#littlefinger x reader

[wrenwrongs]

Songbird

Petyr Baelish/Reader

Summary: Someone annoys Petyr who takes it out on the reader.

Word Count: 881

cw: smut, afab reader, praise, degradation, age gap, spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, spitting in mouth, allusion to blowjobs, I am very new to writing smut

Petyr was aware the bundle of Myrish lace shoved into your mouth would do little to muffle any noise. It was good then that you had long since learned to keep quiet. Uncontained, however, was the sound of flesh on flesh as his hand swung down on your arse. You knew exactly what was to come when the servant informed you that your betrothed requested your presence in his office. In the moments before he grabbed your arms and kissed you roughly, you had wondered who had incensed him so. It was rare that he could not wait until the evening to sneak you into his quarters and release his frustration there.

It was still a moon until the wedding, and as such you could not fully sate your desire for each other. Petyr was more than happy to teach you other forms of pleasure. Your favorite lessons so far involved his long, slender fingers and silver tongue; his own had you bent over his lap, much like you were now, skirts pulled up around your waist and small clothes down around your knees. Any concerns you had about marrying a brothel owner where erased when you discovered why said brothels where considered the best in all of Westeros.

On occasion, if you had intentionally done something to vex him, he would make you count the strikes. This time he simply spanked you. His other implements were hidden away in his chambers, so he made do with his flat palm; the cool metal of his rings adding to the sting.

Finally, he paused to rub your rosy bottom, “Such a good little songbird.” You mewled at his praise. Keening as his hand traveled lower and his fingers brushed against your exposed pussy. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he trailed his finger up your slit. “Does this excite you, pet?” he pulled his hand away. Marveling at the string of fluids that connected them. You could only nod as he placed his fingers onto his tongue and tasted you. Savoring you.

Without warning, his hand came down again, right on your swollen cunt, ripping a squeal from your throat. Tears gathered in your eyes as you bit down harder on the gag. “I cannot wait until I can claim you as mine.” Another.

“Fill you with my seed and let everyone know who you belong to.” Three. Four. Five.

“I want the men standing outside the door during the bedding ceremony to hear just how well I treat you,” He stopped to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, "How you sing for me." his fingers dragged along your puffy folds before he inserted two fingers. The wet noises competed with your own squeals to be the most wanton noise in the room.

“Anyone could walk through that door and see how you’re dripping like a whore just from being spanked,” His fingers curled inside of you. It never took him long to find that spot that made your vision turn white, and when he did he made sure to abuse it.

He pulled the lace from your mouth, “Beg.”

“Please, My Lord. I want it, I want everyone to know what you do to me. I would let you take me for all the realm to see. Please!" you cried. His free hand brushed the tears from your cheeks. He loved to see how long he could keep you on the edge of ecstasy. It was unfortunate that he had another meeting that day. “Lord Baelish, please. I— Ah!”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing quick circles. A moan, loud enough to be heard from the halls, escaped you. He relishes in the feeling of your walls fluttering around his fingers., imagining what it would be like on his cock. As your high receded, he sat you up straight and readjusted your skirts before pulling you to sit in his lap. A soft sigh left your lips as he brushed your hair from your face.

You knew he was smirking. He always took the most pleasure in your submission. How it came so easily for him, and only him.

You remembered the first time you met, his sycophantic smile made your skin crawl. He, like most men vying for your hand, had his eyes set firmly on the handsome dowry your father would provide. Yet Baelish offered something different, an agreement. Once it became apparent that you were not fooled by his wheedling, he made an offer: his land for your dowry and his heir for your freedom. Should you provide him with an heir and the wealth he lacked, you would live at Baelish Keep while he remained in Kings Landing. Forsaking the fantasy of the Tyrell's offering a marriage to Willas, a better opportunity would not present itself.

Neither of you had expected the fondness that crept in.

His firm hand tilted your head back. He brushed his thumb along your lips before parting them and spitting in your mouth. You whimpered at the display, ears still ringing. It was the strongest orgasm he had given you so far. It was a promise of what was to come.

‘The moon can not turn fast enough.’ you thought as you sunk to your knees before him.

#petyr baelish x reader #littlefinger x reader #petyr baelish #littlefinger #petyr littlefinger baelish #my posts #s: fic #s: smut #what is a queue like me doing in a post like this?

[castieltrash1]

💋 for petyr or whatever idk him i just know u like him :3

no it's the way i miss this man sm !!!!! it's so sick actually !!!!!

"be caught standing under the mistletoe" + petyr baelish; fem!reader, first kiss, fluff, cute misunderstandings

The halls of the Red Keep seem to span miles, with every corner you turn leading to another set of doorways that look identical to the last. Even after a year of living in King’s Landing, you still get lost every once in a while, passing under the wrong arch and ending up in a section of the castle you’d yet to explore. 

You’re about to head down the path you think leads to the throne room when a voice echoes from behind you. 

“My lady?”

The familiar tone sends a shiver up your spine, one you try to hide as you turn to see a sly but delicate smile. “Lord Baelish,” you utter softly, quickly bowing. The corners of his lips are still upturned when you meet his gaze, feeling it drag across the bit of exposed skin above your low collar.

“You seem lost,” Petyr says, then glances at the flowering plant tucked behind your ear. “Interesting choice of accessory.”

Your fingers immediately dart to the bundle of leaves and berries, tied together with a thin red silk ribbon. “Lady Margaery gifted it to me. She said they were among the few remaining blooms in Highgarden during the winter.”

Petyr nods, fingers twitching at his side. You wonder if he’s tempted to reach out and touch it, to touch you. “Santalales,” he murmurs, then clarifies. “Mistletoe. Fitting for the time of year and exceptionally beautiful on a lady such as yourself.” His words make your skin warm, and you smile at his seemingly endless bouts of knowledge. 

You can’t help but ask: “Is it… offensive?” Petyr’s brow raises, and you lower your voice, shifting closer. “A few of the… septas gave me odd looks.” Disapproving, you want to add but think better of it, not wanting to seem entitled or even disobedient. 

He seems all too amused, bright eyes glinting. “Offensive, no. Suggestive, perhaps. I assume you don’t know the meaning?” When you shake your head, the beginning of a frown pulling at your face, he explains. “Traditionally, standing under the mistletoe is an invitation to be kissed.”

“Oh,” you breathe before you can stop yourself. Now, Margaery’s stifled giggles made sense. “I had no idea, Lord Baelish, I’m so sorry.”

“Petyr,” he corrects you, but you barely hear him over the sound of your heart pounding against your chest. You reach for the mistletoe, intent on hiding it under your dress before embarrassing yourself further, but he stops you. “Leave it, my lady.” You still, staring at him, and Petyr brushes his fingers against your wrist, pushing it away softly.  

When he begins to lean in, he gives you plenty of time to pull back, but you don’t. It’s a horrible idea, kissing Petyr in the halls of the Red Keep, where anyone could see, but you don’t care. The months of playful teasing finally come to an end when he gently kisses you, his hand moving to cup your jaw. The soft blue fabric of his sleeves brushes against your cheek and you sigh into his mouth, lips tingling: “Lord Baelish.”

“Petyr,” he says again, this time more forceful. He finally steps back, and it takes you a moment to see the mistletoe between his lithe fingers. Before you can speak, he tucks it away. “Surely, you don’t want anyone else taking such an offer?” Every witty response you can think of dissolves on your tongue and you swallow heavily, shaking your head. 

“Where is it you’re off to?” Petyr asks.

“The throne room.”

He extends his arm the opposite way you were heading. “This way, my lady.”

-

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* [christmas drabble prompt list 💌]

#petyr baelish x reader #petyr baelish #littlefinger #game of thrones #game of thrones drabble #petyr baelish fluff #petyr baelish x reader fluff #littlefinger x reader #littlefinger fluff #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fluff #petyr baelish imagine #littlefinger imagine #t: writing #answered #mutuals: f1nalboys

[charliedawn]

"Marry me."

How I think marriage proposals would go for those characters.

Sandor Clegane:

"…Wanna get married ?" You asked as both you and Sandor were sleeping side by side in the forest. Sandor blinked—half asleep. He had back pain and a headache. He had hoped that the wine would help him to fall asleep quicker, as to not have to hear you say any other crazy thing or request for the day. But, of course. He was mistaken.

"Huh ?" When the information seemed to eventually settle in his brain, his whole face seemed a perfect depiction of confusion. He finally turned around and you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t exactly sober either. You decided this was the perfect moment to ask—since he would probably not even remember you asked the next morning. It gave you courage to ask again.

"Wanna get married ?" You repeated with a little more determination and this time, he answered.

"No."

"Ah."

"…"

"…"

"…You. Wanna get married ?" He asked this time—more because he was curious than awaiting an actual answer. But, you took your chance and answered truthfully.

"Sure."

He was momentarily surprised by your confidence before he huffed a laugh and wrapped an arm around you.

"…Fine. We’ll get married in the morning. Now, hush."

There was then a moment of silence before you both bursted out laughing. Just two drunks having the most normal conversation ever. You knew that by tomorrow, he would have surely forgotten all about tonight. But for now, you were satisfied with the knowledge that his subconscience hadn’t said no.

Oberyn Martell:

"Would you like to marry me ?" You asked Oberyn while he wad writing and whose lips curved slightly into a small smirk at the request. He was used to your rather straightforward nature. He liked it even. It made him laugh and enjoy your presence at parties. You were curious and completely unashamed or afraid of any consequences your requests or demands would bring. This is why he always caved. But, he could also be playful and this is why he answered with a small grin:

"No."

He was curious to see your reaction, but his smile slightly faltered when he saw the hurt in your eyes at his rejection. It was the first time he had seen you so upset and he immediately regretted his words.

"Oh. Okay then." You were embarrassed and turned around quickly to get back to your own private quarters. But he was by your side in an instant and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"I was only kidding. I would LOVE to marry you, sweet peach."

He then kissed the back of your neck lovingly. You let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back against him.

"…Really ?"

He chuckled.

"Yes. Really."

He then kissed your temple and you stayed in his arms for a while before he started nuzzling the back of your neck.

"But what brought the subject, sweet peach ?"

You sighed before closing your eyes.

"…You’re the only one who truly enjoys my presence. You laugh and smile at me, even when my words are nonsense. So I thought…why not ask ?"

Oberyn seemed taken aback for a moment before his smile widened and he pressed your back further against him to kiss your shoulder and whisper in your ear.

"Let me tell you a little secret. I would marry you for your nonsense, my dear. Because your nonsense makes more sense to me than this whole world does…"

Tyrion Lannister:

"Do you want to marry me ?" You asked Tyrion one night and the man was so stunned that he spilled his cup of wine.

"What ?"

Tyrion was the most decent between all the Lannisters. He had helped you more than once and there was no doubt in your proposal. You would never find better husband.

"You heard me."

He stayed silent again and made you nervous. Would he refuse ? Would he tell you that he has already found someone ? Would he tell you that he has no interest in you ? But, he didn’t. He simply sighed.

"…Why ?"

Why ? You could tell him a thousand reasons why. Because he was one of the few good men you knew. Because you had no intention of marrying any other. Because you knew he could be gentle. Because he was funny. Because he could be brave. Because he had the heart of a true lion…but no. You wouldn’t tell him like that. Because even if you did, he wouldn’t believe you.

"Because I want to." You settled for instead and his eyes widened slightly in surprise before he smiled a little and shook his head.

"Why would you want to marry an imp ?"

"It is not an imp that I am marrying, but a prince." You retorted. You both stared at each other and his gaze softened as he started actually considering it for a moment.

"You would be miserable." You frowned in incomprehension at his words.

"Why ?" He glanced away for a second.

"Because I am not a good man."

You huffed a bitter laugh at his words.

"Haven’t you heard ? There are no good man left, my prince."

Tyrion seemed taken aback, but he couldn’t deny the truth behind your words and drank a little of his wine.

"Tell me, Tyrion. If I was to become your wife/husband. Would you hit me ? Would you abuse me ? Would you lie to me ?"

He shook his head with a small smile. No. He wouldn’t. You smiled back and Tyrion finally nodded understandingly. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about finding a good man. It was always about finding the one who wouldn’t hurt you…And hence, he understood and maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a wife/husband ?

Jaime Lannister:

"Jaime…" You sat down next to him at the feast prepared for the Lannisters and even though you could feel Cersei glaring daggers at you—you grabbed his hand. He didn’t react, but you could feel his fingers slightly curving to hold yours.

"Hello, buttercup." He finally greeted you in a whisper and you couldn’t help but smile weakly. You knew of his heart and his loyalty to his sister. It wasn’t really your business to interfere, but you didn’t like how Cersei was treating him. And, you also knew that his heart could maybe be won over.

So, you did the most nonsense ever and challenged him. You stood up and faced him—catching the attention of everyone in the room as you declared loudly.

"Jaime Lannister. I challenge you to an arm wrestling competition !"

That ought to have gained his attention as his eyes finally met yours and what he found in there made his eyes widen in surprise. You were determined and even though he was a knight—you didn’t seem scared of losing. He tried to laugh and wave it off as a mere joke—but you didn’t back down and even provoked him.

"Are you perhaps not a lion ? But a scared chicken ?"

That oughta do it. He was up before you could even pronounce another word and the fury in his eyes made you smile. He had taken the bait.

"If I win, you must agree to one single demand of my choice without knowing what it is !"

"And if I win ?" He quickly shot back and you bit back a laugh.

"Then I will give you whatever you want."

In a matter of minutes, everything was settled and you were both in position. Everyone assumed you were mad or had consumed too much wine to challenge Jaime Lannister—but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You had planned it carefully. You had trained and trained your body and your mind. You had worn big sleeves to hide the muscles hidden underneath. This could be the most important challenge of your life and you wanted to win. More than anything.

The moment Jaime gripped your hand, his eyes stared straight at you as he realised what you had done. This was not the strength of the Y/N he was accustomed to…but it was too late to stop and in a matter of seconds—Jaime Lannister was on the floor.

Everyone was stunned.

But, you only gracefully stood up from your seat and looked down at him before smirking.

"…I will be waiting for that marriage proposal." And with that, you were out of the room—leaving a very confused Jaime and a very angry Cersei behind. But, you knew that a lion never backed down from his word. And Jaime would be yours.

Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) :

"Marry me." Littlefinger didn’t even seem surprised by you sudden demand. Everyone knew that your father wished to marry you off to Ramsay Bolton. And even though Littlefinger wasn’t sure why you would come to him with such a request, he didn’t show it.

He didn’t even look up as he simply asked.

"Why ?"

You huffed a bitter laugh. The man would sell mother and father for a throne. And he dared to ask why ?

"Does it matter ?"

He licked his thumb to turn the page of the book he was reading nonchalantly, even though you knew that he was secretly weighing the pros and cons of such an alliance.

"Depends. What will it bring me ?"

You looked away.

"Don’t pretend not to realise how advantageous it would be for you to be a part of the Lannister family. You’d have an easy access to the iron throne."

He hummed and pretended to think about it. It was true marrying you would be a fast way to get access to all the nice advantages of being a part of the so-called prestigious Lannister family. But, it had its own set of disadvantages to consider. He would become more than just a little man in the shadows that no one would deem worthy of being a threat, he would become a lion. A black lion.

"…Tell me why you would lower yourself to such an alliance with me. Surely, there would be one handsome young man who would say yes to such a proposal without even blinking. Why go to me, princess/prince ?"

You hesitated before sighing in defeat.

"…Because if I am to marry a snake, better be one I know than one chosen by Tywin Lannister."

At that, Petyr finally dignified you with a glance. You held his gaze and after a few seconds, he smiled.

"Very well, my beauty. Lead the snake to the lion’s den then."

Sansa Stark:

You and Sansa had been longtime allies and friends. You were maybe the only friend she had ever had after the almost complete destruction of House Stark. You had developed feeling for her over time and knew that asking her for her hand wouldn’t be easy—but you were willing to try.

"Please, Sansa of House Stark." You knelt on one knee before her with a rose in your hand and the other hand on your heart. "Would you marry me ?"

Sansa was surprised by the proposal. She had married twice and both marriages weren’t a success. She had lived through nightmares and pain out of such a dream as marriage. She used to want to get married with someone she loved so badly, but not anymore.

"My heart is not so easily won by a rose and pretty words anymore." She replied instead—thinking that she would succeed in breaking your resolve. But, she was mistaken.

"I know. I know that I may never be worthy of even your eyes on me. But…I am a fool, and my heart beats for you. And if you want it ? Then it’s yours. And even if you don’t want it. Let me fight for you. And prove my loyalty to the most beautiful and strong lady the North has ever seen." You pleaded and Sansa was rendered speechless.

She looked into your eyes and saw only love and adoration. She then glanced down at the rose you offered her and after a moment of hesitation, she finally took it.

"…You may try to win my heart, Y/N. But, I cannot promise you success."

You smiled and shook your head.

"Just having you acknowledge my feelings is enough for hope to enter my heart."

Sansa smiled back.

Maybe…romance wasn’t utterly dead.

Jon Snow: (Before the tragedy 😭)

"Marry me." It was said with such confidence that Jon himself was stunned as he looked up at you with widened eyes.

"What ?"

"You heard me."

There was a moment of silence before Jon smiled and he suddenly pulled you into his arms. There was no yes or no. Just a moment of pure euphoria as he couldn’t stop laughing as he buried his face in your chest. He was so happy, he forgot to form words.

When he was finally calm once more, he kissed you passionately.

"Yes. Yes. Yes, I will."

You both started laughing together and Jon even fell back on the snow as you held him tightly.

Daenerys:

"Marry me." You demanded and Daenerys looked back at you. She didn’t seem surprised or even mildly confused by the demand. She knew of your feelings for her—and she was more than happy to reciprocate.

But, marriage ?

Marriage meant boundaries. Marriage meant attachment. Marriage meant she would have to think about you and a possible future where she wasn’t all powerful.

She sighed before stroking your cheek and offering you an apologetic smile.

"My dear Y/N…If only I could, do not believe for a second that I would say no. But, as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms…I cannot."

