#brandon stark smut

[tallemajas-scriptorium]

Am I working on a FILTHY King Bran Stark smut?? 🤭

@chompchompluke help I’m a total dog

[angrygirlromero]

Masterlist

request are always open…

PERCY JACKSON:

CHARLIE BUSHNELL: (one shots)

CELEBRTY CRUSH

HOUSE OF CARDS

GOOD FOR YOU

SHOOTERS SHOOT

LUKE CASTELLAN:

BASTARD LOVE

HEPHAESTUS GIRLS

OCEAN EYES: 2, 3, 4.

PERFECTION

MY KIND OF WOMAN

CLARISSE LA RUE:

HELPLESS

GAME OF THRONES, HOUSE OF THE DRAGON:

ADDAM OF HULL:

DORNISH PREFERENCE

MAEGOR TARGARYEN:

REQUEST (Maegor x second wife)

REQUEST (Maegor x niece)

LITTLE TOY

REQUEST (Maegor x niece)

REQUEST (Modern Maegor AU)

HEADCANONS

REQUEST (Maegor x pregnant niece)

VISENYA TARGARYEN:

SWEET FANTASIES

[thethreeeyed-raven]

i jus know bran would be nervous as heck talking to you for the first time while having a massive secret crush on you, he doesn’t know where to look because he’s afraid to make eye contact, even though he loves your eyes. jojen,meera, arya, and sansa keep “ooo”-ing whenever the two of you are trying to have a normal conversation bc they all know he swoons over you😭 (it’s super obvious, he’s a big show-off whenever you’re around and perks up everytime he hears someone say your name)

wanna go on a date?

navigation | warnings : none? | a/n : sorry if this is crap, usernames are cringe af sorry abt that, lmk if u want a part 2 :) | bran stark playlist | tags : @knight-of-flowerss @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

Bran couldn't stop staring at your lips.

Was it weird? Maybe a little bit.

Maybe a lot.

Fuck.

Surely you would've noticed by now.

The conversation started when you mentioned to Sansa a video game that you enjoyed playing, and it just so happens that Bran plays that game too (only because you do).

Then you had stopped talking to Sansa and turned to Bran. Your voice didn't reach his ears, he was far too distracted with the thought of what your lips must feel like.

Catelyn had let Jojen and Meera visit, but it seems they were being ignored.

Bran swears he isn't ignoring them, he just likes you so much. So, so much.

"Bran."

He didn't answer.

"Bran. Are you listening?" You eyes flashed with concern. Oh how he could look into them all day long.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Yes, I'm listening." Bran shook all thoughts out of his head, focusing all of his attention on you.

"He's daydreaming about your luscious, red lips." Meera teased, causing a light pink to dust across his cheeks and nose.

"No I'm not." He barely whispered.

Jojen, Meera and Sansa laughed, but instead, you sat with a smile on your face.

You were quite aware of Bran's feelings towards you, and so did everyone else. But they didn't know of your feelings for him.

Bran grew tired of their mockery, sighed and left the room "Just fuck off!"

You had waited for months now. Waiting and waiting for Bran to make a move on you.

And you were sick of waiting.

You got your phone out and pulled up his instagram, clicking message.

y/n.is.tongue.tied :

hey bran! i have a question PLEASE ANSWER😭🙏🏻

literal.3eyed_raven :

is it about [fav video game]? because girl you know i'm shit at it🫠

y/n.is.tongue.tied :

actually i wanted to know if u wanna go on a date?

literal.3eyed_raven :

what

y/n.is.tongue.tied :

a date-

seen

"Oh, my, fucking, god."

"Oi! Language." Ned warned.

"What did I say about phones at the table?" Catelyn held her hand out to take Bran's phone.

"Jon!" Bran shouted to his brother who sat at the end of the dining table.

He looked up, chicken still stuffed in his mouth.

"What do you say when someone asks you on a date?"

Robb laughed loudly, making Jon glare at him out of the corner of his eye. "What are you asking him for? He's never even looked a person in the eye!"

Jon picked up a piece of his food to throw at him, but Robb dodged it.

Arya was quite frankly getting annoyed with her brothers teasing each other, and Bran's unnecessary panic. "Just say yes, it's not that hard."

Bran rolled his eyes. "Of course you wouldn't think it's hard Arya, no one likes to talk to you."

literal.3eyed_raven :

sorry for not answering

yh ofc!

y/n.is.tongue.tied :

do you wanna work out the details tmr?

literal.3eyed_raven :

sure!

y/n.is.tongue.tied :

💗

[novaursa]

Good afternoon Nova!

I know how swamped you probably are with requests, so I will put this in with no expectations because honestly you already give us so much good content for free!

I simply can’t get over your Brandon Stark fics because UGH he is so sexy to me but he’s so underrated like what do you mean I’m trying to find fan fics and you’re giving me the kid in the wheelchair…I WANT HIS UNCLE!

I would like reader to be a Lannister if possible— cersei and jaime’s little sister, the sweetest most beautiful golden child of the family especially tywin who now his wife his gone focuses on her, maybe aerys noticed this and out of spite promises you to brandon? and for months there’s been growing tension and he’s totally in love with you and your father forbids you from seeing him so when there’s a huge tourney he crowns you queen of love and beauty and you sneak off to give him your maidenhead because you are afraid your father would never otherwise let you marry him.

if this scenario is too similar to your last one swap out the tourney for perhaps a celebration of the birth of Daenerys or something where all the major houses are invited.

OR UP TO YOU!! Just the pairing of an actually sweet, baby of the family Lannister with a dark brooding Stark is delicious to me especially with smut.

THANK YOU NOVA 🩵🩷

The Wild and the Golden

Requests are closed

- Summary:  A story where the wolf and a lion fall in love.

- Pairing: lannister!reader/Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I had to make some changes to make plot more believable. I hope you don't mind, dear anon. ❤️ Also, let's pretend there is a godswood nearby for the sake of the story. 😂

The air is heavy with summer heat and the scent of crushed grass and horses. Harrenhal looms in the distance like a burnt carcass too large to ever forget, its broken towers casting long shadows over the green where lords and knights gather in gleaming armor, banners snapping in the breeze. The crowd stirs with anticipation as the final match of the day begins—the roaring excitement dimming to a hush as the gates open and two riders enter the lists. One bears the silver-white sigil of House Targaryen, the other the grey direwolf of the North.

You sit beneath the great pavilion, shaded by silken banners bearing the crimson lion of your house. Your hands are folded delicately in your lap, though your heart is thundering in your chest. The sunlight filters through the canopy and catches in your hair, lighting it up like spun gold. You know eyes are on you—they always are—but today, only one gaze matters. And you feel it. Like fire licking over your skin.

Brandon Stark.

The Wild Wolf of Winterfell rides out in polished steel that gleams like ice, his grey cloak billowing behind him like storm clouds chasing across the sky. He sits his horse with the easy grace of a man born to it, broad-shouldered and tall, his dark hair swept back by the wind. And when his eyes find yours across the field, it’s as if the world holds its breath.

He doesn’t look away.

Neither do you.

Cersei says your beauty makes the gods weep. Jaime once said the sun rises in your smile. Even your father, cold and calculating Tywin Lannister, softens when you enter a room. But it is Brandon Stark who sees past the gold and jewels, who looks at you as if you are wild and wondrous, untamed as the wind sweeping down from the North.

Your heart nearly stops when the horn sounds and they charge.

Ser Barristan Selmy is no easy opponent—a living legend whose skill is whispered about even in the high halls of Casterly Rock. But Brandon rides like the storm itself, reckless and glorious, his lance striking true with bone-jarring precision. Twice they break their lances, and still they return. By the third tilt, the crowd is on its feet, screaming. You barely dare to breathe.

When Ser Barristan falls, it’s not to dishonor — but it is to defeat. Brandon wheels his mount in a sharp circle and lifts his visor, his smile rakish and wild. The victor. The crowd erupts in cheers, though you barely hear it, your pulse drowning out the noise.

He dismounts, walking with that same confident swagger toward the dais where the maidens sit, waiting. You already know. Before he reaches the steps. You know it in the curl of his smile. In the softness of his storm-gray eyes.

He does not crown Martell princess.

He does not choose your sister.

He chooses you.

Brandon Stark kneels at your feet, dust and sunlight clinging to his dark curls, and with a smile that could undo a kingdom, he offers you a garland of blue roses. You inhale their scent—clean and fresh like northern winds—as he places the crown upon your golden head.

"My queen of love and beauty," he murmurs. "And none other."

The silence that follows is deafening.

Aerys Targaryen shifts in his chair, eyes glinting with mad glee. Rhaegar’s mouth tightens into a line. Cersei stiffens beside you, hands clenched so tightly her knuckles go white. But none of them matter, not even the silver prince. Not even your sister. Not even the Mad King.

You meet Brandon’s eyes as he straightens. He does not bow. He smirks like the wolf he is, reckless and wild and beautiful, and your lips curve into a smile before you can stop it. You lower your gaze only slightly, lashes dipping, cheeks warm. He’s watching you like you are a fire he wants to burn in.

And then—

"Enough."

The cold voice slices through the air like a sword. Lord Tywin rises from his seat, every inch the Lion of Casterly Rock in his heavy crimson cloak, jaw clenched and eyes like flint. The pavilion stills, a hundred lords turning at once.

"Lord Stark," he says, calm but sharp, a warning in every syllable. "Your theatrics were unnecessary."

Brandon, unflinching, turns. "Was it a tourney, or was it not, Lord Lannister? Am I not free to crown the lady I choose?"

"You are free to crown her," Tywin says, stepping closer, voice low. "But she is not free to be touched by the likes of you."

Brandon’s smile vanishes.

You rise slowly, hands still clutching the blue roses. "Father—"

But Tywin’s eyes snap to you, and you fall silent. That look—the one he wears when the court bends to his will. The one that silences even the proudest lion.

"You will return to our tents. Now."

Brandon’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing as you descend the steps. He watches you go, and you feel the weight of it, the pull of something unspoken between you. You clutch the roses tighter. Their petals are soft. Delicate. But their thorns bite into your palms.

Behind you, the murmurs start.

The Wild Wolf crowned a lioness. The Mad King smiles. The Lion of the Rock is furious.

But none of them know what passed between you and Brandon Stark. Not really.

They don’t see how your eyes find him even now, how his linger on you like a vow made in secret.

You are not his.

Not yet.

But the fire has been lit. And wolves, once they scent what they want, never give up the hunt.

The castle ruins of Harrenhal are a maze of shattered stone and blackened towers, haunted by the memory of fire and madness, yet that night it is cloaked in silver moonlight, softened by summer warmth and the scent of roses still clinging faintly to your hair. You wear a plain cloak over your gown, hood drawn up, feet silent against the ground as you move like a shadow through the corridors. The guards posted by your father’s tent do not stir—they never saw you slip away.

Your heart is beating wildly, not from fear, but from anticipation. From certainty.

You find him near the old godswood, where the weirwood tree still grows stubbornly through a crack in the ruined stone, pale and ghostly beneath the stars. Brandon stands with his back to you, half-lit by moonlight, the wind stirring his dark hair. His sword belt hangs loosely around his hips, but he is unarmored now, dressed simply in a dark tunic, sleeves rolled up, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

He turns before you can speak. He always seems to know when you are near.

"I wasn’t sure you’d come," he says softly, voice rough with something unspoken.

You step forward, lowering your hood, and the moment he sees your face, all the tension drains from his shoulders. His smile returns—not the wolfish grin he wears before lords and ladies, but something raw and true, like dawn breaking over winter hills.

"Of course I came," you whisper. "I would’ve torn down the Rock to see you again."

He crosses the distance in three long strides and takes your face in his hands, callused thumbs brushing over your cheeks, your golden hair curling around his fingers like silk. He studies you like a man starved—drinking in every inch of you, every breath.

"You’re real," he murmurs. "I was afraid this was just a dream the gods would take back before morning."

You smile up at him, trembling slightly under the weight of the moment, and place your hands over his. "If it is a dream, let me never wake."

His mouth finds yours before you can say another word. The kiss is nothing like those shared between highborn maidens and their suitors. It is fierce and consuming, as if he’s trying to breathe you in, to take you into himself. You answer with equal fire, gripping his tunic, pulling him close until there is no space between your bodies.

The world falls away. There is no Tywin. No court. No crown.

Only Brandon.

Only you.

He presses his forehead to yours when the kiss breaks, your breaths tangled in the dark. His voice is hoarse when he speaks. "I want you, Y/N. Not for sport. Not for rebellion. I want you as my wife, my lady, the mother of my children. I want every day of my life to start and end with you."

Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, but from the unbearable tenderness in his words.

"Then take me," you whisper. "Here. Now. Let there be no question. Let my father see there’s no undoing us."

Brandon hesitates only for a heartbeat—not from fear, but reverence. He takes your hands and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles with aching care, as if you’re made of glass. Then he leads you to the mossy grass beneath the weirwood, where moonlight filters through the twisted branches, painting your skin in silver and shadow.

He undresses you slowly, as if memorizing every part of you—his touch worshipful, hands trembling slightly as he lowers the gown from your shoulders. Your skin glows in the night air, golden and soft beneath his fingertips. When you unfasten his tunic, your hands are steadier than you thought they’d be.

There is no shame between you. Only need. Only love.

He lays you down gently, his mouth finding yours again, his hands learning you like a prayer. When he enters you, it is with a groan buried against your throat, and you gasp softly, arching to meet him. It is pain and pleasure, but you welcome both. Your fingers clutch his back, nails scoring skin, and he groans again, pressing kisses to your lips, your cheek, your neck.

"You’re mine," he whispers over and over. "Mine."

"And you’re mine," you answer, pulling him deeper.

The rhythm of your bodies becomes the only truth that matters, the only music under the stars. You move together like you were made for this, like your bones remember him from another life. The weirwood watches with its bloody red eyes as you fall apart in his arms, breathless and shivering with pleasure.

Afterward, he holds you close, your limbs tangled, your face buried in his neck. He smells of pine and leather and earth, and something wild that is purely him.

"I’ll go to your father," Brandon says softly. "Let him rage. Let him threaten. But he won’t undo what’s been done. You’re mine now, and he’ll have no choice."

You smile against his skin. "You’d face Tywin Lannister with nothing but your sword and your pride?"

He chuckles, low and warm. "I’d face a thousand Lannisters if it means having you at my side."

In that moment, you believe him.

The future is uncertain. There is a mad king on the throne, war in the wind, and lions who do not let go easily.

But tonight, beneath the cursed towers of Harrenhal, a wolf and a lioness made their vows in secret. And not even fire and blood will tear them apart.

[twins-write]

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[asa-do-your-thing]

The Game

18+ MINORS DNI Eddard Stark x F!Reader x Robert Baratheon 6.2 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut duh, virginity, alcohol, fingering, doggystyle, mmf, threesome, blowjob, cunnilingus, overstim, actualy really cute and fluffyas always no proofreading no nothing dedicated to @zaldritzosrose and @foxyanon <3

"Everything is fine," You assured Ned, your voice quiet as you looked over at him. He was holding your dress together at the back where he had accidentally ripped it with Brandon's shield. "It's fine, we can just wait here until my sister can bring me a new dress," you suggested. Robert Baratheon's tent was impressive in size - expected for someone of his status as head of House Baratheon.

Eddard Stark, the man you have long since felt affection for, stood in front of his friend and blushed as red as an overripe apple, and tried his best to look away from your exposed back. “Robert, I’m sorry, you know I couldn’t take her back to her family like that and I would dishonour her if I brought her back to my tent… Brandon sees everything and I couldn’t possibly harm her reputation…”, he rambled and looked apologetically at his friend.

Robert gave the two of you a wicked smile and wiggled his brows, before beckoning you to come closer. “Is that not the shy Lady you danced with yesterday, Ned? My, I did not think you to be so chivalrous. Or sly… it is not like I told you yesterday that the view of my tent’s entrance is obstructed…”

Your heart started beating rapidly as you watched the two handsome young men interacting with each other and felt the back of your dress drooping again, a cold draft passing over the tops of your buttocks. “Eddard, the dress!”

Eddard started, his gaze snapping back to you. He quickly gripped the torn fabric of your dress, drawing it together. "Apologies," he muttered, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Robert roared with laughter, slapping his knee. "Seven hells, Ned! I've known you since we were boys, but I never thought I'd see the day when you’d be flustered by a woman’s bare back." Even as he teased, there was affection in his voice.

Eddard shot Robert an irritated look but held his tongue. He turned to you again, still fumbling with your dress, and then dropped his hands and looked helplessly at Robert. "I can't hold this all day," he admitted grudgingly.

Laughter still dancing in his eyes, Robert stood up from his seat at the head of the table and ambled over to a chest by the side of his tent. He rummaged through it for a moment and then came back carrying a thin fur cloak. "Here," he tossed it over to Eddard who barely caught it in time.

"Thank you," said Eddard quietly as he wrapped the cloak around your bare shoulders, careful not to let any more skin show than necessary.

The fur felt warm against your cooled skin and you sighed in relief. You turned around carefully to look at Eddard who was now standing slightly away from you. His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the remaining length of the cloak and your heart fluttered at the brief contact.

Meanwhile, Robert sat back down, eyeing both of you curiously. “Actually… Now that I’ve come to think about it, I’ll send a servant after your sister and tell her to forget your dress. I think we shall spend a wonderful evening here, instead of having to prance around in front of Lord Whent’s daughter and that Targaryen Prince once more. I have a bottle of strongwine I’d wish to finish with you.”

You nervously eyed Eddard and Robert, slowly shaking your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “No, I shouldn’t… I…”

Robert held up a hand to stop your protest. "Barely half a week in Lord Whent's castle, and you've already attended more tourneys than I can count," he said, then waved around the tent with a flourish.

"What is more enticing? Another night of listening to Whent’s daughter prattle on about the virtues of housekeeping, or an evening of mayhaps too much wine, laughter, and stories from two charming men from Great Houses?"

Eddard looked up at his friend, his eyebrows raised in surprise at the sudden change in his tone. To you, it was clear that Robert had more to offer than just a simple drink; it was an opportunity to escape the stifling expectation of propriety.

