#game of thrones x male reader

[bumblesimagines]

Headcanon:

Being Oberyn's lover

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

~~~

Oberyn is an infamous man for several reasons, some of which include the rumors of his usage of poison during duels and an interest in the dark arts. Posion-laced swords and dark arts aside, one of the most notable things about him is his multitude of lovers. From men to women, nobles to brothel workers, Oberyn is no stranger to sex and hardly a stranger to love. He may have a wandering eye but his heart remains fiercely loyal to his lovers/paramours and his many daughters whom he deeply cares for despite their bastard status. 

As such, it is no surprise that you catch Oberyn's eye during one of his trips with Ellaria throughout Westeros. He needs little convincing to speak to you and is as smooth as butter when he begins flirting. While he enjoys giggling maidens or blushing lords, his interest spikes when you come off as indifferent to his charm. He is a Dornishman and Dornishmen love a challenge, especially when he notices your eyes linger on him for far too long to be uninterested. 

Of course, Oberyn mentions his interest to Ellaria, for she is essentially his wife and the mother of many of his daughters. Ellaria provides her approval and encouragement, even going as far as befriending you and acting as some sort of wingwoman to her lover. You quickly put together her involvement in Oberyn's plan to woo you and while it's unusual at first, you learn that it's not so odd in Dorne. A cat-and-mouse game ensues and Oberyn's interest becomes all the more clear to others.

Oberyn's main love languages are gift-giving and physical touch, although he'll provide every other love language known to mankind. Since Oberyn's interest extends past sex, you'll be properly courted by him and this will include countless lavish gifts. He is a prince, after all, and his wealth knows little bounds. You can expect a variety of gifts, from clothes to brooches and anything you can think of. You mention wanting something? Expect that very thing sitting in your room the next day. Oberyn is also very handsy with his lovers and always has a hand on them or has them sit on his lap. He's still a prince and gentleman, however, so he will keep his hands to himself until you are comfortable enough with him. Once he has that green light, expect to find his hand resting on your waist or back, and don't be surprised if it wanders.

 You nod along to the lord as he speaks, absentmindedly listening to the conversation about lands and such. None of it really interests you as you're the thirdborn in your family and the likelihood of you ever needing to know much of what he spoke of was slim. The conversation shifts onto his children as he recalls a funny story and then begins the prodding.

"I hear you remain unwed." The Lord hums thoughtfully and strokes his beard. "We've been searching for someone to wed my second eldest-"

"My Lord," A familiar voice greets from behind and sends a welcomed jolt up your spine, unable to contain the smile before it breaks out on your face. Oberyn steps up beside you and his lips curl up in a genuine smile for you, the palm of his hand pressing soothingly against your lower back and slowly creeping to wrap his fingers around your hip. He holds eye contact, even as he speaks to the man. "I'm afraid I'll have to steal this one from you, My Lord." He simply states and without waiting for a response, he sweeps you away from the sputtering lord. 

"Oberyn," You laugh softly and send an apologetic look over your shoulder right before Oberyn leads you fully out of the room. He spins around on his heel and cups your face, his warm skin pressing against yours. His eyes lack their typical sultriness or grumpiness, instead replaced with a fond look that makes you want to look away. He leans forward and kisses you gently. 

"How are you, dearest?" 

Once Oberyn manages to convince the head of your family, you find your belongings packed and ready for Dorne. Oberyn and Ellaria show great excitement and contentment over this, talking about all the things they wish to show you and the people they want you to meet. Dorne is a hot, desert and mountain-covered region but Sunspear is a gorgeous castle surrounded by the ocean and the shadow city. Oberyn's family is welcoming, if not a bit exhausted with him, but they're still warm and kind to you. Though Doran is semi-distant at first, his children are much friendlier and happy to get to know you. After Doran and his children, Ellaria introduces you to the Sand Snakes, Oberyn's countless daughters. Their reactions vary and some are more welcoming than others but all are accepting of their father's decision to take you as a serious lover.

While eager to show you his home, Oberyn first gets you acquainted with your new bedroom and the bed. Oberyn is a versatile lover, although he enjoys being the one in control most times depending on his mood. You can expect to spend a lot of time in bed with Oberyn, and sometimes even with Ellaria. Oberyn is a giver and he'll often have you pinned beneath him until you can take no longer before peppering you with kisses and cooing gentle words in your ear. 

Oberyn is a thoughtful and dutiful lover who ensures you'll never feel left behind or cast away. However, you must be fine with sharing him with others, and even if you find this difficult at times, Ellaria will provide soothing words of advice and comfort. Oberyn will ensure to push away any worries or insecurities and he'll even encourage you to seek out your own lovers, just as long as you always return to him. 

If you are a lady, you can surely expect to fall with child soon after arriving in Dorne. Ellaria, who basically becomes your sister, tends to you and helps you through the process of pregnancy and labor. Oberyn will grow protective during this time and you'll often find him resting his hand over the bump or speaking to it. He'll ensure you are being treated with the utmost care and by the very best. Whether son or daughter, Oberyn will love his child, and the Sand Snakes will be incredibly protective of their newest sibling. 

Oberyn is one of those lovers that still courts you well into the relationship. He continues providing gifts and trying to make you swoon all over just because he feels like it. Getting with Oberyn means having a thoughtful, open-minded lover, a kind sister, and countless deadly stepdaughters willing to fight in your honor if they have to. 

[tricksh0t]

★ stag

☾ tywin lannister x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ need that old man part 2, also happy new year

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.43k words

cw: hair pulling, from behind, first time anal for tywin, age gap, use of boy as a nickname for the reader, pretty long, small mention of period-typical homophobia

Tywin was never one for hunts, not the ceremonious ones. Hunting was a necessity. It was not like joustings and tourneys, the entertainment found in the desperation and death of boastful warriors; those, he could understand. It is joy and amusement there, and he knows there is no joy to be found in letting your scouts capture the beast for you. It is duller still to plunge your blade into a helpless creature.

Most of all, there is no necessity to send the Lord Lannister, the commander of the Lannister army, a trusted advisor to the crown hunting. The so-said "better taste" of the game you hunted yourself is nothing but delusion to cover up for the time wasted, he knows this too.

There are always men perfectly capable of hunting for him, and if there aren't any, Westeros is damned for its incompetency.

Tywin only understands a good, old-fashioned hunt with purpose.

His army marches on in its journey to tame the North. Night falls, and dinner must be served. So, he hunts.

He's a noble, still, a man who enjoys the comforts of filling meals and cupbearers and wine, regardless of how worthless they are in showing anything except that he is still wealthy.

That is why here, on the table of his very own tent, he's skinning a stag.

He won't be the only one to eat it, no. The man behind him will, too.

You were, seventeen years ago, a soldier; but, just like now, you were also more than that. You were a killer of Targaryen Generals, which grants you today the title of General too: the Commander of the remaining Baratheon army that is still loyal to the admittedly blonder, true Baratheons.

The Baratheon colors became the Lannister's. Yellow became gold and red, but colors were nothing in the face of loyalty.

Tywin's the Lord of Casterly Rock while you're just a lesser cousin, a distant nephew, the farthest there is from inheriting Storm's End, yet you are only one rank below him in power, and that is something to admire.

Suppose that's why he allows you a cut of his meat.

"You stare." Tywin says.

There's no surprise in the statement, even with his back turned towards you. "I do."

"Yes, you do. Often, might I add. State your intentions, plainly."

You know each other, you might even dare to say, well. Tywin is a clever man, he always considers his alliances and his relationships carefully, and you have his trust. It is not easily given.

That does not mean he won't walk on eggshells around you.

"You know, there's reason to my staring. You're easy to stare at."

"Choose your next words carefully."

You have your worth, you're valueable, you're irreplacable. Digging a dagger into your throat won't be easy.

He wedges the butcher's knife into the table with a strong stab. It'd be anger, if that wasn't his usual way of doing it. Here, it's a show of strength. He turns to face you.

"I apologize, my Lord, it appears I wasn't speaking plainly." You play. Oh, you play. You Baratheons don't know when to quit. "You look good. Not good like the pretty princesses in their skirts, but like the men, if you have seen it, if you can understand it, the men on hot summer days that are still bound to the sword, training, muscles golden under the sun."

Tywin doesn't realize he's entertaining you when he says, "We are under shade. It is almost fall."

"Then let me fix it." You look interested now, sitting up, it's a pursuit. "You hide your body under armor, because one does not need to see your body to see your strength. You are commanding, powerful, outside of the physical. Your voice is deep and it allures me even though you don't intend it."

He raises a brow. At this point, not denying you is encouraging you.

You serve him. He could execute you just for saying this. Men have been killed for less, though that is a kind of command he has never given. This is a first, to be wanted like this, by a man, no less, and since many years.

Tywin picks up his knife, turns towards the table, back to the stag, back to skinning it. He's busying his hands. "Continue."

You stride forward, boot upon the earth like you're sneaking up to prey. He does not move to turn, nor does he open his mouth to stop you.

"You're an admirable man, you're ruthless, you're cunning. You plan ahead, you lead the Crown's army." You huff out something of a laugh at yourself, "I am only feeding your ego now, am I not?"

"You think that will get you somewhere?" Tywin returns. HIs knife separates a stubborn bit of the stag's skin from its muscles with a sickening schlick.

"No, I don't believe so." Your hands come to rest on the table on either side of him. It'd be trapping him if he were any other man but Tywin.

He wields the knife.

"And you think this will get you somewhere?"

"Maybe." Your voice is closer to his ear now. He almost flinches. Instead, you press your nose against his neck, and the rest of your head against the back of his.

Intimacy, warmth. It gets colder the further north you go, but he knows that's not why he isn't pushing you away now.

"I think, you'd have ordered my head or killed me yourself if you weren't interested."

Silence is enough of an answer.

You have been, at times, that man bound to the sword in the summer. Tywin has seen it, though he's never allowed himself more than a glance. He knows the sight of them, but pressed up against him now, he can feel your muscles beneath the thinner garments you wear under your armor.

Much the way you admire the strength of him, he can feel your strength; and again, he has seen it in the way you cleave down your enemies, but he is feeling it now, and it is different.

His silence was enough then, and his words won't be enough now, not unless they are stop or you're dead. So he chooses, instead, to poke fun at you.

"You aren't even the age I was when the Mad King was felled, do you know that, boy?"

If it is a night of entertainment that he'll find today, then he might as well have his fun. After all, he's a noble, still, a man who enjoys his comforts.

"Is that supposed to stop me?" You laugh against the skin of his neck.

The knife comes down into the wood of the table again, threateningly close to your hand. You don't flinch. He admires that.

There's the first couple of kisses against his neck. They're wet, which isn't quite his preference, but they're tolerable.

Tywin sighs, which he regrets quickly.

He gave you an inch, and you took a mile. "What was that?"

"A sigh, boy." His voice is stern. It'd be threatening, if you didn't hear that tone all the time. "Keep going."

Your hands undo the clasps of his leather overgarment, then untuck the shirt from his pants, and then meet his skin. They're cold against his stomach, but quickly warming up as you rub over it, like a lady's belly.

He sneers. "Don't keep that up. Move on."

You laugh. He should smack you, but he doesn't. "Apologies, my Lord."

"Does it please you to call me that?" His hand comes back to grab a handful of your hair, a grasp for control in this situation.

"Yes." You don't deny it.

This desire you have for him is his upper hand. He turns around and roughly tugs your hair back, pulling a wince from you.

He's rougher still with the laces of your pants, undoing them quickly and finally wrapping a hand around your cock. You're different from him, unrestrained, already groaning. "Do you want me because I'm the Lord of Casterly Rock and you're insignificant to the Baratheon house? Are you trying to see which is the highest bed you can sleep on?"

"No-no, my Lord."

That surprises him. He works you quickly, root to tip, the cold and the dryness of it all don't help. "Then what is it?"

"I want you," Instinct calls and you pathetically thrust your hips into his hand. "fuck, because it's your strength and power that make my cock stir."

"Funny, that it's my hand now."

For a moment, Tywin considers if he should continue the affair. Since Stannis and Renly Baratheon's individual rebellions, he hasn't been entirely sure of your loyalty. Blood is thicker than water, and it seems the Baratheon blood in his grandchildren has spread thinner than even water.

You'd be his pet, if he kept this up. The Baratheon army that follows you would be entirely his, secured.

"But a hand isn't what you want, is it?"

He spits on his hand then continues to jerk you off, and, "Fuuck."

"You aren't making it easy to tell." Tywin laughs, thoroughly amused.