You closed your eyes and a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You had expected such an answer of course, but still…your heart ached.

"I…understand." You forced yourself to say and Daenerys nodded. She was a queen. A khaleesi. And you were just…human.

Ser Jorah:

"Please. Marry me." Ser Jorah was stunned at the unexpected request and turned towards you with widened eyes. He was about to answer when you quickly added.

"Love me. Hate me. I want you and you want her. But, I am not asking for your love. But for your protection, kind ser Jorah." He closes his mouth and seemed to think about it for a moment. He knew that you were a young lady/man who had left her/his family to join Daenerys. He had no idea you held such feelings for him…

"You can have my protection, but why go to such lengths to have it ?" He finally asked and you sighed before taking his hand in yours.

"Because it is not only physical protection I seek." You then laid his hand flat upon your heart and Ser Jorah seemed taken aback once more. He looked at you and you didn’t shy away from his gaze.

You knew Ser Jorah was honourable and even if he would never return your feelings, he would make a far greater husband than anyone you ever knew. He would respect you and your heart. And that was more than you could ever wish for…

Ser Jorah accepted.

After all, it was only his name that you were going to bear and his sword that would protect you. You would call him husband, but only in name.

#sandor clegane x reader #ser jorah x reader #daenerys x reader #jon snow x reader #tyrion lannister x reader #littlefinger #petyr baelish x reader #sansa stark x reader #oberyn martell x reader #jaime lannister x reader #got characters x reader #fandoms #imagine #got

[just-some-random-blogger]

Out Of Luck

"Perhaps I'm not the only one who's going to be wed in King's Landing," Sansa jeers with a grin. I glare at her, "if you weren't my sister, I'd have stabbed you." The girl giggles and takes my arm.

Petyr Baelish & Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, descriptions of reader (black hair), widow!reader, enemies to lovers?, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: felt right so I'm writing it. Yes, I added Harwin Strong, yes I know it's not canon. It is now in my world 😌 anyway, he's still dead so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ Cross posted on AO3!

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @otteropera

"Father" I call with a smile. He spots me and I lift my skirt as I jog up to him.

The man hides what he was holding behind him. He smiles and meets me halfway in the hall. He greets me good morrow when I link my arm with his and kiss his cheek.

"And is that... a very important tool of the Lord Hand?" I tilt my head as I ask, "might I not even see it?"

He sighs and slowly brings the object in front of him. We both look at the brightly dressed doll. My father has an apprehensive look on his face. I hold back a laugh, "ah, a pretty dolly. Are you quite bored of your job already? Do they give dolls to the Hand or were you duped into buying this?"

"I knew you'd say something like this," he mutters.

"If you knew I'd say it, why'd you still get it, papa?" I chuckle.

"I bought it for your sister."

I make a face, "my sister?" I raise a brow, "which between Arya and Sansa do you think would prefer playing with such an ugly dolly?"

He calls my name out.

"What?"

He lowers the doll, "it's not that ugly."

"So even you agree," I snigger, "and yet you still bought it!"

We both begin to walk down the hall.

He warns me, "I'll tell on your mother."

"For what?" I hold back a laugh.

"For calling me papa," he lifts his nose.

I chuckle at the thought. Mother never liked it when I used mama and papa; improper for a lady, she says. I think it's also because when I use it, I pull on their heart strings and manage to make them do my bidding. Twas the gift of the first born.

"I can hear it now," I grin at the man as I squeeze his arm, "Eddard Stark," I motion vaguely, "stripped of his title as Lord Hand for his poor taste in dolls."

My grin widens at the sound if his low laugh. I give a louder laugh, happy to have gotten the reaction I did out of him. It's been a while since I've heard my father chuckle, or anyone from my family, for that matter.

"I wouldn't worry about it, love," father pulls me into his chest, "the king's taste in dolls are surely worse than mine."

I let out a giggle. My father joins in.

I look out the window as we saunter down the hall and turn back to my father when he mutters, "she's changed quite a lot since we've moved here."

He looks at the doll in his hand.

It takes a moment before I smile and give a playful look, "have you seen any of your daughters play with dollies lately, father?"

My words do not work this time. My smile fades at the sight of the line between my father's brows. I mutter softly, "haven't we all changed?"

He turns to me then stops.

I raise my brows. Ned Stark offers me a smile. He takes my hands and shakes his head, "not you, my daughter," he rubs my knuckles with his thumb, "never you."

My heart clenches at his words. I cannot bring myself to smile back because I knew it wasn't true.

"Forgive me for intruding on a private moment."

We both pull away and turn to our side. There we see a blonde doll wrapped in steel. Ser Jaime bows, "Lord Hand, Lady Stark--" he stops himself and lifts his head, "oh, apologies. It's in bad taste for me to call you that."

My father shifts in his spot.

I play it off, "nonsense. I am born of house Stark," I pull my lips into a tight smile, "and my husband is dead."

"Ah, yes," the knight sighs, "poor man. Just had a taste of being one then--" he shakes his head to make his point. He raises a finger, "he was your age, wasn't he?"

I clench my jaw and nod.

Ser Jaime rests a hand on his hilt, "what was his house again?"

Before I can respond, my father blurts, "have you come to rub salt in my daughter's wounds, Kingslayer?"

I turn to my feet with wide eyes. I slowly turn to the see the fuming look on my father's face and whisper, "papa."

Ser Jaime lifts his nose. An smirk masks his face, "not at all, my Lord."

I look back at the kingsguard, not enjoying how quickly tension solidified between us.

"The king demands your presence," growls the Lannister, jaw hardened, golden mane wafting with the breeze.

Father's face is stern but he nods and raises the doll, "I will go to him after I-"

"Get that bloody Ned here now," Jaime speaks. He watches Ned lower the doll. He purses his lips while father's expression sours even more. He shrugs, "King's words, not mine."

In an instant, all the tension in father's body is gone. He looks like he's about to smile and it makes my stomach churn because I knew what that meant. I take the doll from him before anything else. He looks at me and I nod, "I'll give it to Sansa."

He stares me blankly.

"I'll try to force her affection onto the thing," I look at the doll, "maybe she'll let it chaperone us to the tourney later."

I smile at the sound of papa's low laugh.

He nods.

Ned's smile fades when he turns back to Jaime. Jaime gives a wry smile, "I'll escort the lady back to her chambers in her father's stead."

Neither of us decide to argue over it.

Father walks off, eyeing Jaime as he did, and I purse my lips when I turn to him, "I'm actually headed to the library."

"Mmm," he furrows his brows, "then I'm actually headed there too."

We begin to walk down the hall. I laugh as I look at the doll in my hands.

Jaime turns to me upon hearing this. He decides not to note on the ugly doll, "like reading, do you?"

I look at him and smile, "I do."

"You sure you don't go to that musty room to hide from everyone?"

I raise a brow, "you seem to have experience."

"Tyrion was like that," he looks forward, "except father never bought him a doll as a companion."

I look away just as Jaime looks back at me, "does the library match the fantasies of a book lover?"

I chuckle. I turn to his side again. I am unable to stop myself from thinking how dashing his grin at the moment was, "It definitely is as grand as I expected it to be. Winterfell is not blessed with nearly as many tomes."

"The younger Stark girls must not like reading as much as their big sister, considering the ugly thing in your paw," he nods at my direction.

"I'm sure one of them will find use of it," I lift the thing up and look at it. I glance upon Jaime, "oh, goodness. It actually looks quite like you."

Jaime pulls his chin back, "you clearly have issues with your eyes."

"No, it's uncanny. Yellow hair, evil intent."

"Evil intent?" Jaime stops in his tracks, "you mock and slander me," he raises brow and grips his hilt, "I should have your tongue for it."

"Mmm," I turn to him and slowly walk backward, "kingsguard takes the tongue of the Lord Hand's daughter? Sounds like a page out of my books."

He tilts his head, looking me up and down before chuckling as he turns to his feet. He lick his teeth then furrows his brows, "lend me that book once you're done."

We reach the stairwell the connected to the gardens.

I tilt my head and stop in my tracks when I see Sansa and her handmaiden.

"Sansa!" I call, waving at her. She looks at me and waves back.

I turn to Jaime and curtsy, "I have changed my mind, ser," I rise and smile, "I'll be joining my sister in the gardens instead."

Jaime nods and gives a lopsided smile, "very well, my lady. Bid my greetings to the pup. I pray she doesn't get a heart attack from your father's gift."

I chuckle, "she used to have a wolf, you know."

With that, Jaime and I part ways.

Sansa immediately grabs my arm once I am close enough, "what were you doing with Jaime?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister," I correct her, raising a brow, "I didn't know you two were familiar."

"Was he courting you?" Sansa asks as she releases my arm.

I immediately shush her, "do not speak of such things, girl. You know how quickly gossip spreads here." I hand her the doll, "he was escorting me to the library in father's stead."

"This isn't the library-"

"Clearly not."

She takes the doll, "what is this?"

"A gift from father," I grin, "a chaperone to the tourney later."

Sansa glares at me, nearly turning red as her hair. She chucks the doll to the ground and storms away.

I huff and pick up the doll, "Sansa." I follow after her, "it was a joke."

"I haven't played with dollies for years!"

"I know," I rush up to her and grab her arm, "papa bought it for you to try and ease your worries."

She grits her teeth and corrects, "father should just do his job and stop treating me like a little girl." She breaks away from me and moves past me.

"You are a little girl."

"I'm going to be queen one day," she turns to me, "and you won't be able to make fun of me then."

"Sansa, I'm not making fun of you!"

Sansa does not listen and simply walks away.

Her old handmaiden turns to me and smiles. She takes the doll from me, "I'll put this in her room."

I nod and smile.

By the time we were seated for the tourney, Sansa and I made peace by giving the doll to Arya for her to mutilate. All three of us enjoyed the bonding experience very much.

Right now, we were huddled together, pointing at the players. Sansa whispered to me who she thought handsomest and Arya exclaimed over who she thought was strongest. I alternate my attention between them, swooning with one, cheering with the other, but it doesn't take long for them to get into a clash, as always.

They begin to bicker over me and I would have just snapped at them had we not been in public. I instead silence both of them by swooning and cheering for the Hound once we spot him from afar.

Both young Starks gawk at me in disbelief and disgust.

"You can't be serious," Sansa mutters with a pale face.

Arya tilts her head, "I mean, he is pretty big."

I laugh at both of them, "can't I cheer for all the players?"

"No," they say at once.

I tear my gaze from the tourney grounds to look over my shoulder. I gaze upon the crowds, looking to see if father was already here. I mutter to no one in particular, "I wonder what's taking him so long."

"Look," Sansa, on my left, tugs at my arm, "ser Jaime is going to be riding!"

I ignore her and push Arya, who was seated to my right, behind as I crane my neck to look for farther.

Sansa leans on my back and mutters to Arya, "ser Jaime likes her."

Arya grins and looks down at me, "oooh. The lion and the wolf."

I quickly sit up and eye both of them, "shut it, you."

They giggle with each other.

"Father will not be pleased if he hears you are wanting to feed nasty rumors."

"Oh, but nasty rumors are the most intruding, wouldn't you agree, Lady Strong?"

The three of us turn to the man walking over. He stops just below where Arya was sat.

"Or should I say, Lady Stark?" he smiles and nods at me. He looks to my left, "Lady Stark," then to my right, "Lady Stark."

I offer a smile and my first name, "you can simply call me that to avoid confusion, my lord."

"Petyr Baelish," he grins, blue eyes glistening with apparent mischief.

"Lord Baelish," I nod. I squeeze both my sister's hands, prompting both to greet all the same.

Lord Baelish smiles, "I'm glad to finally meet the eldest Stark," he reaches a hand out to me, "the words spoken about your beauty do you no justice."

Both my sisters make a face when I take the man's hand and he leans in to kiss it.

He straightens up and brings his hands behind his back, "my deepest sympathies to you. Lord Harwin Strong left us too soon. I've heard a great many things about Breakbones, how he puts the strong in House Strong."

Arya side eyes Baelish before turning away to look at tourney grounds.

Sansa stares hotly at him as she clutches my arm.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish," I nod and pull a smile, "if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to talk about him more than this."

"Of course," he bows. He tilts his head back as he smiles. He walks off and climbs the stairs to get to his seat just behind us.

"Do you know who's going to fight first?" Arya asks as she leans on my lap. I wrap my arm over her shoulders and turn to where she was looking. I spot Jaime speaking to whom was probably his squire from afar.

"Don't worry, little one, they'll announce it," Baelish speaks from behind, making all of us turn to him then back front. When I look back, I see Jaime looking our way.

"I hope ser Jaime starts on our side," Sansa mutters as she leans into me, though her eyes are still fixed on the Lannister.

Arya turns to me and toys with my black hair, "I hope he defeats the Hound to win your affection."

Baelish makes a face upon hearing that.

I snort at the thought then shoot her a half serious face, "shut it."

"I see you girls are fond of the Kingslayer," Baelish says, making us turn back to him again.

Arya side eyes him once more. Sansa looks away, uninterested.

I respond before turning frotn, "he is a rather good swordsman. Or so I hear."

"He usually doesn't play in tourneys. He says he's too good for them," Baelish mutters, "something must have made him change his mind."

"Maybe he's trying to impress someone," Sansa replies, not bothering to look back anymore, "maybe a lady?"

I squeeze her arm when she says this. She does not even spare me a glance.

"Yes," Baelish darting his eyes below him, "perhaps."

We look to the sky when a rumble suddenly cracks.

"What's taking them so long?! It's going to rain, and then the games will be cancelled!" Arya complains.

"They-"

"They're waiting for the king," Baelish replies.

Arya makes a face. I'm the only one that turns back to the man. I smile at his already smiling face then turn to Arya, "papa's not here either. The king is probably making him do something."

Baelish chuckles under his breath, muttering lowly to himself, "papa? How sweet."

Then suddenly, truly out of nowhere, it began to rain.

My sisters and I quickly stand. I immediately grab them and we run off to the nearest place that could offer cover. We head to a tent, but the trouble was, everyone was heading there too.

The rain quickly begins to pour harder.

I do my best to cover Sansa and Arya's head, but my hands could only do so much. The three of us look up when something comes above us.

I feel someone behind me. I turn and see it's Lord Baelish. He's taken his tunic off and used it to cover us.

"Come, my Lady Starks," he speaks over the loud patter of the rain, "I will escort you back inside!"

We turn to him, his dress shirt now dripping and stuck to his form. I nod at him, "thank you, my lord."

"Don't thank me yet," he smirks, face wet with rain, "one of you may yet slip on mud."

Lord Baelish leads the way, uncaring of how wet he's gotten, and offers his arm out to us intermittently. Meanwhile, we hold up his tunic overhead and huddle under it, treading as quickly yet carefully as we can on the mucky ground.

"I do hope the rain does not ruin your fine garb, Lord Baelish," I call as Sansa and I lift our skirts up and do our best not to trip on it.

Arya was very much glad to be wearing pants, and cheerfully steps into puddles without a care in the world.

But then she slips.

Baelish manages to grab her arm before she falls. He pulls her upright and chuckles, "careful now. You wouldn't want to take your sisters down with you."

Arya let's out a hmp when she is released.

"And don't worry about my tunic," he smiles at me, "I'd rather it be ruined than have 3 ladies get sick under my watch."

Sansa gasps and grabs my arm when her heels sink in the wet dirt. I help her keep her footing and smile back at the man, "thank you, Lord Baelish."

"As I said, don't thank me yet. It's still quite a walk to the Keep," he comes to Sansa's side and helps her straighten up, "and call me Petyr."

I part my lips at the thought.

He shakes his head and chuckles, "I insist."

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfic #jaime lannister #jaime Lannister fanfic #petyr baelish #petyr baelish fanfic #petyr littlefinger baelish #petyr Baelish x reader #jaime Lannister x reader #jaime Lannister fluff #petyr baelish fluff #jaime fluff #baelish fluff #game of thrones fluff #jaime x reader #petyr x reader #petyr baelish fic #jaime lannister fic #petyr baelish fanfiction #jaime Lannister fanfiction #got fanfic #got fanfiction

[minasvalentine]

slay petyr!!👅

#game of thrones #GoT #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones preference #game of thrones memes #petyr x catelyn #petyr x reader #petyr baelish #petyr littlefinger baelish #Barbie #barbie meme #actors #smut #Series

[fandom-puff]

Ooo! Game of Thrones smut promt #10 "think I like you better on your knees" for Petyr Baelish. Please and thank you!

Thank you for this req! I haven’t written Baelish in a while, so I hope you enjoy :))

Virtue

Pairing: Petyr Baelish x fem!reader

Warnings: marital argument, reference to locker-room type banter, a spank, degradation, reference to prostitution, brief fingering

Gif creds to owner

You glared across the room at the Master of Coin, your body thrumming with absolute fury.

“Call me a whore again, Baelish, and you and Varys will have something in common,” you hissed.

But Baelish only continued to smirk, your threat of castration flying over his head. “My Lady,” he said smoothly, walking around to your side of the bed, his arms opening as though he expected you to swoon and fall into them. Many moons ago, you would have, and gladly. You would have simpered about how clever he was, how glad you were to call yourself Lady Baelish. But for now, your eyes flashed with rage and you stood stock still, stubbornly refusing to go to him. “It was a joke, nothing more,” he said gently.

You scoffed. “A joke?” You said sharply, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. You had overheard Baelish making bawdy remarks about your intimate life with Tyrion Lannister and Varys. “Dishonouring one’s wife, Baelish, is not a joke,”

At this, Baelish laughed at you. You huffed and rolled your eyes. “It is dishonouring to praise my lady wife?” He questioned, stepping closer, his smirk growing when you did not move to step away from him and his smooth talking.

“I-it… it calls into question my virtue,” you stammered, practically melting under his gaze as he stared you down. “Especially when I am compared to the… women you employ,”

Petyr cupped your cheek, his thumb swiping over your cheekbone. “Oh, sweetling,” he cooed, before his hand wound around your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he yanked you close. He leant down, murmuring in your ear. “Even before I sullied your maidenhead, you were better than any of the whores in my employ,”

As his breath skittered over the shell of your ear you whimpered, your hands planting against his chest.