He moved closer towards you, his eyes glinting in the candlelight and revealing a new depth of fondness. "I used to tell Ned that laughter is the best cure for everything - war, heartbreak, even frostbite." He paused, looking straight at you with a reassuring smile. "Perhaps it is time we tested that theory... together."

Silence hung heavy in the air as Eddard nervously rubbed at his neck. His shy, grey eyes met yours, pleading silently for you to consider Robert's offer. You saw not just affection from him but also a desperate desire for companionship - an appeal that tugged at your heartstrings. Your father would never have approved - this alone made you consider their offer.

Robert broke the silence by standing and extending a hand towards you. His eyes were warm as he waited patiently for your decision. "So?" he asked, his voice laden with anticipation.

You glanced over at Eddard one last time before finally reaching out and placing your hand into Robert’s, to which he softly made you shuffle over to a settee. “One evening won’t hurt,” you said with a small smile. “We already snuck around the tourney grounds last night, Eddard, and no one saw us. And you, Lord Robert, I’ve heard many good things about you. Some time with you and strong wine will not hurt, I think…,” you said softly, almost as if trying to convince yourself that whatever you were doing was, in fact, normal and alright. It would’ve been easier to do so, you thought, if the two of them did not make you feel giddy and if your dress - and to your horror, your shift under it - was not falling apart.

Robert’s laughter rang out again, hearty and infectious, filling the tent. “Ah, you underestimate us, my lady! We are far more entertaining than any tourney,” he declared, settling back onto the settee with an exaggerated flourish, his arm draped behind you and Eddard.

The evening passed in a whirl of stories and laughter, of shared glasses of strongwine and knowing glances. Eddard’s bashfulness was soon replaced by quiet amusement as Robert recounted tales of their childhood adventures — some heroic, some foolish, but all engaging. Eddard would chime in now and then with corrections or additions that made the stories even more enjoyable.

Your nerves slowly eased away as the night progressed. You found yourself laughing heartily at Robert’s boisterous jokes and charmingly exaggerated anecdotes. Eddard’s reserved wit added a refreshing touch to the cheerful atmosphere. The soft fur cloak provided not only warmth but also a sense of comfort and security amidst your unusual predicament, especially as you finally felt the last few inches of your dress and shift falling apart.

Robert had been right; this was indeed far better than another tedious evening at Lord Whent's tourney. The unspoken expectations for noble ladies like yourself were temporarily forgotten in the company of these two captivating men. And most importantly, you felt a strange sense of camaraderie with them, an intimacy that belied the short length of your acquaintance.

Eddard - no, Ned you were supposed to call him, Robert had said - looked at you then, a soft smile tugging at his lips as if contemplating an endearing secret. You met his gaze and smiled back, feeling a tenderness towards him that startled you with its intensity.

Robert interrupted the moment by raising his nearly empty goblet. “To unforgettable nights.”

You toasted back and finished your cup, your head body all warm and woozy. “This… this is the best I’ve ever felt. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Ned, much to your surprise, stayed quiet and eyed both you and Robert with a small smirk. His fingers gently touched yours as he looked deeply into your eyes. "You're welcome to stay longer, if you wish," he said softly.

“But… Lord Robert…?”, you asked quietly and looked at the big, muscular man with the beautiful blue eyes, who, just like Eddard, seemed to look better with every instant that passed.

“Oh, I won’t mind. Though… Actually, let us properly finish this bottle before we can even think about sleeping or leaving. My Lady, have you ever played truth or dare?”, Robert asked you with a smirk that mirrored Ned’s.

You blinked at Robert, taken aback by his proposition. “Truth or dare?” you echoed uncertainly. The game was something children played during frivolous feasts, not something that nobles such as yourselves indulged in. His smirk widened at your surprise, delight sparkling in his eyes.

“Indeed, my lady,” Ned chimed in, his grey eyes twinkling with mirth. “A chance to honor honesty or test courage. Both qualities we admire.” His gaze held a touch of challenge, daring you to accept their proposition.

A wary heart warred with a curious mind within you. But the boldness of the Baratheon and the comforting presence of Stark had already stirred a perilous thrill in you. This game could be terribly revealing and potentially jeopardizing. But it could also be liberating. You were never one to shy away from challenges.

“Very well,” you sighed dramatically, feigning reluctance. “I accept.”

Glee replaced the smirks on their faces as they hastily poured more strongwine into your goblet than was necessary, making you giggle at their eagerness. You raised an eyebrow at them suspiciously as they clinked their goblets against yours before gulping down their share heartily.

“As our guest of honor tonight, you shall have the first choice,” Robert declared after he set his goblet down with a loud clank. He was already halfway through his strongwine again and his cheeks reddened as he looked at you expectantly.

Your stomach fluttered nervously as you considered your options but seeing the anticipation in the men’s eyes only made you bolder. You wanted to prove to them that you were not afraid of their questions. Dares could easily be done - though the truth… the truth, in your opinion, could be far harder. “Alright, my Lords. I choose the truth,” you said with a small smile, not showing any reaction to Ned’s hand on your leg. You slowly understood what game was truly being played here, but to your own surprise, it only seemed to thrill you even more.

Robert, with a roguish grin, leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Very well," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Whom do you fancy more, Lady? Ned with his solemn eyes and honorable ways, or me with my charm and good looks?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as the words echoed in the air of the tent. The two men watched you expectantly, their eyes bearing into yours. This was indeed a tricky challenge, you thought with a soft smile. A truth that could possibly upset this delicate balance between you three.

"You're putting me in a difficult situation, Lord Robert," you said playfully, pretending to be distressed by the question. "Both of you have your charms."

Robert chuckled at your answer while Ned's grey eyes were unreadable but his hand on your leg tightened slightly in response.

“Very diplomatic,” Robert teased, swirling his goblet of wine around before taking another deep gulp. “But it won’t be that easy to evade our questions by being coy.”

“Agreed,” Ned added with a smirk that was quite uncharacteristic for him but suitably devilish for the situation at hand.

“Alright,” you said, sighing heavily for dramatic effect once again, “I’m drawn to both of you.” You paused for effect and looked at both men. “To Robert’s infectious laughter and bold spirit.” You turned to look at Robert whose grin widened at your praise while he nodded approvingly.

“And,” you continued, “to Ned’s gentle strength and handsomeness.” You then directed your gaze at Ned who seemed slightly taken aback by your confession, and blushed deeply. “That was… not so bad,” you mumbled with a small grin, “ and I choose you, Robert, next. Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Robert replied almost instantly, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You smirked mischievously as a dare popped into your mind. It was nothing outrageous but something that would surely entertain you.

“I dare you, Lord Baratheon, to sing us a song. A love ballad preferably."

Robert’s eyes widened at your words before he groaned loudly, much to Ned's amusement. "By the gods, woman! You truly are a sadist!" He complained, but there was a twinkle in his eye that was hard to miss.

"Those were the rules of the game," you retorted cheekily and gestured for him to proceed.

With another dramatic sigh, Robert started humming an old Westerosi ballad about a knight and his fair lady. His voice was surprisingly melodious for someone so gruff and brawny. The smile on your lips widened as he really got into it, gesticulating wildly and not missing out on even one of flourishes.

When he finished, he bowed low in front of you with a grand flourish causing both you and Ned to break into uproarious laughter. Your sides hurt as you tried to stop laughing while Robert feigned hurt.

“Your turn, Stark,” Robert said after everyone had finally managed to calm down from all the laughing. “Truth or Dare?”

Ned thought for a moment before replying, “Truth.”

Robert rubbed his hands together as if relishing what he was about to ask next. “So Ned… Is it true that you have ripped this fair maiden’s dress on purpose?”

Ned turned scarlet at the audacious question and apologetically pressed a kiss on your hand. “I… Fuck, Robert, that was mean! Y-yes, I did. I only wanted to rip it a bit, but my dagger must’ve slipped and I also nicked your shift and… I only wanted to be a gallant knight to maybe steal a chaste kiss, but now I’m here, with your clothes falling off of you…”

"Quite the confession, Ned," Robert boomed, laughing heartily at his friend's discomfort. "The shy wolf with lecherous intentions. Who would have thought?"

You smirked, looking at Ned whose blush went even deeper. "It was quite the sight to see you flustered, Ned," you confessed, keeping your tone light-hearted. "I must admit, it only added to your charm."

Despite the blush on his face, a pleased smile spread on Ned's lips at your comment.

"And since I've been putting you gentlemen to test so far," you continued, amusement coloring your voice and a wicked glint in your eyes. "I believe it is high time I got a taste of my own medicine."

Both Robert and Ned exchanged glances before Robert turned back to you with a deep grin. "Dare it shall be then," he declared, raising his goblet in a toast.

Your heart skipped a beat as you awaited their command – the thrill of the game alive and pulsating in your veins.

And then Ned spoke up, his voice slow and deliberate – enough to send chills down your spine. “We dare you to dance for us.”

The request caught you off guard - dancing did not seem like much of a challenge until you remembered that there was no music playing in the tent - no lute or harp melody to guide your movements, not to mention that you only had Robert’s thin fur coat to cover your body.

"How will I dance without music?" You asked, attempting to divert this dare to something easier. “My dress will fall of completely…”

Robert shrugged nonchalantly and pointed towards himself saying, "Oh, that won’t bother us. But if you won’t dance, I guess you’l have to kiss us, then…”

Your cheeks flushed with excitement as you watched the two of them exchange a sly look. "Oh, so that's how we're playing this game?" you whispered with a mischievous grin. You sprang up and blew out the candles, enveloping the tent in playful darkness.

With a twirl, you shed your garments and snuck over to Ned for a slow, seductive kiss before moving on to Robert for a quick, teasing one. Giggling, you hopped onto Robert's bed. “If you want more, I guess you will have to catch me…,” you whispered and giggled as they cursed and something clattered against the ground.

The next moments were filled with soft laughter and hushed whispers as the two men seemed to plot your capture. You held your breath, wondering which one of them would make the first move. Then suddenly, the bed dipped gently at the corner signaling that someone had made their move. Grinning wildly, you leapt off the bed just in time to avoid Ned's outstretched hand.

"Where are you?!" Robert's gruff voice echoed in the dark followed by a thump and his subsequent curse. It was clear that he'd walked into something and you stifled a chortle, pressing your hand to your mouth.

"Oh, come out! Come out! Wherever you are," Ned called out playfully after a moment of silence. You stayed hidden behind some draped fabrics which seemed like an enclosed pavilion within the tent. Their cautious steps were heard shuffling about in the dimness as they tried to locate you.

Suddenly, a hand brushed against your arm, and before you could react or run, you were being pulled into a warm embrace and gently lifted back onto the bed. You yelped in surprise and then giggled when you recognized Robert’s husky chuckle near your ear. “Got you,” he murmured triumphantly.

"Oh, well done," Ned's voice came from somewhere close by, accompanied by soft clapping. The smile on your face widened when he added with evident amusement, "Now I guess it's best we see how our lovely maiden plans on escaping this situation."

Robert laughed heartily at that but didn’t release his hold on you while you squirmed lightly in his arms trying to appear as if you were attempting an escape, only stopping once Ned’s hand softly gripped the top of your thigh, above the point where your stockings ended and dangerously close to your growing heat. “I… oh!”, you gasped and blushed.

Ned chuckled, a low rumble that made you shudder. "Oh, I like this game," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. You could hear the grin in his voice. You felt his hand squeeze your thigh before sliding away in an achingly slow journey.

"Now, now Ned," Robert's voice came into play. "Let's not be overly greedy, shall we?" His arms tightened around you again as if to doubly emphasize the fact that he was the one currently in control.

You squirmed and twisted around to look at him over your shoulder, giving him your best impression of an innocent doe-eyed gaze. "But if I can't move... how do I continue the game?"

Robert's laughter filled the tent once more. "That's the point, lass. We have you right where we want you."

A thrill ran down your spine at their words, the playful darkness of the tent somehow making their intentions all the more exciting.

Suddenly, Robert let out a groan followed by a muffled curse. Ned had managed to prod him in the ribs with his knee and taken advantage of Robert’s momentary distraction to pull you from Robert’s arms into his own lap. This new position offered no respite; Ned's form was just as hard and unyielding as Robert's had been, yet his hands started wandering once more, shyly cupping your breasts and rubbing your nipples with this thumbs.

"You're sneaky, Stark," Robert protested but there was no real heat behind his words. The tent quieted down as Robert moved from the bed - something clattered against the floor, probably his doublet - and you tried to calm your breathing, so as not to show them how much this… game excited you.

"I learn from the best," Ned replied, pressing a kiss on your temple.

"You haven't seen my best yet," Robert retorted with a sly grin and let his hand wander over your body, stopping short of your mound making you inhale sharply.

“Your… best?”, you breathed and stifled a moan as Ned continued gently playing with your breasts, dipping down to kiss you every now and then.

"Yes, my best," Robert grinned. His voice was huskier than you'd ever heard it before and it sent shivers down your spine. The silence in the tent was only broken by the occasional mutterings of the two men and your small gasps as they touched you in places no man had ever dared to before.

Ned's mouth began tracing a path down your neck, nipping lightly on your collarbone before he moved lower. You whimpered at the feel of his mouth on your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, suckling gently. You clung tighter to him as you felt yourself being pushed back against Robert's equally demanding body.

Meanwhile, Robert’s large hand traveled up and down your thigh, slowly creeping closer to the apex of your legs. His touch was driving you insane, and you could only imagine what would happen when his hand finally reached its destination. "It really is an interesting game," he murmured into your ear, his hot breath washing over you.

"Ned...Robert..." you gasped out their names like a prayer, squirming against them, pleasure building within you like a flame ready to consume everything in its path. The world spun around you, everything focusing down to where their hands and mouths were on your body.

Ned pulled away from your breast with a wicked grin, leaving it wet and your nipple hard. He leaned over to whisper something into Robert's ear while his fingers continued their torturous dance over your body. Robert laughed heartily at whatever Ned said before leaning in to steal a rough kiss from Ned's lips.

Your eyes widened at the sight in the darkness but immediately closed your eyes as you felt Robert’s fingers spreading your moist lips open and after an instant, the warmth of his tongue on your pearl. You did not even notice that Ned took off his clothes, nor did you notice that he softly retuned to his spot behind you, holding you softly in his strong arms. All you felt was the warmth of Robert’s tongue, the pleasure it gave you as it swirled over your sweet spot and at the way his large fingers trailed up and down your heat, not daring to enter you yet, only laying them teasingly against your entrance.

“I think I’m in the lead, Stark, she’s so wet already and I haven’t even been inside her,” he said as he demonstratively patted his hand against your slickness, making the tent echo with your small, suppressed moan.

"Is that so?" Ned's voice was low, his breath sending tremors down your spine as he nudged your ear with his nose. "Well then, let's see where this leads us." His hand slid down your body, joining Robert's between your thighs, their fingers brushing against each other and creating an electric sensation that tickled the pit of your belly.

Robert paused to let out a gruff laugh, but didn't move away from you. Instead, he pressed a hot kiss onto your inner thigh, his stubble scratching delicately against your sensitive skin. "Where are you headed with this, Stark?" His voice was muffled as he continued his ministrations on your throbbing nub.

Ned didn't answer at first. He shifted behind you, moving closer until his naked body was completely pressed against yours, turning you slightly onto your side. You could feel his arousal pressed against the small of your back causing a gasp from you. He chuckled darkly, his hands moving on their own accord to cup your breast and massage it in rhythm with Robert's flickering tongue.

The pleasure coursing through you was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. Ned's strong hands expertly kneading at your breasts coupled with Robert's relentless assault on your wetness had you writhing and moaning in ecstasy between them.

"Ned... Robert…" Your plea came out more like a desperate whimper as Ned’s hands moved down towards your arsecheeks, spreading them, squeezing them, spanking them. Suddenly, the sensation of Robert’s mouth retreating caused a frustrated whine to escape from you.

"Patience, darling," Robert admonished gently as he leaned up from between your legs, pressing one final kiss on your warmth before moving up to your face, kissing you sweetly, his mouth tasting of your cunt, yet you could do naught but to kiss him feverishly, because Ned, in your moment of distraction managed to crawl between your opened thighs, and inserted his finger into your warmth, making you moan into Robert’s mouth.

“Let me… anything… oh…,” you muttered wantonly and let your hand explore Robert’s big body that loomed over you, before shyly closing your small hand around his hardness, your mind spinning as you noticed that you could easily hold his with your second hand as well. With a growing blush you moaned as Ned slowly inserted a second finger into your heat, slowly moving them, whilst pressing small, sweet kisses onto your rosebud.

"Ned...more," you whimpered, your hand tightening around Robert's length as the tension coiled tighter within you. The Baratheon lordling let out a low groan at your touch, his own hand nestling in your hair to keep you close.

"All in good time, love," Ned murmured against your heat, sucking your juices off of his fingers bore gently inserting them again, curling them inside you and sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your body. His other hand left your thigh, travelling up to tangle in your hair as he guided your head towards Robert's ready arousal.

Gods, they both made you feel tiny as they roamed their hands over your shivering body. Helplessly you did as he motioned, opening your mouth and tasting Robert for the first time. He was rich and salty and filled your senses completely. You heard Robert's sharp inhale as you took him in deeper, his hand tightening in your hair as you choked on his length, your tongue swirling around him.

Meanwhile, Ned had taken advantage of your distraction to press his thick digit further into your warmth, matching Robert's moan with one of his own. "I believe I have taken the lead again," he chuckled lowly, continuing his torturous pace inside you. His voice was ragged, filled with desire and anticipation that mirrored yours. You could feel him shifting behind you once more, and when you felt the blunt pressure of his cock against your entrance, it took everything within you to keep from crying out loud.

"Ned..." It was a plea this time, a desperate cry for release that he answered with a gentle thrust inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, filling you completely as he stilled inside you to let you adjust to him.

