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asa-writes · 3 days

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Among the ferns

18+ MINORS DNI Halsin x F!Reader 2.6k Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, size kink, fluffy smut as always no proofreading no nothing this is for you bby :3 @foxyanon

As the night grew colder, your companions retired to bed one by one. All except for Halsin, who had made a promise to stay up with you. He didn't mind avoiding Lae'zel's loud snoring; he preferred talking with you anyways, and sleep wasn't coming easy for him this night.

“Tav, may I ask you something?” he asked gently, looking down at you with a small smile. The full moon illuminated the small clearing in the woods where you had set up camp and a soft breeze played with the undergrowth.

The fire that had once crackled and danced with life was now reduced to glowing embers, casting a warm, orange glow on Halsin's face. His eyes twinkled with curiosity and earnest sincerity, making them as captivating as the night sky above.

"Well, Halsin," you responded, cradling your cup of warm cider between your hands. "You can ask me anything." Your tone was light, playful even. This was not the first intimate conversation you’ve had with him, nor would it be the last.

His brow furrowed slightly under his tousled locks. "It's just..." he hesitated, looking slightly unsure of how to phrase what was on his mind.

You chuckled lightly to yourself, finding his uncharacteristic shyness amusing considering that he was normally so confident and outspoken. With his muscled frame and towering height, he was often mistaken for a brute by those unacquainted with him. But you knew better than most that there was a lot more to him than met the eye.

"Why have you never spoken about your romantic partners before?" he finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. A breeze rustled through the leaves overhead, adding a symphony of soft whispers to the stillness of the night.

A hush fell over you both as you considered his question. The forest around you teemed with life – crickets chirping in the underbrush, an owl hooting in the distance – yet all sound seemed distant as you pondered your answer.

"Truthfully?" You start, shifting your gaze from the dying fire up into the night sky, blushing gently. "I suppose that is because I've never… had a romantic partner before.”

The revelation hung in the air, ungraspable as moonlight. Halsin took a moment to truly absorb your words. His head tilted slightly, the glow of curiosity was now replaced with surprise. "You mean…" he stumbled over his words, a rare occurrence for him indeed, "You've never…?" He didn't need to spell it out; his meaning was clear.

You found yourself shaking your head in confirmation, your cheeks heating up. The confession had left you feeling lighter somehow, liberated even.

"I know it's unusual," you admitted, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your cider cup. The warm ceramic felt grounding against your skin amidst the otherwise ethereal atmosphere of the night.

Halsin, still overwhelmed by the revelation, defaulted to silence as he stared at you with intense concentration, as if trying to understand an enigma. His gaze seemed to penetrate beyond your skin through to the very essence of who you were. It was a gaze that could make anyone feel seen for perhaps the first time in their life.

The silence lingered but didn't feel oppressive; instead, it held a certain comforting intimacy that carried an odd tranquillity with it. Perhaps it was due to understanding that sometimes words were superfluous and that silence spoke volumes more than any spoken language ever could.

Finally, as if breaking free from a trance, Halsin shifted his gaze away from yours and stared into the almost extinguished fire. His fingers absent-mindedly picked up a stick and prodded at the glowing coals – it seemed like he wished to say something, but held himself back out of respect.

“Halsin, I… Look, it’s not like I have no desire for… it, it’s just that no-one ever, uh… invited me for…,” you stammered out and looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

"I see," he finally answered, his voice just above a whisper and filled with an understanding that you hadn't expected. He looked back at you, the light from the dying fire dancing in his eyes. “Well, under any other circumstance…” he trailed off, looking at you with a softness you hadn’t seen before.

His gaze held yours as he continued, “I would have invited you for...” he paused as if searching for the right words, “a quick, intimate encounter.”

Your cheeks heated up further at his admission. The mere thought of it sent a jolt through your body, making your heart flutter.

"But," he quickly added, seeing your reaction, "given what you've revealed... I think I would be entirely satisfied sharing just an innocent cuddle." His words settled over your ears like a soothing balm, calming your anxious thoughts.

It was a simple offer — one of warmth and companionship without any expectation or pressure.

You felt a burst of adoration and gratitude for him. It was as if Halsin was offering to meet you at your pace, to hold space for you in a world that often demanded too much too soon. He understood, perhaps better than anyone else ever could.

“Halsin…” You couldn’t help the soft smile that graced your lips. The tension that had been building dissipated into the cool night air.

He smiled back at you then – not his usual mischievous grin but something far more genuine and tender.

Together, you sat in silence once more, the crackling embers providing a warm glow to your faces.

“Actually, I… uhm… wouldyouliketoteachme?”, you pressed out and immediately looked away, afraid that he would reject you.

“I mean, everyone’s asleep, you know this forest well, you are a gentle man and as far as I know you you are a very good teacher and I’ve liked you for so long and you’re good looking…,” you rambled, sure that your cheeks couldn’t heat up even more than they did in that moment.

Halsin blinked, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Then he laughed, a rich and warm sound that echoed softly in the quiet of the night. “Easy,” he said, his voice gentle yet laced with amusement, effectively cutting through your rambling. His gaze softened even further as he reached over and took your hand into his.

"Thank you for the compliments," he said, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. His touch felt like a spark in the darkness, both startling and comforting at the same time. "And for trusting me enough to ask."

There was an earnest sincerity in his eyes that made you feel seen – really seen – for perhaps the first time in your life. It was as if he truly understood the depth of what you’d asked him. That he grasped how much courage it must have taken you to let down your walls and bare a part of yourself you’d kept hidden away for so long.

The silence that followed was pregnant with anticipation, each moment stretching on as you waited with bated breath for his response.

“Alright,” Halsin finally said, breaking the silence. His tone was somber now, filled with a level of gravity that reflected just how seriously he was taking your request.

“If this is what you want... If it’s something that feels right for you…” He paused to give you one last chance to change your mind. However, seeing no hesitation in your eyes, he simply nodded and continued, “Then yes, I’d be honored.”

A sense of relief washed over you at his words. It was as if a weight had been lifted off your chest - a wide smile spread over your cheeks and you hugged him, losing yourself in his warmth and scent.

Gently, he cradled your head against his shoulder, the rhythm of his heart a soothing lullaby as you relished in this newfound intimacy. It wasn't long before he scooped you up into his arms, rising from the bed of moss and ferns to carry you further into the forest. Your heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness as pine needles rustled beneath his feet, creating a symphony with the nocturnal creatures singing their songs.

The forest that had seemed so intimidating before now felt like a safe sanctuary under Halsin's guidance. He deftly navigated through the complex labyrinth of towering trees, guiding you through dappled moonlight that slipped through the rustling canopy above.

Eventually, he came to halt in a hidden glade awash with soft silver light. It was an enchanting spectacle - fireflies danced in the air while a gentle brook murmured in the distance, providing a harmonious backdrop to this still moment. Here, beneath the vast expanse of stars, Halsin laid you down gently on another bed made of moss and ferns.

Halsin hesitated for just a moment before beginning to remove his clothing, piece by piece. His movements were unhurried and deliberate, affording you enough time to adjust to each new revelation of skin and muscle underneath. He was beautiful in all senses of the word – not just physically but in his vulnerability too.

Once he stood undressed before you, it was his turn to ask for permission. His voice was low as he asked, "May I?" His respect for your comfort evident in that simple question.

“Y-yes, you may,” you muttered and gasped as you felt his hands working on the laces of your dress and the feeling of his lips on the nape of your neck. “You may do anything you wish, as long as you… are gentle,” you whispered, drawing in a big breath as he bared your breasts, gently tracing his hands over the gentle curves.

"Yes," he murmured against your skin, "always gentle." His voice was a soothing rumble that reverberated through you, making your heart flutter in response. His hands were warm against your cool skin, his touch so tender and careful it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He guided you to recline on the mossy bed, his strong hands supporting your back as you did so. The moss was surprisingly soft underneath you, nature's own cushioned bedding. Halsin continued to worship your body with his hands and mouth, his every touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You gasped as he traced kisses down your neck, over the valley between your breasts, and then lower still.

You gasped and blushed at the sensation and bit your lip as you felt his big finger gently slipping between your wet folds. Gods, it felt so good, and the longer you looked at him pleasuring you through half-closed eyes, you felt your inner fire burning hotter and hotter. Everything about him drove you wild. From the way he loomed over you, to his strong, yet gentle hold on you, not to mention the way he caressed you - it drove you to the brink of insanity.

“Let go, my love… moan for me, my sweet thing… let nature hear your call…,” he muttered, alternating between rubbing your pearl, licking and kissing it gently.

Gasping, you struggled to breathe as the pleasure coursed through you like wildfire. You'd never felt anything like this, and it was all too much and not nearly enough at the same time. His touch was electric, igniting every nerve ending in your body and sending sparks of ecstasy ricocheting along your spine. Moans tumbled unbidden from your lips, mingling with the chorus of the forest around you.

"Halsin," you whimpered, arching your back off the cushiony moss beneath you. "Oh gods, Halsin... it feels... it feels..." Words failed to do justice to the sensations he evoked within you.

He chuckled against your damp core, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. "That's it, darling. Let it out. I want to hear every little sound that escapes those pretty lips of yours."

Emboldened by his words, you did just that - moaning louder as he continued his ministrations. His tongue flicked and swirled over your most sensitive spots, teasing and taunting you until you thought you might combust from the aching need building within. Every stroke of his tongue or caress of his fingers seemed to send you higher and higher still, until you were certain your heart would beat right out of your chest.

"Halsin... Halsin... I... I'm..." You panted, but could not finish your sentence, as a huge wave of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out in unadulterated bliss as your body shuddered and arched beneath his touch. Halsin continued to caress and kiss you, milking every last shudder and gasp from your body until at last, your cries subsided into satisfied pants.

“You did perfect. Now… are you ready for me? Or should I let you rest?”, he asked sweetly, pulling himself out from between your thighs and up to you.

It felt like you were dreaming - and could do nothing else but to shake your head and hold your chest, gazing wantonly up at him. “No, no rest, I… I need you, I want you, but… are you sure that it is going to fit?”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Oh, my love, I've imagined this moment for so long... and I assure you, I will fit. Just…” He leaned in to replace his words with a fiery kiss, his tongue teasing yours as he gently slipped his hardness between your wet folds.

It felt like he was right - it stung for a second, but it was a perfect fit, and he filled you up completely as he entered you inch by inch, stretching you to the limit, even though he was still holding back from plunging completely into you. "Feel how perfect we fit together?", he whispered into your ear, gently kissing the top of your head.

"Y-yes," you panted, arching your hips against his. "Halsin... please... don't stop." You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him onward.

He obliged, slowly and steadily, surging into your depths as if he had all the time in the world. The sensation was unlike anything you'd ever experienced - a delicious friction of stretching and heat that bordered on pain but was oh so exquisite. His every movement sent waves of pleasure crashing through you anew, his length hitting places inside you that had never known such stimulation before.

As he rocked his hips against yours, a primal, animalistic growl escaped his lips, and his grip on your hips tightened just enough to leave marks. You didn't mind, though - if anything, it spurred you on further. Your hands tangled in the moss beneath you, nails clawing at the ground as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

"You feel so good... so tight... around me," Halsin groaned between gasps, the pace of his thrusts increasing marginally with each breathy moan that escaped your lips. "I... I've wanted this... for so long... You, bouncing under me… in the woods…"

The way he spoke to you - so guttural and raw - was enough to send you over the edge a second time. Your climax washed over you like a tidal wave, hot and consuming, leaving you reeling in its wake. "Halsin!" You cried out his name as your body clenched around him, contracting around his hardness and milking him for all he was worth.

"Gods...," he panted, his thrusts growing erratic as he too lost control. "I... I can't... much more... So tight…"

With one final, earth-shattering thrust, he stilled inside you, his essence welcomed within your depths as you both shuddered through the climax together. Halsin collapsed atop you, his breathing ragged in your ear.

"That…" He finally managed between breaths. "Was… better… than I ever imagined."

You smiled up at him, your insides still convulsing and hugged him tight, not minding that he squished you under his large, shuddering body. “You’re… you’re a good teacher. The best.”

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asa-writes · 6 days

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Faileas

18+ MINORS DNI Cregan Stark x F!Reader 5.6k Warnings: SMUT, blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mentions forced marriage, dom / sub dynamics as always no proofreading no nothing

Hi guys! you wished for some Cregan action, here you go, some wintery woodsy and very sexy scenes for you <3

The eerie silence of the snow-covered forest was suddenly shattered by a loud thump, jolting you out of your sleep. The sound echoed through the thick trees, sending shivers down your spine. You knew that snow never fell silently, but this was no gentle snowfall.

Someone or something had disturbed the peacefulness of the night.

Hastily pulling on your fur-lined boots and throwing on your warm cape, you grabbed your trusty ax, ready to defend yourself against any unwelcome visitors. The only light came from the full moon, casting elongated shadows across the ground. Your heart raced as you crept towards the door, unsure of what awaited you outside in the frigid darkness. Whoever was lurking around at this hour was most likely not a friendly soul.

Breathing deeply, you pushed open the door just a sliver to peer outside. The sight that met your eyes was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The snow lay pristine and untouched, beautifully illuminated by the silver glow of the moon. Each tree stood tall and heavy under its snowy blanket, the crystals shimmering with infinite variations of blue and silver under the celestial light.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught your attention. It was far off in the distance but distinct against the untouched snowscape. Fear surged through your veins, but courage stemmed from your noble upbringing spurred you on. As you stepped out into the winter night, the crisp air stung your face and the snow crunched under your boots. Your fingers tightened around the handle of your ax, its familiar weight offering some measure of comfort.

As you trudged deeper into the forest, it became clear that you were not alone. Footprints imprinted on the previously untouched surface told a tale of stealth and intention. A creature of some sort had indeed passed this way, disturbing the tranquility of your sanctuary.

You had sought solace in this barren place to offer your prayers. A giant Weirwood tree stood beside your modest dwelling, and you made offerings to it every day, seeking guidance. Your parents, who ruled House Knott, were determined to marry you off to an elderly Lord from the Stormlands. Desperate for someone to intervene, anyone at all, you turned to this sacred spot for help, but as it seemed, you were not entirely safe here.

Through gaps in the trees where moonlight penetrated, you saw it; a figure, cloaked in darkness paused momentarily at a clearing futher down. Its silhouette was hunched over as if peering at something in the snow.

Silently, like a wolf stalking its prey, you advanced cautiously towards it. Your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum as each breath became shallow and measured under stress. As you moved closer, an unexpected gust of wind swept through the trees making them groan under their icy load.

Spooked by the sudden noise, you gripped your axe tighter and lifted it up high, expecting the figure - a man in a cloak with fur over his shoulders - to jump up and attack you as soon as he thought you had let your guard down. He was most likely a poacher, trying to hunt down a skinny rabbit or a winter fowl.

“Poaching will get you hanged. Know that you are on the lands of House Knott and I shall bring you to the Lord if I catch you stealing from us,” you said calmly, your ax hanging over the man’s head. “And if you wish to attack me, I’ll lob your head off clean.”

The man quickly turned to face you, his eyes wide with surprise. He rose slowly, hands lifted in a placating manner. The man was tall, towering over you, and the moonlight revealed a wild shock of black hair and stormy grey eyes that seemed to carry a certain depth of experience and wisdom. There was something captivating about the way he looked at you, an intensity coupled with an unexpected warmth that was unlike any stranger you've encountered before.

“Easy there, m’lady,” he said, his voice resonating in the windless night. He cocked a small grin, his teeth white against his rugged features. His northern accent only added to his charm. “I’m no poacher, nor do I seek to harm you or rob your lands. I’m merely looking for shelter.”

His cloak billowed as he moved away from you towards a loneset tree nearby. In the dim light, you noticed a direwolf sigil stitched onto his cloak - the sigil of House Stark. An unexpected chill ran down your spine as realization hit.

"Lord Cregan Stark?" You questioned aloud, disbelief tinting your voice.

The man - Lord Stark - turned back to face you, giving a small nod as he surrendered jokingly with a chuckle. “Indeed," he confirmed in amusement, "Didn’t mean to startle you.”

A thousand questions danced in your mind as your grip on the axe loosened but did not let go completely. The Warden of the North standing before you in your family’s sanctuary in the Woods was something straight out of legends and ballads sung by minstrels at feasts.

“I… I can give you shelter, my Lord. Though it is only a small hut… It surely won’t live up to your expectations,” You mumbled and courtsied, trying to suppress the blush that formed on your cheeks.

Your mother has told you about Lord Stark, but seeing him there, in the moonlight, made you doubt her words. He was strikingly handsome, not at all boorish and violent like she had told you.

“Though, my Lord, if I may be so bold, I would’ve appreciated it greatly if you would have just knocked. I was prepared to hack you to pieces.”

Lord Cregan eyed you over. “Your hut? Are you Lady Knott? I thought she was an old hag, sitting and scheming around in her Keep. You’re decidedly younger and prettier.”

Approaching you slowly, he laid his large, gloved hand on the hilt of his sword. “If you aren’t Lady Knott, then what are you doing here, in the Knott’s Weirwood grove?”

You narrowed your eyes, straightening your posture as you met his gaze. "I am Lady Knott...the younger one," you clarified, feeling the corners of your mouth quirk up in a small smile.

"You might be confusing me with my mother." You watched as the hint of surprise crossed his features before transforming into an appreciative chuckle.

"Well then, that would explain the confusion," Lord Cregan replied, leaning against the tree he had been approaching earlier. He looked at you with renewed interest. "And as for knocking, I thought no one would be occupying this place at this hour. A slight miscalculation on my part."

Your smile widened as you stepped forward, crossing your arms over your chest. "Next time, my lord, take the time to knock. Or better yet, send a raven ahead of time."

His laughter echoed through the grove, a rich and deep sound that resonated within you. "Noted, Lady Knott."

Looking back at him composedly, you added: "But if you're still suspicious of me, Lord Stark, then by all means go back into the forest and sleep there..."

Lord Cregan raised an eyebrow at you. His eyes danced with a playful gleam under the moon's glow. There was a moment of tense silence before he let out another hearty laugh that vibrated through the grove.

"I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to turn away from such generous hospitality,” he answered warmly.

His words filled you with warmth even against the cold wind. He was not what your mother had made him out to be; he was far from it.

"Speaking of hospitality, my lord, would you care to step inside the hut?" you asked, tilting your head towards the entrance of the small dwelling. "I promise I won't hack you to pieces. At least, not tonight."

Once more, his laughter echoed through the trees, creating a symphony with the rustling leaves and nocturnal sounds.

"Lead the way, Lady Knott," Lord Cregan instructed, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he followed you into the hut. Inside was an array of family relics; old books, carefully crafted tapestries depicting ancient tales from their lands, and one prominent weirwood table where you had been preparing for your moonlit prayers.

You began to explain yourself, your hands nervously fidgeting as you gestured around the sacred space. "I come here often,” you admitted. "A little strange perhaps, for a young noble lady to find solace in such a... rudimentary place. But I find it peaceful."

Lord Cregan's eyes roamed over your treasured sanctum with evident respect. "And tonight?" he asked, glancing back at you as he leaned against one of your stack of books.

A sigh escaped your lips as you braced yourself to confide in this stranger who felt oddly trustworthy. "Tonight... Tonight I came here to pray against my marriage," your voice wavered toward the end.

His brows furrowed curiously and he inclined his head slightly sideways in question. "Against?"

"My parents have arranged my marriage," you clarified hastily. An uneasy laugh escaped your lips as tried to lighten up your confession. "To a sixty year old widower. A Lord from the Stormlands. Lord Symon Dondarrion, they said.”

Shrugging quickly, you put another piece of wood into the hearth and watched the embers reddening. Why were you rambling so? Lord Stark probably did not care.

His silence was unsettling. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he finally broke it with a soft, "I see." His gaze softened, empathy seeping through his glacial eyes as he watched the dancing flames of the hearth reflect in yours.

“And what does the young Lady wish for?" Lord Cregan asked, taking hesitant steps towards you. His sturdy voice echoed in the tight confines of the hut.

Despite his status as a powerful lord, he appeared genuinely interested. You drew in a shaky breath before managing to voice your deepest desire out loud. "To stay in the North," you answered honestly. "To stay where I have grown up, not having to go to… well, almost Dorne. And not having to marry an old man…."

A thoughtful silence fell between you both. Outside, the wind had picked up and was causing the leaves to rustle and twigs to snap under its force. Stark's gaze drifted towards one of your family small tapestries, where large, rugged old men sat next to sour-faced women, wolves and bears at their feet.

"In Winterfell," he began turning his steady gaze back to you, “we have a saying: ‘The lone wolf dies but the pack survives’. At times, alliances made are for survival not just for one individual, but for their kin and their people."

He paused for a moment and sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his head with his gloved hand, before taking it off. The warmth was catching up to him, it seemed. The seriousness faded from his face and he offered you a small smile. "But it doesn't mean that it has to be so bleak.”

The warm fires of the hearth flickered across his rugged features as he stepped closer to you. You could feel your heart drumming louder in your chest as he neared.

"For now, you’re here in the North. Isn’t that… good?”, he said, seemingly trying to cheer you up.

You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you stumbled out of your sodden boots and removed your drenched cloak. It was only then that you realized the inappropriateness of your attire for hosting the esteemed Warden of the North. The topic of your impending marriage also felt uncomfortable to discuss with him.

"Um, yes...I suppose so," you stammered, at a loss for words.

"But...that's not really important right now." Your awkwardness only seemed to grow in his intimidating presence. “If I may be so bold, what were you doing here, north of the Wolfswood, without any guards?”

The corners of Lord Cregan's mouth twitched ever so slightly, as if he was amused by your audacious question. He stood from the stack of books and began pacing the hut, each step measured and silent. "You have a keen sense for observation, Lady Knott," he began, the moonlight streaming through the window to highlight his stern profile.

He paused, leaning against the old ironwood table, his fingers gently brushing over a worn out book that lay there. "In all honesty," he admitted, not looking directly at you, but at the memorabilia scattered across the space. "I'm here on kind of...a pilgrimage."

"A pilgrimage?" you echoed, brows furrowing in confusion. You weren't sure what you expected, but that was certainly not it.

"Yes," he answered simply, before turning to face you properly. His eyes glowed with a certain intensity that made your heart flutter. "In my early youth, I often wandered these woods; it gave me a sense of calm that nothing else could."

"Even though Winterfell is known for its peace and tranquility?" you couldn’t help but jest lightly.

A deep chuckle echoed through the room as Lord Cregan nodded in amusement. "Even then," he confirmed. "Sometimes even the peaceful walls of Winterfell can feel suffocating."

You couldn't help but relate to his confession; even amongst your own family and kinfolk, there were times when you felt bereft of inner peace. It was one of the reasons why you often sought refuge in this secluded hut.

Lord Cregan sought your gaze again, the playful light replaced with a slightly darker one, although not completely sinister. “I think that the Gods have answed both of our prayers, though.”

Sitting down onto your bed, you offered him your chair and gestured towards a large bottle of wine, wordlessly inviting him to pour himself some, if he wished to. “My Lord?”, you asked, not quite knowing what he meant, cocking your head to the side.

Sitting down with a sly smile, he shrugged. “Well, I’m looking for a wife that is not a simpering flower. You’re looking for a strong, young, northern Lord. Or am I wrong, Lady Knott?”

His words hung in the air, creating an electric tension that you could physically feel. The preposterousness of his proposition was too absurd to believe, and yet his confident demeanor suggested he was entirely serious. You hesitated, eyeing him cautiously as if expecting him to erupt into a fit of laughter, revealing it to be a cruel jest. But the man before you remained grave and composed.

The silence stretched out between you like a yawning chasm. His question echoed in your mind, circling around like an insistent buzz. A desperate urge bubbled within you to provide a witty response, anything to alleviate the suffocating heaviness, but words failed to formulate.

Your mouth went dry as dust and for a moment, you worried that you had lost the ability to speak. All you could manage was a weak whisper of "What?" that surely Lord Cregan didn't even hear.

To your surprise, he didn't repeat himself or elaborate on his shocking proposal. Instead, he simply leaned back into his chair and studied you intently as he took a slow sip of the wine you offered him earlier.

A long moment passed before he finally broke the silence, a faint smile gracing his lips. "It's late," he stated simply, standing up from his chair and setting down his cup. You blinked at him in surprise, suddenly realizing how true his words were. The hourglass on your desk indicated that it was way past the hour of the bat.

Lord Cregan made his way towards you, his every movement graceful and measured. He paused, sliding his cloak off, quickly and gently holding your chin in his large hands, making you look up at him. “Tell me if you oppose this. Say the words and I will leave.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as his gaze bore into yours. The fiery intensity, the sheer command in his eyes was insurmountable. His words, though spoken softly, echoed thunderously in your ears. You had always considered yourself a strong-willed woman, not easily swayed by men and their games. But at this moment, looking up at him, you felt a strange fluttering sensation inside you.

The silence extended between you both like a spectral hand reaching out. His statement hung in the chilled air of the room, as if it were suspended on invisible threads. Your heart pounded in the hollow of your chest like a war drum echoing in an empty battlefield.

"Oppose what?" you found yourself asking, your voice barely above a whisper. You held his gaze, your mind racing to comprehend his proposal. Was he suggesting... matrimony? Surely not. The mere suggestion was preposterous.

Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell would never consider someone like you for a wife... would he?

He held your gaze steadily, yet there was a deep gentleness in his eyes that seemed to melt away the icy chill of the room. "Our union," he said simply, his voice quiet yet full of gravity. You blinked up at him incredulously.

Although his words were laced with an undeniable seriousness, you couldn't help but chuckle nervously at the absurdity of it all. "You are jesting." Your words came out as more of a statement than a question.

But the Warden of the North merely shook his head slightly, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Are you suggesting that I am a fool?”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. “Of course not! It’s just… how? How will you tell my parents? What will you tell Lord Dondarrion if he would protest?”

“Your father, Lord Knott, has sworn his allegiance to me. He will do as he is told. And Dondarrion… Do you really think that an old Stormlord will ever wish to come up to the North to fight me?”, he said confidently.

The certainty in Lord Cregan's voice was enough to squelch any remaining doubts swimming in your mind. His magnetic confidence had a way of drawing you in, making you question the foundations of your own thoughts and beliefs.

Still, you couldn't help but let out a dry laugh, leaning back against the bedpost with a hint of incredulity in your eyes.

“Cocksure and audacious. I suppose these are traits that I should expect from the Lord of Winterfell,” you commented wryly, crossing your arms over your chest. A soft light danced in his eyes at your words as he rested his hand on the wooden table, leaning towards you ever so slightly.

"And yet, here we are," he began, his tone mild as he absorbed the weight of your words. "In this secluded little hut, far away from prying eyes and the judgmental gaze of society."

He paused slightly, his gaze softening with an emotion that was too complex to decipher. "Should we not take this opportunity and consider what happiness we could find in one another?"

Your breath hitched at his question, a dull ache spreading through your chest as his words sunk in. The thought of marrying Lord Cregan Stark had never crossed your mind until this moment; it was simply a dream too far-fetched and distant for someone like you to entertain.

And yet, here he was - proposing just that.

A mischievous smile then took over his face, as if he had realized something amusing. “Though I must admit,” he said, moving closer to you till his face was just inches away from yours. “If I wouldn’t have known of your predicament, I wouldn’t have minded your company either. You’re a pretty one, Lady Knott.”

His eyes twinkled in the flickering candlelight, his usually stern facial features smoothed and made softer by the intimate atmosphere. The warmth that radiated from him was infectious, causing an involuntary blush to creep up your cheeks.

“Lady Knott, you're blushing,” he observed, a triumphant smirk etched on his face as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze playfully inspected your flustered form before he quickly masked his amused expression with a serious one. “I believe I have chased away all your doubts?”

The faintest hint of uncertainty still lingered within you, yet the way Lord Cregan looked at you made it seem like everything was possible. You nodded at him, mustering a small smile. “I suppose you did.”

He gave you a curt nod in response before pushing himself from his chair, a determined gleam in his wolfish eyes. “Then we waste no more time.”

Tension filled the air as he took your hand, guiding you out of the hut and into the dense underbrush. Despite being bundled in cloaks which you had hastily thrown on, both of you shivered from the cold winds that whipped around you. You led Cregan through the towering forest, feeling his steady and confident stride on the snow-covered terrain. It gave you strength knowing he trusted you blindly, following your lead without question. The howling northern wind only added to the intensity of the moment.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, you stopped abruptly in front of a gigantic Weirwood tree; its bark white as snow and leaves blood-red. There was an air of solemnity around it that commanded respect and awe.

“We are here,” you said simply, turning to look up at him with shaking hands reaching for his. “Are you sure?”

The wind whistled hauntingly through the trees, as if nature herself bore witness to this tremendous decision. Cregan Stark returned your shaky grip and looked deep into your eyes. His gaze was dark and stormy, an echo of the northern lands he led. Yet beneath that cold exterior was a layer of profound certainty, an unwavering resolve that was comforting in its strength.

"More sure than I've ever been," he finally said, his voice carrying the weight of the moment. He turned towards the old Weirwood tree, a symbol of his heritage and upbringing. “May the Old Gods bear witness to our oath.”

With your hands still wrapped in each other's, Cregan led you to the base of the ancient tree. You paused in awe at its size and majesty, feeling both insignificant and profoundly special at the same time. The Weirwood's face seemed to stir with an ancient wisdom as if acknowledging your presence.

Taking a deep breath, Cregan started speaking in earnest. “Before the gods, I declare my intent to wed Lady Knott,” his voice echoed through the silent forest, every word carving itself into existence as it lingered in the air.

He then looked at you, his gaze warm yet intense. "Do you willingly accept this union, Lady Knott? If so, speak your vows before the Weirwood."

For a moment there was silence, you gulped down the lump in your throat before speaking up softly yet firmly, “I do accept this union.” You took a step closer to him, hand slipping out of his to rest on his chest over his heart. “Do you willingly accept this union, Lord Stark?”

A silence fell over the eerie forest, the air seeming to hold its breath as if the trees themselves awaited his answer. Cregan Stark studied your face, a mix of love and solemnity in his gaze. He placed his hand over yours, his heart thudding steadily beneath your touch.

"Yes," he finally replied. His voice was a hushed whisper that nonetheless echoed through the silence, sending flocks of distant birds into flight. "I accept this union willingly." His hand tightened around yours. "With all my heart, Lady Knott."

The Weirwood seemed to shiver in response; its leaves rustling softly against the backdrop of the still night. His vow hung potent in the air, mingling with the soft rustling of leaves and echoing in the distance until it seemed to become one with the heartbeat of the very forest.

Humbled by his words and bearing witness to this union, you felt something in you stir. It was an intoxicating sensation, a heady mix of fear and excitement that made your heart pound in your chest like a war drum.

You both knelt before the Weirwood then, dipping your heads in reverence to the Old Gods. Shivering from more than just the frigid cold as snowflakes kissed your cheeks while they fell delicately from above. “May our lives entwine as tightly as our hands are now,” Cregan said softly, squeezing your fingers gently.

“May we grow old together under their watchful eyes,” you added, holding Cregan’s gaze with a bright smile on your face. The warmth radiating between you two belied the biting cold of winter.

He pulled you up, brushing the powdery snow off your backside. With an impish grin, he hoisted you into his arms and you couldn't help but blush.

"I'm your husband now, my dear. Let's save the 'Lord' title for when you are bouncing on my cock." He planted a playful kiss on your forehead before strutting back to the hut. It was clear he couldn't wait to fulfill his marital duties, making you blush and giggle at his eagerness.

With the Weirwood's milky bark glistening under the moonlight as a silent witness to your secret union, you clung onto Cregan as he carried you back to the hut. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest, every beat echoing the promises of love and devotion you both had made under the ancient tree.

Warm light spilled from the narrow slit of a window, illuminating the path leading to your shared domicile. The wind whipped frosty kisses against your cheeks, but entwined securely in Cregan's arms, you were in a cocoon of warmth that dulled the bite of winter.

He pushed open the door with his foot and set you down gently on the thick fur rug next to the smoldering hearth. His eyes danced devilishly over your body as he shrugged off his cloak, allowing it to fall carelessly onto the floor. He then proceeded to help you out of yours, his fingers lingering on areas he promised himself he would explore later.

While his hands were busy undressing you, his mouth claimed yours in an intense battle of dominance. You responded eagerly, matching his fervor and intensity. His mouth tasted like fire and mulled wine, a heady combination that sent shivers down your spine.

His hands found their way up your body, exploring every inch until they landed on your breasts. He kneaded them gently through your dress, eliciting a small gasp from you. The sound only served to spur him on as he moved swiftly and purposefully, undoing the lacing of your dress before sliding it down around your feet.

You stood naked before him, feeling both vulnerable and powerful as you watched him admiring you. “Having any doubts?”, you asked cheekily, enjoying his rapt attention more than a proper Lady should have.