“There,” he said, whisper quiet. “Much better, wife,” his teeth grazed against your pulse point as he began to tug at your skirts, reaching between your thighs to your sopping heat. “As you should be… pliant and ready for your husband’s cock, eager to be his whore,” you groaned as he withdrew his hand and pulled away from you. “Look at you,” he said, an edge of condescension prickling his voice. “Panting and wet, just begging to be fucked, virtue be damned,” his tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Undress and get on the bed, sweetling, I so love to see you spread out for me,”

He admired your figure as you stripped, unable to resist a sharp smack to your arse that had you gasping. “Although I must admit,” he mused aloud, undressing torturously slowly in comparison to your quick stripping. “I much prefer the sight of you on your knees…”

Follow @fandom-puff-library and turn on notifications for that page to get updated when I post!

#petyr baelish smut #petyr baelish x reader #petyr baelish #petyr littlefinger baelish #Petyr Baelish x you #game of thrones #game of thrones one shot #game of thrones smut #aiden gillen

[damagedrumi]

I WANNA RIIIIIDEEEEEEE *angry gay noises*

I'm so sorry for not posting anything for about..umm 3 month???...but today I bring ya my drawing of Petyr ‼️‼️

My hyperfixation on this character is literally my only coping mechanism while I'm swamped with college studying and all stuff of adult life :")

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #game of thrones fanart #littlefinger #lord baelish #petyr baelish #petyr littlefinger baelish #asoiaf art #aidan gillen #petyr baelish x reader

[lovedandliving]

we need more arranged marriage fanfics in the got/hotd fandom. the potential!! the angst!! the enemies to lovers!! the hate sex!! someone get on this now please

#fanfic #game of thrones #got #hotd #littlefinger #petyr baelish #tyrion lannister #arya stark #asoiaf #arranged marriage #forced marriage #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #tywin lannister #x reader #petyr littlefinger baelish #tyrion x reader #jamie lannister

[inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800]

MY DARKEST DESIRE (joffrey baratheon x dark! reader)

Joffrey Baratheon x yandere! Reader

2 of 3

TW: mentions of death and unhealthy behaviors.

Sorry if there are wording errors, I have translated it to google because English is not my first language.

You growled in frustration in the solitude of your room. It had been nearly two months since your last talk with Loras Tyrell and the chances of a public alliance with them had disappeared. Apparently, a wily Cersei Lannister noticed your interactions thanks to a traitorous prostitute of your father's and commented on your after-meal outings to Tywin Lannister, foolishly believing it to be a point in her favor.

The idiot ended up with an engagement to marry the uninterested Loras, an anxious Margaery and the death of Ros.

You swallowed quickly when you found out how she had died.

His cold words still echo in your head.

"That happens if you despise the Baelish."

As if you hadn't seen firsthand the beautiful, tragic body of your former ally, her frozen tears and expression of eternal horror. Vaguely, you stroked one of her red locks as she was taken away to be buried in a mass grave without any ceremony or anyone to mourn her. No, that's weakness. That happens to the weak ones.

The cunning ones always win.

You walked vaguely to untie the fancy hairstyle you wore today; it was better to concentrate on something else when those useless thoughts started. Noticing the yellow blanket adorning the wall, you thought of another element of the big plan.

Joffrey Baratheon, the bastard.

Growing up at court, you were introduced to him on his fifth name day. He was a wee lad who enjoyed beating other children with lower positions to complain about, throwing pieces of cake at his sister while she cried, and killing animals like birds with broken wings and baby rabbits with twigs. You came forward and recited the words your father had taught you. Joffrey gave you a bored look as you spoke and dragged you into his playground with the other children. You knew the rules, but watching him tear out that little red-haired boy's hair was enough for you. You stood up and knocked him down with a kick, he looked at you in surprise because no one laid a hand on him until now. Obviously, that would have given serious reprisals for your father and you, however, you lied saying it was the redhead himself and that Joffrey was confused because he hit his head, you did so well that they believed you. You were relieved until your progenitor told you how the poor boy was whipped and how his family was quietly removed from the court. You felt so bad that you told him, to your surprise, he was proud and even happy, he gave you a talk to better convince people and explained what to do if something similar happened with Joffrey.

You reviewed the events of this morning. From Cersei's hurried journey with her betrothed to Highgarden, Tyrion Lannister's appointment as Hand of the King by the Lannister lion himself, and Jaime Lannister's hasty wedding to Rosemund of Lannisport, you could rarely have a peaceful time when King Joffrey was around. His mother was gone, his father also to Casterly Rock, he was often controlled by his grandfather, and his only release was to torment the maids and his uncle Tyrion who rarely let himself be seen. Margaery told you of her fear that he would do you any harm, you replied that, despite being a maid, you were thorn-proof. Your relationship with her was going quite well: Olenna asked you about Joffrey's activities in her granddaughter's absence after finally convincing her of your loyalty; both women mentioned cautiously about a possible marriage with Willas, more adult and powerful than your former betrothed, but of a boring character according to your father's words, and questioned you about the personality of the second son, Tommen.

Everything seemed to be going well, but it was not. You knew what they were plotting and that annoyed you greatly, an assassination that would shake the house of the lion and strengthen the Tyrell power over the crown. That didn't bother you because it was to your advantage, however, you didn't want to see Joffrey being finished off by the Tyrells.

You wanted to kill King Joffrey with your own hands.

You let out a groan as you found yourself almost naked on your bed. The thought of Joffrey paralyzed on the floor brought another moan and the conviction to masturbate; imagining him with an expression of fear was enough to caress your clitoris; and the thought of his tears of horror and submission was enough to touch you harder.

You closed your eyes. Your hands going to his neck with no one around to stop you, him trying to push you away with his clumsy efforts, watching his neck redden, seeing drops of blood from the pressure exerted, unspoken words dominating his lips and finally his lifeless expression.

A moan of pleasure flooded your lips. But from afar it was not enough for tonight.

After your ninth orgasm, you thought vaguely about how his presence would be wrenched from you and how it would influence Baelish destiny. No, there was nothing you could do but obey and see how he would die for the relatives of your lever. Tiredness dominated your head, tucking you in with your blankets, there was only one coherent thought: Not obeying.

You watched the Iron Throne along with the others as King Joffrey displayed his cruelty. The Tyrells were visiting some chamber of a vassal house, loathsome enough to stray away for a few hours, while you stood near your father with the nobles gathered like shivering chickens in a henhouse, and both shared the same vision, but with different goals. : he sitting comfortably as king of the seven kingdoms and you, taking Joffrey by his cloak causing him wounds by the edge of the swords and dragging him like a dog with the sole purpose of seeing him suffocate by the pressure of his own cloak.

Both thoughts were not compatible and you knew that well.

The screams of pain did not distract you, but Tommen's gaze did, the poor boy was holding back tears from the monstrosities committed by his brother. He's too innocent for Westeros, too whiny to get used to violence when he's lived with Joffrey his whole life, and not at all cunning. Too weak.

Being with the Tyrells would do him good. Even if it's just a piece of the game.

You pursed your lip. You were not a player, that place is for your beloved father, you were just a valuable piece. That was good right? He has been for years and years, for your entire life. Why change? Father can be an excellent king; he just needs the necessary push. But the order of the pushes can change, right?

"I'm done for today." The king's proud voice brought you back to reality.

“My king, please…”

Seeing how the citizens were beaten calmed you down. Everything was running its course.

"Let's go, dear daughter." Your father pushed you away with his classic paternal man role, you smiled following his ruse.

"Stop there! Your king commands you."

They turned around confused.

“Lady Baelish, I have received word that you have cured my brother, Prince Tommen, of yellow fever with your healing knowledge along with the maester.” Joffrey's annoying voice grew closer; you could feel your father's machinations in his head. "Therefore, I invite you to hang out in the king's personal dining room, if I'm feeling generous I could offer you a medicine box for your woman skills."

Feeling the perfect opportunity to make your fantasies come true, the satisfaction of knowing the answer was greater.

"My beloved daughter accepts your offer, your grace."

"Well, it's a unique opportunity, she couldn't turn it down."

The blush on your cheeks only increased as did King Joffrey's shit-eating grin.

“I will show you my gratitude for all the goodwill you have had with me all this time…, your highness.”

The sinister shine of your eyes was not noticed by anyone.

 @yandere-stan @yandere-daydreams @megsironthrone @letsasoiaftogether @missglaskin @witchthewriter @a-libra-writes  @agent-whiskeys-sweetheart @ladywinterwitch @anxiousnerdwritings

#joffrey baratheon #joffrey #joffrey lannister #joffrey baratheon x reader #wattpad #books #yandere #yandere reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #got #petyr baelish #littlefinger #varys #tommen baratheon #margaery tyrell #lady margaery tyrell #the tyrell #house tyrell #obssesive reader #girl yandere #yandere game of thrones #yandere oneshot #joffrey baratheon is the victim now #subjoffrey baratheon #dom reader #obssesivethoughts

[mockingbird-of-westeros]

Currently writing my Baelish x OFC Oneshot. I am at almost 9K words right now and only about one fifth, maybe one quarter at most done with this. Buckle up, because when this thing is ready you guys will need a lot of time.

#petyr baelish #petyr baelish x reader #petyr baelish x oc #game of thrones #got #littlefinger

[sweetlywriting]

Got with a scholar s/o~

Includes-Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish, Tyrion Lannister

Warnings- None this was very fluffy

A/N-

Jon Snow-

Not really the scholarly type, but he learned a little from Sam so he’s still somewhat well versed in your occupation

He likes seeing you work though, you look so focused and determined staring at a book it makes him smile

From your point of view it looks like he’s just randomly staring over your shoulder, which makes it pretty hard to work

It’s cute though so you let it slide

He also often asks for your advice ignores it though

Daenerys Targaryen-

Daenerys definitely was taught by scholars or at least got fair education, being a Targaryen so she understands what you do

Sometimes she’s not always the most rational and jumps at whatever feels right, so it’s good to have you there to be a voice of reason, she's more likely to listen to you than anyone else

Daenerys does value improvement and criticism so often you’ll have long discussions about how she rules, the army, etc.

Also would love if you would lend your scholarly abilities to help teach people, especially the poor and children

Her heart squeezes every time she sees you laughing and reading a book to some little kids

Jaime Lannister-

Jaime isn’t dumb, but he never spent much effort into his studies, he’s a well renowned knight for goodness sake

He often teases you for studying something so “pointless”, you know better than that and often prove it to a sheepish Jaime when your battle plans outweigh his

He respects your craft, it simply isn’t very applicable in his lifestyle

He gets a little jealous when you’re teaching some other soldiers to read, so he’ll try to act more interested in your studies

Cersei Lannister-

Cersei tends to dislikes people who are smarter than her, but as long as you’re on her side and don’t pose much of a threat oh she’ll adore you

All the books material or anything else will be provided to you, all best in Westeros

She’ll often ask you to create things for her schemes or at least get your opinion on them

You’re definitely on her council and may receive a bit of favoritism

Sansa Stark-

Sansa has always been taught by and liked scholars, they remind her of the old maesters

She’s kind of indifferent to your occupation, studying had never been her forte

She'll often come to you for advice or just a fair talk, though sometimes she storms off she knows you mean well

She often picks books and papers she thinks you would like as little gifts.

Petyr Baelish-

Baelish is somewhat of a scholar himself, collecting information and using to his will

He’ll often use your studies and knowledge to his benefit, and finds a way so you’re still happy and unnoticing, because he does care

Maybeee not I’m a very conventional way but he cares

He’ll often research or study with you. It's quite comfortable, and sometimes he'll let you see a more vulnerable side of him

Tyrion Lannister-

He too enjoys reading learning and research

Being smaller he's never had physical aspect of strength

Often he'll play chess with you on cold nights where there's not much to do

Riddles and boardgames that require tactic are some of his favorite things, he'd be happy to share them with you.

#game of thrones #got x reader #x reader #fluff #fanfic #daenerys targaryen #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #jon snow #tyrion lannister #petyr littlefinger baelish #petyr baelish #sansa stark #daenerys x reader

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

you are a stark and littlefinger sell you to jocelyn.

LF promised to rescue me from kings landing and take me to Winterfell but instead he took me to Casterly Rock. He presented me to Jocelyn who was looking slutty and elegant, sitting on her gold throne. At first she acted nice and caring, telling me I am safe with her. But here I am now, wearing torn and revealing clothes and tied up in front of Jocelyn. LF has taken my virginity in front of Jocelyn as a payment and now I belong to the seductive evil lioness. She has been edging me and torturing me for hours, interrogating me and trying to break me. But I am a Stark and cannot be broken.

Yes I am desperate to cum. Yes I am begging the mistress Jocelyn to stop but she can't break me. Mistress was fingering me herself this time instead of letting her maids do it, hitting all the right spots and calling me a whore. I wish mistress would let me cum just once. She is teasing me and taunting me. Letting her guards touch me as if I am an object. She finally let ne cum. I don't know why she did that? She said earlier I can only cum if I call her my mistress and mean it, but I am a Stark and I can't be broken. I will fight till the end. But why is mistress Jocelyn making me cum over and over again? Why is she calling me her good whore? I am a Stark.. I am a Stark... I am a Stark whore.. I am a whore... I am mistress Jocelyn's whore... Please mistress I can't cum anymore. I can't take it anymore. Your whore can't cum anymore mistress

#Jocelyn Lannister #Jocelyn Lannister x reader #littlefinger #hotd #game of thrones #house of the dragon #game of thrones imagines #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #hotd one shot #house of the dragon imagine #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #got #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #got one shot #got oc #got fanfiction #game of thrones headcanons #hotd oc

[hades-burner-phone]

I've just about written a 3000+ word one-shot about Petyr Baelish and an injured reader and I have no one to read it—good lord someone help me because I haven't been able to get this man out of my mind

#petyr baelish #petyr littlefinger baelish #petyr baelish x reader #game of thrones #this man still has a chokehold on me #i can't get him out of my head #what ever am i supposed to do now

[charliedawn]

GOT characters x Reader

"Please. Dance with me."

Sandor Clegane :

Sandor was standing near the exit—ready to call it a night. He was tired of seeing all those high borns dancing and getting drunk on expensive Dornish wine. But when he was about to leave, he felt an arm wrap around his and looked down to find you—clinging to his arm. He was about to ask what the hell you were doing when he noticed how terrified you seemed.

"Please…Don’t let him take me."

You were on the verge of tears. He looked in the direction you were staring at and found some lord with a sleazy smile on his face. He was walking your way and Sandor instinctively raised his hand to clasp it on your arm.

"The lady’s taken. Piss off."

He felt you tense up next to him, but his hand on top of your arm kept you in place as the man decided to finally leave. Once he was gone, you wanted to thank him…But, Sandor pulled away and walked away.

…He needed a drink.

Daenerys Targaryen:

When a man offered you a dance, you smiled and tried to politely decline the offer. But, the man wasn’t having no for an answer. Finally, he grabbed your arm as you were about to leave. Fortunately, Daenerys arrived just in time and stood between the both of you.

"I believe she has been quite clear. She doesn’t want to dance with you."

The man was about to protest, but quickly reconsidered. He left and you let out a sigh of relief. But, as you were about to thank her, Daenerys turned towards you with a soft smile before offering you her hand.

"Would you like to dance with me instead ?"

Her hand was opened invitingly and her eyes showed nothing but good will. So, you took her hand with a smile.

"I would be honoured, khaleesi."

Ser Jorah :

"Would you dance with me, Ser Jorah?"

Jorah looked up at your hand and was about to politely decline your offer when he noticed your uneasy smile and the other man standing a few feet away behind you. He immediately understood the situation and smiled before taking your hand.

"It would be an honour, my lady."

He kissed the back of your hand and you smiled before being led away. You swayed left and tight slowly together and even though Ser Jorah only wanted to dance to help you—he found himself enjoying it as well. You closed your eyes and didn’t even think about your 'problem'.

You just enjoyed the dance until the very last moment when you had to part.

"Thank you."

Whether it was you or him who said it first—neither of you could tell.

Brienne of Tarth :

Brienne had just won her final battle for the tournament organised by your father. She had put to the ground many of your father’s best knights and when her face was revealed…You were immediately impressed. A woman of such strength on your side would surely end in a successful alliance.

So, you waited.

You waited and when it was time to celebrate, your eyes landed on the fiercest woman who had succeeded in defeating most fighters of the court. Her eyes didn’t settle on you however.

You felt a little disappointed by it, but the night was far from over. You tried again and again to get her to see you, but she always seemed to escape your sight. Finally, you decided to give up and sit down. But, you then felt a hand land on your shoulder and when you looked up, you found one of your father’s choices staring down at you with a malicious smile.

You tried to tell him no. He ignored your request.

But, he finally listened when the woman you had been trying to talk to suddenly appeared behind you in all her armoured glory. She didn’t need to speak a word as the man immediately released you and walked away.

"Are you alright, my lady ?" She asked you and you replied with a smile of your own.

"I am now."

Jon Snow :

Many people had warned you about Jon Snow. Some called him the King of the North—others a demon. You weren’t really interested in rumours though, but by the truth.

Hence, you had accepted to go and meet with him.

A war was brewing and you knew that strong allies were necessary. However, when you found yourself in front of the man who claimed to be Jon Snow, you immediately knew it couldn’t be him. The man before you couldn’t possibly be the King of the North. He wasn’t a giant. He wasn’t heavily armed. Or looked like a living dead. He seemed…normal.

"I am Jon Snow."

"..."

You looked him up and down.

Before he could say another word, you threw a dagger at him and he didn’t even flinch as it landed in a tree behind him. You both stared at each other for a minute until you finally smiled.

That man was Jon Snow.

For you saw no fear of death in his eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you, my King." You introduced yourself and bowed before him. "…The man who danced with Death and survived."

Tyrion Lannister:

"No."