"No, my Lord," You gulp back a moan to speak properly in front of your Lord, "I wanna fuck you."

"Fuck me? That's hilarious."

He considers it. It's true that it's something he's never tried, but he's not sure if he's willing to try it at all. Well, then again, men are driven by their cocks, and you're no exception.

"Please."

You sound so pathetic, it's cute. Tywin sighs again, letting go of you. "Alright. Go fetch oil. That is what you men use, yes?"

Tywin was not a youth seventeen years ago, and he is much less a youth now.

That does not mean that his knees are weak, nor that he can't fuck, just that he tires easily. His only concern was to take it with caution.

Sex is such a vulnerable act, after all. That's why it's such a powerful tool.

He never cleaned up the table. There was still blood on it, steadily but lazily flowing out of the stag where he'd cut open right down the middle.

Tywin cared for his cleanliness, but he didn't seem to care right now. His well-established dominance had faded into pleasured sighs and heavy breaths, as this was a sensation he'd never felt before.

It isn't how he imagined it, like a cold, struggling humping against his back and into the only hole he'd let you use.

Instead, there's pleasure in it, his nerves lighting up with shocks as if lightning. Then there was one that spot you'd rub against sometimes with terrible consistency.

It's carnal, is what it is.

Your lips find his neck again, and he lets out a shaky sigh. The kisses you give are wet, and he likes it.

With each time your pelvis meets his ass, his breath gets shakier.

"My Lord–"

"Don't speak."

It's terrifying, how much Tywin likes this. He'd always thought queer men to be bumbling fools, if only he knew the pleasure that came with it.

Your hand finds it, he takes it, squeezes it. It's somewhat of a blood union, with stag's blood.

The irony of it, a dead stag, a Baratheon fucking him.

Some sort of possession runs through him. You wear his colors.

"Fuck." He says, an indecency. This is indecent. This is fraternization. Oh, but he couldn't care less right now.

His head comes back, finds your hair again. He tugs, causing your lips to pull off his neck with a smack. He does it for nothing but the pleasure of hearing you gasp, a grasp for control where he finds it.

"My Lord." You don't seek to speak this time, he knows it. You're only moaning out for him, and it's rather pleasing.

He leans down further, pressing his ass into you, pushing your cock deeper into him. His back arches like a whore's. It's unbecoming.

And yet the heat feeds into it. It's still cold, here, but the way you work your bodies heats the both of you up in what feels like a mania to have more, to seek more, to want more, to fuck because you need it.

It's like a fire in his old, worn body.

The hand that was holding his travels down to his body, grasping his cock. Tywin gasps. His hand quickly follows, wrapping around your wrist with a slapping sound, and yet he doesn't pull it off.

It's stimulation on both sides, your hand around his cock and his asshole clenching around yours.

He almost loses his mind.

He tugs at your hair again, pulling another groan from your lips. It's a reminder of his control. You enjoy calling him your Lord, so he has to remind you that the title has meaning to it, before he loses himself to instinct.

He does, in the next moment, opening his mouth to let out a breath of a groan.

He shuts it, quickly. Tents are only fabric.

His hips follow in pursuit of instinct and pleasure, anyway; forward into your hand, finding pleasure for his length, then backwards onto your cock, spearing himself open.

When he cums, his mouth falls just slightly open to moan as quiet as instinct allows, and his hole clenches around you in tandem. You follow soon enough, groaning into his skin with enough restraint to remember you are an army general.

Tywin leans against the dirty table to catch his breath, before he's back to a fearsome commander the next moment.

"Get yourself tidied up." He's pulling his garments back on rather impersonally, because he cannot stay vulnerable. "And do not speak a word of this to anyone."

Despite that, there is some joy to knowing he's enjoyed this, especially as you wipe off the evidence of his pleasure on the dirty rag he'd been using to clean the blood off his hands. "Yes, my Lord."

"Keep that smirk off your face, boy." Tywin's face is back to cold and emotionless, though there is something of an amused lift to his eyes. "When next you decide to seduce me, do pick a better location. Army encampments are dreadful enough."

You can hardly speak about next time before he waves you off.

You'll see him later tonight, anyhow.

Tywin does not care to make sure you're walking away when he turns around, because it's the best he can do to hide the amused smirk that rises on his lips. A new pet, hm?

A smell makes itself apparent and Tywin remembers there is still a stag to skin.

[j-k-writes]

The Lion of the Trident

Summary - After Rhaegar's defeat on The Trident, Robert and Ned must deal with the Prince's surviving forces, including Y/N Lannister.

Warnings - age gaps (Y/N is about 16/17 while Ned and Robert are 19/20), canon character death, general GOT warnings, ableist language (toward Tyrion), mentions of violence, sexual content

Y/N was awoken to the feel of frigid water pouring down on him. 

He shot up, gasping and shivering. He pushed himself further into the makeshift outdoor prison cell, covering himself further in mud. He shook his hair out as the chilled water settled deep into his bones, glaring up at the men responsible. 

“I know I stink, but that’s not quite the bath I had in mind.” Y/N’s words didn’t quite land the way he’d hoped with the shivers racking him visible to the men standing over him. 

“King Robert wishes to speak with you.” 

Y/N laughed, “King? I wasn’t aware Aerys had died?” 

The two men didn’t grant the Lannister heir with a response, grabbing his arms and dragging him to his feet. He attempted to jerk his arms free from the men’s grasp, but the days spent chained to a pole with little food and water had weakened him enough that the two men had no trouble dragging him to Robert’s tent. 

Realizing he had no choice but to let this farce take place, Y/N steeled himself holding his head high as they walked through the camp. He smiled at the jeers thrown his way, finding himself laughing at quite a few. The days of abuse, physical and verbal, he’d suffered at the hands of the usurpers were nothing compared to the years living in his father’s tight grasp. Perhaps if they set Lord Tywin in front of the young knight he’d have been more forthcoming with his information. 

Robert Baratheon looked exactly how Y/N remembered him, towering over every lord in his tent. Y/N’s eyes trailed down the Baratheon’s body, gaze settling on a fresh bandage applied around his torso. 

“Sit him down.” Ned Stark spoke, drawing Y/N’s attention away from the Stormlander. Y/N grunted as he was forced into a chair, wincing as the rough wood of the seat made contact with the bruises no doubt littering his body. The two men were dismissed, and Robert and Ned turned their full attention to Y/N. 

“While I admire the efforts, you will be getting no valuable information from me.” Y/N spoke, taking in the different reactions from the two men. Ned winced at the reminder of the Lannister’s treatment in the camp, while Robert simply frowned, scowl deepening. 

“Has Tywin Lannister declared for the Targaryens?” Robert asked, and Y/N laughed, wincing half a second later at the pain it caused him. Tywin Lannister was still holed up at Casterly Rock with Cersei and Tyrion, leaving Jamie and Y/N to fight their own battles. 

“Did you see the Lannister forces at The Trident, Robert?” 

“I saw you.” 

Y/N smiled, “And you caught me.” 

“Are you saying you were with Rhaegar’s forces against your Lord father’s wishes?” Ned asked. 

“Which answer would make you less inclined to kick me in the ribs?” Y/N asked, if the two men brought him here for information they might as well get on with it. Y/N wishes to return to bed, finding small comforts in his sleep, as fitful as it was. 

Once again, Y/N’s words made the Stark flinch. “I apologize for your treatment, it was not our intention-” 

“Save it, Ned.” Y/N spat. “I am not a boy, I know how war works. I chose the losing side, and now my fate lies in your hands. If you’re going to have me killed as a traitor I’d rather you just get on with it, perhaps the afterlife will have less mud.” 

Robert barked out a laugh, “Alright.” 

“Robert-” 

“You heard the man, Ned.” Robert said. “He is of no use to us.” 

“If he speaks true,” Robert made to interrupt, but Ned continued on ignoring his friend. “If he speaks true, Lord Tywin has not yet declared for a side. If we have his son, his heir, he may be more sympathetic to our cause.” 

Y/N scoffed, “My father has two other sons.” 

“The kingsguard and the imp?” Robert raised an eyebrow and Y/N frowned. Tyrion was a child of the House Lannister, and even that it seemed would not save him from the realms scorns. Robert was right in his statement, however, Jamie was a sworn knight of the kingsguard, and his father could not even look at his youngest son let alone declare him heir. 

“I am not just some whore who’s body you can sell.” Y/N spat. 

“The whispers I hear would say differently.” 

“What the fuck are you implying.” Y/N sneered at the same time Ned let out a choked ‘Robert’. 

Robert held his hands up in mock surrender, dropping the topic. Ned sighed, turning to Y/N, “I know we are not friends Ser Y/N, but you are a fine knight, and with you and your house’s support behind us in this war we can win.” 

“You’re already winning.” Y/N deflated, it was true. Rhaegar was dead, and from Jamie’s reports Aerys was madder than ever. The war was practically over, and Y/N Lannister had chosen the wrong side. “You do not need the support of my father or me.” 

“Would you rather die?” Robert asked, his eyes scanning the knight in a way that made him squirm in his seat. 

“If I must.” 

“You do not have to, Y/N.” Ned sighed, “Work with us to secure your father’s support and we will let you live.” 

Y/N bit his lip, sinking in on himself. He knew he had no real choice, they would not kill him no matter what he said, they wanted his father’s army too badly. He could either let himself be a prisoner or he could be an equal with the two men. 

“Fine, tell me what to do.”

Jamie had killed Aerys, Tywin had sacked the city, and now the throne was Roberts. Y/N however, instead of celebrating the victory with his father and brother, was in the chambers of Ned Stark, drunk, half naked, and pressed into the mattress. 

“Don’t you have a wife?” Y/N gasped as Ned roughly tugged at the laces of his trousers. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Ned asked, although his smile as he finally managed to undo the laces undercut any bite put into his words. 

Y/N laughed as Ned tugged his trouser down his legs, tossing them to the side. Ned looked up at the man, smiling, and Y/N took the opportunity to wrap his legs around Ned’s waist and flip them over. Ned gasped as his back hit the bed, and Y/N smiled down at him. He leaned down close to his ear, whispering, “No.” 

Ned grabbed the back of his head, roughly smashing their lips together. Y/N immediately relaxed into the Lord’s hold, allowing Ned to trace his mouth down his jaw. Y/N gasped as Ned pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone, before biting down roughly. Y/N ground his hips down roughly into Ned’s and the Stark’s grip in Y/N’s hair tightened as a low groan escaped his throat. 

“Have you ever shared a bed with a man before, Ned?” Ned paused, giving Y/N all the answers he needed. Y/N hummed, pushing Ned down into the bed. Ned stared up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, and skin flushed a red that was sure to be unusual for a Northerner. “Let me teach you then, Lord Stark.” 

Before Y/N could move however the door to the chambers burst open and the men jumped apart. Ned, still half dressed, threw a blanket to Y/N who quickly grabbed it to cover himself. The men both looked to the door, where Robert, now King Robert, was standing, a jug of wine in hand. Robert did not seem shocked at the sight, an amused smile plastered on his face. 

“What do we have here?” Robert said, still smiling. He closed the door behind him with his foot, placing the jug of wine on the table near the door. He took a seat, “Well, don’t stop for me.” 

“Robert-” Robert held a hand up, and Ned closed his mouth. 

“Are you just going to watch us, Robert?” Y/N said, trying to keep his usual confidence, although he could feel his face burning. Ned made a noise at Y/N’s question, but Robert smiled. Y/N looked to Ned, who’s flush had deepened significantly, before turning back to Robert. “Because the Keep’s beds seem big enough to fit three.” 

Robert’s smile widened, and Ned made a noise that sounded like he was dying. On many drunken nights throughout their journey to Kingslanding Ned had confided in Y/N about he and Robert’s youth-fueled escapades, although they had never gone past sloppy kisses Ned had always wondered what it would have been like to cross the line. 

“What did you say to him to get him into your bed?” Robert said to Y/N. 

“He has gotten me into his bed.” Y/N said. “Although it took him more cups of wine than you to do so, my king.” 

Ned looked between the two men, opening his mouth, probably to ask about Y/N’s words, but Y/N stood dropping the blanket and all words died on Ned’s lips. Robert smirked, standing and stripping his extensive layers. Ned stood silently, looking between Y/N and Robert, and Y/N just placed his hand on Ned’s bare chest. 

“Get onto the bed,” He whispered to Ned, chuckling when the man stripped himself of his remaining clothing and laid down into the bed. Robert came to stand behind Y/N, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Would you like to teach him or should I?” 

“You.” Robert released the man, walking toward the head of the bed. He crawled onto the bed, coming up behind Ned. He grabbed Ned’s jaw, forcing him to look at Y/N as he approached the bed. 

“Watch and learn, Ned.”

[thealtoduck]

Forbidden Fruit

Theon Greyjoy x Male Reader

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

——

That night during dinner…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

(Alpha ) Viserys III Targaryen and younger brother user (omega) headcanons. Basically Viserys keeps his younger brother for himself and marries him unlike Daenerys he wants user to stay with him

Alpha Viserys III Targaryen and younger brother omega head canons.

Tags : Targcest, Omegaverse

Protective Nature: Viserys is incredibly protective of you. He views his younger brother not only as family but as a treasure that must be safeguarded at all costs. He often goes to extreme lengths to ensure Y/N's safety and well-being.

Possessiveness: Viserys has a possessive streak when it comes to Y/N. He doesn't like the idea of anyone, whether it be friends, allies, or potential suitors, getting close to Y/N. He often makes it clear that Y/N belongs to him, and he won't hesitate to assert his dominance over others to prove it.

