away and leaving him panting, frustrated.

“Not yet,” you teased, shifting your weight so you were straddling his thighs, out of reach. “You’ll come when I say you can.”

Theon whined, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Why… why are you doing this to me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion—anger, arousal, confusion.

You tilted your head, studying him even though he couldn’t see you. “Because you need it,” you replied simply, running your hands up his chest. “Because you’ve been carrying so much pain, so much anger… and you need to let it go. Let me take it from you.”

His breath stuttered, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then his shoulders slumped, and he nodded weakly, surrendering completely.

Satisfied, you shifted again, positioning yourself above him. You guided his cock to your entrance, sinking down onto him slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside you. Theon gasped, his hands gripping your hips as if to steady himself, but you slapped them away.

“Hands on the bed,” you commanded, your voice firm. “Don’t move them unless I say so.”

He obeyed instantly, his palms flattening against the mattress as you began to ride him, your movements slow and deliberate. Theon bit his lip, trying to hold back the sounds threatening to escape him, but they came anyway—soft moans, broken gasps, every one of them music to your ears.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you picked up the pace, your hips rolling against his. “Look at you,” you murmured, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “So fucking beautiful like this… so desperate…”

Theon’s breath hitched, his body arching into yours. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I’m—I’m close…”

“Not yet,” you growled, slowing your movements again, drawing out his pleasure until he was writhing beneath you, tears spilling from beneath the blindfold.

“Please,” he sobbed, his voice raw. “I can’t—I can’t take it anymore…”You leaned down, capturing his lips in a searing kiss as you finally allowed yourself to speed up again, your rhythm relentless. “Come for me,” you ordered, your voice firm but tender. “Let go.”

With a broken cry, he did, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself inside you. You didn’t stop, though, riding him through his climax until he was gasping, oversensitive and trembling.

[axelsagewrites]

Main Masterlist Here

House of the Dragon Masterlist Here

Warnings/Guides

【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇

Request Line Up and Request Rules

♡ Jon Snow ♡

🆇What he's like in bed🆇

Blind date

🆇Milady🆇

🆇Home Alone🆇

🆇Price of My Secrecy 🆇

Relationship Moodboard

🆇Couldn't Resist🆇

♡ Robb Stark ♡

Best Friend

Marriage night

🆇Dream🆇 🆇part two🆇

Frey Girl 🆇part two🆇

🆇I miss you🆇

Cloak

Honey Cakes (cloak part two or standalone)

Comfort

Sweet Girl

🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇

🆇Good girl🆇

Yearbook

Don't Die For Me

🆇Little Secret🆇

🆇Can't Catch a Break🆇

Goodnight Dear Husband

♡ Sandor Clegane ♡

Most People Say Goodbye Part One - Part Two

🆇Brat🆇

♡ Beric Dondarrian ♡

Home

♡ Thoros of Myr ♡

Favourite Friend

♡ Brienne of Tarth ♡

【P】Queen in the North and South【P】

♡Ned Stark♡

🆇MiLord🆇

🆇Wife🆇

♡Ramsay Bolton♡

🆇My Father Would Kill Me🆇

🆇Catch You🆇

🆇How Far Would You Go🆇

🆇Appreciate You🆇

🆇Bath🆇

🆇Little Mouse🆇

♡Roose Bolton♡

Perhaps

Not Yet

♡Edmure Tully♡

【P】Who We Call Family【P】

My Queen My Love

♡Theon Greyjoy♡

Dream of Sweet Memories

🆇Give it back🆇

♡Sansa Stark♡

Roommates

🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇

🆇What's This?🆇

Surprise Visit

♡Podrick Payne♡

🆇Praise🆇

♡Daenereys Targaryen♡

🆇My Queen🆇

♡Jamie Lannister♡

🆇Extra Credit🆇

♡Oberyn Martell♡

🆇Duty🆇

♡Margaery Tyrell♡

🆇Ropes🆇

♡Cersei♡

🆇Morning🆇

♡Tormund♡

🆇Real Man🆇

🆇Use your words🆇

♡ Yara Greyjoy ♡

Flirting

Preferences/Multicharacter

🆇Company🆇 - Yara and Ellaria threesome

🆇What they're like in bed🆇 – Robb, Jon, Sandor, Podrick

How they react to teasing – all

🆇What They're Like in Bed🆇 – Margaery, Sansa, Danny, Yara

Share pt1 🆇Competition pt2🆇 🆇Wait p3🆇 - Robb and Jon

🆇Hook ups🆇 - Theon and Jon

Love Languages - Jon, Robb, Bran, Tormund, Podrick, Oberyn

Thanks for any support I appreciate it all xoxo Sage

Dividers from here and here from @saradika

Post topper made on Canva

[scentedpepper]

Personalized Requests

Hello, My Estranged Children

I write to you guys today with the prospect of more personalized and paid writings. In other words, there is a google form linked below that offers requestees the ability to make their request written with personal names, pronouns, characteristics and genres/dynamics that I don't primarily write for (i.e. smut, fluff) or don't write at all here on tumblr (f!reader, certain dark/taboo themes, etc). The price for these fics is a sliding scale and will vary depending on multiple factors but you can -typically- expect anywhere from $5-$20 [USD].

Furthermore, privacy is important and requestees retain the right to remain anonymous. The information you provide in the google form and the request itself will only be released to you and whoever you choose to discuss it with. There is a section for you to link your email in the google form—after the request is written and paid for, a link to the google doc with your request will be sent to you there from the following email: @scentedpeppersrequests

If you have any other inquiries or preferred methods of receiving your request/paying email me at: scentedpeppersrequests or navigate to my tumblr request box. Below are my current payment options, the google form and my paetron :p

cashapp

paypal:

$5

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pateron

request form

[swordgrace]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jon snow x female northern reader.

SYNOPSIS: you reunite with your beloved childhood friend, jon snow, at the edge of the world. the both of you have changed, but your feelings certainly haven’t.

note: season six jon, follows s6 ep4.

format: one-shot — not requested.

word count: 10.5K (not sorry).

warnings: SMUT (mdni), ramsay bolton warning, friends to lovers, confession of feelings, reunion sex, description of scars, jon is definitely more of a switch, horny reader (valid), lots of groping, making out, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, jon loves to munch, body worship, hair-pulling kink, unprotected sex, p in v sex, lotus position & missionary position, reader is on top and on bottom, light biting & tit sucking, soft ending + aftercare

author’s note: I don’t know where this came from, but I’m glad because I had so much fun with his one! I’m a Jon girlie until the very end <3 I would honestly love to write more of him if you guys enjoy this! thank you so much for the love and support!

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲.

Direwolf sigils were replaced with that of flayed men, befitting for the screams that often emerged from the bowels of the Keep or the kennels, where enemies were fed to Ramsay Bolton’s pack of slavering hounds. Old faces that you had grown up with as a girl were gone — removed or slaughtered.

Your father, once loyal to House Stark and to Eddard himself, was strung-up and butchered for all to see, flayed alive by the Bolton men who now controlled Winterfell. You grew numb to the pain, numb to the shifting environment around you. It wasn’t the home that you had grown up in.