Tyrion was aware of your situation. He knew perfectly well of the unfortunate circumstances of your upcoming betrothal. But…He couldn’t bring you even more dishonour by agreeing to dancing with you.

"Do not look so disappointed, my lady. Even though I am sure you are quite lovely, I wish you to spare yourself the humiliation of dancing with an imp."

Such harsh words which ignited a general hilarity that made you red in the face with fury. But, not against Tyrion. You didn’t blame him for his refusal. You knew how it sounded and the pain behind such a request. But, you didn’t want to give up. So…You did something that no person had ever dared. You knelt before him—your eyes staring at the floor in respect.

"I see no imp. I see a valorous and just prince. And I still wish to dance with you. Please."

It made the crowd around you fall silent. Tyrion’s eyes widened and he seemed speechless for a while. But, he finally smiled before slowly reaching for your chin to lift it up so your eyes may meet.

"…Don’t you lower your gaze. You hold more bravery and wit than anyone else in this room. And if that is truly your wish ? Then I would be more than happy to dance with you."

Jaime Lannister:

You were sitting down when you felt a presence in front of you as you ate. Your eyes looked up to find your ‘fiancé'. He was looking at you with such disgust that all food got stuck in your throat. You knew it was but an arranged marriage, but everyone knew that your betrothed hated your family with passion. Your eyes glanced away and met with another man. He smiled at you. You smiled back.

Unfortunately, your betrothed caught the exchange and suddenly grabbed your arm—ready to strike. But before he could as much as lay a finger on you, the tip of a sword was pressed against his throat.

The room fell silence as none other than Jaime Lannister had come to your rescue.

"I believe this is no way to treat a woman—even less a lady."

He then sat down next to you and smiled before eating next to you—an arm wrapped around you. The message was clear. And the man left.

"…You will get in trouble for this." You warned him, but Jaime replied with a cocky smile.

"I am a Lannister. And lions are not scared of insects."

Oberyn Martell :

You were trying to leave the party. This was too much. A man was persistently trying to get a dance with you, but you didn’t want to dance with a man who surely did not care about you. You were almost there when you collided with another man who grabbed you before you could fall to the floor.

You looked up and your eyes widened as you saw who it was.

"Prince Oberyn of Dorne…" You gasped and the man gave you a small smile before looking behind you at the man following you.

"Is this man bothering you, my lady ?"

You gulped and suddenly took his hand. If you were to say anything, your father would blame you.

"Please. Would you dance with me, Prince of Dorne ?" You asked and the man following you seethed.

"You were promised a dance with m—!"

"I believe the lady asked ME for a dance." Oberyn cut him off with his usual charismatic smile. "Unless your title happens to also be Prince of Dorne."

The man huffed before walking away and you let out a sigh of relief. You were about to leave when Prince Oberyn grabbed your wrist.

"Now now…Where are you going, little sunflower ?"

You frowned in incomprehension until Oberyn smiled again and pulled you flush against him.

"…I believe you owe me a dance."

Peter Baelish (Littlefinger) :

Lord Baelish had had your eyes on you for a while and he knew that being part of your powerful family would be extremely valuable. Hence, he asked your father for your hand. But, there were too many contenders for him to even be considered as a good choice. So…He observed you.

You were young, but promising as you danced with grace and proper etiquette with all your possible choices. But, he could see right through you. You weren’t exactly happy to be here. And when one of your possible betrothed stepped on your foot.

He stepped in.

He took your hand and almost pulled you away from the man. You were about to thank him, but Baelish had other plans.

"What will you give me for my rescue ?" Baelish asked you. You sighed. Of course he’d want a reward for acting like the hero he wasn’t.

"What do you want ?"

Baelish seemed to think about it before offering you his hand with a smirk.

"A dance."

Your eyes stared at his hand suspiciously. But, at this point ? You would have accepted anyone’s help in order to escape. He pulled you flush against him and started dancing with you. Your eyes widened as he led you away to the center or the room.

He knew everyone could see the both of you, but he didn’t stop—not even when you tried to pull away.

"Lord Baelish…That’s enough."

Your father tried to stop him, but Lord Baelish only smirked before surprising everyone by kissing you. Your eyes widened and you were momentarily took off guard. When he pulled away, he smirked before glancing challengingly at your father.

"Now…About my wedding proposal ?"

Sansa Stark :

"My lady…Would you please give me the chance of a dance ?" You asked Sansa who hesitated for a moment before smiling and slipping her hand in yours. You smiled before kissing the back of it and led her to the dance floor. Sansa had always wished for someone to take her hand and make her feel like a princess.

She had first thought Joffrey to be the one, but that felt like eons ago. She had long learned her mistake. But, it didn’t mean she didn’t still wish for someone to make her remember what it felt like when her innocence and virtue were still recognised.

And you were more than happy to make her remember who she used to be.

"You are beautiful." You told her truthfully and she smiled.

She even graced you with a small chuckle as you made her twirl and made sure not to touch her that might trigger her in any way. After her awful treatment under Ramsay, you only wanted her to feel at ease. At peace.

And she knew it.

When she looked at you and a smile graced her lips—your heart seemed to skip a beat.

The pretty wolf was still a stealer of hearts, and you couldn’t wait for her to devour yours.

#sandor clegane x reader #fandoms #got #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #daenerys x reader #ser jorah x reader #brienne of tarth #brienne x reader #jon snow x reader #jon snow #tyrion lannister #tyrion lannister x reader #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn x reader #peter baelish x reader #littlefinger #sansa stark #sansa x reader

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Safe Keeping | 7

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, POV shifts!, forced marriage, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink, breeding kink), enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, toxic masculinity, typos, etc.

A/N: YAY WE ACTUALLY FINISHED A SERIES HAHHAH lol. thank you so much to everyone who read safe keeping on here <3 im so luv all of you !! i will be continuing this so HIHHH look forward to it ig 😋 [originally posted on ao3] | [continuation fic on ao3] | [continuation on tumblr]

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @minttea07 @fluffpudel @j3nn-1 @jelsasnowflakes1 @thestrals-and-firewiskey

We are greeted by a group of men when we arrive at the Alistair dwelling.

Sandor helps me dismount my horse. I thank him, then the stable boy, who takes our rides. Sandor ushers me in and we hand our coats to the servants by the door.

My husband scrutinizes the place, a grave expression on his features as he takes in the halls that were decorated with streamers. As we get deeper into the home, I grab Sandor's arm and carefully word, "remember why we're here."

He turns to me and raises a brow, "and why are we here, darling wife?"

I cannot help the way I react to his words, his term of endearment. I know it is condescending, but my stomach tumbles at the sound of it either way. I look forward, unable to keep his gaze, "we're here to pay out respects to a man that extended generosity to us."

Sandor notices the way my face twitches. He sighs and turns away, "I will not kill the pretty boy. Do not be so upset."

"I'm not upset," I turn to him.

He scoffs under his breath, "what's with the face then?"

"What face?"

"A face fairest in the land, many would say."

Sandor and I stop in our tracks.

My brows raise and I break into a chuckle of disbelief and surprise. The man who had spoken smirks as I greet him, "Lord Baelish."

Sandor feels his blood boil when the Littlefinger bows and reaches out a hand. He tightens his grip on me.

I turn to Sandor, noticing how darkly he was eyeing Petyr, and decide to let out a laugh to ease the tension, "there be no need for such formalities, Petyr."

Petyr straightens up, lowering his hand, maintaining his smirk.

Sandor's lips twitch as he grumbles slowly himself, "Petyr."

"I am glad we're past that, my dear," Petyr says before Sandor tugs me by the arm behind him as he steps forward.

The shorter man looks up and the taller one snorts. I manage to pull my arm away, coming in between them. I nervously laugh and elbow Sandor back, not that it does anything, "if you'll excuse us, we must speak to the man on the hour."

Petyr looks back at me, unfazed and still smirking, "of course. But I do I hope, for your sake, you spare me a moment after. I have something rather important to talk to you about."

"About what?!" Sandor bark. I feel the tension of his form when he presses nearer, flush against my back, to impose upon the lord.

Lord Baelish doesn't spare the Hound a glance, "why, about the monsters plaguing your ancestral home." 

My lips part.

The blue eyed man raises a brow, "you've long wished to be safe from this peril, yes?" he bows, "I believe I have a solution for you."

Before I could even think, Petyr straightens up and smirks as he walks away.

I hear the Hound whisper behind me, "I'll fucking kill him instead."

Before I could respond, a voice calls out to me. I turn and see it is Lord Alistair, making his way over.

He jogs up to me with an excited expression and reaches out a hand. I smile back at him and take it out of instinct. When he is close enough, Cedric kisses my knuckles.

The Hound did not realize this had happened up until he tore his gaze from damned Littlefinger. When he notices Alistair, he nearly breaks his teeth from clenching his jaw so tight.

"I am happy to see you, my lady," Cedric nods with a lopsided smile.

Before the Hound can react, the pretty boy is speaking again.

"And you, my lord," he nods to Sandor.

"I don't share the sentiment," the Hound growls through a strangled breath.

Cedric laughs. He places a hand on his chest as he does, then motions, "forgive me. You must be famished from your travels," he looks to his right then back to us, "please. My servants have prepared my favorite dishes. Help yourself and make merry."

"I'll be merry if I fuc--

"THANK YOU, MY LORD!" I cut off with a massive grin. I curtsy and chuckle, mustering all the sincerity I had, praying it overshadowed my jitters, "may you always be so generous and joyous on your nameday."

Cedric chuckles and waves me off, "please. Spare me the formalities. I pray you go and eat with your husband before he kills someone."

Lord Alistair is the only one that laughs at the joke. A few delayed seconds later, I manage to laugh with him, forcing down my agitation.

Sandor doesn't budge the first time I tug on his arm. He follows after the fourth. He eyes Cedric as we walk away, but the said man is already preoccupied with another guest to notice.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I whimper under my breath as I quite literally run after the buzzing Hound.

Sandor makes his way down the hall in a break neck speed, at least for me. I have to catch my breath when we enter the weapons room. I heave and look around the foreign place, eyeing the axes, the arrows, the swords, and the armor displayed all over.

"Your pretty boy has good taste," Sandor slurs as he grabs a sword mounted on the wall, knocking over a few others as he did.

I cringe at the clank of steel against ground and step back when Sandor begins to wave his blade around. I mumble, "he's not my pretty boy."

Sandor continues to swing the sword. I pull my head back in agitation.

He then picks up the fallen swords but cannot manage to put them back in their place without moving shakily, and dropping a few.

I panic and press my back against the wall, "my love, this is a horrible idea!"

Sandor stops and turns to me, "how is it horrible? Lord Alistair wanted a sword fight with me, and that's what he's gonna get. He chose this nameday gift, not I."

I watch as he finally manages to put away the swords.

"You were there, my jittery bride."

I straighten up and slowly walk towards him with my palms cautiously raised. Sandor is perfectly still when I come close. I release a sigh of relief when I manage to grab his arms, "please listen. I was also there when you downed three ewers of wine, puppy."

He leans down.

I clench my jaw.

I can feel his breath, smell the alcohol in it, as he mutters, "I'm not a lightweight."

I gasp when he comes low enough to kiss my neck.

My skin pricks when he whispers hotly, "and I'm not a puppy."

My heart is racing when he straightens up. He does so in a rather staggering manner, telling of the effects of his alcohol consumption.

"You're drunk."

"Am not," he rebuts.

I scowl at him, "you're a drunk puppy, my dear."

He smiles, "I thought I was your love?"

My stomach churns.

Sandor purses his lips when I do not respond.

I feel my face prick with heat, "would you listen to me if you knew that I loved you?"

He chuckles, turns his back on me, and heads for the door, "well, do ya?"

I feel like vomiting. I whisper under my breath, "I do."

He reaches for the knob and opens the door, "nice try, beautiful," he reaches a hand out, "come. Maybe your pretty boy will manage to ki-"

"WILL YOU STOP CALLING HIM THAT!" I snap and storm over to him. "Lord Alistair is NOT my pretty boy! He's not mine and will never be!" I feel my blood boil and my eyes begin to fog, "and stop calling me names!"

He pulls his chin back. His face hardens. He opens his mouth to speak but beat him to it before he can say a word.

"Stop mocking me! Stop calling me pretty squirrel! Stop calling me beautiful! It's driving me mad!"

"I'm not mocking you," he speaks lowly, "why would I mock-"

"Well, whatever it is, it needs to come to an end," I point at him, "now let's get this over with. I want to go home."

I storm off and head outside.

I make my way to the back of the Alistair dwelling, which had a large field where the sword fighting will be held.

I stand by the crowd of people and sigh through my nostrils. I watch as Lord Alistair does tricks with his sword, enticing the crowd to laugh and cheer for him.

I feel out of place in my spot because I didn't know anyone else, and because was not at all entertained by the spectacle. All I thought of was how badly I wished this to be over. Damn my drunken husband for agreeing to this.

"Trouble in paradise?"

I turn over and find the smile of Lord Baelish. I release another sigh, "please. Not anymore, Petyr."

Petyr chuckles and shrugs, "I've barely said a word, my dear."

His term of endearment triggers my vexation. I cannot help the way I roll my eyes at him.

He laughs harder, "what darling reaction."

I move away from him.

He steps closer, "did you know there are necromancers in Volantis?"

I glare at him just to look away again.

He gives me a smirk, "they are learned of tar monsters who enjoy eating village folk."

I turn back to him.

He nudges me with his elbow and turns front, "I've put in good word for you. All you have to do is take a ship to Essos. A witch there will get rid of your problems for you at a fair price."

"Hmm," I raise a brow, "oh, undoubtedly. It clearly is that simple."

Petyr turns to me, "it certainly is. Once the woodland monsters are gone, you'll be able to hunt and gather timber from the forest again," he nods his head, "and so will I."

Aha. I purse my lips and debate his words for a moment.

"And I trust you will allow me to fish in the Sterling River as well."

I look forward when the crowd cheers. I see before me, Lord Clegane and Lord Alistair, circling each other, the latter laughing in excitement, the former blank faced and stern. I turn back to Petyr, "very well."

He nods once more.

I look straight again.

"Perhaps a trip to Volantis is exactly what the loving couple need."

I roll my eyes at him.

Sandor and Cedric begin to tussle. The sound of steel biting steel fills the air. Cedric is an eager opponent, pressing forward every chance he gets. Sandor is relaxed and playing the defensive.

This continues for a while, metal clashing, boots skidding, voices grunting, and it was a rather showy match, at least on Cedric's end. Sandor is barely trying, I could tell. He must be conserving his energy. I've seen the way he's trained with the boys in Brown Wood. He's definitely trying to tire Cedric out.

"This is going to be a long match," Petyr whispers to me.

I turn to him and sigh, "a very long one."

Sandor catches this and feels his lips twitch. He turns back to Cedric.

I gasp when Cedric manages to disarm Sandor. The crowds gasp as well, and Cedric too seems surprised.

Sandor shakes his head, " 'm too fucking drunk for this."

Cedric straightens from his defensive stance.

Sandor nods, "well met."

Lord Alistair nods back, smiles, and turns about to bask in his victory.

As he bows to his guests, the Hound makes a beeline towards me. I watch as he comes close, my heart slowly speeds.

He grabs my arm, "we're leaving."

"Oh!" Cedric calls and gestures our way "a round of applause for the Hound."

The guests turn and cheer for him.

Sandor pulls me to his side.

"Come now," Petyr smirks, "won't you even try to best Lord Alistair in another round?"

Sandor leans down towards Lord Baelish and growls, "fuck off."

With that, I am dragged away.

"Sandor."

The Hound's horse continues treading in front of me.

"Sandor."

The Hound still does not stop, turn, or respond.

"Sandor!" I say louder.

Still nothing. 

I make the horse I was riding gallop to his side. He had not spoken to me the whole way back, not when we got on our horses, not when we stopped at an inn for the night, not when we started our journey, and not now that we near the gates of Brown Wood.

"Have you chosen never to speak to me again?" I quip, tightening my grip on my reins. When he looks the opposite direction from me, I scoff and roll my eyes, "should it not be I that never speaks to you, Hound? You've been nothing but insufferable the entire time we were at the feast!"

Sandor still does not budge.

I look forward and catch sight of Brown Wood. I give my horrible husband one last glare before growling and galloping away.

Sandor watches this. He does no effort to follow after.

When I get to the gates, I am immediately greeted by many servants. Polly, in particular, excitedly tells me he's taught the puppies tricks, and quickly leads my horse away after I dismount, keen to tell me more about it.

Lucy, though happy to see me, raised a brow at my missing chaperone, "did you lose your Hound, milady?"

I roll my eyes, "do not speak to me of that beast."

Lucy is bewildered.

I sigh and slump forward, regretting the harshness of my words. I shake my head, "have you prepared a bath for me?"

She knits her brows and nods slowly, "....did something happen at the feast?"

"Of course something happened," I muttered, "the gods are truly testing me." I brush Lucy's arm, "I will tell you more of it later. For now, I need a warm bath."

Lucy nods again and watches me walk off.

Before Polly could follow after, Lucy hooks her fingers into his collar, holding him back. The boy makes a choking sound, stops and turns, staring at Lucy.

"Our lady will not be bothered," she says.

"But the puppies!"

"Later," she pulls her hand away, "go finish your chores if you still have some, boy."

Polly makes a face and grumbles, though he does listen.

Just then, Lucy turns and sees the Hound walking towards the gates, leading his stead by the reins. She waits for him to enter, and the moment he does, she runs her mouth.

"Are ye not tired of playing this game?"

The Hound squints but spares Lucy no glance. He heads for the stables and undoes the ties on his horse.

Lucy flares as she follows after him, "can't you just do us all a favor and stop?"

"I'm not in the mood for nagging, wench."

"Then admit it!"

"Fuckin' what?!" he glares at her.

"That you're mad about your wife!" Lucy snaps.

Sandor stills.

"That you would die for her! That you're upset she wanted to go to another lord's nameday celebration!"

He removes his horse's saddle, "that was a formality."

"YOU'RE A FUCKIN' FOOL!"