While Viserys loves Y/N deeply, part of his motivation for marrying his younger brother is to bind Y/N to him officially. He believes that through marriage, he can protect Y/N from the outside world and ensure that their bond is unbreakable and Y/N would belong to him.

Despite his fierce nature as an alpha, Viserys is surprisingly gentle and tender with Y/N. He knows that as an omega, Y/N requires a different kind of care, and he makes sure to provide comfort and reassurance, especially during heated moments. He tries to not get angry around his omega

Viserys cherishes quiet, intimate moments with Y/N, whether it's reading together by the fire, or simply basking in each other’s presence. Nesting together in their nest He feels that these moments deepen their connection and allow him to express his feelings for Y/N.

For Viserys, Y/N is an emotional anchor. During times of stress, he finds solace in Y/N’s presence. Y/N’s calming aura helps to ground him and helps him come out of his hysteria 

Viserys often confides in Y/N about his ambitions and fears, feeling that Y/N is the only one he can truly trust with his innermost thoughts.

While Viserys has a reputation for being harsh and ambitious, his softer side always shines through when it comes to Y/N. He involves Y/N in decisions that affect their lives and values his opinion.

Viserys often dreams of a future where they can rule side by side . He envisions a world where Y/N and him rule the kingdoms together. Viserys as king Y/N as his male Queen.

He was obsessed with heirs so he was constantly bedding his omega, collecting children so they almost have a brood

[ghost9whore]

Lightning's Reign and Thunder's Roar VIII

"You look lonely, I can fix that"

"Oh? I'm sure you could but I'd like to leave with my life"

"Why not? It's not like I'll kill you"

"Yes, but with you, my mind will surely be lost" (Caserys' P.O.V)

Fire That's all there was. My father's war with Daemon against the stepstones was fruitful at first but, 3 years later I'm not so sure. We had begun the assault on the Stepstones with Caraxes raining fire on everything in sight. However, the Crab Feeder had another idea to falter towards the sea caves. That way he is away from the fire and we couldn't dip that far in with no foot soldiers. Although my father told me my presence in this war would be required. I fear I'm nothing more than a backup weapon. Daemon and Caraxes hold the most battle time with Laenor and Seasmoke behind them.

I feel this is my mother's doing. I believe she doesn't trust my ability to hold my own which is a fair assessment I have never seen combat before. The crown provides no reinforcements. In fact, today is King Viserys' son, Aegon's second Nameday. We haven't had a bit of assistance in these 3 years. The most I've done was to clear out any remaining soldiers on the back of Rhaeraxes to which he ate the soldiers or clawed them to death. I do fear his breath of lightning, the sands we battle on are filled with water. If he breathed lightning would he shock the entire beach? Would the lightning stretch to the metal armor?

Speaking of metal armor wearing this armor is all too uncomfortable. The different material draped over my body makes it too hard to move. I'm sacrificing my only advantage in battle. After dismounting Rhaeraxes, Caserys removes the heavy armor set allowing his body to feel the weightlessness that's been denied for so long. Shortly after, Daemon's dragon Caraxes flies over the boy and his dragon

"Crap" Caserys began to quickly reposition his armor back to its correct spot but his efforts were in vain. "You know it could be your death if you don't wear your armor"

"I know Daemon, yet I'm not at the stepstones and haven't been out of it in days"

“No matter the setting, your death could be just around the corner”

“Is there a specific reason you sought me out Daemon?”

“Must I have a method to my madness” his face twists into a smirk

“Hm, Daemon tell me how you intend to burn out this crab feeder”

"All will come in time, little dragon. Speaking of dragons why is it out of everyone you always seem to dismount the quickest?"

"Who is everyone? You, myself, and Laenor? It's because Rhaeraxes does not have a saddle"

"It's because of comfort?"

"It's because there is nothing here for me, the only thing I've been allowed to do is pick off the remainder of the armies after Caraxes and Seasmoke clear them out. Rhaeraxes is bigger than Seasmoke and not too far away from Caraxes yet I remain an afterthought."

"It's not that you are forgotten, it's that they fear your dragon."

"What?" I ask my face reflecting disgust at his statement.

"None truly know if your dragon is born of thunder, because you have barely shown it. Yet, they understand your fleeing control. Rhaeraxes is a powerful creature perhaps one day a second coming of the Black Dread but they know his aggression. Even your father and mother fear your inexperience controlling dragons."

"Oh? And what would you have me do? Make a show of power? Instruct Rhaeraxes to shock the entire beach until it's charred?"

"Remember that day I showed you the dragonpit? The day I taught you that song in Valyrian?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"You showed more confidence facing the Bronze Fury than you do facing your own dragon. You might believe that Rhaeraxes listens to you but, you could have your bond run much deeper if you understood why your dragon..."

"Why my dragon what? Is that the end of your sentence?"

"I can not show you if you're not open. Perhaps it's in your best interest, to learn this yourself. Don't despair I already gave you half the answer."

With that Daemon left, probably to find my father and plan out his next course of attack.

But, I can not help but think of his words. He is correct, just because Rhaeraxes doesn't disobey me doesn't me he truly listens to me.

As Caraxes and Daemon departed again for the stepstones, I must speak to Father myself.

"We have 16, perhaps 18, seaworthy ships. Seven hundred foot, some 60 knights. Our food quickly dwindles, save for what we can fish from the sea. I would say we have a fortnight, mayhaps a bit longer with strict rationing. I've made call for Driftmark to send more ships, but they will be weeks away. We are faltering and the Triarchy knows it. We must press the attack, continue sending the dragons." I hear my father say to my brother and uncle as I climb the steps from Rhaeraxes' drop point to their makeshift war tent.

"It won't work, as long we attack him from above the crab feeder will never come out from his caves. The caves that protect him from dragon fire." I begin bringing all attention to myself as I remove the heavy chest plate throwing it down near their meeting table.

"Caserys what is the meaning of this interruption?"

"Forgive me Father but I feel the need to extend my ability to you. Rhaeraxes' ability to spew lightning would yield very different resul-"

"Oh, you mean the lightning no one has ever seen? Every time your dragon has fought it's been with teeth and claws, not lightning. No one doubts your dragon's strength but, a lightning dragon is absurd. I'll hear no more of this Caserys."

His words shut me up. He was right how could I preach about some great ability no one has ever seen not even me. Rhaeraxes did not respond any time I demanded dragonfire.

With great shame dawning on his face, Caserys went back to his dragon. Once finding the beast he mounted Rhaeraxes and took towards the sky in the direction of the stepstones just as Caraxes and Daemon flew back.

"Come on Rhaeraxes" I say looking down at the sand of the stepstones as I instruct my dragon to rise higher above the island inside the clouds.

From the clouds, I can see a figure rowing to the Stepstones but with anxiety in my voice I still say "Just one shock and this can be done, Dracarys" Yet, it falls on deaf ears. Rhaeraxes makes no effort to spew any lightning and I can feel the humiliation set in. I try to push back such feelings as I watch the figure depart from his rowboat and stride toward the Crab Feeder's den waving a white flag. However, it works the Crab Feeder and his men exit the caves none of them can see Rhaeraxes or I hovering just above the clouds. But, just as I believe the silver-haired figure surrenders he fights back. I can't rush in yet though, I need to wait for Daemon to kill the Crab Feeder, or else Rhaeraxes will scare them back into the caves and what I'm assuming is Laenor's plan will have been for nothing. The army of men still rushing from the caves as Daemon falls to the ground. I can not tell if he's injured or hiding from the plethora of arrows raining down. But, as I see Laenor and Seasmoke dip down towards the sands I understand now it's my time to strike.

"One last idea" "Jelmāzma" I say the Valyrian word for storm hoping deep down the word would resonate with Rhaeraxes.

Caserys speaks, and Rhaeraxes responds. Opening his mouth and unleashing a controlled beam of purple lightning his loud hiss spreads as the beam grows divulging into four different beams from Rhaeraxes's mouth. As Caserys dives down with his dragon upon the sound of crackling thunder. The fury of every failed attempt at control amounts to this moment. Instructing Rhaeraxes, Caserys unleashes a full-on assault on this island. The rage imbued in the lightning strikes continued leaving glass sparks in the sand but the purple shock spreading from the point of contact.

Continuing the assault, something changed inside of me. I don't feel doubt in fact, I don't feel much at all. But, once the army before me is dead. I land and dismount Rhaeraxes, admiring the glass shards I created I hear a sentence. "Finally"

A/N Clock this, I'm trying to go quickly.

[devilsjacket]

GoT and HoTD Reqs are open!!

[coventh]

hey, (yuri again) something for theon pls, you wont stop texting me abt him so write smth abt him for the love of GOD.

(я чертовски ненавижу твою гейскую задницу)

DC:: yall this my friend don’t mind his ass hes a tad bit special 😭 but sorry for not posting.. cough.. writers block..😞

PAIRINGS:: Theon Greyjoy x Top Amab reader

𖤐 CWS:: Semi-public sex, exhibitionism, standing missionary, slight marking(?): mentions of bites, overstimulation.

Your hand was wrapped around his mouth, trying to quiet down his animalistic moans as you both heard sounds of others coming and going, some getting a little too close to the door. And that only turned Theon on even more, with the feeling of your dick smoothly going in and out of him he could feel another orgasm approaching.

His body shook with overstimulation, cum from his previous orgasms dripping down his abdomen, his hard cock slapping against his stomach. The thought of someone catching you two, someone seeing how he was getting fucked dumb, it sent shivers down his spine.

The sounds of someone getting closer and closer to the door of the closet you two were in could be heard, the shadow peeking through the bottom of it. They stood there as if they were going to open the door, which causing your hips to get slower and eventually stop, your eyes glued to the door.

This only Frustrated Theon, He tried to rock his hips back into yours, he let out a muffled whine into your palm, his legs tightened around your waist.

The doorknob twisted and it stayed like that for a moment before the person simply just decided the walk of, you let out a sigh of relief but Theon was still trying to move for more friction, his cock leaking pre-cum from the tip.

You turned back to face him, looking into each others eyes, his being filled with desperation. You started to move again, starting off slow before going back to the brutal pace your originally had.

Your cock hit his prostate spot on, repeatedly hitting the sensitive bundle of nerves, Theon’s eyes filled with tears as he went over the edge. His cock shot out a few spurts of cum, splattering across his lower stomach. You weren't all that far behind, cock aggressively twitching inside of his hole.

A few more jabs at his prostate and you were cumming inside him for the final time, filling him up nice and good. You two soon disconnected, cleaning Theon off and helping him pull and zip his pants back up as you did the same afterwards.

The sound of someone clearing their throat could be heard, it immediately caught both you and Theon’s attention. Both of your heads whipped around and your eyes were met with Robbs’s, standing in the doorway with an unimpressed look.

Well, this is definitely awkward.

[got-fantasy]

Eldest!Baratheon reader finally having had it with Robert after he started groping one of the maids while visiting storms end and punishing (spanking) Robert all through the night to the point his entire backside was glowing red 😋

He'd try to act tough and keep it together but seen Robert starting breaking down and sobbing about how unfair everything was. How he tries to do everything to get your attention and approval and yet you only gave him a disappointed look. Even after he took the throne.

After everything's been said you let him sleep beside you and wrap himself around you like his lifeline dependent on you.

You had planned a banquet in Storm's End, as an excuse to get all your brothers together. You hadn't seen Robert in months thanks to his duties as king, nor Stannis since he was made Lord of Dragonstone.

It was going well, everyone was having fun, smiles on there faces, but you should have known Robert would ruin it.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw him groping a more than uncomfortable looking woman.

He was supposed to be a king and yet here he was harassing women. He was a married man, was he trying to make you angry?

You were fed up, if he wanted to act like a spoiled child, you were going to treat him like one. You dragged him to your chambers, he was clearly confused, not sure why you'd bring him here.

You sat on your bed and pulled Robert over your lap, discarding his trousers and breeches while he was laid on your lap.

Robert immediately knew what you were going to do, and tried to get out of your grasp, begging you to let him go.

You didn't, he needed to learn his lesson. You rested a hand on his exposed ass, before striking it roughly, putting all of your strength into it.

You did it again, and again, and again. One after another for god knows how long. He tried to put on a brave face, but it broke quickly.

He just wanted to impress you, to spend time with you, but you were always too busy for him. Tears streamed down his face at his confession, all he wanted was your attention.

His ass was left bright red, even the slightest movement hurt Robert, he would feel your punishment for days to come.

You let him spend the night in your bed, how did you not realise he felt that way? At least you knew now. You were going to make sure to be there for him from now on.

[johnnyraine]

The Princess and The Sea

Daenerys Targaryen x Male Velaryon Reader

*This was a Request: Hey can you write a Daenerys Targaryen x Male Velaryon Reader where reader is in Pentos with her. Thanks in advance

Words: 1094

3rd of February