Robert's grip on your hair loosened and he pulled away slightly to meet Ned’s gaze, though all you could do was to suck him deeper again, unable to keep yourself from moaning and screaming at Ned’s length in your womanhood. You’d been a maiden, of course, so the feeling was overwhelming - the way he stretched you out, the way he grunted at the way you tightened around him. After a few moments of respite, he slowly began to move inside you.

“Are… are you alright, my girl?”, he panted and looked up at Robert, who quickly pulled back from you so that you might answer Ned’s question, his cock glistening with your spit as it loomed over you.

“Yes, yes! I’m… ah… please more… feels’s’good…,” you mumbled, trying to give him an encouraging smile, even though it didn’t fully matter - your mind had been tunred into jelly. You hyperfocused on the delightful stretch of his cock, before gently stroking Robert’s again. “D’you… want me to continue?”

"Continue..." Robert echoed your words, his voice brimming with desire. His hands once again found their way to your hair, tugging gently as he guided you back onto him, a groan rippling from his chest as your lips encased him once more.

Ned started to move again, a low grumble of pleasure escaping him as he sank further into your warm depths. The sensation of them both filling you was intoxicating, the taste of Robert in your mouth and Ned inside you causing a fevered heat to pool in your belly.

With that affirmation, Ned's thrusts began to quicken, each one met with a gasp or moan from you. His hands were everywhere - roaming your body, making sure no inch of your skin was left untouched. He took great pleasure in watching as you writhed under his touch, the sight of you taking Robert into your mouth only adding fuel to his flaming desire.

Meanwhile, Robert's hand tightened in your hair as your tongue worked him over. He watched as Ned moved within you, his chest swelling at the sight before him. He had to stop himself from reaching out and touching where Ned disappeared inside you, the sight so erotic it drove him wild.

"Gods... You're amazing," Ned murmured against your ear, gently picking up your legs and pressing them up against your heaving chest. Every inch of him attuned to every move you made, every gurgle that escaped your lips as Robert began wantonly fucking your mouth.

"Yes," Robert agreed hoarsely, "Perfect."

Emboldened by their praises you continued with newfound zeal, matching Ned's movements inside you with the rhythm of your lips around Robert's length. The tension built within your body, tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks. You grunted, desperately hoping for some fresh air as you felt your release creeping up to you.

"Yes, darling." Robert withdrew his length from your mouth and pressed a sweet, comforting kiss on your forehead, his hands cradling your face as he whispered words of encouragement. "Let go, love," he murmured, stroking your flushed cheek with his thumb.

Ned continued his relentless thrusting, each movement sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. His fingers dug into your thighs as he quickened his pace, his grunts and moans in sync with yours. "Can you feel it, love?" he breathed into your ear. "Are you close?"

Nodding frantically, you whimpered in response. “Please, Ned, please, please, I…” Your body was shaking under the pressure of their combined attentions; the tension building to an unbearable point that begged for release. And when Robert whispered a final command into your ear —"Now."— it was all you needed.

Your orgasm tore through you like wildfire, a scream escaping from your lips that Robert quickly muted with his lips, as every muscle in your body tensed and shuddered. It was all-consuming, blinding even, and for a moment all you could feel was the pulsating pleasure coursing through your veins.

Ned groaned at the feeling of your warmth clenching around him and with a few final thrusts reached his own climax moments after yours. His body stilled above you as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, sweat dripping off him onto the sheets beneath.

Anxious not to leave Robert unsatisfied, you reached out for him once more and gave his throbbing member a firm stroke. But before you could do much else, Robert swatted your hand away gently and gently pushed Ned to the side, turning you over onto your trembling knees and pushing our face down into the hot furs, so that you were practically on the same height as your previous lover, who gave you quick, sweet kisses.

“Be a good girl for me,” Robert muttered and spat down onto your throbbing heat, making you moan wantonly in response. You had thought that many things could happen in this tent - this was certainly not one of them. Your thoughts were quickly pushed aside as Robert, who had a thicker cock than Ned, slowly pushed himself into you, spreading your arse wide open with his hands, as if to amire the way your cunt was taking him.

Robert's entry was slow but relentless, easing into your tight heat bit by bit, his large hands spreading you even wider for him. You cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain as he filled you in an entirely new way. "Gods… So tight… So hot…" Robert growled lowly, his eyes closing in bliss at the feel of you around him. His pace was slow and measured, each thrust carefully calculated not to bring you discomfort, but to bring you maximum pleasure.

Your body convulsed as you tried to adjust to his size, your walls clenching around Robert involuntarily with each soft moan that escaped your lips. Ned’s comforting hand on your back steadied you, his gentle strokes soothing your trembling body as he watched Robert take you from behind.

"Relax," Ned whispered in your ear. "You're doing so well." His words were a balm on your heated skin, bringing comfort and reassurance amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

Robert took his time with you, savoring every tight clench of your walls around him. He groaned in pleasure as he felt every ripple of your muscles contract against his thick length. His fingers dug into the plush flesh of your ass, pulling you back onto him with every thrust.

As Robert continued his tantalizing assault on your senses, Ned moved to kneel in front of you. His soft gaze met yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you two. When you nodded slightly in acceptance, he smiled softly before leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

Their attention was too much - it felt like blissful agony as Robert impaled you on his length while Ned, sweet Ned, reminded you to breathe, kissed you, reassured you that you were doing perfectly well.

With each slow, deliberate thrust from Robert, Ned's kisses became more fervent, his hands sliding up to cup your face as they explored each other's mouths. His tongue traced your lower lip before delving into the warm recesses of your mouth, matching the rhythm of Robert's strokes. The intense stimulation from both ends had your head spinning - it was almost too much.

Then Robert's pace began to pick up, his fingers digging deeper into the sides of your hips. The pain was quickly replaced by pleasure as he hit a spot inside you that made your eyes roll back and a strangled gasp to escape from your throat. "That's it," he grunted, trying to hit that spot with each thrust. “Our pretty little girl, overflowing with our seed…”

Ned pulled away from the kiss to watch you, his gaze filled with adoration. The sight of your pleasure-painted face was enough to have him hardening again, but he held himself back, focusing on your needs instead. He stroked your hair gently, whispering words of praise as he watched you unravel from Robert's ministrations.

Soon enough, you could feel another climax approaching, and this time, it promised to be even more intense than the last. Your breath hitched in anticipation and your body tensed, signaling Robert that you were close. "I got you," he breathed against the back of your neck, quickening his pace. With a few final thrusts from Robert and a rough kiss from Ned, waves of pleasure washed over you once again - stronger this time. Your body tightened around Robert who groaned out his own release moments after yours.

There was a moment of silence as all three of you laid on the bed, panting as though you had just run for leagues. You shivered lightly and twitched, your mind too hazy to comprehend anything.

“Shh, it’s fine… we’ll take care of you,” Ned whispered and stroked your hair lovingly, motioning for Robert come closer and to hug you. “You did so, so well.”

"Did we go too far?" Robert asked, his voice hoarse and filled with concern. He positioned himself on your other side and pulled you in close, wrapping a strong arm around your waist. “We didn’t mean to fill you up…”

"No," you mustered a weak smile as your response, shaking your head as you sought refuge in the warmth and comfort of their bodies. "I... I enjoyed it."

A hint of relief passed over their faces and they both leaned in to press soft kisses to your forehead. "You were amazing," Ned whispered, his voice filled with so much awe and admiration that it made your heart flutter.

"You're ours now," Robert stated firmly but gently, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. His blue eyes probed yours for any signs of fear or hesitance but found nothing but acceptance.

The moment was silent as you all listened to each others' laboring breaths, the air heavy with pleasure and contentment. You were still trembling slightly from the orgasmic high, and the feeling of their naked bodies against yours only heightened your post-coital haze.

Sleep came easy for Ned first, the exhaustion of the night's activities catching up with him. His strong arm wrapped protectively around you as he snuggled into the pillow beside you.

Robert kissed the crown of your head lightly before whispering a sweet "Goodnight," in your ear, his voice hoarse from all the moaning earlier. His hold on you tightened just a bit more before he too succumbed to sleep.

In the quiet refuge of their arms, under the warm blanket of their affections, the three of you drifted off into a peaceful slumber — the game, or its victor, completely forgotten.

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.3

Warnings/Mentions: Merle being Merle, History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slowburn, angst

Summary: You reminisce on the old days spent with Merle and Daryl.

Notes: This is mostly flashbacks to life growing up with Daryl and Merle, the good ole days :D Merle says some homophobic and probably racist stuff, cause he's Merle

“Dude, just go apologize, holy shit. You're worse than the teenage girls I went to school with.”

“Mind your own goddamn business. S’between me and Merle.” 

“He's got a point. You're acting shifty as hell. What happened to leaving? Huh? We've got Merle back, nothing's changed, these people still see us as redneck trash, can we just go already?”

“Said mind your business.”

Hindsight is a bitch.

You were five years old when you met Daryl and Merle for the first time. Unless your memory served you wrong, it was the fourth of July, and the trailer park was getting together to set off a bunch of illegal fireworks. You were sitting with your family as your neighbors got everything ready, a few of them grilling hotdogs and hamburgers. Your father had brought your mother a burger, which she split with you.

Your father was the only black sheep in your lives at that point in time. Anyone could tell just by looking at him that he didn't belong there, in a dingy trailer covered in blotches of mildew and rust. He was always clean shaven, no tattoos, perfect white teeth. He never smoked, never did drugs, never even drank. Even his name stood out among the Tammys, the Justins, Tuckers, Mandys, the Brandons and the Krystals. He was a Sebastian. He always wore clean clothes, and it was a stark contrast to your mother, who was the whole reason he was there in the first place. 

She was nothing like him. She had a beautiful face, sure, but that was about the only thing beautiful about her. Most of her teeth were yellow from cigarettes and drugs, some of them missing, and the molars in the back had eventually all turned black. She was never seen without a cigarette in her fingers, her nails a different bright color everyday. Her clothes always stank of cigarettes and BO, but despite all of that, she wasn’t all that much of a terrible human. Not until later on.

Your mother loved your father, and he loved her. She loved you too, even if she was mean most of the time, she never hit or screamed at you until he left. After that she took a dark turn, becoming a woman you grew to despise. She blamed you for him leaving, but  you knew the truth, she was the reason. She’d relapsed one too many times and he had enough, he left and he took you with him, but CPS ultimately dragged you kicking and screaming from your grandmother's house back to the prison that was your trailer.

That fourth of July was one of the last good memories you had with your parents. Your mother had been clean for seven months, and she looked stunning that night in her pink sundress and purple nail polish. She brought you a freeze pop and you ate it like it was a gourmet dessert, sitting beside her on the grass as you watched your neighbors set up the fireworks. 

When you finished eating you went to play with the group of kids, they would end up becoming your last resemblance of a friend group, a pair of girls your age and a handful of boys. One of the older boys made a rude comment about the DIxon brothers, and you decided to introduce yourself. 

Merle was about sixteen then, maybe seventeen, but he treated you and Daryl like you were the same age, something you deeply admired about him. You threw rocks at beer bottles behind their trailer, and you smoked your first cigarette there, hacking your lungs out, much to their amusement. Merle bragged and showed off his father's gun and crossbow collection, and soon after that their mother shooed you all out of the house like stray cats. 

You wished you could say the three of you became thick as thieves after that, but truthfully you didn't have many memories with them. To echo the point, you weren’t really friends. Just people with similar situations that lived near each other.

You took a deep drag of Daryl's cigarette and pulled away from him, holding it in your lungs. 

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. You sat in silence, your legs hanging off the bridge you sat upon, sharing one of your last cigarettes. 

You turned a spent shell casing over in your fingers as Daryl flicked the butt into the river below. It was Merle's bullet casing, you knew that, the three of you had been on that bridge a few days prior when he let off a few shots into a small group of walkers. It was small, from the little .22 pistol that he’d borrowed from you. He’d never given it back, and it pained you to assume it was most likely still in his waistband, stuck to his rotting corpse until some other survivor came along and took it. 

“C’mon. Let's get back.” Daryl grunted as he hopped off the ledge and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. This was the only thing he said to you for the rest of the day, and for a while after that. 

Once you had said that your odds of survival were higher when there were more people around. World views change fast, apparently, because when the prison group took in the Woodbury citizens, you felt more at risk than when it had been a group of ten. 

Though you always despised the word ‘outcast’, it was the only word good enough to describe your place in the prison. 

It was easier when Merle had been there. It was only a few days but it was nice, you found yourself making an effort to hang out with him more, something he secretly appreciated. There wasn't anyone in his life anymore that enjoyed spending time with him, aside from Daryl. But some days it felt like not even his baby brother wanted to be around him. 

“You know how to fish?” You had asked him one evening as the two of you walked back from a supply run mostly empty handed. 

“Do you know who you're talkin' to sweetheart? Course I know how to fish.” 

You sat on the riverbank as he dumped his fourth trout into your bucket of water. You had caught one small catfish, and that seemed to do wonders for his pride, it gave him another thing to brag about doing better than anyone else in camp. 

“Little asskickers gonna have her first taste of good ole American fish tonight.” Merle laughed proudly, wiping his hands on his pants. 

“I don't think babies can eat fish. I don't think they can eat anything but formula.” You commented and stood from your spot, pulling in your makeshift fishing line. 

“A lil’ fish can't hurt.”

“No, seriously. I don't think she can have any.”

“Psh.” He muttered and picked up the bucket. “Useless fuckers. Can't eat, can't speak, can't walk, hell.”

Before the outbreak, you'd spent the most time with the eldest Dixon brother. Only to buy or trade drugs, occasionally getting high together, but it was still time spent in each other's presence. He very much enjoyed doing speed and teaching you things, normally how to shoot different types of guns, or just sitting in some random person's house listening to his rants about racism, homophobia, whatever he felt passionate about that day. 

“It just ain't natural, and I said, you couldn't pay me a cold million to touch one of you shitlickers. Yessir.” He was laughing then, amused in his retelling of some high school escapade that you weren't really paying attention to. Merle could be tasteless at times, and it was of no interest to you, you were enjoying your expensive high and there was no way in hell you were going to ruin it by getting into an argument with someone like him. 

You must've dozed off, because the long, drawn-out yell of your name had your heavy head lolling back up to see Merle a foot away from you. A grin split onto his face and he slapped your shoulder. “C'mon. Got a hot date, wouldn't look too good bringin’ your ass around. Get up. C'mon now!” 

Maybe you should've stuck around, cause he ended up getting a nasty case of gonorrhea from her. About a week later you found out from the man himself, standing in front of the coolers in your local gas station. They didn't sell gas anymore, too expensive, but they didn't lose any customers. 

“Should'a known a bitch that ugly would be crawlin’ with it.” He cursed, hiking up a six pack of beer on his shoulder as he followed you to checkout, his little shadow following behind.

“Told ya. Just didn't listen.” Daryl muttered, swiping a pack of cigarettes to slip into his back pocket. 

“Yeah, well, that's cause you don't know jack shit about women. The hell would I listen to you for?” 

“Even I could've told you that.” You spoke around the SlimJims between your lips as you handed the cashier a crumpled up ten dollar bill. She said nothing about you obviously being underaged and buying a cheap bottle of wine, everyone in town knew about your mother. “That's what you get for being a dick to that poor kid.”

“You talkin' about that-” The noisy chime of the bells above the front door covered his derogatory choice of words. 

“Those men, yeah. Don't know why it's so hard for you to leave people alone.”

“Cause it's America sweetheart, ain't no place for that kind of degeneracy here.” 

You bit back your quip concerning the women he surrounded himself with and looked to Daryl, who was too busy flipping through an obscene magazine to notice.

You weren't the model student after your father left. Most days were spent by yourself in the surrounding woods, fucking around until the buses prepared to leave. On the rare occasion that you had company, it was usually the senior you bought drugs from. He was weird, overly gentle with a very soft voice, something about him extremely off putting. 

Maybe things would've been different if you had been friends with Daryl back in school. He had only gone for a little while, using any and every excuse to get out of that house, even if it did include going from one prison to another. You weren't sure when he dropped out (technically he didn't drop out, he just stopped showing up), but it was right around the time Merle was out of prison. 

They left their father then, moving from couch to couch, and eventually ended up staying with another dealer you were vaguely familiar with. 

“Holy shit, look at you!” Merle whistled playfully after realizing it was you that had just come through the door. 

“The fuck? Merle?” You could barely recognize him. He looked so different from the last time you saw him, hardened by the months in prison. Daryl looked different too, he'd started growing some facial hair and looked a bit larger as well. It had been about a year or two since your last encounter, so it was to be expected. They stood up from the couch they sat on to greet you, Merle offering you a hit from his glass pipe, which you declined. 

“Nah, you know I never liked that shit.”

Merle snickered and held his lighter flame under the glass orb. “Right, right. Forgot you were too classy for crystal. Only the,” he tapped the side of his nostril, “for you.”

You caught up in the dealer's living room, some guy named Jesse, and enjoyed your purchases. You were happy then, for a few reasons. Jesse's shit was a lot better than what you were used to, so you found yourself a new reliable source, but also because you got to see Daryl again. You got to see him laughing, joking, no black eyes or busted lips. You got time with them as they were, before the world changed. 

You found yourself missing that time, watching as Daryl flung dirt over his shoulder into the grass behind him. It was the present, and you were sitting beside the hole he dug, too hungry to help. You'd forgotten to eat breakfast that morning and it was too early for lunch to be ready, whatever it was Carol or Beth had fixed up for the prison members. 

“What do you think Jesse's up to?” 

Daryl squinted against the sun to focus on you, momentarily pausing his digging. “Who?”

“That dealer you guys used to stay with. Beanie guy.” 

“Oh, yeah. Shit.” He grunted and stretched his back, happy for a break from grave digging. “Hell, I don't know. Probably dead.”

“You think? He seemed pretty tough to me.”

Daryl laughed abruptly at that. “Guy was a prick, but he wasn't no ‘tough guy’. Would go straight to usin’ guns instead of fightin’ like a real man.” 

You would never discover the fate of Jesse, but the decision to bring Daryl's mind back to wander in the past did wonders for bringing the two of you closer once again. 