When you had caught sight of Sansa Stark in the courtyard, auburn tresses like searing embers against the backdrop of endless gray and snow, tears on her face, you knew that you needed to act.

You hadn’t known Sansa very well, but you did know her brother, Jon Snow. A beloved friend in your youth and teenage years, you had watched him go to the Night’s Watch. Any letters you’d written were likely thrown to the wayside, given the oaths that Men of the Watch swore, but you had longed to see him again.

Sansa recognized your face, no longer that of a young maiden with her head in the clouds. The both of you were women grown, trapped within Winterfell, and you wholly intended on escaping.

Fleeing Winterfell was perilous — dangerous, especially with the winter so biting and icy that it threatened to freeze away your extremities. Aided by Theon Greyjoy, once a captive of Ramsay, the three of you escaped into the harshness of the Northern woodlands.

Much of your time spent was in constant peril, with the looming threat of Bolton hounds nipping at your heels, search parties sent sprawling across the Wolfswood and beyond. Every rustle in the trees, every snap of a twig, distant scream of the wind made your steps quicken.

It was only when your lives were spared by Brienne of Tarth and her squire that you knew you were truly safe.

Castle Black had stood the testament of time, the last line of defense against whatever monsters lurked outside of The Wall. When its massive gates had opened, making way for your caravan, you felt shrewd in the presence of strangers. You hadn’t left Winterfell for much of your life, and only now, the world seemed so much larger.

When you saw Jon Snow again, more a man now than a boy you’d left behind in Winterfell, your heart nearly shriveled up within your chest. Youthfulness had left him, replaced with a permanent twinge of melancholy. A scar circled around his right eye, seemingly newer, and his mound of curled tresses remained tugged into a half-bun.

You stood in Brienne’s shadow, shuddering from the gnawing bite of the cold, feeling it slowly eat away at your bones. Sansa sobbed into her brother’s shoulder — and you couldn’t fault her for it. The viciousness she suffered at the hands of the Boltons was some of the worst cruelties one could imagine.

It was only when you caught Jon’s eye that he felt his breath hitch within his throat, and he felt like a young man again — freshly eight-and-ten, watching as he introduced you to Ghost for the first time. The sound of your curious laughter had filled the courtyard of Winterfell, and he remembered it as if it were yesterday.

You were from a distant dream, somewhere close yet far away, slipping in and out of his thoughts.

The last thing that you wanted was to detract from Sansa’s reunion with her brother, and so you kept quiet, bringing yourself into the shoddy shelter of your cloak. Your visage was icy, stung by the bitter wind of the far North, and your hands ached.

“You are safe here,” Jon murmured, brown hues glistening with appreciation as he looked upon Brienne of Tarth. “I owe you my gratitude for saving my sister. Whatever you need from Castle Black, you’ll have it.” He nodded, finding his gaze drifting towards you, begging for you to look his way.

Perhaps you didn’t recognize him, but that seemed far-fetched. Edd beckoned for Sansa to follow him at Jon’s command, hoping to find warmth in the guest chambers in the Lord Commander’s suite. The burden and duty no longer belonged to him.

Brienne bowed, hand atop the pommel of Oathkeeper, the Valyrian steel sheathed within its scabbard. “I swore an oath to Catelyn Stark that I would keep her daughters safe — and I shall keep it.” She replied, cerulean hues flickering towards you. “Lady Sansa’s escape wouldn’t have been possible without her.”

Jon gazed at you as if you had brought down the sun and stars themselves, moved mountains with will alone. Gods, he missed you terribly. His departure for the Night’s Watch had left a gaping hole in your heart, never to be filled, but seeing him again only seemed to make it ache with something painful.

Wordlessly, your feet carried you before logic could stop you in your tracks, and you flung yourself into Jon’s embrace, feeling his arms wrap around you. Brienne’s countenance glistened with the realization that you knew Jon, and she seemed to steer Podrick away, allowing the both of you some privacy.

“You’re alive,” You whispered into his shoulder, feeling hot tears trickle down your cheeks. Part of you worried that he might’ve perished, but here he stood, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a man. “It has been so long, Jon Snow.”

He hadn’t been alive days ago — death had claimed him once before.

The scars that littered his body seemed to ache and throb with the mere thought of his own demise, and the anguish of betrayal that came with it. His dark brows furrowed together, visage one of gentle joy as he released you from his grasp. “You look older.” Older in the eyes — not in the face.

You were still just as beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen — your appearance hadn’t changed, and he hoped that your heart hadn’t, either. Your friendship kept him afloat for many years during his time in Winterfell, living as a Stark. You never cast your judgment upon him for being a bastard — and you never would.

“So do you,” Concern crept into your voice as you looked over his rugged beard and the scar upon his brow. “What happened to you, Jon?” There was so much he wished to tell you — from the Wildlings to the White Walkers, and his death. You could see it in his face — the maturity, the weight of duty, an abundance of stoicism.

“It’s a long story.” Jon huffed, Northern timbre crackled with a bout of faint amusement, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. He gestured for you to follow him, striding across the courtyard of Castle Black in-search of his own quarters. He no longer held the Lord Commander’s chambers, and for good reason.

The men of Castle Black weren’t accustomed to seeing a woman — it evoked his streak of protectiveness when it came to you. He ensured that he kept close to your side during the lengthy trek to his chambers. Brienne was sworn to Sansa, and Jon knew that she would be well looked-after in the Lady’s stead.

Ascending a flight of rickety wooden steps, Jon led you to his quarters. Smaller, but he preferred his solitude. His brothers had stabbed him, tore away his mantle of Lord-Commander, killed him — as soon as he could, he intended on leaving.

Pushing the door open, you were met with the gust of a raging hearth, warming your brittle bones as you rubbed your hands together, “Gods,” You whispered, immediately moving toward the crackling fire, extending your hands to the flames, eyes closing in satisfaction. “I nearly thought we wouldn’t make it.”

Jon’s brows furrowed together, and he pulled up a wooden stool for you to sit, and so did he, firmly planted at your side like a dutiful guardian. “You’re safe here. I’ll have a bath drawn for you.” Dirt stained your visage, clothes tattered and worn from travel, hem shredded and covered in snow and mud.

Something forlorn reached his eyes, a distant glimmer of melancholy that you immediately recognized. He was still Jon, but something else seemed amiss. You lowered your hands into your lap, basking in the lick of the firelight. “All my life, I longed to see beyond Winterfell. Here I am — and here you are.” Your smile was threadbare.

The both of you had endured unimaginable hardships during your time apart, yet the warmth and fondness of your friendship remained, strong as ever. If Jon told you what all had happened, what he saw, what he went through — he wondered how much of it you would believe.

“Do you remember the night of the feast, when King Robert came to Winterfell?” Jon remembered — he remembered you, most of all. Gods, you looked so beautiful that night, bringing him a heaping plate of foodstuffs from the banquet, keeping him company throughout the night’s festivities.

“Of course,” It was one of the last days you had spent with Jon before he departed for the Night’s Watch. You had a plethora of regrets, and not kissing him that evening was one of them. The opportunity had dangled itself before you, and you never acted on it. “They sheared your face clean. A disservice to you, truly.”