Sandor whips his head to her.

"And a coward," Lucy raises a finger.

The Hound chucks the undone saddle to the side and steps forward. He looks down at Lucy, but she is unbothered and unafraid. He is shocked when she shoves him. He topples back.

"She's only ever wanted your love, you thickheaded oaf! Don't you see how hard she tries to please ya?!"

"Please me?" Sandor scoffs, taking another step forward.

"YES!" Lucy shouts, "she wants to be your perfect bride but you know nothing but cruelty. You repay 'er with bitterness."

The Hound feels his mouth sour.

"And puppies."

Sandor watches her wipe her face.

"Because you're not as cruel as you make yourself out to be, milord," Lucy says with frustration.

Sandor feels like the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

"I've caught you when you think no one's looking," she speaks softly, "you love her."

Sandor feels his body burn.

"She loves you."

"She d-"

"Fix it before it gets worse. I beg," she sighs.

The Hound is stunned as the maid walks off.

When Polly spots him, the boy unknowingly grates his nerves as he leads the puppies over and shows all the tricks he's taught them. It wasn't much, in all honesty, just a 'stop' and a 'come here', but the three pups did them well.

Sandor couldn't be impressed, he was far too out of it to be anything but queasy.

He tells Polly he's tired and heads to the bedroom. Polly tells him he wants to show Lady Clegane the tricks before they sleep. He doesn't answer the boy. 

Sandor is both disappointed and relieved to find the room empty. His head is heavy as he changes. He feels like he'd sink to the bottom as he goes to bed.

The Hound had been pacing around when I got to the bedroom. He froze when I entered and awkwardly walked back as I headed for the bed.

I didn't speak a word as I went under the covers and laid down. I eyed him as he sat on the edge on the other side, back turned to me. I burn holes into his back with my glare.

It takes a few seconds of him rubbing his lap and him sighing loudly before he breaks his silence.

"I..." he trails off.

I shift in my spot to look at him.

He straightens, "I didn't like the fact that pret-" he cuts himself off and sighs, "that Lord Alistair and Lord Baelish were all over you."

I can't help but scoff, "and you've decided not to speak to me because of some two men's doing?"

"I DIDN'T want to fight," he blurts loudly then softly. 

I watch as he slouches and moves on his side to bring himself under the sheets. He sighs as he covers himself and speaks without looking at me, "I don't like fighting you."

I purse my lips at the thought. His words conflict me. I find it aggravating to hear when it felt like he liked the opposite. A side of me is also unwilling to believe it because it was too hard to believe.

The part of me that was still angry at him for being so petty wants to fight back with equal pettiness. But an even larger part of me felt too exhausted and defeated to argue.

"And yet you always do," I speak plainly as I turn my back on him and fluff my pillow. I take in a deep breath while bringing the sheets over my shoulder. I lay down, facing away from him.

I knew he wouldn't have anything to say to that truth, and yet I take a moment to listen in on him. He doesn't speak nor move at all.

I close my eyes, "go to sleep, husband. It's been a long day."

"Aren't you upset with me? I don't want you to sleep upset with me."

My eyes open. My stomach churns. Did he actually care? My lips part but I can't find myself to speak.

"I didn't speak to you because I know what I'd've done if I did."

I take in a sharp breath and give out a broken whisper, "you've done worse."

Sandor lets out an airy chuckle. It doesn't sound amused at all though.

He doesn't respond anymore. Instead, he shifts in his spot and lays down, as far on his end as he could be. He is on side, staring at the dark corner of the room. He musters all his courage, "forgive me, my lady."

My lips part.

Did he just say that?

"What?" 

I am shocked when I hear him repeat, "forgive me."

I roll on my back and look at him. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I think my body was shaking.

I inhale deeply through my nose, "what would you have done?"

He takes a moment to respond, "what?"

My courage flees me as I find the need to repeat myself. I turn my back on him again and clutch my chest. I can hear my heart pounding, "what-... you said you didn't speak to me because you knew what you would have done..." 

I feel Sandor shift behind me.

I gulp and curl up tighter into myself.

I wait for him to act but he does nothing.

I release a deep breath before speaking, "would you... have hurt me?"

My skin pricks when I hear him sigh, "aye."

I feel sick to my stomach. How could he admit that so easily? 

I think of all the worse things he could have done: smack me, shove me, slay me. I feel body begin to grow hot.

Sandor stares at the ceiling then turns to his side. His chest tightens yet he manages to mutter, "I only want to be gentle with you."

I scoff but it sounds strangled because of how tight my throat was. My eyes begin to well up. My broken voice croaks, "how could you say that?!"

The Hound says nothing.

"What?" I scoff, "you hit me then you tend my wounds?"

He doesn't say a word.

I begin to feel my insides burn.

The longest moment passes.

"How did you want to hurt me?" I snap.

He clenches his jaw then chuckles at himself, "I wanted to make you scream my name as I fucked you against a wall."

My heart leaps into my mouth.

The Hound continues, "I wanted all those fuckers to hear, to know what you were mine, that I was the only one who could do that to you, that I was the only one you'd allow to do that."

My blood runs still.

"The things I'd do to you," he mutters, "you'd be disgusted to know them."

My lips quiver as confusion ripples through me. This was the kind of hurt he wanted to inflict?

"But I want to be gentle," he adds, "I really do."

"Is that why you lied about the pups?" I find myself choking out.

Sandor is taken aback. He also hates how apparent the sound of sadness was.

"I know you were the one that found them and brought them home, not Lucy," I whisper.

"Lucy," he sighs, "she loves you so much, that Lucy. And you love her... You'd take a gift from someone you love."

I shake my head, "that's why you lied? You didn't think I would keep them if they were from you?"

"I didn't want to shroud the pups with my being."

"... I can love more people than just Lucy."

I feel him shift behind me.

My heart thunders in my chest.

"One day... maybe I'll be gentle enough for you to love me."

I feel tears rush down my eyes. I move to turn to him, but then his arm comes around me and holds me back.

"Please," his voice breaks, "I can't stand to see you cry or look at me with pity."

My hand comes atop his arm, "Sandor-"

"Can I kiss you?"

My breath catches in my throat.

His heavy breathing makes my entire body burn.

I slowly nod and manage to squeak out a yes.

Sandor immediately sinks his face into my neck and begins to kiss my skin. His lips were hungry and his beard left scratches all over. He snakes his arm tighter around me and pulls me into his chest. My entire body reacts to him, it burns and pricks and pulses. He kisses my cheek; he kisses my tears away.

My belly tumbles when he rubs it. He props himself up on his other arm, "I'll die a happy man to see you love my babe," he trails kisses up my jaw to my ear, "it's more than I'll ever deserve."

I suck in a deep breath and lean into his touch. I press my body flush against his and this elicits a groan from him. He fists my nightgown into his hand and nips my lobe. He draws in deep breaths and sighs against my ear, "I can be gentle. I can be so gentle."

I take his fist and he immediately releases my clothes. His breathing grows more strangled as he shifts behind me. 

I push his hand down and he shudders when it comes in contact with my thighs. I release his hand and bring my leg atop of his. I pull my skirt up and mumble, "gentle."

"Fucking gods," he kisses my shoulder and pulls my gown up. He rubs my thigh a few times then sinks his hand underneath my smallclothes.

He shushes me as I grow rigid against him and kisses my neck some more.

I whimper when he pulls my undergarments down and moves his fingers into my soft spot. He very much so gently touches me until I begin to melt against him. I arch my back and lean into him.

"Good girl," he mutters, "such a good girl. My beautiful girl."

"More please," I heave.

Sandor presses his body against mine, "don't have to tell me twice."

I whine his name when he sinks a finger into me. My toes curl and my hand grabs onto his bicep.

I make a sound when he pushes deeper, and an even throatier one when he adds another finger.

Sandor brushes my hair away with his other hand then sinks his face into the crook of my neck. He peppers kisses on my skin and my body burns all the more because of it. I turn my face to him and move my mouth close to his.

Flames rage inside my belly when our lips meet.

He goes still for a second when I kiss him. It takes a few moments before his lips move against mine. Though his beard was tickling my skin, the exchange was lovely. It was warm. It was right.

I bring the hand I had on his arm up to his cheek. My fingers find their way to his scalp where I begin to tug his hair gently.

We pull away when I yelp at the feel of his hand going back to work. Sandor does not relent his kisses on my cheeks, nose, and eye lids.

"Does it feel good?" he asks in between pecks.

I whimper as I nod.

Sandor sighs and grazes his teeth against my neck, "so good."

I mewl when he begins to pump his fingers faster into me.

"So sweet and soft and beautiful-- so, so beautiful against me."

"Sandor-"

"I want to feel you," he growls under his breath, "want to be inside you," he nips my lobe again, "want to fill you up, give you the babe you want."

I nod and chase after his lips. I kiss him desperately, "please."

It's not long until his fingers are replaced by his cock. We both tense against each other then slowly relax and reconnect our mouths.

I am surprised when I feel his tongue brush against my lips. I squeak when he begins to buck his hips into me at a slow but purposeful pace.

He presses his fingers into my inner thigh, pulling that leg closer towards him. I bring my hand down to his forearm and grip him for dear life. He pushes his chest into my back and breaks our kiss to allow us both a breath.

Sandor maneuvers himself into a better position. He nearly has me sprawled on top of him. He locks his grip on my hips and snaps into me with all that he's got.

He calls my name. He calls me beautiful. He calls me his wife. He tells me he loves me.

It's all too much that my eyes begin to water and my belly begins to tighten.

Though his movements were wild and sharp, and though the sound we were both making were loud and lewd, there was something sacred about it, something sincere.

I nearly sob when I come undone. I cry out his name as I feel intense pleasure crash all over my body. My mind is too misty to take into account that Sandor had been repeating the same three words as he too fell into bliss.

He doesn't immediately stop moving. He only does so when I'm laid back on my side again.

I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel him shift away from me.

"Don't pull away!" I snap. I grab his arm and wrap it around me, trapping it between my own. I lean back into him, "don't leave me! You keep leaving me."

Sandor, who was just catching his breath, feels like he was winded all over again. He thinks about the discomfort that this position will bring, but he figures sex just leaves people emotional and clingy sometimes.

He kisses my cheek, "we'll stay like this, if that's what you want."

I nod enthusiastically and turn to kiss him.

When I do however, he pulls his face back. It makes me go rigid.

It takes a second for Sandor to realize what he did. He is now overly conscious of the scar on his face and the damned reflex he has for it. He opens his mouth but he doesn't say anything.

I begin to feel my face burn and yet I'm too stunned to move.

The next moment, we speak at the same time then immediately go silent.

I gulp and turn away from him, bursting out as I did, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to overstep."

"You did nothing wrong." he shakes his head.

"You asked if you could kiss me," I mumble, "I didn't do the same."

"You can do whatever you want with me-"

"Sandor-"

"-I belong to you. I am your hound. That's all I am."

My eyes glass at his words. I feel him kiss my nape. My skin pricks when he rubs his hand down my belly.

He sighs heavily, "... sorry for being so broken."

I screw my eyes shut.

"... you can kiss me... if you really want to."

I nearly break my neck turning it back so quick. I press my face against his and just remain like this for a moment. I brush my nose against his textured skin and recall the time I did the same during our wedding night. He pulled away then, he pulled away now.

"I'm sorry you can't trust me," I whisper.

Sandor doesn't have the time to react to that.

I leave about a hundred kisses on his scar before my neck begins to tire. I knit my brows and whisper again, "don't let me go."

I face front and feel sleepiness catch up with me.

"Good night, Sandor."

I vaguely hear him whisper I love you behind me.

Sandor woke up with sunshine shining down his face. He was more than well-rested. He honestly doesn't remember the last time he slept this good.

He stretches in bed and groans. It takes him three seconds to realize he was alone.

It's almost enough to make him shoot upright in panic. The only reason he doesn't is because he quickly thinks it was fucking stupid of him to feel anything, any sort of panic or worry-- worse, hurt or sadness for waking up alone.

He did that many times over, left her alone-- too many times to count, surely more times than the good night's of sleep he's had.

So, he lays there with a stone-heavy pit of emptiness in the middle of his rib cage. There was nothing else to do with it crushing his chest. No amount of reasoning, of rational explanations that his wife was the lady of Brown Wood, who was always busy, who was always attending many other people, nothing could lift the stone weighing down on his chest.

He feels like he's slowly choking.

The Hound only gets up when he hears the small barks of the pups coming from outside. Somehow the idea of his wife waking up to attend to the dogs made this ordeal bearable.

He heads to the bathroom first and freshens up.

After, he heads to the living area and tenses when a pair of servant girls greet him good morrow. His lips twitch as he grunts and nods at them. The girls perk up and stare at him for a second as they pass. He vaguely hears them mumbling 'did he just greet us back?' as they each head their way.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. He should have said good morrow in return. Fuck. 

It probably doesn't matter. He's been ignoring everyone since they've moved here. Why start now?

Well... he was ignoring everyone except Lucy, who vexingly demanded his attention; Daisy, who used to do the same... and his lady.

Sandor opens the front door and steps outside.

His-

"Lady Clegane," Petyr fucking Baelish nods and reaches a hand to his wife.

Sandor is stunned. This wretched, slimy looking Littlefinger-man was up on his stupidly embellished steed, which, mind you, was too big for the fucker, kissing his wife's knuckles a goodbye.

What the fuck was he doing here so fucking early?

Littlefuckingfinger smiles and straightens up as he releases her. His wife waves goodbye.

As she does so, Littlefinger catches sight of Sandor and his smile pulls into a self-satisfied little smirk. He nods his head once to him and fucking rides off. Even fucking Polly waves him goodbye and it makes him want to chase after him and gouge his eyes out.

"Husband."

The Hound averts his gaze.

Sandor's breath is knocked out of his lungs when he sees his wife gleaming at him.

Fuck, she's walking over.

Everything in him is so overwhelmed by her that he nearly steps back.

She holds something in her hands as she gives him a lopsided smile, "you had a good sleep."

He opens his mouth to speak but a lump in his throat stops him. He gulps.

She laughs. She does so with grace, her pretty teeth all bared to him, "I wished to stay with you until you woke, but I could not leave Brown Wood unattended till late in the afternoon."

For a moment, he is in disbelief and doubts it was actually midday. He looks up and sees, indeed, the sun was at its height.

He looks back to her to apologize for sleeping in, but again, his voice is lost to him. By only taking one step towards him, she renders him powerless. She intensifies it by taking his arm and giving him that look, that look of apprehension that was masked in sweetness. It was maddening.

"Will..." she draws a deep breath, "you let me kiss you?"

What the fuck?

Her brows raise. She pulls her hand away, "y-you don't have to."

"Wait-" gods, did he say that aloud? "-no. You can! You can!" he responds with desperation, "you don't even have to ask."

His wife smiles back at him, but it's not the same. 

Gods, he's ruined it again. 

He is surprised when she still leans over and gives his cheek a quick peck.

He barely has time blush as he's turning his head to watch her as she walks past him. She says something about breaking fast and he mutters something incoherent in response.

Sandor doesn't even realizes that he's been made to sit down on the dining table, until one of the pups take his seat before he can.

Where did they even come from?

"Fuck off then," he says, shooing the small thing. It barks loudly and then he realizes it's the loud one, Lilac. He growls, "off, Lilac!"

Lilac makes a smaller sound of protest but has no other choice but to get off the chair when Sandor tips it over.

He quickly sits down and makes a victorious face to the puppies, who continue to bark at him.

He watches as the pups quiet down as his wife comes back holding a bowl of stew and a spoon. His insides tingle when she leans close to him to set it down before him. She then drags a chair and sits next to him.

He takes the spoon.

She smiles at him and rests her head on her hand, her elbow on the table, "eat up."

Sandor releases a breath and does just that, "thank you."

He realizes just how hungry he was at this moment. He begins to pig out.

"Thank you for holding me throughout the night."

The Hound almost gargles his food in his throat trying to muster up a response.

She laughs and touches his arm again, "it's alright. Just eat."

Sandor doesn't have a moment to say that he would hold her until she gets sick of him.

His wife straightens up and pushes a something towards him, a letter, it seems, "Lord Baelish gave this to me."

He nearly chokes as he swallows.

He doesn't like the way his wife smiles when she continues to speak of him, "he's given me a map and letters to aid my passage to Volantis-"

"Volantis?" he sets his spoon down with more force than necessary, "the fuck is in Volantis?"

She straightens up, "remember we met at Lord Alistair's nameday?"

"Fucking Alistair."

She sighs through her nostrils, "Lord Baelish spoke to me then of someone who knows how to get rid of the monsters in the forest."

"Am I not enough for you?" he turns his body to her, "you need to hire some sellsword on the other side of the world to kill those fucks for you?"

He watches her withdraw before his very eyes. She brings her hands together and places them on her lap. She purses her lips into a soft smile before speaking, "there is no one in the world, this side or the other, that I would trust with handling the monsters in battle. But," she sighs, "Lord Baelish didn't speak to me of a sellsword. He spoke of a witch."

"And you fucking trust him?" he quips impatiently, "you'd trust a witch vouched by Littlefinger?"

She sighs again. She no longer finds it in her to pull a smile, "I do-"

"Well, don't."

"-because he'll get something out of it."

The Hound clenches his jaw and rubs his knuckles with his thumbs.

"In return for his help, I would be allowing Petyr to access to our fish, game, and wood."

The Hound sighs heavily, "Petyr.'

She shakes her head and chuckles. She chuckles until she breaks into a genuine laugh, "but matters not. If my lord does not approve then there is nothing more to do."

Sandor's stomach sinks when she stands up.

"I'll go ahead with my errands now," she nods and offers a lopsided smile.

Just before she walks away, Sandor grabs her hand and weakly mutters, "no, please. Please stay."

She laughs softly; she laughs sweetly. She places her palm on his knuckles then takes his hand in both of hers. She kisses the back of his hand and shakes her head, "I am not leaving, my lord, merely going off to do my errands."

The Hound stops her from letting go. He clutches her hands firmly in his larger one. He parts his lips to beg her to stay.