To everyone's surprise, including you, Daryl dealt with his brother's death far better than you had. You'd expected he'd want to leave after that, go live alone and shut out everyone else. He didn't though, he cried a few times, sure, he got distant and chose to only keep you as company, but while you were still angry and grieving, he was laughing and forming bonds with the new group members. 

You weren't too sure why Merle's death had devastated you that much, the two of you weren't exactly best friends. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was one of the only two things keeping you connected to your past life, even though it was awful, it was better than the constant looming threat of being eaten by dead people. As shitty as your mundane life was, it would have gotten better, one day you would've been stronger than your mother and you would've stood up for yourself, put an end to the physical abuse, and if you were lucky you could've been able to leave and find your father and brother. 

Now Daryl truly was the only bit that remained, not counting material possessions. 

The same went for Daryl as well. The difference between you and him though was that the loss of his brother turned into a good thing. He was no longer a shadow of another human, no longer basing his ideals and opinions on said human. While you dealt with the pain by using Daryl as a crutch, he used it to find out who the unbiased Daryl was, abandoning the ‘Merle Dixon’s kid brother' persona. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx

[the-fiction-witch]

Brandon!

Media - Game Of Thrones Character - Brandon Stark Couple - Bran X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - Smut Word Count - 595

Bran walked slowly and carefully through the halls of Winterfell. As he walked, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and reverence for the many people who had walked these halls before him. The shadows and ghosts of those who had passed on seemed to fill the air around him, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and curiosity.

As he continued through the halls, Bran saw many faces he recognized from the statues in the crypts.

Out of curiosity, Bran continued to walk, and as he did, time seemed to rush forward. He saw glimpses of the future, flashes of scenes and events that would one day take place in these very halls.

Finally, Bran arrived at his chamber, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, eager to see what the future held 

However, as soon as he entered the room, Bran was taken aback by what he saw. The sight before him was not at all what he had expected, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and foreboding.. 

He stopped short as he saw his chamber, the fire burning with the light flickering and letting shadows dance, The bed was a mess, and Y/n lay on the bed on her back. 

She laid on her back, her head thrown back, her feet up on the bed, her knees apart, her hands gripping the sheets, she moaned and squealed. 

A dark-haired man laid between her legs, kissing and licking her clit, one hand on her thigh the other inside her moving fast and hard back inside her. 

Immediately Bran felt jealous, at the idea of another man between her legs made his blood boil and he was filled with rage. But his rage was very quickly Quelled, 

she tossed her head back again and moaned. "Brandon!" 

He smirked a little moving closer and took the time to really look and enjoy the sight, he of course had never seen their intimate time from such an angle, and he enjoyed it. He loved watching her reach to his work, He almost felt like climbing into bed and getting to kiss and play with her breasts while his future self still worked on her. 

But he stayed back and watched until he watched her reach her orgasm her face went red, her body trembling, and she screamed as she gripped the sheets tighter and collapsed on the bed. 

The future bran pulled back and smirked down at her, "Happy my sweet?"

"Very happy Bran..."

"Shall we... continue?"

"Mhm," she nodded helping the future version of him to lay in the bed so she could climb on top of him, "Ughhh! Bran!" she squealed, 

"Bran? Bran!" Y/n's voice asked,

Bran shook out of his visions of the future and found himself in his chambers on the bed by the fire, seeing Y/n standing over the bed in her usual dress. "Hi Y/n,"

"Hello Brandon, having fun running around the past and future?" 

"Very much fun," He nodded,

"Glad you were enjoying it, but it's dinner time," she told him,

"Is it now," He smirked, "How about you lay down and let me eat then?"

"Brandon!" she chuckled, "You dirty boy!"

"You love it," he smirked pulling her down for a kiss,

She chuckled and kissed him back, "After dinner." She told him,

"Awww? Making me wait?"

"You can manipulate time you never have to wait for anything," 

"I still don't like waiting,"

"Fine," she rolled her eyes, "what first?"

"On your back, with your knees up. I have a real fun idea." 

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

41 - Past Becomes the Present

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 15.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, discussion of medical distress, references to previous trauma, imagery of blood and gore, breeding kink, smut, mentions of anal

Notes: Reference to a specific book originated event with Ramsay this chapter, so if you catch it, I am sorry in advance. It not don't worry everything is fine, I promise. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

It wasn't so much disappointment, but more an exasperated feeling tiring him out. Hand running down his face, yourself biting down on your tongue to keep whatever it was that wanted to come out dismissively, still inside.

The last thing Jon wanted to do was bring you up to speed on everything immediately, but you dove right into things far to quick for him to catch up and force you to slow down. Getting to what he had uncovered, he struggled with now. Trying to fight between telling you the truth, and wanting you to just listen to him and rest instead. You both knew which one you'd rather have win out.

He had tried imploring you to rest, but by this point there had been little use in trying to dissuade you. You knew what he was planning, you knew he had done it while you were unconscious, but questions kept coming up and through what point you were trying to make separately. “How would he even know he could persuade her to do this in the first place? That feels like a huge risk.”

With what little was in front of you in the first place, Jon silently all but tossed more food on it with a pointed stare before he answered. “She hated my father, and he's betrayed you and my father before. With you and Robb gone, the timing never seemed better.” You had opened your mouth to speak but almost with a sternness did he gesture back to your plate to interrupt first. “Eat.”

He and Ghost both, lately. One wolf starts acting over protective and the other follows suit without failure.

You two were at least grateful that this part of the castle was on the quieter, less busy side then others. Since coming back to this place proper, any of what was used as the Starks normal living quarters seemed to be as minimally populated as Jon could have it, moreso then it used to be.

More a man of privacy then many Starks before him, Jon was. It also meant many weren't there to walk in and disturb when you both used the privacy to sort out the piling array of obstacles coming for you every which way. “Something still doesn't add up. Hating your father doesn't give her something in common with Littlefinger. He didn't hate the Starks anymore then the other people he manipulates.”

Eyes drifting to the side, squinting in thought you came up with the answer far slower then Jon had long since put the dots together. Voice low, and a bit on the air of tense himself. “He didn't need to have it in common, but he used it as a way to manipulate her against us.” Asking what that was, the answer took you back a slight bit. “My Uncle Brandon.”

“What does he-”

It was neither you nor him whose voice spoke out coming from the door frame. Theon walking in with a pointed look in your direction. “You weren't the only one with a secret Stark lover.” Brows narrowing just before your face fell a bit in a realization before shifting all together into a bit more of a grimace. A connection was asked and answered despite how little it sounded appealing. Taking a seat of his own, Theon continued, more towards Jon. “At least you have better taste then your Uncle did. No offence meant.”

Muttering rough and low into the mug up to his lips, “None taken.” The sounds of footsteps came down the hall and one more had intention of joining. Unbeknownst to them, rescuing you for now, from Jon swinging the conversation back to what you knew was on his mind the most in present thought. But this one was a safer bet amongst this company at the least.

Arya practically speaking through her first bites soon as she sat down, “Everything that's going on, and she risks it all for something that happened, what? Thirty years ago? Why not let it go, why risk betraying us over it?”

Raising your eyebrows with a slightly tilt of your head towards her, you spoke it more casually then gave away your thought process behind it. “You hold onto your anger long enough, it needs to eventually go somewhere.”

The younger wolfs face twisting in a similar fashion as the brother next to her, but with more of an open aggravation attached to her spoken words. “The other families haven't held it against us. Why should she get to blame us for something no one else does.” Her eyes an anger without something to latch it onto, Arya had let it fester into something irritated the entire day.

Once more Jon only muttering, barley a noticeable nod towards your once more not eating figure, as he did so. “I won't know until I question her, but it's not that simple. Getting over something you've spent a long time obsessing over.”

One lead to another and once more it felt as if the world was telling you that the coming winter was not the thing to focus on. The rest of the realm begged you to divert your focus to it's constant circle of backstabbing and scheming. It never stopped and it was the least important in what was to come, but it stood in your way. Telling you that you'd be a fool to prioritize winter over this and that.

The South were all were missing the point you and Jon were trying to do, that you were fighting towards the wrong ends. None of this will matter if you let it become the only importance. But it was still in front of you, and you couldn't just ignore it beacuse it should be secondary. Leaning forward, not quite looking at the others but as your arms crossed in front of you on the wooden surface, your mind felt distant.

“So, Roose Bolton betrays Robb, which leads to Barbery Dustin to betray you,” Hand vaguely gesturing in Jons direction, not even noting that you kept yourself out of it all. “If Littlefinger wants the North, he needs to get rid of one or both of us knowing we'd never trust him. And if you're right, if Sansa is with him, she'd be the only way to even get him here possibly unscathed. But still, he can't do anything when he's here. He has no actual ties to her.”

Arya piping up through bites, “What about if he marries her?”

Shaking your head, your face twisted in a doubt that was far too passing for the three of them to follow. And yet it was your next words which made that all the more confusing. “He can't. And even if it were possible, Sansa has nothing to claim.”

Flickering to their gazes now all on you, and matching in a narrow confusion, you hadn't yet realized that there was no reasonable way for any of them to have this knowledge. They all were immensely far from it's occurrence. And if you were to have spent more then a few moments considering it, you would have attempted to approach it with far more tact then none at all. Which was how it slipped out.

“The Faith will never annul a marriage between two highborns both found guilty of regicide. With Sansa on the run first, and now Tyrion? To split them up now would give the people the idea that Sansa had nothing to do with Jofferys murder. And the Faith would never concede to that.” It was only mid chewing did you notice the silence in the seconds that followed as awkward and stiff.

Looking over with a rough swallow, did it occur to you then of their uninformed positions. And that was information delivered in the worst possible manner. Theon looked around as uncharacteristically uncomfortable at the image as you had, but it was the matching wide eyed and entirely taken back expressions matching of Jon and Arya that clued you in. Lips parting just slightly enough as you whispered into the air, almost only to yourself, “Right. You three wouldn't have had any reason to know about that.”

Thankfully, Theon who was far more what you felt gave the same response you had hearing it for the first time. Much easier to divert your attention towards, and both wolves slowly looked from you, to the other and back again. “She married the Imp?”

Nodding, you inhaled with a hesitation in your eyes glazing over before it flashed out of existence in a flicker of flames in wind. Tilting your head slightly, you reached far beyond the realms of this life to gather information once learned both within the ruins of Harrenhal and the grieving halls of Riverrun. Considering, you were long since at war at that point, you were fairly certain the onslaught of horror and painful news hitting one after the other made learning of this with Robb a bit easier to swallow then it was for them now.

Calm and collected however, you thought to yourself as you looked to Theon, simply answer as the events occurred. Not the why. “Tywin Lannister had pushed my fathers forces out of Kings Landing, meaning he had a lot more reach as proper Hand of the King by then. So he started working to find ways to gain and upper hand against Robb, since he had spent the past three years losing horrendously.”

One way to put it. Another was Robb had taken control of every battle he fought and scared the great Tywin Lannister into hiding. Only willing to come out to drive back your fathers army in a last moment rescue effort. The Lannisters fell apart after his death, and thus you suspected Cersei had not anywhere near the same drive as her own father to go after Jon the way Tywin failed against Robb.

But you pressed on, voice only so on the edge of a grating tone that Jon alone could pick it up. “Joffery took Margaery Tyrell as a bride when they aided Tywins forces. The easy version I'm sure the Lannisters would rather have spread is that they simply wanted to secure the North.”

Theon was the only one to speak. Jon and Arya both, felt like they were listening to a made up story which they only caught half way through. As close as Arya was to the war for so long, she knew next to nothing about its happenings and Jon was so far from the Seven Kingdoms by then, he was beyond the Wall when there were still free folk there to lie to.

Perhaps though, it also was the fact that as close as you and Theon were to the Starks, there was the disconnect that you two were not bound to the family by your own blood. In the back of your mind, were you to hear a similar story of Shireen being married off to what you would consider the enemy, you likely would be as silent and taken back as they were.

Theon learning forward, matching the crossed placement of your arms to his looking towards you with a gaze further in wonder. “Hypothetically speaking, let's say Sansa was found innocent, her marriage to the imp annulled. Why would they need to get rid of you two first if Littlefinger thinks he can control the North through Sansa?”

Your eyes found grey ones, a knowing in one way and a struggle in acceptance of the other. Jon never wanted to seem as if he was taking anything from his siblings, and the way that woman had spoken of him as if it was an irrefutable fact. Soft and something distant in your gaze flickered away from him with a pain not his fault, but existed in your tone all the same. “We only found out about Sansa right before we left for the Twins. We received a raven with the news, and by that night all of the Northern Lords had all heard and signed in agreement to Robbs will. Which included his line of succession.”

No one was devoid of the fact that you were speaking around it, but no one tried to fill in such gaps anyways. Which was all you could appreciate as each word was very noticeably chosen with care as you said them. “Sansa marrying Tyrion was why Robb declared an heir in the first place. We knew it meant Tywin was planning something. We didn't know what he had planned, but if he was preparing for a North without Robb then we needed to as well. And the first thing he did was disinherit Sansa from any claim to the North. By marriage she's a Lannister, and any children they'd have would be Lannisters and Robb refused to give them any way to take the North. Even if she came home right now, free as a bird, she still wouldn't have a single claim to any rule. Robb made sure that was clear.”

What the others reactions were, you didn't find it in you to look. It didn't feel good saying, especially so far from that night. None of it was in malice, and as soon as Robb put it forth you both understood the weight of such a choice. But to repeat it here, so far from that without any of the way Robb could spin anything in such a manner? Out of your mouth it only sounded distant and cold.

It was incredibly hard to determine what was behind the strained roughness in Jons voice, and you had yet to find it in you to look at either Stark. Yourself slipping easily into the mask of panic at seeing a disappointment looking towards you, or worse. “And now that Arya's back?”

Were you looking, you would've seen the way her head whipped over to Jon with as close to a glare as she had ever directed his way. Her own voice raising in an instant to an offended yell of protest, “I never said I wanted to-”

Jon only replying back just as held back as you were feeling for any number of reasons. “It's not about want, Arya. You're a Stark-”

Only shouting back with something even angrier then before, “So are you,”

Cutting both of them off, you only somewhat looked in their direction but found not their faces yet, not the bravery of whatever expression they held even as your voice overpowered them. “It doesn't matter. You being here, if Sansa came back, if Bran came through the gates right now, it doesn't matter. If Robb had an heir of his own, the North is Jons until they would've come of age. Without one, as long as Jon and whatever bloodline runs through him is alive, the North is his.” Jons eyes flashed over with something that no one caught as he looked tensely towards you, still avoiding his gaze for not at all the same reasons he wanted to find yours. “He's the rightful King in the North and Robb wouldn't budge on anything less then that.”

Arya was quiet as was everyone else, waiting for either wolf to make the first move to break the heavy silence and all words left your willingness to do so for their sake. This all would have sounded so much less stern coming from Robb when he explained it then. Everything just sounded as callous and unfeeling coming from you as it did your father.

Too formal, too matter of fact. Made even worse speaking as such in front of a family as close as the Starks, and siblings as bonded as Jon and Arya. It made you feel as if you were putting words in Robbs mouth to drive a wedge between them, when it was the truth you spoke. Only the truth was warm and soothing when Robb said it.

Perhaps if you were more of a coward and less stubborn, you'd have fled from the remainder of what this conversation became. Instead, it was your words and so you had to defend them. The High lords would confirm the truth of facts, but only you could defend Robbs emotions and thoughts over the matter.

If he wanted you to do a good job as such, Robb chose a terrible Queen to carry his memory with warmth.

The low bass of his voice rippled through the air and deep into your veins, having waited until it was only you two left until Jons warmth came up close next to you. “You want to tell me what's going on up here before I have to guess?” His hand gently reaching up to run through loose strands of your hair closest to him.

In a way you think you surprised him, the way which you so easily looked over with a softness that hadn't been there since earlier that day. Nails tapping mindlessly beneath on the table, no more then a gentle murmur was how loud you managed to get. “It's strange, looking back on those final days. It feels like it was so long ago I'm thinking back to a version of myself that doesn't even exist anymore.”

His hand still running through the strands, moving piece by piece more back over your shoulder or tucking strays behind your ear as he somehow was as patient as ever. “You aren't that same girl.” Narrowing your eyes, you looked up at him. Nothing in accusation or malice, just an almost too innocent look towards him in question. Jon moved his hand, now firmly running along the bulk of your hair behind your head. “We can't go back to who we were, and we can't change where we are now. No matter what happens, we stay together. All of us. Whether that includes Sansa one day or not.”

Eyes slipping closed as you exhaled, you would've moved your head away if his touch didn't feel so soothing. “The last time I even saw her, she was still just a girl. Naive and daydreaming..I don't think I want to imagine what kind of person Cersei or Littlefinger could've turned her into..”

Quiet sat between you both, Jon never let go of his touch against your hair as he smoothed along it, but it matched the weight in his voice that held not the same defeat. Leaning a bit more, imploring you to meet his brighter eyes. “We can't change that. You and I have been here long enough that she must know it's safe to come home by now. But that's where she is, and she still didn't come home, or even try to reach out to any of us..we can't force her to come back and be part of this.”

Jaw clenched, you couldn't stop hearing the way Stoneheart acted as if Jon sitting here as King was some great offence. As if he didn't try harder to be the person he was more then anyone left in these kingdoms. Scouring his own grey eyes, you sighed lightly before letting them fall to nothing on him in particular.

“You know not a single person out there would choose anyone else to rule them, right?” Brows narrowing a bit hoping to get an easy answer, but Jons silence was as unsure as you felt in your own mind personally. Sighing out, a hand of your own reached up finally, running over the facial hair at his jaw. The scratching coarseness raw against your palm even as one thumb reached up to trace what you could reach of his cheek. “They didn't choose you to be a King, they chose you to be their King They'll follow you no matter what, no matter who tries coming back here claiming for themselves. Half of those men denied pledging to my father even though they were trapped under the Boltons control. Robb was gone, I'm not even a Northerner, they could have said no. If they wanted anyone else to rule them, they wouldn't have wanted you in the first place.”