A brief huff of laughter escaped him, lips twitching into a faint smile. “That’s what you chose to remember?” He remarked, planting his forearms against his knees. Admittedly, he chose to remember you — the way your dress clung to you, the vibrancy of your smile, tenderness in your eyes.

Your nose wrinkled in amusement before you waved him aside, a smile stretched across your features — happier this time, full of warmth. “I remember more than just that, but yes. You weren’t so dour, then.”

Jon chuckled, effectively shattering his stoic mask as he looked at you, head canting to one side. “I still was, always sulking about in some corner,” He mused, peering toward the hearth. “The things I’ve seen — the things I’ve been through …” His jaw tightened, and the wound to his heart seemed to ache.

Empathy tugged at your countenance, one that dissipated from something lighthearted to seriousness. You reached out, resting a palm against his bicep. “What happened to you, Jon? You don’t seem the same.” You asked, glancing toward the scar on his face.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you about his death and resurrection — not yet, anyway. It was still too fresh a wound to speak of, left gaping and open, one that would take time to fully heal. “I went beyond The Wall.” Jon stated, as if that would answer all of your questions.

Silence drifted between you both, and you exhaled, brows creasing in contemplation as you looked toward the fire. You let your hands drift closer again, hoping to absorb any lick of heat that you could find. Jon stared at you, unbeknownst to you, studying the intricacies of your visage, the way your tresses framed your face.

Abandoning the rank of Lord-Commander had been a liberating thing. He was done fighting for men who had countered him at every turn, men who slaughtered him. He was unsure of his next course of action, but he wanted you there with him, regardless.

Hunger and famine gnawed at your stomach, chewing you up and spitting you out. Even Jon could hear the violent lurch of your stomach, see the exhaustion etched into your features. He didn’t want to keep you, but he didn’t want to leave you, either.

“You should clean up, join us for supper,” Jon prompted, melting away the tenuous silence. “I’ll see about finding you something proper to wear.” He wanted to continue to reminisce with you, but you deserved a moment of solace, a chance to bathe and warm yourself without his intrusion.

You nodded, offering Jon an amiable smile. “I want us to continue our conversation,” You insisted, your voice soft and tender, a silky resonance. Instead, you reached for his hand, finding the calloused, roughened plane of his palm. “I’ve missed you, Jon.” If he hadn’t realized it by now, then he might’ve been blind.

Jon’s breath hitched within his throat, reduced to a mere boy in your presence. Whatever he thought of at that moment, it was inappropriate — it transcended all bonds of propriety and proper friendship, yet he couldn’t help it. How long had he thought of you? Yearned for you, dreamed of you whenever he was laying on the cold earth somewhere beyond the Wall?

If it weren’t for his uncertainty, he would’ve kissed you then and there.

He never stopped to consider what your life was like now — perhaps you had a husband and a family, a life that had moved on from him, no longer frozen in the time of your youth. Jon always feared that being a bastard would’ve stopped you from courtship, but he knew now that you didn’t care. You never did.

Years of letting yourself toil over Jon Snow had amounted to this — to this unspoken affection that permeated the fringes of your friendship. In his absence, you hadn’t taken a husband, you hadn’t wed. Part of you thought you would become a spinster and live out your days caring for your ailing father.

Tension simmered, sparking to life in the wake of your intertwined hands. “I missed you, too.” His accent seemed deliciously thick, noticeably huskier with the rougher pitch of his tone. Those earthly-brown hues of his bored right into you.

Your stare became doe-like, able to feel his calloused digits, how strong his hands had become, careworn from holding a sword. Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you let your hand recoil, placing it back into your lap. Your fingers curled tightly into your dress.

With a brief clearing of his throat, Jon decided to give you privacy. “I must speak with Sansa,” He murmured, standing up from his stool with an abruptness. His heart thumped madly within his chest, throat becoming thick as he gathered his bearings. “Come to supper when you’re finished.”

“Of course. Thank you, Jon.” You smiled, and he stepped out to give you your solace. His quarters were noticeably smaller yet homely, and you immediately decided to go to the washroom to clean yourself. Endless dirt and grime stained your flesh, making you feel worse than you already did.

As soon as you disrobed, sinking into the steaming-hot waters of the metal tub, you submerged your head beneath, coming up for a gasp of air. You glanced toward the hearth, scrubbing yourself down with a bristle brush and sponge, using the scarce amount of herbs and soap given to you.

You thought of Jon — thought of his hand, the firmness of it, the rough-hewn texture of his skin, the hardened muscle of his bicep beneath your grasp. You thought of the dismal, tempestuous storm of emotions raging war within his gaze when he spoke of being beyond The Wall.

It gave you much to dwell on as you scrubbed away the dirt from your skin, smoothing handfuls of hot water across your face. A simple Northerner’s dress and a furred cloak lay on the chair beside you, something suitable to wear that weren’t your tattered rags.

Sloshing around within the steaming water for a moment longer, you finished cleaning up, feeling the continuous gnaw of hunger strike at your stomach. The air was brusque and still bitter with a noticeable chill, the hearth continuing to roar in spite of being left with little attendance.

Tugging on the coarse, linen dress, you retrieved your boots, having thoroughly cleaned them off of hardened dirt. You let your hair dry by the fireside, swaddled in the cloak given to you by Jon. It swallowed you whole, yet it smelled like him — woodlands and scented smoke, the musk of a battle-hardened man.

By the time you joined the others for dinner, you felt cleaner than you had in some time, liberated from the weight of grime and hard travel. Exhaustion still clung to you like a shroud, but you assumed that a proper meal would make it easier to deal with.

Sansa greeted you with a thin smile, moving aside for you to sit next to her. There was never a fondness you shared between one another in your youth — you were always Jon’s friend, a girl who preferred mucking about in the outdoors and watching him fight with steel instead of any ladylike endeavors.

You had become quite proficient with an embroidery needle, and a dagger. They were one and the same for you at-times.

Jon’s silent admiration of you continued, hues fluttering over your form, now rid of soot and dirt. A warm plate of heaping food sat before you, helpings of potatoes, stewed vegetables, and roasted venison. You ate as if you hadn’t consumed a bite in years, the richness of it filling your belly.

“We are to take Winterfell back from the Boltons,” Sansa stated, her tone resolute and assured. “Do you think that there are still allies in Winterfell who might help our cause?” She inquired, her question directed towards you. You knew Winterfell — you’d been there this whole time.

“If Ramsay hasn’t flayed them all alive, then yes,” You murmured, thinking of your father’s corpse, strung-up on some wooden cross, muscle and flesh peeled away to reveal his bones. You shivered, masking your discomfort through a bite of vegetables. “There are still denizens inside who remember the Starks.”

Tormund Giantsbane, Jon’s ally and the leader of the Wildling forces, noisily bit into a haunch of meat, juices spraying across his ginger beard. Brienne’s discomfort and bewilderment was palpable as she turned away, blonde brows furrowing together.

“Could you find your way back in?” Tormund grunted, and you understood the insinuation of his proposal. If you were to rally those who still supported House Stark to Jon’s cause, staging a coup from the inside, it might assist his chances of taking the Keep.