“Doubts? Ha! Never. I shall thank the Gods every day henceforth for making us meet,” Cregan mumbled huskily as he pulled his clothes off, desperate to be rid of them as soon as he could. “Sit on the bed and open your legs for me. I want to see you… All of you.”

You blushed immensely and did as you were told. When you saw Cregan standing in front of you, just like the Gods had made made him, you couldn’t help but blush. You had never seen a man that made you feel the way he did - everything from his muscular shoulders to his hairy chest down to his big, throbbing member made you go crazy. Was this a dream? It had to be.

“You are stunning,” he whispered reverently as he joined you on the bed. His hands traced over your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he moved upwards to cup your breasts. He teased your nipples lightly before parting your folds with his other hand.

“Cregan,” you moaned as his fingers found their target, sending sparks shooting straight to your core. His digit slid across your wetness before dipping inside, and you couldn’t help but arch your back in response.

“So wet for me already," he rasped, a smirk playing on his lips. “I knew you were a naughty girl from the first moment I saw you.” The teasing continued as he angled his hips, pressing the head of his cock against your cheek, before gently guiding it towards your moistened lips. “Do you want to prove me right, my pretty little wife?”

"Cregan, I… yes,” you mumbled senselessly, gently letting him enter your mouth as he continued stroking your pearl, though as soon as you let your tongue glide around his tips, his movements started becoming more and more erratic.

“Gods, that feels good,” he groaned. Encouraged by his reaction, you continued your ministrations, sucking him deeper into your mouth as he thrust in and out.

It wasn’t long before your moans mingled with his own, creating a symphony of wanton lust and desire that echoed off the walls of the hut. He pulled away abruptly with a groan. “No more," he panted heavily. "I won't last much longer like this."

With one smooth move, he flipped you over onto your stomach, spreading your legs wide apart. You felt him nudge against your entrance, hot breaths fanning over your chest, sending shivers down your spine. “Are you ready for me?”

“I… I think so, Yes…,” you mumbled, shaking in anticipation.

“Wait… Are you still a maiden?” Cregan asked incredulously, gently lowering himself next to you, kissing you and holding you close to him so that you would not get cold. Not being able to do anything else than to nod, you blushed and closed your eyes as you felt his arms wrapping around you and lifting you onto him.

“Oh… I, ah…”, you muttered and blushed as you saw this large, handsome man lying underneath you and grinning up at you.

“Hush, you needn’t say anything. Just do whatever feels good for you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered and laid his hands onto your hips.

Your heart was racing as you felt Cregan's strong, calloused hands slip you onto him, giving you the control over the situation. Blushing, as you felt the heat of his skin against your own, you braced yourself for the slight pain that would come, yet breathed it out before sinking onto his cock with a small moan, your cheeks heating up even more.

The bed dipped under your combined weight as he grasped your waist and thrust gently upward, pushing himself further inside. Your body reacted instinctively, latching onto him with every inch until he's buried to the hilt inside you.

“Good girl… Fuck…” Cregan mumbled and gently held you down, gazing up at you with incredulous eyes.

You tried to focus on something other than the sensation, but it was impossible. His muscled, hairy chest rose and fell with each ragged breath beneath you while his hands roamed down your back—smooth skin meeting soft curves—and grasping your ass cheeks firmly. He held you there with one hand while the other slid between your legs, pushing against that sensitive spot between them that made your toes curl just from the touch.

“Oh G-gods…”, was all you managed to stutter out as you felt yourself tightening around him.

You let out a tiny moan as you began to move, rocking your hips gently back and forth as he groaned and shivered underneath you. Each thrust sent wave after wave of pleasure through every nerve ending in your body, making it impossible not to squirm. His cock was long and thick inside you, filling you completely as you took control of the pace. As he raised himself up on his elbows and took one of your breasts, gently pinching your nipple, you squealed and felt your release washing over you, barely able to hold yourself over him.

“Just like that, my girl… You’re perfect…”, Cregan mumbled as he gently guided you under him, kissing you with great fervour as he repositioned himself, gently pressing your thighs down onto your stomach, lifting your feet onto his broad shoulders.

Before you could wonder what he was doing, he pushed himself inside you, making you moan loudly. This angle felt even better than before and you felt giddy at him looming over you, fucking up into you as if you were a dirty harlot and it made you tighten around him even more.

“Cregan, my Lord, I… ah…”

“Shh…” He silenced you with a hungry kiss, grinding his hips against yours in a primal rhythm. The air was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans as he continued pounding into you, each thrust harder than the last. “You're so fucking tight, I can't...”

His words spurred you on, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go even faster and harder. He obliged, his cock brushing against your insides in all the right places. It didn't take long for the sensations to build up again, but this time it was more intense than before - like a ball of fire deep within your belly that grew bigger and bigger until you couldn't take it anymore.

“Cregan, I… I can’t...”

“That's it, my girl… let it go,” he growled as he thrust one last time, filling you with his hot seed, making your orgasm explode inside of you like a supernova of pure bliss. Your screams echoed through the hut as you shook uncontrollably, both gasping for air as your heartbeats slowed down.

“Well done...”, he panted out. “I knew you'd be... perfect. My Lady Stark.”

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asa-writes · 13 days

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my first finished fic aaah :D

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asa-writes · 2 months

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Dreams - 4 - Robb

18+ MINORS DNI Jon Snow x F!OC / Robb Stark x F!OC Word Count: 3.3k Masterlist with Fic Warnings - Contains Death, SA and Abuse. Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Are you unwell, my love?”, Robb asked Lucie tentatively, seeing her hands shiver lightly after his father’s guests had come to congratulate them. Maybe she was just very excited, that was all, that must’ve been it. He knew that she would’ve been ready for a long time, his mother had told him so herself, yet at the same time he could understand completely why she had given her the option to announce her… her… intentions in her own time.

Lucie downed her cup in one go and graciously curtsied to Lord Wells, who sucked his teeth and nodded at her. “Aye, she’ll do fine for you, my Lord,” the man mumbled and gave Robb a grin. Glancing after the old, fat man, Lucie tried stretching her neck a bit - her hair and headdress looked like they were giving her a headache.

“Not at all, Lord Robb,” she said and sat back down, further avoiding his gaze. “It’s… uh… I am sorry for taking my time. I’m sorry for not… Being a courteous lady.”

Robb frowned and sat down as well, gently placing a small sweet treat onto her plate, trying to get her to smile once more. “Lucie, darling, you are a courteous lady! Do not apologise.” He reached out and touched her hand lightly, trying to soothe her nerves.

“I-I know but…” Lucie stammered before quickly averting her gaze, taking a big breath and steeling herself, giving the next passing Lady a regal nod. It was clear that she was still shaken up by the guests. “It is indeed... surprising, how quickly things are transpiring. I am uncertain as to how I may best proceed, my Lord, though that knowledge has been made more difficult by our lack of acquaintance.”

Robb nodded in understanding as he grabbed his cup of wine and took a sip. He knew that his mother had been planning this for some time now, but he also knew how stressful it was for a young woman of noble birth to be thrown into such high expectations all of a sudden with little time to adjust. Also... it was Lucie, after all. At some points Robb had thought that she'd manage matrimony perfectly and in others it seemed like Lucie had never prepared herself for it.

He sighed before giving Lucie's hand another squeeze and setting his cup down on the table. “Let me help you then, my love. We will go through it all together until you feel ready and better able to handle it all."

Lucie's jaw tightened as she gave him a sharp smile. "I must thank you for your kind offer, yet I believe I can manage it myself, it is not as if we are to marry tomorrow." She took a bite out of the sticky pastry and sighed.

What was going on within her? Robb had no clue and cursed himself once more. What was he doing that troubled her so?

"Sorry for my sharpness, my Lord. I like to do things alone," she mumbled as she gently wiped the crusty flakes off of her dress, "and in my own time. Speaking of which, how long do you think we should court? And... what do you plan on us doing during that time? Picnics and garden strolls are obviously impossible here, in this weather."

Robb nodded understandingly, trying to come up with a suitable answer. He knew that Lucie was not one to be easily won over, and he was going to have to be patient if he wanted to make their marriage work.

"I understand, Lucie," he said gently, taking her hand in his. Gods, her hand was tiny... "We can take things at your pace. As for how long we should court, I believe that is entirely up to you. I don't want to rush you into anything you're not ready for."

Lucie nodded slowly, looking nervously down at their intertwined hands. "Thank you, Robb," she said softly. "That means a lot to me."

Robb smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Maybe he was doing something right after all. "As for what we can do during our courtship," he continued, "I was thinking we could go on some outings. Maybe we could ride out, or go on a hunt together. And if the weather is too cold, we could always stay inside and spend time together in the library or your drawing room. Sansa's told me of your skills with a quill."

Lucie's eyes lit up at the mention of her drawing. "I would like that," she said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I've always loved drawing, though I'd never had imagined you being interested in it."

Robb grinned, feeling a sense of excitement building within him. Maybe he could make this work after all. "Then it's settled," he said. "We'll take things at your pace, and we'll spend our courtship getting to know each other better. And who knows? Maybe we'll even fall in love by the time we'll stand in front of the weirwood tree."

Lucie stared at her hands, her eyes wide with apprehension. Robb's heart sank as he realised that he had pushed her too far and too fast. He squeezed her hand lightly, and she finally looked up at him with trepidation in her gaze. "It's okay," he said softly. "I'm not trying to force anything on you, but I do know that there is something special between us, and I want you to give us a chance."

Lucie nodded slowly, still looking uncomfortable about the whole situation. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "I understand," she said quietly. "But if it's alright with you, I think I'd like to take my leave now and go back to the library."

Robb sighed sadly and firmly shook his head. He had hoped to be understanding of her connection to Jon, but he now had an engagement to uphold. So much needed to be discussed, plans that needed to be made - but by the hour of the bat, the revelry was far from over.

"I cannot allow you to leave," he said with a blend of earnestness and regret. He leaned in until his lips were mere inches away from her ear, and he brushed them against it quite delicately before speaking again in a low whisper. She smeled wonderfully of peonies. "We have to maintain good standing, my dear. You must stay here. I'm sorry, my sweet."

Lucie stiffened at Robb's words and pulled away from him, her hand slipping out of his grasp. "I understand," she said, her voice cold. So she spent the rest of the evening next to him, staring out at their guests from her place at the high table, chatting about embroidery with Sansa, drawing back from his touches and curtly answering his questions.

A knot of unease tightened in Robb's stomach as he observed Lucie's behaviour. He had hoped that these few days together would start to bridge the gap between them, but it seemed that she was even further away from him now than before. The thought of her slipping away from him without ever really knowing if there had been something more between them made him ache inside.

He let out a soft sigh and furrowed his brows as he frantically sought for ways to bring her closer to him. She obviously wasn't ready for any kind of declaration, but maybe if he could make the right moves, keep her interested and get her comfortable enough with the idea. But how? He knew it wouldn't be easy - he had already made some mistakes by pushing too hard too fast - but there were options; forbidding Jon from spending any more time with her, having Sansa tell her about him in a positive way, marrying her earlier than she would've wanted to, or even seducing her into willingly accepting his advances…

All of these solutions presented their own challenges and consequences, but they were better than simply letting Lucie slip away without a fight. With that thought firmly planted in his mind, Robb started plotting out the perfect plan on how best to introduce Lucie into his life in a way that suited both them.

"I cannot stay here with you any longer. I need to be alone," Lucie muttered, standing up from her seat and giving him a tight-lipped smile. She stood up from her seat and walked briskly out of the room, leaving Robb alone with his thoughts.

Robb leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Maybe he just needed to give Lucie some space. Maybe if he backed off a little bit, she would come around. Or maybe not. He wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure about anything and it made him furious. What on earth was that girl doing to him?

He downed his wine in one desperate swig, the liquid burning down his throat as he stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair. He stumbled out of the Hall, needing to escape the fiery ache in his chest. Wildlings and pirates meant nothing to him now as he tried to push thoughts of Lucie from his mind, but her image remained etched in his memory.

Her beauty consumed him, making it impossible to focus on anything else. The sight of her trembling rosebud lips and delicate hands haunted him, their softness mocking him. He couldn't bear the thought of causing her pain, yet he knew deep down that it was inevitable if she didn't... come around.

Outside, the snow was falling softly, creating a peaceful atmosphere that Robb found infuriating. He could've been standing here, with her in his arms, pressing sweet, chaste kisses on her lips, but no, she had to be... had to be her stubborn, moody self. He took a deep breath of cold air, letting it fill his lungs and clear his head. Suddenly, he heard a voice calling his name from behind him. He turned around and frowned, it was Theon.

"What do you want, Theon?" Robb asked, feeling irritated at the interruption. He wasn't in the mood for company right now.

"Woah, easy there," he said. "I just wanted to talk." Theon theatrically held up his hands in surrender.

Robb raised an eyebrow, skeptical. He didn't trust Theon as far as he could throw him when it came to emotional subjects. "About what?" he asked.

Theon shrugged. "About Lady Lucie, I suppose," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I noticed that things aren't going quite as smoothly as you'd hoped."

Robb bristled at Theon's words. "What are you getting at, Greyjoy?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Theon smirked. "I'm just saying," he said, "maybe you need to try a different approach."

"Like what?" Robb asked, feeling his frustration growing.

Theon stepped closer, his gaze intense. "Like being more assertive," he said, wiggling his brows. "Lucie wants a man who knows what he wants and goes after it. Not someone who dithers around, waiting for her to make all the moves."

Robb scowled. "And you think you know what Lucie wants?" he asked, incredulous.

Theon grinned. "I know what women want," he said, winking. "Trust me on this. Anyhow, Jon must be doing it right, she practically begged you to spend time with him before. Don't you want the same, for her to beg for you?"

Shaking his head, Robb bit his lip, feeling a mix of anger and amusement. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said, turning to walk away.

Theon grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Come on, Robb. Haven't you thought about it? Getting her to want you? And not in the darling sense, you know what I mean."

Robb yanked his arm away from Theon, disgusted. "You're sick, Greyjoy," he spat. "I would never force myself on a woman."

Theon just laughed. "Force? Oh, no, no, no. I'm not suggesting that at all," he said, his tone sly. "I'm suggesting that you let her get a taste of what you have to offer. Let her come to you. Give her a little taste of the forbidden fruit and watch her become putty in your hands."

Robb's stomach turned at Theon's words. It was vile, manipulative, and wrong. Lucie deserved better. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before speaking again. "I'm not going to take advice from you, Theon. I know how to treat a woman with respect," he said firmly.

Theon shrugged, still smirking. "Suit yourself," he said, turning to walk away. "But don't come crying to me when Jon steals her away. 'Oh Jon... fuck me Jon...'," he said, trying to imitate Lucie moaning, bursting out laughing.

Robb watched Theon's retreating form with disgust before turning to make his way back inside.

His fists clenched as he walked, thinking about how Lucie went to the library with Jon. He couldn't help it - he was jealous of Jon, and he knew that Lucie was special to him. As Robb continued his journey across the yard and towards Lucie's guest quarters, his heart raced with anticipation and dread. He knew it would be inappropratie of him to come to her chambers at night, yet... they were engaged, weren't they?

The old stone walls surrounding her quarters seemed like a physical wall between himself and Lucie - a reminder of his own unworthiness in comparison to Jon, a reminder of Theon's words. As if in answer to his doubts, Robb delivered one powerful punch into the wall before pushing open the creaky wooden door leading into Lucie's chambers. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside hesitantly; it felt like an intrusion of her privacy but also strangely familiar at the same time.

He noticed right away that there was no sign of Jon nor anyone else for that matter; just rows upon rows of books lined up neatly on shelves as if arranged by an obsessive librarian. It seemed almost too peaceful until Robb heard a faint noise coming from somewhere within the walls of bookshelves – it sounded like something soft rustling against parchment paper or maybe even fabric moving against skin... could it be?

He crept around the corner of a bookshelf and suddenly he froze as he realized what he was seeing. Lucie had fallen asleep beneath one of the bookshelves, lying on her back with one knee bent and with a large book opened on her chest. Her hair fanned out all around her, shining in the faint candlelight like tendrils of ink, her lips slightly parted in sleep and a peaceful expression etched into her features.

Robb's heart pounded as he looked upon Lucie's sleeping form; it felt almost surreal that such an image existed - something so beautiful yet so fragile at the same time. He wondered if Jon had ever seen Lucie this way before – with no care in the world besides for restful slumber. The thought made Robb feel strangely jealous as an image of Jon laying underneath Lucie shot through his mind.

He shook his head to dispel the thought; it wasn't right to allow such feelings to take over him like this...yet, here she was before him - beautiful, delicate and vulnerable. He stepped closer towards Lucie, unable to take his eyes away from her sleeping figure; surely it wouldn't be too wrong if he just admired her from a far?

Before he could react, Lucie noticed him and let out a shriek, dropping the book to the floor and quickly reaching for a nearby quill to weaponize. She stood up, trembling with surprise, eyeing Robb suspiciously as if she expected an attack from him.

Robb held up his hands innocently, trying to defuse the situation. "I'm sorry Lucie," he said urgently. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay - I heard strange noises coming from inside this room and it worried me." He gestured towards the scattered parchment scrolls on the floor, trying not to think about what exactly she had been doing inside this library in the middle of the night and why she had fallen asleep here instead of her luxurious bed.

Lucie's expression softened slightly at Robb's explanation, but it wasn't enough; she was still suspicious of his presence here and she wasn't ready to let her guard down yet. She took a step back and narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice laced with unease, fear and sleepiness.

Robb swallowed hard before answering her question; it was now or never. He took a deep breath then spoke softly: "I want you – I can see that Jon makes you happy and I want to know why. What is it about him that makes you so content? Why does my presence not bring you joy like his does?" As soon as he finished speaking Lucie gasped in shock and immediately charged forward, throwing a book at him.

He tried dodging it, yet it still hit him with great force into his chest, making him Tumble back.

“Because he doesn't compare himself to you! He is sincere! How dare you come into my chambers, late at night, only to ask me such stupid questions?!” Lucie fumed, grabbing a second book to throw at him.

Robb clutched his side and grimaced. “No need to throw a second one, Luce! I won't touch you, I swear.” He paused for a second and let out a breath. “I'm sincere as well.”

Narrowing her eyes, Lucie huffed and took a step away from him. “Then why don't you care?”

“Care about what?” Robb asked, glancing at her. She looked more angry than afraid. “I do care about you, you do make it difficult for me.”

A small tear slipped down Lucie's cheek as she lowered the book she was holding. “I came here, newly orphaned and all you cared about was to give me presents and pleasantries to shut me up. You only want me to marry and love you, which doesn't seem like you care a lot.”

“Well, I do love you! And I'd give you everything I can!” Robb retorted, a bit of anger flaring up. Why was she mad at him for giving her attention?

Lucie shook her head and threw the book angrily at the floor. “Alright. Then… then… if you know me that well, why won't you tell me what keeps me up at night? What robs me of my sleep?”

Opening and closing his mouth, Robb blushed and looked at the ground. She was right - he knew her sleep wasn't well, yet he never thought of questioning her. “I don't know, Luce.”

“See?” Lucie spat, walking closer to him. “You only know that I am to marry you and give you heirs. You know nothing about me. Jon does.”

Sighing, Robb rubbed his temples. “You've never told me. How can I know if you don't tell me?”

Lucie pushed her hands into her waist, stepping even closer to him. He felt her hot breath on his cold skin.

“You've never asked,” she muttered and stepped even closer, “and I doubt you'll understand.”

Following his instincts, Robb wrapped an arm around her wait and held her tight. “I… Luce, I care, I really do,” he muttered, looking down at her and wiping away a tear on her cheek. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Lucie, shockingly, wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled herself closer and hesitantly kissed him. “I know, Robb,” she muttered, lowering herself down again. “But… but… ah, forget it.”

She stepped away from him again, letting him go. “I should go to my chambers and you should rest. You'll… have to do things tomorrow. Don't let yourself be seen leaving my chambers.”

Everything within him spun as he tried suppressing a boyish grin. So she did like him…

“Yes, uh, I suppose I do.”

With that, he looked at her once again, before turning away to go to his own chambers. Gods…

#asas fics #asa writes #fanfiction #got #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #robb stark fluff #robb stark x oc #robb stark fanfic #robb stark smut #robb stark #jon snow fanfic #jon snow angst #jon snow smut #jon snow

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asa-writes · 2 months

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Dreams - 3 - Lucie

18+ MINORS DNI Jon Snow x F!OC / Robb Stark x F!OC Word Count: 2.3k Masterlist with Fic Warnings - Contains Death, SA and Abuse. Dividers by @cafekitsune

The ride had tangled her hair. Sitting in her tub, she energetically brushed her hair out, trying to get the soap into it. She had to be pretty for tonight’s feast - she had killed the main dish, she would be forced to talk to the Starks, accepting their praise.

Lord and Lady Stark didn’t bother her too much, she thought to herself as she submerged herself once more. They were a great Lord and his Lady - demure curtsies, bows and compliments, that much she could do, that is exactly what mother had taught her before her… death. She re-emerged again out of the water, trying to comb her hair out once more.

Her maid stood helplessly next to her, holding up a little flask of fragrant oil. “Milady, your hair is perfectly clean, you shall look lovely. Shall I dry it and oil it for you?”

No, I don’t look lovely. I must look like a mess, unacceptable… her mind told her. Lucie sighed and gave the girl a polite smile, her cheeks hurting from the false smile. “Yes, please.” She lifted her long hair, holding it up with one hand and roughly squeezing the water out with the other, before letting it hang out of the back of the tub for the maid to work on.

Trying to catch her train of thoughts again, she crossed her arms over her bare chest, trying to take in the heat of the water against the cold that seemed to permeate everything in this Castle. Ah, yes, being forced to talk to people, she remembered and shivered, looking out of the window at the flaming red foliage of the weirwood tree, which was half-hidden in the darkness and the fog that pulled up.

She didn’t mind Rickon, Bran and Arya at all, though they rarely spoke to her at dinner, as they sat further away, still being children. They were a cute bunch - playing with them was a delight, rescuing Lucie away from the repetitive days of waking up, embroidering and watching over the Stark girls, eating lunch, being entertained to a certain degree by Jon, Theon or Robb, eating dinner (though it mostly had been feasts for Lord Stark was the greatest Lord in the north and there had always been an occasion to be celebrated), then going to the library for a bit with Jon and sleeping.

The maid gently massaged her scalp, filling the room with the wonderful scent of peonies. Yes, peonies, just like her mother had worn. She had been delighted when she found out that the Starks had planted Peonies for her in their glass gardens. Delight. She had only ever truly been delighted when Jon was around, when he gave her attention, when he cared about her. But, to her chagrin, Lady Catelyn had him moved to a lower table to make space for her at the main, head table. She shivered again. Sitting between Robb and Theon, that was a personal hell for her.

“Are you cold Milady? Are you well?”, the maid asked, seeing Lucie’s goosebumps.

Lucie shook her head gently and gave her a smile, this time a bit more genuine. “No, not at all, it feels good when you do my hair, that is all.”

With that, Lucie returned to her contemplation. Theon had been a sleaze from the very start. Bragging about being a Greyjoy, about being an Iron Man, about his prowess and whatnot. He was like an annoying fly, though it was easy to swat him away, especially since she had hit him after he had tried kissing her. She remembers how his nose had bled and the way he had winced - she was sure that he wouldn’t dare touch her again, lest she fulfilled her threat of telling Lady Catelyn that he had tried to shame her. But Robb… something about him made her stomach twist, though most definitely not in the way it twisted when she was with Jon or the way it lurched when she was with Theon. He made her uneasy, showering her with presents and affection, when after all he had no clue who she was or if she even liked him. Though she had to stop and reflect - she didn't know him either.

Her thoughts were cut off by the maid standing up and curtsying. “Your hair is finished, my Lady. Shall I dress you now?”

Lucie blinked a few times and nodded, standing up and letting the water flow down her body. “Please do, thank you.”

The maid curtsied and brought forth a new shift and a luscious dark red dress, which was embroidered with pearls. Gently laying forth her stockings, she frowned as she looked for her garter-ribbons. “My lady, where is your second red ribbon?”

Lucie frowned and cocked her head to the side, stepping out of the tub and drying off. “I wouldn’t know, maybe I have lost it.”

Nodding, the maid walked back to her cloth-chest and pulled out two green ribbons. “Should green please my lady as well?”

Blushing, Lucie nodded. “No one is going to see them anyways.”

The maid, a girl a few years older than her, wiggled her brows. “Hm, someone will, sooner than later, my Lady.”

“Whatever do you mean?”, Lucie asked, afraid of what she had meant.

“That you have flowered long ago and almost everyone knows?”, the maid said nonchalantly, gently slipping the shift over Lucie's shoulders.

She gasped and gave the maid a confused look. “How… what do you mean?”

The maid smiled and shrugged. “I kept finding burnt pieces of rags in the fireplace, and the way you refused to bathe for some weeks. It made perfect sense so I… decided to tell Lady Stark, who has graciously allowed you to continue for a bit, probably so you may mourn your family’s passing properly. You can't continue for much longer, though, milady, you do look like a woman already, with the hair under your arms and between your legs, not to mention your growing chest. Lady Stark’s been pestering me endlessly.”

Lucie bit her lip and slipped into her outer gown. “I don't know why her Ladyship has been so graceful, but then again, I must thank her for giving me this… period of grace and not punishing me for hiding it. Though… I'm not sure if I'm ready to wed lord Robb.”

The maid gave her a polite smile. “He is a kind man and not too bad looking. There are certainly worse matches.”

Huffing, Lucie slipped in her big, golden earrings and gave the maid a calculating look. “Maybe you are right. I'll reward your discretion by making you my ladies maid, is that all right? I… have certain plans.”

Falling into a deep curtsy, the maid smiled. “Thank you, thank you, milady. Does that mean… you shall accept my lord's proposal?”

“Oh, he hasn't proposed yet,” Lucie said with a calculating expression, brushing her eyebrows into shape, “that is why I shall do it in his stead.”

The maid raised her eyebrows and gulped, as if afraid of that proposition. “If… Uh… Whatever my lady wishes to do.”

Lucie nodded with a small smile and dismissed her, throwing her thick cape over her shoulders and walked out of her lodgings into the courtyard. Nestled within the heart of the Winterfell, the courtyard lay blanketed by winter’s embrace. The flagstones, once warmed by the sun’s caress, now bore the cold kiss of snow.

Gothic spires reached towards the heavy grey skies like the fingers of the old kings of the north, as icy winds howled through the arches and crevices of the ancient stone, whispering the secrets of a thousand years. Winter had sequestered all warmth from the castle grounds, but none could deny the beauty it brought.

Lucie’s breath crystalized before her as she stood alone amidst the wintry oasis, her figure a ghostly apparition against the snowy canvas. Swirls of white danced around her, a tumultuous waltz courtesy of the wind. She was clad in a mantle of black fur, the heavy garment a necessary shield against the biting chill. Her dark brown hair, a stark contrast to the pallor of the snow, escaped in unruly strands from beneath her hood and out of her braids, rebellious against attempts to tame them.

Her countenance, usually so fair and composed, was etched with the quiet turmoil brewing within her mind. Lucie's thoughts swirled much like the snowflakes that surrounded her, each one a silent question about her impending betrothal. Dark black eyes, reflecting the winter sky, gazed unseeingly at the frosted battlements. She felt small, cornered by fate and the high walls which, today, seemed not protective, but prison-like.

To marry Robb meant security and alliance. For her, it spelled prosperity and continuation. She knew the importance of such ties, woven into the fabric of her duty as Lady Templeton. But as the howling wind careened past her, it carried whispers not just of snow, but of freedom—of wild woods and adventures untold, of destinies not defined by vows or decrees. Where once her heart had fluttered with the prospect of a ball or tournament, it now felt shackled to the ground, heavy with the weight of responsibility.

Yet, Lucie understood the role she had to play, and the expectations that came with her birthright. She would stand by Robb’s side, a figure of grace and strength, as much a part of the castle as the stones that had weathered centuries. Her only ray of light was… Jon. With a sigh that turned to ice, she turned away from the courtyard, leaving only the faintest imprint in the snow—a silent testimony to her presence and her thoughts upon the cold, indifferent ground.

As soon as she stepped into the great Hall, the familiar warmth and smells rushed over her. The herald quickly stood up and cleared his throat. “Her Ladyship Lucie Templeton of Ninestars.” Capturing Lord and Lady Stark’s gazes, she dipped into a quick curtsy and walked over to the main table, giving Jon a gentle smile as she sat down.

Robb gave her a smile and pointed to the end of the table. “Your deer was so big, they still have to turn it over the spit. Might I offer you some steak and kidney pie, Lady Lucie?”, he asked, his voice strangely husky. He looked ruggedly handsome, that much Lucie had to admit.

“That is most kind of you, my lord,” she muttered and glanced down at Jon, who gave her a soft nod. She returned his nod, making her earrings jangle. “I trust you had a good afternoon, my lord,” she said to Robb, trying her hardest to smile. Robb poured her some wine and nodded gently, his eyes sparkling. “It was very good, my Lady, especially knowing that we would be spending time with each other so soon again. Might I tell you that you look very good tonight?”

She quickly hid behind her chalice, taking a few quick gulps, not knowing what to reply to him. No, she told herself, don’t give in to him. Don’t let him think you can be toyed with. “Thank you, Lord Robb. I must also thank you for your heirloom. I… I must apologise for not telling you earlier but… I look forward to our future betrothal.”

His eyebrows shot up and he frantically looked towards his parents, then to Jon but everyone returned his confused look. Lucie blushed awkwardly. That wasn’t so bad, she thought calmly to herself, though almost shrieked as Robb took her cold hands and kissed them, before standing up with a huge grin. Oh no, please, don’t make a toast, for the love of all of the gods, please, her mind screamed as she tried her hardest to catch Jon’s gaze, but to her terror he looked down onto his plate, pointedly looking away. “I am honoured to announce my betrothal to Lady Lucie Templeton! Let us drink to her health!”, he roared, pride evident on his face.

Lucie felt faint. The minor lords and ladies, along with the servants roared and cheered, downing their cups. She gave Robb a small faint look and quickly sat back down again. What just happened? Was he out of his mind? Did he misunderstand her? She said future betrothal, she was so sure that she said future betrothal!

Her heart pounded in her chest, the cheers of the crowd a deafening roar in her ears. She remembered the feeling of the snowflakes swirling around her, and how it had made her feel so small and insignificant. Now, she realised that she had never felt so small as she did in that moment.

Robb’s hand had moved to her back, and she could feel the heat of his touch through the fur of her mantle. She took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. It was too late to take back her words, and she knew that she would have to live with the consequences of her choice.

As the cheering died down, she looked up to see Jon staring at her with an expression of hurt and betrayal. She felt a pang of guilt in her chest, but knew that she couldn’t change what had been done. She lifted her chin and met his gaze steadily, silently pleading with him to understand.

The feast continued on around her, but Lucie felt as though she were in a dream. She moved through the motions mechanically, barely aware of the food on her plate or the conversation around her. All she could think of was the weight of Robb’s hand on her back, and the knowledge that she had tied herself to him for life. I will be Lady Lucie Stark, wife of the future Lord Stark, mother of his children, what on earth have I done.

#asas fics #fanfiction #asa writes #jon snow x oc #jon snow fanfic #jon snow angst #jonsnow #jon snow smut #jon snow #robbstarkxoc #robb stark fluff #robb stark x oc #robb stark fanfic #robb stark smut

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Dreams - 2 - Robb

18+ MINORS DNI Jon Snow x F!OC / Robb Stark x F!OC Word Count: 2.5k Masterlist with Fic Warning Dividers by @cafekitsune

Robb stood between Lucie's Stallion and the stables, feeling the animal's power radiating off its body. It was a wild beast, unbridled and untamed, restlessly tugging at its reins and pawing at the ground anxiously; its muscles tensed up like iron springs ready to be released at any second. He'd imagined Lucie to be the same, back when she arrived, though he was surprised to find she was… well, intimidatingly distant.

It wasn’t such a surprise when his mother had taken him aside after Lucie’s arrival, telling him that she had chosen her to be his bride. After all, it did make perfect sense. She was very, very wealthy - all of her family's lands, titles and incomes were now hers, or rather, to be his, soon. She was a beauty - petite, fierce and dark - she looked like a Stark already, able to give him a lot of Stark heirs. He hadn’t objected - there were worse options for him and from the first time she had rejected him, he felt something stirring in him. He loved her strong will, her defiant nature, though he would’ve liked her to show it in other ways than rejecting him over and over, yet saying that she didn’t mind him and liked him.

"Will she be coming soon? I can’t keep on holding the beast for much longer," he grunted as the stallion strained once more, almost pushing Robb away. Jon only shrugged and pointedly looked away, a certain weirdness mixing into his stoicism.