~~~

"Princess."

Daenerys hears your whisper and stops.

This is your first time meeting each other. In a market in Pentos. She will later tell you that you didn't outwardly stand out that much, Pentos is a city of many different people. What did catch her attention, however, was your eyes. Unobscured by the tinted glass you own, she could see them. It was that and the fact that you knew who she was.

"How do you know who I am?" She asks, her own purple eyes looking into yours.

"I am just a loyal vassal to the true crown, Princess."

Your conversation is short, as Magister Illyrio's people realize Daenerys is not with them and come to retrieve her. She leaves reluctantly, gazing over her shoulder at you.

Your next meeting is more public. Your "boss" has trade goods for Illyrio and you are allowed into his manse.

It’s grand, you admit. But the Magister's guest was more alluring. As Illyrio and your "boss" talk, you sneak off to check out the place and happen upon Daenerys again.

"Princess." You smile when she sees you.

"It's you!"

You walk up to her and gesture to the bench she's on.

"May I?"

She lets you sit beside her. Looking around the spot, you notice plants around you, but most noticeable is the marble statue.

With a noticeable grimace, you ask, “Illyrio?”

Daenerys giggles, “Yes. Apparently, it’s him when he was younger.”

“Ah… I guess I can see it?” You throw a look at the Princess and she giggles again.

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment before she asks her awaited question.