“I suppose I could, but the Boltons rarely let anyone in or out, save for those bearing the Flayed Man sigil,” Jon seemed visibly apprehensive at Tormund’s suggestion, jaw tightening as he stuck his fork into a piece of meat. “It is dangerous now — one wrong move, and they string you up on the banisters, flay you for all to see.”

Tears glistened within your eyes at the harrowing memory of your father — you watched him be pinned to that post, screaming for mercy, men with knives cutting him apart as if he were a pig for slaughter. You hastily wiped them aside, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

Jon’s gaze never wavered from you whenever you spoke — Sansa could see it, Edd could see it.

“That is the fate that befell my father.” With a sharp exhale, you continued to eat, momentarily meeting Jon’s sullen-eyed stare, full of sympathy for your loss. His condolences were unspoken, but he didn’t have to say the words to convey meaning.

“We will find another way,” Jon murmured, brows knitting together. “You’ve risked enough to save Sansa’s life. I won’t let you risk it again. Out of the question.” There was a finality to his words, wrought with a glaring overprotective nature.

Sansa remembered the day they left your father out to bleed in the courtyard — Ramsay’s sickening smile remained emblazoned in the back of her mind. She reached to squeeze your hand, and you nodded, the both of you returning to the food.

She plucked at hers, turning a piece of meat over along her fork. Edd stifled a brief chuckle through a mouthful of hard rations. “Sorry about the food, m’ladies. It’s not what we’re known for.” He stated.

“That’s alright. There are more important things.” Sansa smiled, but you were in the throes of consuming everything that you could. Foodstuffs had become scarce in Winterfell, especially to those who weren’t Boltons — just residents. You had to scrounge and work for every scrap — this meal was the best you had in ages.

A brother of the Watch entered the Great Hall, carrying a scroll of parchment for Jon, one that was marked by the wax seal of Ramsay Bolton. “For you, Lord Commander.”

“I’m not the Lord Commander anymore.” Jon uttered, yet he took the scroll, anger seething within his eyes when he realized whose sigil held the parchment together. He unraveled it, jaw tightening as he began to read it aloud.

“To the traitorous bastard, Jon Snow, you allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind and you have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard — come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon …” Jon trailed off, breath quickening as he looked at Sansa.

Her countenance was one of shock and horror, tears welling within her eyes as she nodded for him to continue reading. The Hall was eerily silent, and you listened, brows furrowing together.

“His direwolf’s skin is on my floor — come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me bastard, and I will not trouble you and your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride North and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, you will …” He stopped.

“Go on.” Sansa murmured, but Jon refused, rolling up the parchment with a despondent, rageful expression. He felt it blossom throughout his chest, the very same anger that consumed him when he sentenced his brothers to die.

“It’s just more of the same.” Jon quipped, preparing to tear it asunder, but Sansa reached over to take it from his hands, unraveling the parchment.

“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister and your Northern bitch. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother — then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” She read, a shudder within her voice.

You shivered, feeling a pang of disgust and fear rattle through you, goosebumps cascading along your spine. Ramsay knew of you — knew that you helped Sansa to escape, and knew of your affiliation with Jon Snow.

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Jon grit out through clenched teeth, fists tightening around Ramsay’s missive. He would kill him for what he did — to Sansa, to you, to his brother. He swore it by whatever Gods were willing to listen.

“Roose Bolton is dead — Ramsay killed him. Now, he has our brother — he has Rickon.” Sansa’s voice trembled, but she remained stalwart, even if she knew what a monster Ramsay was. She used to think that Joffrey was the root of all evil — she was wrong.

“We don’t know that.” Jon protested, but Sansa stopped him.

“We do. He has five-thousand men, at least — I overheard him talking about it when he prepared for Stannis’s attack.” She replied, folding her arms together. You felt nothing but admiration for her — sorrow, perhaps, but you admired her strength in the midst of this.

“How many men do we have?” Jon looked to Tormund, desperate for answers, for a shred of something positive. They were lesser in numbers than the Boltons — they would need allies, and they would need them swiftly.

“Ones that can march and fight? Two-thousand.” Tormund replied. They had a Giant — that had to count for at least fifty men, if they were lucky.

“Jon,” You spoke up at long last, finding your voice as you sat soundly at Sansa’s side. “You are the last true son of the Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal, and they will fight for you if you ask it of them.” The gentle encouragement you offered gave him much to think about.

Sansa reached across the table, seizing Jon’s arm. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell, to save them both.” She pleaded, auburn brows furrowing together. It was the right course of action — it had been years since a Stark had truly sat in Winterfell.

Jon nodded, determination tempering his anger, and the desire for justice. He remembered wanting to ride North to help Robb’s cause, and he didn’t. Sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened if he did — if his brother might’ve survived. There was no time for inaction, not anymore.

“We will reconvene at first light, to discuss our next move.” He briefly squeezed Sansa’s hand before glancing at you. “You need to rest — both of you.” It wasn’t a request — more of a command, really. You and Sansa had been running from Winterfell for days before Brienne happened across you.

You took your leave, hoping to pray about your father alone before dusk settled in.

𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

Brienne had taken Sansa back to her chambers for the evening, and you had gone to the ramparts after finishing your supper.

The death of your father was still an unsightly wound, something that had cut you right to the bone. He was your only family left — the last tether that you had, the last one to truly care for you. It left you with a gaping void of loneliness, one that had only felt healed in Jon’s presence.

Flickering torchlight danced along the wooden bridge that connected two sides of Castle Black, and despite the chill of the air, you remained outside. Rest eluded you, and you knew that you would be up all evening, tarrying around to try and occupy your mind.

Darkening skies twinkled with stars, partially obscured by large wisps of gray clouds, and with it, a light snowfall. The fur-lined cloak you wore kept you warm, shrouded from the gnawing chill as you listened to footsteps resonate from your left side.

The pale shadow of Ghost trotted alongside him, those crimson eyes glowering through the encroaching dusk. The last time you had seen Jon’s direwolf, he was the size of a small dog — now, he was massive, nearly coming up to your shoulder with the tips of his ears.

“What did you feed him?” You mused, kneeling down to greet Ghost as if he were an old friend. You recalled the day that Jon had brought the albino pup home, nothing more than a scraggly runt hidden in his cloak. Ghost nudged your hand, silently asking for a scratch along his ears.

Jon smiled, coming to stand near your side as he peered down into the silent courtyard of Castle Black. It was quiet, save for the occasional soldier scurrying across the dirt or the distant howl of the wind. “He’s much larger than I expected him to be,” He confessed. “Seems he remembers you.”

Ghost whined, ruby eyes studying you intensely, as if he recalled your last meeting. The pale direwolf allowed you to dote on him for a moment longer, padding off to lay outside of Jon’s chambers. You watched him go, a smile spreading across your face.

Your countenance softened at the sight of Jon, tousled curls still tugged into a loose half-bun, a smile toying at either corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you cold?” He questioned, noticing the way your form quivered beneath the cloak he’d given you.