But then, he sees her change. He sees her slip on a mask of a dutiful wife. She is about to smile, about to tell him that if he insists, she will stay, for him. He knew in his bones that she would.

And so he lets her go and looks away in shame. He can't bear to look at her, so he clears his throat and compromises, "I'd like to eat with you later... if you have the time."

It takes a long moment for her to respond. Sandor, whose eyes were stuck to the floor, find the pups were now sleeping under the table.

"I would like that too, my love."

Sandor chuckles drily at the pet name and grabs his spoon. He rather bitterly says, mostly to himself, "you don't have to call me that."

He waits for her to walk away.

She doesn't.

He turns to her when he vaguely hears her mumble something. He waits for her to repeat herself, but she doesn't.

"What was that, pretty squirrel?"

She shakes her head and curtsies, "I said enjoy your food."

He watches her walk off. He wonders what she actually said, because it sure as hell wasn't that. He swirls his stew around idly.

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[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

20 - Visions in Eye and Flames

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

Length: 12.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, discussions of warfare, minor blood and violence, talk of executions, mentions of child death, mild gore, suicidal ideation, references to rape

Notes: We got a few big boy chapters coming up, so I'm posting this one early. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

Renly Baratheon spent so much of his days taking little of anything seriously. Only a child when he was given Storm’s End meaning much of the ruling had to be taught to him, if at all. Then being brought to King’s Landing when he became old enough did once more he get granted a position on the small council without ever truly doing the work to earn it. Most days he spent it laughing and gambling with Littlefinger and the more that piled onto Stannis’s desk the more tiresome he found his brother. 

It was why he begun sending his eldest daughter away in the first place. Renly was spoiled and had no idea what true hard work it took to run Robert’s Kingdom for him and he had no intention of letting you become the same. The North was a surprising choice as it also was easy. Many of the Seven Kingdom’s were no different then the backstabbing of King’s Landing, and he found no ally he trusted in Dorne nor did he appreciate their much more free leisurely way of life. 

No one would call Stannis a friend of Eddard Stark, but then most would not call Stannis a friend to any person. A bitter taste in his mouth after spending a year holding off a siege of Storm’s End, starving as slowly they made their way through the horses, then the dogs, the cats, the rats and finally just as there left was only option left to them, just as he was sure his wife as dying, did a boat appear carrying enough food that they could hold off for just a bit longer. Long enough to have it end. And it was Ned Stark who arrived, ending the siege and it was Ned Stark which was given the credit for the work. 

He was the man Robert wished was his true brother, the one that was looked at and trusted in ways that he would never be. And as much as there was a stubborn resentment, he was smart enough to know that there was no glory or gain from the actions Ned Stark took. He was not a man who let his successes influence who he was and it was his best option. 

Dragonstone was dark, and grim and you for a long time there were very alone with little in the way of friends. He could send you there for a time, and know you would learn as much from the man as you did gain from being around the Stark’s children. He had two sons around your age and it would do you some good to be around them. 

Selyse had an issue with it. She had just lost her second boy before birth, and she considered the Northerners to be unruly and unbefitting of her daughter. Saying keeping her around boys as she grew up at that time would only serve a distraction. Putting suggestions of houses at least with a girl your age to be sent to, but Stannis trusted none of them to teach you. You learned a great deal from him, even in the months before the Jon Arryn’s death you would still travel to spend your time in Winterfell at Ned Stark’s side. Taking it as seriously as you did your first months ever there. 

She wasn’t wrong about his boys however. You made friends with his sons faster then you did anyone on Dragonstone and the more you would write home or visit, the more you talked about them and not what you were learning. Each time you would come home a little more light in your eyes, a little more wild then before but that also was why he finally took you with him to King’s Landing. Selyse had Shireen to dote on by then, and he wanted to crush out whatever carefree nonsense the two Stark Boys were influencing you with. And he had watched as that wild streak tamed over time finally as you took far more after him then you did Renly, or the Northerners you stayed with. Or so he once thought.

Until sailing to Eastwatch by the sea, Stannis had never set foot in the North. He had no reason to, most didn’t. It was large, and cold, and the Northerners too difficult to control but somehow they had seen you as one of their own. He had hoped that meant finding allegiance in them would be easier then he thought, but they were a stubborn people. 

As the snow mounted around his army, he had both demanded they stay quiet and out of word and sight to the rest of the Kingdom, as well as to find reassurance in their god which wasn’t burned in a fire. Early on his men asking for burnings as sacrifices for better luck and weather, but Stannis only told them “I will have no burnings. Pray harder.” 

He had left the red woman behind on purpose, her fire god asking too much of him and the more he spent listening to her the less chance he had to gain the people’s support. He had lost it in the wildlings, and if he continued as such he would lose any new chance of an ally. Regret was not often a word in his vocabulary, but the longer the war went on, the more he looked back with disdain on the inhumane actions he had chosen so brazenly. He would remember that look of hate in your eyes that day in the field. 

As much as he went on about how you were a traitor, realizing that you had died hating him, was the worst punishment Stannis could receive for his sins. A punishment for those sins that had yet to cease.

The Bolton’s were smart, keeping their presence around the North minimum but Stannis’s silence meant that they now had no idea if he was out there to attack. His biggest issue now, lay in the scattered remains of the Ironborn. With no unity to fight them out with, each House seemed doomed to fight them off on their own as their new wardens prepared for Stannis alone.

But the North it seemed, did not break from what his daughter had told him. What Robb Stark had told him. They wouldn’t have him as their King, and as his army encroached onto Deepwood Motte it was an itching question of who exactly would they even listen to at this point. 

Robert many times went on often and loudly how difficult it was to control them, and truly Stannis was starting to understand that fact. 

It was a tricky spot to approach in, not quite close enough to the waters to push them back into and corner them. It was going to have to be a risk of cutting himself a path and holding the line rather then trap them between two spots with nowhere to run. Then again, many of his moves now seemed to be gambles of varying pay off. His one with Jon Snow certainly didn’t.

A man as stubborn as his father but it was not his place to argue. He made his choice and Stannis had to plan regardless of the difficulty without him. He had seen great potential, but there was much holding him back that day and he could only guess as to what upbringing led a son of Ned Stark to be alone in the Night’s Watch. 

He had hoped to feed into the injustice of what the Bolton’s had done to his family and his home, remind him that the man who held Winterfell was the same man who murdered Jon’s own brother but still he said no. Offered to make him a true Stark and become Lord of Winterfell himself and still he said no. What would get him to say yes, what was left in this world for Stannis to offer him that would finally pull Jon Snow out of the frozen waste of Castle Black and into the fight. 

But if only for that particular day, he had to shelve that thought for later. Or at least he thought he did. 

The men for House Glover had no fight, pushed back into their own home and not enough of an advantage to overpower the Ironborn infesting it. Coming up from the southeast, he was strategizing for just that fight. And as that fight proceeded, he knew he needed to push them back enough to give the Glover’s a chance to break into it on their own as well. 

Only, it was not the allies of the North which came from the northwest. There in fact for the most part, were none in the hands of the men who came. Not Ironborn either. 

Stannis had the line blocked so they could not pass through them but it was the men which came from above that circled around the rest and cut off any escape. Blocking the Ironborn in as their fight grew fruitless. Their fighting was a mix, some with a tactical approach others with a brutal bloodshed that charged with little fear. 

Only in the midst did he realize he in fact, recognized there was at least one image he knew. Pressed into the shields and armour of the men was that of a bear. But it was the ones they fought with that was confusing. The very wildlings who had so adamantly denied his cause.

But as the fighting stopped finally, it was an image he almost thought he hallucinated the first few seconds he realized what he was looking at. But standing in front of him and not frozen away still.

So this was that feeling. It had been a long time since it passed through you, but you recalled the shaking in your bloodstream vividly then as well. This time you knew what to expect, but did you really?

The worst of the battles were eluding you by the end of the war. Lannisters on the run, and hiding away so much there was no fight to be found for some months. But now, after everything that has been between the last fight you remembered and now, you could very well be right before that first one in Whispering Wood. Uncertain for the safety of those you care about going into this, but far less of that was wondering of yourself. 

This time as you sat in the Mormont’s armoury all on your own, slowly lacing up your boots in the quiet you contemplated something you had told Robb. Back in Winterfell when men once more were gathering around to prepare for war, “I know how to swing a sword, but maybe that doesn’t mean I have the right to be out there with you and these men.” 

Robb had assured you on it then, but his words no longer reached your darker mind now. Maybe you were really just trying to play in something you couldn’t handle anymore, but who would you be if only now did you just hide away from it?

Only as a pair of gloves lightly smacked into your chest, your eyes instantly peeled up in a glare to the somewhat amused Theon. “I’d ask if you were alright, but I know you’d just lie.” Leaning back against the wall closest to you, he watched as you tugged them on irritated. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this wound up since-”

“I know.” Cutting him off you looked back down. Letting your foot step from the stone bench back onto the ground, you swung yourself to sit forward. “I can’t tell if knowing what the fight we are walking into will look like makes me feel more assured or less.” Pausing you looked up to him, his own eyes wandering off as he was lost in thought. “What about you? Ironborn are your own people, are you sure you’re up to being on the other side of them?” 

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt the conflict. “Don’t know. Guess I’ll only find out when I’m actually out there again. Were you prepared to fight on the other side of your father?”

Your eyes snapped up, stuck to a meaningless spot on the floor before you shrugged and continued fiddling with the leather. “Always figured it was an inevitability. He thought I was a traitor, there isn’t much space for love in there to hesitate towards.” 

“Thought I was the traitor.” 

He said it so casually that when you looked up with a confused look, you could see the humour hiding his deep struggle of it. The sides of your mouth quirked up a bit to alleviate the weight on his shoulders. “At this point I’m not sure there’s even one of us who isn’t seen as a traitor to someone somewhere along the lines. Just something they will have to move past.” 

“Oh, just like how you’re so good at moving on from things.” You glared up at him, but he just crossed his arms looking at you with a more narrowed, almost analyzing gaze. “Ever since the day you rode into Winterfell with the royal family you’ve taken every single problem and just put it on yourself with blame and never let anyone take any of it off. You just keep holding onto everything like you’re afraid to it’ll all crumble the second anyone helps.” 

You didn’t respond, and you knew it was hypocritical of you to even do this. You had told Robb so assuredly, that he shouldn’t be carrying the burdens of leadership and war all on his own but yet you found no reasonable solution to such things other then to take it all on you. “Don’t know any other way, I suppose.” 

“Could try not being so miserable all the time.” A small smirk shared between you at the insult but you found not the strength to really bite back on it. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you’re likely not going to feel any better by assuming everyone wants to blame you. They’ll have enough to blame me for, so try letting me share some now.” 

You bit your tongue in thought, trying to contemplate how these people even still saw any good in you when a pair of entering footsteps caught your attention. Looking up to the main door though, was not in a manner as subtle as you were perhaps hoping. He was having one side of thoughts, you were having the other and quickly the third part in Theon found no desire to be in between. Grabbing both sets of bows before leaving the room. 

Jon was better a this then you were, acting so natural as if there was nothing to think back so distractedly. Given better attire and armour by the Mormont’s set something off in your blood when it was not the time nor the place. Dressed not like others of the Night’s Watch any longer, his new colours draped in a dark, blueish green and browns in leather armour that all made him look like a proper warrior, a leader. Strapped around him still was Longclaw that stood out far more against this look then blending with the black before it. 

Only sight was your eyes narrowing a little as you glanced to him, looking discreetly from his sword to his hair now pulled all the way back most wouldn’t think anything of it, but Jon knew better. Especially now. “Something on your mind?” 

Quickly finding his eyes again before you closed yourself back up, fussing with the tightness of your boots laces only to find a distraction. “No.” You paused before trying to slip out in a flat tone, “I’ve never seen you dressed for a fight like this, is all. Caught me off guard.” 

Unlike Theon, there was little wait in Jon approaching you, taking a seat beside you despite how you tried to not look at him. “I haven’t seen you like this either, remember?” You shrugged, to many nerves about too much at one running inside your mind. Jon called your name, turning your head slightly to his direction but it wasn’t enough for him. Saying it much more stern in a deeper tone, causing you to finally look up at him. 

He looked incredibly handsome like this and you hated that you were even thinking about that right now. 

“I want you away from the main fight as long as you can.” Once perhaps he would’ve thought you’d argue back but you just sat in quiet, eyes looking at him but still far away as he continued. “You haven’t been in a real battle in well over a year, and you’re not even fully healed yet. I can’t have you getting hurt out there.” 

Biting your tongue, your nodded as a weight settled in your chest. Leaning your forearms over on your knees as you clasped your hands you quietly muttered, “No, I get it. Stay on the sides, out of the way.” 

Jon was quick to jump on that, tone a little more tinged in a frustration. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know that.” You sighed deeply, he was right but you didn’t really know what else to feel sometimes outside of whatever this hopelessness was. “If I let you out there, trying to risk your life just because you think you’re expected to, could you really tell me that you care enough about yourself anymore to not get hurt?” 

Once more, you said nothing and he was right. Shaking your head slightly you sighed, “Sometimes I hate that you still know me so well. Especially now that you’re much bossier.” Leaning away from him, you missed the fond smirk slipping onto his face briefly. 

“You stay closer to the sides with Theon, you were always a better shot with an arrow then you were with a sword.” If the nerves in you weren’t screeching you may have nudged him for that, and Jon picked up instantly how difficult it was to find that playfulness the closer to a fight it was. Leaning forward he matched your position but never tried invading your space. “You’re allowed to let other people do some of the hard work, you know.” 

“You are King. And that means realizing you don’t always have to do everything yourself.” 

Since when were you such a hypocrite? Were you always this was, and no one had made notice of it to you? Nodding weakly, you could feel his eyes on you, you only seeing part of him in your side vision without turning proper. “As long as you do the same. Make me do some of the hard work for you, I mean.” 

By not looking at him, you did however miss the dark greed in his eyes flashing by quick, as he also swallowed, forcing something very not appropriate for this setting back down his throat. Trying desperately to focus on anything but how breathless you sounded with his name moaning from your lips the other night, and how much of a siren’s song the taste between your legs called to him as. “Think we could figure something out.” For a moment you both sat in the quiet together before he asked, “Are you ready?” 

He knew you had too much anxiety to speak much, taking your nod as his answer. Standing up, Jon held a hand out to you to pull you to your feet. Looking at you closely for a second, giving a slip of softness in the heavy looming air. His hand letting yours go as it reached up, running gently down your cheek and cupping your jaw with a thumb running along the skin it just passed over. 

In an easier time, Jon wouldn’t have hesitated to lean down and kiss you. But he told himself, ease you into things. The closer this fight got to Ramsay, the more he knew you would lose the capability to relax even when alone. Instead he pulled back, gently pushing you towards the door with a rasping, “Come on, they’re all waiting on us.” 

It was Galbert Glover which was the one who displayed which side confused Stannis. In the final calm of everything, finding an easier victory then presumed as the Ironborn were not prepared for the wildness of the free folk being led with genuine strategy. “Never thought I’d live to see the day I was grateful to see the wildlings coming through those woods.” 

Recognizing a once fellow soldier in Maege Mormont, the pair of them clasped arms in a firm shake, a gratefulness on both of them seeing the other still alive. “Can’t say I did either, but they get the job done don’t they.” She easily recalled the last time she had seen Stannis Baratheon, and the many since rumours she’d heard didn’t make the formal greeting any more welcoming. She let her little spitfire Lyanna send that raven for a reason afterall. Give him a taste of how the North felt about his claim.

Turning to look at him, as the free folk surrounded the Baratheon men unsure as to what fight they may be looking at next. Tormund staring down the man, no faith in what he would presume they were here for and he received it. “Your people deny my cause, and yet you show up in battle regardless.” 

Tormund’s unimpressed voice rumbled out loud for all to hear, “We didn’t come here for you.” 

Stannis asked for who, and like a parting sea in the crowd of free folk they all turned to make way a path for the one who did lead them. His own armour doused in as much blood as his sword dripped but certainly it was indeed Jon Snow. The men around him holding a confidence in how they looked to him come into the clearing. 

Meeting each other half way, and certainly not looking for any kind of fight further, both men reached out to shake the others hand firmly. Stannis speaking up first as they let go, “I take it this means you’ve reconsidered my offer.” 

But Jon was confident, a furrowed look in his brow as though it spoke of something he knew that the King before him did not. He knew two things, and both were as much as a hit to the gut as the other as far as he was concerned. “No. I haven’t, your grace. I’m not here to fight for you, I’m here to fight for them.” Looking to where both of those in House Mormont and House Glover stood before turning back. “I mean no offence to your help, but the North isn’t your home to defend. It’s mine, and theirs.”

Gesturing to those who stood behind him before finding all certainty full in his tone. “I’m not here to kneel, or to ask anyone else to. One of your men, Ser Davos, told me that as long as the Bolton’s hold the North it will suffer, and that just maybe I’m no use to anyone if I hide at Castle Black while my home gets torn apart. But I’m here for my people, to fight with them, and beside you if you will. Not to submit them to your cause.” 

If Jon had to wager a guess, he would assume that the King was currently trying to decide if he admired him for his brazenness or hang him for his insolence. That narrowed, sharp expression in his eyes on top of a cold face gave little away and his tone gave even less. Even as it could sound. “You got them to follow you.” 

Years ago, such a statement would have had Tormund stepping up in an angry defence, but things were different now. And Jon appreciated the trust in him to speak for them with honesty. “The free folk didn’t follow me beacuse they had to, they did it beacuse I asked them for help. Not to bend to me, but to fight beside me. After what we’ve seen, they understand we can’t let whose King of who get in the way anymore.” 

Galbert Glover approached the pair, “If there’s a wildling army on my land, then that means you must be Jon Snow.” 