He noticed the sudden oddness of his friend's behaviour as of late, especially when around Lucie. It was strange to Robb that two would act so close – he'd expected her to never leave Sansa's side. Though, he thought, maybe she just needed someone to replace her father, as a helping hand. Yes, that would be it, most probably.

Women sure were a confusing matter for him.

"Aye, she’s just trying to shake Theon off," Jon mumbled and mounted his horse, avoiding Robb's gaze. Robb smiled and shook his head. "Gods, he is desperate. Let us hope she can shake him off like she does everyone else."

Lucie stormed out of the Keep, her eyes ablaze as Theon scrambled to keep up with her. “My lady, if beauty were wildfire, you could set Westeros ablaze and no one would blame you! Your, uhm, hips, they are divine and I…”, Theon yapped over and over, always trying his hardest to reach for Lucie’s hand, which she pulled back, time after time.

Her feet pounded against the muddy courtyard as she strode to where her stallion waited. The breeze whipped her braids from side to side as she marched with fervent determination, pulling on her leather gloves. Robb stood nearby, a warm smile spreading across his face as he stepped forward to kiss her hand.

Lucie snatched away the reins from him, barely granting him a glance before leaping onto the horse's back. She looked down at him from atop the beast, her voice low and icy. "Lord Robb," she said in a taut voice, "what a pleasure it is."

Robb gave her an awkward smile. He wished that it would be a pleasure for her. Jon always told him how Lucie liked him, how she was looking forward to their mutual hunts and rides out, yet every time Robb spoke to her, it seemed like Lucie would rather flee across the Wall and become a wildling than give him a smile or a courteous compliment. It gnawed on him, it really did. He swung himself onto his saddle and sighed quietly, before riding out of the gate, Lucie, Jon and Theon following him closely.

As they rode deeper into the forest, Robb couldn't help but notice how Lucie's body moved with the horse's every stride. Her thighs were strong and toned, and he had to consciously stop himself from staring for too long. He wondered what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, to feel her body pressed against his. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts from his mind. He knew he shouldn't be thinking such impure things about a lady, especially one as formidable as Lucie.

The group came upon a clearing, and Robb signalled for them to halt. He dismounted from his horse and gestured for Lucie to do the same. She complied, sliding off her stallion's back in one swift movement. Robb couldn't help but be impressed by her grace and skill. He walked over to her, a small smile on his lips.

"Lady Lucie, I have to say, you are quite skilled on horseback," he said, his voice soft.

Lucie's eyes flashed with a hint of something unreadable. "Thank you, Lord Robb," she replied curtly, though with the faintest hint of a smile.

Robb stepped closer to her, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her skin was soft to the touch, and he had to resist the urge to pull her close and kiss her. Instead, he leaned in and whispered in her ear. "I know you do not feel the same way about me as I do about you, but Mother had told me that most couples have a rocky start. Now, I won't bother you with anything too romantic... But Jon had told me of your wish for a stronger, larger bow. I had one made for you, my Lady, carved your favourite flowers on it, too, in my spare time."

Lucie's eyes widened in surprise as Robb produced the bow from his saddlebag. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, made of dark wood and adorned with delicate carvings of her favourite wildflowers. She reached out to take it from him, her fingers brushing against his as she did. Robb could feel his heart racing in his chest as he watched her examine the bow, admiring the fine details of the carvings.

"Lord Robb, this is... it's a wonderful gift," Lucie said, her voice softening a bit. "I don't know what to say."

Robb grinned, feeling a sense of pride at having pleased her. "Just say that you'll use it well, my Lady. I'd love to see you hunt with it."

Lucie looked up at him, her eyes bright, her eyes glinting cheekily. "I promise I will, Lord Robb. Thank you. Maybe I shall be the only one with success today."

Robb felt a mix of emotions as Lucie spoke. He wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and content, but he knew that it meant sometimes holding back his own desires. He was sure that Lucie would only open up to him if he showed her loyalty and dedication, but something about the way she had interacted with Jon made Robb's heart flutter, in the worst way possible.

Was there something between them? No, he told himself, it must just be his imagination. Jon would never betray him and Lucie had never been one for physical contact, not even with Sansa or Arya - or their direwolves. But still, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he was being too territorial. After all, they were almost engaged to be married — all they were waiting for was for Lucie to announce the start of her menses.

Robb shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as they resumed their hunt. He couldn't let himself be consumed by jealousy and insecurity. He had to focus on being the best lord and future husband he could be for Lucie.

As they rode through the forest, he watched her closely, admiring the way she handled her bow and arrow with ease and precision. A deer burst from between the shadows of the trees like a ghost, and Lucie responded in a flash. Her teeth grabbed hold of her reins as she raised her bow, drawing back an arrow with lightning quickness, all while expertly manoeuvring her horse with her thighs like a Dothraki trained warrior.

Robb watched in awe as she released the arrow, and it shot through the air with deadly accuracy, finding its mark in the heart of the deer. The animal fell to the ground with a heavy thump as Lucie grinned victoriously, turning to Jon with an expectant expression on her face.

"See? I told you I could do it! And since you didn't believe me, you owe me a honeyed cake," she said teasingly, and Jon rolled his eyes playfully before hopping down from his horse to help Theon tie up the legs of the deer so they could carry it back home. Honeyed Cake? They liked the same sweets, he noted to himself. That might be a useful way to get to her. Though the bow seemed to make her happy as well. His mind whirred, trying to think of every possible scenario to try and convince Lucie into spending time with him.

Robb slowly guided his horse towards her, captivated by her effortless display of skill. His admiration for her was growing stronger with each passing second. "Your accuracy is unparalleled, my Lady," he noted with genuine awe and respect. Not only that, but the precision with which she ended the life of her victim must have taken years of knowledge and dedication to perfect.

There was no doubt in Robb's mind that she was an expert at what she did - a true huntress.

Lucie looked up at him, her dark eyes sparkling, though there was still no smile on her small, round face. "Thank you, Lord Robb. I owe it all to your wonderful gift."

"I'm glad that you like it," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up, trying his hardest not to grin like a fool. "But I have another gift for you, if you'll allow me."

Lucie raised an eyebrow, her voice somewhere between gratitude and mockery. "Another gift? Lord Robb, you flatter me too much. Would you wish to give me a docile, fat pony again?"

Behind them, tying up the deer, Theon barked with laughter and Jon shook his head, trying to hide his grin.

Robb chuckled, shaking his head. "No, I think you'll like this gift much more. It's something that I think you'll truly appreciate." He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. He handed it to her, watching as she opened it slowly. Inside the box was a necklace, a fine chain of silver with a small pendant crafted in the shape of a wolf's head. The eyes of the wolf were two sparkling rubies that shone in the sunlight.

Lucie gasped, her wide eyes locked onto him, her mouth opening and closing as if she struggled to find the right words. "Lord Robb, it's beautiful, but... I... um..." she mumbled, gently patting her horse's neck as it nervously neighed. The beast truly is formidable, he thought, observing its nervous whinnies beneath her. He wouldn't be surprised if it had taken the lives of men with its strong hooves.

Robb smiled at her, watching as she lifted the necklace out of the box and put it on. "I'm glad you like it, my Lady. It's a traditional Stark family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. I thought it would look lovely on you, my bride to be." Lucie bowed her head, her lips a thin line. "I am deeply thankful, Lord Robb," she said in a measured tone, putting it on. There was nothing in her expression, no emotion to be seen.

Nevertheless, Robb remained undeterred. He felt a surge of determination at her words, resolved to demonstrate to Lucie that he was the most suitable and singular individual capable of providing her with the life she deserved. However, he was fully aware that it would require considerable time and unwavering effort to inspire in her the same depth of affection that he felt for her. It was his greatest desire - one he begged the gods to grant: Please, let Lucie fall madly in love with me.

Lucie rode away from him, whispering something to Jon, who gave Robb a pained, yet encouraging smile as Lucie galloped into Winterfell, away from them all.

“Do you think that it was too soon?” Robb nervously asked his brother, keeping his eyes on Lucie’s figure, her cape and hair billowing behind her as she rode away from them. It did seem that even though she had thanked him, she tried to escape him, almost as if the thought of being his future wife disgusted her.

Jon, holding the deer in place, shrugged slightly, panting lightly. “I don’t know, Robb. She doesn’t hate you, that much I’m sure of.”

“She hates everyone, Snow, she’s an icicle,” Theon said with a grin. “Though I suppose it is nice to be cooled down once in a while.”

Robb gave him an annoyed look. “I know for a fact she doesn’t like you, Greyjoy. If you continue trying to charm her, I think she’ll strike you.”

To that, Jon laughed boisterously. Robb shifted in his saddle and tried his best to look into the courtyard, yet couldn’t see her anymore, she must’ve run back to her chambers, to change into her proper evening attire.

He surely wouldn’t have liked her if she wouldn’t have rebuffed Theon but then again, she had rebuffed him as well, he thought, nervously chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Did she turn you away as well, Jon?”, Robb asked, his voice wavering slightly, his chest tightening.

He saw Jon frowning, the edges of his mouth twitching. They passed over the drawbridge and came to a halt in the courtyard, some servant grabbing the deer and heaving it over to the kitchens. They dismounted, Robb and Theon giving Jon their horses to brush and take care of.

Robb gave Jon a dark look, grabbing his shoulder. “Jon, please tell me she turned you down as well.” He really liked Jon, he did, though if he had the gall to charm Lucie and not tell him about it, he’d punch him without hesitation.

Jon gave him a bashful look. “I never… I never approached her that way, so she never had to turn me down. I swear, Robb, she’s like a little sister to me, like Arya.”

Robb examined him from head to toe, then offered a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I appreciate your understanding. Please, share with me... What does she confide in you? Does she hold any regard for me?" His gaze shifted to the Keep, where his mother was likely observing them from above. “I want to… make her feel like she has a choice, before Mother comes and… tells her. I know that it has already been decided, but…,” his voice trailed off. He knew they would marry one way or the other, but he’d rather her with a smile on her face rather than having her dragged to the weirwood.

Jon guided their mounts into the stables, grabbing a brush, avoiding Robb's gaze. “She confides nothing interesting and yes, she does hold a great regard for you. It’s the honorable thing to do. I’m sure she’ll warm up to you.”

Robb huffed and looked at the guest lodgings, his legs itching to go and walk over to Lucie, yet he knew that wouldn’t be proper. There had to be a way to get to know her, not as Lady Lucie Templeton, but as Lucie, his betrothed. Lucie, his future wife. The strong, willful, huntress that gave competitive smirks. He had to act soon.

#asas fics #fanfiction #asa writes #jon snow #jon snow angst #jon snow fluff #jon snow smut #robb stark #robb stark angst #robb stark x oc #robb stark fanfic #robb stark smut #jon snow fanfic

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asa-writes · 2 months

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Dreams - 1 - Jon

18+ MINORS DNI Jon Snow x F!OC / Robb Stark x F!OC Word Count: 3.8k Masterlist with Fic Warnings - contains Death, SA and Abuse. Dividers by @cafekitsune

It had always been relatively crowded in Winterfell when it came to the Stark family, Jon noted. At first it was Lord Eddard, Lady Stark and Robb, followed by him, Theon Greyjoy, Sansa, Bran, Arya, Rickon… and Lucie. They had been a rag-tag band of kids, playing, hitting and chasing each other. Theon had gladly joined their games, yet he, along with Sansa quickly realised that Jon wasn't a Stark - he was a half brother at best and a Bastard at worst.

Yet Lucie had never really been a part of the group, yet she was always there to prevent things from getting out of hand. Everyone had given him respect when she was present. She was a key player in maintaining an atmosphere of harmony. Looking up at her from his distant seat at dinner, he thought back to the day where she had joined them. Father had told them a few weeks before that they were going to have a new ward; her family had sadly passed away and he graciously allowed her to be taken in with them until she came of age soon.

Lady Lucie Templeton of Ninestars, a distinguished Lady of the Vale. A title befitting her remarkable poise and presence. Jon had envisioned her as resembling an older iteration of Sansa: statuesque, elegant, and, above all, exuding an air of haughtiness and subtle aloofness towards him.

He knew he would forever remember her arrival; gallantly riding into Winterfell astride her untamed black stallion. As her lengthy ebony locks billowed behind her in the wind, she fearlessly surged through the gates on her steed. Dismounting with the finesse of a seasoned warrior, she strode confidently in his direction. All those present, Jon included, involuntarily retreated to afford her space, captivated by her awe-inspiring presence. Noticing his stare, she quickly glanced over at him and caught his eye before turning away and exchanging greetings with Lord and Lady Stark. He was struck dumb by how commanding yet beautiful she was in that moment—her dark black eyes glowing with life despite the dire situation she had come from. Using his newfound courage — because only a fool wouldn’t be afraid in her presence — he managed to stammer out a few words of greeting which she returned warmly before moving on to meet the rest of the family. It hadn’t taken too long for Jon to recognize that Lucie wasn't like anyone else he had ever met; even the Starks seemed impressed by her strength and poise (though they masked it well). But despite being adopted into this strange new world, Lucie still held onto an air of confidence and self-assurance that made even Jon feel small next to her.

He watched her with a critical eye, noting the way Robb and Theon stared at her with rapt attention, despite her meek and unassuming attempt at conversation. Instead of commanding the room as was expected of her, she averted her gaze and twiddled her fingers nervously while speaking in a barely audible whisper.

Jon had taken such care to make her feel welcome, in those days. He showed her the way around Winterfell, whenever she got lost again, and even taught her to pray to the old gods. Lady Catelyn scolded him for that - Lucie had grown up in the shadow of the Seven, the new Gods. Robb had gone out of his way to try and make her feel comfortable. He offered her a seat by the fire in the Great Hall while he fed her lessons on battles and strategy, noting that Lucie was a fast learner - able to keep up with him even as he tried to pummel her with facts. Theon, though never one for charity, seemed more enthralled by Lucie than any of them. Mostly because Lucie wasn't the type to laugh at his bad jokes or take part in his pranks - she was always too busy trying to stay one step ahead of everyone else in terms of knowledge.

Jon smiled fondly at his memories; he had been so sure that Lady Lucie would be like Sansa - aloof and haughty. Instead, she had become a dear friend and family member who could hold her own when needed - serving as an equal rather than a subordinate. It was amazing how someone so young could possess such depth and strength — something Jon admired greatly about her.

As the last plate was cleared, he glanced at Lucie and saw her weary eyes plead for solace. It had become a ritual - every night after dinner, while the others scurried off to their beds, she would stay in the library with him. They talked quietly about her struggles and sorrows as she clutched an aged book in her hands and the tears ran like rain down her face. On her first day, when everyone else had gone to bed, she asked meekly if she could stay up and read in the library. Septa Mordane attempted to bar her from doing so, but with one pained glance at Lord Eddard, her request was granted, albeit only if someone stayed with her. Together they walked into the library and he felt nothing but pity and sadness for this brave little girl who had trusted him since the first time they had gone to talk.

Robb had tried to console the girl, yet after several unsuccessful attempts he asked for Jon's help. “Jon, nothing I said could get through to her. I offered her a pony, flowers and new gowns, but she told me to go away. What’s wrong with her? She won’t tell me anything. Should I tell Septa Mordane or my mother?” His face was pale as he ran his hand through his hair anxiously.

Jon crept back to the library, his leather belt clattering against his legs as he walked. “Robb, don't try to console her. She’s in mourning for her family and her home. I think you might scare her. Let me handle this.” Robb nodded acknowledgement and Jon entered the library, quietly shutting the door behind him. Lucie was hunched near the window, sobbing away. Robb was right, Jon thought painfully; he could hear her muffled sobs and it made his heart ache for her. All he wanted was for her to feel some sense of comfort again.

Sitting down next to her, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. She looked up and sighed, wiping her tears and closed her worn book. “Please don’t tell me all will be fine and for the love of… of the Gods, don’t offer me a damned pony”, she muttered and sniffed.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You have a fine steed yourself, I don’t see the need for you to have a pony”, he said matter-of-factly and shifted in his seat, offering her a rag to blow her nose.

Lucie looked up at him, her dark eyes reddened by the tears. Tentatively blowing her nose, she sighed and tucked her feet under herself, hiding them under her lavish skirts. “So I take it you are Jon Snow.”

He sighed, knowing that what would follow would be her acknowledgement of his status as a Bastard. He knew it all too well; Lady Catelyn had probably told her of that, prior to her arrival. She looked so young, so maybe he could still forgive her. “Indeed I am, Lady Lucie.”

She frowned, gently furrowing her thick, dark brows, patting the tears away from her reddened cheeks. “Why do you look like… Like I hurt you?”

Jon was baffled. She did not care about his mother, then. He might just start liking her. He gave her a small smile. “Oh, I... uhm…” His words, whatever they would’ve been, were stuck in his throat. “That is my mistake, my Lady. I meant no offence.”

“You are a peculiar man”, she noted, biting her lip and putting the book to the side. “How could you offend me with your face? I think it is a fine one, I have seen worse.”

A big blush crept up his cheeks. “I… My lady, I… Thank you.” Silence spread between them. “May I ask why you wished to go into the library and not just to your chambers?”

Now it was Lucie’s turn to blush, though it seemed more in shame than in bashfulness. “That’s where my mother used to read to me and where we wrote before retiring to our chambers. I know, I know, it sounds childish, I should act like a Lady, but…” Tears welled up in her eyes again and spilled onto her dress.

With a nervous look, she stood up and sat down next to him, resting her head against his shoulder, crying quietly. Jon decided not to probe, instead looking at the booklet. It didn’t belong to the Stark’s library - it must’ve been one of her own, titled ‘You shall be the best Lady.’ He hugged her, holding her gently, for the longest time, until her tears subsided and her breath became calm once more. Sniffling, she gently broke free from his hug and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Jon. I… shall retire now, I think.” To which he nodded, escorting her to her chamber.

Jon watched Lucie's figure slowly fade away down the hallway as darkness crept in, just like it had one year ago at the very same spot. But something was different about her tonight. She seemed stronger, more confident; as if she was hiding something from him. Should he confront her? He thought back to their conversations and noticed that she had been silent about what was going on with her life lately. He began to worry that maybe she had found out his secret - that terrible, shameful secret about how he touched himself late at night when no one would ever know. The mere thought sent a chill down Jon's spine. She couldn't know, nobody could, it'd be the end of him.

He was entranced by the way Lucie had looked at him, with those mysterious dark eyes that seemed to know what he was feeling. Part of him wanted to believe that she felt something for him too- after all, he was the only one she allowed to spend time with her. But then there were moments when he couldn't help but feel that his own longing for her was deluding himself into seeing signs where there were none. He wished he could make sense of what she thought of him, but as of yet he still could not unravel the complex of feelings between them. Hells, he couldn't unravel his own thoughts, after all.

As he made his way back to his own chambers, he found himself lost in thought, replaying their conversation over and over in his mind. Lucie babbled something about Sansa's lady-friend crying and Arya asking her to train mounted shooting and, as always, Septa Mordane's question about her blood, which to her chagrin had still not come.

Jon couldn't comprehend why she felt so mortified by her own coming of age. She was now an adult at the ripe age of five-and-ten; why did this cause her such humiliation? Though he could somehow understand what she was implying, that everything associated with becoming a full woman was linked to... carnal passions.

He stopped walking for a second, remembering the redness of her cheeks as she talked about it. He shook his head and continued on his way, not wanting to dwell on it any longer. He didn't want to assume anything – that was only a recipe for disaster and disappointment.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice the figure standing in the shadows until it was too late.

A hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his cry of surprise. He struggled against the grip, but the person holding him was much stronger than he expected. Panic set in as he realised he was being dragged away, the darkness swallowing him whole. When they finally stopped, Jon was disoriented and confused. He tried to shake the cobwebs off of his head, but it was difficult to focus with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight of his bedchamber, but when they did he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Lucie stood before him, blushing and wiping off the sweat from her brow, her hair undone and cascading over her shoulders in waves. She was clad in a simple cotton gown, the kind that the maids wore. Jon felt his heart skip a beat as he suddenly realised what was happening. He was afraid to speak, afraid that if he did, it would shatter the moment and she would disappear like a dream.

"Lucie?" he said confused, his voice cracking. “What on earth?!”

She grinned at him, the candlelight casting a warm glow across her face as she tried fixing the cloak around herself again. "I'm sorry for this… unconventional method. I thought that this would be the safest way to be truly alone with you because... I want to talk to you. Without Lady Catelyn spying."

Jon felt his throat tighten as he stammered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you or hurt you." He gulped and tried to swallow back the lump in his throat. How could he feel this way? He definitely shouldn't feel anything for Lucie as she wrestled him into his room, but there was something thrilling and forbidden about it. It wasn't like Robb or Theon playing a joke on him - this moment was different. Even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help himself.

She tilted her chin up at him, her glossy black hair cascading down her back. Her voice was firm and determined as she spoke. "No, I'm not angry. I want to know what it's like, Jon. What people do when they become intimate with one another. No one ever told me these things, but I trust you. Please tell me what it feels like, what am I supposed to do and how much does it hurt?"

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. This was wrong - he knew that - yet he couldn't find the strength to deny her. The drive she had to learn more overshadowed her usual innocence, and there was something in that blazing gaze of hers that made it impossible for him to turn her away.

"Lucie, I don't think-"

"Please," she interrupted, taking a step closer to him. "I trust you, Jon. I know you won't lie to me. No one wanted to tell me and... I'm..." her voice faltered and she nervously bit her lip, sitting down on the foot of his bed, gently scratching Ghost between his fluffy ears. "I feel tens of thousands of things, most of all fear and... I trust you to help me."

Jon's heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a million thoughts at once. He knew that what Lucie was asking was wrong, that he shouldn't be indulging her curiosity in this way. But still, he couldn't deny the pull he felt towards her. It was as if a part of him had been waiting for this moment, for her to come to him with her questions and her fears.

He took a deep breath and stepped closer to her, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Lucie, I can't teach you those things," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's not right. You're too young, and it's not... it's not something that should be taken lightly."

Her pupils widened with shock and she gave him an awkward, confused glance. "But why?" she questioned, her voice wavering slightly. "I thought... I thought we had established an atmosphere of trust, considering all I've shared with you."

Jon's heart lurched as he heard the pain in Lucie's voice. He did care for her deeply, far more than he should. But that didn't change the fact that what she was suggesting was both dangerous and wrong.

Taking a shaky step back, he shook his head sadly. "Lucie, you don't know what you're asking of me," he said quietly. "It's not something I can take back once it's done, and it's a decision that should only be made with someone you truly love and whom you plan to spend your life with. You know we can never marry... You are a highborn Lady and I am just..." His tongue stumbled over the word he wanted to say, knowing that even a whisper of his parentage had the power to shatter their moment.

Lucie stared at him for a long moment, her sharp eyes zigzagging across his face like she was searching for something he couldn't place. Then she let out an awkward laugh and touched his shoulder with tenderness. She adjusted herself under her nightgown, probably trying to hide the embarrassment that came with their misunderstanding.

"Oh Jon! I only wanted you to talk me through it, not show me!" She said in between giggles as she planted a gentle peck on his stubbly cheek. "You are so imaginative," Biting her lip, she looked away before continuing: "What do you think I am? A hungry harlot looking for prey?" With a suppressed smile, she raised an eyebrow waiting for his response, her cheeks ablaze.

Jon couldn't help but let out a small laugh at her words, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "No, no, of course not, Lucie," he said, feeling relieved that she didn't expect more from him. He wanted her to... have flowered, he wanted them to have kissed, he wanted it to be less... dangerous, to be more romantic.

"I'm sorry, I just... I didn't want to disappoint you. I know how important this is to you, but it's not something I can do. Yet, at least. I don't want to lie... I uh..." The heat shot straight back into his head. "I have only ever talked about it, I've yet to... lie with someone." Because I am saving myself for you, I want you, only you, Lucie... the thoughts whirred in his head.

She nodded, her expression softening. "Oh, I understand then," she said quietly, clearly unhappy with his response. "I just... I feel so lost sometimes. There's so much I don't know, so much I'm not allowed to know. And I'm afraid... afraid of being alone forever. I... I mean, yes, I will be married soon and we both know who it will be with a high probability, but..."

As Jon gazed into her eyes, her vulnerability tugged at his heartstrings. He knew he couldn't leave her feeling like this; she deserved better than that. So, he inched closer and sat down on the bed beside her. "You'll never be alone, Lucie," he whispered softly as he took her hand in his. "I'll always have your back no matter what happens. And someday, the man who's meant for you will come into your life." He thought about Robb, and how he owed it to him to let Lucie go. It was selfish of him to keep her to himself. Besides, he couldn't even tell if she liked him or not - it was probably all in his head.

With a mix of gratitude and sadness, he knew that there was no going back from this moment. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, which smelled wonderfully of peonies, and she closed her eyes, her arms tightening around his waist. For a moment, they sat there in silence, lost in their own thoughts and feelings, until he pulled away, breaking the moment.

"I should get some rest," he mumbled, trying to guess the time. "You should too, we are to hunt tomorrow."

Lucie shifted back into her old, sad self and gave him a tired smile. "Of course. I wouldn't want Robb and Theon to think that I don't want to see them. It's... uhm, I'm sorry to have bothered you, Jon. I promise it won't happen again." She got up and tied her cloak around her shoulders. "I'm bringing you in dangerous situations, you know, being alone with you and then overstepping your boundaries. I'm... sorry,", she mumbled.

'No, you haven't! Please don't leave!', shot through Jon's mind, yet he knew he couldn't, it was wrong. It was shameful and... he didn't want to project his feelings and his lust onto her, so he gave her a small, sad smile.

As Lucie turned to leave, Jon couldn't help but watch her walk away, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips. When she stood up, a bright flash of red silk slipped out from under her nightgown; the ribbon that held her stockings around her pale, supple thighs. He knew it was wrong to think of it, of her, in that way, but he couldn't help it. She was so beautiful, so pure, and so unreachable. He wanted her, desperately.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. It was wrong, so wrong. He had to push those feelings aside, for both their sakes. He couldn't risk ruining the delicate balance they had between them. So, he took a deep breath, laying back on the bed. His thoughts drifted to the memory of Lucie's lost ribbon, the image of her silky stockings and smooth skin replaying in his mind. He felt himself growing hard again, and he knew what he had to do.

He closed his eyes and let his hand wander down to his growing erection, imagining it was Lucie's small, delicate hand instead. He stroked himself slowly, feeling his heartbeat quicken as he thought of her. He pictured her beautiful face, the curve of her lips, the arch of her eyebrows, her sharp, sparkling eyes. He imagined her soft, warm skin, her supple thighs, her tight, wet cunny.

As he continued to stroke himself, he let out a low moan, his body writhing with pleasure. He fantasised about Lucie being with him, touching him, kissing him, and eventually, making love to him. He imagined her moaning his name, her body trembling with ecstasy.

He stroked himself faster, his breathing growing ragged as his body approached the peak of pleasure. He moaned louder, his hand moving faster and faster until he finally exploded, spilling his hot seed all over his stomach. As he lay there, panting and sweating, he knew he had to get his feelings for Lucie under control. He couldn't let his lust for her ruin the special bond they shared. But at the same time, he couldn't stop himself from fantasising about her. She was just too beautiful, too alluring, too... perfect.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling his body slowly calming down. He knew he had a lot to think about, a lot to figure out. But for now, he just needed to rest. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep, his mind full of thoughts of Lucie.

#asas fics #fanfiction #asa writes #jon snow #jon snow fanfic #jon snow angst #jon snow smut #robb stark fluff #robb stark x oc #robb stark fanfic #robb stark smut #jon snow x oc #au #alternative universe #got #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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asa-writes · 3 months

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The rainbow trout

Robb Stark x Frey Reader 18 + MINORS DNI WC: 5,1k Warnings: forced marriage, mentions death, alcohol, dubcon, angst

You knew you weren't his first choice. You also knew what would happen, should Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, not accept your hand, so you did everything in your power to convince him to marry anyone of your female relatives. You sent him coded messages, diguised yourself and warned his pregnant lady... You did everything in your might to persuade him.

That was why it hurt you even more that when he came to the Twins and told you all to stand in a big semi circle ordered by your ages - you stood almost at the farthest end, having only just flowered - and he walked over to your aunts and older cousins, all past the ages of five and twenty. Everything within you itched to call out to him - King of the North, 'tis I who saved you!

But Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, was a man known for his honor and duty. He gave each woman a polite nod, exchanged pleasantries and, with a hint of discomfort in his eyes, moved along the line. You watched him as he went from your eldest aunt, Lady Amarei, a stout woman with greying hair and a face that had lost the battle with age long ago; to your cousin Alyx, then onto Waldene and Wylda - all older than you by several years and already mothers to their own broods, though you supposed it was pleasing for him to see their fertility.

The air in the Great Hall was thick with expectation as the Young Wolf made his way down the line of eligible Frey women. The flickering light from the hundreds of candles gave an ethereal glow to the scene, casting dancing shadows along stone walls adorned with the ancient heraldry of House Frey. The wheels of your father's great wooden chair creaked as he shifted his weight, watching his potential son-in-law examine his flock.

As Robb Stark drew closer to you, your heart pounded in your chest. Despite your best efforts to maintain decorum, your hands were clammy against the lush fabric of your dress. When he finally stood before you, his azure eyes met yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. His face was unreadable; he made no comments about your youth or offered any compliments as he had done for some of your relatives.

He nodded once before moving on to your younger sister - a girl who barely even knew how to keep her hair out of her soup bowl - and then carried on down the line. You could feel the disappointment welling up and looked up in amazement when he went back up to his previous spot. He... knew what would happen should he not accept any one of them? What was he doing?

Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, turned back to look you in the eyes. His gaze caught yours in a strange dance, akin to two foxes circling one another before withdrawing. He thanked your father, Lord Walder, for his hospitality and the introduction to his lovely daughters and nieces. His voice echoed along the stone hall, each word punctuated by silence from the gathered Freys.

"Before I proceed," he announced, raising an eyebrow as if he had just been struck by a sudden thought, "I would like to ask a question about a small rainbow trout." The hall fell silent.

Your heart leapt into your throat. The 'rainbow trout'. The code you had used so many times in your letters to him. You had used it as a symbol of danger, warning him of impending peril. And now he was using it back at you.

The question Robb asked was incredibly mundane in its nature for anyone else. Yet behind those words, there lay a hidden realm of understanding known only to Robb and yourself; its context spread across a plethora of secret letters exchanged between you two under various pseudonyms over the years. The audience stared at him blankly while your mind raced to pick up the hidden message in his query.

Just then, your innocent little sister nudged you and whispered in your ear right below a breath. "Has King Robb gone coo-coo?" You could hardly suppress the laughter that bubbled within you at her naive words. She didn’t understand what was passing between Robb and yourself and for that, you were both relieved and eternally grateful.

"No dear one," you whispered back, patting her small hand. " he's simply curious about our streams."

A hushed murmur passed through the crowd as they tried to comprehend the Young Wolf’s peculiar question. Lord Walder, from his high seat, let out a puff of irritation. "Is this a jest, Stark?" he asked gruffly.

The Young Wolf looked at him, his eyes hardening. "Not at all," he replied sternly. "In fact, it is rather important."

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor and felt your heart flutter with anticipation. Robb turned his gaze back to you, the hardness softening once more into a look filled with intent and secret understanding.

"Your rainbow trout seems quite interesting." The Young Wolf finally spoke in his clear voice, echoing through the hall, carrying a message for you alone amongst the throng of confused onlookers. His words were enigmatic and carried an underlying layer of significance that no one but you could decipher.

The corners of your lips curled into an involuntary smile as you met his gaze and nodded subtly. You understood what he was trying to say, what he had so bravely alluded to in front of all your family members.

"And what would such a trout want?" asked Lord Walder impatiently. His sharp gaze pierced through Robb Stark who merely smirked and shrugged lightly.

"That’s for the trout to know," replied the Young Wolf cryptically. Before anyone could question further, he bowed courteously towards Lord Walder and then swept an arm towards you in an elegant gesture. "Perhaps your young lady there can provide me an answer?"

"Walderette?", your father croaked out and raised an eyebrow.

A big rumble went through the hall and you blushed up to your roots, not used to being stared at. This was pressure and you needed to handle it quickly and well - so well that your old, disgusting flea of a father would forget about this instance.

"Yes, Father?" You responded, managing to keep your voice steady, despite the thudding of your heart. Your eyes slipped towards Robb who looked at you encouragingly.

Your father huffed, "You'll entertain The Young Wolf's humor about our trout?"

"Of course, Father," you replied softly, your gaze locked with Robb's. An understanding passed between you two, an assurance that somehow he would make things right.

You then cleared your throat and addressed the hall in a voice far more confident than you felt. "Rainbow trout," you began, glancing at Robb who nodded subtly as if urging you to go on. "Is a delicacy in our rivers. It’s versatile and can thrive in different environments. It can be elusive yet it can be caught if one is patient and diligent."