“Quite,” A brief chuckle left you as you wring your hands together, letting them sink into the thick fur that you tugged tighter around you. “I don’t believe that I will be able to sleep tonight, given the circumstances.” You confessed, and he seemed empathetic.

“I don’t sleep much — not anymore.” The night that he had found himself resurrected from the black shroud of death, he did not sleep. Instead, he lay waiting for his brothers to burst through the door, knives drawn, waiting to send him to the cold, hard earth.

Jon slept with Longclaw at his side — he imagined that he’d never feel safe again without it by his hip.

A comfortable silence of understanding drifted between the both of you, and you felt him lean closer, brows furrowing together. “I am sorry about your father,” Jon murmured, knowing what it was like to lose his own. “I am sorry for what they did to him.”

Tears pricked your eyes again, yet you refused to let them fall, jaw tensing before you shook your head. “He is with the Gods now,” You whispered, mustering a threadbare smile despite the melancholy of your talks. “I hope that Ramsay Bolton is not shown any mercy.”

Jon hadn’t heard you speak like that before — so full of pain, an agony in your soft tone that he wished he could rip away from you, place the burden on his shoulders. “We will take back Winterfell — for my family, for yours, for the North. I promise.”

“You’re a good man, Jon.” The two of you remained huddled close together, and you very nearly reached for his hands again, but decided against it. “You always have been, despite what insults you’ve been hurled. They are half the man that you are.”

He was a good man, despite what he thought of himself — an honorable man, the very best of them. His shining qualities were often diminished in the face of being a bastard, and you wished it weren’t so. Jon had long been ostracized for it, even if it was no fault of his own.

Jon hadn’t believed it, that he was truly good. He had done plenty of wrong — broke his vows to the Night’s Watch, killed many men, killed a boy, and for what? What good had come out of it all, other than being sent to an early grave for his actions?

You had always believed in him steadfastly, and he often felt undeserving of your praise. Nonetheless, Jon offered you a forlorn look, smile not reaching his eyes as he bowed his head. “I wish I could believe you.” Through a softly-spoken confession, he turned to face the cutting bite of the Northern winds.

As darkness hovered, the cold beginning to bite at his flesh, Jon gestured toward the doors to his chambers. “It’s getting cold,” Even he had his limits, hardiness tested by the harshness of winter. “Come on.” His hand hovered near the small of your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

The warm sanctuary of his chambers offered you a much-needed relief, hearth roaring beside his bed, lined in countless furs. The furnishings were scarce, and he placed Longclaw at his bedside, never very far from his grasp. An orange glow permeated all it touched, encompassing you in its gentle heat.

Ghost stayed outside, furs able to outlast the encroaching winter. He was the watcher tonight, ensuring that no strangers or brothers disturbed his friend.

You moved to sit against the large, rustic footlocker that sat at the end of his bed, closest to the hearth. The cloak you wore swallowed you whole, allowing you to descend right into the pile of furs, warming your icy flesh. Jon sat beside you, keeping a comfortable distance, one that many might’ve labeled as prudish.

Jon’s lack of subtlety became brazenly clear, dark hues shamelessly fluttering across your face, absorbing the finer details of your form. You had grown into your beauty, and even then, he was at your mercy — you were incomparable in his eyes.

The sting of embarrassment rippled through him, his behavior akin to a young man with an unrequited affection. His one experience with a Wildling woman had been in an effort to feel something, anything — a retaliation against the Night’s Watch.

You were different — you were his friend, a girl he’d known since childhood, now grown into the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. It was as if you reduced him to a mere pup without even trying, unbeknownst to you.

Jon carried a flagon of honeyed mead, the warm liquid churning about within its leather confines. It tasted stale, but it was better than he expected it to be, taking a brief swig. He hoped that it would quell his nerves, but perhaps it was wishful thinking.

“I’ve never been so far away from home before,” You sighed, breaking the comfortable silence with an amiable smile. “I used to always dream of going elsewhere, an adventure away from Winterfell. Now that I’ve gone, I want nothing more than to go back.”

“Has it changed much?” Jon inquired, voice dropping into a husky lull that made you shiver. His tone had become rugged, gruff — that familiar Northern timbre always filled you with a sense of comfort and ease. He hadn’t been to Winterfell in years.

“No,” Your visage grew forlorn, tinged with a peculiar sadness as your lips wavered into a half-frown. “Just those who command it.” The homely stone and Stark banners were all you knew for the longest time — and you hoped that it would be so again.

You wanted to cease dwelling on all things bleak and dreary, and instead, you smiled at Jon, countenance melding into one of genuineness. He caught your eye, features growing unbearably hot beneath the ardor of your gaze. Something passed between the both of you, something that caused you to look away; smitten.

Jon exhaled, taking a swig of the mead before offering it up to you. Liquor wasn’t something he necessarily enjoyed, but it did take some little edge off — for now, anyway. He watched with a faint smile as you took it, giving the cork a brief sniff, nose wrinkling.

Nevertheless, you took a drink, stinging liquid burning your throat on the way down. You sputtered, your expression one of clear distaste as you handed it back to him. “Gods, what is that supposed to be? The Night’s Watch isn’t known for their ale, either.” You huffed.

A huff of laughter tore past his lips, and at last, you could see the glint of his pearlescent teeth, a smile that could melt The Wall itself. “Still can’t handle your drink after all this time?” Jon remarked, corking the flagon of mead as he placed it aside. He didn’t want to drink himself into a stupor with you present.

“There were never any occasions that called for it,” You retorted, a warm playfulness permeating your tone. You leaned forward atop the footlocker, gazing into the flickering flames, its heat basking your visage. “Winterfell wasn’t the same after your family left. Everything seemed so dour, so hopeless.”

Jon hung his head, hands folded together as he contemplated your statement. “Sometimes, I wish I’d never left.” He confessed, tone slipping into something silent, as if he were sharing his greatest sin with the septa. There were times where he missed home — missed what might’ve been.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you didn’t hesitate to look at him, hues swimming with a wet sheen. Reminiscing often brought about plenty of sentiments for you, sentiments that you thought you’d buried. “Sometimes I wish that you hadn’t left, either.” You whispered.

None of this felt real.

There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, a tension that had risen from the lingering flames of a longstanding friendship. Jon felt an unusual swell within his stomach, the onslaught of boyish nerves, yet he pushed them aside for the sake of the moment. It all seemed to feel so right, as if this had been long in the making.

Jon stared at you, absentmindedly tilting closer, enough to where you could feel the heat of his honey-tinged breath fan across your face. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t?” He murmured, hoping that you would confirm whatever it was that he felt, too.

“I am not sure,” Butterflies erupted within the pit of your stomach, hands beginning to reach for one another, even if you hadn’t fully realized it yourself. “I would like to think that I would’ve gained the courage to tell you how I truly felt about you.” There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety present — you knew what you meant, he knew what you meant.

I love you — it was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released, to let his confession take wing into the open air. He should’ve told you that night of the feast, when you took his hand and told him that you would always defend his honor and his name.

“Jon.” Your voice was nothing more than a saccharine whisper, eyes wide and doe-like, a wordless plea to act on whatever it was he felt. Before you could say another word, Jon’s mouth was on yours, hot and rugged, everything that you imagined it would be.