“Who are you? You must be from Westeros, but I don’t know.”

“I’m a humble vassal to the true crown, Princess,” You reply with a smile and flourish.

“Yes, but who?” She asks again.

“Well, I would have thought my appearance would be enough of a giveaway. But I do suppose that since my hair is dyed, it would be a little harder.”

You clear your throat, “I am Y/n of House Velaryon. Though my house has been out of prominence for a while, I have come here to see you, Princess.”

Daenarys’ eyes widen, “Me? Why?”

“As I said, I am a loal vassal. That, and I heard the Dragon Princess is an incredible beauty. I can see the words are true.”

She blushes at your words, looking away.

She opens her mouth to say something but stops herself.

“If the Princess would like to ask something of me, I am happy to help,” You say.

Daenerys still looks apprehensive, but she speaks, “Perhaps some other time.”

She gets up and walks off.

“So there will be a next time, Daenarys?” You smile.

She freezes before shaking her head, but you notice the blush on her ears as she walks off.

Over the next few months, your “boss” gathers and trades more goods with Illyrio, allowing you continuous access to the manse, and to Princess Daenerys. Spending time together, you two grow closer, learning more about the other. She asks for your tales on the seas, and you tell her. You learn of her struggles while on the run and you sympathize.

As destiny gets ever closer, so do the two of you and she allows you to take her to bed.

Time passes again, and one night as you lay together, her in your arms, she tells you the news.

“I am to marry a Khal,” She whispers into your chest.

You still for a moment, before rubbing her back.

“What do you want to do?”

She reluctantly pries herself from you, crestfallen, “My brother needs an army… so that we can go home.”

“Do you want that?” You ask, sitting up.

Daenerys is silent. You grasp her hand in yours, gently squeezing. Her eyes flutter before she squeezes them shut. Collecting herself, she looks up into your eyes.

“I want to go home.”

Squeezing her hand, you nod.

“Let’s go then. To home.”

The next night, your “boss” gives no indication of his departure to Illyrio, merely the same business. You don’t follow him into the manse that day, too busy planning, scanning the maps you made of the place.

When you decide the time is right, dark clothes cover you from head to toe and you follow the path you set. Climbing the walls, sneaking past the Unsullied guards, the marble pool, and into a dim hallway. There are more guards on Daenary’s floor, even more so near her room. You follow a staircase upward, just above her room.

Coming into a windowed room, you rummage around it for a moment. Within a few moments, you find the rope one of your men left. You check the length, wrap it around a good and solid weight, check the ground for guards, and then throw it out the window. Tugging the rope, it doesn’t come loose and the weight stays still. As if to say “what the hell,” you nod before propelling down the building.

With a tight grip on the rope, you gently push on her window, and it opens.

Sighing, you step into the room. Daenerys sits on her bed, awaiting you. She is shocked for a brief moment before you lower the cloth covering your face.

“Y/n!” She exclaims quietly.

She runs to you, throwing her arms around you, and you wrap yours around her. She turns to look at you and you kiss her.

“Are you ready?” You ask afterward.

She nods and you leave. With difficulty, you scale down the building, barely sneak past the guards, and over the walls again. Through the city, you run, despite knowing no one should know yet, you two run. Just because.

You reach the port and signal the men of your arrival.

Daenerys gawks at your ship.

Grinning at her, you say with nothing short of pride, “Ain’t she beautiful, Daenarys? The culmination of the work, all put into this ship.”

“Come.” Hand outstretched, she grabs it and you take her to the helm.

Your men await your orders around you.

Looking around, you gaze at Daenerys, “Are you ready?”

She takes a breath, “Yes. Let’s go home.”

You smile. Throwing off the cloth on your head, you let your hair run free. No dyes marring it, the silver hair of Targaryen and Velaryon glow in the moonlight.

“Set Sail!” You shout before the ship begins its journey to Westeros.

Hand in hand, the Targaryen Princess, Daenarys, returns home with the Velaryon Heir, Y/n.

[bumblesimagines]