The room was quiet as everyone watched you curiously. Your father squinted his eyes at you while your younger sister nervously bobbed up and down on her feet. He didn't dare suspect anything, or else your fate would be just the same - being slit open by your family.

"It is very good when smoked and lasts long, and it is easy to transport. It goes well with pickles-"

Lord Walder raised his hand and shrugged. "Yes, Wald... Walderette your name was, right? Rainbow trout is good." He looked at Robb, who gave him a relatively neutral look. "And you are sure you want... her? I have girls with prettier faces, bigger tits and that talk less nonesense."

Robb didn’t flinch under Lord Walder’s crude remarks. Instead, his gaze seemed only to harden, a touch of steel flashing in his eyes as he coolly met the old lord's gaze. "Aye," he said, holding your gaze again with a softness that contrasted sharply with the icy tone he had used for Walder.

"I'm sure." His blue eyes glittered with certainty and warmth. Your heart fluttered, nearly missing a beat at his declaration. To have him, Robb Stark, The Young Wolf, choose you in front of everyone felt as surreal as it was exciting.

Lord Walder grumbled something incoherent under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his high seat. His gaze oscillated between you and Robb before finally settling on the young king with a grudging acceptance. He sighed heavily and grunted out a curt, “Very well.”

A murmur rippled through the hall, turning into excited whispers that echoed around the stone walls. This was unprecedented; a Frey girl chosen to be betrothed to the King in the North!

Your sisters looked at you with wide eyes, surprise and envy coloring their expressions. You could almost feel their piercing stares burrowing into your back, but you didn’t care. Robb had chosen you. And even though this was part of a grand scheme that remained secret from most, an indescribable joy surged within you at being chosen by him.

Robb then leaned slightly towards you, his voice barely audible above the hushed chatter. "I hope I picked the right trout," he murmured to you, a glint of worry in his eyes.

"There is only the one, my King," you reassured him with a small smile and breathed out once everyone went back to their seats - even the women, which gave you the greatest hope of there not being a massacre tonight. "Though if I find out anything that will hurt you or your... uh, friend, I will give you a signal and lots of likeminded trouts will help."

Robb nodded, his gaze fixed on yours. His eyes were the color of a stormy sky - deep, chilling, and deadly if challenged. Without breaking the eye contact, he whispered back, "I am looking forward to seeing what a school of like-minded trouts can do, thoug I hope I shall never feel the need to see them."

A hush fell over the room as Lord Walder straightened in his chair and clapped his hands together sharply. "Enough of these fish conversations," he barked, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "It's time to sit down for the feast. You're to be wed! My grandson shall be a King!"

As the guests began to shuffle towards their seats, you took Robb's arm and led him to the high table alongside Lord Walder and his newest wife. The woman, who was no more than a year older than you, was beautiful in a fragile kind of way. Her honey-coloured hair was bound up intricately with tiny pearls gleaming in between her locks. She shot you an encouraging smile as you both took your seats.

Throughout the feast that ensued, she would lean towards you from time to time, whispering coded words in your ear between bites of her meal or sips of her wine. "Remember," she once whispered casually as she spread some butter on her bread, "the pickles are of a dangerously spicy sort."

"Just the pickles?" You asked just as casually, keeping your gaze focused on your own plate.

She nodded subtly in response before turning her attention back to her own meal.

The night wore on with laughter and merriment filling the air beneath the vaulted ceilings of the hall. Everyone seemed at ease - even Robb appeared more relaxed now. However, underneath the surface, you were still fully ready to run. Your father was everything, but a honest man and nothing could fully guarantee your safety.

As the feast came to a close, Lord Walder rose to his feet with all the grace of a prowling cat despite his advanced years. "May I have your attention!" he bellowed, effectively silencing the chatter throughout the hall. He nodded his approval at the sudden quiet before turning his steely gaze towards you and Robb.

"It seems to me," he began, his voice carrying an uncanny edge that made the hair on your neck stand up. "That we're forgetting one important detail of this evening."

His gaze intensified as he continued, "These two lovebirds are yet to be wed!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. You felt Robb stiffen beside you, but your father's newest wife pressed a reassuring hand on your arm. It was, after all, part of their ploy.

A frail old septon shuffled forward from among the crowd. The wrinkles on his face gathered into deep crevices as he smiled warmly at you and Robb. He held out a red silken ribbon - your symbol of unity in this farce of a marriage.

You found yourself whispering vows under his quiet instruction, your voice choked by anticipation and fear while Robb's steady and firm words only added another layer to your pounding heart.

"And now," Walder announced gleefully once you'd both spoken your vows. "Seal it with a kiss."

Robb hesitated for a moment before leaning in, his warm lips brushing against yours in a chaste but lingering kiss. The hall erupted in cheers, and for a fleeting moment, it felt real - like true love had finally found your side, yet you knew that this'd be a farce. But then again, what would a loveless marriage be against dozens of dead innocents?

"Take the lovers away! Undress them!", croaked Walder and grinned implishly as a mass of Frey girls came and picked Robb up. Silencing his prostest with the smallest of nods, you, in turn let yourself be carried by some Stark men.

The crowd of Stark men was like a sea of shadows, each figure blurred into the next by the dim candlelight. The soft murmur of their voices was punctuated by the occasional chuckle or whisper as they carried you away through a labyrinth of stone corridors. The cold, rough-hewn stones beneath your feet were a stark contrast to the warmth and merriment of the feasting hall. The ancient walls echoed with tales of grandeur and battle, each echo ringing in your ears as an ominous forewarning.

With each step, you felt your heart drumming wildly in your chest - this was unchartered territory, a dance with danger and uncertainty. You stole a glance at the jumbled mass of Frey girls disappearing with Robb into another corridor, his eyes locked onto yours for an infinitesimal second before he was swallowed by the throng.

You were ushered up a winding staircase, its spiralling steps leading you to a chamber high above the ground. The door creaked open to reveal a room bathed in soft moonlight. It wasn't chained and barred like the dungeons you'd feared, but rather adorned with silken tapestries depicting intricate hunting scenes.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you entered. The room felt strangely comforting with its high vaulted ceiling and large canopy bed draped in furs. A lone window overlooked rolling meadows bathed in silver moonlight, their serene beauty belying the uncertainty that lay ahead.

The Stark men began to undress you, their roughened hands deft yet respectful on your garments. Your heart pounded in your chest like a wild bird trapped in a cage and only stopped once Robb came into the room, dressed only in a sheet that was held up by your giggling sisters. He quickly excused his men and gave the girls the same, stern look.

"Good night, little fish!", "Have fun!" and "Make sure that you'll make a king tonight!" were their parting words as the filed out, giggling.

The heavy door shut behind them with a reverberating thud that echoed in the silence of the chamber. The echo faded, leaving only your heartbeat to fill the quiet space. You turned to face Robb, his striking blue eyes filled with an uncertainty that mirrored your own. The bronze-toned light of the hearth danced across his features and played in his hair, casting him somewhat divine in your sight.

His broad shoulders lifted and fell in a heavy sigh that seemed to shake the very air around you both. The silence hung between you two like a tangible veil as he slowly approached you.

"We needn't…" he began, his voice gravelly and low – softer than you'd ever heard it. Suddenly, all of his kingly stature seemed to melt away, leaving behind only a boy burdened by expectations.

"I know," you quickly cut in, eager to relieve him of his discomfort. "I could just…" You trailed off, suddenly aware of the crude absurdity of your plan. But you pressed on, forcing out the words as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "... just scratch myself open…"

Robb's gaze flickered downward before snapping back up to meet yours, a horrified look crossing his face.

"I mean... people just want some proof… or else... or else there will be talk... we could pretend…” You stumbled over your words, unable to keep eye contact with him anymore.

A moment passed where only the crackling flames dared break the silence. Then Robb let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly before he met your gaze again.

"You remind me why I chose you for this alliance," he said with a warmth in his voice that took you by surprise, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. "You're willing to hurt yourself just to protect our farce, and the people we're sworn to protect."

His thumb swept across your cheekbone, drawing a shiver from you. There was honesty in his eyes - a rarity in this world of duplicity and deceit - and it was startling.

"You don't need to do that," Robb continued, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile. "We'll find another way. A better way." He let his hand drop, but the warmth lingered on your skin, spreading like wildfire through your body.

"Robb…" You began, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"No need for formalities," he said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood. "We're married now, remember?"

He was attempting light-hearted banter – an attempt to alleviate the tension hanging thick between you two, and it was surprisingly endearing. Still though, unease crept back into your heart. After all, what other way could there be?

"But they will expect…" You started again.

"We'll be careful," he interrupted once more. "And we'll be smart. Let them think what they will."

A knock resounded at the door then – a single, harsh rap that echoed in the chamber and made both of you jump.

"Shall I pour the wine?" A thin voice floated in through the heavy oak door, belonging to an old servant woman probably sent by Lord Walder himself to see their progress.

"Yes," Robb called back after sharing an understanding glance with you.

The Lady came in and hobbled her way towards a small table, filling two cups with a cheap red wine, one that smelled more like a tincture than a lovely Dornish Red. To add to that, she set down a small dish of pickles. "If you do not manage to do your duties tonight, your Lady sends this dish to bring you back to your senses.

You began to panic slightly and nodded at her, doing your best to mime an innocent. Walking over to the small table, you dismissed her and quickly gave Robb his glass. As soon as the Lady went away again, you stripped and gulped down the beastly drink, positioning yourself on the bed like a bitch in heat.

Robb, for his part, wore a look of sheer surprise as he followed your unceremonious actions with wide eyes. He took a deep breath, setting his own glass down on the table beside him before he turned back to you. His cheeks were flushed a delicate pink - a stark contrast to his usual pale complexion - and he looked almost boyish under the soft candlelight.

"Please," he started, his voice rough in the quiet of the room, "You don't need to do this. Not like this." His gaze was steady and honest as it met yours, and his words tugged at your heartstrings.

But your mind was filled with vivid images of Lady Catelyn's tear-stained face and Rob's pregnant girlfriend - their lives hanging by the thinnest of threads because of you. You swallowed hard, pushing away the comforting warmth of his words. "We can't risk it Robb," you insisted. Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his mop of auburn hair. But he made no move to stop you from lying back against the bed – your back cold against the rough fabric beneath you. He looked at you then – really looked at you – taking in your determined expression and your trembling hands.

For a moment, all was silent in the room - save for the crackling flames.

Then, without another word, he began to disrobe himself with an air of solemnity that felt too heavy for the occasion. He moved carefully, meticulously even, stopping momentarily to kick away his modesty sheet before he joined you on the bed.

"Lie on your back, Walderette. I needn't take you like an animal," he whispered solemnly as he made sure to keep his eyes on your face.

His voice was low and gentle, a tender lullaby whispered in the quiet of the night. It was an unexpected sweetness that only made your heart hurt with more force, your guilt gnawing away at you like a starved beast. But you nodded, complying with his request and shifting position, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

A silence descended upon the room as he settled down beside you, his broad form dwarfing yours. His muscled arms propped him up as he leaned over you, his gaze never wavering from your face. You closed your eyes, your breath hitching as you felt the cool touch of his hands against the bare skin of your sides.

He stayed silent as his hands began to wander, their slow and deliberate movements adding an excruciating tension to the silence. He explored without hurry; his fingers ghosting over every rise and fall of your body as if committing it to memory.

You could feel the heat radiating off him – a feverish warmth that made goosebumps rise on your skin. Any other night, under any other circumstances, the feeling would've sent pleasing shivers down your spine.

"I…" you choked out, opening your eyes to find Robb hovering over you. His body pressed against yours in an almost comforting manner but it did nothing to dampen the guilt-ridden fear gnawing at your insides. "I… don't know what I'm doing," you admitted softly.

Robb's eyes darkened slightly at your confession but he gave you a small smile nonetheless. "It's alright," he whispered back reassuringly. "Neither do I, really. I've never... had to... take someone."

You blushed and gave him a shy smile. "I am not completely against it. Just... do whatever needs to be done and if we will not manage to create an heir, I am sure we will be able to do this... everything, under better circumtances."

“Are you sure about this?” he asked again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes met yours, the steady gaze filled with an equal measure of fear and determination.

"Yes," you answered just as softly, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your fear and uncertainty, you knew there was no other option. The lives of those you cared for were at stake. This was a small price to pay for their safety.

Robb nodded, his face a solemn mask. His eyes held yours, a lingering connection in the quiet room. He moved closer, laying his body against yours in a slow, deliberate manner. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the rapid beats of his heart echoing your own.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, and you complied without question. His lips found yours then, a tender kiss that tasted of wine and apprehension. His lips moved against yours gently, coaxing you into a rhythm that was as haunting as it was comforting.

His hands moved up your sides, skimming past the sensitive skin of your torso to rest at the sides of your face. He pulled back slightly from the kiss, his breath warm against your cheek as he began to whisper words meant only for you. They were soft promises of safety and care; sweet nothings that melted your worries away like morning fog under the sun's rays.

In spite of the circumstances, the tension in the room dissipated at his gentle ministrations. Your body relaxed under his touch, fear and uncertainty replaced with a sense of security.

Then he was moving again, inch by agonizing inch. The heat of him was all-encompassing now; a comforting weight pressing down on you with each passing moment. You let out a gasp when he finally pushed forward – a soft sound drowned out by the crackling fire and rustle of fabric.

It was not painful nor pleasurable - merely an odd discomfort that became more bearable as Robb began to move with slow rhythm, whispering soothing words into your ear. His hands never left your body – one rested on the small of your back, the other cradling your face. His thumb stroked your cheekbone in small circles, drawing out a soothing pattern that almost lulled you into a trance.

The room had become warmer, or maybe it was just the heat radiating from Robb — every inch of his bare skin touching yours, filling your senses with his presence. You clung to him, hands clenched on his broad shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as he moved with quiet determination. You kept your eyes closed, taking in every sensation, every small sound he made as time stretched thin between each heartbeat.

He smelled of wood smoke and winter air. A hint of the strong drink you both had shared still lingered on his breath mixed with the warm scent of his skin. Each breath he drew was a low sigh against your ear, a soft symphony playing under the rustle of linen and crackle of fire.

His movements remained slow and deliberate — no rush, no urgency. He was careful with you, maintaining a rhythm that was mindful and tender. His touch was gentle but firm, holding you close yet giving you space to breathe. His lips found your forehead once more, pressing a soft kiss there.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly once again, pulling back slightly to look at you. His voice was barely audible over the slow rhythm of his body and your combined breaths.

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes held an intense mixture of concern and uncertainty, but also a strange form of peace, as if in this moment he had found some sense of purpose.

"I... am," you answered truthfully – Your body was tingling from the strange experience but there was no pain or discomfort anymore - only an odd sense of warmth... and maybe even something akin to contentment.

His gaze held yours, his expression softening at your words. A sigh of relief escaped him as he lowered his lips to meet yours again. His kiss was languid, unhurried, a complete contradiction to the rapid beating of your hearts.

He whispered your name between soft kisses and gentle touches, turning it into a sweet lullaby that danced with the crackling flames in the hearth.

Gradually, your world shrunk until it was made up of Robb alone—the rhythm of his breaths matching your own, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and his whispered words filling the silence. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly; seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours as you lost yourself in him.

When he finally pulled back after depositing his hot spend in you, it was slow and deliberate. You felt a pang of loss as the warmth of his body disappeared only to be replaced by the cool air of the room. His fingers lingered on your skin for a moment longer before he moved them away too. He didn’t look at you as he rolled onto his side, putting some distance between you two.

It was understandable, you thought to yourself. His true love was outside, in th tents, worrying about her lover, the father of her babe.

For a long while, there was only silence in the room. You could still hear the faint sounds of Robb's steady breathing and feel his warmth beside you, but there was a sense of melancholy in the air that you couldn’t ignore.

The embers from the fire were slowly dying out and you knew that dawn was approaching; still, neither of you made any attempt to speak or move.

Eventually, Robb broke the silence, "I'm sorry..." His voice was barely audible over the dying embers. He turned towards you again, worry etched on his face, quickly wrapping the towel around himself.

"I don't know why I did that... I shouldn't have..."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret. You turned your gaze to him, seeing the anguish painted across his face. The light from the dying fire cast a soft glow on his features, emphasizing the shadows of guilt etched deep within his eyes.

"It's okay..." you whispered, laying a hand gently on his arm. "It was necessary."

But even as the words left your lips, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. You were both trapped in a situation neither of you wanted to be in. Each decision made out of obligation, not desire. It was a cruel reality, one that seemed determined to tear you both apart.

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment or pain. When he found none, he let out a sigh, heavy with relief.

"I wish things were different," he said after a long silence, his voice barely audible over the crackling embers. "I wish we could choose our own paths."

You chewed your lower lip, contemplating his words. You knew what he meant. Your lives were dictated by forces beyond your control-- duty, responsibility and a looming war that threatened everything you held dear.

"We can't change what's already happened," you said quietly, meeting his gaze. "All we can do is move forward and make the best of what we have."

He nodded at your words although his expression remained pained. He reached out to take your hand into his own larger one and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, getting up and handing you your dress.

"No, thank you, my King," you said with a small smile. "Let us leave this horrid place."

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asa-writes · 3 months

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*boops your nose* send this to ten blogs you think are lovely and deserve a boop on the nose. 🩷💋

Thank you so much 🥰

#asa answers #i love my moots

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asa-writes · 4 months

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The Maiden's Voyage I

Yara Greyjoy x F!OC

18+ Minors DNI WC: 7.7k Warnings: dubious power balances, slight dubcon, lesbian sex, smut, face sitting, cunnilingus, fingering, religion

Meddling in mortal's affairs was never her thing.

Of course, once in a while she took pity on some star-struck lovers or a kind girl cursed with an ugly face, but that had been the furthest she'd ever gone in a long time. Sailing to Westeros from the uncharted west on a rich, gold laden ship?

It seemed ridiculous. It had been half a catastrophe the last time she'd done it, when the so-called 'Aegon the Conqueror' grabbed all Kingdoms with the help of his sister wives. After he'd spurned her, she put a great curse on his seed and watched with glee at how these petty kings and queens tore at eachother's throats.

The salty ocean air delicately tousled her hair as she sailed towards the shores, guided by the gentle breeze. She sank into a soft chaise and nibbled on some grapes. The people of this continent worshiped her under various names - 'The Seven' for the high- and lowborn, 'The Maiden' for those who couldn't fully understand the concept of one god with multiple aspects, and 'The Drowned God' for the Iron Men. For the northerners, she was one of their Old Gods.

A smile played on her lips as she observed a seagull flying over her ship with curiosity. It was amusing how most people struggled to accept a deity that was all-encompassing and omnipresent, choosing to manifest itself as a young woman.

Countless times, her offspring had inquired why she chose to venture into the Mortal realm in a tangible form. They pleaded for her to remain by their divine side. But to their chagrin, she simply stated that she was...bored. Exhausted from the endless cycle of bountiful and barren harvests, weary of reprimanding and rewarding her devout followers, and utterly unamused by the gossip of the haughty elite. She craved a bit of excitement, some exhilarating mischief to spice up her eternal existence.

After all, even a goddess needs a change of pace now and then.

As she sat in her chaise, gazing upon the endless horizon of the dark blue sea, she contemplated her next disguise. The delicate decision of her appearance in the Mortal realm was significant to her, as it would determine her perceived age, beauty, and influence over those she interacted with. To seem vulnerable, naive even, by choosing a youthful form was a tactic that never failed.

A delicate hand ran through her silken tresses as she mulled over the appropriate guise for this journey. A girl barely out of adolescence? Maybe someone with fair skin, slightly freckled, and a cascade of russet hair... or perhaps a dusky maiden with raven locks?

Each had its charm and advantages. Through her divine wisdom, she understood that appearing young would not only deceptively imply innocence but also instigate an unconscious protective instinct in the mortals' hearts, encouraging them to spill their secrets and lower their guards around her.

She knew this from past experiences: the more innocent and unassuming the form, the better to beguile, manipulate and control. The age-old adage 'never judge a book by its cover' seemed to elude these mortals persistently. It brought a wicked grin to her lips; they were such simple creatures.

Her lively eyes twinkled with a glint of devilish mischief as she decided on the form that she'd assume this time. It would be a peculiar mix, something a bit daring; petite in stature yet blessed with a voluptuous figure that could evoke both admiration and envy among mortal women. Alluring curves combined harmoniously with her small frame to concoct an irresistible charm. Her skin would be pale, almost moonlit, speckled with an explosion of tiny freckles, a stark contrast that would make one's heart flutter.

Her hair, the shade of chestnut, would cascade down her back in long, untamed waves evoking the beauty of wild nature itself. It would flow around her like a silken tapestry catching each flicker of sunlight and transforming it into a myriad of dancing glowworms. As for the eyes, they had to be something unusual. Not the typical blues or browns—those were too common amongst mortals. She decided on grey—the color of wisdom mixed with mystery. They would bewitch any onlooker with their hypnotic gaze: warm, yet chilling; inviting, yet daunting—a mirage of conflicting emotions that was as captivating as it was unnerving.

She tilted her head back and laughed; a rich, sultry sound that seemed to blend effortlessly with the rhythmic lullaby of the crashing waves. Her lips, plump and imbued with an intense shade of red, added the final touch to her mortal guise. These lips held power—they could whisper incantations that swayed kings, utter words that could ignite passion in mortal hearts or even unleash a tempestuous fury over the seven kingdoms.

Then came her name - a title to be reckoned with.

She'd been known by countless names in different ages and realms; some revered her while others feared her based on nomenclature alone. For one who held so many identities over time, finding an alias that would blend seamlessly into this land's culture was crucial. She wanted something grandiose yet enigmatic - the last few times she'd been Airis, a lonely sheperdess, Helyssa, a courtesan from Lys and Jorrit, the mighty huntress from beyond the wall. These were all mighty fine names and personas she'd built herself, yet she wanted something a bit more... powerful for this trip.

There'd be a lot more noble Ladies and Lord to seduce and manipulate this time around.

After extensive contemplation, she decided on Mariette—a name as simple as it was elegant. It had a touch of the exotic, with an air of familiarity that would allow her to blend into the society seamlessly. And she would not just be any Mariette; she'd assume the title of a princess. The notion of royalty gave her a sense of unchecked privilege and power that she so craved for in this mortal realm. It was the perfect embodiment of her wicked intentions.

As she studied herself in the reflection of the still sea water, Princess Mariette shivered in delight. The dainty figure stared back with a radiant smile, her grey eyes sparkling with an intense gleam that captivated any observer. Her form, while enchanting, held the promise of intrigue and danger—precisely what she desired.

She pondered over a suitable surname next. 'Stark', 'Targaryen', 'Lannister'—these were names that held weight in Westeros, but their legacy was too strong and could invite unwanted scrutiny. Thus, she needed a last name that was unique yet inconspicuous, something that suggested nobility without being directly linked to any existing lineage.

For hours, she toyed with various names, whispering each one softly to gauge how it sounded alongside 'Mariette.' She finally settled on 'Eldryss'—a name as mysterious as it was regal. It was an old name from an ancient tongue lost to time—a language only known by creatures like her.

And so, Princess Mariette Eldryss was born.

Her journey into this new world promised rich rewards for the subjects that bent to her will, that worshipped her and helped her, and great, unimaginable pain and ruin for those that dared to want to hurt her or to scorn her.

As she came closer to the land, a shiver ran through her and she could feel the sea within her. Grinning wickedly, she willed the wind to pick up and the waves to rumble under her ship - it seemed like her first stop would be the Iron Islands. Oh, how giddy she felt! The sight of panicked fishermen and pirates quickly trying to go back to their ports, She felt two souls leaving some poor wretches and sat back down into her chaise. "What is dead may never die," she mumbled with a grin.

With the growing thrill of anticipation, Princess Mariette Eldryss observed the turmoil her arrival had caused. Men and women like ants, scurrying in every direction, fleeing the tempest she had beckoned. From this distance, she could smell their fear, taste their panic—it was intoxicating.

She let out a soft laugh, her grey eyes dancing with merriment as they chased the scampering boats back to their safe harbours. For those sailors who dared to stay and brave her storm, she offered them an eerie serenity amidst the chaos. At some level, her wicked heart admired their foolish bravery.

In the heart of it all, her ship continued to sail undeterred, cutting through the waves like a mighty sea beast. The sailors on board were used to such conditions during their many adventures across the seas. She'd chosen each of them—a motley crew of trusted pirates and cutthroats—for their loyalty and gutsiness. Each had pledged their life to serve her faithfully, and in exchange, she promised them treasures that would surpass their wildest dreams. Rich dead men, cursed to never enjoy their riches - oh wickedly fun it had been when they started to notice their predicament.

The rugged elegance of Pyke soon loomed in front of them. Its weather-beaten towers and wind-ravaged walls held an austere beauty that only one born of the rocks and water could appreciate. Despite her ethereal origins, Princess Mariette found herself oddly drawn to this harsh landscape.

As they neared the cliffs, she stood tall at the bow of her ship, bracing herself against the salty spray that lashed against her face. Her seaweed braids clung tightly to her head while her simple yet rugged dress danced wildly in the wind—making her appear as a phantom sea goddess emerging from the briny deep.

The first to meet her gaze on the land, to which she'd swam through the mighty storm was an old, grizzled sailor, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. He fell to his knees, whispering prayers of protection to the Drowned God. She glanced at him for a moment before shifting her attention to the group of rugged men who had gathered to watch her arrival.

Their expressions ranged from suspicious to openly hostile. She took in their hardened faces, their weather-beaten leathers, their grim expressions and she knew—these were men who thrived on power, violence and respect; they wouldn’t easily fall under her enchantment. But she also knew that she had more than enough charm and guile to bend them to her will.

With each step she took down the gangway, there was a hushed silence, broken only by the crashing waves against the rocky shore. When she finally set foot on solid ground, she lifted her chin and swept her gaze over the crowd. "I am Princess Mariette Eldryss from a land far in the west," she declared, her voice ringing out loud and clear over the noise of the storm. "I wish to speak to your Lord."

It was then that the Iron Men parted before her, their steel-faced gazes never leaving her as they revealed not a Lord but a woman of formidable presence. With the same stormy grey eyes that pierced through the torrential rain, Yara Greyjoy approached Mariette. The wind whipped at her sodden coat, revealing a well-worn chest plate and an impressive cutlass hanging loosely at her side.

"When your Lord isn't present, you send his daughter," she retorted dryly, her gaze challenging. "I am Yara Greyjoy... and in my father's stead, I am your audience."

Mariette’s eyes sparkled with intrigue as she studied Yara. This woman was both fierce and intriguing - a rare combination that Mariette knew all too well. Nevertheless, she maintained her stoicism.

"I see," she replied after a tense pause, her voice carrying authority despite the raging storm around them. "Well then, Lady Greyjoy… I come bearing an offer. An offer that I believe would be of interest to your people."

Just then, as if conjured by some unseen hand, another figure emerged from the throng of ironborn. Draped in robes soaked through by sea spray and rain, with a cascade of hair as dark as the turbulent sea around them, stood Aeron Greyjoy.

The Drowned Priest's eyes flickered with latent power as he too approached the Princess. Despite his craggy features, there was an almost youthful intensity in his gaze as he extended a gnarled hand towards Mariette - a silent invitation for her to continue with her proposition. She must've intruiged him somehow.

However, Yara interjected before Mariette could speak. "We need no offers, princess. Your presence on our island is intrusion enough." Yara's words sliced through the rain-soaked air, her defiance echoing out to the volatile sea.

"Perhaps," Mariette responded calmly, her voice steady in the thunderous storm, "But I believe it is an offer you might want to consider before sending me away."

Ignoring Yara's hardened glare, she turned towards the Drowned Priest, extending a slender hand, encrusted with simple iron-engulfed emerald and sapphire rings. "Aeron Greyjoy... I've heard of you. The priest who still listens to the whispers of the drowned god. You are very devout." Her voice echoed mysteriously, barely concealing a hint of invitation.

Aeron's gaze locked onto hers, his sea-green eyes glinting with an unreadable emotion. He took her hand in his rough one in a gesture that spoke more of curiosity than acceptance. A sudden wind howled around them as if cheering for this unexpected alliance.

In that moment, Princess Mariette did something unexpected. She closed her eyes and stood stone-still amidst the rage of the storm while holding onto Aeron's hand. Following suit after an initial hesitation, Aeron closed his eyes too.

The crowd watched in utter fascination as their Drowned Priest and this foreign princess stood there, clasped hands raised slightly above their heads as if waiting for a divine sign. The rain poured harder, the waves grew wilder and yet they stood unmoving. And then something remarkable happened.

A vision appeared before Aeron Greyjoy's eyes - he saw the face of his drowned god - and saw the Princess looking back at him, naked, floating underneath the sea, barncles scattered over her pale body. He saw her hair flowing like sea-weed, eyes wide and grey, devoid of life, and a knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine. His drowned god had never shown him such a sight before. He saw her gesturing towards him, inviting him into the depths with her, promising treasures untamed and secrets unspoken. A jolt of energy surged through him, causing Aeron's eyes to snap open. He found himself staring into Mariette's grey eyes which mirrored the vision he'd just had. In that moment, he knew that she was not ordinary.

She was of the sea, a creature as unpredictable and wild as the waves themselves.

Faling onto his knees, he hugged Mariette's legs and moved his lips in silent prayer. A rasp of uncertain murmurs rippled through the crowd as the nervously watched their most devout priest seemingly pray to this weird young Princess which had come to them in one of the harshest storms they's ever encountered. Mariette saw that Yara was still uncertain about her, but that was to be expected, for she had little belief in anything except for herself.

Mariette turned her gaze towards Yara and met the untrusting fiery eyes of the Greyjoy woman, her voice cutting sharply through the roaring wind. "It is not your trust that I need, but your acceptance." It was not a plea, but a statement forged with ironclad certainty.

A sudden clap of thunder echoed throughout Iron Island, as if the drowned god himself were responding to Mariette's bold declaration. The crowd gasped in awe, but Mariette remained unaffected. She stood tall, her gaze steady on Yara, awaiting her reaction.

Yara looked at Aeron who had just risen from his prayerful stupor. He gave a single nod, his eyes still filled with the reverent terror of his vision. She understood then what must be done.

"Fine," Yara spat out grudgingly after a moment, "you come with me then." She yanked herself free from her uncle's grip and motioned for Mariette to follow. The crowd parted silently as the two women made their way through it.

As they neared the edge of the island, a monstrous wave crashed against the stony cliff beneath them. The saltwater spray hit everyone with a chilling force and drenched them thoroughly.

Everyone except Mariette.

She stood there amidst the drenched onlookers, untouched by the wrath of the sea. Her simple, rough gown still fluttered in the undying gale and her auburn hair flowed gracefully with the seaweed in it, looking drier than the deserts in Dorne.

The crowd watched in disbelief as Mariette simply turned towards them and smiled mysteriously before following Yara towards Pyke Castle.

The castle itself was a wonder, carved entirely from the great rocks that were native to Iron Islands. Its tall towers stood like ancient sentinels against the backdrop of the storm-tossed sea, and the wind howled mournfully through its narrow corridors and arched windows. With each step, Yara seemed to sink deeper into the dread of what she had agreed to.

Yet, Mariette walked with an air of unshakeable calm, her eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight as they made their way through the labyrinthine passageways. Who would she seduce here? Lord Balon or feisty Yara? Would any of them even come to appreciate what she would give them this night?

They passed through grand halls adorned with tapestries depicting battles long past, where the sound of drunken laughter and fistfights had once echoed. Now, all that was left were the echoes of silence and a lingering sense of foreboding.

Yara, feeling the weight of trepidation loom heavier with each step, suddenly halted near the entrance to a grand hall, its ancient stone walls adorned with faded murals depicting conquests of yore. Turning to Mariette with a look of defiance etched on her features, she declared in a low growl, "This is as far as I take you."

Yara wasted no time and lunged at Mariette with a fierce battle cry. Her movements were precise and swift, honed through years of brutal training under the most ruthless warriors on Iron Island. But Mariette was just as skilled, gracefully evading Yara's attack with fluid movements that seemed to defy gravity. In one fluid motion, she extended her arm and struck Yara with a powerful blow, sending her crashing to the ground with a resounding thud that shook the fortress walls. The crowd gasped in shock, but Mariette remained calm and focused, ready for whatever move her fallen opponent would make next.

She extended her hand towards Yara and offered a smirk as icy as winter winds. "Is this how you greet all your guests?" she taunted sweetly, savoring the stunned silence that her words elicited from the small crowd of warriors and thralls that had gathered to watch them.