His calloused hand rose to cup your face, rough pads of his digits tracing across your cheek, your jaw — you felt like velvet, an unblemished plane that had eagerly awaited his touch. Jon had always fantasized about kissing you, and the reality of it far exceeded any expectations he might’ve had.

The sudden intensity of the kiss had grown, as if throwing kindling onto an open flame. You weren’t prepared for it, but you needed more. A moan stirred within your throat as you pressed forward, hands reaching for the front of his leather-studded tunic.

Jon kissed you as if you were the air itself, every breath he drew consuming you, dragging you in until you were intertwined. He seized your waist, rough palm sinking into the coarse material of your dress, nearly shuddering at the feeling of your body beneath his palm.

“I love you,” He uttered against your mouth, forehead briefly bumping into yours as he held you close, the weight of his confession beginning to sink in. “I never wish to be parted from you — from this day, until my last day.” Jon promised, voice rumbling and solemn, knowing that he would keep his vow.

Incredulously, you gazed at him with wide eyes, unable to escape the feeling of complete and utter joy you experienced at his confession. Breathless, you took a moment to compose yourself, gather your bearings before you smiled. “Don’t leave me again, Jon Snow.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Jon murmured, eagerly seeking your mouth again, tugging you in for a heated kiss. Gods, your mouth was so disarmingly soft, pliant and plush against his lips, giving him everything that he ever imagined and so much more.

A gentle, uttered string of breathy ‘I love you’s’ left you over and over again, each kiss ripping the air from your lungs, leaving your heart hammering beneath your breast. You shrugged the cloak aside, letting it pool around you, partially strewn across the footlocker.

Desperation laced your kisses, as if something might threaten to rip you away from the excitement of the moment, or that you might wake up from a distant dream. Jon was lost in your mouth, a grunt blossoming from his chest when he hauled you closer, until no sliver of space remained.

He stood up, bringing you with him, standing atop the sprawling furs of slain stags, closer to the lick of the hearth. It allowed him to better hold you, hands respectfully roaming your body, never allowing himself to slip below your hips. “Wait.” He rasped, removing his mouth from yours.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, fearing that you had vastly overstepped. This was all somewhat unfamiliar, the territory new and unexpected. You had been with a man before, but it never crossed a certain threshold — you wouldn’t allow it.

“Is this what you want?” Jon questioned, dark brows knitting together as he regarded you with caution, a devotion reserved only for you. He couldn’t continue without hearing the certainty escape your mouth — he hadn’t done this in some time, himself.

Gods, you loved him. There was a lack of hesitation in his movements, but instead, a desire for clarity. He didn’t want you to feel obligated or trapped in some corner — he wanted you to want him. A twinkle of ardor glistened within your warm gaze as you brought your hands together at the nape of his neck.

It’s what you’ve wanted for such a long time — a terribly long time, at that. Everything felt as if you were wading through a dream, one that would shatter at any moment. “Yes,” You whispered, longing to unfasten the leather buckles and straps that held his tunic together. “More than anything.”

Jon’s breath hitched, a subtle noise, desire beginning to blossom throughout his chest. His grasp on you became innately protective and needy, hands gingerly kneading into your curves. He bent down for another kiss, arms caging themselves around you, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest.

Soft fingertips raked through his dark curls, bringing him to heel as he kissed you, unashamed of his clear desperation. It no longer felt like the ghost of a distant thought — this was a blissful reality. He helped you to remove the bulky leather of his jerkin, but part of him feared fully removing his clothes.

His scars would reveal the abhorrent truth — that he died, brought back to life from the twisted magic of a Fire Priestess. Jon’s hesitation was palpable, especially when your digits sank into the coarse material of his tunic. The leather fell to the wayside, and you were closer to seeing him disrobed.

Jon sluggishly reached for the linen ties that held your dress together, and you gave him a nod, subtly encouraging him to unravel you. As he gently tugged upon the tie, the fabric sagged upon your shoulders, allowing you to push it aside, stepping out of it altogether.

A strangled gasp caught within the depths of his throat, manifesting as a sharp exhale that consumed his ribcage. You were every bit as wonderful as he’d imagined you to be — such fantasies had clung to the fringes of his mind out in the frozen wastelands beyond The Wall.

The plane of your flesh was velvetlike, bathed in the flickering firelight of the hearth, dancing across your body with its incandescent glow. Jon’s jaw visibly tightened, restraining himself from touching you as he pleased. The longer he stood, gawking at your body like some clueless boy, the more emboldened you became.

Careworn digits gingerly wrapped around his vambrace, unfastening the buckles there before you guided his hand to your chest. “There isn’t a need to be bashful,” You whispered, noticing the way his pupils dilated when his calloused palm embraced your pliant breast. “I want you to touch me.” You gently encouraged him.

Jon appeared a touch forlorn, attempting to mask his gnawing fear at the idea of you seeing him. “It’s not you,” His smile was humorless — pensive, even. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” He huffed, hand drifting toward your hip, shuddering at the satiny texture of your skin.

Warmth crept across your spine in the wake of his breathless compliment, prompting you to unfasten his other vambrace. He aimed to distract you, mouth moving toward the spot where your jaw met your neck, beard scratching ragged against your flesh.

He palmed your breast, reveling in the softness of you beneath his rough-hewn hand, tracing along your hip until he squeezed your derrière. Everything about you was plush and inviting, as if you were a goddess incarnate.

Jon’s kiss became hungry, wanton and passionate as his mouth peppered itself along your throat, from your jaw to jugular. He treated you kindly; gracious hands that melded themselves to your form, like a sculptor to his masterpiece.

Saccharine soaps and hints of underlying flora clung to your flesh like a springtime haze, powerful enough to melt this ice he felt. You brought with you such warmth that it threatened to swallow him whole; he delighted in it, letting you shake the frost from his bones.

Lips danced together with a long-repressed passion, now exploding like crackles of fire within a hearth, spontaneous yet heated. You kissed Jon as if he might slip away from you, turning into dust between your fingertips.

A low moan stirred within the depths of your throat when his fingers toyed with your pebbling nipple, prompting you to grip his tresses with an unexpected harshness. You mumbled a sheepish apology, yet he paid little mind to it, dusky hues swirling with an ardent adoration that made your stomach churn.

As your hand drifted to the hem of his worn, linen tunic, he very nearly stopped you — yet, part of him wished for you to see him without a spoken word. Jon’s chest tightened with quickened breaths as you kindly maneuvered the clothing away, and he watched, hues fixated upon your bewildered countenance.

A battlefield — innumerable scars, so fresh that you nearly held your hand over them to stop the bleeding, gouged across his pallid flesh. One that seemed to sting the most rest over his heart, curved and garish, the stroke of a vengeful knife that ended his life.

Wordlessly, you lifted your hand, fingertips tracing across his chest, feather-light and disarmingly gentle; the opposite of the knives that had left their mark. Your brows furrowed together, and you wondered how he could’ve survived something like this — if he survived something like this.