The Wolf's Guard

Request: Yes or No

Summary: The love between a wolf and their darling is unbreakable, even if that darling is a Bolton.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

~~~

If the Starks were known for anything, it was their honor, duty, and family values. Everyone in all of Westeros knew it, from the poor to the rest of the Great Houses, as many had bore witness to those traits at play. The wolves of the north, the pack that'd once been called Kings, had bent the knee willingly during Aegon's Conquest and from then on, were known as Wardens of the North.

The glorious House Stark of Winterfell. Robb still vividly remembered the days in which he and his bastard brother, Jon Snow, were taught the history of their ancestors. Brandon the Boisterous, Cregan Stark, Rodwell Stark, Rickard Stark... Robb knew their names well, knew the significance of their importance to his bloodline. They were his ancestors, warriors with wolf's blood coursing through their veins, and blood that ran through his. Just like them, Robb is heir to Winterfell, the firstborn son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. And while Robb's heart valued honor, duty, and family over all else, there were times when he wished he hadn't been born first.

The first time he took his mind off his duty as heir (a duty everyone constantly reminded him of every waking moment) was when Roose Bolton brought his second-born son, (Y/N) Bolton, to Winterfell when they were children to become a ward under Eddard Stark. He'd heard about the stories and rumors surrounding the family and their ancestral home, the Dreadfort. Their history was as lengthy as the Starks, with their own ancestors having been once called the Red Kings. While Starks were honorable, Boltons were cruel, cunning, and dishonorable with a tradition of flaying their enemies that they were forced to give up upon being bannermen for the Starks. However, there were rumors they still flayed their prisoners after days and weeks of torture.

Robb and Jon exchanged whispers while their father spoke with Roose Bolton, an unremarkably ordinary-looking man despite the eerie aura that surrounded him and his sons. His eyes were striking, a color so pale and odd that they made shivers run down the spines of the two boys when he looked in their direction. But the prickle of uneasiness that poked at Robb vanished when (Y/N) looked toward him. Jon immediately ducked behind the barrel they'd chosen to hide behind but Robb held his gaze and was rewarded with a grin. 

"Robb," His father had called out, "Come."

Robb immediately obeyed, jumping out from behind the barrel and striding over to his brother. At the age of seven, Robb knew his place as heir very well so he made every attempt at showing everyone the manners and way of nobles he'd been taught. Ned placed a comforting hand over his shoulder and smiled down at his son. "Why don't you show (Y/N) around Winterfell, Robb? His father and I have much to discuss." 

"Yes, Father." Robb nodded, his auburn curls bouncing off his forehead. Domeric Bolton, eldest son of Roose and heir to the Dreadfort, similarly set his hand over his younger brother's shoulder. (Y/N) peered up at his father and then at his brother, lingering even after Roose gave him an approving nod. 

"Go on," Domeric murmured gently and (Y/N) looked back at Robb with a growing smile. 

Robb spent the rest of the day showing (Y/N) around Winterfell, his chest puffing out with pride each time (Y/N) seemed impressed about something. Jon and Theon trailed after them, providing input that (Y/N) largely ignored in favor of giving Robb his full attention, something surprisingly made him squirm. He finished the tour by introducing (Y/N) to his mother and his younger sister, Sansa. Catelyn greeted (Y/N) politely, more kindly than she treated Jon at least, and offered to get some sweets for them after dinner while Sansa clung to her skirts and watched them.

It wasn't until a few days later, when the boys were giggling on a stack of haybale after their latest mischief that Robb had a thought that would continue to emerge: 'I wish he were a girl.'

As they grew and reached their fifteenth name days, they both began showcasing the faithful traits of their house. Robb grew gentler, less mischievous, and showed a strong sense of honor. He continued reading his histories and studied faithfully under the septa, training nearly every day with Ser Rodrick Cassel and accompanying his father whenever he ventured out on hunts or to meet with others. (Y/N) seemingly grew a taste for blood, something that emerged during training. He went easier on Robb than the others, incredibly apparent as Theon and Jon would end up bruised and bloody by the end of each session. But despite Theon's complaints and Jon's worries about (Y/N) fatally injuring someone, Robb could never shake the astonished, fluttery feeling whenever he saw (Y/N). 

"Come on, boy," Ser Rodrick called to the staggering Jon and Robb couldn't help but wince at the trickle of blood going down his nose. Jon wiped it away, his black hair clinging to his dirt-speckled sweaty face. Nobody had to look at Theon to know the boy likely looked pale as winter snow. (Y/N) pointed the - thankfully - wooden sword at Jon and cocked his head to the side, a wide grin across his face. 

"What's wrong, Snow?" (Y/N) taunted, and Jon glared at him, throwing aside his sword and marching right up to (Y/N). The Bolton laughed when Jon grabbed the sides of his chest armor, his teeth digging into his bottom lip before he rammed the end of the sword into Jon's temple. Jon cursed loudly and released him to grab the side of his head, the blow working as intended when (Y/N) slammed his foot into Jon's chest piece and knocked him back. 

"I believe that's enough, aye, lad?" Robb straightened up at the sound of his father's voice, craning his neck to watch Ned step out of the nearby building and approach them with a grimace. He gently clapped the back of (Y/N)'s shoulder to congratulate him, his eyes remaining locked on his bastard son's panting form. "Go see Maester Luwin, Jon."

"May I have a word in private, Lord Stark?" Ser Rodrick asked, earning a curt nod in response. (Y/N)'s eyes followed the two older men as they walked further away from them, their voices drowned out by the hustle and bustle of servants working and guests chatting. His lips formed a noticeable pout, one that made Robb chuckle as he helped take the chest piece off him. 

"They're going to send me home." (Y/N) muttered bitterly.

"They won't," Robb assured him, handing the piece off to a nearby servant and giving them a thankful smile. (Y/N) huffed, the air coming out in a small cloud, and he tossed the sword aside into the dirt beside them. Robb caught a brief look at the knitted brow, sullen expression on his face before (Y/N) turned on his heel and stormed away. Immediately, Robb followed without a second thought, keeping his eyes focused on the boy until they reached the Godswood. 

"Leave me alone, Robb." (Y/N) muttered grumpily, slumping down on the ground beside the water and roughly tugging blades of grass from the ground. 

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," Robb responded, taking a seat beside him and gazing out into the water. The Godswood had always been a place to seek peace or advice from the Old Gods, a place Robb could visit to clear his mind or simply escape for a brief moment. (Y/N) pursed his lips and Robb smiled, pressing his fingertip against (Y/N)'s cheek and gigging softly when he swatted at his hand. "Come on, tell me." 

"Nobody here likes me. They're scared of me." (Y/N) said quietly, tugging more grass out of the dirt. "Lord Eddard is going to send me home to the Dreadfort, I know he is. Father's going to be mad at me but at least Dom will be there."

Robb stared at him, noticing the way he pressed his lips together to stop them from quivering. "I like you." He revealed softly and (Y/N) tilted his head toward him, eyes flickering between Robb's vibrant blue eyes. Robb's stomach twisted and turned, heat rising up his neck and covering his ears like fire. 

"How much?"

"A lot." He admitted, the branches above them gently rustling together with the wind. The sound eased his nerves, eased the dread threatening to bubble up and consume him. "If you were a lady, I would ask Father to let us wed."

(Y/N)'s lips curled up at that. "The Old Gods do not care if we're both men, Robb." He reminded him, that familiar grin working its way onto his face. Robb smiled again, setting his hand over (Y/N)'s and putting an end to his constant grass tearing. "Would you kill for me, Robb?"

"To protect you, yes," Robb answered immediately, no poundering needed. He'd kill to protect any of his loved ones. His parents, Jon, Theon, Sansa, little Arya and Bran. His father spilled blood for his late sister, Lyanna, during the rebellion and Robb doubted his father wouldn't do it all over again for her. "Would you?"

"If you asked." Then, (Y/N) leaned forward and clumsily mushed their lips together, sending a jolt down Robb's spine and a heat throughout his face. He'd kissed a young lady once or twice in secret and out of curiosity but despite his brief experience, he moved nervously and just as clumsily. 

Things rapidly changed from then on, behind closed doors at least. To the servants and residents of Winterfell, the two remained the same close friends as always, but away from prying eyes and curious ears, they were inseparable lovers. Robb's lingering stares grew and any ladies his mother asked him about were brushed away for one excuse or another. The sneaking around, the subtle touches, and innocent gestures, it was all exciting for them but Robb grew to prefer how hungry (Y/N) always seemed for him. It felt good to be wanted, felt good when he whispered loving confessions and laughed at (Y/N)'s eye rolls and flustered smiles. 

Until, as quickly as their relationship began, they were just as quickly swept away from each other. 

Not long after (Y/N) sixteenth name day, news arrived at Winterfell of Domeric Bolton's death. An illness in the stomach, the first letter from Maester Uthor read, but the letter from Roose informed him of a new family member who'd potentially caused the death of his brother: a half-brother by the name of Ramsay Snow—a bastard of the North. With Domeric dead, the title of heir fell on (Y/N)'s shoulders and took him away from Winterfell and back to the Dreadfort. Jon and Theon eased with his absence but Robb's heart broke into pieces. As a secondborn, (Y/N) could do as he pleased and remain by Robb's side forever if he wished, but as an heir?

As much as his absence pained him, Robb ensured to write (Y/N) many letters, most with secret messages only the two of them could understand. He detailed any events that'd gone on, small or big, silly or tragic. He wrote to him about the pups found by Jon and the one he'd claimed, about the royal visit at Winterfell and his father's new position as Hand, Jon joining the Night's Watch, the saddening news of his sister's wolf being killed. The letters stopped when Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell called the bannermen to war. 

Robb focused on the war, on avenging his father and bringing his beloved sisters home before they could be harmed by the Lannisters. The Bolton's joined the effort, of course, but Robb hardly saw (Y/N) during the start. They both had their duties, their own men to command, and many more things to worry about. But, the reunion had Robb nearly collapsing. 

He'd seen him, caught a brief glance during a battle with Lannister's army. It'd been enough to make him fight even harder, and they'd won in the end, returning back to camp to treat their wounded and count the dead. Robb had been swept away, his new title as King of the North forcing even more responsibilities onto his lap, but he managed to keep his racing mind focused enough to manage the tasks at hand, nearly forgetting about the glimpse until that night. 

Dragging the wet rag over his sword, Robb thought about his father. He thought about all the things Ned would say to him, the advice he'd give to him. His father knew of battles and rebellions, he knew of war. Robb only knew what he learned as the war progressed. Sure, there were many older men who'd fought alongside his father, who still had the taste of war in their mouths, but none would compare to the knowledge of Eddard Stark. He sighed quietly, gazing over his reflection and failing to hear the person entering his tent. 

"King of the North, aye? Has a pretty ring to it." He tensed immediately, first due to surprise and then because of that familiar voice. His head whirled around, eyes wide and heart pleading. (Y/N) grinned at him, splatters of blood still covering his skin and clothes from a battle the Boltons and few others had ridden out to, but it suited him perfectly. The sword fell with a loud clatter and Robb darted up from his seat, unable to restrain himself from flying into (Y/N)'s embrace. "Missed me, hm?" He laughed.

"Of course, I missed you, you bastard." Robb exhaled, leaning back to grasp the sides of his face, disregarding the blood that smeared onto his palms before he crashed their lips together. An almost animalistic growl-like noise emitted from (Y/N) throat and he kissed him back more roughly, as were most things with (Y/N). The Bolton backed him up until Robb fell back onto the bed, briefly knocking the air out of him. (Y/N) hovered above him, eyes glinting with a familiar look that sent heat rushing to his stomach.

"Sorry 'bout Lord Eddard, Robb." He murmured, dipping down to brush his lips over Robb's cheek and down to his throat where he dug his teeth lightly into him. 

"I heard of your half-brother, (Y/N)." Robb sighed again, the familiarity of it all making him lightheaded. His beloved had always been all tongue and teeth. (Y/N) snorted softly into his throat, a short chuckle leaving him at the mention of Ramsay's demise. He'd died in his sleep, or so Lord Bolton had said. 

"Never liked him, anyway." (Y/N) told him, rising back up to press their lips tightly together, teeth digging into Robb's bottom lip and tugging lightly. "I have news, Robb."

"Can it wait?" Robb knew the answer but he hoped pulling (Y/N) closer would change his mind. (Y/N) chuckled again and moved his hips, a lazy smirk spreading across his face when Robb cursed softly under his breath and reached down to fumble with their pants. 

"No, My King."

"Gods, you're the worst."