Yara's eyes met hers defiantly. Yet, there was no rush to retaliate. No immediate cry for another battle. Instead, Yara pushed herself up from the cold stone floor slowly and stood facing Mariette once more with a small grin. The smirk didn't leave Mariette's face as she waited ever so patiently for Yara's next move.

"So I see that women are trained well in the West," Yara grumbled and patted Mariette on the shoulder. It dawned on her that this wasn't a true attack out of bad will, but rather a test, a test of strength. "Let me introduce you to my father, Lord Balon."

As they walked through the stony corridors of Pyke Castle, Yara's gaze lingered on Mariette. She couldn't deny the woman was an extraordinary creature. Her movements exuded a confident grace that was alluring, her eyes held a calm determination that was intimidating. Her whole demeanor was an enigma that piqued Yara's curiosity and begrudging respect.

The doors to Lord Balon's chambers were held together with rough iron bands, a testament to the harsh reality of life on the Iron Islands. Shielding her eyes against the dim light, Mariette followed Yara into the room. In the flickering torchlight, an old man sat hunched over an ancient map, his gnarled fingers tracing over worn lines and faded colors.

Lord Balon glanced up at their entrance, his sunken eyes reflecting surprise and suspicion as they landed on Mariette. "And what is this?" he demanded gruffly, his voice echoing through the drafty halls of the castle.

"This," Yara began, nodding towards Mariette with a smirk, "is our guest from the West, Father."

Lord Balon scrutinized Mariette then, his hawk-like eyes piercing through to her very soul before he let out a gruff laugh that echoed eerily around the room. "So," he sneered with contempt dripping from every syllable, "the West does exist and the only thing that proves it oif this girl that looks like she'd been washed up on our shores."

Ignoring Balon's jibe, Mariette took a step forward and curtsied slightly, her voice steady despite the tense silence in the room. "I am not here as a representative of anyone but myself," she declared boldly. "I have heard great tales of your bravery, Lord Greyjoy." Hm, seems like Yara would be the one to warm my bed tonight, she thought to herself while she studied Balon. He didn't have much longer to live, but oh how he mistrusted her, how he felt pain in his lifetime. "I require but a night on Pyke, then I will be gone again and I shall not bother you any more, my Lord."

Yara's eyes nervously flitted between her father and the Princess. Mariette had to refrain from grinning as she felt another surge of respect from the rugged woman - she was impressed that Mariette hadn't told him that she was a Princess, nor boasted with riches. "She fights well," Yara said stoically and looked out of the window, where the storm had calmed slightly, " Uncle Aeron approves of her as well. She worships the drowned God."

Lord Balon narrowed his eyes at his daughter, the skepticism in his gaze growing more profound. "A woman who worships the Drowned God and fights like a true Ironborn?" He chuckled bitterly, "I suppose she walks on water too."

His piercing gaze returned to Mariette, studying her face for any hint of deception. The corners of Mariette's mouth twitched upwards in a daring smile. "I cannot walk on water, Lord Greyjoy, but I have been known to hold my breath for an impressively long time," she quipped, holding his stare.

Balon’s laughter echoed around the room again, harsh and grating. He leaned back in his chair regarding Mariette with a newfound respect. She had weathered his scorn with grace and wit, a feat not many had accomplished in his presence.

Yara watched the exchange warily, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. Her father was unpredictable at best and lethal at worst. His amusement could turn to rage in a heartbeat.

"Very well," Balon finally announced after a moment of contemplation. His voice was still filled with suspicion, but his facial expression had changed slightly. “We’ll keep you for the night...but mind your manners.”

Mariette bowed her head graciously, thanking the Lord for his reluctant hospitality. Her gaze met Yara’s shortly, nodding her head towards her subtly as though acknowledging an unspoken challenge.

As they left Lord Balon's chambers together, Yara put her hand on Mariette's shoulder stopping her. "My father might be old, but he is not naive. Whatever game you play here..."

Mariette batted her eyelashes subtly and put her own hand on Yara's rough one. Oh, little warrior, she thought to herself as she felt Yara taking a quick breath, now I've trapped you. "I do not play games, or at least not yet. That I shall do once I am in King's Landing. And as I've mentioned before... If no harm comes to me on these next few hours until I can leave your Islands again, you will be rewarded richly - the West is a generous place but not a foolish one." With a small smile, she gently lifted Yara's hand off of her shoulders and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Yara stared at Mariette in silence for several moments, the low light from the hallway's torches glinting off her hardened exterior as if it were armor. The intensity in her eyes was broken only by a flutter of intrigue and, quite possibly, excitement that danced in their depths.

"So be it," she finally murmured, her grip on Mariette's hand tightening momentarily before she released it. Yara jerked her head towards the castle's main hall, indicating with silent command that they were to move along. Every step she took echoed with authority and purpose, a manifestation of the rough-and-tumble culture of the Iron Islands.

They walked through long corridors lined with ancient tapestries depicting battles and victories of the Ironborn. The worn stone underfoot felt cold against Mariette's skin, yet strangely comforting. It was a stark contrast to the grandeur and warmth of the West, but there was an undeniable charm in its harsh austerity.

After passing through several stone arches, they arrived at an opulent room draped in furs and adorned with relics from countless raids, a testament to the Greyjoy’s adventurous nature. Yara led Mariette to an enormous wooden table laden with roasted fish and goblets overflowing with ale - a spread worthy of a Greyjoy.

A burly man seated at the far end of the table rose as they approached and clapped Yara on the shoulder amicably. "Uncle Aeron," Yara greeted him with a nod. His deep-set eyes surveyed Mariette with great wonder before he offered a curt nod in return. "Our guest from the West."

Mariette dipped into a small curtsy before lowering herself onto a chair next to Yara.

The room was alive with the hum of conversations, yet when Mariette sat down, it felt as though a thick shroud of silence had been draped over them. The clatter of mugs against the table and the murmur of indistinct words seemed to fade into mere whispers. She noticed numerous curious eyes fixated on her, yet none dared speak to the foreigner among them.

After what felt like an eternity, she picked up a fork and began to daintily pick at the roasted fish before her. It was a humble meal at best but carried the touch of the Ironborn — bold and sincere in its simplicity. As she took a bite, she couldn't help but draw comparisons with the fine wine and gourmet feasts back in her realm, above the mortals. The richness of seafood flavour mingled with a smoky aftertaste — far from what she was used to, but oddly satisfying nonetheless, not that she needed any sustence, she was a godess after all - but it certainly helped her blend in better.

To fill in the looming silence, Mariette sipped from her goblet and looked out of the window. Outside, the storm began to roll in again, thunder echoing ominously against the walls of the castle. She resisted a chuckle at their startled expressions as a particularly loud clap of thunder made goblets rattle and some men jump at their seats. Ah, how fun it was to toy around with the weather, she thought glefully

Aeron shot Mariette a knowing look, an eyebrow slightly raised in question, but said nothing. His niece merely grunted into her cup while most around them muttered about rough weather and bad omens. Gradually though, conversations picked up again, albeit with more caution in their tones, cautiously navigating around superstitions related to storms.

"So, Yara, pray tell, is there a reason why such a fierce woman as yourself is without a husband or wife?", she asked curiosly, pulling some crab meat out of its shell. Willing to exude desire, she smirked as Yara blushed and hid her face in her cup again. Aww, the poor thing's blushing, how un-warriorlike of her, Mariette thought to herself with a grin and caught an eye of a young man, presumably one of the Saltcliffe boys and saw him nervously rearranging something in his pants.

She had forgotten just how potent her moods were on these mortals around her, especially adolescent ones - but tonight her treat was Yara, not some pimply boy.

Yara's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she downed her ale as if it were water. "That's a personal matter," she muttered into her goblet, glancing sideways at Mariette, her eyes momentarily revealing the hint of vulnerability she’d been trying to hide. Yet, there was a spark of curiosity in her gaze, and it was clear that her interest was piqued by the question.

"Personal matter or not," Mariette leaned closer to Yara, her voice barely above a whisper as she let the question hang in the air between them. "I am sure there'd be lots of people wishing for your strong hand."

The room filled with laughter and chatter again, but it was merely a background noise to their intimate conversation. Yara looked at Mariette for what seemed like an eternity before replying, "Perhaps there are, I wouldn't know. I'm not in the mood for marriage."

Mariette's smile widened at Yara's response. She raised her goblet for a toast. "To secrets yet unshared," she said mysteriously, leaning back in her chair. Her gaze, however, was focused on Yara, studying every reaction.

Before Yara could respond, another loud crash of thunder echoed around them. The room dimmed momentarily as if the storm was dictating the mood. Aeron grunted in irritation, his eyes narrowing in suspicion towards Mariette whose smirk only seemed to grow wider.

Yara hesitated for a moment before raising her own goblet in return. "To secrets," she agreed quietly and took another long drink from her cup.

The evening carried on in this manner; Mariette had great fun toying with Pyke's apparent heiress. So when the feast came to a close, she had been anything but surprised when Yara had offered to take her to a chamber for the night.

Yara's fingers brushed against her lightly, a gesture that was at once rough and soft. "This way," the warrior woman said, her voice gruff yet strangely tender. Mariette couldn't help but flash Yara a playful grin as she got up from her seat.

As they navigated through narrow passageways and up winding staircases, Yara remained silent. Her grip tightened around Mariette's hand every time a crack of thunder echoed through the castle walls, each tremor sent a jolt through her stoic facade.

Finally, they arrived at a chamber situated at one of the castle towers. The room was small but comfortable, filled with sturdy wooden furniture and lit by a single burning sconce. A large fur-covered bed sat in the middle, looking incredibly inviting after the evening's events.

"Make yourself comfortable," Yara said gruffly after closing the door behind them, her eyes pointedly avoiding Mariette's gaze. She moved to pour herself a drink from a decanter on a small table by the bed.

"I must say, you Greyjoys know how to entertain," Mariette remarked lightly as she watched Yara take generous swigs from her goblet. She could see the woman's shoulders relax slightly at her statement, perhaps relieved that their 'guest' was not entirely displeased with her stay thus far.

"Indeed?" Yara replied, raising an eyebrow at Mariette as she turned to face her fully. "And here I thought you were rather... bored earlier."

Mariette let out a soft chuckle before letting herself fall lasciviously onto the bed, her breasts straining against the dull fabric of the dress. "Oh no, I've been quite entertained," she purred.

"I see," Yara said, her voice unsteady but maintaining an air of nonchalance. She took another gulp from her goblet and then poured herself a second serving. "Well, then," she continued, "I suppose I can rest easier knowing our guests are happy."

"You are such a considerate hostess," Mariette responded in a teasing tone as she kicked off her boots and stretched out on the bed. It was clear to Yara that the strange Princess was indeed at ease in the Ironborn's quarters. Her eyes were closed, a slight smile lingering on her lips while she fiddled with the hem of her dress, pulling it up slightly.

The sight made Yara's heart speed up as if she'd been running up the steep stairs again. She took one last gulp of her drink to steady her nerves before setting down her empty goblet. Then, slowly, she approached the bed, her eyes never leaving Mariette.

"Don't go thinking you've seen all we have to offer just yet," Yara said, sounding more confident than she felt. The room filled with tension; it buzzed like the impending storm outside.

"Oh?" Mariette sat up slowly, letting her dress fall back down over her knees. Her gaze never left Yara's determined face. "And what else does House Greyjoy have to offer me?"

Yara simply smirked in response and walked over to her and roughly pushed her dress up, blushing as she felt the lack of smallclothes on the Princess' soft skin, before gently letting her hand wander up to Mariette's hot and moist core.

With a deep breath, Yara sank to her knees between Mariette's thighs and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her arousal. Her fingers traced the delicate lines of the Princess's pussy, parting her folds ever so slightly.

For a moment, she just admired the dark curls of hair that surrounded Mariette's sweet spot and the way her cunny glistened in the dim light of the chambers. She leaned in closer, pressing a tender kiss against her soft skin before teasingly licking her out from bottom to top and back again. Her hands slowly began to explore the rest of Mariette's body—the soft curves of her hips, ass cheeks and thighs that quivered beneath her touch.

Mariette groaned loudly at the sensation and spread her legs wider, giving Yara better access. Women always tended to do these things better, yet she was still surprised at Yara's eagerness to please, seeing as she was still full dressed between her thighs. Yara's tongue darted out to lap at her nectar again while a finger rested gently against her puckered asshole, sending waves of pleasure coursing through Mariette's veins. She felt herself getting wetter by the second underneath Yara's hungry attention. Her hips bucked up off the mattress unintentionally as she tried to get closer to that eager tongue.

The sound of heavy breathing filled the air as Yara continued to worship Mariette's body, eliciting sweet moans from the Godess-in-diguise.

In the dim light of the chamber, Yara's fingers danced over Mariette's body like shadows, tracing along every line and curve with a tenderness that only fueled her fire. She let out a low growl as she felt the Princess' hips buck against her touch, giving the Princess everything she could. Her tongue teased and toyed with Mariette's pearl, flicking it swiftly before plunging deep inside her warmth, tasting the nectar that flowed from her. The goddess moaned loudly, undulating her hips in time with Yara's movements, her fingers threading through the warrior woman's hair in ecstasy. It had been a long time since she's last felt this way - this raw hunger mixed with tenderness.

As Yara worked her magic on her clit with one hand, she expertle undressed herself, tossing her leather garb recklessly onto the floor. Mariette smiled as she panted lightly; Yara was indeed a rugged beauty underneath everything. She'd positioned herself between Mariette's legs again and resumed lapping at her folds, relishing in the salty-sweet taste that filled her mouth.

Mariette gasped as Yara pulled back slightly and came up, swiftly pulling Mariette's dress over her shoulders and giving her a rough kiss. Just as soon as she'd registered the warrior's tongue in her mouth, she'd already introduced her fingers into her mouth, grinning wickedly. "Show me how good you can suck, princess... Make them wet so I can fuck you senseless...," she muttered against her ear, sending shivers up Mariette's spine.

To that, Mariette could only open her mouth and blush up at Yara, who trembled as she watched her perfect mouth wrap itself around her rough fingers, her tongue gently coating them with saliva.

Yara grinned to herself as she licked along the seam of her pussy once more, pushing two fingers inside of her. Despite being able to take any man or woman as she pleased, Yara Greyjoy had never found someone whom she could bring so much pleasure - or someone who could entice such pleasure in such a short time. As Mariette thrust her hips forward in response to the intrusion, Yara took this as a sign to add another finger, stretching her wider than she'd ever been before.

The goddess cried out into the dimly lit room, grinding herself against Yara's hand as she set an unforgiving pace, filling the room with lewd slapping sounds as Mariette arched her back, grabbed at the furs and felt her body tensing up for release.

Yara bent her head down to continue worshipping Mariette's sex, taking the goddess deep into her mouth as her fingers thrust in and out, feeling Mariette's walls clamp down on them. She loved the way she tasted, so sweet and salty on her tongue, mixed with the tang of desire and need. Moans filled the air as Yara sucked on her clit, earning a sharp gasp from Mariette. Her tongue flicked over it rapidly, driving her wild with pleasure. She could feel Mariette's thighs shaking as she held onto her head for dear life.

As the goddess approached her release, Yara pulled back just enough to watch as her eyes rolled back into her head and her body tensed up, ready to cum any moment now. Smiling gently at her visitor, she set her lips onto Mariette's swollen bud a last time and groaned when she felt the Princess coming onto her hand. The taste was heavenly as she swallowed every drop greedily while also stroking Mariette's inner walls with her fingers, milking every last drop of pleasure from them.

This woman knew how to make love, Maritte thought with a contented sigh and gently pulled her up. "You did well, my Lady," she whispered seductively in Yara's ear, "now it is my turn to make you fell good."

Mariette pulled Yara onto her face and smiled gently as she heard her moaning as she felt the warm, wet lips envelop her sex. Her hips pressed down instinctively, seeking more contact as she felt Mariette's tongue dart out to taste her. She held on to the bed's headboard as the princess began to lap at her feminine essence, causing her to gasp and moan out loud. The sensation was overwhelmingly pleasurable and intense; it sent waves of ecstasy coursing through her body that left her trembling with anticipation.

She wasn't a godess for nothing, the least she could do was reward Yara's eagerness in her own, special way. She made sure that the woman came at least five times, before guiding her shivering form back down and holding her gently in her arms, calming her spasming muscles with sweet, gentle touches. "You did so well, I'm so proud of you...," she whispered and saw Yara blushing deeply. Gently taking off one of her rings - just a symbolic thing, nothing of great value, at least not to her - she placed it in Yara's sticky hand. "It's a specialty from... the West. Your pleasure will always feel heightened when wearing it during sex."

Yara looked down at the ring, her eyes wide with surprise. It was a beautiful piece, a band of what appeared to be finely wrought silver, set with an opal that seemed to change color in the dim light of the room. She slid it onto her finger and felt an immediate warmth spread up her arm, settling in her chest like a glowing ember.

"Thank you," she murmured, tracing the band with her fingers as she watched Mariette recline back on the bed with a satisfied smile.

The goddess's gaze was gentle but intense as she looked over Yara's form, still flushed from their earlier activities. Running a hand along the length of Yara's arm, she gently guided the woman's head onto her shoulder, pulling her close.

"I think we've had enough excitement for one day," Mariette whispered into Yara's hair. "Get some rest."

As if responding to Mariette's command, an unanticipated drowsiness washed over Yara, pulling at her eyelids and making them heavy. She nodded against Mariette's shoulder and surrendered herself to sleep.

Once certain that Yara was deeply under the spell of slumber, Mariette stretched languidly on the bed before sliding away from Yara without disturbing her sleep. She stood and surveyed their clothes strewn across the room, each garment a testament of their passionate tryst.

Gently running a hand over Yara's forehead smoothing away any lingering furrows, Mariette murmured a blessing. A soft glow hovered over Yara, casting a gentle aura that would guard her sleep and dreams. The goddess dipped her head, pressing a gentle kiss onto Yara's forehead, leaving behind a faint trace of her divine essence.

She then moved towards the far end of the room, where their discarded clothes lay in disordered piles. Mariette paused, her fingers hovering over the fabric. An idea sparked in her mind, a way to ensure Yara's safety during her dangerous sea voyages. She gathered up the garments and waved her hand over them. Intricate symbols started glowing on each piece of clothing, magical inscriptions to protect the wearer from harsh sea winds and damaging waves.

Smiling to herself at her creation, she folded it neatly and placed it on a chair next to their bed. She glanced at Yara’s sleeping form once more before bracing herself for teleportation.

Whispering an incantation under her breath, Mariette's body began to dissolve into particles of light that swirled together in a mesmerizing dance before vanishing into thin air. The room was left in serene silence except for Yara's steady breathing and the faint rustle of sheets against skin.

In an instant, Mariette found herself back on the deck of her ship, giggling with glee at the pleasure that still coursed though her skin, along with the ice-cold wind that whipped around her naked skin.

She delighted in the contrast of sensations: the remnants of Yara’s touch still warm and electrifying against her skin and the air biting with an icy freshness that nipped at her flesh. Moving away from the shelter of the captain's quarters, she allowed herself to be fully kissed by the wind. Every gust was a lover's caress, sending shivers of exhilaration down her spine.

In its own way, the sea was just as passionate a lover as Yara, wild and unpredictable. Mariette looked out into the endless expanse of undulating waves stretching out before her, glimmering in the pale moonlight. The sight took her breath away. It reminded her why she had chosen to make this vast realm her domain.

As she stood there, bare under the moon's gaze, a moment of silence passed over the ship. Even the usually boisterous crew seemed to sense their goddess's reverie and held their breaths. The only sound was the lapping of waves against the ship and the distant call of a lonely sea bird.

Then, something caught Mariette's eye - a flash of movement in the distance. Squinting her eyes against the intense night's darkness, she discerned a familiar figure perched on a rocky outcrop: Aeron, watching her faithfully.

A smile painted itself onto her lips like an artist's careful brushstroke. Lifting one hand to her lips, she pressed a kiss onto it before throwing it out towards him. Whether he saw it or not mattered little; he would feel it—her essence carried on wind and wave.

The ship sailed on through the night, guided by the gentle caresses of the wind and the moon's guiding light. Mariette stayed on deck, pacing back and forth across the wooden planks with restless energy. She felt strangely invigorated by Aeron's silent vigilance, knowing that he watched her every move.

With a flick of her wrist, she whipped up the winds once more, letting them play with her hair and cool her skin as she let herself fall onto a chaise lounge on deck. She had removed the seaweed from her hair and sighed contentedly as she watched the stars twinkle above.

It was moments like these that she cherished - being in control of nature's elements, feeling one with them. It reminded her why she chose to traverse Planetos again with mortals; it was fun.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the salty sea air and allowing herself to fully relax in this moment of tranquility. But even here, on her own ship surrounded by ghostly followers, Mariette couldn't help but feel a sense of loneliness creep up on her. Despite all that she possessed, all that she could do, there was still an emptiness inside of her that nothing could fill, not even her countless children.

Aeron's presence had reminded her of this void. As much as he worshipped her and devoted himself to serving her will, he would never truly understand what it meant to be a goddess. He would never know what it was like to be truly powerful and immortal. Feeling a pang of guilt for these selfish thoughts, Mariette opened her eyes once more and sat up on the chaise. She gazed out at the vastness before her: endless sea meeting endless sky. How small she felt in comparison to this grandeur.

For a moment, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable, to acknowledge that even a goddess could feel lost and alone. But then she straightened her shoulders and let the thunderstorm disppear from Pyke and let it follow her. The next few days would be fun, she thought and smiled to herself. Tywin Lannister had seen her often in his dreams and she'd let herself appear in his fantasies when he was not focused on his work - it would be hilarious to see his face when he recognized her for the first time.

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asa-writes · 4 months

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Dreams

Chapter 10 - Jon

18+ Minors DNI WC: 5.6k Warnings: Angst, smut, alcohol, drunken fluff, drunk sex so dubcon i guess?, jon's pull out game is weak Previous Chapter: 9 - Lucie

It had haunted him. He was so happy for them, of course he was, but as he was standing next to the straw dummy that was being pommelled by Bran, he looked away from her, from the way she was walking through the upper outer balconies of Winterfell, arm in arm with Robb, looking regally off into the distance. He had caught her momentary glance and saw how an immediate flush covered her cheeks. She knew that he knew. Hells, it had seemed like Robb was intent on showing just about everyone that Lucie was his wife, in any way possible.

Quickly turning around, he adjusted Bran's grip on his wooden sword. "Don't cramp up, it'll slip out of your hands if continue hitting him like that," he said gently and gave Ser Rodrik an awkward smile. Ser Rodrik glanced up at Lucie and down at an oblivious Bran and nodded.

"Aye boy, Jon's right. Your opponent might slap the sword out of your hand if you get too tired," he mumbled and gave Jon a small, awkward pat on the shoulder.

The awkward pat heightened the discomfort he was already feeling. He wanted to say something, to laugh or scream, anything to shatter this charade of calm. But instead, he swallowed his emotions and nodded with a forced smile.

"Alright Bran, enough for today. You've done well," he said and patted the boy's shoulder. Bran seemed relieved and ran off to play with Rickon and the direwolf pups. Would he be able to go and take Ghost out again with Lucie? Play fetch and see her giggling?

Jon glanced back at Lucie and Robb. They were deep in conversation now, Robb's arm possessively around her waist as they overlooked the vast expanse of Winterfell. A sharp pang of jealousy twisted his gut as he watched Robb laugh at something Lucie whispered in his ear, holding her even closer.

Shaking his head to clear it off the brewing storm of feelings, Jon turned to Ser Rodrik, "Shall we start preparing for tomorrow's archery practice?"

Ser Rodrik, who had been watching Jon with a furrowed brow, gave him a curt nod and walked away towards the armoury. Jon knew he had seen it all; his lingering glances at Lucie, his discomfort around Robb. The older man was wise enough to not question him about it.

As Jon prepared to follow him, he took one last look at Lucie and Robb standing on the balcony. The wind caressed her hair with a gentle touch, creating ripples and waves as it passed through. She ran her fingers through it in frustration, trying to keep it from obscuring her view. Robb helped her tuck it behind her ears, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. They were preparing for King Robert's arrival, as Lucie had told him, which left her with little time for him.

Of course, how could she spend time with him, Lord Stark's bastard. He'd been her lapdog for the time where she was free to play romance and now that she had to tend to her duties as the future Lady of Winterfell he felt like he'd become a mere afterthought for her. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he turned away from them, following Ser Rodrik to set up the hay targets in the armoury.

His steps were heavy as he trudged towards the armoury, the weight of his emotions tied to every step. He was a man who was capable of many things – he could wield a sword, handle a direwolf, and he could certainly melt snow off a roof. But he could not bear the weight of unrequited love, especially when it was for someone who was so firmly out of his reach.

Once inside the armoury, surrounded by cold steel and aged wood, Jon found some solace. The scent of iron and old leather offered him a distraction from the scene playing out on the balcony. He busied himself with fetching hay-filled burlap bags and arranging them on tripods for tomorrow's practice.

The soft cadence of Lucie's voice echoed in his mind as he toiled away, the familiar words of her poetry stirring up bittersweet memories. They used to escape to the library together, finding solace in each other's company as she shared her verses with him in hushed whispers. But now, those same poems only served as a painful reminder of their distance and the growing rift between them.

"Jon, boy," Ser Rodrik's deep voice woke him from his daze, "You're setting up targets for Bran. Don't make 'em so high."

Jon sighed heavily and nodded, adjusting the tripods accordingly with a grunt.

He glanced out of the small, narrow window in the dimly lit armoury, watching as Robb and Lucie strolled along, their arms intertwined like a storybook Lord and Lady. Yet... he couldn't help but notice the telltale signs of Lucie's nervousness - the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress, how she nervously nibbled on her bottom lip, and how her posture was unnaturally stiff. It was clear that she was deeply uncomfortable and searching for an escape from the situation.

"Boy, are you unwell? You've made the targets so low that even Rickon would trip over them. Gods, boy, what has the young Lady done to you to make you so... mopey?", Ser Rodrik asked him gruffly, yet caringly as he quickly hoisted up the tripod into its correct height. "You look like you'd do well to have an ale or two before bed."

Jon’s eyes remained fixed on Lucie and Robb, his ears only half-registering Rodrik's words. "Mopey" was an understatement. He felt as if a vice was slowly closing around his chest, each turn crushing him into smaller and smaller pieces.

“I’ll...I’ll take care of it,” he said, not really to Rodrik, but to himself.

He made to correct the height of the targets once more, but his gaze slipped back to the window. Lucie had stopped walking, her hands clenched in front of her dress as she spoke hurriedly to Robb whose face had turned grim. Jon watched as Robb tried to pull her close again, but she pulled away, looking hurt and scared.

“That’s enough for today,” Rodrik said suddenly, startling Jon out of his thought. “You seem distracted. Go get some rest.” The knight clapped a hand on his shoulder before heading towards the exit.

Jon nodded but made no move to follow him. His gaze was still locked on the couple outside. Lucie seemed to win whatever argument they were having because Robb sighed, running a hand through his hair before walking away stiffly, leaving her alone on the balcony.

For a moment Jon hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he considered going out there, speaking with her. But what would he say? How could he voice the storm of emotions swirling within him? In end, he simply stood there in the quiet armoury watching as Lucie sank onto one of the benches on the balcony and buried her face in her hands.

With a heavy sigh, he got up and walked out of the armoury, looking pointedly away from her, burying his nails into the palms of his hands as he heard her angry sniffles. It wasn't his place to console her anymore, he thought, not in public, at least.

Exiting the armoury, Jon turned his footsteps towards the kennels. Perhaps Ghost was back from his play with the kids and was looking for him. The direwolf had a knack for sensing Jon's moods, and he could use the comforting presence of his four-legged friend.

The kennels were quiet, save for the occasional snort from the horses from the stables and the rustle of straw underfoot. Jon made his way to the far end where they kept Ghost's kennel. As he neared it, Ghost emerged from the shadowy corner, his vibrant red eyes shining in the darkness, reflecting Jon's torment back at him.

"Hey boy," Jon whispered, kneeling down to run a hand over Ghost’s white fur, seeking solace in the familiar softness. Ghost made a low noise that could be interpreted as concern before gently bumping his head against Jon's chest. It was an attempt at comforting him that made Jon smile despite himself.

The two stayed like that for a while, Ghost sprawled lazily on the stable floor as Jon absentmindedly scratched behind his ears. The sound of soft whines intermittently filled the otherwise silent barn as Ghost sensed Jon’s turmoil.

When he returned to the courtyard, it was already dark. The castle was tucked into its blankets of snow, its stone defenses stern against the northern winds. He walked aimlessly around the courtyard and only noticed how late it actually was when he saw Maester Luwin’s lantern flickering in the distance while he prepared for another long night of work.

For a moment, Jon paused before ultimately deciding to head towards his chambers. He had almost turned back and headed to the library or even Lucie's solar instead. It was unexpected for Lucie to have her own quarters separate from Robb's; after all, they were supposed to be in love. But Jon knew the reality of their situation. As he entered his chamber, he involuntarily flinched as someone abruptly shut the door behind him.

Gods, it was Lucie - standing there, bleary eyed, holding a bottle of wine and swaying lightly as if she was... drunk.

"Lucie?! What on earth are you doing here?", he exclaimed in a hushed tone and guided her to his bed so that she could sit down, seeing as her footing wasn't as stable as it should've been. She reeked of a sweet dessert wine and her hands trembled as she looked up at him like a lost puppy. If she hadn't been in such a messy state he would've surely sent her away but something in the way she looked at him made all alarm bells go off in his mind.

"Jon," she mumbled, her usually clear black eyes now clouded with dampness and diluted by the alcohol. Her hands fumbled as she tried to open the wine bottle, the cork proving to be too stubborn. Jon carefully took the bottle from her and opened it with ease, placing it on a small table beside the bed after taking a big gulp. Gods, how he needed that.

Her hands were cold and trembled lightly under his touch, her eyes tracing the movement of his fingers as he neatly set the bottle aside. She watched him silently for a moment, her gaze beseeching and desperate.

"Lucie, why are you here?" Jon asked again, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a dread he couldn't voice. He rose from the bed, ready to fetch some water for her when her hand shot up to grip his wrist.

"I need," she swallowed heavily, words muffled but eyes determined to hold his gaze. "I need...to talk."

Jon felt a pang of anxiety shoot through him at her words. Was she about to confess something? Was she pregnant? Gods, he thought to himself as thousands of possibilities raced through his mind.

"Alright," Jon said finally after a long pause, pushing down his anxiety and focusing on the distressed woman in front of him. "I'm listening."

"I am so horrible at these things, Jon, Gods, I am so sorry. I'm so sorry for... for not spending time with you, but... Robb's jealous," she mumbled and offered him some more wine again as she sobered up a little, padding her tear-streaked pale face with her extravagant dress. "And yes, he does... do his husbandly duties well and all, yet it all feels so gimmicky and I'm afraid of someone seeing my mask slip and here I am again, ranting to you when what I should be doing is begging your forgiviness... Jon, my love, I'm so sorry..."

Silence spread as Jon looked from her to the bottle of wine and shuddered, taking the bottle and sitting back onto his bed, leaning against a wall, trying to create some distance to her. It woul've been so easy to just reassure her again, to sweeten her up and send her back to Robb, yet he'd had enough. This wasn't his Lucie anymore, this was a girl that lost herself trying to please everyone but herself and he resented it. He took a sip from it again, greatly appreciating the burn it left behind as he tried giving her a stern look.

"Well, Lucie, what do you expect me to say? Let us not talk about these things, I thought we've already concluded that our feelings... are not valid anymore in this... situation," he mumbled and bit his lip, feeling his moustache digging into his chin as he did so. He loved her, so unimaginably much, but he was right, breaking down and crying once every two-three weeks helped neither of them. "There's something else, isn't there, Lucie?"

Lucie raised an eyebrow, blushed and leaned back, nodding slowly, her hair gently framing her. "I'm sorry Jon, I just... I always feel like such a stuck up prissy when I have to pretend like I don't know you or what is going on between us." She shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at him with her glassy, doe-eyes and sighed. "Yes, there is something else. I... I wish I knew what, but I started drinking this stupid wine Robb gave me before I stormed here so I've forgotten." Giving him a shy smile, she slipped off her slipper and poked his thigh with her graceful foot. "You haven't kicked me out yet, 't means you also have some unfinished business with me."

Jon sighed and rubbed his temples. The wine was delicious and it went straight into his head, seeing as he had skipped dinner. "Well, it isn't really unfinished business. I just want to know how you're doing, you always look so... anxious. I don't like seeing you that way." He passed the bottle back to Lucie, who had kicked off her second slipper and sat more comfortably on his bed, her warm, soft legs lying gently atop his. Fuck, he thought as he felt his cock hardening, not now, he prayed to the Gods and tried to think of everything, everything except for her sweet touch and her intoxicating presence.