Jon shivered at your embrace, as sweet as the maiden’s grace, caressing him with your resplendent touch. He held you close, arm caging you in, his other hand stroking beneath your breast, above your ribcage. “I didn’t make it,” He rasped, noticing the glimmer of understanding in your eyes. “I’d like to think that the Gods wanted me to see you again.”

His smile warmed you, more than any blazing hearth could, more than that of summertime. A fluttering sensation spread throughout your chest, followed by a hitch in your throat that you stumbled over. “Jon,” You whispered, stroking across his chest with a peculiar tenderness. “I am so sorry.”

It wasn’t the time for condolences — such sentiments could wait. Jon didn’t want your coupling to be soured by what had happened, and instead, he shook his head. His yearning for you trumped that of any sorrow and mulling over death, prompting him to press his mouth against yours once more.

The kiss seemed to convey the unspoken message, his desire to tend to you before discussing the intricacies of his scars. Jon dutifully dipped down to kiss your throat again, and then your collarbone, guiding you towards the fur-laden expanse of his bed.

As you lowered yourself onto your back, Jon kicked his boots aside, crawling across the thick mound of pelts to cover your body with his. You sluggishly spread your legs, allowing him to reside in the space between, palms planted on either side of your head.

Each heated kiss blossomed across your flesh, as he peppered his lips along your shoulder and collarbone, descending toward the valley between your breasts. It was flesh he’d longed to grace, savoring every second spent; his mouth smoothed across the silken flesh beneath your breast.

“Jon,” A sigh of passion tore past your lips, gooseflesh coalescing along your spine as he continued his descent, knowing exactly what he sought. The heat between your thighs sang to him like a siren’s song, and you weren’t about to intercede. “Please, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

The ragged scruff of his beard scratched pleasantly against your skin, the sort of burn that left you aching for more. He kissed across your stomach, inch by agonizing inch, hand reaching back to caress along your calf. It was slow, exploratory — he wanted to learn every curve, every dip and expanse of flesh.

A hazy heat gripped your surroundings, as if everything had become feverish, touched by a fog of warmth that permeated you, sank into him. Doe-eyed hues flickered toward the taut muscle of his back, the blackness of his curly tresses, the scar around his eye.

Planting a kiss against your hip bone, Jon sighed into your thigh, hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. His belly churned with an excitable heat, having waited for such a terribly long time to finally have you. He smoothed his calloused palm along your leg, ascending until he held your haunch.

Gods, you were in ruins — Jon hadn’t even placed his mouth upon you, and you writhed in anticipation. No man had been courageous enough to treat you this way, yet Jon lacked hesitation, settling onto his stomach as he bullied his way between your thighs.

Raking hot embers across your cunt, Jon lapped along your slit, eyelashes fluttering at the sound of your euphoric whimpering. He hadn’t heard a sound quite like that before, and from your lips, it was abhorrently sinful.

He sighed your name; reverent, a prayer only spoken between Gods and men — and you are no man. It made you shiver, belly filling with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, soothed only by the sweet laps of your lover’s tongue.

Jon’s mind reeled with the sight of you — flushed with pleasure, visage contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss. He continued without pause, nose brushing across your mound as he buried his tongue into you, greedily lapping at your cunt as if he were a man starved.

Your heart hammered beneath your breast, that of sheer excitement, consuming you like a tidal wave as you brazenly reached for his tresses. Sinking your digits into the crown of his tousled curls, you tugged, showing your appreciation in an unorthodox manner.

“J—Jon!” A strangled moan tore past your mouth, wisps of air being ripped from your lungs. Jon was inherently greedy, consuming you in the way that you deserved, finding his solace between your thighs. His dutiful lapping continued, from the pearl of your cunt to your aching entrance.

Akin to ice against your skin, Jon’s palms glided along your thighs, moving to trace your hips. His mouth was like a wave of fire, beard searing the silky flesh of your legs as you involuntarily squeezed his head. You hadn’t intended to suffocate him, but it was a worthwhile demise, in his perspective.

One hand fisted the furs, digging in until you threatened to rip it apart, hips occasionally jerking and jolting forward into his mouth. He hadn’t tasted something as sweet as you, like a fine stout coating his tongue, leaving him intoxicating; craving more.

His eyes had nearly fluttered shut, half-lidded slits that occasionally flickered to catch a glimpse of your blissful countenance. Your back arched from the furs, seeking his mouth with reckless abandon as he lapped along your cunt, tongue briefly flicking over your clit.

It was as if you’d been struck by lightning, body bristling with a long-repressed pleasure, something that only he could cure. The sensation of his calloused skin against your plane of silk was a satisfying juxtaposition — he never wanted another’s touch again.

Jon burned for you in every way imaginable, a sonorous groan ripping through the depths of his throat as he moved to lap at your cunt again. His ministrations were slow, made to explore and to savor you instead of letting it all become rushed.

Your fingertips brushed across his scalp, untangling his curls from the half-bun he’d placed them into. They fell across his head, dark and somewhat cropped. He groaned at the sensation, feeling you pull and grip his tresses, guiding your hips closer.

Rough-hewn hands gingerly kneaded into the pliant flesh of your thighs, caressing their way up and down in a soothing manner. Jon savored your taste, letting your nectar find its purchase against his chin, glistening along his lips. He kissed your clit, evoking a breathy sigh from you.

It had been such a long time for the both of you, intensified by feelings of a long-seated desire and carnality, friendship transcending all bonds of propriety. Jon felt his cock twitch within his trousers, incessantly throbbing and straining against the thicker material, longing to be inside of you.

A cry of delight tore past your mouth as you involuntarily jolted forward, grinding yourself into his mouth. Jon treated you to a barrage of eager laps of his tongue, from your entrance to the sensitive pearl of your cunt.

Dragging his tongue in languid circles around your clit, he watched as you quivered and moaned, mouth agape, back arched off of the furs. Knowing what path to follow, he showed attention to your neglected pearl, nose buried into the softness of your mound.

“Jon,” You sputtered, thighs molding themselves to either side of his face, feeling the scratch of his beard rake itself against your silky skin. He listened, dutiful and with a burning desire to please you, continuing to lap at your clit. “Gods, don’t stop.” A trembling exhale left you.

It was then that he melded his lips around the aching bud, beginning to suck on your pearl with a pang of vigor. You shuddered, rattling like a leaf as you haplessly tugged on his mane of curls, hips tilting upwards into his mouth. You whined, fisting the furs at your side.

Jon did not relent, feeling the ironclad grip you assumed, knowing that he was bringing you close to your release. White-hot sparks fluttered across your vision, body singing his praises, collarbone glittering with the first inklings of perspiration.

A strangled gasp tore through your throat, followed by a myriad of moans and pleading whimpers, seeking friction against his mouth. Your release was fast approaching, like a tidal wave of heat, flooding across your body with its intensity. Jon’s name emerged from your lips as if it were the only word you knew.

The pinnacle of your release made you feel as if you were floating, legs shaking in the blissful aftermath, feeling Jon lap at your core a few times over. You exhaled, chest heaving from exertion as you loosened your hold upon his tresses.

“You’ll have to let me do that again.” Jon murmured, and that seemed to ensnare your attention. Seven Hells — you would let him do that for as long as he pleased, whenever he liked. He pressed a few soft kisses against the inside of your thigh, crawling up to be near you.