He was almost close enough his natural warmth took away any remaining chill in the night air, no matter the howling wind floating about outside the stone walls. “When I said no to being Lord of Winterfell, part of me didn't think I deserved it. That whoever was still out there should have it more then me, it was their birthright not mine. But now I'm more then that and not beacuse some Southern King said so.” Gently back and forth your thumb traced, almost letting the rest of your fingertips slide down to trace what you could of his neck too. “I don't want any of them to think I'm trying to take it away from them, but there's more to this now. They don't understand whats coming for us, what's at stake. If Arya or Sansa took over from me tomorrow, none of the free folk would listen to them, they'd still ally with me.”

“That's beacuse you know what it takes. If you're right, if he wants Sansa to be part of this, she isn't a leader, a ruler. Not even close to the way you are.” You were quiet for a moment before letting your face fall a slight bit. “I didn't realize before that none of you would've known about her marrying Tyrion Lannister. Would have perhaps been a little less mindless about it had I remembered.”

Jons face almost fell to something amusingly baffled, twisting as his head jolted back a bit. “I don't know if I can't picture that or I don't want to.” Nodding with him, he sighed out, glancing between you and nothing a few times before choosing a side of him internally.

Rather then another word getting out, Jon gently pulled you to him from his grip at the back of your head. Lips gently capturing yours, while his other hand draped along the side of your neck and collarbone. The hand along his jaw slinking behind his neck to better steady yourself leaning up to his kiss.

Always the one to gently guide you, you merely were to follow along as he deepened it before having the proper sense to just pull back. Slowly as each of your remaining breathe was stolen by him, did his hand drift down you side. Tracing along your waist before settling at your hip, curling as if to pull you to him, but without the commitment. Only pulling back enough each word brushed his lips still against yours. “Selyse told me what happened.”

Sighing, Jon didn't let you go, but allowed your head to drop slightly in his touch. His own moving to press his forehead against yours, the hand at your hair drifting to your cheek once more. Not altering where you were looking, just cupping your cheek as he kept you close. Barley a whisper leaving you, “I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you to trust me just this time. When I know what's really happening, I promise I'll tell you.”

“Next time you don't feel alright, you need to tell me. You scared me a lot today.”

You'd apologize if you thought he at all would accept such an thing. Instead, you let the quiet sit between you both until you nodded your head. Leaning up a bit more, stealing one more chaste kiss from his lips before you muttered, “This may happen more often.” You could feel his brows furrowing as you elaborated. “Lord Howland's son has this ability, and he said these sorts of dreams and visions can take a toll of ones health.” His grip on your cheek grew a little tighter as you felt his muscles tense so close to you. Your own scratching along the back of his neck almost in a soothing manner matching your voice. “Which means if I don't learn how to control this, it might get worse sooner.”

Jaw clenched, he almost indiscernibley shook his head no before tilting your head down again to press a kiss to your forehead. Whispering against you, “I want you by my side more for the next while.” Asking why, he tilted your head back up to meet his eyes. Bright and shining finally passed the sorrow of the days toll. “You really haven't figured it out yet?”

An amused grin fell over your lips as you pulled back from him slightly, “What's that supposed to imply, Snow?” Only a tilt of his head in lieu of a shrug was your response. A tender smile as bright as the grey lovingly in your eyes as well did you shake your head. Leaning back to his lips yourself muttering, “Unbelievable, you Starks are.”

More then once Sam had to draw Jons attention back, as if the man was tied between focused and utterly distracted. His eyes kept drawing themselves to the partially open door, looking out to where he could see you and Gilly, a book in front of her and so Little Sam had found himself asking to be held by you. Pacing a little around the table back and forth, guiding Gilly through what you were introducing as increasingly more complicated books to test her.

Still early enough in the morning, Little Sam had been dozing in and out, and currently was leaned right into your front with eyes barley open as you focused on both parties. Not once did you turn as distracted and catch anything close to where Jon was, but more then once he had to peel his eyes from you back to the matter at hand.

If he were to accurately go over the numbers in his head, it had only been around a fortnight and Jon had only known for half of that time. You wouldn't have a clue, but it was making him feel even more obsessive. Seeing you collapse the other day only made that feeling stronger, as if his heart begun to race now if you were out of his sight for too long.

Tearing them back, Jons hands perched on the table as the lot of them found themselves debating what it could mean. Tormund had confirmed that Mance had indeed been searching for the Horn of Winter and as they now stood looking at what seemed like it, the question of what to do with it plagued them.

Jons voice was a low rasp, a bit on the edge of agitated as he considered too what you had seen. “My Uncle might have given his life to hide this, I'm not letting him die in vein by burning it now.” That was the suggestion both Ser Davos and Lord Howland gave, but it didn't add up. “It's been hiding in my families crypt for thousands of years, if the best option was to destroy it why wouldn't they have done it already?”

Sam had most of the level head these days, almost every night he and Jon went over what he had learned and attempted to put it all together into something which made sense. Some of it did, some of it seemed as if any answer brought into the existence of too many new questions they didn't know as it was.

Tormund was the only other one here who truly understood what they were up against, a curious look as Ser Davos mentioned that he thought the red woman had it. Jon shook his head, but without much thought passed what he said, “I told her it was said to bring down the wall, and she burned it.”

A glance between them passed with the same idea in their minds, neither of them believed it then and certainly not now. Tormund rumbling out in a bemused tone, “Well she burned a horn, just not the right one. Mance had us digging for it, until one day he leaves and only when he comes back did he say he had found it, whether I believed him or not.” Jon's head dropped, that too late was beacuse his Uncle Benjen had arrived that night of the feast, and took it. As soon as he left Jon from their conversation in the cold, he likely went straight to the crypts before Mance could get it.

He could somewhat hear Theon asking, “What did he want with it in the first place?”

“He wanted the crows to think he had it, so he could blow the damn Wall down to their knees. Thought if no one's ever seen it, no one would know the difference. Then this one showed up.” Gesturing across the table to Jon. His own brows narrowing in question what that even meant, knowing at that point Tormund could read his expressions well as anyone. “Knew right away you didn't believe it was the real thing, means if you went back to the crows you'd call him on the lie if he tried using it to threaten his way through.”

Lord Howland asking why Mance would think Jon would go back and tell the Nights Watch but still let him travel with them. Jon had to think of the actual answer, don't think about any of the rest, he told himself. His time with the free folk was more complicated then her alone, but it felt as if everytime his memory was dragged back to those years it was all he could think and see.

Inhaling deeply, Jon stood straighter as his arms crossed over his front. “Ned Starks son is a bad enemy to have walk into your camp, but a good ally if you can convert him.” Trying to keep an even tone, as much as any of these men knew, none really understood. None of them could imagine why Jon struggled to look back to any of it.

Ser Davos, thankfully, interjected the spiral forming in Jons mind. “Not a smart gambler, he was. I don't think I've known any man to look at the Starks and think they'd turn their backs on their own.”

Jon and Theon shared only a single glance, but said nothing of it. It was the past now.

Whatever conversation brewed around him, Jon still found himself trapped in those days. The free folk had all talked endlessly and so much of it seemed as if they were only stories with no true understanding of any importance they may hold. Or what they meant. As if it wasn't until Hardhome did many understand what was at stake in truth.

When it slipped out, Jon knew he almost had to back up and reconsider what he even meant. “I don't think it brings the Wall down.” Glancing up to Sam, elaborating, “If the Wall was built with some kind of magic to protect it, why then make something that can tear it down? Why make it so easy?”

Something akin to realization passed over Sams eyes, looking to Tormund. “When they say it can bring down the Wall, does it say exactly that? Wherever it's written?”

A chuckle passing over the taller man, and an amusement in his eyes growing. “It's written nowhere, boy. Just stories we'd tell each other when there's nothing better to do.”

His own eyes squinting in a hint of thought, Jon caught onto the thought passing through Sam. The later man asking almost to himself, “Meaning it's possible it does something else entirely. After all, if it's that dangerous why hide it under Winterfell where there's this many innocent people?”

Flickering to the door and back again, trying to contain that feeling trying to rise back up, Jon almost shook the thoughts from his head. “If my Uncle didn't want anyone to find it, he wouldn't have buried it where he did.”

Your eyes drifted more then once to where they were all discussing things. Bright sun reflecting off the snow shined in the window as you paced slightly, peeling your gaze back to the now slumbering one fully resting against your front. Gilly breaking the quiet, “Do you want me to take him?”

Glancing with a raised brow, she specified because he was asleep. A soft smile fell over you however, looking down at him before returning to her. Pacing a bit closer. “I've helped raise a number of little ones over the years, but Sam here might be the most well behaved of them all so far.” Moving ever so carefully, you slunk into the seat adjacent to her. “As long as he's not crying, I can handle him, I assure you.”

Looking between the book in front of her, and you, there was a hesitation on Gilly's mind. Luckily for you, she was good at speaking in the quiet now. “How old were you? When you learned how to read?”

Inhaling as you leaned back a slight more comfortably, only did the vaguest of stretches in your mind reach that far off. “Around three I imagine it was. As soon as I was old enough to hold a quill, my father would have me spend the morning with our Maester reading the letters, and then in the afternoon he'd take me and have me write out everything I had learned before.”

Eyes a bit wider, you almost were envious of Gilly's mannerisms. How she still found intrigue in the world that came to her with such an ease. You weren't sure you had ever been like that. “And that's normal for you? South of the wall, to learn so early?”

Almost going to shrug a shoulder before the weight by it reminded you to stay put. “Maybe not that early for most, but learning young for highborns is normal. Most people though, plenty will go their entire lives without ever being able to read a single letter. They live in villages where all but none know how, so who would be there to teach them?” It was easy sometimes to forget that most of the world did not have the kind of privilege of learning. It came so naturally around the noble women and high Lords you grew up around.

Arms now perched along the top of the page, she narrowed her eyes with a flashing of not quite envy or even sorrow, but an accepted defeat. “I think my father knew how to read, but he never really told us beacuse he didn't want us learning and reading anything that the Nights Watch would come by with. I didn't used to know why, but maybe if we knew how to read he'd think we didn't need to rely on him.”

Glancing down slightly to Little Sam still fast asleep with a strain in tone, as you tried not to clear your throat, “Keep your lessons up, and you'll have more going for you then over half the people in Westeros. A woman who knows how to read is a dangerous thing.”

The smile on her almost bashful, it was so easy to see why she and Sam fit with one another. Both had a spirit about them that wasn't yet broken by the world. Despite everything giving them reasons too. She shrugged her own shoulders, looking back to the page. “Sam will be three next year, do you think I'll know enough I can start teaching him that early?”

The boy in question shifting slightly again, your hand moving along with him to gently lean his head more into the space between your shoulder and neck and running comfortingly down his back. “If we keep up at this rate, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to start trying. When you're more ready for it, I can have you start writing as well. You need to know the letters before you can write them, but they go hand in hand once you are used to both.”

Fluttering back and forth between focuses, you had Gilly read out the entire passage in her head before turning to you without looking and summarizing exactly what it is it said. The past few days especially she had gotten very good at it. Something you always recalled your father telling you, that you needed to be able to do more then read the words on a page. That if you could read them but not understand them, you're no smarter then the average fool.

“You know, you used to be good at hiding what you were feeling.” Face twisting in a confusion, Jon turned half way from where he stood near the door to look at the approaching Sam. Nodding to just out the partially open space, the clearest eyeline from where Jons stood ended right where you were sitting. “I thought you didn't want children.”

The willpower it took for Jon to remain impassive despite the way his heart threw itself about in his chest, was almost impressive. Looking at him with barley a change in expression but a bit more of a sternness, Jon turned to look right back. Voice quiet as to not distract or catch your attention. “I didn't want any child I had to be a bastard. I never said I didn't want them ever.”

The tone attached to Sams voice got on Jons nerves and both men were entirely aware Sam was doing it on purpose. Just to garner that agitation. “Alright, so you want children. You're a married man now, and you're King in the North. What's stopping you?”

“Nothing.”

His answer was quick enough that it had Jon glance only partially to the side as if to try and gauge if Sam had noticed, but not committing to truly finding out. Arms crossed as he shifted to lean against the book case behind him a little less obviously staring at you. Whatever was on Sams expression Jon didn't want to see it. “Does she know you want that?”

Jaw clenching, his head dropped a bit as the rest of his face twisted too into something a bit more siding of pain, and his voice strained the same. “It's not that simple for her. Her child was murdered while he was still growing inside her. It doesn't matter what I want, only that she's ready for it when the time comes.” Everyday he saw the scar across you, and he knew you still tried to look at it as little as possible.

No offence meant, and only Sam could say it so casually as well. “If I were her, I'd get pregnant just to get you to stop watching me like that.” Brows narrowed as Jon in mostly a jest, glared at him but Sam had nothing but more of it at the ready. “Oh, you're going to tell me you aren't obsessing over the idea of getting her pregnant? It's only a coincidence you've barley been able to focus today beacuse you're twenty feet away from her walking around caring for Little Sam like that?”

Sam's name coming out in warning and the glare only increased. But no lines were crossed that were anything but blatantly true. “I can do more then one thing at once.”

Comfortable silence passing only with the muffled sounds of the outside peaking through when Sam spoke up once again. “Last time I saw you, we all still thought she was dead. Then I come back, and you're already married to her. I can't even imagine what it must have been like, seeing her again after all that time. It makes sense to at least think about it.”

But something was deepening in Jons eyes, the grey tinting darker and darker as it twisted around his heart like an addiction. That part of Jon wished he had kept you with him that night in Castle Black, away from the rest of them, away from anything to remind you of what nightmare you escaped. And unable to stop the fantasy in his mind, of keeping you on his cock without stop. Of not returning to the living world until he filled you with life of his own.

Jon aggravatingly thinking that if he had, you'd be about ready to give birth by now. His hands clenched tight as his arms stayed crossed over his chest. Not the time, nor the place to think about this. He didn't have you alone, he wouldn't for hours. He couldn't think about what you'd look like at every stage being with his child. Something he once thought he'd never get a chance with you.

Whatever playing along the woman once did, was all but gone.

Nothing but a bitter spite was left, and a glint in her eye that never quite got over itself. Something in her which if smiled, felt as if it were creeping and meaningfully distrustful. In truth it was easy to see the affiliation between her and the Boltons.

A similar coldness in her eyes that stayed quiet and collected in an unbecoming manner. If this was once a pleasant woman, she had been long gone. All that was left was someone who had been brought into the room as she moved that as a snake. Slinking about without effort but lacking the grace to give her presence. Being brought in, she stayed quiet as if to play games of who goes first, but she was going up against an opponent who refused to see fit for playing along.

“How long have you been spying for Lord Baelish?”

Barbery Dustin was not well suited for captivity, and yet as she glared with a spite in her eyes towards Jon, she did not attempt in anyway to make this easy on herself. Her voice cold and even less held back of a resentment then before. “You mean to tell me you have put everything else together but the when?” It wasn't really a question, only a demeaning accusation of character she knew nothing about.

Stayed quiet by the back wall of the room, Theon trained behind where she was sat and two guards on either side of him, all eyes were on her. But it was the unblinking complicated stare of Jon which set off the most nerves. Any chance she had looking to you was met with the same degree of stoic unchanging firmness.

Voice low but with a confidence that wasn't anywhere near her arrogance, Jon barley moved an inch as he looked at her. “This won't go any better if you avoid answering my questions. You and I both know you're guilty, but I'm giving you the chance to tell the truth on your own.” She didn't look away not speak, and neither did Jon for the seconds to follow.

Instead of any irritation, as if expecting just this, Jon moved on. “Every raven you've sent and received from the Vale as long as you have been here has a written copy in Maester Wolkan's study. I know you've been in contact with him. A man who had already betrayed my father, your Liege Lord.”

A twist of her face made her look that much more unpleasant, swift to drop her tone to a judgment that came out with a ill tempered ease. “You think it is wise to blindly trust what it is he claims? A fools choice. If I were Queen, the first thing I would do, would be to kill all those grey rats.”

Raise of your eyebrow as you looked to her, an interesting mistrust. Grudges of houses were one, but it was not common Maesters in the general sense were the untrustworthy party. But you kept quiet, Jon wanted you there but this was his questioning. His prisoner. Jon however continued to frustrate her, not paying any mind to her attitude nor unnecessary insults. “I trust in people who have shown loyalty and respect. Maester Wolkan isn't here to lie or trick me. He's here, beacuse I trust him, and I trust the ravens scrolls he's shown me are true.”

Quiet followed just as it had when he gave her the same chances in front of far more of their own people. Now though, the quiet was inexcusable. Jon's voice cutting through like a blade in the tense air between them. “Was it always your intention to betray my family? Or did you take the first opportunity that presented itself after your King was already dead?”

Both Jon, and yourself knew her eyes flickered up to you but nothing was stated about it as such. Jon would get to that. One thing at a time. Peeling her eyes back, sharp and on their own edge did she speak out in just the same shortness. “If you wish to know whether or not there was a time you could have kept my loyalty, I am afraid you are far too many decades late. Your father saw to that.”

Your eyes narrowed as did the racing of blood in your veins, and if you felt that defence coming rushing to the forefront it was tenfold in Jon. But he was better at composing himself them most, hardly a twist in his expression and tint darker falling over his eyes, were you not one keen on what meant what on Jons face only the rougher deepness of his tone could give away that anger. “My father didn't drag your husband and great Uncle to war by force. They went of their own free will.”

Anger in her grew just as held back. “And yet he came back when they did not.” Jon once more specifying that wasn't his fathers fault, but they both stared at one another until she found the wrong string to pull at. Or in her mind, the right one. “He came back, Howland Reed came back, but what did I receive? Willam's stallion, not his body, just his horse. He had room to bring home a corpse and some whore's baby but not a man who died for him.”

You could see in an instant how tense Jons shoulders became even from here. Muscles no doubt screaming as was the noise in his head and before he had the chance to let it get to him, you broke for his sake, giving a chance for him to breath in quiet. If such a comment would be a sore spot once, it was something else entirely now. Louder then either of them had been and with a sharpness giving no room for interjection. “Tell me, Lady Barbery. Would your former lover take so kindly to you speaking about his family in such a way?”