Willing him not to say anything in front of all these people the two shook hands. “I am, my lord. It isn’t easy, asking to put years of fighting with wildlings aside but I’m grateful you agreed to hear us out.” A flicker of eyes between, Jon could recognize was the realization Stannis was having of missing key information. Jon stepping towards Lord Glover in a lower tone, “There are matters would be best discussed in private, my lord. If you still are willing to-”

Getting used to being treated with the kind of respect he could see these same men giving Robb, was strange but there was not a single ounce of ire in the interruption. “My home has been ravaged by the Ironborn for over two years, and that’s all ended now thanks to both of you. I am more then willing to hear your proposal.” For a second, Jon had glanced in the distance and if he was seeing Ghost he knew who was not far behind, and doing it in front of all these people was a big mistake. 

The lord and the Southern King greeted each other at least showing the same degree of respect to his own fight for Deepwood Motte. If there weren’t so many people around, Jon may have tried it. But eyes were lingering too much in the crowd of a once battlefield and there was enough to discuss then to add that. He could only hope he was conveying enough to Ghost from their eyes meeting far off, that he understood to keep back. Ghost backing up a bit before turning around and taking off. 

He wasn’t going to parade you around your father and his men like a spectacle to gawk at. 

It wasn’t supposed to take this long to join, but truth be told there weren’t only hangups for you that were keeping it back. Beckoning the men with you to go on ahead you looked back up from your arm to them with a narrowed glare, “Keep this scrape out of your mouths, would you? No need to go blathering everytime I get a cut.” 

You’d spent more time around these men then Theon did. Spent more years in a war with soldiers of the Mormonts on your side and it seemed the striking attitude was taken with a grin and a mumbled agreement as they left. Theon knelt at your side pulling the bloody leather on your upper arm apart enough to glance at it. “You think he’s not going to notice the second he sees you?” 

Rolling your eyes you huffed, “I would just rather not be fussed over right now, I’d rather be anywhere then here right now.” You had been the one to spot out your fathers men right away and you were thankful if you had any skill with you still, at least you could hold your own with a bow. An excuse to stay as far away as possible. “What about you?”

Raising an eyebrow with a glint of mocking, “You asking if I want to be fussed over? Because if it’s by Snow, then no thank you I’ll pass.” You rolled your eyes again, finding no amusement in it but as Theon cleared his throat and tore the leather open a bit more to see how deep it was, you knew the facade wasn’t as strong as he pretended. “I don’t know, I can’t say I feel bad, didn’t know these men and they didn’t want to know me. The more we get on our side the more they’re going to start thinking that way about me. Hope you’re still coherent enough to defend me then.” 

His voice hissing a bit as he seemed to finally have noticed it was deeper then you had admitted the slice to the arm was. You were taken by suprise by an Ironborn in the ends of the fighting, running behind you enough to slice at your arm before you could defend yourself. Theon sending an arrow through his throat moments after. 

One fight back and you already were worse then the first one you ever battled in. A dreading promise of your future uselessness. Glancing up with a guarded, but almost regretful expression sinking into your eyes at Theon, he tried not to look as he carefully wrapped a bandage inside the tear of your armour and around the cut for now. “I will be, if my father doesn’t hang me for being a traitor that is.” 

If you were joking, neither you nor Theon expanded upon that sentiment. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

Satisfied with the wrappings for now, he pulled you up to your feet as you just looked at the other for a moment. You were both stalling, and you both knew it but finally you walked closer to the edge of the snowy cliff to snatch your bow. “I’ve done plenty wrong.” 

The bodies around couldn’t help but make you wonder, if the Ironborn were still this prevalent in areas of the North and from what you had gathered there was little help from the Bolton’s, you wondered just what their numbers looked like. The houses on their side, and their now more untouched army having cleared their way to Winterfell would give them a mighty advantage should they have that amount against yours. 

As you got closer, the more your nerves flared up. Seeing a clearing further from the Glover’s Keep, you found the stares from both sides to be unnerving. One side looked to you with knowledge of the dead and the other likely just saw you as a traitor to be taken care of. Stares of men you hardly knew anymore, and then stares of men you barley knew to start with but it seemed conversations had moved on without you. 

For once, you were thankful not to be in on it. Your arm already was sore from your own incompetence, you nodded to Theon who parted ways, already reading what you intended to ask of him. The only other one around with any casual intention finding his way to you in the quiet mess. “One of these days I’m going to have to see what a pretty crow like you, looks like swinging that sword.” 

Glancing up from your partially knelt over position, you raised an eyebrow at Tormund with a small huffing breathe of amusement before directing your attention back the count still holding on a number in your head. “Might want to start one now then. Once my father realizes I’m alive I’m fairly certain the upstanding holder of duty and justice will serve my treason a swift sentence.” 

Coming around to see your face more clearly, it was twisted in a terse frustration that narrowed your brows into a scowl as you continued on. “You think any of us will let that happen?”

You shrugged, voice tight and restrained. “It isn’t up to you. It’s up to the King.” 

Kneeling down, the wilder man took no issue with snatching the wiring you were coiling and tossing it out of sight. Leaning to follow your turn to watch it go before you relented. Once more making eye contact with him, eyebrow raised in waiting. His own features narrowed slightly, “How are you more stubborn then your crow, in there?” Head nodding to the Glover’s reclaimed Keep. 

Expression did not move not twitch, flat tongued tone spilling out. “Spend a few years being raised by my father and see for yourself.” Tilting bit as your shoulders dropped, voice a bit more quiet. Not quite relaxed, but a relenting ease. “I spent three years at war thinking eventually, I would find myself fighting against him too. Called me a traitor and my husband a thief and a usurper, and the only reason he’d feel any guilt about it is beacuse he spent a year thinking I was dead. You’re likely not aware of this, but guilt is not exactly a strong motivator for a man like Stannis Baratheon.” 

“So why’s it so damned strong in you?” As you braced your hands on your thighs to push yourself up, Tormund did so with no effort and dragged you up in the process like you weighed nothing. Your hands braced on your hips, knees slightly bent favouring one side he noticed, you were looking out to the snow melting landscape he got the sense you were simply trying to accept the worse case scenario. “As if you’re crow’s going to let anything happen to you. Can barley take his eyes off you for more then five seconds when he’s near you, you’re not going anywhere.” 

As Theon reemerged, you nodded to your current companion lungs constricting with each step. You tilted your head slightly in question, and he did for what it was worth, look somewhat apologetic. Head dropping fully to one side as your face fell and eyes narrowed, he gave you an incredulous look in return. “You think your father’s going to hang you, well Jon would hang me if I sent you to him and didn’t mention you were hurt.” 

“I’m not hurt, it’s barley-” 

Theon didn’t give you the chance, walking passed you with a shove to your upper back. “It’s only going to be worse if you make him come find you himself.” Yelling fading as he got further away. 

The walk to the keep was short, but felt an eternity passing each step forward. A childish wish weeks ago that maybe the gods would bring just your father to you when it was all you loved that you thought you lost. Now, you couldn’t possibly conceive of a less appealing idea then having to face what you did, and what she did. 

And how if he didn’t hate you when you died, he would knowing you were what he has left and the pathetic failure to live up to what he had tried to teach you to be for your entire life. What leader were you by now that could live up in Stannis Baratheon’s eyes? Especially one with eyes as cold and dispondant as you were coming up the steps, guards at the main doors opened for you with mutterings of a title you wish wasn’t you anymore. 

Even worse, as soon as you stepped inside, Jon all but accosted you too suddenly for your dreary haze of a mind. One hand on your cheek, inspecting anything major on your face as the other gentle just below the bandage clearly bleeding through. “What the hell happened?”

Shaking your head the nerves just raced inside it bouncing like coins. “Jon, I’m fine-”

“You’re not fine.” The hand on your cheek joining the other to pull your arm towards him, turning it as you looked at the slight blood and grime over him. “You should let me close this before it gets any worse.” 

Trying to pull away, it didn’t even phase the far stronger man as he just pulled you back with a hand at your waist. The other peeling back the bandage enough to gauge how deep it was. “One cut, it’s one cut, Jon.” 

As if something suddenly swam into the fore most of his mind, his fingers gently ran through the loose strands of hair at the side of your face before cupping it tenderly. His own eyes dark, tied between angry and upset that made your heart ache even more when his face twisted to the same expression match as he spoke. As if out of breathe, and full of a worry and irritation. “How the hell did Robb do this?” 

Your face fell a bit, but he moved the other from your arm to the other side of your cheek, not pulling you any closer but keeping you right where he could see your eyes. “Do what?” 

Both knowing it wasn’t anger at him, not at Robb. An anger however, at something far more complex in detail only made worse likely by both of you in visions of blood and death to the other. “Stand fighting knowing you were out there too. I hate it, hated every second not knowing where the hell you were or if you were alright. How did he just let you into the thick of all that and not lose his mind?” 

In truth, you both were just more confident then. Fought and loved together it was easy to feel on equal grounds together with Robb. But who you had become? Now you were painfully aware that Jon was so much more then you were. Even when being generous towards your own worth. Wanting to reach out to him, but you hesitated like many times before, fingers stretched but flexed back into themselves rather then find somewhere on him to rest them. “Jon, it’s just a scratch. I barley did anything out there, regardless.” 

The blackness faded away some as he calmed. The grey now looking over your face like it had been ages since he’d been allowed to see it. “You shouldn’t have to be out there at all.” For a split second, magnets coming together like a fate meant to be as Jon’s eyes slipped down to your lips and back up. And as quick as the force pulled him barley an inch closer did doors opening in the distance once more pull you apart entirely. 

For the best you thought. You hadn’t felt his lips against yours since that first night and whatever restraint still existed in you was quickly dying each time you felt them anywhere on you at all. 

Head tilting down for a moment when no one passed by or turned corner to interrupt, you broached with caution. “Does he know, or are we leaving that up to me?” 

Sighing, Jon’s brows narrowed a tinge as he glanced between you and the path to your father. “Lord Glover has agreed to pledge his own men to us, saying that if Robb refused to bend to Stannis, then he wouldn’t either. But I think he’s starting to put it together.”

Feeling the breeze around you, sat atop your horse your memory could see the simple disdain for your choices in his eyes. That your duty was beside him as his daughter, but even still you found no favourable manner of crossing to his instead of the people who looked to you as their own. “Either way.” You dropped your arms from their crossed position of your chest to your side as your face stilled. “Suppose it’s time for me to find out what it is he still does with traitors.” 

Jon tried taking a step back towards you, but how closed off you were becoming to him to stop in his track. Looking you over, eyes glazing across your arm. “You really should let me take care of that before you see him.” 

The shrug on your shoulders didn’t sit well with him. Wishing you would find something within yourself to push for and still coming up short. “If he’s going to burn me, a little blood won’t matter much then will it?” Jon tried calling your name in a quiet warning, but you turned to walk towards the doors. Not needing the sight to know that Jon was following you. 

The doors to the main hall opened, and inside was both Lord Glover, and Stannis Baratheon. One looked at you with the same shock most others did while the other was more challenging to ascertain the meaning. Yours was the same for him, however. 

Eyes watching you carefully with heavy air and the scent of blood still fresh around you even so far removed from it’s vicinity. Your life and his both caked in layers of death yet never once stood on the same ground as anything but enemies. Not once in the emotion of care did footsteps carry you to the table they both found themselves around while your own heart was steady enough to keep yourself willed together. 

Not as unseemly as the last, more full of colour and life as if the thing which took toll had long healed with eyes dull in colour giving away nothing. Or much and you simply did not know him well enough to detect anymore. The only man you were sure you could read was your father but as foreign to you as was as detached to the memories with you. 

Those early days on Dragonstone as he continuously hit you with a practice sword, little instruction each time but a few words that you connected in a string of lessons. The quicker you became under his instruction, the more he would smile when you came close to striking him. No such fondness in the echoing quiet of the room. 

Jon had approached to your side, “Lord Glover, I don’t want to impose in your own home but perhaps some privacy would be helpful.” You didn’t look anywhere but him, a coldness sitting so heavily within the colours of your eyes that where else was left for you to go but freeze over entirely. 

Standing, he took no offence to you not making any motion towards him. Lord Glover clearly was used to you by now, even if it seemed like such a stand off behaviour for a not so keen eye. “Of course. The room is yours as long as you need it, your grace.” 

Eyes of a father flickering to beside you, and the pieces fit closer to making the right image when he was not sure who it was the title was directed towards. But knowing the Glover was not looking or speaking to him. You cared not with him, it was a truth he had failed to face before and you would not stand for it again. 

Two Baratheon’s staring with the same analyzing judgment before your tone came out, flat and even with not a hint of anything to detect behind it. “Heard you were dead.” 

Stannis’s eyebrows quirked up only a single breathe as his voice was yours as yours was his. Clearly he raised to be like him too much. “The North is large, word of my whereabouts travel slow. Yours however, didn’t travel at all.” You spoke nothing and forced him to keep the conversation float enough to keep from sinking. “Rumours are rarely true, what am I to make of the one I know the Northerners are whispering about you.”

Match met in eyes, you saw them flicker down to where it could not be seen. “Just because I stand before you now doesn’t make them lies.” Images almost came upon his eyes as your father seemed to find little doubt in whatever it was was spoken of you. 

Coming up to the thin table, you stood at the other side facing him directly. Your palms flattening across the smooth surface slightly wishing that this could just be done and over with. Your father was quiet, only not one that was comforting or easy. Faint sounds muffled and echoing both within the halls and outside them as you watched. 

Your father spoke with more genuinity in his tone then you’d heard in years but you soon wished he didn’t bother. “I’m sorry about your son.” Instantly yours flickered away, to the side downcast as a heavy weight stole the breathe from your lungs and left only a burning that travelled down to the scar under your clothes. “I wish I could have told you sooner. Your mother and I know better then most, you didn’t deserve that.” 

The force of your heart pounding made you want to throw up, the only hope that had been found in a long time for you both but a shattered memory that bled out just as fast. You didn’t look where you knew Jon was outside, close enough to hear. You didn’t even know if he knew. You didn’t want to know if he knew. You wanted no one to speak of it ever again and your father took your silence as that deceleration. 

“You betrayed me. Siding with a crown that fought against my own.” 

Peeling your eyes up to him finally, you leaned further into the table only to look away to nothing of important on the table once more. “What did you have in mind? Dragging me in front of your men up to your gods flames? Or have you found even a shred of mercy to have it be quicker then that?” 

You saw not the blinding light of rage in the grey eyes somewhere behind. He and the King had come to an agreement already, but your acceptance of death made him uncomfortable and angry. 

Stannis stood a little more with ease. “I’m not punishing you for those crimes. Or any of your crimes.” 

Sharp eyes flickered up to him, a confused tint of rage that almost hissed along with your breathless tone. “Why?” He had no care for mercy when he was ready to stand against you and Robb. “You’ve never taken kindly to traitors, why change that now?” 

Brows furrowing as he gave you a forming look of incredulity. “You’re my daughter.” 

A hiss still seeping out only one thing came to your mind. “And Renly was your brother.” You could still recall the last day in front of him, begging with naivety for him not to declare King for himself. Not to do something so rash and stupid, and only having him throw back in your face that if you didn’t want the family torn apart you should’ve sided with them. 

If it was guilt you caught, he smothered it just as fast as he grumbled out, “He denied my right as King, stole my bannermen, conspired to keep me off the throne. Tell me what is the penalty for treason under the law? What justice is there in letting him steal what was rightfully mine?”

You had tried for long not to believe such a thing but he didn’t make it easy. “Robb did too.” Trying to claim that was different, you cut him off with no care for how that looked. “It wasn’t different when you threatened to destroy us. Your grief over my death is not a forgivence for three years thinking you’d come for us one day.” 

An aggravation slipped into his voice, bracing his hands on the chair in front of him similar to your own stance. “What is it you want me to do then, I can’t change the past or any mistakes I may have made. I don’t do this, any of this, to be cruel in intention. If the law is cruel, if our own duty is cruel, who are we to go against that?”

“I know half of what you’ve done was for what you think was right, but I also know the other half was only done because she demanded it so.” A sting in your eyes was at the sights and words haunting you from what whispered reached. “You aren’t a man who slaughters innocents, or burns people alive to appease some god a that woman whispered in your ear of. You were never that man until her.”

His eyes narrowed towards you, “She does what needs to be done, does what others aren’t willing to admit. I never asked for this, no more than I asked to be King. We do not chose our destiny-” 

A flash of rage swam through your veins, palms slamming down onto the table with a bang with a biting anger so close to sorrow fighting for control in your throat. “Don’t speak to me about destiny. You had the gall to let that woman tell me of a future I’ll never have and stand in front of me now that I’ve lost all of it? You stand here and tell me this was all meant to happen this way, that everyone we’ve all lost was worth it just to get here?”

Not with rage which matched yours but as he stood there with a radiating feeling around him that was as tense while it was intertwining with yours. “We’re at war, we lose the people we love. That’s the sacrifice we have to make.” You shook, trying not to let it break but the water was spilling over and the glass begging to crack open. “Even when it’s our own. We don’t have to like it, but we have to accept it.” 

A whisper all you could muster in case the sounds otherwise to high and break it. “You truly believe that? That we have to sacrifice the people we love, our families just to fight for some future of a god so few of you even have faith in? That even losing your children is worth what she speaks of?” 

Your father thinking it was your own being referred to. Tone softening a bit as he found your glaring eyes. “Your son is gone, you can’t change that. I thought I lost you, but something brought you back for a reason and you need to accept that regardless if you don’t like it.” 

It was a mistake letting it come out of your mouth, because as soon as it was spoken into the air there was no avoiding it. “And if it was Shireen?” 

Stannis knew in an instant something was wrong, something as a horror painted over your eyes and your skin paled had him suddenly standing at a cliff’s edge of a nightmare. “If Shireen what?” You couldn’t breathe, or move. Stuck in that position as the world stopped spinning and all you could feel under your palms was the horribly smooth glide of a blade before a blazing fire in the snow had followed. 

He called your name, but you didn’t look at him. Wanting only to flee or cry, likely both as the thoughts and feelings still fresh in your hands was as if you were there once more. Only it was worse, because you knew she never could be again. The fires in your mind was bright but you saw nothing of a god in them, only loss that was your fault. 