“Whenever you would like, I will never protest.” You mused, gaze sparkling with mirth and adoration, inviting him back to being on top of you. Though, your impulses had other plans, as your palm pressed against his shoulder. “There is something I wanted to try.”

The softness of your suggestion seemed to placate Jon, who felt you push his shoulder until you guided him onto his back, hooking a leg over his lap. Gods, he would’ve stayed like that for an eternity if you asked it of him. As you situated yourself on top of him, Jon sat up enough to reach you, kiss you if he wanted to.

He felt your fingers move towards the laces of his breeches, and he didn’t stop you, observing you in rapturous hunger instead. His breath hitched, mouth moving inward to press a string of hot kisses against the column of your throat.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this?” Jon’s confession emerged as a husky sigh, murmured against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. It came as a surprise, a wonderful one, and it only made your hands move in a borderline frenzy.

Freeing his cock from its confines, you moved yourself up upon your knees, aided by his strong, firm hands, coming to rest just below your derrière. The flushed tip of his length nudged against your cunt, prompting you to sigh with passion.

“Jon,” A pleading moan tore past your mouth, mind becoming fuzzy as you attempted to absorb the genuineness of his words. The Northern timbre of his hoarse baritone made you tremble, hands steadying themselves upon his shoulders. “Please.”

In a sluggish descent, he gently lowered you onto his cock, the both of you shivering in-tandem. The low, throaty groan that escaped him made your stomach churn with molten heat, letting you find your own pace. He was bigger than you imagined, filling you perfectly.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

Your cunt was tight around him, slick with arousal as you continued to lower yourself, inch by blissful inch until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Jon’s heavy pants fluttered across your throat, mouth pressing near the curve of your jaw.

Jon was captivated by you, inhaling a gust of your soap-laden scent, beard ragged against your soft skin as he continued to kiss along your neck. His hands were resolute in guiding you, rocking you up and down along his cock, chest to chest with you.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled his chambers with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your skin.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders.

A burning sting began to dance along your thighs, the exertion of muscle as you rode him, moving up and down in somewhat rhythmic motions. His cock speared you over and over again, filling you completely before you nearly drew yourself out, and back down again.

“Gods,” You sighed, nails sinking into the muscle of his shoulders, your countenance one of complete and utter pleasure. Leaving behind angry-red crescents against his pale skin, you didn’t want the feeling to end. “Jon, please — don’t stop!” With a simpering moan, your head began to roll back slightly.

Spurred by your softly-spoken praise and breathy sighs, Jon did not relent, hands sinking into your thighs as he guided you against his cock. The angle allowed for friction to blossom, chests bumping together, bodies tangled up within one another.

He kissed his way along your collarbone, bringing you up enough to trap one of your nipples within his mouth. The head of his cock remained pleasantly buried within your cunt, the warming of it making you writhe. He held you steady, greedily kissing at your pert breasts.

One of your hands fisted into his dark curls, tugging on them as if you were attempting to wrangle him into submission. His mouth peppered warm, needy kisses around the valley between your breasts before he let you sink yourself back down, cunt clenching around his cock.

Shameless strings of sinful noises left you in droves, eyes closed in a state of ecstasy. Jon groaned with you, vocalizing his own pleasure as he coaxed you down towards the furs, not wanting to place you there unless you consented.

With a brief bob of your head, you found yourself beneath Jon, his musculature covering you, content between your legs as he hitched one around his hips. The calloused plane of his palm wrapped around your calf, causing you to shiver at the foreign contact.

He could look upon your face, see the way your visage contorted into pure pleasure when he rocked forward, cock burying itself deep into your cunt. His skin was flushed, expression somewhat doe-eyed and awestruck, even if you were too lost to notice.

Your hands moved, one finding its purchase against his bicep, the other on his shoulder as his pace began to intensify. It was a chase, galloping after his release as he bent to kiss you, releasing a grunt into your mouth when you rolled your hips forward.

The wooden frame of his bed began to creak, groaning in protest from the vigor of his ministrations. You didn’t care if he was a touch rougher with you — Gods, you needed him. Heat swirled within your stomach, gnawing at your bones, making your toes curl in delight.

“Jon!” You cried, and that nearly sent him soaring over the edge, cock throbbing inside of you. The friction of your pelvis grinding against him almost made his resolve shatter into two. He lost count of how many times his cock sank into you — it was all blurring together.

The inevitable rush of euphoria reached him when his release came, hot and blistering, making him see stars as he groaned your name. Your nails were digging into his bicep, a gasp emerging from your throat when he thrust into you again.

Ropes of warm spend painted your insides, and he very nearly collapsed on top of you. He had the decency to hold himself afloat, hand tracing along your calf and to the crook of your knee, letting you unhook your leg.

Jon removed himself from you, attempting to gather his breath as he laid at your side, gazing at the dark ceiling above. Your breathing was just as unsteady and erratic as you drifted down from your buzzing high, wiping beads of perspiration from your brow.

Once he recuperated, Jon looked at you, noticing the smile on your face, the unrestrained delight you were experiencing as you rolled over. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured, watching as you began to shamelessly crawl into his arms.

“Quite the opposite,” You hummed, feeling him adjust the furs, drawing them both around you. Despite the feverish pitch of the room, the frost would settle in again soon, especially at the hour of the bat. “Were you jesting when you said you dreamed about this?”

Bewildered, Jon cast his eyes toward you, canting his head to one side. “Of course I was serious,” He huffed, surprised that you would think otherwise. “You were all I could think about, north of The Wall.” His confession was genuine, sweetly-spoken.

“You don’t have to dream about it anymore,” Your voice soothed him, a sound that he had yearned for with a blistering ache. He felt as if you would slip away from him if he let you go. “I won’t leave you.” Your smile was warm enough to melt even the hardiest of frost.

Jon’s lips tugged into a smile, one that you rarely saw beneath the brooding curtain of his visage. He pressed a kiss against your forehead, allowing you to get comfortable against him. The silence that followed allowed for some contemplation, absorbing all of what had transpired.

His scars seemed so fresh when they caught your eye. With a forlornly look, you dragged your fingers over the scar above his heart, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. Your body still felt as if it were caught in some haze, coming down from the blissful aftermath of your coupling.

“If you hadn’t come back …” You trailed off, attempting to refuse to think of some painful reality where Jon perished, but the thought briefly crossed your mind. If he had, none of this would be happening — he wouldn’t be holding you in his arms.

“But I am here,” Jon’s husky timbre shook you to your core as he planted his palm against your cheek, guiding you to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not leaving you.” It was a promise — insistent, spoken from a man who now fully understood the weight of love, the weight of sacrifice.

You nodded, wordlessly reaching to hold his hand, feeling the arm he had caged around you plant itself against the small of your back. He drew circles there, brows knitting together as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard and warm, so real — he made sure that you understood exactly what he meant.

Within the warm embrace of his arms, you let your head recline against his chest, feeling him draw you closer, until there was no space left between the both of you. He listened to the steady, shallow sound of your breathing afterwards.

At the edge of the world, he had you — and that was all he would ever need.