"What's bothering you, Lucie? Is it Robb?" Jon asked, his mind swirling with concern, unspoken love, and the burning sensation low in his abdomen that he was fighting hard to ignore.

She nudged his thigh with her foot once more, causing him to catch his breath. Her bosom was unmistakably large, straining against the fabric of her dress. Jon couldn't help but think it was Robb's idea to dress her that way. He grimaced and quickly shifted his focus to the wine bottle in front of him, determined not to continue staring at her.

She looked at him for a long moment, as if she was trying to read his thoughts. Finally, she sighed deeply and shook her head.

"No," she said softly. "Well... yes, but also no." She reached for the wine bottle again, taking another long swallow. Then she wiped the back of her mouth with her hand and grimaced. "It's not only about Robb... It's about me."

Jon was silent for a few moments before responding. "What do you mean?"

"I don't even know who I am anymore... what I want." Her voice was small and shaky as she set the wine bottle on the floor beside the bed.

She looked at him with hazy eyes and added, "I just feel so muddled up. Like... like I'm drowning."

Jon felt himself soften at her words. She sounded so lost and confused. He knew he shouldn't be encouraging this - that sounded like a problem she should be discussing with a maester, not with him.

"I can't imagine how hard this is for you," he admitted, reaching over to gently wrap his fingers around hers. "But Lucie... you need to make choices that make you happy. Not Robb or anyone else.”

She nodded slowly but didn't pull away from his touch. They sat there in silence, picking up the wine bottle every now and then to take a sip. Shockingly, Lucie qujckly hitched up her skirt and untied the ribbons that held up her stockings around her thighs and tossed them towards him, seemingly tipsy again. "'Ere you go, you can add them to your collection," she mumbled as she shook her head and pulled her skirts down again, lazily trying to get up.

Fuck, that meant she knew... She knew that he stroked himself to her image, her scent... Why on the Gods green earth was she trying to encourage him? Was she trying to humiliate him? Why was she leaving? His drunken mind started racing again and he flinched as he felt his member stiffening again. "Lucie?!", he asked and watched her bow down to try and retrieve her slippers, almost making her breasts fall out. This was such dangerous territory and Jon felt as though he would explode soon.

She mumbled something under her breath and straightened again, her eyes unsteady as she tried to focus on him. "What?", she asked, swaying slightly, forgetting about the slippers. Her hair had fallen loosely around her shoulders and one strand was stuck in the corner of her mouth which she pulled out and tucked away with a little smile.

Jon swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his chest. He tried to ignore the way his body reacted towards her. "W-where are you going?" He stammered out, hoping she didn't see his member straining against his breeches.

"I... I don't know," she confessed, looking rather lost and disoriented. "I... I think I should go back to my chamber. Wouldn't want to be a naughty girl and spend the night in a man's room, would I?"

"No," he blurted out without thinking. She looked at him in surprise, her eyes widening at his sudden burst of assertiveness. Jon ran a hand through his hair nervously before pointing at the bed. "You... You can stay here if you want. For a while, to sober up of course."

Lucie's eyes softened at his words, a small smile playing on her lips. "I can, can’t I?" She repeated more to herself than to him before stumbling forward and falling onto the bed beside Jon.

He caught her just in time, gripping onto her arm tightly as she let out a surprised laugh. Despite how drunk she was, there was a certain spark in her eyes that Jon hadn’t seen in some time - a spark that reminded him of the girl he had fallen in love with a year ago.

"Jon..." She mumbled quietly after a few moments of silence had settled between them again. She turned around and traced a finger over his thigh, staring off into the distance. "D'you think about me often, you know, when you touch yourself? You've taken almost ten pairs of my ribbons."

Feeling his face heat up, Jon choked on his response, his gaze darting away from her. She was too drunk to be having this conversation. They were both too drunk, but the burning in his veins didn't let him back down.

"Yeah," he confessed in a hoarse whisper, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in an embarrassed smile. "I can't help it, Lucie. You're... you're beautiful."

She laughed at that, a giddy laugh that ended with her pressing her palm against her mouth. "Oh my gods, Jon." She murmured, her eyes glassy as they locked onto his. "That's so embarrassing."

"I know," he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No... no it's... it's sweet," she stuttered out between giggles, nudging him with her elbow. Yet under all the mirth was a touch of confusion and vulnerability that sobered Jon up somewhat.

"And what about you?" He asked cautiously, glancing back at her from under his fingers. The smile on Lucie’s lips had faltered somewhat, replaced by a guarded expression he couldn’t decipher.

"Me?" She asked hesitantly, gnawing on her lower lip. Her fingers strayed to the hem of her dress again as she fell silent. Jon felt every second stretch on forever as she hesitated.

“Yes,” he finally murmured when it became clear she wasn’t going to answer. “Do you… think about me?”

The silence was thick this time as Lucie chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Yeah, I do. When I wake up, When he is done and I am not, when I fall asleep."

The words were like a punch to Jon's gut. The confession wasn’t passionate or desperate - it was simply honest, perhaps the most honest Lucie had been with him that night. He licked his lips, swallowing hard around the nervous lump in his throat.

“And when he..” he began, not entirely certain he wanted to know the answer, “When he makes love to you?”

Lucie glanced away, her cheeks reddening to match the wine staining her lips. She shrugged slightly, as if to downplay her admission. “Yeah... Sometimes.”

There was a quiet that fell between them then. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable - more expectant, a pause before some undefinable something. Lucie’s revelation hung in the air between them like an unspoken promise or a forbidden fruit just out of reach.

The silence was broken only by their shared breaths and the crackling of embers in the fireplace. Jon realized he was holding his breath and was quick to correct it, trying to steady his nerves. He glanced at Lucie from under heavy lids, only to find her already looking at him.

Her gaze was intense and scrutinizing yet held a hint of vulnerability underneath. It made Jon’s heart beat faster, a rush of adrenaline surging through his veins. It was as if she had loosened the rope on a dam and he could feel everything rushing towards him all at once.

“Don't…” She began awkwardly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don't judge me for it, please.” She took a big, deep breath and let her hand wander up his thigh, making it twitch. As she laid her hand over his cock, he groaned so loudly, he thought half of Winterfell must've been woken up by it. "Tell me what you think of when you stroke yourself," she mumbled as she undid the laces of his breeches and took out his cock, gently wrapping her hand around it as she half-hugged him.

Shivering and moaning, he dared not move a single muscle. "Y-yes, Lucie...," he rasped, clutching at the sheets in a desperate attempt to ground himself. "I... I think of... you... your touch... your eyes."

"Oh? My eyes?" Lucie mused, her voice a hushed whisper against his ear. Her hand moved ever so slowly, her fingers oh-so-delicate yet mind-numbingly tight around him. Each stroke made him tense, each caress made him grunt.

"Yes." His voice was ragged as he gripped her arm. He needed her to know. "They’re like fire. Wild and untamed... just like you.”

A laugh bubbled from her lips at his words, the sound soft and surprisingly sober amidst the hazy fog of their shared intoxication. "You're the poet here, Jon," she murmured with a small smile as she spread the drops of his lust over the reddened tip of his member.

"And you’re the muse," he shot back without missing a beat, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Her smile faltered at that, her grip on him loosening as she looked up to meet his gaze with wide eyes. For a long moment, silence reigned between them - heavy and charged with an unsaid promise that had been lingering just beneath the surface all this while. She pushed herself up and Jon was just about to pull her back again, when he saw that gently pulled his breeches down lower so she could position herself in a way that made it easy for her lips to wrap around his cock.

Gods, gods, gods, he was floating. Not only was he drunk, but Lucie, his darling, sweet unrequieted love with the soft lips and the huge breasts was kneeling on his bed, sucking his cock. "Lu, I... You.. Fuck, you're the best...", he managed to whimper, his hands almost ripping up the blanket underneath him. "Why...?"

Lucie glanced upwards, her dark eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. There was a brief pause as she regarded him, her lips still wrapped around his throbbing cock. He thought he saw a twinkle in her eyes, a glimmer of mischief and desire mixed together. She pulled off him with a wet pop, her tongue darting out to swipe at the beads of pre-cum leaking from his tip.

"Why?" She echoed his question with an amused raised brow. "Isn't it obvious, Jon?" Her hand gripped him again, stroking him lightly as she spoke.

Jon wasn't too drunk to miss the teasing lilt in her voice but the alcohol coursing through his veins did make it difficult for him to form coherent thoughts. One thing was clear to him though - Lucie was looking at him like he was the only man in existence and that was enough to make his mind go blank.

"I...uh..." He stammered out, not even sure what he had been going to say.

A soft chuckle escaped from Lucie's lips at his flustered state. "You're cute when you're drunk," she cooed, dipping her head once more to envelop his cock within the heat of her mouth.

A guttural sound ripped through Jon's throat at the sensation. The alcohol was making everything feel ten times more intense and Lucie's mouth moving up and down his length was practically driving him insane.

"Lu..." He muttered weakly, his fingers reaching out to thread through her hair. Even in his intoxicated state, he took care not to pull or hurt her. Instead, he gently guided her head up and down, his fingers clenching as he felt his sweet release coming up, quickly pulling her up towards him. "Fuck, Lu, I... I can't soil your pretty mouth... I...," he mumbled, face flushed, as he peppered, small, sweet kisses over Lucie's angelic face.

"Shhh," she soothed, her hand cupping his cheek. "I don't mind, Jon." Her voice was soft, the barest of whispers in the stillness of the room. Her eyes looked into his, deep and intense, holding a promise that he couldn’t refuse.

He blinked at her once before leaning in closer, their lips almost touching. Then he whispered back, "I do. I want to treasure every part of you." His words hung heavy in the room, a testament to his feelings for her.

Lucie nodded, understanding and respect swirling in her eyes. She slowly slipped his cock out of her hand, gathered up her skirts and moved up to straddle him instead. Her hands rested on his chest as she lowered herself onto him, a low moan escaping her lips he filled her up completely. She was so unimaginably wet, he had to pull himself together not to fill her up then and there.

"Lu... please, gods, don't stop..." Jon's hands rushed up to grip her hips and she let out a giggle at his eagerness. He watched her with wide eyes as she started moving, riding him with as much passion as she had shown while pleasuring him with her mouth.

"Jon," Lucie murmured, the sound of his name coming out more like a sigh from her lips. Her head fell back in pleasure as she rode him harder, faster. "I love you, fuck, I... I... Love you so much....," she mumbled, clenching ever tighter around him.

He watched her for a moment more before he couldn't take it any longer. His hands slid up from her hips to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples through the fabric of her dress.

She cried out at the touch and he shyly smiled up at her before capturing one nipple in his mouth through the material. Lucie gasped and he used the opportunity to flip them over, gently thrusting into her, holding her face sweetly, kissing her, She was his princess, the love of his life, his everything and he wanted her to feel it.

"Jon," she moaned his name into his ear as he moved within her, a series of low whimpers and gasps following it.

Her body was warm beneath him, her soft curves pressing against his hard lines. Her skin was flushed from the exertion and pleasure, the sight making his heart beat faster. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Pulling back, he locked eyes with her, watching as her big eyes shined bright with exhilaration and love, a look that made him feel things he had never felt before. He leaned in to kiss her again, the taste of her lips sweet and intoxicating.

"I love you too, Lucie," he confessed between kisses, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a raw honesty that made her eyes water.

He watched as tears trailed down her cheeks either from the intensity of their lovemaking or the declaration of love, the alcohol or the fact that they were risking their lives. Jon swiped at them with his thumb, kissing her again harder this time, pouring all of himself into it.

The world around them faded away to nothingness. There was only Lucie and him entangled on his bed in a room half-lit by the dying embers of the hearth, bodies moving in sync as they sought release in one another's arms.

Lucie dug her fingers into Jon's back as she felt her peak approaching fast—each thrust from Jon pushing her closer until she whimpered out in pleasure, her inner walls clenching around him tightly as she quickly covered her mouth to suppress her moan.

Feeling Lucie’s climax sent Jon tumbling over the edge too. A guttural moan escaped his lips as he buried himself deep within her, gasping as she tried pulling herself out of him in vain; he was still half-buried within her, his sensitive cock twitching in her heat as he shook his head and rolled off of her, burying his face in his hands, panting from the exertion and the shame. "I'm so sorry Lucie, I... Fuck, I totally forgot to pull out..."

Lucie only chuckled at his embarrassment, her fingers lightly scratching down his chest, trailing over his heaving ribs. "Jon," she murmured, her voice carrying a comforting lilt that calmed his nerves and brought a smile to his flushed face, "it's alright. I shouldn't be able to fall pregnant around this time of the month, Maester Luwin told me."

"But Lu..." Jon started to protest, still panting heavily from their intense lovemaking. His eyes were wide with worry as he turned to look at her, his words falling short when he caught sight of the satisfied smile on her face.

"I'm not upset." She reassured him softly, the shy glint in her eyes putting him at ease. Her hand came up to stroke his cheek lovingly as she moved closer to him on the bed. "In fact," she added with a small wink, "I rather enjoyed it."

Jon let out a relieved chuckle at her words, allowed himself to relax back against the pillows. The room was filled with the comforting scent of Lucie and sex, a heady mixture that made Jon's heart rate calm down gradually.

"You're not mad?" He asked in confusion, watching as Lucie shook her head with an amused smile. She always had this uncanny ability to surprise him and tonight was no different.

"Why would I be mad? We've done what we wanted, haven't we?" She gave him a soft peck on the lips before settling down beside him, draping an arm over his chest comfortably. Her soft sigh of contentment filled the quiet room making Jon’s mind waver between satisfaction and doubt.

"I...uh... I didn't mean to... you know," Jon admitted bashfully.

"I know," Lucie murmured, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. She turned to him with a soft smile, "Jon, sometimes it's okay to let go. And tonight... " She paused, the corners of her lips tugging upwards in a mischievous smirk as she leveled him with a teasing gaze, "tonight was definitely one of those times."

"But what if—"

Lucie shushed him with a gentle finger on his lips, her eyes shining with understanding. "What if is a question for tomorrow, Jon. Right now, I want you to hold me."

With that, she burrowed closer into him, her head resting comfortably on his chest. Her body was still warm from their lovemaking; the scent of it lingered in the air and filled him with an odd sense of peace and contentment.

Jon swallowed hard and wrapped his arms tighter around her. He could still feel the lingering traces of heat from where their bodies had joined - a gentle reminder of what they had shared, what they had expressed in the most intimate way possible.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. His mind was full of unanswered questions and fears for tomorrow, but he couldn't deny the relief that washed over him like a soothing wave at Lucie's words.

For once in his life, Jon allowed himself the foolish luxury to live in the moment - not worrying about the consequences or what might happen next, as Lucie's warmth and soft breaths lulled him to sleep.

Next Chapter => 11 - Lucie

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asa-writes · 4 months

Text

Dreams

Chapter 6 - Lucie

18+ Minors DNI WC: 2,6k Tags / Warnings: a bit of angst, a bit of fluff Previous Chapter: 5 - Jon

Click click click, clack, whoosh. Click click click, clack, whoosh. Knitting - something that wasn't as graceful as embroidery - was one of the only things to calm Lucie's mind. Not to mention, scarves, sweaters and socks were helpful to ward off the damned cold when she went to ride out.

"Lucie, do not frown, please, I've told you, Robb is a kind husband," Sansa said, laying her hand gently onto Lucie's shaking arm.

"I know," Lucie muttered and looked at the young girl with her pleading blue eyes, the same she had seen yesterday in her rooms. Sansa looked remarkably like Robb, which tugged at her heart again. "I'm not frowning."

Arya giggled. "If it isn't a frown, then it is the angriest smile I've ever seen."

Lucie let out a small chuckle and shook her head. The two Stark girls always seemed to have a way of making her smile, no matter how down she was feeling. She glanced back down at her knitting needles and continued to work on the scarf she was making for Jon.

"Arya, have you ever tried knitting?" Lucie asked, trying to shift the conversation away from herself.

Arya snorted. "Me? Knitting? I'd rather be out training in the yard."

Sansa rolled her eyes at her younger sister's response. "Arya, you could use some of Lucie's scarves to keep you warm when we'll go sledding the next time."

Lucie smiled at Sansa's suggestion. "I wouldn't mind making you one, Arya. It could have a direwolf on it."

Arya's eyes lit up at the thought of having a direwolf scarf. "That would be amazing! Could you make one for Nymeria too?"

Lucie nodded, grinning. A direwolf, wearing a scarf... that sounded like the beginning of either a joke or a fairytale. "Of course. I'll start on it tonight."

The three girls continued to chat and laugh, with Lucie's knitting needles clicking away in the background. For a brief moment, Lucie forgot about her worries and felt at peace.

Just as she was getting comfortable, Lady Catelyn entered the room. "Lucie, my dear, would you come with me to my solar?" Her voice was gentle, but there was an underlying seriousness that made Lucie's heart race.

"Of course, my lady," Lucie replied, curtsying and setting her knitting down and following Lady Catelyn out of the room. Her mind raced with possibilities of what the Lady Stark could want from her.

Once they arrived at the solar, Lady Catelyn closed the door and turned to face Lucie. "I have a proposition for you, Lucie. I have heard from Robb that he has been enjoying your company and has found you to be quite skilled in the art of conversation."

Lucie's heart leapt with joy and relief. So Lady Stark was not upset with her, but rather pleased with her.

"I was wondering if you would be willing to assist Robb with his diplomacy efforts. You have a way with words that I believe would be useful to him."

Lucie was taken aback. She had never considered herself to be skilled in the art of diplomacy, but she was flattered that Lady Stark thought so highly of her.

"I would be honored to accompany Robb and assist him in any way I can," Lucie replied with a bow of her head.

"Excellent," Lady Stark said with a smile. "I will inform Robb of our conversation. I believe he will be pleased to hear it."

Lucie felt a weight lift off her shoulders as she left Lady Stark's solar. This was the first time Lady Catelyn has spoken to her privately and she was glad that it wasn't about this whole damned courtship issue.

"No, my Lady, do not trouble yourself. I shall tell him myself," Lucie said demurely, her long dark hair tumbling down her shoulders as she bowed her head. "I have been with your girls for a long time and I would be grateful to stretch my legs for a while, if you would permit me doing so. Do you know where I might find him, my Lady?"

Lady Catelyn nodded, her blue eyes filled with warmth. "Of course, my dear. Robb is likely in his father's chambers at this time of day. You may find him there."

Lucie curtsied and made her way towards Lord Eddard's chambers, feeling a sense of excitement building within her. The prospect of assisting Robb in his diplomacy efforts was both daunting and thrilling. She had never imagined herself in such a position, but she was determined to do her best - it was more exciting than this whole discussion pertaining her heart's desires.

As she approached the Lord's chambers, she could hear the sound of muffled voices coming from within. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should wait until he was finished with whatever business they were attending to.

She needed to prove that she wasn't just a weak, helpless girl. She was Lady Templeton and she wanted him to see that she would find more fulfillment in being active rather than being treated like a delicate princess.

Taking a deep breath, Lucie pushed open the door and stepped inside. Robb was sitting at his father's desk, poring over a stack of papers, a servant at his side. He looked up as she entered, a smile spreading across his face.

"Lucie," he said warmly, rising to his feet. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Lucie curtsied deeply, feeling a fluttter in her stomach as she thought back to yesterday's kiss. "Lady Catelyn has spoken to me about your diplomacy efforts, my Lord. She has asked if I would be willing to assist you."

Robb's eyes widened in surprise and pleasure. "Is that so? Well, I must say, I am delighted to hear it. You have always been a gifted conversationalist, Lucie. I have no doubt that you will be a great asset to me."

Suppressing a smirk, she silently agreed. Masterful conversationalist, she scoffed to herself, he's only ever heard me utter a handful of words. Quite the charmer, indeed.

Robb gestured towards the seat opposite his desk. "Please, have a seat. Let's discuss what we can do together."

"Pray tell, my Lord, are we to discuss the usual subjects you've so patiently educated me on, or is there something new and intriguing to captivate my mind?" Lucie inquired with a coy smile, gracefully taking her seat, arranging her black skirts over her legs.

Robb sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid something has come up that... I cannot teach you. It's a matter of great importance. John Arryn, to whom House Templeton has bent the knee, has died in King's Landing and our King, Robert Baratheon, is coming up North soon."

Lucie gasped. Robb nodded solemnly.

"It's a sad business," he said sadly, "but it is important for us to be ready to receive him with all due courtesy and respect. We must ready Winterfell for his arrival as quickly as possible."

Lucie bit her lip and sighed, rubbing her temples. She knew that as Lady Templeton, she had to bend her knee to the next Arryn heir.

"I'm sorry if I'm speaking out of turn, I shall help you with the preparation for the King's arrival to the north soon. But... I shall be expected to pledge my allegiance to the Arryns and I was thinking... If we were to marry soon, before the King would arrive, I could already send a raven in our name and state that I would wish for House Templeton to be continued by our second son and if Lady Arryn would have a problem with that, I could have House Stark's backing. It would also signal to the King and the whole country that House Stark is strong and prosperous."

Robb's eyes widened in surprise at Lucie's proposal. It seemed like he had not expected her to bring up the topic of marriage so soon after yesterday's events, but that the idea did intrigue him.

"I see," he said slowly, stroking his stubbly chin thoughtfully. "You believe that this would be beneficial to both our houses?"

Lucie nodded eagerly, her dark hair gently moving over her black dress. The dark locks flowed smoothly as she moved, brushing against her pale skin and adding to her overall elegance and grace. "Yes, my Lord. It would strengthen the ties between our houses and show the rest of the Seven Kingdoms that we are united and prosperous." She blushed and looked down to the floor. "I... 'tis the best political action, my Lord."

Robb leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You are a clever woman, Lady Lucie," he said, his eyes gleaming with admiration. "I believe that you are right. This could be a good move for both of us."

Lucie's heart leapt as she exhaled slowly. She had not expected him to agree so easily. "Thank you, my Lord," she said, bowing her head. "I am honored to be of service to both House Stark and head of House Templeton."

Robb stood up from his seat and crossed the room to her. He took her hand and kissed it gently. "And I am honored to have you by my side, Lady Lucie," he said softly, squeezing her hand. Gods, his hand was... large. "We will make a great team, you and I."

Lucie blushed at his words, feeling a warmth spread through her body. She looked up into Robb's handsome face and felt a thrill of excitement run through her. This could be the start of a... good marriage, she thought to herself, but only if we can work together, and not... not love each other. Better than the one where he would've shut her up in a tower to embroider.

For the next few hours, they went over the papers on the desk. Robb explained the political situation in the North and Lucie listened intently, her mind whirring as she tried to keep up. She asked questions and made suggestions to think of how they would proceed, and Robb listened to her with respect.

As they reached their preliminary conclusions, Robb leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. "I have to say, Lucie, I am impressed with your insights. You really have a talent for this."

Lucie felt a warm flush spread across her cheeks at his praise. "Thank you, my Lord. But I have to admit, I'm still learning."

Robb shook his head. "Nonsense. You are a natural. I have no doubt that you will be a great Wife to me, standing by my side and giving me counsel."

As she gazed at him, Lucie couldn't help but smile. A feeling of contentment spread through her, a rare occurrence as of late. It seemed like he was finally doing something worthwhile, rather than constantly obsessing over her.

As they stood up to leave, Robb reached out and took her hand. "Lucie, I want you to know that I... I'm sorry for everything."

Lucie pushed back her chair and eyed him curiously, quickly retracting her hand. Why did he have to touch her so much?

"Don't worry, Robb," she said shortly, her voice cool, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. "I understand why you needed to do what you did. Everything is fine now and I know that you will make the right decisions for our House in the future."

Robb's face softened as she spoke and he gave her a small nod of affirmation. "Thank you, Lucie," he said quietly. "If there is anything I can do to help with the wedding planning then please let me know."

Lucie gave him a courteous bow before turning away. She knew that this was his attempt at a peace offering and she welcomed it. "Of course, my Lord," she replied politely. "I'll be sure to keep you informed on the progress."

With that, she offered him a respectful curtsy before taking her leave and going in search of Jon.

Jon, oh, Jon, Jon, Jon. She needed him desperately. Needed to be free from the others, just needed to sit with him, talk to him, laugh with him.

Her thick black skirts rustled as she strode through the keep, down the stairs and into the yard. Lucie scanned the area, trying to find Jon without making it too obvious. She nodded at the servants walking around, doing their tasks, but didn't stop to engage in conversation.

As she made her way towards the stables, her steps slowed as she caught sight of Jon's familiar figure leaning against a nearby wall. A small smile tugged at her lips as she watched him talk to one of the stable hands.

Jon noticed her approaching and turned towards her with a warm smile. "Lucie," he greeted her with a nod. "What brings you here?"

"I was hoping I could steal you away for a moment," Lucie replied, her tone hinting at a request rather than an order.

Jon's eyebrows raised in surprise but he nodded in understanding. "Of course," he said with a smile before turning to the stable hand. "I'll be back shortly."

As they walked away from the stables and towards the snowy Godswood, Lucie couldn't help but feel grateful for Jon's easy company. He always knew when she needed him without needing to be told.

They settled on a stone bench near the heart tree and Lucie let out a content sigh as she took in their surroundings. The Godwood was quiet and serene, providing them with much needed privacy.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Jon asked gently, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

Lucie took a deep breath before launching into an explanation of her earlier meeting with Robb. She recounted their discussion about their upcoming wedding and how Robb had attempted to make amends for his past actions.

"He seemed sincere," she admitted with a hint of doubt in her voice.

Jon studied her carefully before responding. "Do you believe him?"

"I don't know," Lucie admitted with a shrug. "But I am willing to give him a chance. For the sake of... my sanity."

Jon nodded in understanding. "It's good that you're willing to give him another chance," he said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But always remember to trust your instincts. They have kept you alive this long, after all."

Lucie nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of comfort in Jon's words. She turned to him, meeting his gaze. "Thank you, Jon," she said softly. "For always listening and understanding."

Jon smiled at her, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. "Of course, Lucie," he said warmly. "Anything for you."

Lucie's heart skipped a beat at his words and she felt a familiar warmth spreading through her body. She couldn't deny the attraction she felt towards Jon, even though she was betrothed to Robb.

As they sat there in the peaceful surroundings of the Godswood, Lucie couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be with Jon. To feel his hands on her body, his lips on hers. She pushed the thought away, feeling guilty for even entertaining such ideas.

As Jon turned to face her, his eyes were pools of deep, intense emotion that seemed to consume Lucie in their darkness. She couldn't look away as he drew closer, his breath warm against her skin. Without a word, she closed the space between them and timidly pressed her lips to his, a spark igniting within her that sent shivers down her spine. But as the heat intensified and her stomach churned with guilt, she couldn't help but wonder if this was what true desire felt like.

In that moment, Lucie knew that she was in trouble. She was in love with two men, both of whom were destined to rule alongside her. And she had no idea what to do about it.

Next Chapter => 7 - Jon

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asa-writes · 4 months

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Dreams is now on Wattpad!

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

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asa-writes · 4 months

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Dreams - Masterlist

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

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings and General Tags under the cut.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapters:

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

Drabbles and One-Shots:

"My Sweet" - Robb Stark x Lucie Templeton

Also available on:

Archive of our Own and Wattpad

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

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asa-writes · 4 months

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Sleigh Ride

Merry early Christmas @gefionne <3

Sansa Stark x Sandor Clegane 18+ MINORS DNI WC: 3,3k Warnings / Tags: fluff, christmassy theme, canon times, massage, sex, breeding king, pregnancy, no beta reads no checks no nothing im sorry

The bells on the horses' harness collars jingled merrily as they kept their calm pace, puffs of hot steam coming out of their nostrils. The sleigh continued its peaceful journey through the snow-covered forests of the North. Sansa snuggled deeper into her furs, sighing contentedly. Despite the bitter cold, she felt warm and safe next to Sandor. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, guiding the horses along the narrow path. Sansa studied his face in profile, the ruined side she once feared now so dear to her. She smiled, remembering how reluctant he'd been to don the red Father Sevenmas hat she'd playfully plopped on his head before they set out.

"Bloody hells," he'd grumbled. But he wore it still - if Sansa asked, who was he to say no to his little bird?

Up ahead, the trees opened up into a wide clearing. "Look!" Sansa gasped. A snow castle rose in the center of the field, its turrets shimmering in the dimming light. As they approached, the gates swung open and a jubilant group of children streamed out, bundled in furs and warm fabrics. They were all from Castle Cerwyn, and as the Lady of the North, Sansa had made a promise to her people to bring joy to their lives after enduring war, harrying, and famine.

Sansa beamed at Sandor. "Your little admirers await."

He harrumphed, but she caught the twitch of his mouth that meant he was pleased. When the sleigh halted, the children swarmed forward, young voices rising excitedly.

"Father Sevenmas! Father Sevenmas!"

Sandor's eyes softened as he reached into his bag and began handing out gifts - simple things such as nuts, dried fruits and small mittens and scarves. Sansa's heart swelled watching him interact so gently with the babes. Despite his gruff exterior, he had much goodness in him. She took his hand and squeezed it fondly. This was a perfect Sevemmas, indeed. It wouldn't be long until he could be their child's father chrismas, she thought with a smile.

Sansa gazed affectionately at Sandor as he handed out gifts to the delighted children. She placed a hand on her still-flat belly, imagining him one day doing the same for their babe.

After the gifts were distributed, the children begged for a story. With a gruff chuckle, Sandor obliged, his raspy voice spinning a tale of adventure and heroism. The children listened, enraptured, as if Sevenmas had come early. Too soon, the short winter day faded into dusk. Sandor wrapped up his story and helped the sleepy children back inside the gates of their snow castle. As the gates closed behind the last child, he turned to Sansa with a rare, soft smile.

"Well, little bird? How did I fare at playing Father Sevenmas?"

Sansa wrapped her arms around his broad chest. "Wonderfully. I owe you something."

He stroked her hair, his touch infinitely gentle. "No, Sansa, I... I did it for you, you don't owe me anything."

Reluctantly, Sandor helped Sansa back into the sleigh and flicked the reins. The horses began the journey home, back to Winterfell. Sansa nestled against Sandor's side, thinking of the life growing within her.

Sansa gazed up at the night sky as they traveled, the stars twinkling like a thousand candles. She thought of all she and Sandor had endured to find their way here, to this place of quiet contentment. The path had not been easy, but she had no regrets.

"What are you thinking about, little bird?" Sandor asked in his raspy voice.

Sansa smiled. "The future. Our future." She took his hand and brought it to her lips.

Sandor's brow furrowed. "Sansa..."

"I have news," she blurted out. "Wonderful news. I'm with child."

Sandor froze, staring at her. The sleigh slid to a stop. "Truly?" he finally asked.

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright. Sandor let out a shuddering breath and pulled her into his arms.

"You've made me the happiest man in the seven kingdoms," he said gruffly. He tilted her chin up and kissed her deeply.

When they finally broke apart, Sansa laughed. "I believe you were already the happiest man before."

Sandor's eyes shone. "Aye. But now..." He placed a gentle hand on her belly. "Now I'm the luckiest bloody man in the world."

As they glided past towering pines and old oaks draped with icicles that glistened in the setting sun, the soft crunch of snow beneath the skids filled the air. The scent of fresh evergreen needles and frosty breath hung in the frigid night, mingling with the spiced cider from a flask Sandor passed to her earlier; she took a sip, feeling it warm her insides.

"I love you so much, there's nothing I would've loved doing more today than this, seeing children having fun and... well, telling you about our little one. But it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise, seeing as we... did enjoy ourselves a lot as of late," she said contentenly, resting her small, gloved hand on his muscular thigh. Gods, she thought and blushed, how nice it had felt to sit on top of him, their bare bodies touching each other, his thick member buried deep within her heat.

Sansa watched her big, rough-looking protector – but he was so much more than that now – as he kept his eyes fixed ahead, guiding the horses along the narrow path as he blushed and cleared his throat. "Don't tease me, little bird, or soon you'll have a second, third and fourth babe on the way."

To this, Sansa blushed as much as he did and grinned happily.

Sandor looked over at Sansa and couldn't help but smile when she rested her hand on his thigh. He'd always loved the way she blushed when they talked about their intimate moments together. It made something inside him warm up and he felt protective of her, like he always had.

He squeezed her hand gently, his own rough calloused one contrasting with her soft gloved one. "You're an absolute flirt, you know that?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

As they continued down the path through the snow-covered forest, the air was filled with the sound of jingling bells and the crunch of shifting snow beneath the sleigh runners. The trees towered above them, their branches heavy with ice and snow that clung to every bough. The sun was setting fast now, casting long shadows across the landscape as they traveled deeper into the woods.

The sweet scent of pine needles filled the air as they rode along, occasionally a gust of chilled wind rustling them, sending a shiver down Sansa's spine. She looked up at the starlit sky and leaned against Sandor, enjoying the warmth of his arm around her shoulders. The crunching sound of snow under the horses' hooves was like music to her ears. The warmth of his hand holding hers was a welcome contrast to the icy air nipping at her cheeks.