Oh the way her eyes snapped up to yours, as if she was caught red handed. Her lie was not convincing in the slightest. “William was not relative to the Starks-”

Jon didn't move, and you would speak until your eyes could flicker down and see him on the side of calmer. “I believe I said lover, not husband. The man you felt cheated out of having beacuse he was promised to a woman who wasn't you. I ask again, do you think the way you want to remember Brandon Stark is to call the sister he died trying to save, nothing more than a corpse? Or to have sided with the man who murdered his nephew? Were I to take you down to the crypts this moment, could you truly say you would be able to even look at the statue of where he is buried with pride?”

You gave away even less to the woman then Jon had. Once more, it seemed few outside of the circle you already were close with, had no patience for such an unfeeling demeanour. Her glare far more furious then before. “Roose was following orders-”

Rough and once more full of a heavy weight did Jon force her eyes back to him. “Robb was his King. And he didn't murder him for anything but power and money. But the thing is, I can't see Tywin Lannister reaching out to him so directly. That's a risk going right to him about committing treason.” Leaning forward, it seemed as if his confidence dwindled her own the more he spoke. “If I go looking, will I find a trail of ravens from Kings Landing, to the Vale, to Barrowton and finally reaching all the way to Harrenhal? I'm willing to bet I would. Beacuse I think, Petyr Baelish played you right into his hands to give Roose Bolton an offer.”

That time she looked away. Nowhere to go or distract herself with. Just the quiet as if forcing her to reflect on where she was, what she needed to say or not say. How far was she willing to fight this when there were no more secrets of it? That time you spoke, but softer. “You approached Roose Bolton about betraying Robb Stark, and then in turn when he needed to smuggle me into the North undetected, you helped him to do so. He was married to your sister, you were fond of his firstborn son, it's understandable you wouldn't want to turn him away.”

Not being able to see the narrowing in his eyes slightly, you missed how Jon seemed taken back by the sympathy, even moreso as you continued. “So you convince Lord Roger to side with the Boltons, but you and I both know Ramsay, my lady. He murdered your nephew, and then he murdered your only real ally in the North.”

Tilting her head suspicious to the side, she asked in a whisper nearly, “How did you know about Domeric?”

Your eyes found Theon in silence and unease. If there was anything Ramsay did more of then torment, it was talk endlessly. Putting it all together now, it was no wonder Roose having a son with Walda was a threat. He likely poisoned Roose's first trueborn son in the first place. No wonder he was so violent about getting you back, Ramsay had always sought more power and positions then he ever deserved. Long before Robb Stark's widow was there to be forced to birth a Bolton heir.

“Lady Barbery,” Jon catching her focus once more. “Whatever the grudge you held against my father, you still were once someone my Uncle Brandon cared about. It's for his sake I'm giving you a chance to be honest with me. Tell me what you know. All of it.”

She was quiet, eyes looking through him at you before focusing once more. Sitting straight as she could, face impassive and cold as ever. “I will share what it is I know, but only if they leave.”

Only from what you could see did Jon give a single nod, and you looked up to beckon Theon over without further question. “Come on, give them the room.” Her eyes met yours only for a few final moments, in a way maybe you could've felt pity, but you knew Jon struggled to grace her with that as well.

She had one more thing to say though, calling out to you with something unreadable in her eyes. “Tell me, your grace, do you miss them? Those hounds of Ramsays? You were awfully fond of them.”

You said not a single word before you left.

It had felt like years ago again, thinking herself back to the day Barbrey Dustin walked the hall of her Keep towards the main gates. She was to expect two arrivals, but this first was far before the second would ever arrive. Receiving word from her brother in law, he and the remainder of their bannermen would be making their return home but would take more time then expected.

As she stepped out into the brisk air as men yelled to open the gates, a group of horses rode in with the sigil she had long grown accustomed to within her life. Men she knew, many she did not care to learn the names of, and yet her eyes looked to one thing then the other. Dragging along a cage now covered up from any sight, she knew something not of the plan had occurred, and she did not greatly appreciate surprises at that point.

But her eyes, dark and stern as if a smile had not graced her face in decades withheld whatever existed of ire of the sight. She was large, but Barbrey knew she would be. Young, but she did not care of what age men took for wives when not her business. What she cared about, was that this new wife was in her home at all. But she would play nice.

Allowing them to approach her, neither her nor he bothered with formalities. She and Roose Bolton went far back enough that this Walda was likely still a babe then. “My lord.”

Curt as always, and he returned in his normal flat nature. Turning to the girl, “Walda, this is Barbrey Dustin. An old friend.” Thinking to herself, so he was keeping it simple in front of her. Good she thought, let her be ignorant.

The girl gave a naive hello, as with only a nod in return Barbrey turned to the servants waiting behind her. “Tend to the horses. Assure they are fed, watered and rubbed down. And show Lady Walda to one of our guest chambers.” One of the maids passing her by, guiding her into the Keep, Barbrey did not presume that time to hide the snide manner in which her eyes narrowed. Following the girls path until she was no longer in sight. Flickering them to then the cage and back she stepped forward as her tone lowered. “I presume that is the issue you wished to speak with me about?”

Only a nod, he kept it as even as she did. “Our situation has changed.”

Settled a bit more, walking into her study Barbrey dismissed the servants already inside. Closing the door leaving mostly firelight to illuminate her preferably hidden away room. She had known Roose enough to not even bother with a drink other then water, he was insistent about his lack of consuming anything of an alcoholic nature.

It had been one of the first things Barbrey's sister Bethany had shared about her new husband many years ago. Her husband's strange tendencies, but her sister never seemed to be deterred by it so Barbrey took up the same mantle. Placing it in front of him as she faced his sitting position, she was in little mood for whatever this was.

“I do not appreciate being blind sighted that you wish to use my city as your personal smuggling route.” He begun with an insistence that was not the case, but Barbrey raised an eyebrow. “No? So you are not hiding what you have dragged into my home, other then your young wife.”

Hardly twitching at all, “I wouldn't have expected you to care about such differences in age.”

“Perhaps Roose you could place yourself in my position. I inform you I will be coming into your home uninvited, needing something discreetly handled, after being gifted a brand new title with the lands I killed a King and a Queen for, and offer you nothing but inconveniences when I arrive.” The stare went on for some time, both well knowing she would not fold before any else.

Raising his head a slight bit he elaborated. “I need something smuggled with me to the Dreadfort. Something that cannot be taken on any main paths or go through anywhere near a populated area.” Asking what this item would be, she did not expect the answer. “The Queen.”

Barbrey narrowed her eyes as her tone shifted to something akin to a lecture. “You brought a rotting corpse into my home-”

“She's alive.”

Nothing but wind was heard from the outside walls. That was not the arrangement, she did not pass on such information with such risk for him to fumble arguably one of the most important aspects. Were she a woman to fly off the handle, she'd have dove right into a lecture to him for his irresponsibility. Killing Robb Stark was one thing, but the entire purpose of killing the Queen in the North first, was because she was carrying his child, his heir. “I don't believe keeping her alive and with a son in her womb was part of the instructions given to you.”

He only kept his calm towards her held back ire. “I did kill her.”

Once more her irritation flared up. Taking a step closer as if speaking to a child looking down at him. “If she is alive, then you did a poor job of killing her, didn't you?”

But what he said was odd. “I did kill her, Barbrey.” Taking pause she tilted her head in confusion. Roose stood up slowly explaining his position. “I stabbed her in the stomach, three times. Tore her womb open significantly enough that she bled to death within a minute. No pulse, no heartbeat, no life in her eyes, not even anything in the way of blood left when I was finished with her.” Still Barbrey did not move. “She was as dead as the King, and yet when I returned to the hall some time later, she was alive. Unconscious, but alive, and she has been ever since.”

Something unnerved sat within her chest. Such a feat was impossible. “I presume Tywin Lannister has not heard this story.” Ensuring only he, the small garrison of men with him and now her knew about it.

“I need to get her into the Dreadfort unseen, unknown, before the North has a chance to hear she's alive. Before the Starks hear shes alive.” As she told him sternly that the Stark men were all dead, Roose rose only an eyebrow before passing her by.

Moving further into her study, she turned to follow with shortness on her tone. “Theon Greyjoy killed the two Stark boys, there is no one left to support her-”

He had not turned to face her, but was looking at whatever bit of information kept out on her desk he felt entitled to glance at. “Robb Stark has a bastard brother at Castle Black. From what I have gathered he and the girl were extremely close. If she is the only survivor of the night which killed the rest of the family-”

It came out suddenly but with an anger she knew he did not understand. “A massacre you mean to call it.” Roose looked at her with a curiosity at her change in tone, and she stepped further into his proximity to now prominently speak down to him. “You did not loose men that night, Roose. I did. My men. Do not speak of it as if the Starks were the only casualty. You lose no men while I lose many, and then you drag the Queen into my home telling me I need to help smuggle her into the Dreadfort? For what purpose?”

The problem was he was right, and it frustrated her to no end over it. Roose knew she despised that bastard of his, he himself never denied her suspicions that that Ramsay Snow had killed Domeric, her own nephew. Roose and Bethany's own son, but he kept the vile thing around and was parading him around the North now as if he was always meant to stand in Domerics shoes.

But he could not be ensured Walda would deliver him a son, and even if she did, the boy would not be of suitable marrying age to tie him to you for far too long to wait. He had the Queen in the North alive, secretly in his grasp and he intended not to waste such an opportunity. But he could not smuggle her there alone, which was why he was here. Why Barbrey was expected to put up with his new wife which was not her sister, and eat what precious food from her own harvest she had.

She had to be sure though. The dead of night the two made their path to where the cage was being kept as both dismissed Locke watching guard over her. Low words spoken between as to not carry in the night wind. “If the Lannisters are not considering the bastard as dangerous, why should we? If he is at Castle Black, what is he to do with the knowledge his sister in law is alive?”

Roose picked at a sore spot on purpose. “How many Starks do you know Barbrey, that take threats to those in their family lightly?” Her glare spoke many volumes, they both knew that was uncalled for but he said it anyways and she would remember it.

The coverings were lifted, and the sight was something she had never seen. Barbrey almost did not recognize her as a person. Utterly soaked in blood she could not even tell what colour her gown was meant to resemble in the first place. Lifting enough to show the wounds now littering her womb her eyes went wide as the rest of her frowned at the brutality. Not a man to spare a single mercy she knew Roose was, but it did give credence to his words.

No. Bastard or not, none of Stark blood would take kindly to this kind of sight being carved into a person they cared about. But feeling the pulse now existing as well as the faint sight of breathing moving up and down in her chest, Barbrey knew that this was indeed a secret needed to be kept tightly bound.

Perhaps it was why as she agreed to help smuggle the Queen in the North across to the Dreadfort, did she also withhold the information that she was still in contact with the man who brought her into such plans in the first place. Or that she would withhold this information from Lord Petyr Baelish in return.

Staring at the sight of the living, blood soaked body of their Queen, Barbrey had felt a strange feeling that the future was not anywhere near as promised to be fruitful as the men in her lives full of deception wished it was going to be.

And sitting across from that same bastard, now King in the North with you alive and married at his own side, she perhaps begun to finally feel the resentment for Roose Bolton. She should have turned him away the moment he dared ride into her home with a young wife at his side that was not Bethany.

But now the Boltons were dead and Barbrey was not. Perhaps she thought as she sat across from Jon Snow, that honesty this time, might be the only way to ensure he would not sentence her to a fate which would have her finally join all the dead which came before.

“You think she'll tell him the truth?”

Inhaling deeply you forced yourself to remain calm, not to let the scorching horror seep too deeply and from the way Theon walked just as tense you both were one in the same. “She has no allies left, and by now word likely has already reached Barrowton. The only family she has is in Lord Willam's brother, and he's been nothing but loyal to Jon since the fight against Ramsay. But everyone else here knows what she's done now. She has nowhere else to hide.”

Glancing at the other, once more you could read how easily you were each walking around the actual subject as he asked with a rough clearing of this throat. “She's still an ally of Littlefinger.”

But you shook your head, stern voice with no room for doubt. “Littlefinger doesn't have allies. Only friends he fakes until they are no longer of use. And with the North knowing what she's done, Barbery Dustin is an inconvenience to him.”

These very halls were almost the problem, it was ones you and Theon both had spent so many years in but also the ones faking themselves as home in horror. If you truly thought on it, most places you had called home were always filled with it, with pain and trauma.

It was inescapable your whole life.

The warmth around was the only solace you found for quite a while as you were there. Just enough steaming water that you could handle it, and quiet around to soothe the grating beat in your head that persisted. Somewhere in the back of your mind you noticed the sound but nothing really came to you until the warmth in the water was almost overtaken by above.

A large figure learning down from behind where you sat in the water as a hand slunk around your front, palm resting along your collarbones to pull you back better. Your own head tilting back somewhat as the feeling of Jons lips finding the top of your head came to you, his curls brushing down along your skin as his other hand tilted you by your jaw somewhat to him.

Your hand reached back with a sigh leaving you, running through the strands as you could, eyes slipping closed at how even in muffled mumbles, Jons voice still found a way to entrance you. “Is it too much to ask, I come here at the end of the day and find you like this more often?”

Trying to turn to see him a bit better, but not quite being able to move beyond his hold. Soft your tone came out as if not to disturb the quiet peace between you both with a hum. “Not quite sure, sacrificing the peace and quiet for your company? A hard decision, your grace.”

Putting gold on it, you'd be willing to bet Jon playfully rolled his eyes as he leaned his head better to find your neck, pressing his lips there with only a feather lightness. Breath warm as he mumbled into you, “What if I made it a command?”

A breathy laugh left you on a whim, pulling a far more comforting sounding chuckle as from Jon as he sung it right back. Your tone that time only genuine in an affectionate want, “I don't prefer the water as scolding hot as you do, so I'd suggest joining sooner rather then later before it's cold by your standards.”

Another laugh into you followed by a much longer left kiss to your neck, your eyes slipped shut with almost a sigh as soon as Jon pulled away. Heart longing in your chest to plunge out and reach back for him as you felt him stand.

It almost was intimidating, having nothing to see. Only the sounds of clothes being pulled off, and your nerves festering about as you waited for Jon to do or say anything. Once he may have gently prompted you to move up for him, but by now, Jon had little care for waiting. Climbing in right behind you, Jon grasped at your hips under the hot water and lifted you somewhat up and back into his chest.

Only sitting you back down at his front before one of those hands slipped along the skin. Fingertips tracing along your stomach until laying flat and soothing on your scar. Pulling back for you to rest your head back by his shoulder, as the other hand of his rose up. Resting ever so carefully at the base of your neck only enough to prompt your head to tilt so he could better keep his dark eyes on you.

Your eyes closing as he leaned down to your space, nudging your nose with his before cupping your jaw to keep you there long enough. But only with a tease, a kiss so barley there you may have otherwise imagined it had he not spoken, hot breathe flashing along your skin to follow. “Are you sure you're alright?”

Exhaling deeply, you kept your eyes closed. Unwilling to look at what you knew on him was far too much worry bright in his eyes. For a while he didn't move even as you shifted to face forward once more, just kept you at bay against him in the water before you found a softer voice. “I know you don't like these visions, but you cannot pretend they don't exist. I'm having more of them and more then once it's like we've been in the others dreams when they happen.”

Hands rising up from the water, you slowly moved one along his arm by your neck, before he moved, grasping your hand best he could from that angle. The other resting just along his wrist, should you press your thumb down you'd feel his pulse, every so slightly faster anytime he had you like this. Rasping in your ear, an insecurity hinting in what he said. “We had them before, but it was easier when I thought it was only me. Then I saw you that day, knew you were looking right at me and I know what you thought you saw.”

Not quite relaxing was the word, but certainly using him more for any support you needed to keep as upright as he wanted. “I knew you had every right to move on, we didn't even know if we'd ever see each other again. But, seeing it firsthand was..I only ever had dreams before. That was the first time I saw anything awake like that..so I knew I couldn't pretend it wasn't real.”

He sighed deeply, moving his head down to find your neck almost as if hiding there. Muscles behind you against your back tensed, as did the hand holding yours. Only slightly did you move your head, back a nudge against him almost the way Ghost would do so in his own managing of comfort. The hand on your scar almost tightened enough it didn't pass your notice before he roughly hissed out, “When I came back to Castle Black and Sam told me about you and Robb, I was so mad. At the Lannisters, the Boltons, the Freys, all of them. But I was also so mad you saw that, saw her. I thought you died thinking I didn't love you anymore.”

Lie, a small voice whispered inside you. Lie and comfort him, but would he want that? Would Jon believe you if you did? “I did.” If he could have hidden himself in your neck more, Jon would've managed it. Your grip on his own hand tightened, and hardly a sound would be heard if not mere feet way from you both. “I hated that I would think about you when Ramsay would...” Your eyes slipping shut as your lungs tightened enough it strangled the waters behind your eyes. “I'd think of anything we did all those years ago, and I'd hate it beacuse I knew you had forgotten about me. I didn't even know if you still cared.”

Brows furrowing, Jon raised his head to look at you, a rough drop in his throat as he couldn't decide on feeling angry and offended or horrified at the thought. “I never wanted you to see her. I never wanted you to see any of it. I didn't go to the Wall thinking I'd get over you one day.” If he'd ease up on how tight his arms held you, a temptation swam through your veins asking you to turn around to see him properly. But Jon was stronger and more stubborn then that. “None of the things you've seen, dreams, visions whatever they are, they've never done anything but hurt you. They're still hurting you, only now I have to watch.”

Your whisper was faint against the temperamental way Jon was holding himself back. “And it isn't going to stop.” He was quiet, heavy breaths dancing along your skin at your neck. “They're getting stronger for a reason, Jon. I can't ignore them, I won't.”

“Why?”

Rasping harsh against you, you felt his urge to raise his voice against not wanting you to think he wanted to shout at you. Your hand moving enough in his, to run your thumb just along the back of his hand, a soothing back and forth that didn't help. “I came back for you. Whatever brought me back, did so, for you. To bring you back, fight beside you, and now whatever this is, is happening to me so that I can help you.”