Turning round the corridor, you tried to shake away your father’s new duty for you. Only repeating in your head as there was no escaping this fate, he’d drag you into this duty if he had to but your father knew better then to think you’d truly make any fuss. 

The grim walls surrounding you were darker and more closing in then the previous, and the air was thick and heavy where there were there not windows flowing the wind through. But as you neared the room you were headed towards, you felt both a breeze and the sound that followed. 

Voice a little more solid then last, two years making quite the difference you imagined as the gentle singing reached your ears. No doubt sitting by the window so the singing could be heard by whatever birds passed by it. Leaning against the open door, she continued to sing running her hands along a doll you recall having gotten for her. 

It had been a while since you had visited her, her nameday rapidly approaching and yet you had not seen her since a little over two years. Dragonstone was easier to visit then the North and you had been on ships heading there countless times. You had only just reached your teens the last time, old enough to be trusted on your own for such journeys across the bay and still young enough that your duties were not quite your fathers yet. 

That would change this time. Two years in Winterfell had done a number on your willingness to return to King’s Landing and this time you insisted on being here first. You needed something to occupy your mind after the final few months there had changed into. 

Finally whispering into the afternoon air in a lull of her song. “Hey silly girl,” 

Turning in an instant, she yelled your name and jumped up. Running for a hug as you met her half way, kneeling down to catch her as she all but lept into the final few feet between you. Both of you laughing with joyful grins as you both kept a tight hold. 

Finally pulling back you held her at her arms, looking her with a mocking squint up and down before running a hand along her hair. “You’re going to be grow to be even prettier then the Queen at this rate.” 

Huffing at you with annoyance, making you laugh even more as you kissed the top of her head. “You’re older then me, that makes you the pretty one.” Face twisting into a playful doubt and shake of your head that had her insist further. “It’s true, you look so pretty coming back from the North.” 

You felt your heart soften a bit. It was why you didn’t like to visit her while departing King’s Landing, needing time to come down from the aggravation such a city caused, but the ease from the North still feeling the remaining trails of something like home. Standing up, you both moved to sit on her bed as she crawled to sit in the middle more. 

Once more you ran a hand over her hair, moving strands to the lay behind her shoulder. “Well, I am just going to have to find a way to convince father to let you come with me one of these days, aren’t I?” 

She nodded before hesitating, a little more dejected then before. “And mother.” Your eyes narrowed a bit in question as the girl looked away, like she was debating a secret to tell. “She says the North isn’t helping, that you are still too wild and that Lord Stark’s sons are a bad influence. Mother would never let me go.” 

She never said it in so many words to you, but had made it clear she thought your attitude as too lively and quick when returning from there. This time was especially bad. Two years had truly made it feel like home and those in it. Chuckling you raised an eyebrow at her, “Being honest with ourselves, Shireen? I think there isn’t much mother does like whenever I come visit.” 

Not even the age you were when first visiting Winterfell, she was too young to understand if you tried to tell her about it the way you wanted, you had no one here nor King’s Landing to discuss it with. Her eyes widened suddenly, “I made you something, come look.” Flipping onto her stomach she hurled half her body over soft surface to a small cupboard to the side of her bed, rifling through things to grab a piece of paper. Pulling it back, you turned to your stomach as she flipped it over. 

Her drawing far better then the last one she included in a raven to you. She was unstoppable about sending things to you now that she knew how to write. A winter scene no doubt she tried to copy from one of her books, and in the middle were two stags, one smaller then the other and beside them was a large wolf bigger then the other two. The stags coloured with browns and yellowish golds and the wolf was a deep black that made it look menacing. You smirked at her, turning your head slightly. “Are you trying to warn me about something?” 

She nudged you with a bashful smile and you nudged her back. “No, I thought about making it look like us but when I grow more I didn’t want to have to redo it, so I made us our house animals.” Pointing to the first taller stag, “That one is you. You’re fully grown already so I had to make me a bit smaller, but that’s okay it can just mean this one’s younger.” The second being smaller clearly her. 

You nodded to the wolf, “So whose that?”

The little grin turned a bit shy, you tilting your head to the side to better look at her as she flickered between you and the drawing before settling on the drawing. A shrug she finally relented. “I can make a new one if it’s wrong but you said he has longer black hair. I didn’t mean to make him so scary looking, it just turned out that way.” 

Were she not so innocent and so young you may have told her how ironic it was she made you this while you were away in Winterfell finding a new dynamic with the wolf in question. “I think he’d find it amusing you made him so scary and menacing.” 

“You have to keep it a secret though, mother says you talk too much about him in your letters. Says you shouldn’t be so distracted with a boy.” The North in general were not suited to your mother, loud and charming in their own unique ways, some bold and brash that would not sit in her stomach well. “So I have to keep it until you leave, so you can take it with you and she’d never see it.”

Hiding back, you both stayed in that position whispering like misbehaving children. “Well, I’m not leaving for King’s Landing until after your name day. So, we have plenty of time to figure out how I am to smuggle it out. What do we think your onion knight would do?”

You didn’t want to think about how long he and your mother were talking with no sign of either of them. What on earth they could be saying to each other now that it was all out, but perhaps it wasn’t your business anymore. He didn’t react as much as you knew it crushed his heart but you had to be the one who did it. It was your hands the blood was spilt and stained too forever, but you couldn’t lie about it. 

Talks back and forth between the Northern Houses now pledged to you, as well as the free folk who followed beside him, went back and forth but as you stood with your back against a stone wall, arms crossed as your eyes just glazed over the images and plans splayed out you knew you were being of no help. 

You hadn’t even been allowed outside further then the overhands and balconies of the second story or the high peaks of the castle walls that were no escape but a painted mess. You were out of your depth, no knowledge anymore of the state of the Bolton’s army or what their strategy may look like. But more then that, all you could think of was that look on your fathers face. 

Wishing it was just a desperate plot from two people who had no concept of what to do without Shireen between them, you knew better. You could see how that look behind his eyes was as in awe as he was cautious of his words. Telling him the truth that if you didn’t send that woman away you wouldn’t have the restraint later to not shove a blade through her. That all you could see was here lies. 

“I can’t tell you what to believe for yourself, but I won’t follow it. How many more have to die before we find any true fate in this destiny she speaks of? How much more of this family do we have to lose. How much more do you and I even have left in us to give?” You still didn’t ask about Renly, maybe you didn’t want too. Didn’t want to hear what he was capable of doing to his own brother, but then, you were the one to wield the dagger yourself for her.

Perhaps you were as guilty as he was. Traitors to more then just each other because it was the only choice you saw, the only duty left in front of you. 

Speaking low, in a rumble as he stepped back towards the other end of the table. “I saw a vision in the flames.” Slowly, your head rose up, peeling from it’s nonsense focus and following the path up to meet his eyes, as if recalling what should not be possible. It had been a very long time since you had recalled such an incident, but not with him. “A great battle in the snow, I saw it.” 

Dreams were one but images in your minds eye were others, nowhere near sleep nor flames but they had been there all the same no matter how much you pushed them away, how much you tried to deny they were there. You could go the rest of your existence avoiding looking at it, but the scar along you felt as real as inhuman it was. Your eyes looked to the other, a strange pulse in your heart as you saw not an enemy. 

Stepping forward, he braced his knuckles onto the surface leaning towards you in mimic, a knowing on his tongue that you know didn’t come from you. “And I know you saw that you raised him from the dead.” That freezing cold from your dreams swept over you but ran straight through your veins and down your spine. Eyes falling from his as you recalled how the marks felt on his cold corpse that very first time in horror. 

Quietly murmuring your name, there was a genuinity in his face that was one you knew carried the truth of his conviction. “I never used to believe, but when you see it, when it’s right there in front of you. As real as these stone walls, how can you deny that you have a true purpose here?”

By the time Jon found you again he had spent much of the time planning that you had lost in your own head. If you listened closely, you could still hear her faint singing as you would always walking the halls of Dragonstone only to have it replaced with the hissing in your ear of words still haunting you the closer you came back to him. 

“If you’re a lucky girl, I’ll find you a pack of real wolves to replace all your dead ones. Strip you right down and throw you in with them. We could all finally see our Queen in the North back where she belongs, just something for the wolves to fuck until I kill all of them too.”

When the true wolf came upon you, you almost jumped out of your skin. Jon moving to reach out and steady you, but you already had moved back a step with a gasping sigh and leaning back against the stone wall. Looking out into the thick of the snowy woods. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You barley shrugged as he leaned back for himself beside you. Both arms crossed in front of your chests but his didn’t have any shake in it, unlike the one you were trying to hide. “Did we come to an agreement?”

Jon nodded, “We have. Lord Glover seems confident the Manderlys will give us a chance as well as the Hornwood’s.” Only nodding being any indicator you heard him, your eyes were trained on the sun lowering itself to hide behind the trees. “It was strange they said. Having me be the one in charge and you not there at all.” 

You shrugged again. Something in you was mentally drained and you just did not have the energy to talk about leadership in that moment. “And my father?” 

From the side you could tell Jon had turned in place to look at you, still leaning as you were but his sights now only on you ignoring him in favour of the setting sun. Voice rasping out your name gently wanting you to just turn and look at him. But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to see the colour in anyone’s eyes right now save they fade away. 

“Come on, I’m patching you up. Now.” Not bothering to wait, Jon encouraged you forward with him and you just didn’t bother arguing. The bandage was soaked through and blood drying thick by that point and you knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant sight. 

Never questioning where he was heading, it was always like that with him. You’d follow him anywhere he’d lead you and even in moments now where it felt like the world was between you you still managed to just trust where he was taking you. The voice in your head though, he you’d fight everytime. Only make it worse as you wondered what else could he have planned and yet it was always worse then the last. 

It wasn’t until Jon already had you sitting down, him sideways next to you, sitting a few things out did you notice he was far more cleaned up then before. You truly hated how easy he made it at any time to admire him. Gesturing towards your outer layer, “I need that off.” 

Looking down you swallowed that feeling before starting to wince as you slowly pulled it off, only to feel flushed in an instant as Jon swiftly reached over to pull it off without any effort, only to feel winded as he also pulled off the softer long sleeve underneath where there was only enough material on left to cover your chest. But he only put them to the side, reaching back to peel off the bandage. 

Trying your best to look forward instead of the soft glint in his eyes towards you, right now it might break you and you just didn’t want to deal with that. Not now, not here. “Is your quiet signifying good news or does it look infected?” 

You missed the small shake of his head, but you heard the deep exhale. “No, it looks like it should be fine if I stitch it up now.” Turning and gathering what he brought over, you felt the burn of the slightest bit of water, gently running across to clean it enough for Jon to see better. Pausing as he glanced up to you, “Ten years ago you would’ve already complained about that.”

Smiling a bit, you raised an eyebrow. “Ten years ago we were still all teenagers chasing each other through the wolfswood.” The smile on your lips small, but enough that it brightened the grey in Jon’s eyes. 

You did hiss slightly as he first pushed the needle through, but didn’t move otherwise. Collecting yourself as he continued on. “If I’m remembering correctly, me and Robb were the ones doing the chasing.” 

Neither of you noticed in that moment, but it was the first time Robb had been brought up between you both that didn’t skip to pain or distant agony. Mentioned in passing with a fond smile on both at the memories alone and none of the blood came forth in that moment. 

“Pretty sure that was the point. See if I could hold out until midnight and not get caught.” 

With each wince or hiss, Jon’s eyes flew up to your face but saw none of the unfamiliar points of agony that used to come with cleaning such injuries. And a little more heavy something weighed in his chest at how you didn’t notice you were so used to it. 

His hands were large and rough, yet such a gentle touch as he continued to stitch the sliced skin together. Much like the tone of his voice sounding as a tender rumble despite the husking deep thickness of his accent shining through. “And how’d that go for you? Not getting caught.” You just rolled your eyes playfully as he looked back between you and his work. “Hard to believe we just came home that night, and no one suspected anything was different.” 

You never forgot it, the way he gained the upper hand and had your back against a tree so you couldn’t run only to press himself against you in a kiss. A kiss that somehow led all the way to right this very moment together. “Hard to believe there used to be a time you didn’t make me nervous.” Your eyes both flickering to the side to peek a glance at the other as you turned them to the floor. “Though I always wondered if you simply got a kick out of making me nervous around you for fun”

“I did.” You’d turn to him were it not to jostle his steady hands still very carefully sewing the wound together. “It was cute, that out of the two of us, it was you who was always nervous. Always a bit shy whenever I’d go to kiss you after. Not that much has changed.” 

You didn’t look past at the memory, trying to look forward. Not wanting to base whatever careful balancing act it was you held with Jon at an impasse, for a night you both had not repeated. The other night, that first on Bear Island came the closest, but he had directly told you he wouldn’t kiss you. So how would he truthfully knew if it still made you nervous or not?

For a while it was just quiet. Just your shaking breaths every now and again before Jon had finally finished clearing up your arm, and wrapping it fresh. You weren’t sure why it slipped out, but there was no stopping once your mouth betrayed your thoughts. “I thought of you sometimes. When Ramsay would...it wasn’t always but sometimes the only way I could cope was to focus on something else..and I often ended up thinking about you.”

Your name came out in a husk, his eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “How often did he hurt you?” 

Trying to recall, the time was varied in your mind. Unsure of how long you were really at the Dreadfort locked way. “He only started when the Lannisters had officially made him a Bolton. Around the time they retook Moat Cailin, so..whenever that was. It started then. Only got worse, made it worse for myself ,honestly. Fighting back as much as I did. Think he actually enjoyed when I put up a fight.” 

That feeling of the cool air on your skin as you rode into Winterfell that paired so ugly with how horrific of a journey it was to get back. It only got worse when you were given an actual room to live in that he could visit whenever he wanted. 

Jon was deathly silent and you dared not look at him. “Sometimes he’d drag Theon in..force him to watch. Would tell me I was lucky he.. otherwise he would’ve forced him to help.” Looking down your nails dug into whatever skin on your fingers it could find but the pain served no distraction from the nightmares. 

“They took everything I still had with Robb and tainted all of it, Ramsay plastering his nightmares all over it like this was all I was ever worth after Robb. As if I was supposed to feel worthless without him, not be able to think of him without thinking of how Ramsay came and ruined all of it..the only thing that they didn’t ruin was you. You were the one thing still intact enough that I could escape to when it got too much.” You inhaled a shaking breathe that followed with tears, no point in pretending they weren’t there, or hide them. Jon always caught onto your state, always knew what you were trying to hide in your feelings. 

Shrugging with a fake lightness in your eyes that played on your lips as if to placate whatever was behind you within him. “Sometimes it feels like I’m now just ruining you in the same way. That all this I dragged into you is going to stand out more then...then..”

“More then what? More then how much you mean to me?” You rolled your eyes, not wanting him to do the same placating but Jon had none of it. Moving to crouch in front of you forcing you to look in his eyes, somehow raging yet flashing of a softness. “You didn’t deserve that, any of that. No one does.” A glint of doubt in your eyes and Jon reached up to cup both your cheeks in his hands. “I know you wish you could just be fine, but you’re not. You’re not fine, darling. And I can’t seem to get through that beautiful head of yours enough to convince you that it’s okay to not be alright.” 

You smiled weakly, and in a risk of your heart, one hand of yours gently reached up. Wrapping around one of his wrists, which only made him hold tighter and lean into you closer. “I was always stubborn, wasn’t I?” 

Thumbs running along your cheeks, you could see he wanted to be angry, wanted to be furious but also found none of that red when you looked into his eyes. Only a love that was as strong as it was the day you two left one another on the Kingsroad with a screaming in your hearts that parting was more then sweet sorrow, but blood and horror. “You’re also clever, quick in a fight, and I know behind all this you’re someone who inspires these people. But, you’ve also been through hell, and it’s just going to wind up killing you if you don’t let someone in, let me in.”

Pushing the ends of the fabric around his wrist you gently ran a thumb over his pulse, eyes almost slipping closed at the reassurance. “I don’t know if I have it in me anymore, Jon. I don’t know if they’ve left any kind of a leader I once was in me. I don’t know where I fit in here anymore, or where I’m supposed to be.” 

Leaning forward, Jon pressed his forehead to yours murmuring your name as one hand readjusted against your cheek and the other gently ran along your hair at the back of your head. “You don’t have to always be the one carrying everything yourself. If you don’t think you can stand on your own, that’s okay but I want you by my side. You have to let me protect you, let me take care of you, if you don’t think you can do it yourself.” 

Heart wanting to melt away in your chest almost crumbling to dust. “Why are you still so sweet to me, after everything I’ve put you through?” 

Hesitating in his own right not to kiss you, he gently ran his nose along the length of yours, nudging you until you leaned more into his touch properly. Letting him cup the back of your head to stay closer then you were before. “We gave each other up once, and we both ended up dead. But you’ve been given a new chance, you gave me a new chance and this time, I need to be the one to protect the woman I love. Because you belong with me, and I’m not giving you up to anyone else ever again.” 

Pulling you to your feet, Jon only let you go long enough to change where his hands sat, pulling you into his chest. Your hands spared no time wrapping up around the back of his neck. Jon’s were split between holding the back of your own head into his neck so he could lean down to nuzzle his own into yours, and the other wrapped tightly around your waist keeping you both close. 

Only the calming of each other’s breathing sounded in the air. Every single thing outside of this small moment could be entirely ruined, a horror waiting for you both as soon as you left this room. But as long as you both stood there in the others arms it felt like maybe you both weren’t so beaten down and broken. 

Jon for his part however, knew a striking hot rage was building and the closer you all got to Winterfell the more he knew it was going to be likely impossible to properly contain it. 

Especially when the next day’s early morning sun rose and arriving with it, a vicious note of terrorizing threat towards Jon for not giving you back. Laying out the vile, bloody thing’s he’d do to you in front of him before killing him just to prove his “bride” didn’t belong to Jon. But it was what came with the letter that was the beginning of an urgent nightmare that no longer could take it’s time getting there.

The bloody, rotting, decapitated head of a black direwolf. 

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