Suddenly, Sansa noticed a small cabin in the distance, lit up by a single candlelight flickering through the window. It was nestled amidst towering evergreens and snowdrifts that reached almost as high as the roof. "Is that our destination?" she asked softly, feeling her stomach grumble with anticipation for some hot food after their long day.

Sandor nodded, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Aye, Little Bird. We'll rest there for the night and get some hot food inside us." He guided the horses towards the cabin, their hooves thundering on the frozen ground beneath them. They stopped outside a small hut, its door creaking open as they approached.

A faint scent of smoke wafted out, filling their nostrils with warmth and comfort.

Sansa's eyes lit up as she gently took a step closer. "Sandor... I... That wasn't necessary!"

He, in turn, gave her a small smile and gently kissed her forehead. "Merry Sevenmas, my dear."

As Sansa entered the cozy cabin, she shivered slightly from the cold that seeped through her thick coat. The warmth of the fireplace instantly enveloped her shivering body, and she let out a sigh of relief as her cheeks became rosy from the heat. The scent of wood smoke and freshly baked bread filled her nostrils, making her mouth water. It was soothing to her senses after their long day traveling through the frosty night.

Sandor helped Sansa remove her gloves and coat, hanging them by the door, before leading her over to a small table where a steaming pot sat. There was fresh bread, drizzled with honey and some sort of sweet preserve she didn't recognize, and a bowl of steaming rabbit stew. The juices sizzled and popped as he dished out two big helpings onto plates for them both.

"This is lovely," Sansa breathed out, taking a mouthful of the warm food that melted on her tongue like velvet. She closed her eyes in contentment at the taste – rich broth with tender pieces of meat infused with aromatic spices and vegetables. Sandor watched as she savored every bite, his eyes glowing with pride.

"I'm glad you like it," he grunted between mouthfuls of his own meal. "The old caretaker left some provisions for us." He gestured to a basket near the fire, which looked like it had been brought over by one of Winterfell's servants rather than an old caretaker, yet Sansa didn't care.

As she sank into a worn wooden chair by the fireplace, her fingers lazily tracing the carvings on its backrest while Sandor took his own seat across from her, she let out a contented sigh. She watched as he tore off chunks of warm bread and dunked them into the hearty stew, his cheeks hollowing as he savored each bite. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows on his rough-hewn features, turning them almost angelic in their playful dance. The smell of smoke and wood mixing with the savory scent of the soup made her stomach grumble appreciatively.

"Sandor, this is delicious," she murmured between bites, her voice soft and reverent. "I can't believe how good it tastes after such a long day." Each spoonful filled her mouth with warmth and comfort, melting away any lingering chill from their journey. She leaned back in her chair, watching as he did the same, thinking that perhaps this was their best Sevenmas yet - warm food, a cozy cabin, each other's company.

He nodded in agreement, wiping his beard-stubbled chin with the back of his hand before reaching over to take her smaller one in his large palm. "Aye, Lady Sansa. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed a meal like this." His eyes met hers for a moment too long before looking back down at their empty bowls. "Go lie down on the bed, my sweet, I've something for you, something I think you'll love even more than the stew."

As Sandor spoke, Sansa's heart began to race with anticipation. She placed her spoon down gently and stood up from her chair, swaying a bit as she walked over to him. Her stomach churned with both excitement and fear, wondering what he could possibly have planned for her next. He escorted her to a small bed in the corner of the cabin, made up with soft furs that smelled faintly of woodsmoke and evergreen.

She felt his warmth behind her as he helped her undress, feeling his calloused hands move up and down her skin, sending shivers through every inch of her being. She could feel the heat radiating from his body as he undid the ties on her bodice, letting it fall to the floor. His fingers brushed against her bare skin slowly, teasingly, causing goosebumps to form in their wake.

Her breath hitched as he pulled off her stockings and pushed her down onto the bed, watching as he collected some sort of thick oil from a small chest near the fireplace. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows on his rugged features as he walked back over to the bedside. Sansa bit her bottom lip nervously, not sure what was about to happen but ready for whatever it was.

Sandor poured some of the hot oil into his hands and began to massage Sansa's shoulders, kneading out the tension she hadn't even realized was there. The scent of spices filled the air and made her moan softly.

As Sansa lay down on the soft furs, feeling the warmth seep into her bones, she felt Sandor begin to massage her tense shoulders. His big hands moved with a deftness that belied his rough exterior, kneading away the knots and kinks that had built up during their day-long journey. With each passing moment, her body relaxed more under his skilled touch. The scent of spiced oil filled the air, mingling with that of sweat and leather from his clothes.

Her heart raced as he trailed his hands down her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh in just the right way to relieve all the tension. He moved lower, kneading her stomach and hips before slowly working his way back up to her thighs. A soft gasp escaped her lips when she felt one of his rough hands glide between them, teasingly brushing against her folds beneath her shift. He paused for a moment, looking into her eyes as he saw the desire there.

She parted her legs slightly, inviting him in, feeling a hot pulse of arousal course through her veins as he rubbed small circles over her most sensitive spot. His touch was feather-light at first, but grew bolder by the moment. The fire crackled and popped in the background, echoing their deepening breaths as he expertly worked his magic on her nerves.

Sansa arched her back into his touch, moaning softly as he continued to pleasure her, his warm, oily hands making her feel things she's rarely ever felt before. Every stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins, making her arch back into him and gasp for breath. His rough fingers teased and prodded until she couldn't help but whimper for more.

"Please," she whispered hoarsely, her voice catching in her throat. "I... I want you to bury yourself in me, oh..."

Sandor moved his hands to the buttons of her dress as he knelt between her spread thighs, eyes hungrily devouring her body. The sight of her supple flesh in the soft light of the fire sent a shiver down his spine. His rough fingers fumbled with the buttons, undoing them one by one until they fell open, revealing her creamy white skin to his greedy gaze.

She was breathtakingly beautiful in this moment, her nipples standing at attention under the thin fabric of her shift. He gently pushed it aside, exposing her perfect breasts to the warmth of the firelight's caress. He took one in his mouth, sucking on it hungrily as he ran his free hand down to cup her slick folds.

Her pussy was wet and ready for him; she was soaked with desire, begging to be taken. He rubbed her clit as he sucked harder on her nipple, causing shivers to race through her body. Sansa moaned loudly, her legs shaking as she felt the onslaught of pleasure coursing through her veins.

Sandor couldn't believe how much he enjoyed hearing those sounds escape from her perfect lips, how she trusted him enough to let him touch and taste every inch of her beautiful body. It drove him wild with love and lust.

Without further ado, he lifted himself up and positioned himself at her entrance, his cock already hard as a rock. Nodding needily, Sansa rubbed her soaked heat over the tip of his cock and gasped as he quickly inserted it, filling her up to the brim. Lifting her perfect, delicate legs over his shoulders, he groaned as she rolled back her eyes and squeezed herself around him.

As their hips met and he slowly began to move within her, Sansa's back arched off the bed, a primal cry escaping her throat. The roughness of his skin against hers only made the sensation more intense, and she felt herself grow wetter for him with each thrust. He was pumping into her steadily now, hitting her sweet spot with each powerful stroke.

She reached up to clutch at his shoulders, digging her nails into the toughened flesh as he took her harder and faster. His growls of pleasure echoed in the small space as he took what he wanted; it turned her on more than anything else. Lifting a leg to wrap around him tighter, Sansa dug her heel into his side, begging for more friction.

The cabin filled with their moans and grunts as they moved together, lost in each other's rhythm. The scent of sweat and sex mingled with that of the firewood, creating an intoxicating aroma that fueled their passion. Sandor's rough hands roamed over her supple body, feeling every curve and indent as he slammed into her from behind. He leaned down to capture one of her nipples between his teeth, sucking hard as she cried out in delight beneath him.

As Sandor slammed into her with a growl, Sansa's head thrashed back and forth, her long hair spreading out behind her like a waterfall of fire. Her eyes were slits, filled with desire and need, as she looked up into the his reddened face. She felt him hitting her deep and hard, drawing out exquisite moans from deep within her. His rough hands roamed over her body, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.

One hand found its way between them, rubbing her clit just right as the other cupped the weight of one of her plump breasts. She arched her back, pressing herself against his hand while his cock pounded into her from above. The bed groaned beneath them as they moved together in perfect unison. It was raw and primal, driving each other to new heights of pleasure they had never experienced before.

The oil they used earlier on their skin slickened their bodies as they moved together; it created an almost musical symphony that echoed throughout the tiny space.

Sandor's mouth found its way to her neck, his teeth scraping gently against her skin while he thrust harder and faster inside her. He growled low in his throat, "That's it, my sweet girl," he breathed against her skin. "Take it all from me."

His hips bucked fiercely against her and just as he felt her cunny fluttering and clenching around him, he felt his own release nearing. Sandor's muscular body tensed, and his lips curled into a sharp snarl as he felt his imminent climax approaching, a low growl rumbling from the back of his throat.

His hips jerked violently against Sansa's tight, wet cunny, his cock pulsing with the force of his desire for her. Her walls clenched around him, milking the last drops of pleasure from his rigid shaft, begging him to fill her completely. He bit down on her neck softly, just hard enough to leave a mark, claiming her as his own.

Sansa whimpered softly, arching her back as she felt him pulsing inside her, filling her up with his seed. She clenched around him one last time, milking what remained of his orgasm before he pulled out with a harsh groan.

Their sweat-slicked bodies slid against each other, their breaths still ragged and fast. He stayed buried deep inside her for a moment longer before pulling out and collapsing beside her on the small bed. She lay next to him, their chests heaving in unison as she let out a shaky sigh.

"You're mine," he murmured against her neck, planting a kiss there with a roughness that made her shiver in delight. "You always have been. Merry Sevenmas, my little bird."

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asa-writes · 4 months

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The Shadows of The Lost Court

Dark!Aemond x F!OC - 18+ MINORS DNI Word Count: 8.6k TW: dubcon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Shameless Smut, Angst, Fellatio, Misogyny, Internalized Misogyny, Non-Consensual Drug use, Religious Imagery, Symbolism and guilt

Art made by the lovely @nyctophilic0vitnir - thank you so much sweetheart! <3 And thank you so so much @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organizing this @hotd-bigbang , you are amazing!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Elisabeth shuddered and stopped, turning around, coughing to try and relieve her dry mouth.

She knew. She knew… She knew something. Something was following her.

Leaning against a grubby, crumbling wall, Elisabeth tried catching her breath. There was nothing there, neither on the left, nor on the right. Only cobwebs; cobwebs, moss and the smell of decay.

‘Is The Stranger a something or a someone?’

Tonight was different. The milk came sooner than usual.

Elisabeth struggled - where some people love the rush and the calmness afterward, she hated it. Hated the way it made her sick. Hated the way it lamed her tongue; hated the way it hid her. She knew better than anyone that her doses were calculated. Maester Rithyr must have gotten the order for her to be silenced, not addicted. That wouldn’t look good.

Elisabeth peered out of a window, only to see thick tendrils of fog curling up from the ground like ghostly fingers. The dim light filtering through the mist gave everything a spectral, otherworldly hue. She took notice of how broken everything looked: shattered windows, splintered doors and debris scattered across the dusty floor. She sighed heavily as she rearranged her long, dark brown hair under its veil, trying to keep it in place amidst all the chaos. And then, she heard him again - his footsteps echoing through the ruins.

The sound made her feel uneasy; it was too quiet, too lonely. For a moment she wondered if she was in trouble or hurt. But then a chill ran down her spine and she realized that perhaps it wasn't just the desolate ruin around her making her feel so cold and scared.

“You swore to obey me. You swore before the gods, you brutish whore. After all I’ve done for you…”, the voice echoed around her.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He was closing in on her. The staircase seemed to be miles away, yet still, she pushed herself away from the moss-covered stones and cautiously started walking. Elisabeth grunted, her legs burning. It was as if she was walking against a current of water, one that swept her slowly closer to him. She stepped over a rotting tapestry and tightly clung onto the handrail of the staircase.

‘Why would The Stranger think of me like that? Is it time for me to… die?’

Carefully descending down, she peered up the stairs. The window let in cold, humid gusts of air and Elisabeth was sure that she could see his dark robe in the shadow. Knowing that the Queen’s Ballroom had no other exit, she trudged past it, stopping to catch her breath along the way.

Out. Out of Maegor’s Holdfast, her mind urged her. But where would she go? As soon as the Kingsguardmen saw her, they would gently escort her back into her chamber. That’s the way it has been for a long time. Biting her lamed tongue, she quietly walked down to the entrance and glanced out. No one was there. No one, except for the occasional rat that scurried through the lower bailey.

“I saw the way that the Strong bastard looked at you. You were with him, weren’t you? Was it not enough to tell him about our political strategies, but to also give him your useless cunny? Do you even know the shame you bring onto this realm?”

Her breath hitched as she saw him closing in on her, his dark cape billowing in the light wind. Glancing up at the serpentine steps, she felt a thick raindrop splashing down onto her. That was just what she needed - collapsing on the slick stairs, The Stranger close behind her. No, risking embarrassment by climbing over the ledge into the Godswood was far more appealing to her.

“Leave me be! I beg of you!”, she whined, her lungs on fire.

'I cannot do this anymore, not long, anyhow, my feet... my lungs... The Stranger... Death...', she thought, unable to focus on anything else than him.

The Godswood was an ancient and sinister place, a twisted forest lurking within the heart of Maegor's Holdfast. Towering weirwood trees with their deathly white trunks and faint streaks of crimson formed a menacing roof above, and the loamy earth seemed to swallow her every step. Elisabeth took a raspy breath, feeling the icy, dank air fill her lungs. The stench of decay surrounded her, the smell of putrefaction and rot. Rain drops pelted down onto her skin, the soil beneath her feet sodden.

Elisabeth moved with a sense of urgency, her feet burning as she weaved through the dense trees. The pattering of rain on the leaves above offered her some concealment as she made her way between the shelter of one tree to another, hoping to avoid detection by her pursuer. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her and she whirled around, only to hear the sound of footsteps growing louder and louder.

Her heart in her throat, she ducked behind a gnarled oak tree, taking cover from the ominous presence that was closing in on her. She could feel every drop of cold rain as it streamed down her face and hair, running down her back and soaking through to her skin. Each breath was ragged and tumultuous as beads of perspiration bubbled up on her forehead. Elisabeth shuddered uncontrollably in the frigid air before finally forcing herself to keep moving forward through the relentless downpour.

Elisabeth could hear the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest as she tried to make her way through the Godswood. She was shaking with fear, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. She knew that The Stranger was close behind her; she could feel his presence like a dark cloud looming over her.

She stumbled over a tree root, nearly falling to the ground, before weakly righting herself and continuing on. Her hair was plastered to her face and neck, her clothes were soaked through. However, insignificant concerns like the dampness penetrating her to the core were overshadowed by her urgent need to elude her relentless pursuer.

Abruptly, a chilling sound pierced the silence, causing her blood to freeze in her veins. It was the eerie scrape of something sharp grating against the gnarled bark of a tree, almost like the sound of a blade being sharpened before an execution. Her heart raced as she whirled around, and there, amidst the gusty winds, stood The Stranger, his ominous dark robe unfurling like a spectre from the shadows.

"You can't escape me."

Elisabeth recoiled in terror, her wide-eyed gaze darting around frantically, searching for a possible escape route. However, the Godswood resembled an inescapable labyrinth of winding trees and dense underbrush, leaving her utterly trapped.

The Stranger took a step forward, his eyes fixed on her. Elisabeth saw the hunger in his gaze, the hunger for her soul. She knew that she was doomed. With a cry of despair, she turned and ran, darting between the trees as fast as she could. The Stranger was right behind her, his footsteps pounding on the wet ground.

She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, cold and ...familiar? Shaking her head quickly and looking up into the sky, she saw the towers again. She probably ran around in circles, her dazed mind tricking her into thinking she had been trapped in a forest.

Frantically sprinting out of the oppressive Godswood, she sucked in a deep breath of fresh air as her gaze fell upon the dilapidated Outer Bailey. The once-glorious stone walls loomed ominously over her, crumbling inward from age and neglect. Threadbare tapestries hung limply in the breeze, swaying like ghosts in an abandoned graveyard. Gaping holes in the walls revealed chipped statues that had been carved centuries ago, still standing guard despite their years of neglect. In the far distance, the towers soared into the sky, dark voids against a backdrop of gray clouds.

Elisabeth inhaled deeply as a thick, unsettling aroma engulfed her. The scent of lavender and jasmine combined with the decaying smell of rotting fruit and mildew. In the distance, Elisabeth could hear the faint sound of buzzing from unseen insects lurking beyond the shadows. She stumbled forward, mesmerized by the air that was heavy with an ominous foreboding.

At last she reached the entrance to The Sept - an imposing structure made entirely out of pale stone blocks that glowed in the fading light. Stone steps rose up to meet two large wooden doors while several small windows peeked out like watchful eyes looking down on her every move.

Elisabeth, feeling the stinging of her lungs, ran into the Sept and fell down on her knees. She laid atop the golden seven-pointed star on the floor and looked up at the statue of the Mother, trying her hardest not to look at the Stranger. To calm her head, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, running her dry, cracked hands over her burning calves. The tears continued flowing over her pallid face, running down into her dirty gown.

‘What is happening to me? Why on earth would the Seven punish me so?’

She remembered her wedding. It was magnificent, aye. But then again, it had to be. After Joffrey’s death at Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding tourney, she was quietly whisked away from the Stormlands and settled into the Red Keep as a way of keeping the Lonmouth’s - and to a greater extent the Baratheon’s - good graces, so as not to let them favour Princess Rhaenyra’s claim in the case of King Viserys’ death.

The time until the courtship was quiet, that much Elisabeth still remembered. She grew up alongside Princess Helaena - Helaena being three years older than her. Endless hours of handiwork, study and prayer had shrouded her in relative solitude, so when she turned four and ten, she was shocked to be invited to the Royal Table more often and to be invited for strolls with Prince Aemond. Back then she had still been Lady Elisabeth, not 'Princess Bess'.

Later she understood why the engagement happened. Prince Aemond had to marry to secure the crown’s security and to show the green faction that they had gotten the Stormlands support.

She often asked herself why they had chosen her over the Baratheon girls. They were more comely - Elisabeth's stature was short and plump, giving her the appearance of a child much younger than her age. Her brow was rounded, her cheeks plump and her eyes large with dark, scared pupils. Her Monmouth blood - the one that made her relation Joffrey so beautiful - must have passed her by. Her long, dark hair was thick but formless, hanging in her face without curls or ringlets. It was clear to her that Aemond was not interested in her, not in the romantic sense at least.

As days turned into weeks, Elisabeth discovered that Prince Aemond was the first man with whom she could engage in conversations almost as equals. His cold, yet encouraging words had ignited a spark within her, urging her to delve deeper into her thoughts and ideas. Over time, an unexpected fondness began to blossom in Elisabeth's heart for him. In his unique manner, he exuded a charming gloomy aura that drew her in. Many hours passed in their quiet companionship, their noses buried in books, immersed in shared moments of silent contemplation. Their intellectual pursuits were often overseen by the watchful presence of Princess Helaena, serving as a discreet but ever-vigilant chaperone.

But now, as she lay on the floor of the Sept, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake somewhere along the line in her life. Should she have taken her vows? Life as a septa would’ve suited her far more than whatever tragedy her current situation had turned into.

Aemond had changed since they were wed. Princess Helaena said that that was the case for most men, yet somehow, a small glimmer of hope still arose that it might have been different. He had become more... mean. It was as though he was a different person entirely.

Although... he had always been the quiet sort. The kind of man that you could hear exhaling slowly whenever he heard a foolish remark, the kind of man that judged everyone for everything, the kind of man that doesn't even think himself superior - he believes it.

Elisabeth couldn't help but think of the Stranger. It was a foolish thought, she knew. But in some ways, Aemond reminded her of the mysterious figure. Both were dark, brooding, and unpredictable.

Elisabeth had always been on edge when Queen Alicent was around; her hawk-like gaze followed her every move and her scornful words cut deeper than any blade. Every time Elisabeth tried to be independent or think for herself, the Queen would chastise her that those were qualities meant just for Husbands.

After months of having to constantly please the Queen and ignore her own wants and needs, Elisabeth felt like a teetering ball ready to burst with the slightest push. She was too afraid to say anything, though, in fear of making things worse.

Then arrived the fateful day of her wedding, a lavish spectacle replete with tournaments, sumptuous feasts, and exhilarating hunts—a grand display of House Targaryen's power and influence. The exuberance of the festivities infected all who attended, making it effortless for others to revel in the celebrations.

However, beneath the surface of the revelry, Elisabeth harboured a mixture of anxiety and excitement, uncertain of what her future held in store. In the midst of it all, Prince Aemond had become a steadfast presence in her life, forging a deep connection with her. He seemed to grasp the essence of her being, affording her the precious gift of solitude for introspection, or so she believed. He made sure to squash her hopes.

For most, that had been a grande and joyous event. For Elisabeth, it was the start of her misery, though she did not yet know the full extent. As the Queen had instructed her, she treated everyone courteously, demurely.

That she did, or at least she thought that she did. Her husband disagreed, though. As soon as they were escorted into his chamber (he had wished for the doors to be closed), he spun around and pushed her against a wall. Aemond asked with a steely voice, towering over her, if she had been cavorting with the Velaryons, the way she had smiled at them, the way Jacaerys’ lips lingered on her hand as he greeted her.

Aemond questioned if she thought him to be blind. Elisabeth whimpered and gulped, trying her hardest not to hold Aemond's hard gaze, when she explained that she was told to be courteous to everyone, only to be cut off, when Aemond had pushed her even harder, making her yelp in pain, her shoulders burning from his strong grip. He ordered her to hush and questioned her why she would associate herself with usurpers, bastards and sodomites.

What followed was of no particular interest to her, not anymore, anyways. Someone outside of the chamber, presumably Maester Myntheon, cleared their throat and told them to settle any disputes after the ceremony. Aemond had quickly slipped off his breeches - the fact that he didn’t even care enough to fully undress stung her after it had happened - and made sure to get her naked as soon as possible.

She laid there, freezing, looking up at the tapestries next to their bed as he quickly stroked himself. ‘Do not do anything, lest he should think you a whore’ ran through her mind so often, that she almost thought that a small version of Alicent sat in her brain, spewing her nonsensical rules over and over so she could drive herself insane.

“Open up.”

When Aemond saw her puzzled expression, he sighed, shook his head and gently pried her legs open, pulling her down the bed so that she was close to the ledge, closer to him and his half-hard member.

“I need to get to your cunt. Don’t make this more difficult for us than it has to be.”

Elisabeth felt her face heat up, and even though the room was dark, she could feel a heavy blush take over her neck and cheeks. She opened her legs wider and tried to steel herself for what was to come, but all too soon Aemond was pushing himself inside of her. She gasped as he entered her roughly, not giving her time to adjust. He kept thrusting into her with more force than necessary, making it hurt even more than it should have. Did he know it hurt? Did it hurt him?

She tried to cry out but he put a hand on her mouth and told her he was almost done. Tears started streaming down Elisabeth's face as Aemond kept going for what seemed like an eternity until finally his body went limp on top of hers. He rolled off of the bed without saying a word and left the room without so much as glancing at Elisabeth again.

Elisabeth lay there in shock, touching herself gingerly where Aemond had just been. For the first time ever she felt ashamed of herself; despite all that had just happened she still felt pleasure deep within herself that made her feel worse than before - something no one had prepared her for or warned about prior to this momentous night.

Was she a wanton whore? Was.. was Alicent right?

That was that. After that, he visited her fortnightly, stated his needs and left again. Although, Elisabeth noted quickly to herself, he had gotten gentler after seeing her bruised cunny. Proving she was a virgin had been no great feat. Her fear had made her so stiff and dry that there were multiple splotches of blood on the bed sheet, so many that even Alicent deemed to congratulate her. That was also the time where Alicent had started giving her milk of the poppy and after that, Elisabeth could not remember anything reliably.

Even if she could, she noticed it was not the time to reminisce anymore. His eyes were dark and bright at the same time, void of feeling even while raging with anger. The candles flickered nervously on the altars as he stalked into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Slowly turning around, she tried looking up at him despite her shaky vision. He was tall, wearing a cape with a large hood that covered his face.

If he wouldn’t … glide and give off a sense of dread, one could almost think it was Aemond himself. Yet, the way she knew him, he would not have spent such a long time chasing her and taunting her. He made it clear enough to her, she didn’t matter.

“Have you come to confess? To repent?”

The Stranger offered her a hand, which she eyed cautiously.

“Have you come to take me? Or are.. You taunting me?”

He laughed ominously. “You know me, I could never taunt you in a sept. But… taking you? That is a very bold request, Lady Wife.”

Lady Wife? Elisabeth shivered and groaned, taking his cold hand. She was not instantly taken away to the realm of the dead, which made her glad and worried at the same time.

“Wh… why..? And… why Lady Wife? I’m Elisabeth, don’t you know?”

The Stranger helped her up and held her for a while until she gained complete function over her legs again. Letting her go, he stepped away again and looked around the Sept.

“You're quite perplexing. You've yet to respond to my allegations, and instead, you've led me on a convoluted journey through the Red Keep, Bess.”

Calmly folding his arms behind his back, he strolled through the small hall, making sure his eyes were firmly on her shaking form.

“You even took me here, just to ask me to be with you, despite your previous reluctance. Has something changed, perhaps due to a newfound perspective from The Maiden?”

Elisabeth cocked her head to the side, trying her hardest to identify the figure in front of her. Why would… why would The Stranger care for her relations with Princess Rhaenyra and her sons?

Why would… why would he want to engage in an amorous congress with her? Was that a cruel way the gods were testing her?

“Well… You chased me… I thought you meant harm to me…”

The figure hummed and it almost looked like his face turned into a doleful expression.

“I could mean you harm depending on the answers you shall give me. We are in a sept - if you lie, you are damned. Do you know that?”

Elisabeth took a few steps back and lowered her eyes again. So it was the Stranger. He was asking about her sins so that she might repent before he took her away. That realisation hit her gut like a punch. Tears started welling up in her eyes.

“I… yes, I do, but believe me, I-”

“I shall decide for myself if you are innocent, Lady Wife. Spare me your tales of woe.”

Closing the distance to her again, the figure gently took her chin into his hand and forced her to look up into his eyes. He quickly smoothed her hair and wiped the tears from her face.

“Before I ask you though, I need to take you. I need to take what is mine; you have ignored me long enough and now that you’ve asked me, I would be a fool not to take you up on your offer.”

Elisabeth whimpered and stood rooted on the spot. If it weren’t for the weird pull in her stomach, she would have pleaded, would have fled. But something… Something about the way the figure touched her so gently, so caringly, made her heart leap in ways that have seldom happened. Nothing made sense anymore.

On one hand, she wondered why on earth the Stranger wanted to take her, yet on the other, she knew that what the Gods willed was destined to happen. And if that wasn’t the Stranger? Well, but who would it be? A dream figure? But why would she dream of such things? Was she so depraved and craven? Maybe she was. In that moment, delirious and flush with adrenaline, she threw all concern out of the tiny window of propriety that she still had in her foggy mind.

Placing a trembling hand around the Stranger’s waist, Elisabeth nodded lightly.

“Take me then, if you must,” she whispered. The Stranger smiled in response and embraced her tightly, pulling her close to his chest as he kissed the top of her head.

They stayed like that for what felt like eternity and Elisabeth swam in a sea of emotions like never before. She could feel his heart beating against her own, slowly but surely drawing them closer together.

He smelled familiar. Something in her mind told her she knew him; the smell of leather, dragons and sweat. Could it be...?

At long last, the figure pressed his cold lips onto hers, almost possessively. Even though it had been one of her first kisses, he guided her strongly, making sure that she couldn’t doubt him or his intentions.

Bess tried her hardest to banish the thought of Aemond in her head. No, it couldn’t be - Aemond never kissed her. It had to be the Stranger. Was that the metaphorical kiss of death?

Answering her doubts, the Stranger slowly started to undress her, as if he was uncovering a precious gem. His hands moved with a slow and patient rhythm, almost like a ritual or dance as they explored every inch of her body. He caressed her curves and memorised every quirk on her figure until Bess had no more will left in her to resist.

For a moment it felt like time had stopped. As if the entire world was focused on them and their lovemaking; their own little bubble of pleasure and passion that nothing could penetrate. Aemond let out a low moan of pleasure as he drew his lips down Bess’s neck, relishing in the taste of her skin against his tongue. She shuddered beneath him as his fingers slowly moved ever lower, exploring each inch of her body without an ounce of inhibition or shame. She gasped when she felt his tongue swirl around one sensitive spot near the base of her spine before finally coming to rest between her legs, ready for exploration…

Elisabeth found herself melting beneath Aemond’s touch as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body in response to his ministrations. His fingers seemed to know exactly where to go and what buttons to press – it was almost like he was born again.

It was almost like Elisabeth had been born again. The grogginess in her mind had subsided almost as soon as she had felt the pleasure; so had the illusion of the Stranger. But then again, her Aemond had never been kind, gently, loving in bed. He had always been rough with her, pulling her hair if he got too excited. And this man…Her Aemond had never touched her the way he did right now. Was she still dreaming?

Aemond stepped back, the space between them electric with passion and anticipation. His smouldering gaze locked with hers, and she felt a rush of heat that paralyzed her body and mind. Even though he had desired her since the day they were married, he thought she despised him, yet now in a sept the intensity of his longing was palpable. The air around them was thick with desire.

"I need you to taste me. I need to see you naked, on your knees, here, in front of the gods. Elisabeth, I finally want to claim you as my own, as my wife, and not as a piece of meat I spill my seed into every fortnight."

Despite all of her hesitance and apprehension, Elisabeth obeyed without any objection; he was still her lord husband and adhering to her spouse was the utmost important action she could take as a dutiful wife.

With trembling, cold hands she took his long, hard member and guided it towards her mouth. Was that her punishment? But for what? She had done nothing to warrant this perverse humiliation, but as he placed a hot, determined hand on the back of her head, she knew that she hadn't had much of a choice.

Gently, Elisabeth opened her mouth and engulfed Aemond’s cock. She could feel him shudder at her touch, and the heat that emanated from his body caused her pulse to race. His breathing was ragged as he gasped her name again and again, urging her on.

With a gentle hand, she guided Aemond’s hips closer to hers before taking him deeper into her mouth. The sensation of his velvety smooth skin against hers was electrifying. Her tongue gently danced around him, exploring every inch of his manhood until he could no longer hold back the intensity of his pleasure.

Elisabeth felt embarrassed and exposed; this seemed like something she should never be allowed to do in front of the gods. But the sheer pleasure that it evoked in both herself and Aemond kept her going. Gods, it felt so wrong yet so right at the same time.

"Fuck. Yes, Bess... You belong to me... Not to The Strong bastards, not to Aegon, not to anyone else... You're... fuck... mine..."

Aemond's hands tightened around her head, making sure she was as deep as her mouth allowed her to be as he released a long moan before spilling himself inside her mouth. It was hot, salty and Elisabeth tried her hardest swallowing it without looking up at him.

With a throbbing head, she released him and covered her face in shame. She knew the milk was dangerous - yet making her dream of death and running through the Red Keep? Taking Aemond's cock like a... a dirty Harlot?

That was more than she could take. Now he knew that she was a weak person, that there was only a weak will buzzing around inside her. The last thing she needed now was the usual gloating expression on his face - his unbearable questioning.

“I’ve done all you wanted. Ask me your questions, so that you might finally understand that none of this was ever my will,” she said as she wiped her mouth, her voice brittle.

Aemond gave her a cold look of confusion and cocked his head to the side, closing his breeches and slipping his doublet on again, after he had caught his breath.

“What wasn’t your will? Giving yourself to me here?”

Elisabeth sighed. "You're my husband. Your wish is my command."

Aemond, in his usual fashion, looked away from her in shame, flaring his nostrils.

"Alright then. If it is your wish again to make me feel like the worst human being in the world, then I shall do so too. I thought I could take you to your chambers again, get you a hot bath... Alas, my Lady Wife, you asked for the interrogation yourself."

He walked over to the Statue of the Mother and gave her a cold look, his tousled white hair gently floating down his back. His eyepatch made him look even scarier than it usually did.

"I've heard rumours that you've taken moon tea. Do you want to avoid giving me an heir? Swear on the Mother."

Elisabeth shivered and slowly dressed herself again, making sure not to break eye contact with Aemond. The milk made it's presence - or rather, abscence known again - it made her desperately queasy. The aftertaste of Aemond's spunk in her mouth certainly did not help.

"I swear on the Mother I haven't been taking Moon... Tea."

Aemond raised his eyebrow in a quizzical manner.