You heard him quite muffled, and too indistinguishable to sense the feeling behind. “I don't care-”

Somehow, your gentle tones were louder then his muffles. “Thoros has the power he does, beacuse he's meant to use it to help Lord Beric. That's his purpose. And I won't ignore that mine is you.” He repeated himself, albeit a bit louder but you fought against the tense hold around your frame. “How much death we're surrounded by, and the only two people who have ever brought someone back to life, are in the same place as the only people who've ever been the ones to come back. But I can't just whisper words and bring the dead back, instead I have whatever this is and if-”

Grip around you tight, Jon pulled from his hold as the edge against your ear raised with his anger, and cracking with something painful unable to hide behind it. “I don't care about any of that.” Jaw clenched as his words hissed in your ear as if offended by every word you had just spoken. “Winter is coming and it isn't going to stop for us to figure out whose special and why. I didn't come back for any fate, I came back beacuse you brought me back. And I don't care about wasting my time figuring out what that means to anyone else. I'm fighting to protect my people, and my family where I couldn't before. Don't ask me to put you at risk just so I can figure out how to stop all of this a little bit faster.”

“Jon-”

Interrupting you, his tone dropped from a yell down to a rasp as his head rested against the side of yours. “You don't matter to me because you could be useful. You matter beacuse I love you, I always have been in love with you, and now that you're my wife you want to sit here and justify to yourself why I do.” Stripping you down to your bare frame, even moreso then the physical one sitting before him, your blood slowed down until it came to a dramatic stop. As did your lungs, no air leaving your slightly parted lips as his grip around you tightened once again. “You're right, I can't stop these visions from happening to you, but don't ask me to help make them worse.”

Pushing up enough, you slightly turned your head to see the curls by your side vision as your breathless ask sounded almost meek in comparison to him. “I'm sorry.” Sighing deeply, Jon almost read your own mind, moving his hands to your hips, prompting you to turn to face him.

Settling you gently in his lap, while one hand cupped your cheek as he sat up to better reach your perched height. His eyes far softer then the grating scold just given to you, bright and wide and so easy to read you could melt. “You were a Queen longer then I've been a King. You've proven yourself enough, let me catch up at least.” A hint of a smile twitched in your lips, but Jon caught every single moment of it. A brighter shine in his own as a gentle smile did fall over his own. “How about, you tell me when you see something, and we handle it then, but not before. I'm protective about you enough.”

Your hands draped along his shoulders, one dancing your fingertips up to scratch gently along the facial hair covering his jaw. Inhaling deeply, you held back the very worry you knew he could sense. Nodding your head, you leaned a bit closer to his warmth. Jon letting the hand on your cheek slink to keep you stable pressed against the top of your spine. “I think the word protective might be underselling yourself a little.”

Expression on him changing none, the same brightness as he used the leverage of his hold to pull you closer. “Choose any other word, but they're all the same thing to me. Winter is getting closer then everyone thinks, and I'm not about to start easing up on how much I want to keep you safe when it gets here.”

Heart was too light, as if it was ready to rise from your chest and fling itself into his possession. Leaving a trail of only need and a lightheadedness in it's wake. “If this is you being obsessed, I can't imagine how you could possibly get any worse.”

A handsome smirk fell over his face, eyes narrowing playfully as he toyed with the hair loose down your back. “Not much of an imagination, you have.” A small laugh left you, telling him that was a given and it only brought out even more of what you adored across him. Such a bright and easy laugh that you would do anything to see and hear the rest of your life.

Slinking to rake through your hair with more of a hold, Jon pulled you down the remaining distance as he leaned up to brush gently against your lips with his. Words coming out as a husk, with his dark eyes almost hooded as he looked to them, down further and back. “Just wait until the day I get to bring you out to our people, and tell them you're the mother of my child. You won't be able to leave my sight then.”

His eyes growing greedier, he no doubt caught the flush travelling up from between your legs, along your chest and spreading across your face as your nails dug into his shoulders more. Something inside your head almost begging you to submit as if it was all you were good for, but you resisted.

He liked when you were patient.

Though, it was unmistakable that he could drift his gaze down and see your bare chest for him heaving just a little more as your breathing grew faster. Only a whisper against what was a beaming shine of confidence in his touch, words and gaze. “Whatever you want.”

Roughly, Jon forced your lips to meet in the middle. Wrapping an arm around your back to pull your lower half in the water firmly against his hips, but keeping your lips right against his at no mercy but what he chose or did not chose to give you. Rough and deep in an instant, Jon just barley felt you pressing against his cock before he bit at your bottom lip.

Hand twisting your hair to serve at his call, Jon ran his tongue along yours and tasted inside of your mouth with a growl forming in his chest. Pulling you down into his kiss as much as he could, the whimper leaving you as already you felt that breathlessness dizzying, which made his cock throb. Hard as he could be and yet if something could make him even harder, it was such an innocent sound contrasted to how he touched you.

Hands tangling in his curls, his own drifted from around your back to forcing your hips up against his with a hand spread roughly across what he could reach of your ass. Fingertips digging into the plush skin, and another whimper much needier this time was gifted into his kiss, forcing another growl in his own chest.

It hadn't been brought up since, but you knew too well Jon was tied between two things. Wanting to sink deep inside your cunt like the wolf he was, and turning you around then and there and reliving how cruel it felt to pound into your ass so roughly. One was an addicted, obsessive instinct that was driven by something far more feral, while the other was something much more perverse and debauched that before him, was something you never would have even considered wanting.

He started so gentle too, but by the end he was so lost in the feeling, so far gone that unlike the Jon you knew, he had all but shoved you onto your hands and knees. Desperately needing the leverage from such a hold to pound his cock inside your ass so roughly that it brought tears, and yet your moans of confusing pleasure to mix with his grunts. Something about how much he let loose that night, something inside of you almost craved it again.

You wanted to be good for Jon, but you also wanted him to use you for what you knew, was a multitude of dark and utterly dishonourable ways he desired to fuck you. Wrapping your arms more around his shoulders and back, Jon grasped your waist to keep your bare breasts pressed against his torso, still not a hint of leaving your lips alone to gasp for air.

Finally as he tore from your lips, swollen and shining both of yours did he press your hips into him even more as he moved to your neck. Biting and licking and sucking a bruise into the now bite dented skin, you knew if he were more selfish he'd have pulled you down onto his cock already. But perhaps, it was for the best.

Considering that the next loud sound to emerge in the room was not from either of you. It was a knock to his chamber door. Pausing, Jon grasped your waist as he pulled back somewhat. Grey eyes almost black as he looked up at you, the innocent, overwhelmed need in your own eyes just made his cock throb between you again.

Then the next knock welcomed itself, along with the guards voice calling out. “Samwell Tarly to speak with you, your grace.”

The grip on you Jon had tightened to the same degree his jaw clenched it was almost funny. Muttering in a low hiss as his eyes peeled from your eyes, down your frame, soaked from the water and perfect for him, “I'm going to kill him.”

If that wasn't enough, the ease in which you let out a high pitched giggle once more, made his cock scream so much more to ravage you. His eyes forced themselves closed likely you knew to calm down his racing heart, a few deep breaths leaving him as well. Your hands gently ran down his curls to tame the more obvious mess you had started to put it in before he collected himself enough.

Surging up, Jon moved you with him, yanking you up and out of the water. Your hands braced against his shoulders to steady yourself as he muttered for you to wait. The cold air chilling against your bare skin enough to shiver by the time Jon returned. Having yanked on pants only enough to cover himself modestly, Jon wrapped something around you. Short and a dark silk like fabric to cover you too just enough.

Many men would have taken it with intimidation. The aggressive and short tempered manner in which Jon yanked the door open enough only he could be seen. “What?”

Sam's head jolted back just a bit. Many emotions scattered across his face as he took in the subsequent scattered scars of fatal nature littered about Jons torso. From an unsettled devastation at what he had never known took place before, to a slow realization of just why Jon had opened his door in such a state of undress when it was entirely unlike him.

“Oh...Oh.” From a short knowing sound, Sam devolved it quickly to that of an exaggerated mocking of pride for what he interrupted. Adding insult to injury, the same mocking as he asked “Bad time?”

It truly was a testament of how close the two men were, the degree to which Jon aggressively wanted to slam the door in his face and Sam taking full advantage of how he knew he wouldn't. “What is it, Sam?”

Waggling his eyebrow a bit, “I don't mean to interrupt, I just thought there was something you should know..but if you're busy..”

A heavy exhale left Jon as he closed his eyes. Words clear, and loud and short he was as controlled as he could be, considered how close he had gotten with you. “It can't wait until tomorrow?”

It was an amusing stand off. Jon, who was too honourable to actually force Sam to go away, and Sam, who was too much like a brother to Jon to give up taking advantage of that for his amusement. “I mean, it isn't life or death at this very moment, but it is important. Though, I suppose you were deep in something rather important as well.”

You had to turn away, covering your mouth to keep the laugh so desperately wanting to slip out from making it all the worse for Jon as it was. “Sam-”

“No, I understand. You're busy. I'll be where I always am if you find the time, if not I can always come back bright and early first thing.” You'd feel bad for how little Jon couldn't catch a break, if it weren't also terribly funny. Judging by the look you shared with Sam as you, once much more modestly dressed, followed Jon out, you both found a new shared activity. Having the innate ability to annoy Jon, with the advantage that he won't lash out for it.

The hand pressed at the small of your back the entire time however, spoke not of affection, but in how much Jon was going to tear everything off of you the second he closed his chambers door once more. A hint of just how roughly he was going to take you for enjoying his suffering, over and over until it was you the one begging for mercy.

Knowing Jon well enough, when his cock was deep inside of you, he had no mercy.

“I was thinking about what you said, about the horn being left for a reason.” Animated in his findings, there were many pages of what he had been transcribing laying about as well, moreso then you had seen that morning. “But I started wondering, what if only certain people can use it. If it's that dangerous then you're right, leaving it in Winterfell seems risky, but what if your ancestors kept it here, because they're the only ones who could use it?”

Brows narrowing, you stood next to Jon, looking over the work scattered about trying to see at the same time anything which way stand out. Jon asking, “Why would they make it so only House Stark can use it?”

“Well, you don't think it takes the Wall down the way everyone says. Maybe it's not for that though, if it took down the Wall it means your ancestors made something that destroys any defences they built themselves. That didn't make sense, so I started to wonder what else it would be used for. But what if it's similar to the way we use the horn at the Wall? What if somehow they used it to communicate something?” Your eyes flickered up, question on both your lips as he elaborated once more. “Think about it, we used a horn to communicate at the Wall, and everything you described makes it sound like they're not unlike us. They have people, ranks, they communicate but we can't with them..what if you're ancestors found a way through whatever this does?”

Nodding a bit, his eyes squinted as he grabbed it from where Sam stood opposite of him. Turning it slightly as you leaned more to his side to look it over. You asking quietly, “How would that end up turning to a story where it destroys the Wall?”

Jon had a quick answer to that. “Same reasons why we know next to nothing about the Long Night. No one's ever translated the runes of the First Men to our written language. So the story gets passed down until there's nothing left to learn from.” Putting it down gently, Jon affirmed they needed to figure out exactly how it works and quickly.

You were quiet, eyes trained on the horn with little more then a mutter. “How can we be sure it's even possible? Doesn't seem like they've tried peaceful negotiation before.” Gently you felt a slightly movement of his hand on your lower back, more of a massaging pressure at the wavering uncertainty in you.

Jons voice more gentle with you on an instant then with Sam, much to the later ones enjoyment. “They understand each other. They talk, even if we can't understand them. Means, they know language the way we do. Even if all they want is to kill us all, I want to know why. I want to know what we're dying to defend against.”

Words fluttered around you, but your eyes were trained on the horn. The bronze around each end with runes carved, you couldn't help but look between four of them. All desperate which did not stand out yet you kept looking at them. The way they were carved almost looked like something you'd seen before even though you couldn't place it.

Eyes drifting up to the papers about his desk, the images passed in your mind. Once only in dreams thought to mean nothing, next in a sight before your eyes not belonging to you but you knew them all the same. Cold and ice and crackling you couldn't stop seeing it and hearing it gathering around you as it went dark until your eyes had opened belonging to you once more.

You had seen it before. Moving quick, you paced around to a better angle of Sams desk as you grabbed paper and ink. The horn and transcribing both, you pulled them to you as Jon called your name in question. Shaking your head to let you think, both watched you looked between all three, penning something into the paper of an image.

“They attacked your brothers at the Fist of the First Men, and when you came across it Jon, you said the horses were scattered around in a symbol?” Asking in quick tones without yet looking up.

Coming around, an arm somewhat across your back as it to keep you between him and the desk as you leaned over it, Jon subsequently leaned over your shoulder. “Mance said that they had left symbols like that before. When they attacked people, some of the bodies get left behind on purpose.” Catching Sam up to speed on what it was he saw that day, leaving out the overwhelming fact that it was in fact that day, that Jon hadn't known if anyone he cared about there survived.

And the fear he felt having to pretend he didn't care in front of them.

You kept drawing, “Another attack on a small group of your rangers, they found a group of free folk they were tracking and found them the same way but in a different form. Like this.” Finally standing up proper, you looked to Jon with wide eyes. “The one you saw did it look anything like either of these?”

Leaning back down, Jon narrowed his eyes before motioning to one of them. “There. The spirals, that's how the horses were mutilated.” Looking to the other before finding your eyes, both of you with something unsure in them that did not hide. “That's what you saw?” You nodded, and Jon tilted his head a bit, hand coming back more along your waist to your back once more as you inhaled deeply.

Nerves coming through you. Looking to Sam, “Do you think you can find out what these symbols put together mean?” But instead of a curiosity, Sam had the same expression.

Only, for a different reason. “I could..but..I've seen those too.” Jons head snapped up to Sam in question, “It wasn't like that, not on any dead bodies..but I've seen those symbols before. In fact I've only ever seen them somewhere very specific.”

As Jon asked where, the answer was very clearly not at all what he was expecting.

[sophieturnersdoppelganger]

Okay, the first chapter of my 'give Jon a happy childhood' fic is up! It will take a bit for the children to appear, because I wanted to go into Ned and his wife's relationship first.

Scales and Swords (2376 words) by Sophieturnersdoppelganger Chapters: 1/? Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Ned Stark/Original Female Character(s), Stannis Baratheon/Catelyn Tully Stark, Robert Baratheon & Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark & Bran Stark & Ned Stark & Rickon Stark & Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, Renly Baratheon & Stannis Baratheon Characters: Ned Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Stannis Baratheon, Jon Snow, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, Renly Baratheon Additional Tags: Lemon, Minor Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Angst and Fluff and Smut, R Plus L Equals J | Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen are Jon Snow's Parents, Ned Stark Doesn't Become the Hand of the King, Good Parent Ned Stark, Ned and his wife are bad at emotional communication, what if Jon had a mom who loved him, she calls him Eddard because no one else does, Renly is normal because Catelyn raises him Summary: After a moon of courting, an adventure to Harrenhal, and a lovely wedding at Riverrun, Alyssandra journeys north with her new husband to help plan the wedding that will truly join their houses; that of his brother, Brandon, and her cousin, Catelyn. But then Lyanna disappears, and Brandon is killed, and Catelyn is wed to a Baratheon and taken across the continent from Alyssandra. Then Ned comes home with a baby, and well, she can't be mad a baby, can she? And her husband is such a good man. She'll probably forgive him. Catelyn, having been hustled off to Storm's End, spends a year trying to warm her husband's heart and eating rats, then spends many years navigating Robert and Cersei. A lot of pettiness ensues. AKA What if Ned had a wife he chose and she actually forgave him and loved Jon as her own son? And what if Stannis had a wife he actually liked?

[thesunwillshineonusagain757]

𝙾𝚁 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻

Believing her brother lost to the depths of the sea after a shipwreck, Lyanna Stark disguises herself as a young man named Alaric Snow and takes service in the court of Prince Rhaegar, the brooding ruler of the island kingdom of Dragonstone. As time reveals truth and hearts torn asunder, Rhaegar is forced to confront the love he never knew he sought, in a tale where passion, secrets, and destiny collide.

𝙻𝚈𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙺

Lyanna Stark, a courageous and compassionate young woman from Winterfell, has endured the horrors of war since childhood. The sole sister of the Stark family, she and her brother Brandon are the only survivors of their kin, forced to flee south after their home and family were destroyed. Tall and slender, with piercing blue-grey eyes and jet-black hair, Lyanna disguises herself as a young man named Alaric Snow, cutting her hair short and relying on her naturally deep, rasping voice to maintain the illusion. Beneath this façade lies a fiercely loyal and intelligent soul, whose bravery and selflessness guide her through the treacherous court of Dragonstone. Though her journey begins with fear and loss, Lyanna quickly proves herself a resourceful and wise individual, her quiet strength and strategic mind revealing a heroine willing to sacrifice for those she loves.

𝚁𝙷𝙰𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚁 𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙰𝚁𝚈𝙴𝙽

Prince Rhaegar of Dragonstone is a noble and revered leader, a man of immense strength and integrity. Standing tall at six feet, with thick silver hair that cascades in straight strands, his striking violet eyes reflect the weight of his royal lineage and the wisdom of his years. Beneath his regal exterior lies a heart that is both kind and deeply introspective, often lost in the melodies of his thoughts, with his love for Lady Elia ever echoing in his mind like a bittersweet symphony. A bachelor in his prime, Rhaegar’s devotion to her is unwavering, though it remains unspoken. As the ruler of Dragonstone, he is a man of honour and duty, a just and courageous figure who inspires loyalty among those who serve him. His connection with his newest page, and secretary, Alaric, grows steadily, and Rhaegar’s protective instincts sharpen, seeing the boy’s naivety as both a vulnerability and a strength. Though he carries the scars of battle and life’s burdens, Rhaegar remains a figure of dignity, questioning at times if he is truly worthy of the devotion he inspires. Despite his noble stature and talents, there lingers within him a deep loneliness, as if the crown he wears bears more than the weight of his realm—it also carries the weight of his heart’s longing.