A sadistic little bastard but Robb loved him anyway. (Y/N)'s amusement faded away and he inhaled heavily, planting his hands on the sides of Robb's head and staring down at him. The seriousness made Robb straighten up, despite their rather compromising position, and he nodded for (Y/N) to continue. "My father plans on betraying you, Robb. Your rejection of Walder Frey's girls gave way for Father. He plans on marrying one of his daughters for an alliance. He wants to kill you." Robb's blood ran icy cold. War always had its fair share of traitors and cowardly, slimy men.

"Are you certain?" Robb sat up in the bed, forcing (Y/N) to lean back and stand again. A traitor in their midst and Walder Frey's ego. Two problems Robb hardly had time to deal with. (Y/N) reached out, fingers dipping under Robb's chin and tilting his head up.

"Give me your command and I'll bring his head to you by early morrow." 

[tricksh0t]

gladiator; the larger man

☾ daario naharis x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ daario is so hot istg i wonder how he's doing in meereen

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.17 words

cw: dom top male reader, sub bot daario, big size diff and size kink, fight scene w/ violence, blood, slight overstim, mention of slavery (it's game of thrones, it's vague and it's very slight), swearing

The smaller man, or the larger man?

Daario Naharis made his life in the arena, playing dirty as much as playing clean, kicking up sand as much as aiming his dagger correctly.

In his journey up to the position he holds now, he has slain hundreds of different types of men. From men just like him, nimble and infuriating, to men twice his weight, his favorite opponents: brutes.

Brutes are slow. They may be strong, but they don't get to use that strength if they miss. Brutes are bigger targets, even, and Daario himself is not one for missing.

When the time to throw away his endless fortune comes, he always bets for the smaller man.

Daario spies the five gladiators in front of him, making guesses to hand off to the man he secretly has bet for him. They each have their own strengths, their own unique weapons, and Daario considers them all, even though he prefers the sword himself.

The man's preference in weapons doesn't matter. If he is proficient, it will work.

What does matter, is the man's build.

His eyes zone in on a man on the smaller end, but not the smallest. He's using a spear. Good, he'll be able to keep his distance and use his size difference.

Once he makes his choice, and tells his "broker", he claps his hands and the match begins.

It's all out brawl, every man for himself. Alliances form when two men target the same opponent, but they quickly break as opportunities to nick at each other arrive.

There is no loyalty in the pit. There are only chances, reflexes and instinct; brutality, bloodshed and survival. Only one man would survive this round, and he would be granted word with the King. The gold he rakes in in bets won't even be his. It'll go to his patron, but if he is lucky, there will be lavish compensation. A whore for the night, perhaps.

Whatever it is that drives these men, whether it be the light at the end of the tunnel or the sand beneath their feet or the pleasure of taking another life, it makes for a grand show.

The man with the direflail falls first. He wasn't the biggest or smallest, just somewhere in the middle. Daario's favored spearman had taken advantage of a particularly heavy swing that has one of the balls falling to the floor to plunge his spear right into the other's heart.

Daario whistles his approval, and his glee only brightens as the spearman continues onto his next opponent.

This one wields a sword. He's the smaller of the two of them, both are still relatively smaller, leaving this isolated battle to be a long one. Each man will dodge the other's strike, or parry, or block, and so on.

At least, that's what Daario expects. The spearman kicks up sand with the butt of his spear, causing specks to fly into his opponent's eyes and blind him temporarily. In a last ditch attempt to defend himself, the swordsman flails his blade wildly, to no avail. The spearman knocks the weapon out of the other's hand with a harsh swing, then plunges his spear into his chest.

If he survives this, Daario's sure the man will earn the title of the Spearman who aims for the Heart, or something of the sort.

Now the smallest man on the field, the spearman locks eyes with the opponent farthest from him, a club-wielder, who is currently fighting the large brute Daario had immediately dismissed.

Their battle had been isolated for the majority of the show, yet nothing had come of it except a couple stinging, but non-fatal bludgeons. Nothing exciting.

That was about to change, however, as the smaller man and the club-wielder quickly form an alliance.

Taking advantage of the fact the larger man wasn't facing him, the smaller man charges forward, spear first, aiming to kill him from behind.

"Oh, son of a bitch!" Daario exclaims, clenching his fists.

The larger man quickly spins around, splintering the smaller man's spear in two with one swing, then decapitating him with another.

His final opponent tries to do the same as the now dead spearman, once again take advantage of the large man having his back turned and having to recover from a swift double swing, only to meet the very same end.

And that's game.

Seemingly unaffected by the blood sprayed over your armor and hair, you, the large man, take your stand in front of the King's seating.

As you approach him, Daario takes note of how ruggedly handsome you are up close. He takes your name first, then sizes you up. "You know, I usually bet for the smaller man."

"Sounds like you still did." The gladiator replies, referring to Daario's emotional groan that was a tad bit too loud to be fit for a king from earlier.

The corner of Daario's lips lifts up with a slight smirk, "Are you talking back to your King, ser?"

"Does the King think so?"

You amuse him.

First you were a surprise winner, then a comedian, unafraid of speaking to the King or referring to him without respect.

Daario's eyes trail over your figure again, taking in the delectable sight of you. There's something about the rugged way the blood splattered over you makes your hair stick to your skin and decorates the rest of your armor and muscles, as well as the defined way the rest of your body is covered in sweat, that makes him think you handsome in an animalistic manner.

He takes in your build, imagines himself next to you. You're likely almost double his size.

Blood flows through Daario's body, desire.

He gestures towards one of his men to come take his word. As he whispers his commands, he keeps his gaze set on you, and even down there, you can see the growing lust in his eyes. "Buy him from his owner, however much he costs. If he is not a slave, escort him to my throne room. Don't bother to clean him up beforehand."

If Daario said he wasn't expecting this, he'd be lying.

In fact, it could very well become a fact to flaunt. To have the up and coming champion of the pit in his bed is one thing to brag about. To have control over him, his strength and his beastly desires is another; but the latter is a work in progress.

That is so because at this very moment, Daario has absolutely no control.

He's hugging his knees up to his chest, not because he wants you to have better access to his hole, but because you force him so.

You're pressed up against him, sweaty chest heaving against his legs as you fuck him.

It's no love affair, but Daario tucks a lock of hair stuck together due to dried blood behind your ear. He's trying to keep his eyes open just to look at you, though it is a hard fight.

There's something about the way you—no, it is how animalistic you look, fucking up into him while your body is covered with fighting sweat as well as fucking sweat and the blood of your parted enemies. It is about how your body is only littered with practically cat scratches, a sign of how easy that battle was for you. It is about how large you are in comparison to him, how your hand can almost wrap around his thigh and most definitely can wrap around his throat.

And it is absolutely about how big your cock.

You're churning up his insides with the pace you set, and the strength of it too. Makes him feel like he's on fire. The bed creaks with each movement like it threatens to break, and it is a royal bed, made unnecessarily out of the strongest woods.

Suddenly, you lift his leg and try to hook it behind his own shoulder. Daario moan-yelps at that. He grabs your shoulder and pushes you back weakly, only a couple centimeters.

"I'm not that flexible." He says, teeth gritted.

You grunt, but you're no brute that only communicates through grunts. "You should train."

Daario laughs. One, because it sounds like you're suggesting he do so for a later time, and two, because you make it sound so simple. "I'm not usually the one taking it."

"No? But you're such a small man."

He almost sounds delirious as he laughs again, breath leaving him shakily with relief as you put his leg down. "Yes, but–"

In another instant, you're behind him, almost disproving that the smaller man is the quicker one, but that is not what he dwells on. Instead, you're already lifting his knee up for him and entering him.

Daario moans, eyes snapping shut as you stretch him out all over again. "How the fuck are you so big?"

You're pressed up against him once more, but to a much more vulnerable part, his back. With each thrust, your pelvis meets his ass fully, no more need to prop his hips up with a pillow or sheer will.

"Is that your concern right now?"

"No," Daario's practically losing control of his body. The leg you're holding spasms, toes clenching and all, but you keep it right in place with your large hand. "Err, yes, because it's fucking good."

"Thought you meant my body." Your other arm sneaks below his neck, and Daario leans against it almost endearingly.

"I did, well, both." He's breathless. It's amusing.

From the door, to which your back's facing, nobody would be able to see Daario past the knee you're holding up in the air. It would be embarrassing, if anything recognizable about Daario could be seen past your figure, which is a no.

Your body completely engulfs any sight of him, any at all. That's how much bigger you are.

And Daario loves it.

Being the smaller man has always been about advantage, about being quicker, more nimble. Right now, the advantage is joyfully being at your mercy.

The blood is cold now, completely dry, but it's still rubbing off on his body, he's sure.

He opens his eyes, glancing down at his knee and your bloodied hand. When all's said and done, he's going to have bloody hand marks on his hips and his knees, marks of you.

His hand reaches out to intertwine with your free hand, just to prove how much bigger your hand is. It'll be clear to all that the hand marks on his body do not come from his hands.

Daario whimpers at the thought. Whimpers.

"Softening, my King?" In the voice of anyone else, Daario would feel smug at being called that. In yours, however, he knows it's teasing.

"Fuck off."

"Hold your leg up."

Despite his earlier words, Daario obeys quite easily, without a fight. He holds his leg up by the knee, how you did it, like you asked.

"Such an obedient king."

"Fuck."

Then your hand wraps around his dick and, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

He's whimpering again, only this time constantly. He's not got enough mind nor break to even think about being sheepish about it.

There's only your hand sliding up and down his dick and your cock fucking in and out of him with a fervor.

"I'm gonna–" Daario whimpers, mouth slamming shut as his hips chase release.

"Go on." You whisper into his ear. Oh, that voice of yours. Whispering now? He's more used to a voice such as yours shouting battle cries, not this calm, teasing, sultry, fucking arousing trifle that only makes the head of his dick weep.

"Seven hells!" Daario cries out as he finishes.

But you don't stop, not there. You're fucking a king, but you're still selfish.

Daario whimpers again, arm growing tired. You abandon his dick to hold his leg up by the knee, hand over his, holding it up and up and up. He cries out with pain as you push his flexibility, at the strength of your hold on his leg and his hand.

Your cock thoroughly abuses his hole, stretching it to its limit, the widest he's ever taken; the toughest, too, maybe. Hard and fast and relentless, even after he's already cum. Worse so, actually, as the overwhelming pleasure pricks tiny tears into the corners of his eyes.

You don't care for him.

Despite that, there's some kind of pleasure in it, in not being a king anymore, in being yours to use.

When you finish, you don't care for the fact it's inside of him.

Daario shudders as you finally let his leg fall. He thinks you're going to be impersonal, until your hand settles on his stomach and tugs his body impossibly closer.

"Was that good?" Comes your whisper into his ear, awfully caring.

He rolls his eyes. You must know it was good for him, after all the sounds you'd dragged up from his throat. "Fuck you."

You chuckle, thumb circling over his sternum, yet don't reply.

Daario sighs contently as he settles back, into you. He could get used to this. The idea of having you as a new permanent lover flashes in his mind. They never really last long, lovers.

Perhaps you will.

[j-k-writes]

Soulmates!au with Jaime lannister x stark male (benjen's twin brother) reader pretty please?🥺

With prompts: you're a demanding little thing, aren't you? And i will never be able to carve you from my heart. you are embedded too deep.

Summary - Jamie Lannister does not remember much of the first night he spent with Y/N Stark, but the night still haunts him for years after he stormed out of the younger man's chambers.

Warnings - General GOT warnings, implied sexual content, drinking

Jamie scarcely recognized Winterfell as he rode through the open gates. 

The castle he had spent weeks in all those years ago was loud and full of life, but the one he took in now was on its last breaths. The people who bustled around the keep had no life in their eyes, their posture and eyes giving away the impending doom that was coming their way. 

Jamie made himself scarce amongst the Northerners, sticking mostly to his brother’s side as war plans were made and the castle was fortified. It was during one of the war councils, that Tyrion was welcome at but Jamie was not, that he saw him. 