"Then what is that concoction that Maester Rithyr brings you? I can't imagine it being a skin cream."

If looks could kill, Aemond would've joined the Stranger's embrace right then and there.

"Do not mock me, Lord Husband. You and your filthy snake of a mother know exactly what it is he brings me," she seethed, her voice thick with venom. "It is exactly the thing that made me think you were the Stranger chasing me through..."

Anger was not the only thing that bubbled up inside her. Retching, she emptied her stomach onto the marble floor, the large marble hall making the splattering sound of her vomit uncomfortably loud.

Aemond's eyes blazed with fury, one hand pulled back in a fist ready to strike. But before he had the chance, Aemond's gaze fell on her frail, sweaty body next to a pool of her own bloody vomit and his arm fell limp. He was held in place by the sight, unable to move or even blink as his anger turned into fear.

"Bess, gods, tell me what it is he gives you! Come clean to me, you foolish girl!"

Elisabeth flinched and wiped her lips, groaning weakly. Aemond had not seemed like someone who would lead her into danger or punish her for being honest - if he wanted to be so cruel, he could've hit her when she cursed his mother. She took in a deep breath and tried to rid herself of the sour taste in her mouth, then nervously patted her clammy palms on the stained fabric of her dress. Leaning against the statue of the Father, she felt a little bit safer.

"From the moment we were wed, your mother has given me milk of the poppy. Told me you'd stop trying to give me an heir if I continued to act the way I did."

Coughing, she shook her head and gave Aemond a cold look. His face was unreadable - no reaction was a reaction, Elisabeth noted and took a deep breath before continuing.

"The people in front of our door at our bedding ceremony told her of your indignant attitude to me and my inability to give you an heir after that. She... She thought I was denying you and that you were too courteous to take what was yours."

Elisabeth heaved once more, so Aemond propped her up and held her hair back. As she vomited, a worrying amount of blood appeared - it was nearly just that. Frowning, Aemond used a piece of fabric from her dress to clean up her lips afterwards.

"Please continue," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot on her skin. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and wished she were in bed with a warm blanket instead of being forced to confess. But the more she said, the better chance she had of avoiding drinking that awful milk again.

"She was always displeased with me and she did not hesitate to tell me so. She told me the Daeron's future wife - a certain Clara Lannister," she gave him a sharp look putting a finger to her lips, signaling to him that it was a secret and that he didn't hear it from her, "would have made a much better wife to you than I have. She's even more pious, meeker, prettier..."

Aemond huffed. "Clara's a feeble twelve year old hussy and she has wrapped the court around her pretty little fingers. I still cannot quite comprehend why my mother would try... try to drug and shut you up."

Elisabeth raised her eyebrow and gave her husband a sorrowful look. “You remember why, don’t you my Lord Husband? You were displeased that I was fraternizing with the Strong bastards. You said to her that I wasn't serious about state affairs. You told her you couldn't go through with our marriage vows and that I was too...” A tear slid down her cheek as she shook her head. She wanted to avoid any more tears rolling down, so she looked up in an effort to stop them. "You called me Bess just as the others did to show how much of a simpleton I was and you continue doing so! You would've beat me senseless if I'd have called you Monny!"

Aemond let out an exasperated sigh before taking a seat next to Elisabeth on the cold marble floor, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders in comfort and pulling out a handkerchief from underneath his cloak which he tenderly offered for for her to clean herself off with.

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “We all make mistakes.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted it towards him so she had to look him in the eye. “I thought you hated me after our marriage ceremony, and I foolishly told my mother about it in a fit of anger.” Despite his words, there was something uncomfortable in the way his gaze held hers.

Elisabeth erupted into desperate sobs, pounding her fists against his chest with each cry. The dried blood that stained her hands flaked off like dust as she grabbed him in despair. "How could you do this to me? We should have talked it through, together! Instead of understanding why I had changed after our marriage, all you ever did was lash out at me and let your mother drive me to the brink of madness - treating me like a stranger and I can barely recognise myself anymore! If I didn't love you so much, I would hate you right now. But even then, my heart still aches for you... Oh gods, Aemond..."

The strain of her confession was too much for her. Elisabeth tipped forward, still gripping onto Aemond’s tunic with her bloody hands, as she lost consciousness in his arms.

Aemond caught her, gently placing her down onto the floor, then stood up and looked around the sept. He felt torn; part of him wanted to believe what his mother said but the other part of him knew it couldn’t be true. He had made a horrible mistake by allowing his pride and anger to drive him to such lengths, and he now he had to face the consequences alone. With a heavy heart, he summoned some guards who helped move Elisabeth’s lifeless body to his chambers where she could rest peacefully and recover from her ordeal.

Aemond was left with an overwhelming feeling that something fundamental in his life had shifted during that conversation in the Sept — not just between himself and Elisabeth but also between himself and his mother — an unspoken understanding that things would never be the same between them ever again. As he walked off in a daze towards his chamber, thoughts of revenge raced through his mind as he planned how best to confront her about it all — but for now, all he could do was hope that Elisabeth would recover quickly enough so they could make sense of everything together.

He was determined to take care of Elisabeth and as he watched her sleeping in his chambers, the rage that had been building up inside him slowly melted away. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and sighed resignedly — he had no control over what happened next, all he could do now was to care for her. As best as he could, Aemond pulled the blankets over her body to keep her warm and placed a pillow underneath her head for extra comfort. He sat by her side all night, silently willing for herto open her eyes so they could talk this out together, but it seemed like she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

The hours dragged on and his frustration only heightened with every minute that passed until finally Aemond couldn’t take it anymore. He ordered one of the guards to stay with Elisabeth before storming off in an attempt to clear his head. As he walked through the corridors of the castle, images of their conversation in the Sept replayed in his mind but try as he might, Aemond still couldn’t make sense of it all – what did this all mean? Could they ever go back to the way things were before?

Aemond was prepared to take matters into his own hands, he always was. He thought that this evening would end in him seeking a divorce or a mistress at court, arguing with his senseless simpleton of a wife, yet nothing could have prepared him for the confrontation he would have with her.

Storming up the steps up to her apartments, he quickly shooed away Ser Criston Cole and opened the doors. He followed the light through the Entrance Hall up to her solar, where Alicent sat quietly on a settee, getting her feet rubbed by a lady in waiting. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Whatever's the matter, Aemond? Is Helaena all right? Did Aegon do something?"

Aemond's nostrils flared with fury as he fought himself to remain silent. How dare no one tell him - Elisabeth's husband - that his own wife had become a shadow of her former self, her mind so clouded with drugs she was practically a ghost? He could feel the rage building in his chest, threatening to escape and take over.

"Milk of the Poppy. Have you lost your damned senses?"

Alicent flinched a bit at his dangerously low, cool tone and sent her lady out. He could not make out her facial expression - it could have been anything from boredom to indifference - which angered him even more. Trying not to act too rashly, he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

"Say something! And don't you dare deny it, I know it was you! Maester Rithyr told me everything", he lied effortlessly. He knew he had to - everything else would put Elisabeth in great danger.

Alicent lowered her eyebrow again, donned her slippers and stood up. Her face changed into a caring and hurt one, leaving Aemond a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Wasn't it you who told me she was cavorting with Jacaerys? Didn't you complain of her disobedience, my dear?"

'So it is my fault now', he thought and took a deep breath, stepping closer to her and grabbing her tightly by the shoulders.

"What I wanted was for you to give her spiritual guidance and help in transitioning into her role as a princess. Why-"

"You cannot turn Mice into dragons, Son. Everyone knows that Bess doesn't fulfil your needs and our doubt will only be confirmed if she continues to be barren."

Alicent interrupted him icily and tore herself from his grip, sitting back down.

"I have received a raven from Boros Baratheon, he said his daughters had only just flowered. What do you think? Or would you rather prefer Clara Lannister? I could..."

Aemond was taken aback, this conversation had gone way beyond his expectations. How could his own mother suggest such a thing? He knew he had to put an end to it before it was too late.

"Stop right there, Mother", he said sharply interrupting her mid-sentence. "Contrary to popular belief I like Elisabeth a lot and do not wish to take another wife."

He glanced coolly around the chamber and smiled unsettlingly.

"You must forget yourself, dear Mother. Helaena is Queen Consort now so it should be in her responsibility to judge on these issues and you know how much she likes Elisabeth. And besides, if the court would know of your... hysterics, who would continue to take you seriously? You know how your dear father, the Hand, dislikes your moody tendencies."

His words must have struck a chord - Alicent paled significantly and shrunk in her seat, clasping her hands on her lap.

Aemond continued with a calm, yet terrifying tone:"I don't wish for you to continue giving her the drug. I think the milk of poppy may be causing her infertility and I won't let that happen. You barred me from having heirs - who knows what you did with Helaena or you will do with that Lannister girl? It's almost treasonous, you know."

Alicent was desperate and scared, she picked at the skin around her nails to distract herself from what she knew would be a losing battle.

"My son-", her voice was small and trembling. She wanted to argue with him but his implacable gaze made it difficult for her to even look him in the eye. He had always been so strong willed, just like her own father. She had never been able to get through his hard shell of pride and arrogance, no matter how hard she tried.

"I only wish the best for you and our kingdom," she said softly trying to reason with him but he merely scoffed in response.

"Then how can you suggest me taking another wife? It would do more damage than good." His words were cold and final - this conversation was over before it began. Aemond stepped away from her and towards the door, pausing momentarily as he grabbed the handle."Remember our discussion mother", he said sternly before leaving the room without another word.

Aemond stepped out of the chamber, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment. He had hoped that his mother would be able to understand his point of view, but it seemed she was too entrenched in her own ideas about Elisabeth's faults to do so.

He walked down the corridor that led to the castle courtyard, trying to clear his mind of all thoughts. But as he walked, he couldn't help but think about how much he had changed since he had been married with Elisabeth. He had never imagined himself being such a cold and vengeful man, no.

The thought brought a sharp pang of guilt - what if word got out that the heir presumptive to the Iron Throne was considering taking another wife? It could cause widespread scandal and potentially put him at odds with some powerful houses. He shook his head in dismay, knowing that this wasn't an option for him - not now, not ever.

Aemond made his way to the training yard to clear his mind. He picked up a sword and began to practice with it, swinging it in powerful arcs and thrusts as if he were fighting some invisible enemy. His body moved in sync with the blade, becoming increasingly faster until sweat was dripping down his face from the exertion. The familiar movements soothed him - they allowed him to forget about the pressures of court life for a time, giving him respite from all of its trifling problems.

Once he felt sufficiently calm, Aemond returned back to his chambers and changed into some clothes more suited for the upcoming feast. As he finished dressing, he noticed something odd - there was a faint light coming from his bedroom. He rushed over to see what she was doing, hoping that she had woken up again, which she had, indeed.

Elisabeth looked up at Aemond with an anxious expression on her face before hastily turning away from him. "I don't wish to cause trouble," she muttered quietly before standing up and making her way toward the door without another word. "I shall just... retire to my chambers, Lord Husband."

Aemond watched as she stood up, feeling confused and slightly hurt by her actions - why was she so distant? What had happened happened to her?

"Elisabeth?"

He said her name softly, stepping closer to her and taking a gentler tone. He had meant to apologize for his earlier words, but something else came out instead.

"I wanted to thank you, for telling me the truth yesterday. I know it must have been difficult for you. I spoke with my mother and she will never give you milk of the poppy again if she values her life and social standing."

Elisabeth's dark eyes widened as she stared at him in shock. She had completely forgotten the events of the previous day and that Aemond had cared for her after her hallucination - another one of the side effects of the milk. His kind words made the feelings of guilt and confusion wash over her anew, and it was hard not to be taken aback by his unexpected familiarity with her. If she wouldn't have felt that painful yearning in her soul for more of the drug, she would've believed that she was still dreaming.

"L-lord Husband? How...? Why...?"

He smiled, realizing that she must'nt have remembered what had happened yesterday.

"It doesn't matter now," he said kindly. "What matters is that I would like for you to join me at the feast this evening, so people can see how beautiful and intelligent my wife truly is."

Elisabeth gave him a weary look before returning his small smile. She quickly glanced at her reflection in the mirror, before blushing self consciously.

"I give thanks to the Father for leading you to discover the truth... Before we go, can I take a moment to change my clothes?", she questioned quietly, gazing up into his eyes. Once they had filled her with unease but now caused her heart to flutter with a hint of love.

Gently laying a kiss on her forehead, Aemond motioned for one of his loyal servants to come forth. He commanded them to fill the grand bath with steaming hot water and to bring a most exquisite dress for her. "Let me be the one to tend to you my darling. I must have you look as though you are mine," he uttered in a commanding yet affectionate voice.

The servants quickly scurried to do his bidding, bringing forth everything Aemond would need to make Elisabeth beautiful. They filled the bath with fragrant herbs and oils, as well as a variety of soaps and lotions for her to use. They also brought forth an exquisite gown of rich green silk and delicate lace, complete with matching slippers.

Elisabeth silently slipped into the soothing hot bath while Aemond knelt down beside her and began to lovingly bathe her body. He took great care not to scrub too harshly on her bruises and scrapes, something that she had not expected from him. The heat and his gentle touch made her trust him more with every second. "Lord Hus- um, I mean, Aemond, might I ask you soething?"

Aemond squeezed out the sponge in his hand and gently caressed her body. He truly missed out on all of this due to his anger against the Blackss, he noted grimly in his mind and gently started brushing her long, dark hair.

"You may speak freely, Elisabeth."

Elisabeth flushed and hastily sought to conceal the exposed parts of her body, aghast at being presented thus before her husband. "I had been given milk of Poppy yesterday, which has stripped my memory," she ventured nervously, attempting to tread carefully knowing full well his notorious temper. She hoped that whatever grievances between them had subsided in his mind and uttered in an almost meek voice, "Could you tell me what happened? I..."

"Elisabeth, you do not need to be so shy and meek around me," Aemond said soothingly. "I know that is not your true temperament. I will try to reign in my anger more if it makes you feel better." Reaching for a cloth, he dried her body before helping her out of the tub and into the dress they had brought for her. As he arranged it around her frame, Aemond thought about what he should tell herknowing that avoiding certain topics would not help them move forward any better. He gathered his thoughts before finally speaking gently yet firmly.

"I do think it's best for us both if I... do not recapitulate everything, my darling." He tied the ribbons at the back of her dress and gently guided her to a seat, giving her a few pins and such so that she could arrange her hair. His member twitched slightly as he thought back to her, naked on the marble floor, her lips flush against his skin. "You hallucinated something about The Stranger, ran around the Red Keep and then you confessed to being drugged by my mother. We then reached an understanding and I carried you here," he said matter-of-factly, trying his hardest to banish the thought of her full, naked figure from his mind.

Feeling a little flustered, Elisabeth swiftly pulled her hair into a loose bun on her head, letting one or two strands flutter down onto her chest. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear I subjected you through this, I thank you for listening to me and for forgiving me," she said softly. After finishing her hairdo, she stood up and bowed towards Aemond. “Thank you, my Prince, for everything. Shall we go and have dinner?”

When the doors to the Hall opened, a hush fell over the crowd and all that remained was an eerie stillness. With an air of grandeur, Prince Aemond Targaryen strode in, his purple eye sweeping the room like a hawk, the other hidden behind his leather eyepatch. But what shocked the court even more was who he had with him. Princess Elisabeth Lonmouth walked tall and proud beside her husband, having not been seen much since their marriage six months ago. She appeared almost otherworldly with her petite stature and unusual looks, her dark hair waving languidly as a gentle breeze wafted into the Hall. Her chin was raised high and there was no hint of submission or fear in her presence.

The star of Aemond Targaryen had risen again - ready to face the Dance of the Dragons with Elisabeth by his side.

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asa-writes · 4 months

Text

Jack of all Trades, Master of None

Cregan Stark x F!Reader x Jacaerys Targaryen

18+ MINORS DNI

WC: 3,7k

Warnings / tags: pool sex, tag teaming, light anal, deflowering, p in v sex, fingering, porn without plot, no beta reads no nothing.

Anxious beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you shifted uncomfortably under the watchful gaze of Lord Cregan and Prince Jacaerys. Their eyes seemed to bore into your very soul as you floated in the warm, bubbling waters of the hot spring. Tall and handsome, both men held crystal bottles filled with deep red wine in their hands, a sharp contrast to the rough towels draped over their elegant clothing.

Their grins were almost mischievous as they looked down at you, a sight that surely surprised them - after all, you were just the sixth daughter of Lord Reed and the humble nanny to Lord Cregan's son Rickon.

"It seems like we've caught ourselves a mermaid here," Lord Cregan said and let his eyes wander over your womanly frame. He threw his towel next to the stone steps and began unbuttoning his doublet, glancing over at Prince Jacaerys. "That's the Reed girl I told you about."

With a quick flick of your hair and a graceful stroke, you swam towards the steps, your arms modestly covering yourself from the prying eyes of the men. "My apologies, Your Highness, my Lord, I must take my leave," you murmured as you avoided their gazes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

But your escape was halted by Lord Cregan, who had slyly removed his garments. You couldn't understand his intentions - to trap you like this in front of the Crown Prince, an honored guest...

Quickly swimming back with a bright flush on your face, you looked away as Prince Jacaerys disrobed as well and followed Lord Cregan into the hot water, groaning at the soothing temperature. This was wrong, oh so wrong, you thought to yourself as you swam up to a small ledge, tucking your legs under yourself and using your hair to shield yourself from their interested looks.

"So, my Lady Reed... whatever brings you to these hot springs so late in the evening? Should you not be in bed?", Prince Jacaerys asked you, letting his eyes wander over your wet, pale body. You knew that he was a Prince the second he opened his mouth - all of his words, his manner of speech, and gods, even his voice were regal and commanding, making you blush heavily.

Just as you wanted to defend your virtue, Lord Cregan stepped in for you as he gently, but firmly laid one of his big hands on the naked small of your back as he pushed you off of the ledge, closer to the shallower area where the Prince was standing. "Show some courtesy to your future King, my Lady, and answer his question," he mumbled quietly into your ear, his beard gently tickling your pale, soft cheek making you shiver and blush even more.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Queen Rhaenyra's eldest son, was undeniably attractive. As he rested his arms on the edge of the pool and looked at you, it was hard not to be captivated by his beauty. He had a slimmer build compared to Lord Cregan, but the way his veins popped against his skin and the small trail of black hair down his toned stomach made your mouth go dry as you struggled to curtsy without dipping your head into the water. "Please forgive me, your Highness. I should be resting in bed. Keeping up with the future Lord Stark has been exhausting lately... And it was so chilly tonight, please excuse my forwardness, your Highness and my Lord. I simply wanted to feel some warmth."

You fought your hardest to suppress a shriek as he pushed himself and swam up to you, quickly turning you around and pressing himself against your well-rounded buttocks. He smelled incredible and you could feel him chuckling silently as he ran his surprisingly soft hand over your naked form over and under the water, as if to taunt Lord Cregan.

"Oh, dear Cregan, she is very cold..." He noted with a smirk as you shivered against his gentle touch, especially as he traced his thumb over your sore nipple, making you sharply inhale the damp air in the grotto. "It does seem like small Rickon is taking his toll on her. Tsk-tsk, Cregan, is that how you treat Lady Reed?"

Making sure you didn't look away, Lord Cregan came closer to you and tightly held your chin in his hand, giving you an almost challenging look. "Do you wish to tell you that I do not treat you well, my Lady Reed?"

Gods, gods, gods, you muttered over and over in your mind as you could feel the Prince's cock hardening against your asscheeks and at the way Lord Cregan's eyes seemed to burn into yours. "N-no, not at all my Lord, you are very generous and kind," you pressed out as he stepped even closer and gave Prince Jacaerys a look over your shoulder.

"Indeed I am, my Lady," he mumbled and moved to pinch one of your sore nipples, but was gently pushed back by Prince Jacaerys.

"Lord Stark, I believe the Lady has wished for warmth and relaxation. Is it not in your duty to provide for your subject's needs?", Prince Jacaerys whispered lowly against your ear, nibbling on it, making you scrunch up your face so as not to moan or follow your body's instinctive need to rub yourself against one of the men's hardening members.

Beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you shifted uncomfortably under the watchful gaze of Lord Cregan and Prince Jacaerys. Their eyes seemed to bore into your very soul as you bobbed in the warm, steaming waters of the hot spring, your hair gently swaying around your curvy form.

The sound of their voices echoed off the rocky walls, making your heart race even faster with each word they spoke. Their grins were almost mischievous as they looked down at you; it felt like they were sharing a secret joke that you weren't part of.

You couldn't help but notice the way Lord Cregan's eyes traced your every curve and how he licked his lips unconsciously. It was clear that he found you desirable - he had let you know that for a long while, but to be found desireable by the Queen's heir? That was another thing, by far.

Lord Cregan gently released your chin as he stepped back, allowing Prince Jacaerys to take over with a wide smirk on his face, his strong, broad arms crossing on his muscular chest. You couldn't help but whimper softly as the Crown Prince held you even tighter and lifted your hair over his shoulder so Cregan had a full view of your nakedness.

With a soft smirk, he pressed his hard length against your entrance, rubbing it teasingly against you as he leaned down and kissed the nape of your neck, sucking it gently with just the right amount of force to make you gasp and arch your back. The double sensation of both water and his warm mouth on your skin made you shiver. He pulled back with a satisfied hum, looking up at Lord Cregan who seemed equally amused.

"You see, little mermaid? What do you think happens when two strong men like us want what we desire?" he asked, his voice rumbling as he traced his fingers down your stomach and onto the mound between your legs. You were slick from excitement, making it easy for him to tease you further.

His finger dipped inside, finding your entrance already hot and wet for him. "You are tight," he whispered huskily, making you tremble as another finger entered you slowly. You moaned in pleasure mixed with discomfort, feeling stretched but wanting more of this wicked delight. "Do you like it when we share you?"

"I-I would not know my Lord," you managed to squeak out between moans as Prince Jacaerys' long finger pushed further inside you, making another moan escape your shivering lips.

Lord Cregan came closer to you and kissed you hungrily, his rough hands playing with your supple breasts. You held tightly onto him as Prince Jacaerys continued to bully your inexperienced cunny, your nails digging into his broad back. "Mh, I think she'll come undone in an instant if you continue like that, your Highness," Cregan mumbled and slid his hand down as well, rubbing your hot pearl, making you shriek in pleasure.

"Too much... I... please!", you hiccuped, tightening yourself around the Prince's fingers, your face flushing uncomfortably hot. "Please, I've never... 'm a maiden..."

Prince Jacaerys chuckled as he pinched your nipple gently, making you gasp and arch your back as he thrust his fingers deeper into your tight sheath, finding your sweet spot with ease. "Such a delicate little flower," he whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Lord Cregan let out a low growl, leaning down to tease your other nipple with his lips before closing them around it, sucking gently.

You let out a high-pitched moan as they took turns teasing and pleasuring you, their hands roaming freely over your wet skin. You felt overwhelmed by the sensations as they claimed you like this, their bodies looming over yours in a dominating manner that made your heart race. With each thrust of their fingers inside you, you could feel yourself growing wetter and needier for more.

Lord Cregan groaned in approval as he slid two fingers into your tight passage, stretching you further than you ever thought possible. You moaned incoherently as they began to move in unison, their hands tracing every curve and hollow on your body. They smelled of sweat and saltwater mixed with expensive cologne from the south that made the air thick with desire. The taste of him was different from Prince Jacaerys - more musky and masculine - but it only added to the thrill of being taken by not one, but two men at once, neither of them your betrothed.

"Oh, but you are no longer a maiden, are you?" Prince Jacaerys teased, his fingers finding your weak spot once more, making you gasp as he pressed and rubbed against it. "I think you've been well taken care of, my dear." He smirked down at you, his lips brushing your earlobe. "Now, we can decide on how to break you in together."

You felt Lord Cregan chuckle darkly against your lips, his beard grazing your skin as he nipped at your bottom lip playfully. "Indeed," he agreed, his own fingers joining in the assault on your sensitive flesh, rubbing circles around your clit as his fingers plunged deep inside you with each thrust.

The water lap against your body and the roughened walls all around created a symphony of sensations that heightened the experience even more. You couldn't help but whimper and moan into Lord Cregan's mouth, overwhelmed by pleasure and fear of what was happening.

Prince Jacaerys pulled his fingers out of you with a pop, leaving you aching for more, tightening around Lord Cregan's. "Don't worry, little one," he murmured, leaning down to lift your hips up to Lord Stark's. "We'll take good care of you." He guided Lord Cregan's member to your entrance once he retracted his fingers and watched as it slowly slipped inside you. The burn was not as bad as you'd anticipated, yet you blushed just the same when you saw a tiny cloud of blood leave your cunny.

"The Lady did not lie, she truly is a virgin," Prince Jacaerys said and kissed you hungrily, pushing you down against Lord Stark's thrusts. "Such a good girl, aren't you? Taking us with no complaints, moaning and squeezing us tighter than any other."

His words sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but cry out as Prince Jacaerys' fingers found their way into your mouth, massaging your cheeks, and teasing your tongue as his ally began to move inside you. The stretch was intense, but the pleasure that came with it was beyond what you could have imagined.

It felt like a mix of pain and ecstasy, as if you were both being ripped open and filled up at the same time. You groaned into Prince Jacaerys' taste, savoring the saltiness of his skin and the muskiness of his sweat mixed with the hot water that surrounded you.

You could feel Lord Cregan's hips move faster with each passing moment, his strong arms pinning your shoulders to the side as he plunged deeper into you. You clung onto him tightly, feeling his rough skin against your breasts as they swayed with every thrust. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the water around you, creating a melody that only increased the arousal coursing through your veins.

Prince Jacaerys let out a husky chuckle before snaking one of his hands to your asscheek, whick he squeezed unimaginbly tight. you loudly cried out as your felt one of his fingers, which was still slick with your drool, gently swirl against the entrance of your bottom. The sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core, causing you to writhe against Lord Cregan's member buried inside you. You couldn't believe how good this felt.

Just as Lord Cregan quickly pulled out of you and took a deep breath, Prince Jacaerys very gently shushed you and carried you over to the ledge, where he placed you onto your knees and slipped his longer cock in, giving you very slow, sensual thrusts. "You're so good to us, little one," Lord Cregan muttered as he joined you as well, giving you a sloppy kiss and sitting up in front of you, his cock just above the water in front of your puckered mouth.

"You'll get everything you want and more as long as you continue taking us so well, you little slut," he mumbled, gently sticking his large thumb into your mouth, almost making you gag. "Your future King loves your tight little cunny, you're making it hard for us to not just fill you with our seed."

You felt yourself torn between pleasure and pain, but the Lord's thumb in your mouth ground you back to reality. Your hips rocked with every thrust, matching the Princes rhythm as he took your cunt from behind. You could taste both of their salty skin on your tongue, their musky scent filling your nostrils.

You whimpered into Cregans' cock as he removed his thumb and replaced it with his thick cock, his hand gripping your wet hair tightly to hold your head in place as he fucked your mouth slowly, making sure you take him all the way down. His length slid against your tongue with each stroke, sending shivers down your spine.

The water echoed with slapping skin and men's grunts of pleasure. The waves crashed against the cliffs, drowning out the sounds of the night around you as Jacaerys gently teased your puckered back entrance with his thumb. Your mind went blank in ecstasy as his cock found the spot that made you see stars every time he rammed against it, feeling him fucking it over and over again.

His fingers dug into your hips, leaving bruises that only added to the ache between your legs as you wanted beg for more from him only to be met with the response thrust from Cregan into your throat, saliva dripping down your reddened lips. Lord Stark growled lowly, grabbing onto your hair and pulling slightly as he pushed deeper inside you. He grunted in approval at the noises you made you you felt that if you wanted to take a breath he'd always take the pressure away from your hair to reassure you that he wasn't forcing you.

Your body couldn't help but respond to the dual stimulation. You were being brutally taken by two men, one fucking your throat and the other pounding your pussy, but you couldn't deny the unparalleled pleasure it brought you. The water lapped against your skin, cooling you off from the heat between your thighs as Prince Jacaerys slammed into you from behind. A soft moan escaped your lips each time his hips met with yours, sending shockwaves through your core.

The taste of salt and musk filled your mouth as Lord Cregan's cock slid in and out, stretching it to its limits. As he picked up speed, his heavy breathing mixed with the sound of slapping skin and splashing water created a symphony of passion in the air.

Prince Jacaerys, meanwhile, moved slower inside you, teasing your sweet spot mercilessly as he pressed his lips against your neck. His hand found its way to your breast once more, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his fingers, sending tingling sensations down your shaking body. You cried out into Lord Cregan's cock, unable to contain yourself any longer.

"That's it," he growled into your ear, "take our cocks like the good little whore you are."

You moaned into Cregan's cock, tasting him deeply as you felt Jacaerys' rough hands on your body, possessing and demanding, his cock twitching against your tightening walls.

"You belong to us," Cregan murmured reverently against as he looked down on you, "and we're going to make sure you know that."

You whimpered as the men pulled out slowly and as the Prince slapped his cum onto your back, hot and sticky. You arched forward, unable to help yourself as Cregan pushed back in once more. "Mine," he growled lingeringly before leaning down to snake his arms under yours and to pull you onto his lap.

Jacaerys groaned behind you, his hand tousling his shaggy mop of dark hair as he sat back and tried catching his breath. "You're so fucking magnificent," he breathed and grinned as he watched you grining and bobbing up and down on Cregan's cock.

As you rode your Lord, you felt like you were floating up in the heavens, especially as he held you so softly, kissed you so reverently, it was as if he wanted to reward you for letting him fuck you so roughly, you immediately felt yourself coming apart as his thick finger bullied your overstimulated clit by rubbing it steadily. "Come for your Lord, my precious, take my cock and milk it," he mumbled senselessly as your nails drew sharp lines over his broad chest.

As the wave of pleasure washed over you, your body shuddered and jerked as if it had a mind of its own, as did Cregan's. Your walls clamped down around his cock, milking him dry while his fingers dug deep into your ass cheeks, holding you open for Jacaerys to see how your cunt was spasming around the cock and leaking his hot spend.

The men's roughness and demanding actions left you breathless, yet strangely satisfied. You were also pleasantly surprised at the way how Lord Cregan had released you ever-so-gently and continued holding you in a tight hug so that you didn't need to keep yourself afloat in the hot water.

Feeling the sturdy chest of Lord Cregan pressing against your heaving chest, you looked up to see him smiling at you, his eyes filled with an affectionate glow. "You were magnificent, my Lady," he praised, his voice a deep, soothing purr that vibrated through your body. He pulled you closer against him, one hand lazily tracing down your spine to rest on the curve of your hip. His other hand intertwined with yours and you found yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Feeling emboldened by the warm affection radiating from him, you whispered back, "And what reward do I get for being so?" A breathy chuckle echoed through his chest as he gave your hip a firm squeeze.

"Name your reward and it shall be yours," he murmured into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could answer, Prince Jacaerys waded towards the two of you through the steamy water, his eyes filled with mirth and admiration. "Indeed," he chimed in with a sly grin. "Your performance was nothing short of spectacular. Name any desire of yours and we will ensure it is granted."

With their noble praise echoing in the steamy chamber, their gazes expectantly on you, you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. You had made up your mind about what you wanted even before they made their offer.

"I would like to become Lord Stark's wife and to... repeat whatever this was at another point," you announced breezily. You felt Cregan's intake of breath against your back and heard Jacaerys' surprised laughter ringing out in the chamber.

"Oh, a bold request," Jacaerys laughed again, his eyes twinkling with both amusement and admiration. "You aim for the stars, my lady."

A soft rumble echoed from Cregan’s chest as he tightened his grip around your waist. There was an uncanny silence stretching out between the three of you; the only sounds filling the room were the gentle lapping of water against the stone walls and your own pounding heartbeat.

"Wife," Cregan repeated softly, running his rough fingers down your arm. His dark eyes met yours with a silent question, a spark of something undefined glowing in their depths.

"You are sure?" he asked gently, though there was anticipation beneath his calm facade. He looked at you intently, his grip on you tightening as if he was afraid you would slip away from him.

You nodded, looking straight into his eyes - your gaze unwavering. "Yes," you murmured, your voice firm despite the wonderment that was flowing inside you. "But on one condition."

Cautious curiosity reflected in Cregan's eyes as he nodded for you to continue. "And what would be that?" he questioned with a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

"That Jacaerys doesn't fade into the shadows," you said pointedly looking back at the prince who seemed taken aback by your statement. "I want him to continue being a part of... whatever this is."

Jacaerys blinked at you several times before letting out a surprised chuckle. "Well, my Lady," he drawled lazily, running a hand through your wet hair and hugged you from behind, kissing your cheek chastely, "who am I to deny us all such passion. Though next time a bed would be more comfortable, don't you think?""

Tags: @fairysluna

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