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Inspired By Twelfth Night (Shakespeare) |Or What You Will | Alternative Universe - Twelfth Night or What You Will | Slow Burn | Crossdressing | Shakespearean Language | Prince Accidentally Fell In Love With Another Man | Girl Mistaken for a Man Decides Crossdressing Is the Way to Go | Friends Witness as Formerly "Straight" Man Falls for a Twink | Some Smut but it’s minimal | A lot of angst and I make no apologies| Discussions of war and its impact on individuals | Edwardian Period Aesthetic | A Grief Counselor Would Work Wonders| Emotional Hurt/Comfort

[love-fictional-ppl]

Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon Masterlist

*=smut, !=angst, #=fluff, (16+)= exactly what it says

[House Stark of Winterfell]

[Cregan Stark||Lord of Winterfell]

[Ned Stark||Lord of Winterfell]

[Robb Stark||King in the North||The Young Wolf]

[Jon Snow||King in the North||Lord Commander||The White Wolf]

[Blurbs]

#Wildling!reader

[Brandon Stark||The Three-eyed Raven]

[Arya Stark]

[Sansa Stark||Queen in the North]

[House Lannister of Casterly Rock]

[Jaime Lannister||Kingslayer]

[Cersei Lannister||Queen of the 7 Kingdoms]

[Tyrion Lannister||Hand of the King]

[Blurbs]

#Tyrion x Dornish!fem!reader(16+)

[Joffrey Baratheon||King of the 7 Kingdoms]

[House Baratheon of Storm’s End]

[Gendry Baratheon||Lord of Storm’s End]

[Stannis Baratheon||Lord of Storm’s End]

[Renly Baratheon||Lord of Storm’s End]

[House Targaryen of Dragonstone & King’s landing]

[Rhaenyra Targaryen||The Cruel]

[Daemon Targaryen||The Rogue Prince]

[Rhaenys Targaryen||The Queen Who Never Was]

[Aemond Targaryen||Aemond One-Eye]

[Aegon Targaryen ii||The Usurper]

[Helaena Targaryen||The Dreamer]

[Daenerys Targaryen||The Mother of Dragons]

[House Velaryon of Driftmark]

[Corlys Velaryon||The Sea Snake]

[Laenor Velaryon]

[Laena Velaryon]

[Extra Characters]

[Criston Cole]

[Alicent Hightower||Queen Dowager]

[Harwin Strong||Breakbones]

[Margaery Tyrell]

[Sandor Clegane||The Hound]

[Oberyn Martell||The Red Vipor]

[deepwoodmotte2]

hi guys!!! banner post dropping now!!

welcome to deepwood motte (2)! this is my side blog dedicated entirely to asoiaf, got/hotd, and vikings!! if you don’t follow me on @krillmorrissey (my 11 year old 45,000 post deep main) you might not know these fun facts!

- i’m a 21 year old college student double majoring in studio art and history

- i use she/her pronouns

- i write for asoiaf and affiliated shows as well as vikings and its affiliate universes!!

- i really prioritize writing neutral or non-white readers; seven hundred white ocs named aemma velaryon works for some people, but i am diverse and want to be diverse! send in ideas! PLEASE! (i am latinx and indigenous to turtle island - i can best write similar ((or those)) perspectives, but am always willing to try!)

anyway!! welcome :) my masterlist will be dropping soon, as will these fics:

- ivar the boneless x reader (arranged marriage au, short blurb)

- cregan stark x reader (lady Mormont! reader, fix-it fic of sorts?)

- brandon the builder x first people! reader (dream sequence, through the lens of a later stark i haven’t decided on yet. maybe also a werewolf element to this but unclear. warging!)

in the meantime, you can search my writing on this blog under #vi’s writing !! I also reblog any recommended fics under #vi’s fic library

if you have any ideas or requests, please send them in!! i won’t write anything illegal or excessively violent, beyond first-cousin marriage or other GOT accurate things like targaryen marriages. there might be smut, and if there is, i’ll tag it and put warnings.

TERFS are not welcome here, and as always, Free Palestine, Free Cuba, and free all oppressed peoples. best! via

[thethreeeyed-raven]

Can you make a bran Drabble when the jist is that he has a secret bf/gf :) tysm!!

bran with a secret s/o

navigation | warnings : SMUT (if ur uncomfortable with that just skip), caught in the act | a/n : listen, if he wanted to, he could, THE WAY I SAT GIGGLING TO MYSELF WRITING A CERTAIN ONE | tags : @knight-of-flowerss @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom | bran stark playlist

SFW

bran loves secretly holding your hand, especially when you go out somewhere with him and his family, ugh hand holding is a must

secret kisses🤭

buying you gifts then you having to pretend arya or sansa bought it for you and the awkward silence when they say they didn't

he has you over to watch movies and cuddle

he may beg his fam to go out and do something for the night just so he can do that ^^

he likes sneaking around with you

longing looks across the dinner table when you get invited to have dinner

OML KICKING EACH OTHER UNDER THE TABLE OR TEASING EACH OTHER

you both are sat giggling and everyone just has confused looks on their faces

you sneak into his room in the middle of the night when you have sleepovers just to cuddle with him and then you have to sneak back into whoever's room you were in first

late night talks

always checking up on you, making sure you've eaten etc

once sansa caught him doing this and started teasing him about it

his fam constantly talks about you around him just to see that little smile that appears on his face

NSFW

neck kisses

HICKEYS

imagine going home and you have a big massive hickey appearing on your neck all because bran cant help himself

THIS MAN LOVES HAIR PULLING

imagine ya'll are at it, he's devouring you down there and you're pulling his hair

the moans he has to stiffle😫

constantly telling him to be quiet

loves taking you up against the wall

always ensures your comfort before trying anything new

he loves marking you

if you consent to pics being taken he absolutely will

keeps them all in a secret folder and sometimes beats his meat to them💀 ^^

IM SORRY

bro is very very vocal

sometimes your movie sessions end up in steamy sex

literally does everything you tell him to no joke

bro is submissive af

he needs praise

like a lot of praise

HE NEEDS YOU TO TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM

he craves it

"tell me you're mine"

HE WHIMPERS

i just know he whimpers

and i just know its big

its hard for you guys to get at it because your relationship being a secret yk so when you do its definitely passionate and loving

bran does like it rough but not all the time

Grunts and whimpers could be heard throughout the room.

Bran's family had gone out for the day, but Bran pretended to be sick so he could have you over.

His shirt was thrown somewhere around the room and your bottoms where around your ankles.

As he rutted into you, you tugged on his scalp, earning quiet whimpers from him.

Your moans filled his ear drums, listening as you whispered sweet nothing's into his ear.

His family was supposed to be out for the day, but then just happened to get home early.

They all piled into the hallway.

"Stop." Catelyn said. "Can't you hear that?"

Sansa and Arya stiffled laughs as they all approached Bran's room. The noises got louder.

Catelyn opened the door.

"BRANDON!"

You both turned to look at each other in embarrassment.

"Fuck."

[crownedtargaryen]

Modern!Bran Stark Headcanons

A/N: honestly, this is just to give context to the one shot I’m writing and I made these in my class. A lot are of him being a silly little Twitch streamer. So, enjoy!! There aren’t a lot of NSFW ones, but shrugs or whatever.

ALL NOTES ARE APPRECIATED! (REBLOGS, LIKES, COMMENTS)

CW: Semi-Publicized Sex, Slurp Slurp Under Da Desk

NSFW 18+ HEADCANONS ARE IN THIS!

Pronouns: She/Her

SFW

He’s a huge gamer, 100%. The average League and Clash Royale player. He’s a variety twitch streamer in his spare time, honestly having a large following!

He works a lot on his upper body strength, keeping himself lean but not buff. He has a tendency to overexert himself a because he’s insecure about his wheelchair, trying to prove he can still be just as strong as his brothers.

Bran is a MASSIVE nerd, holy crap. He has limited edition collectibles and loves to show you them. At cons, he will buy insanely expensive merchandise and you stand there in shock at how much money he throws into those passions of his.

To be honest, he probably wouldn’t have been your friend if you weren’t friends with his siblings. Plus, you grew up with him which is a bonus. You helped him through the emotional distress he felt being now stuck in a wheelchair, encouraging him that you’ll do anything to help him learn to walk again. A naive child, which he constantly teases you for now. When people ask why you’re friends with him, you respond “I find him endearing is all!”

He works a lot on his upper body strength, keeping himself lean but not buff. He has a tendency to overexert himself a because he’s insecure about his wheelchair, trying to prove he can still be just as strong as his brothers.

Bran is a MASSIVE nerd, holy crap. He has limited edition collectibles and loves to show you them. At cons, he will buy insanely expensive merchandise and you stand there in shock at how much money he throws into those passions of his.

To be honest, he probably wouldn’t have been your friend if you weren’t friends with his siblings. Plus, you grew up with him which is a bonus. You helped him through the emotional distress he felt being now stuck in a wheelchair, encouraging him that you’ll do anything to help him learn to walk again. A naive child, which he constantly teases you for now. When people ask why you’re friends with him, you respond “I find him endearing is all!”

He’s had the biggest crush on you since kindergarten and has dedicated his entire love life to pursuing you. But, he has terrible rejection anxiety and so he hesitates to confess his feelings.

His love languages are as follows; Giving - Gift Giving and Semi-Physical Touch ,, Receiving - Physical Touch and Quality Time

He doesn’t show it nor admit it, but he’s SUPER protective of you and sends Jock!Robb and Jock!Jon to beat the crap out of people for you.

His siblings and parents LOVVVE embarrassing him in-front of you. They’ll tell you stupid stories that you weren’t there for, unflattering pictures they take of him they’ll text you, abut what REALLY gets him all flustered and pulling you away to his room to hide is when they drop unsubtle hints about his deep rooted feelings for you

Bran has really gotten used to swallowing down his emotions and hiding them from everyone. You’d have to know everything going on in his life to know how he truly feels.

He definitely went through a cringey stage in middle school, it’s haunted him since. He may need therapy.

Uses the words Pog, Pogchamp, Rizz, Bruh, Moist, and Holly Molay ironically, and repeats them regularly. He won’t stop. Help.

Can and WILL tell you the entire FNAF lore.

Always urging you into his interests and rambles for hours in what he loves. He’ll GLADLY indulge in your likings as well.

He’s on the neurodivergent spectrum. As someone on that spectrum, he totally is. He has special interests and will never stop talking about them while laying in bed with you.

He absolutely ADORES when upon send him videos and pictures you find on Pinterest or TikTok and say “us”

When you aren’t at his house he BEGS you to call him to merely feel your presence. He has insane insomnia when you aren’t with him and needs to call you to sleep.

On ALL his socials other than his Twitch, you’re his pfp. The thing is, he doesn’t pick flattering pictures of you. No. He picks the most meme worthy goofy photos of you and him, just LOVING it. He’s VERY public about your romance.

His stream LOOOVES you and constantly begs him to have you on. He acts like it’s bothersome but he secretly adores the excuse to invite you over. Of course, there are some of his fans that ignore your existence or don’t like you, which you come to realize is because they’re romantically attracted to him and feel you are an obstacle, so they find it better to be harsh or just ignore you all together.

He’ll do a karaoke stream with you and I love to imagine it’s like this video

NSFW

He loves when his family is out and he tells them he’s streaming so you can come over and just ride the fuck out of him in the living room.

He’s a pervy mf, eyeing you up and down always and getting hard-ons CONSTANTLY when he looks at you. It makes you so flustered noticing the huge cock in his pants rock hard and insanely visible due to his size.

Sometimes he’ll plead you to suck him off when he’s streaming, tying to keep himself together as he talks to his chat. He’ll let out soft whimpers and moans, but play them off as frustration. You’re surprised no one has caught on as he pushes your head down and swallows hard to stifle himself.

He’ll suck on your tits randomly. You’ll be cuddling and he’ll move under your shirt, whining softly and peeking through the top of your shirt. You look down at him and laugh, then give him verbal consent to continue. He’ll greedily lap over the buds, feeling up your sides and slowly grinding against your leg like the wolf he is.

He suggests an OnlyFans a few times and a NSFW Twitter, jokingly at first but then genuinely growing interested in the idea. You think it’s just for money, but he wants to show everyone who he belongs to and who belongs to him.

He loves nothing more than thigh fucking you, moaning into your ear and burying his face in your neck as he marks you up.

He has a private Twitter where he posts (with your consent) photos of him with the messiest hickeys on his neck and the scratches on his back after you and him fuck around. His captions are always goofy like “Just got mauled 🤭😏”

He loves when you ride him while he plays games, moaning softly into the mic and gripping your ass, unable to focus as he messes up and swears under his breath, burying his face between your breasts to comfort himself from the frustration.

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

“The Death of a Bastard Series” (Part 1 of?)

Title: “The Death of a Bastard” (PART 1)

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5

Warnings: Mentions of death and blood.

Summary: The reader is the first to find Jon Snow’s lifeless body. She has to flee away from Castle Black and go back to her home, Rivendell. She reminisces, and remembers how she met her “Snow”, and fell in love with him. But she was promised to his half brother, Robb. Mostly based around how they met, and what in between their meeting and his death.

The palm of your hand rested across the cheek of the only man you could bring yourself to love. Your mind fumbled, and your lips trembled: “How could this have happened?” You questioned as you stared down at his cold, pale, face.

Stannis’s most trusted vassal: Davos, Edd,and a few other’s stood next to you as you mourned over Jon’s lifeless body. Your dress was stained with the blood of your lover, his scent lingered on your body.

All you could think about was: what would have happened if you would’ve stopped Jon from leaving the lord Commanders tower? All you could think about was how he never came back up, and when you finally got up to find him, you saw a lifeless body on the ground. With an eyebrow raised, you ran down the steps.

Blood pooled around the body, staining the purity of the snow. Once you got closer, you recognized the dark brown curly hair. Racing to him, you dropped to your knees, “Jon! Jon! Wake up!” You cried as you cradled his body.

He was sputtering for air, “Y/N…. You… you must leave….” You ran your fingers through his hair, “Jon, please, please, don’t die. I — I love you…” you whisper as tears rolled down your cheeks.

Jon looked up at you, “I will al..ways… love you…” he whispered back, and then he breathed his last breath. You laid your face against his, as you sobbed his name, and whispered: “Why?” You heard the snow crunch beneath someone’s feet, and you looked around frantically.

“Lady Y/N, who did this? Did you see who did this?”Davos asked while staring at the sign: Traitor. You turned to look at the sign, and sobbed, “He did what he thought was right… I don’t understand.. I don’t understand. Why?” You sobbed as Davos knelt down.

Voices followed your sobs, “It’s the lord Commander!” All of Jon’s trusted “brothers” came running, Davos looked around him.

“Help me get him inside….” Davos said, looking around to make sure that no one was watching. He helped you up, all you wanted was to collapse into the snow.

They closed the door and barred it so no one could get in. They swiped everything off of Jon’s table, and laid his body across it. Ghost’s howls rang in your ear, the pang of sadness could be heard by anyone and everything.

“Thorne did this!”

“How many of your brothers do you think you can trust?” Davos asked and Edd spoke up, “Trust? The men in this room.”

Davos turned to you, “Is the wolf familiar with you, m’lady?” He asked and you gave him a nod. “Will you get him? We need all the help we can get.” You started to walk towards the door, but Edd placed his hand around your wrist.

“I will go get him. We need to protect lady Y/N, only the god’s know what the others will do if they see her. They’d do anything to hurt our lord commander.” He said and Davos gave him a nod.

But when Edd reached for the door there was a knock, and all of the men around you pulled out their swords. They all stood silent, until an all too familiar voice, one that belonged to a woman, was heard on the other side of the door. “Ser Davos.”

Davos gave Edd a look to open the door. You scowled once the red woman came through the door. Jon had told you about her trying to seduce him. You felt threatened by her beauty; you knew Jon loved you though.

When she walked through the door, you stood in front of Jon’s body as if you were protecting him. She peered around your frame, and her facial expression dropped. Melisandre walked past you, and you looked over your shoulder; she gently touched his cheek. “I saw him in the flames, fighting at Winterfell…” she whispered, clearly confused that another one of her visions weren’t right.

Davos walked to where you were standing, “I can’t speak for the flames, but he’s gone…” the red woman turned on her heels to face you. You stepped back, but she stepped up to you, and her hand rested on your cheek. Shivering, you removed her hand from your face.

“You were in the flames… you… are you with child?” She asked and all eyes turned to you. Edd got between the two of you, and he faced his body towards the red woman. “Well, you saw wrong. Jon took his vow and withheld that vow….” He turned to look at you, and you looked down at your feet.

Davos motioned for the red woman to back away. Tears rolled down your face, you were going to tell him tonight, but now it was too late. You quickly stepped out of the room, and walked down the stairs. You raised your hood, and pulled your cloak tight around your body.

Quickly, you opened the door where Ghost was being kept. He lunged out, his red eyes gleaming, he nudged you until you were walking. You heard shouting coming from the Mess Hall.

You quietly moved closer, so you could hear. “He was our lord commander!”

“He never should have been!”

You could hear someone beat their fists against something, “You all know why you’re here. Snow is dead.” Alliser Thorne’s voice boomed. You hated him from the moment you met him.

“Who killed him?” One of the men asked and he replied, “I did.” You had to stop yourself from marching in there, and throat punching Thorne.

There was a roar of voices. They were angry, they shouted: “murderers!” “Traitors!” A hand on your shoulder made you jump, “M’lady..” Edd hissed, “You know you can’t be out here by yourself….” He whispered.

Edd wrapped his arm around your waist and quickly escorted you back to the room. Before he opened the door he turned to you, “Is it true? What the red woman said? Are you with child? Jon Snow’s child?” He asked and you looked down at your blood stained boots.

“Yes. I was to tell him tonight.” You say as you looked up at Jon’s friend. “If the others find out you’re carrying his bastard, they will try to murder you and the child.” He said and you glared at Edd.

“Do not call our child a bastard. And I know, once we figure out what to do, I’ll leave.” You say as you open the door to the room.

___________

Part 2 maybe? 😶‍🌫���😶‍🌫️