If someone asked, Jamie forgot about Y/N Stark the moment the door slammed behind his back in a fit of rage all those years ago. But the truth of the matter was that Y/N Stark had plagued Jamie’s every waking thought and dream for the last three and half years. Jamie remembered next to nothing about his last night in Winterfell, but the feel of Y/N rough stubble against his skin and teeth against his neck were forever burned into his mind. The Northerner’s chest was impossibly warm pressed against Jamie’s skin, and his lips had tasted like the very same wine that got Jamie into his bed in the first place.  

Jamie made eye contact with him across the yard, the gooseflesh that crawled down his arms had nothing to do with the cold when Y/N’s eyes lit up in recognition. From the look of him it was clear to the ex-kingsguard that he was not the only one of them to have a rough few years. His face which had been rough from labor at the wall yet still full of life and humor was scarred and lacking the warmth that Jamie remembered. All of the life that Y/N’s presence had brought to Winterfell's halls all the years ago was dead; it seemed as Jamie watched him from afar for days. 

Y/N spent his days moving almost mindlessly, preparing Winterfell for siege and talking in hushed whispers to Jon and the other commanders. He didn’t join the rest of them for meals or training, and the time he did spend out of his chambers he spent with the Wildlings, comfortable enough with them that Jamie could tell there was a story there. It wasn’t until the night before the Long Night, possibly their last night, that Jamie worked up the balls to track him down and talk. 

“Jon I alre-” The door the chambers opened with a clang as Y/N threw the door open, he paused at the sight of Jamie standing there, a pitcher of wine in his hand. “Jamie?” 

“I brought wine.” 

Y/N shook his head, letting out a short laugh, “Come in.” 

They ended up splitting four pitchers of wine between them before Y/N cut them both off, “We’re fighting a war tomorrow. We’ll be no use drunk.” 

Y/N leaned over to place the empty pitcher back on the table and Jamie could smell the wine on his breath as the man entered his space. The smell of wine and the sudden closeness brought Jamie back to the last time they’d been left alone drunk with each other. 

Jamie could never figure out just exactly how Y/N had convinced him into his bed, but he remembers the moment where Jamie decided that it was what he wanted. 

‘You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?’  The man had whispered in his ear, pressing up against the door and pushing the breath out of Jamie's lungs. Jamie had been drunk, arrogant, and controlling throughout their journey up to the room, making snide comments about Y/N’s vows that Y/N had returned tenfold with taunts of Jamie and Cersei’s relationship that he had been too drunk to deny. As soon as Y/N’s rough laugh and taunting words had reached Jamie’s ears his resolve had broken and his knees had gone weak. 

“Jamie?” Y/N said cautiously, snapping the man out of his memories. 

“I still think about that night.” The words tumbled out of Jamie’s mouth before he could stop them and Y/N froze. Before the wine induced bravery could leave him, Jamie continued. “It’s been three years since and you still plague my dreams. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to speak to you since I arrived, can you imagine? The Kingslayer, scared of a conversation.” 

Y/N laughed, “You’re drunk.” 

“No.” Jamie shook his head. “If being drunk is what makes me think of you this way, I've been drunk every waking moment for the last three years. I know what I said to you all those years ago, but I was wrong. I will never be able to carve you from my heart. you are embedded too deep.” 

Y/N’s breath caught, but before Jamie could regret opening his big mouth Y/N surged forward. He grabbed Jamie’s face, bringing their mouths together. Nothing about the way Y/N was claiming his lips was sweet, it was rough bitten kisses and rough hands grabbing his hair and bringing him closer to him. It was so familiar to the way that Y/N had claimed him all those years ago that Jamie couldn’t do anything but smile and melt into the man as he dragged him toward the bed. 

Jamie was hyper-aware of the war looming over them as Y/N undressed him, lips trailing down his body with each new piece of skin that was revealed. But he couldn’t find it in himself to be too upset by the deadline, content to finally take something for himself even if it was just going to be one last time. 

[thealtoduck]

Summer Renaissance

Robb Stark x Male Reader

Content: Traveling Band AU

Warnings: Smut, sex in van, Bottom!Reader, Top!Robb, Reader is 18 and Robb is 25, unprotected sex, semi-rough sex, breeding, missionary position…

B/n = Band Name

Summary: While your bandmates are in town buying necessities so you and Robb get close, very close…

——

You originally didn’t plan to join a band. But after you graduated high school you had a fight with your parents about your future and it just kinda happened. After the fight you had been walking down the street when you saw a poster saying:

”B/n looking for a backing vocalist for new tour“

B/n was a small band in your hometown you had heard a few of their songs, they were pretty good. You didn’t know what came over you but you immediately picked up your phone and dialed the number on the poster.

”Hello” a man said over the phone. ”Hi, my name is Y/n L/n, i saw your add for a backing vocalist, are you still looking?” you asked. ”Yeah, we’re still looking, do you have experience?” the man said. ”I’ve sung in a choir for 3 years” you said.

He then provided you with an adress so you could meet up and show them. You immediately darted there and showed the four men, your harmonization skills, which was enough for them to want you in the band. They also gave you a tambourine to use on stage.

The few nights later it was time to leave for the tour. When that night came you packed your bags and left a note to your parents saying where you had gone. The van was waiting outside your apartment building, you threw your bag in the back and then climbed in to one of the seats and the van drove off.

(Time Skip)

It had been around a month since you had joined the band and things were going well for the five of you as you traveled. The van was currently parked in the outskirts of the town where you would have your next consert.

Most of the others were in town doing some shopping for necessities. You had decided to stay in the van, along with Robb Stark, the bands drummer. You sat on the matress in the back of the van, reading a book and listening to music in your headphones.

Meanwhile Robb was checking the engine as the van had been having trouble starting lately, you had checked if he needed help but he said he should be fine.

You hummed to the music in your ears as Robb then showed up, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and had a few oil stains on his body. ”How’s it going?” you asked taking of your headphones and putting your book down. ”I think i fixed it, otherwise we’ll just take it to a mechanic” he explained and you nodded.

Robb looked at the oil stains on his torso and arms and then asked ”Y/n, could you get a rag and some water?” he asked. You nodded and climbed further inside the van and grabbed what he asked for and handed it to him. He thanked you and poured some water on the rag and started washing off the oil.

You tried your best not to stare at the attractive older man as he rubbed the wet rag over his muscles washing himself, but you couldn’t help yourself. Robb then looked up catching you staring making you immediately turn away awkwardly and go back in to the van, picking up your book again.

Robb let out a small laugh and then said ”Hey, i don’t mind you looking, we’re bandmates after all”. He then finished washing off and climbed inside the van and sat down beside you. ”What are you reading?” he asked.

You showed him the cover, saying ”Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. ”It’s about a girl who’s honestly kind of a living mess… but it’s good” you told him making him smile gazing in to your eyes.

”I’m glad you joined us” Robb said fondly.

You put the book aside and you and Robb continued talking about other things getting to know each other better. Robb then got his cd player and started playing some nice music and the two of danced hand in hand.

Robb then spun you around and then pulled you closer against his bare slight hairy chest. It was as if time slowed down as you looked in to each others eyes. He then pushed his lips on yours and you shared a passionate kiss. He put his hands on you hips.

The two of you then broke the kiss staring at each other longingly. Robb then started leading back towards the van, the two of you climbed inside it and on to the matress in the back. The two of you started to fervently make out.

Robb pulled your shirt over your head and off your body and threw it aside. He then positioned you under him and spread you legs as he positioned himself on top of you as you made out.

Robb the unbuttoned your pants and pulled them off along with your underwear making you flush as he looked at your naked body. ”God, you’re beautiful” he said trailing his finger over your nipples and then down to your now hard cock.

He then lifted your legs revealing your ass, he spead your butt cheeks revealing your puckered hole to him. Robb then quicky crawled away to get something and came back with a bottle of lube. He applied some to his finger before starting to trace it lightly over your hole before pushing it in.

You moaned softly as you felt his finger penetrate you. He let you adjust to the first finger before then slowly adding another one and then another one.

And when he felt you were loosened up enough he unbuttoned his own pants and impatiently pushed his own pants and underwear off, setting his long thick cock free, he rubbed some lube on it.

He then looked at you, your needy face, your beautiful naked form, completely ready for him to take you. ”The things i want to do to you” he said to you lovingly and started to line himself up with your enterance.

He then carefully entered you, your face scrunched up and arched your back as his legth filled you up. Robb groaned as your tight warm hole accepted his girthy cock. When he was all the way in he let you adjust before he slowly started rolling his hips.

”Your taking it so good, Y/n” Robb praised you as you took his length. You wrapped your legs around his body. Robb started going faster, making you softly moan as you felt him reaching deeper in to you, you gripped on to his back.

Robb placed his head deep on your neck placing passionate kisses on it. ”Robb, make me yours” you said in bliss feeling Robb’s huge cock inside you. Saying this set Robb off, making him fuck your hole harder, more relentlessly.

Robb’s thrust became more animalistic making the van rock back and forward under you as he rammed his cock against your prostate, making you groan loudly in pleasure. ”You want me to breed you? Fuck you full of my cum?” Robb said lustfully.

”Yes” you said as Robb attacked your your hole with his harsh thrusts. Your hardened cock was leaking pre cum and felt ready to burst. ”I’m gonna cum” you whined as Robb kissing your nipples whispering ”Cum for me”.

You then came, staining both yourself and Robb in cum. Robb punded in to you, his big dick hitting you prostate, as he chased his own orgasm. ”I’m gonna fuck you so hard and fill you with my fucking seed so you feel it deep inside you” Robb stated panting heavily.

Then you felt him jut his dick deep in your ass as the tip of his cock erupted filling you with cum. Both of you breathed heavily as Robb rolled over on to his side bedside you. He then said with a smile through his heavy panting ”Like i said before: I’m so glad you joined the band”.

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Disclaimer : Any characters I write for does not mean I agree with things they have done. Incest and Targcest are allowed for this fandom as its normal within the material of the show/book

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[iguessigotta]

Thinking about sitting by the fire with Benjen 😭 💖

You two used to sit here often, his hands running up and down your arms to keep you warm. He'd chuckle lightly every time you shivered, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest. The fireplace wasn't entirely needed - he ran so warm you used to call him your own personal heater (the first time you called him that, the loveliest shade of pink crept across his cheeks. You'd grinned as he graced you with a breathy laugh and opened his cloak, inviting you in).

Now, though, it's you warming him. Ever since he came back to Castle Black (while helping cover patrols atop the wall, you'd spotted him lingering at the edge of a nearby copse of trees, firing an arrow into the ground near his feet when he turned to leave. He'd spun back towards the wall, his eyes snapping up to you with an eerie precision) he'd been...different. Not in attitude - though he was a bit more sullen - but his appearance and body temperature. You couldn't put your finger on what it was about him that looked so different (a lie you repeated to yourself when really you knew - he looked like a frozen corpse.) The thought made you shudder. You couldn't imagine being so thoroughly frozen, inside and out. You've brought yourself to tears a few times, trying to wrap your mind around his suffering.

So. Now. The two of you sit in front of the same fireplace you'd sat at so many times before, atop furs and wrapped in an absolutely massive blanket (a handmade gift from Sansa, for "Uncle Benjen and his Caretaker". The playful jab made you laugh upon reading it, having already wrapped yourself in the blanket, grateful to know someone as kind as she has always been) He leans into you, exhaling as another shiver runs through him, his cold breath leaving goosebumps on your neck. You run your hands across his back, up and down his arms. You rake your fingers through his hair, brush them against his cheeks. Occasionally he catches your wrist to tug your hand to his lips, placing a kiss there so gentle it nearly makes you sob. You hold him tighter each time, swearing to whatever gods might be listening that you will find a way to help him.

At the moment though, the two of you are exhausted, content simply holding and being held.

You warm him.